《通玄真經纘義》Vol. 10

In the tenth volume of the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Master Nangu Du Daojian expounds on the governing and self-cultivation principles of "supreme benevolence."

The virtuous noble cultivates themselves through tranquility and nurtures the people through frugality. If a ruler maintains serenity, the common people will not be disturbed; if they practice frugality, the people will harbor no resentment. When the lower classes are agitated, governance descends into chaos; when the people are resentful, virtue (De) becomes shallow. In times of political disorder, the wise refuse to offer counsel; when virtue is meager, the courageous decline to serve the state.

Foolish rulers act in direct opposition: they monopolize the wealth of the world, abuse their sovereign power, exploit the people's labor to indulge in sensual pleasures, obsess over constructing palaces, towers, gardens, and ponds, and keep exotic beasts and rare birds. The people suffer hunger like grass in the jaws of tigers and wolves, shivering in the cold while the court parades in embroidered silks. Such rulers hoard useless treasures while denying the masses peace and livelihood.

True great benevolence and virtue (De) lie in cultivating oneself through serenity and nourishing the people through frugality—this is the noble's proper path. A true noble would never act in ways that cause political chaos and popular resentment. The wise never pursue worthless endeavors that damage what is beneficial, nor accumulate useless things that deplete what is essential.

Laozi said: Without simplicity, virtue (De) cannot shine; without tranquility, one cannot plan for the long term; without magnanimity, great matters cannot be decided. Those who govern must see with the eyes of all under heaven, hear with the ears of all, think with the wisdom of all, and strive with the strength of all. Only then can decrees be thoroughly implemented and the people's circumstances reach the ruler's awareness. Officials perform their duties properly, ministers unite in purpose. The ruler does not distribute rewards or punishments based on personal whims; laws are strict yet not harsh, perception is comprehensive yet unobstructed. Right and wrong, good and evil appear daily before one's eyes without violating natural principles. The wise exhaust their wisdom, the common people exert their strength, those nearby live in contentment, and those afar yearn for virtuous rule—this is the true art of employing people.

Simplicity, tranquility, magnanimity, and impartiality—these are the essentials of benevolent governance. The genuine method of employing people lies in this: by borrowing the eyes and ears of all under heaven, one gains piercing clarity; by harnessing the wisdom and strength of all, one achieves great deeds. Thus, the wise offer their counsel, the simple contribute their labor, those nearby feel gratitude, and those afar submit willingly. This was the foundation for the enduring peace of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties—a standard later ages have struggled to match.

Just as riders of chariots need not walk to traverse a thousand miles, and sailors need not swim to cross rivers and seas, so too should no suggestion be dismissed—even if it comes from a humble merchant or woodcutter—provided it is truly correct.

This scripture primarily discusses the principles of governing a state and cultivating the self, with its core teaching being "only when one governs oneself can one govern the state."

Regarding statecraft and employing people, it emphasizes that judging right and wrong should not be based on social status. Good advice should be heeded even if it comes from humble individuals, whereas foolish rulers keep flatterers close while alienating virtuous ministers, using harsh punishments to silence dissent—such a state is inevitably doomed. Just as carriages and horses serve as transportation and boats cross rivers, rulers and ministers must cooperate to govern effectively; losing this synergy leaves one isolated and powerless.

Concerning health preservation and self-cultivation, it stresses that life is the most precious treasure. In wealth and honor, one should not harm the body through indulgence; in poverty and lowliness, one should not damage oneself in pursuit of profit. Inheriting ancestral legacy requires even greater appreciation—only those who value self-cultivation are fit to govern the world. Many fail to grasp this truth, harming themselves in their pursuit of external things.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) asked Laozi about the foundation of governance, to which Laozi replied that the root lies in self-cultivation. Never has it been heard that those who cultivate themselves well bring chaos to their state, or that those who indulge themselves lead to its prosperity. The highest realm of moral cultivation cannot be inherited from father to son—the true Dao transcends words and concepts.

