《通玄真經纘義》Vol. 4

The fourth volume of the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) contains the "Fuyan Chapter" compiled by Master Du Daojian of Nangu. Here we explore the nature of the Dao and the essentials of its cultivation.

The Dao stands supreme and unfathomable. It is as level as a water balance, as straight as an inked string, as perfect as a compass's circle, and as square as a carpenter's square. It encompasses heaven and earth without distinction between inner and outer, covers all things without obstruction. Therefore, those who embody the Dao neither rage nor rejoice excessively. In stillness, their minds are free of distraction; in sleep, they dream not. They perceive the essence of all they encounter and respond to events with natural ease.

"Fu" (talismans) manifest sincerity, while "yan" (words) express truth. The world contains various talismans—mandate talismans, imperial seals, golden and jade tokens—all serving to convey trust and communicate true intent. This mutual resonance constitutes the meaning of "fuyan." The Dao knows no hierarchy or distance—it permeates all yet remains formless and nameless, appearing indifferent yet profoundly real. Sages who comprehend the Dao never indulge personal emotions, recognizing the essence of things and responding according to circumstance. This wordless accord is the truest talisman.

Laozi said: Those who crave empty fame inevitably court trouble. Once trouble arises, they forsake the public Dao for private gain, violating natural law through willful action. They perform good deeds for reputation and act for the sake of being called worthy. Such governance contradicts the Dao's principles; such actions defy proper timing. Governance against the Dao invites censure; untimely actions bear no fruit. Forced achievements cannot compensate for their faults, while failure brings fatal consequences.

Fame is truly life's destroyer—a danger sages carefully avoid. Fame-seekers inevitably oppose heaven's Dao, abandoning collective good for selfish ends, chasing reputation and stirring chaos to the people's harm. Thus ill-governance cannot mask its faults with merit; failed endeavors bring certain death—this is absolute truth.

Laozi taught: Be not fame's slave, nor strategy's storehouse; bear not affairs' burden, nor play wisdom's master. Hide yourself in formlessness, yet let action flow with constancy. Seek not fortune's forefront, nor be misfortune's origin. Begin all from formlessness; act only when compelled. To gain blessings, first avoid calamity; to obtain profit, first shun harm. Those who act for peace lose it to peril; those who govern through action lose order to chaos. Be neither like dazzling jade that draws the eye, nor like crude stone that stands apart. Beautiful pelts are stripped from beasts; splendid antlers mark the hunted. Sweet springs run dry; straight trees are felled; eloquent words become transgressions. Mountains bearing jade invite quarrying; people's misfortunes often precede their words.

The retribution of good and evil follows as shadows trail forms. Virtue begets fortune; vice summons disaster.

This scripture, through the teachings of Laozi (founder of Daoism), reveals profound principles for human conduct. Its core message states: actions that violate natural laws inevitably bring calamity, while aligning with the Dao (the Way) brings true peace.

Those who deliberately pursue superficial tranquility often court danger; those who force governance frequently create chaos. Just as animals attract hunters with beautiful fur and antlers, most human misfortunes are self-inflicted. Those who understand the Dao's operation regard heaven as their protective canopy and earth as their supporting chariot, thus avoiding disaster. Heaven and earth nourish all things selflessly like parents, and sages emulate this virtue by acting in accordance with timing, much like the generative and restrictive cycles of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water).

The scripture cites nature's warnings: mountains bearing metal and stone become quarries; trees harboring insects get devoured; humans creating troubles ultimately harm themselves. Expert swimmers often drown, skilled riders frequently fall—people commonly invite misfortune through their own strengths. True attainment comes from seizing opportunities rather than contention; governing a state relies on following the Dao rather than personal cleverness. Like soil that remains secure by staying low, or water that flows vigorously precisely because it descends.

All things in heaven and earth exist in relationships of mutual dependence and restraint. Grain can nourish or poison; people can support or overthrow rulers. Laws created to govern become instruments of oppression when rulers overburden the populace—ultimately rebounding upon themselves. Only by understanding "gaining through timeliness" and "governing through the Dao" can such imbalances be avoided.

Laozi concludes: Steadfast integrity establishes firm foundations; practicing De (Virtue/Power) wins popular support; employing the virtuous makes one leader among lords; reducing harm and caring for people unites the realm. Practical action surpasses empty talk; noble character binds hearts more effectively than strategic terrain. Remember: words can bring peace or provoke conflict—how can they not be used with caution?