The text concludes with an analogy: governing a state is like carving an axe handle—the model is right before you, meaning governance must take the self as its foundation. The individual is a microcosm of the state, and the state an enlarged reflection of the individual. As the Book of Songs says, "Hewing an axe handle with an axe handle—the pattern is in your hands," precisely conveying this principle.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) asked Laozi: "How can a ruler make the people support him?" Laozi replied: "One must arrange labor duties according to agricultural seasons, treating the common people with the caution of standing by a deep abyss and the care of treading on thin ice. The principle between heaven and earth is this: treat people well and they will submit; treat them harshly and they will become enemies. In the past, the subjects of tyrants Jie and Zhou turned to hate them, yet submitted to Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou. The people of the Susha tribe rebelled against their ruler and instead followed Shennong. Therefore, what the people fear, the ruler must also be wary of."

Emperor Shun possessed benevolent virtue (De), and all under heaven admired him. Laozi further explained: "If a ruler treats his subjects like dogs and horses to be commanded, they will regard him as an enemy. The people can both support and overthrow their ruler—this is the most awe-inspiring power."

Governing a large state cannot employ small methods, just as vast land cannot be measured with tiny containers. The higher one's position, the more concise one's actions should be; the more numerous the people, the broader their education should be. Complicated decrees are hard to implement, harsh laws are difficult to enforce, and insatiable demands can never be satisfied. Measuring yards with inches will surely err, weighing stones with drams will certainly miss—only appropriate measures yield accuracy. Handling great affairs requires broad vision; obsessing over details hinders wisdom. The sage does not pursue what seems beneficial but actually disrupts governance; the wise do not adopt what appears useful but truly wastes effort. Achievements never suffer from simplicity, governance never suffers from conciseness, needs never suffer from moderation—simplicity facilitates accomplishment, conciseness eases administration, and moderation satisfies easily.

Abilities vary in degree, wisdom differs in depth. Governing vast territories and multitudes is beyond shallow wisdom. How can one immersed in trivialities while holding high position govern well? Clinging to minor principles damages greater righteousness; fixating on petty righteousness undermines the great Dao (Way)—these are the ways of petty men, not gentlemen.

The Yellow River flows far because of its winding course; mountains grow tall because of gradual slopes; the great Dao transforms all things through its unhurried manner. Those skilled in one craft or knowledgeable about one specific matter may handle particular situations, but cannot adapt broadly. Like tuning a zither—the thinner strings must be tightened, the thicker ones loosened; in governance, those of lower rank should labor more, those of higher rank should act with ease. The great Dao teaches us: within chaos and obscurity lies heaven's majesty.

Those who share primordial Qi (vital energy) with heaven become emperors; those who uphold the Dao with heaven become kings; those who accomplish meritorious deeds with heaven achieve hegemony.

This scripture primarily expounds on the principles of state governance and the relationship between rulers and ministers.

Those who rely on tyrannical means to rule will ultimately meet their downfall. Truly enlightened rulers need not speak much to gain the people's trust, nor deliberately bestow favors to demonstrate benevolence (De), nor display anger to establish authority—this is because they are in harmony with the Dao (the Way). Those who depend on favors, preaching, or anger to maintain rule merely possess superficial appearances.

The key to governing a nation lies in whether one follows the great Dao. Methods of governance aligned with the Dao may appear simple, yet they suffice to govern well; those contrary to the Dao, no matter how intricate, will only lead to chaos. Just as small vessels are easily filled but difficult to sustain, great achievements take time to mature but endure.

If a ruler abandons their duties and instead competes for power with ministers, they will become constrained by their subordinates. A wise ruler should excel at appointing capable individuals—attempting to handle everything personally will only exhaust their wisdom and strength. When a ruler loses authority and fails to administer rewards and punishments clearly, the court will descend into disorder, and the bond between ruler and ministers will fracture.

The scripture employs the metaphor of a whale leaving water and being subdued by ants to illustrate how a ruler who strays from the Dao of governance will be controlled by their ministers. True statecraft lies in selecting and appointing worthy talents, particularly wise chancellors. If a ruler neglects their responsibilities and vies for power with ministers, they will find themselves in dire straits even before their ministers act to restrain them.

Just as a man racing against a horse can never outrun it, but by mounting a chariot and taking the reins, he can master the steed—this metaphor demonstrates that rulers should excel at employing the capable rather than micromanaging every affair.

This scripture expounds the principles of governance and harmonizing with nature.

A skilled horseman can travel a thousand miles without personal exertion, just as a wise ruler understands how to employ his ministers' talents. The essence of sovereign rule lies in wuwei (non-action) – not forcing interventions but following natural patterns; achieving without stubborn insistence. When a ruler acts deliberately, he invites criticism; when he shows preference, he attracts flattery. The truly profound art of governance is formless and invisible, like how the spirit influences all things yet remains unbound by them. When inner desires don't manifest outwardly, it's called "closing"; when external temptations don't penetrate inwardly, it's called "sealing." Mastering both internal and external cultivation ensures nothing remains unmanaged.

The text then uses charioteering as a metaphor for ruler-minister relations: if the ruler personally races against his horses, it's like competing with his ministers. A skilled charioteer understands delegating governance responsibilities. Only rulers who attain the state of "spiritual transformation" can restrain selfish desires, eliminate backdoor dealings, and ensure officials fulfill their proper roles.

The latter section quotes Laozi to emphasize people's livelihood as fundamental: grain sustains the populace, and the populace supports the state. Enlightened rulers harmonize with celestial timings, utilize land appropriately, and allocate human resources wisely, allowing all things to grow naturally. It details seasonal agricultural activities: felling deadwood in spring, harvesting fruits in summer, storing vegetables in autumn, and gathering firewood in winter. Ancient kings established moderate usage principles: never hunting entire herds dry, never draining ponds to catch fish, never burning forests for hunting. Specific closed seasons and protections for young animals were instituted – for instance, no wolf traps before sacrificial rites conclude, no otter hunting before fish-offering ceremonies. These measures of seasonal attunement and thorough preparation form the foundation for prosperous nations and thriving people. The key lies in constantly holding the people's welfare in mind rather than micromanaging affairs, thus enabling natural peace and contentment among the populace.

The foundation of governing a nation lies in ensuring the people's material sufficiency. By following celestial timing, fully utilizing earthly resources, and wisely allocating human effort—only when these three elements of celestial timing, earthly advantage, and human harmony are aligned can all things flourish. When the people have ample food, the nation prospers—is this not the fundamental Dao of creating wealth?

The wise rulers of antiquity levied taxes with restraint and maintained moderation in their personal expenditures. They first calculated the year's harvest, assessed the people's reserves, understood where surpluses and shortages existed, and only then determined the appropriate levies. This approach allowed them to receive Heaven and Earth's bestowed wealth without leaving the people hungry or cold. If anyone in the nation went hungry, the ruler ate simple meals; if any suffered from cold, the ruler forwent fur robes in winter. By sharing both joy and hardship with the people, no resentful subjects remained under Heaven.

Foolish rulers acted contrary to this. They made endless demands upon the people without considering their capacity or calculating their reserves. Neither men nor women could peacefully till fields or weave textiles to sustain the court. Exhausted and impoverished, the people lived in constant insecurity, breeding mutual resentment between rulers and subjects. Consider this: one person farming could cultivate no more than ten mu of land, with average fields yielding barely four dan of grain—yet entire families depended on this meager harvest. When disasters struck and even court taxes became unpayable, only then would the ruler pity them. The greedy and tyrannical rulers, like draining ponds to catch fish, squeezed the people to satisfy their boundless desires, depriving them of Heaven's favor and Earth's nourishment.

When Emperor Yao governed the world, he treated the people as himself. His restrained taxation and moderate living meant no wicked rebels arose among the people—every household deserved commendation. Thus, enlightened rulers must govern by assessing harvest conditions and weighing the people's wealth before determining levies. This leaves no resentment among the people and invites no reproach from Heaven.