(Note: "Five Phases" refers to the five fundamental elements and their cyclical interactions; "Great Image" metaphorically represents the supreme Dao)

Laozi (founder of Daoism) identifies three types of unnatural death: irregular eating habits and neglecting bodily care invite fatal illness; insatiable pursuit of pleasure and relentless chasing of profit summon legal punishment; opposing the many with few or bullying the strong while weak leads to violent demise. Though all lives must end, these premature deaths are truly lamentable. Those who indulge desires perish from disease, those coveting wealth fall to punishment, and those asserting brute force meet destruction in conflict. Though these three deaths differ, all represent unnatural endings.

Laozi further states: Generous givers receive abundant returns, while those accumulating deep resentment invite profound misfortune. Expecting rich rewards for meager offerings or hoping to avoid calamity while hoarding grievances is impossible. Observing a person's past conduct predicts their future outcomes, like reaping melons from melon seeds or fruit from fruit pits—the principle of karmic retribution operates uniformly.

Expanding this teaching, Laozi explains: Investigating life's primordial origin (heavenly mandate) cultivates one's innate nature, while harmonizing preferences regulates temperament—these form the foundation for governing states and cultivating self. Understanding heavenly mandate prevents confusion about fortune and misfortune; nurturing innate nature stabilizes emotional extremes; balancing preferences eliminates cravings for useless things; regulating temperament moderates desires. Achieving these four: undistracted perception of fortune/misfortune aligns with cosmic principles; emotional equilibrium ensures impartial conduct; freedom from material craving preserves intrinsic nature; desire moderation enables contented living. These cultivations require no external search nor dependence on others—turning inward reveals all. Heavenly mandate and innate nature, preferences and desires interact like the moon reflected in water: every waxing and waning becomes visible, while the mind's integrity directly determines the arrival of fortune or calamity.

Laozi ultimately emphasizes: Commit no blameworthy acts yet resent no criticism; nurture genuinely praiseworthy virtue without demanding recognition. None can prevent misfortune's arrival, but all can ensure they didn't invite it; none can guarantee fortune's coming, but all can confirm they didn't reject it. Since misfortune arises not from oneself, hardship warrants no anxiety; since fortune comes unforced, success merits no pride. Thus contentment flourishes in solitude, and wuwei (non-action) governance remains fundamental. Cultivation depends on oneself, while praise or slander comes from others—hence neither elation at acclaim nor dejection at defamation, but serene self-enjoyment and effortless world stewardship.

This passage expounds the core wisdom of Daoist philosophy regarding worldly conduct and self-cultivation. The essential meaning is:

In chasing what one hasn't yet obtained, one may lose what one already possesses; by being content with what one has, desired things will come naturally. Attempting to govern before circumstances stabilize inevitably invites danger; seeking fame before correcting one's faults is certain to bring failure. The greatest blessing is the absence of calamity; the best gain is the absence of loss. What appears beneficial in worldly affairs may actually cause harm, while what seems harmful may ultimately prove beneficial.

The Dao (the Way of nature) cannot be used to pursue selfish gain, yet it brings mental tranquility and wards off misfortune. Therefore, those who attain the Dao are often free from calamity without deliberately seeking blessings; they rarely make mistakes yet don't crave merit. The Dao appears indistinct and chaotic, yet it follows celestial patterns, breathing in unison with nature. It requires neither excessive deliberation nor forced preparation, neither rejecting what comes nor clinging to what goes. Like standing at a crossroads' center, one observes the crowd's comings and goings while remaining upright; moving with the great tide yet never losing direction.

True practitioners neither deliberately perform good deeds nor avoid ugliness, but follow the Dao's natural rhythms. They neither strive to be pioneers nor consider themselves always right, but yield to nature's laws. They neither plan excessively beforehand nor miss opportunities, moving in sync with heaven and earth. They neither greedily pursue gains nor reject blessings, following the Dao's principles. Such people harbor no special fortune within, nor encounter particular misfortune without—because misfortune and fortune simply cannot find them.

Endless greed and anxiety over gains and losses plague ordinary people; only through desirelessness can one reach the realm of clarity and stillness—this is the state of Dao attainment. Governing the world has no fixed formula: safeguard what you have, and what's lacking may come; forcibly pursue what's missing, and what you possess may be lost. Therefore, the Dao-attained experience neither particular fortune nor misfortune within or without, walking alongside the heavenly Dao—who could possibly harm them?