Harmony is the supreme principle between Heaven and Earth. True harmony means balanced Yin-Yang and equanimity between day and night. All things grow at the Spring Equinox and mature at the Autumn Equinox—both growth and maturation depend on harmony's essence. When Yin qi accumulates without dispersal, life cannot be born; when Yang qi gathers without transformation, growth cannot occur. Only through Yin-Yang interaction does harmony form. Therefore, the sage's governance combines tolerance with discipline, severity with gentleness, pliability with integrity, and firmness with benevolence. Excessive rigidity leads to fracture; excessive softness causes curling—the true path lies between firmness and flexibility. Like the carpenter's ink line—it can be coiled for storage or stretched straight for use; extended with perfect proportion, straight yet not stiff—this is what sages emulate. Unrestrained kindness breeds weakness, and weakness cannot establish authority.

This scripture primarily elucidates the importance of harmony (和) and the principles of state governance. The text states that excessive severity breeds ferocity, and ferocity destroys harmony; indulgence and laxity lead to the loss of order. Harsh punishments invite calamity, and calamity severs bonds of intimacy—thus, harmony is of utmost value.

When heaven and earth are in harmony, all things are clear and bright; when Yin and Yang are balanced, all beings flourish. When ruler and ministers are united, governance is enlightened; when father and son are harmonious, the family prospers; when superiors and subordinates are in accord, human affairs proceed smoothly; when Qi (vital energy) and blood are regulated, the body remains healthy. The significance of harmony could not be greater.

Laozi said: A state endures because it follows the Dao (the Way, natural law), and perishes when governance becomes obstructed. The sage observes transformations to foresee omens. The rise or decline of virtue (De) is first manifested in prevailing customs. A state that follows the Dao, though small, will surely grow mighty; a state showing signs of ruin, though seemingly strong, will ultimately collapse.

A state’s survival does not depend on the size of its territory but on whether it upholds the Dao; its downfall lies not in territorial limits but in losing the Dao. Foolish rulers covet land expansion without practicing benevolence (仁) and righteousness (义), crave high status without cultivating virtue—this is abandoning the path of survival and courting destruction. If a ruler disrupts the natural order of sun, moon, and stars and loses the people’s hearts, who could inherit such a state?

What all under heaven collectively follow is called the Dao; what remains unchanging through the ages is called principle (理). Since ancient times, states that attain the Dao thrive, while those that violate principle perish. Pursuing status and territory without virtue and righteousness is like a rootless tree—it will soon wither and fall.

Ancient rulers classified moral cultivation into three levels: profound practice constitutes virtue (德) and the Dao; moderate practice constitutes benevolence and righteousness; superficial practice constitutes ritual (礼) and wisdom (智). These six are the foundation of state governance. The deeper the practice, the greater the blessings received. Perfect practice brings all under heaven to submission.

Cultivating the Dao and virtue rectifies the world; cultivating benevolence and righteousness governs a state; cultivating ritual and wisdom educates a community. Profound virtue influences widely; shallow virtue affects narrowly. Thus, the Dao is not established by force, not won through coercion, not acquired by contention. The Dao is established when all under heaven uphold it, victorious when all willingly submit, and obtained when all give it freely—not through forceful seizure.

Therefore, like the softness of the feminine, one establishes; like pliancy, one prevails; through benevolence and righteousness, one attains. Contend with none, and none can contend with you. This is the true essence of the Dao.

Governing the world is like the rivers and seas. While virtues such as Dao (the Way), De (Virtue), benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom all originate from the human heart, the depth of their practice varies among individuals, and the intensity of their application differs. Reputation must be founded on genuine virtue—these six qualities each have their emphasis, but fundamentally, they are all manifestations of goodness. When those in high positions act virtuously, those below dare not commit evil. Later rulers who neglect cultivating Dao and De, relying solely on power and force to govern, will plunge the state into peril.

The principle of the Dao of Heaven operates thus: striving forcefully leads to failure, and clinging tightly results in loss. Those who chase empty fame and scramble for power and profit—I see they ultimately gain nothing. Even if they temporarily acquire something, they cannot retain it. True reputation is not sought after but is naturally bestowed by the world. The world rallies around those who possess De. Thus it is said: those with the highest De win the hearts of all under Heaven; those with the highest benevolence are embraced by the four seas; those with the highest righteousness command the allegiance of a nation; those with the highest propriety are followed by a community. If a ruler lacks these four virtues, the people will not rally to them. Without the people's allegiance, one must resort to force—yet the use of arms is a dangerous path. Weapons are inauspicious tools, to be employed only as a last resort. Even victory in battle is no cause for pride, for the battlefield is strewn with corpses, and funeral rites must mourn the dead. Therefore, the noble person devotes themselves to cultivating Dao and De, never lightly resorting to arms.

The Dao of Heaven acts through Wuwei (non-action); deliberate striving leads to loss. Reputation must align with reality, and the greatest reputation belongs to the ruler. When a ruler possesses De, they need not chase fame—the world naturally rallies to them. This is why sage-kings like Yao and Shun surpassed the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period and the Seven Powers of the Warring States—the latter abandoned Dao and De, relying solely on military might, thus straying far from the Dao of Heaven.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) once asked: Why are benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom considered shallower than Dao and De? Laozi replied: Those who practice benevolence judge everything through emotions of sorrow and joy; those who practice righteousness measure all things by standards of gain and loss. Yet the sorrows and joys of the world cannot be fully accounted for, and the wealth of the state cannot satisfy all its people. Better to cultivate Dao and De, aligning with natural disposition, so all things find their proper place, the world naturally prospers, and benevolence and righteousness are effortlessly realized. Therefore, a great person establishes themselves in depth, not shallowness. Propriety is the outward expression of substance; benevolence is the manifestation of kindness. Propriety should be established according to human sentiment, never exceeding what is genuine; benevolence should not bestow excessive favors. True grief comes from the heart, and burying the dead should accord with the Dao of benevolence.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) asked Laozi why concepts like benevolence, righteousness, and propriety fell short of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue). Laozi replied:

Those who speak of benevolence always measure by sorrow and joy; those who advocate righteousness judge by giving and taking. But these involve artificial effort—the common people have too many sorrows and too few joys; the wealth of the state is limited and easily exhausted. Dao and De, however, emphasize Wuwei (non-action), allowing all things to develop naturally, and thus the world can prosper.

The true way of nurturing life does not demand what people cannot achieve, nor forbid what they cannot stop. By maintaining moderation in all things, there will be no room for blame or praise. Thus, music is composed solely to bring harmony and joy, to clarify the laws of life and death, and to understand the balance between extravagance and frugality. But in an age of decline, the opposite occurs: words and deeds contradict each other, and appearances mask reality. Rituals become overly elaborate, music descends into indulgence, social customs grow turbid, and the court fills with slander. Therefore, those who attain the Dao discard such practices.

Just as a man racing against a thousand-mile steed will surely lose, but sitting in a chariot, the horse cannot catch him—those skilled in applying the Dao know how to harness others' strengths to accomplish tasks, using their own strengths to compensate for their weaknesses. When a ruler gives to the people according to the seasons, the people repay with wealth; when the ruler treats them with propriety, the people willingly serve unto death. Thus, a state in crisis has no ruler at ease; a ruler with worries has no joyful ministers.

When virtue exceeds one’s position, it brings honor; when emolument exceeds one’s virtue, it invites disaster. True nobility does not lie in high rank, and rightful gain does not overstep bounds. Position obtained without virtue is theft; wealth acquired without righteousness is robbery. The sage is content in poverty and delights in upholding the Dao, never harming life for desire nor burdening himself for profit, and thus never violates righteousness to grasp recklessly.

All things under heaven have grown for ages, flourishing further when nourished. Therefore, a wise ruler does not impose what is difficult nor obstruct what the people need, ensuring all are nurtured. Thus, one should be content in poverty and delight in the Dao, neither harming life for desire nor violating righteousness to take—how could greed arise then?

In ancient times, without virtue, one was not honored; without ability, one was not appointed; without merit, one was not rewarded; without fault, one was not punished. Talent was employed according to ritual, and dismissal followed the Dao. But in an age of petty men, promotion is as careless as scattering dust, and demotion as ruthless as pushing someone into an abyss. These comparisons between past and present use the beauty of antiquity to critique the failings of today. Just as judging a horse may lead to overlooking a fine steed, selecting talent may neglect worthy men due to poverty—even a fattened pig will be slaughtered (a metaphor for how displaying talent may invite disaster).