Laozi said: When doing good, don't publicize it; when committing wrongs, reflect deeply. Flaunting good deeds invites reverence but sows the seeds of calamity. Thus the Dao cannot be used to seek fame, only for self-cultivation. Sages don't rely on actions to gain reputation nor on wisdom to obtain praise—everything follows its natural course. What's forcibly pursued remains unattained; what's clung to ultimately slips away. Humanity has limits while the Dao is boundless. Having wisdom yet not acting willfully achieves the same as having no wisdom; possessing ability yet not creating disturbances shares the same essence as having no ability. Those truly penetrating the Dao's mysteries conceal their wisdom to appear dull and hide their abilities to seem clumsy. When one fully comprehends the Dao, personal intellect naturally dissolves—because the human way and heavenly Dao cannot shine simultaneously. The more one pursues cleverness and wisdom, the more one obscures the natural Dao.

The Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) discusses the relationship between "fame" and the Dao (the Way), as well as fundamental principles for human conduct.

Fame is something that, when deliberately pursued, tends to slip away. When a person truly attains the Dao (comprehends the laws of nature), fame naturally diminishes; conversely, when one's cultivation of the Dao declines, fame becomes conspicuous—a sign of impending danger. Doing good need not seek reward, for blessings will come of their own accord; committing evil, even if it does not immediately invite calamity, will eventually bring disaster. Some leave behind an infamous legacy, while others are remembered with reverence for ages—the difference lies in whether one understands this principle. Those who place excessive importance on fame deviate inwardly from the great Dao; those who truly immerse themselves in spiritual cultivation care nothing for empty reputation. This is what distinguishes sages from ordinary people.

Laozi offers an analogy: Entrusting an honest person to distribute wealth is not as fair as setting clear rules and drawing lots. Why? Because even the most impartial individual harbors some selfishness, making pure randomness the fairest method. Having a virtuous person guard valuables is less secure than simply locking the treasury. Even the most disciplined person cannot entirely resist temptation—better to eliminate the opportunity altogether. People resent having their flaws pointed out, yet when they witness others' failings, they feel superior. If one can engage with others without becoming personally entangled, many troubles can be avoided.

In social interactions, those who constantly use material gifts to win favor will eventually exhaust their resources, while desires remain insatiable. Those who rely on humble words to forge connections will be looked down upon once their words wear thin. Oaths and sworn agreements are often the first to be broken. Thus, the noble person does not adorn themselves with external displays of righteousness but cultivates inner virtue (De). Governing one's domain well, ensuring the people live in peace, and uniting high and low in defending their homeland—this is the way. Subjects do not attack innocent states; those seeking profit do not forcibly seize what is hard to obtain. This is the true path to preserving oneself and benefiting all.

Sages (those who have attained the Dao) are not swayed by selfish impulses, whereas ordinary people struggle to restrain their desires. Noble individuals uphold upright Qi (vital energy), while petty ones indulge in corrupt Qi. Inner harmony with one's nature, outer alignment with righteousness, acting according to principle without being bound by external things—this is upright Qi. Obsession with fine flavors, music, and beauty, or erratic emotions that disregard consequences—this is corrupt Qi. When corrupt Qi contends with upright Qi, it is like wood being eaten by worms: a person gradually erodes under its influence.

This passage discusses the relationship between desires and innate nature, as well as the principles of self-cultivation:

Human desires and innate nature harm each other and cannot be fully satisfied simultaneously. Just as the eyes delight in beauty, ears in music, the nose in fragrances, and the mouth in flavors—these sensory pleasures bring joy yet always carry consequences. In truth, the senses themselves don't know what they want; it's the mind that controls them. Thus desires can never be completely fulfilled—this principle is self-evident.

The distinction between the Dao-mind (the original heart following heavenly principle) and the human-mind (the ordinary heart filled with desires) lies here: when heavenly principle prevails, actions align with the Dao; when desires dominate, behavior becomes vulgar. This marks the difference between noble persons and petty ones. When reason and desire battle each other, when righteousness and wickedness wound one another—even noble people wouldn't act this way, let alone sages.

Laozi teaches that self-cultivation requires: regulated daily rhythms, moderate eating, balanced emotions, and proper movement and stillness. When inner cultivation is complete, harmful Qi finds no entry. Excessive external adornment harms the inner self; indulging emotions damages the Shen (spirit); pursuing superficial polish obscures original truth. If one never forgets for a moment that they're virtuous, this ironically binds their nature; if one constantly monitors their posture while walking, it burdens the body. Like birds with overly splendid plumage harming their bones, or trees with excessive foliage damaging their roots—perfection in both aspects is impossible.

The true Dao nourishes Shen (spirit), while human ways nourish the physical form. When the inner is substantial, the outer naturally becomes light. Avoiding sensory pleasures and simplifying tastes is the way to nurture the body; eliminating distractions and preserving Jing (essence) and Qi nourishes the Shen. True self-cultivation integrates both internal and external—how could mere surface-level effort achieve this?

Laozi further states: Heaven possesses light yet doesn't worry about people's darkness; Earth holds wealth yet doesn't fret over people's poverty. Those who attain the Dao stand unmoving like mountains, acting with clear principles. By rectifying themselves, they satisfy all things—bestowing no deliberate favors, yet claiming no credit when others receive. Thus they achieve lasting stability. Heaven and Earth give nothing, therefore lose nothing; they confer no special virtue, thus incur no resentment. Those quick to anger accumulate enmity; those eager to give inevitably seek return. Only by following natural law can one grasp truth.

Where honor arrives, slander follows; where good reputation spreads, malicious words appear. Benefit often sows the seeds of disaster; good fortune frequently heralds misfortune. Without pursuing profit, one avoids calamity—treating physical health as eternal wealth, while considering riches and status merely temporary lodgings. The sage's wisdom illuminates the four seas without confusing the people; their wealth fills the world without leaving people in poverty.

The Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) describes how those who have attained the Dao align with nature and preserve their authentic essence. They do not deliberately pursue wealth, regarding riches and honor as passing clouds, thereby safeguarding their true nature. Sages neither wear extravagant clothing nor engage in eccentric behavior—their attire is simple and their conduct upright. When prosperous, they do not flaunt; when in adversity, they feel no fear. In prominence, they remain unassuming; in reclusion, they harbor no sense of disgrace. This state transcends verbal description and is called the "Great Pervasion" (Datong), the highest realization of unity.

Those who truly comprehend the Dao simply rectify themselves and await the proper moment. When the time comes, they do not force compliance; when it passes, they do not cling. Thus, sages neither rush forward nor deliberately withdraw. Like the movement of celestial Dao, they neither draw near to anyone nor distance themselves, using only Virtue (De) as their measure. When fortune arrives, they claim no credit; when calamity strikes, they feel no regret—their inner peace remains unshaken. Just as the barking of a dog does not startle them, for they are firmly grounded in their original mind.

The ancients who understood self-preservation loved Virtue (De) so deeply that they forgot poverty and low status; thus, fame could not sway their resolve. They cherished righteousness so profoundly that they forgot material want; thus, profit could not shake their hearts. Humble yet joyful, serene and detached, they did not waste time calculating lifespans to fret over the world's chaos—like vainly attempting to refill the Yellow River with tears while worrying it might run dry. Therefore, only those who focus not on the world's turbulence but on their own cultivation are worthy of discussing the Great Dao.

(Note: "Great Pervasion" (Datong) denotes complete harmony with the Dao; the "Mingtang" refers to ancient ceremonial halls for honoring deities; "the spirit is nobler than the form" emphasizes the primacy of the spiritual over the physical.)

The Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) are revered precisely because they bring inner joy and enable self-cultivation. Thus, genuine practitioners of the Dao never waver in their resolve due to poverty or low status. When one has cultivated oneself well, even the grand affairs of the world become unworthy of worry—why then should one exhaust their fleeting lifespan over such matters?

Laozi observed that humans invite resentment in three common ways: holding excessively high noble ranks invites envy, occupying overly powerful offices arouses the ruler's suspicion, and hoarding lavish salaries without generosity breeds resentment. Therefore, the higher one's rank, the more humility one must show; the greater one's authority, the more caution one must exercise; and the more abundant one's wealth, the more benevolence one must extend. By adhering to these three principles, resentment can be avoided. Nobility must be rooted in humility, and elevation must be founded upon the lowly. Arrogance in high positions invites envy, domineering with power invites the ruler's distrust, and miserliness with wealth invites resentment—such is the principle of mutual restraint among things. Only by maintaining humility, practicing generosity, remembering poverty in times of wealth, and never belittling those below in times of high status can resentment be averted.

Laozi said that speech exists to express one's thoughts, while listening exists to understand others'. The blind and deaf cannot communicate with others, but true deafness and muteness are not merely physical disabilities—a closed and impenetrable mind is a far graver affliction. The Dao is the origin of all things; all life arises from it, like a loving parent. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and the nourishing Qi (vital energy) sustain longevity, like a benevolent ruler. The wise all learn from the Dao, treating it as an enlightened teacher. Yet people often squander their time on trivial pursuits while neglecting what truly matters, lamenting a lack of time despite their shallow knowledge. Spending entire days immersed in games and idle pastimes while claiming to seek the Dao—is this not laughable? Those who neither listen nor inquire are no different from the deaf and mute.

We receive our physical forms at birth, indebted to our parents' kindness; we sustain our lives with the bounty of the earth, grateful for nature's gifts; we gain wisdom through learning, remembering our teachers' guidance. Upon reaching adulthood, our bodies are already honored. Speech is the voice of the heart—to express oneself, one must speak; to understand others, one must listen. How wondrous are words! If one does not abandon justice for selfish desires or neglect duty for frivolity, their understanding of the Dao will deepen daily, and they will never walk alone, becoming a person of true nobility.

Laozi said that human nature submits to De (Virtue/Power), not force. The essence of De lies in giving, not taking. Thus, the sage who wishes to be honored must first honor others; who wishes to stand above must first stand humbly below; who wishes to surpass others must first conquer their own weaknesses.

The Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) expounds wisdom for navigating human affairs. It begins by stating that truly cultivated individuals consciously adopt a humble stance. The sage-kings of antiquity, through their modesty and willingness to place themselves behind others, won the genuine allegiance of all under heaven. This occurred because their profound De (Virtue) naturally attracted people's hearts. Those who understand that "giving is receiving" and "yielding is advancing" come close to the realm of the Dao.

In human interactions, etiquette values taking the initiative in showing goodwill, while speech values measured restraint—these reflect fundamental human tendencies. Thus one should persuade others through De rather than compel them by force. Sages understand the proper measure of advance and retreat, the rhythm of precedence and subsequence, hence all under heaven willingly honor them.

Laozi observes: Few in De yet abundant in favor invites criticism; meager in talent yet high in position courts danger; lacking great merit yet enjoying generous emoluments inevitably brings calamity. Worldly affairs often present gains that conceal losses, and losses that conceal gains. Ordinary people see only the benefits of profit, while sages discern blessings hidden within misfortune. Just as over-fruiting trees damage their roots, and over-wealthy households invite disaster, excessive benefits transform into calamities—this is the Dao of nature.

One need not fear excessive De, but must not overstep one's rightful station. Shallow waters cannot float great vessels; massive trees with shallow roots are easily uprooted. Those deficient in De and talent who occupy lofty positions rarely avoid failure. Only by understanding the dialectic of benefit and harm, restraining excessive desires, and knowing when to stop can one avert misfortune.

Laozi says petty people act for immediate gain, while noble persons act in accordance with the Dao. Those who do good never seek fame, yet fame naturally follows; fame itself isn't tied to profit, yet profit naturally arrives. Though the starting point may be identical, the outcomes differ vastly. Thus actions appearing beneficial may bring harm—those whose speech is inconsistent and conduct unprincipled are petty people; those mastering a single skill are ordinary people; while those embracing all capacities and flexibly applying diverse talents are sages.

Though all are human, differing innate Qi endowments distinguish wisdom from folly. Petty people value talent over De, noble persons value De over talent—those capable of rising or falling are ordinary people, while those with extraordinary endowments and comprehensive abilities are sages.

Laozi considers life a temporary lodging, and death the ultimate home. Therefore in peaceful times one guards life through the Dao's principles, while in chaotic times one defends the Dao's principles with life. The moment of death marks the ultimate fulfillment of the Dao's righteousness.

This passage expounds the principles of how a noble person navigates life and cultivates the mind. Human life is bestowed by Heaven, yet its course depends on encountered circumstances. To possess talent yet be born in an inopportune era is Heaven's decree. While pursuit requires method, success ultimately lies with destiny. The noble person who persists in virtuous deeds may not necessarily receive blessings, just as refraining from evil may not avert misfortune. Therefore, when encountering favorable circumstances, the noble person advances—this is fortune aligned with righteousness; when facing adversity, they withdraw—this is misfortune in accordance with ritual propriety. The true noble person harbors no regrets even in poverty and lowly status, for they uphold a more exalted character.

Human life originates from Heaven, and the physical form ultimately returns to dust. Circumstances alternate between favorable and adverse; whether talent matches opportunity is all Heaven's mandate. Thus, the noble person performs good deeds without clinging to rewards and abstains from evil without demanding exemption from calamity. When the timing is right, they fulfill their aspirations; when unsuitable, they drift like tumbleweed with the wind. True nobility lies in inner cultivation.

Laozi states that the movement of Qi (vital energy) in humans follows patterns of harmony and disharmony, both stemming from the heart-mind. When the mind is tranquil, Qi flows smoothly; when disturbed, Qi becomes chaotic. The mind's stability depends on attaining the Dao (comprehending natural law)—those who attain the Dao maintain equanimity, while those who lose it become agitated. A peaceful mind fosters mutual deference, while a troubled mind breeds conflict. Deference gives rise to virtue (De), while contention spawns misfortune. When Qi flows harmoniously, one exercises self-restraint to benefit others; when chaotic, one harms others to satisfy oneself. Yet Qi can be regulated through cultivation of the Dao, just as an echo inevitably responds to its source. Accumulating virtue brings blessings, while accumulating wickedness invites resentment. Scholarship may be neglected due to official prominence, and filial piety may diminish due to familial obligations. Worries arise from excessive contemplation, and illnesses often worsen when seeming to improve. Thus, one must remain cautious from beginning to end to avoid failure.

The Scripture of the Hidden Talisman (Yinfu Jing) states that the five perverse thoughts (desires arising from the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body) reside in the heart-mind, affecting the Qi movement of Heaven and Earth. Harmonious Qi brings peace to the world, while chaotic Qi leads to disorder. In times of peace, people defer to one another; in chaos, they contend. Internal Qi disharmony harms the individual, while societal Qi disharmony endangers the state. Only by regulating Qi through the Dao can one master the self to serve others. Thus, even with high official rank, one will not neglect learning; even with spouse and children, filial piety will not wane. There will be no entanglement with worries or recurring illnesses. By maintaining caution from start to finish, one avoids transgressions.

Laozi also discusses principles of employing people: appointing the treacherous while expecting integrity is impossible, just as appointing the upright while associating with the corrupt will not succeed. This is like being in the same mud—some remain clean while others become defiled—the key lies in one's own choice.

This scripture conveys two main teachings:

The first discusses criteria for selecting talent. It states that promoting unvirtuous people (ju wang) to work alongside the upright (zhi) leads the petty toward the path of nobility. Conversely, forcing the virtuous to associate with petty individuals pushes noble characters toward base conduct. True nobility maintains purity even in corrupt environments, achieving harmony without uniformity (he er bu tong) - maintaining harmonious relations without compromising principles.

The second expounds the importance of "harmony" (he). Laozi teaches that while both sages and fools face life and death, sages comprehend their underlying principles (fenli), whereas fools remain ignorant of cause and effect. All existence depends on harmony: Heaven maintains harmony to keep sun and moon bright, Earth sustains harmony to nurture all things, and humans achieve harmony to ensure smooth endeavors. When rulers lose harmony, Heaven and Earth cease interacting, bringing frequent disasters. The sage-fool distinction lies in pursuing righteousness (yi) versus self-interest (li).

Metaphors illustrate this: Gaining a million-strong army pales beside hearing one profound truth; obtaining treasures like the Marquis Sui's pearl or He Shi's jade cannot compare to understanding origins and proper measure. Though the world may be vast, warmongering brings ruin; though a nation may be secure, bellicosity invites danger. Thus sages govern advocating "small states with sparse populations," never lightly employing superior weapons. Emperor Yu exemplified this by adopting wise counsel to pacify the Miao tribes.

Finally, it emphasizes true hegemony's foundation: Real strength comes not through force but by cultivating virtue (de sheng) to unite hearts. The soft overcoming the hard reflects cosmic law - defeating inferiors proves nothing, matching equals demonstrates ability, while supreme softness often surpasses ordinary imagination.

Only the sage can accumulate minor victories into major triumph. Those who conquer through De (Virtue/Power) achieve true hegemony, for they win the people's hearts; those who prevail by force merely demonstrate strength, having gained only physical submission. But without first winning hearts, how can one truly mobilize human resources? What foundation remains for overcoming powerful enemies or establishing lasting rule?

True De arises spontaneously - this naturally attained virtue appears soft and yielding, yet overcomes the hard and unyielding. Thus one may conquer inferiors, but meets stalemate against equals, for their De is matched. When this soft advantage appears in opponents of equal strength, outcomes become unpredictable, revealing their superior De. Therefore, only the sage who profoundly understands this Dao (the Way) can transform small victories into ultimate triumph.

(Note: This passage elucidates the Daoist principle of "the soft overcoming the hard," emphasizing that inner virtue outweighs external force. "Minor victories" refers to accumulating small advantages, while "major triumph" denotes ultimate accomplishment.)