This passage expounds principles of governance and personal conduct. The core teachings are: A true noble person must discern right from wrong and reject slander. If a ruler commits errors yet receives no remonstrance, his ministers lack loyalty; if advice is given but ignored, the ruler lacks wisdom. A sovereign who remains indifferent to his people's suffering is unworthy of leadership.

Regarding ruler-minister relations: Maintaining moral integrity and sacrificing for the nation are a minister's duty, just as a father's natural role is to provide for his children. Oppressing the weak violates human nature, while subordinates challenging superiors defies cosmic order—such temporary gains ultimately bring calamity. In society, seniority determines respect; at court, official rank establishes hierarchy.

Talent selection examines four qualities: virtue (De), eloquence, administrative skill, and learning. Those lacking all are like monkeys wearing hats—mere human pretenders. Ancient wisdom held: Without virtue, no honor; without ability, no office; without merit, no glory; without offense, no punishment. Thus officials find proper stations, and talents are fully utilized.

We respect the powerful for their proximity to the throne, honor elders as kin, and revere seniors as elder brothers. Those born to privilege often grow arrogant—thus unless the wealthy reflect according to the Dao's principles, missteps are inevitable.

Unwearying study cultivates character; tireless teaching governs people. Those with wise mentors seldom stray. Recognizing worth demonstrates wisdom; cherishing it shows benevolence; esteeming it embodies righteousness; revering it fulfills ritual propriety; delighting in it achieves true joy.

Father-child bonds center on affection; ruler-minister ties on moral duty. Understanding this establishes loyalty and filial piety. Respecting authority and elders reveals grasp of fundamentals; mastering the five attitudes toward worthiness (recognition, love, esteem, reverence, and delight) unlocks methods for attracting, nurturing, and employing talent.

Ancient master governors appeared to practice non-action (Wuwei) yet accomplished all. Statecraft requires understanding "containment"—the art of embracing opposites. Mastering this brings achievement through apparent inaction; neglecting it makes rash action disastrous. True rulers move like winter river-crossers—cautiously; stay vigilant as against neighboring states; maintain dignity like guests; adapt like melting ice; remain simple as uncarved wood; embrace turbidity like muddy water; and expand like valleys. Such caution prevents errors, vigilance safeguards self, and dignity cultivates restraint.

This passage expounds on the humble attitude and worldly wisdom that Daoist cultivators should maintain. Those who follow the Dao should be as gentle and natural as melting ice, neither deliberately accumulating nor hoarding; they should be as unadorned as uncarved wood, not pursuing superficial perfection; they should be as inclusive as turbid water, not deliberately displaying clarity; they should be as open and receptive as an empty valley, not seeking fullness.

In action, Daoist practitioners neither rush ahead nor deliberately lag behind when yielding. Maintaining a gentle posture stems from fearing that self-praise may harm one's true nature. To respect others, one must position oneself humbly; avoiding deliberate accumulation comes from understanding that excessive attachment ultimately damages the root; not pursuing perfection arises from knowing that imperfection can achieve completeness; accepting turbidity comes from realizing that excessive pursuit of clarity may cause one to lose authenticity; maintaining humility stems from seeing one's own limitations without self-righteousness.

Herein lies the profound mystery of the Dao: yielding may lead to advancement, maintaining gentleness may bring strength, humbling oneself may elevate one's position, self-diminishment may create solidity, acknowledging flaws may achieve wholeness, accepting murkiness may bring clarity, and recognizing inadequacies may cultivate wisdom. The Great Dao appears to practice Wuwei (non-action), yet accomplishes everything effortlessly.

The ancient sages who excelled in governing the world all followed the natural principles of the Dao. What appears as non-action actually encompasses all things. Precisely because of this Wuwei approach to governance, the people of the world feel no oppression but naturally support their ruler. This represents the supreme state of "doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone."