《通玄真經(二)》Vol. 1

The first volume of the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) begins by addressing the fundamental question of the Dao's origin. The Song Dynasty scholar Zhu Bian noted in his commentary that to investigate the Dao's source, one must seek within concrete phenomena, for the Dao is immanent in all things.

Laozi states that the Dao existed prior to the formation of heaven and earth. Its essence is spontaneous, empty, and silent—unlike tangible objects, it cannot be fully described in words. The phrase "there was something undifferentiated yet complete" is used here to illustrate the Dao's quality of "non-objectness"—it embraces all things without distinction, encompassing both purity and turbidity, leaving nothing, however subtle, uncontained.

The Dao precedes heaven and earth, yet while heaven and earth possess color and form (dark-yellow hues and square-round shapes), the Dao does not arise from these attributes. Without concrete form, profound and obscure, it can only be apprehended with the heart-mind, not perceived with the eyes. Silent and placid, it emits no sound; though you respond to it, there is no echo; though you listen, no sound is heard. I reluctantly name it "Dao."

The characteristics of the Dao are these: it is so lofty as to have no limit, so deep as to be immeasurable; the higher you gaze, the loftier it appears; the deeper you look, the more unfathomable it becomes. It envelops heaven and earth, endowing all things with form yet leaving no trace. Flowing from emptiness, it never overflows; its source is abyssal, its current unbroken. It remains receptive in its emptiness, never flooding into concrete phenomena.

Though the Dao appears turbid when mingled with the myriad things, calming the mind and contemplating it gradually reveals its innate purity. "Xu" (slowly) refers to comprehending its principles with unhurried ease. The Dao's function is inexhaustible—ever available yet never depleted, enduring through countless ages unchanged. Seemingly small enough to grasp in one hand, it expands boundlessly; seemingly simple, its efficacy is vast; seemingly obscure, it is radiant; seemingly weak and non-contentious, it harbors inner strength, embracing both yin's yielding and yang's vigor.

This scripture elucidates the natural operation of the Dao (the Way) and its application in governance and self-cultivation.

The text begins by explaining that hidden functions belong to Yin, while manifest teachings belong to Yang—a principle followed by the sun, moon, and stars. High mountains, deep abysses, roaming beasts, flying birds, qilin, phoenixes, and the movement of celestial bodies all embody the natural Dao. These phenomena require no deliberate arrangement; they naturally find their proper places, demonstrating the manifestation of the "Great Dao."

It then presents three dialectical relationships:

1) Attaining "being" through "non-being"—material forms eventually perish, while formless emptiness endures eternally;

2) Gaining "nobility" through "humility"—clinging to power leads to loss, while maintaining modesty brings lasting honor;

3) Achieving "leadership" through "retreat"—contentiousness ends in defeat, while non-contention makes one invincible.

The ancient Three Sovereigns (Heavenly Sovereign, Earthly Sovereign, and Human Sovereign) exemplified mastery of this Dao tradition. Centered in the core of the Way, their virtue (De) matched heaven and earth, governing all things as a unified whole. Their spirit (Shen) wandered with creation, pacifying people across the land. By following natural transformations, they allowed all beings to abide in their inherent nature.

Heaven and earth operate by their principles:

• Heaven, as Yang, moves with vigorous strength;
• Earth, as Yin, remains stable and yielding.

Like ceaselessly turning wheels and endlessly flowing water, wind, rain, thunder, and lightning arise in their proper seasons. When virtue aligns with nature, governance flows smoothly. Then celestial movements never err, climatic patterns never falter, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cease mutual conquest, and the Six Qi (Yin-Yang, wind, rain, darkness, brightness) harmonize spontaneously.

Sages emulate heaven and earth:

• In activity, their spirit moves with heaven's dynamism;
• In stillness, they stabilize with earth's composure.

Their decrees carry the force of wind and thunder, while their benevolence spreads like clouds and rain. Though myriad things transform endlessly, sages maintain Wuwei (non-action), allowing all to return to authenticity. Through non-interference, they accomplish all affairs; through natural development, they achieve perfect unity with the Dao. Without didactic words, they naturally embody virtue—this is the highest attainment.

This passage elucidates the practical application of the Dao (the Way) in reality. Speech manifests human externality—when one attains the state of "no-mind" (free from artificial contrivance), one's words naturally resonate with all things. When all beings find their proper place and follow their spontaneous course, tranquility is preserved. Thus, even speaking throughout the day will not deviate from Dao and De (Virtue/Power).

Maintaining a serene and joyful state, free from self-aggrandizement, leads to harmony. Precisely because one does not boast, one merges with the great harmony of the cosmos. Though all things differ, they flourish unimpeded; though phenomena have distinct natures, each follows its inherent development. The two Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang blend harmoniously, the four seasons follow their rhythms, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) do not clash or harm one another. Plants receive nourishment, metals and stones are moistened—such beneficence extends even to the hardest substances, softening them through its influence.

In this state of harmony: beasts grow robust with glossy fur; birds' eggs do not rot, and animal fetuses do not perish prematurely, for all things fully receive the Qi of growth. Fathers need not grieve lost children, elder brothers need not mourn younger siblings, no child is orphaned, no person dies young, no woman is widowed, marriages are well-matched, and even celestial anomalies (like rainbows) do not appear—all manifestations of balanced Yin-Yang Qi. Thieves vanish because people no longer know the advantages of cunning—this is the ultimate expression of inner De.

The virtue of the Three Sovereigns (Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor) was truly supreme! They ensured Yin-Yang never fell into disorder, all things flourished unimpeded, befriended the great Dao, and embodied creation itself—a state beyond words.

Some say: In antiquity, people lived simply, with unadorned tools. The Five Phases did not conflict, the seasons kept to their duties, Qi remained naturally gentle, and all lived out their natural lifespans. This was indeed due to sagely rulers and virtuous officials whose De transformed the people. Was it not the virtue of the Three Sovereigns that created such an era?

Consider this analogy: The world is like the human body, the ruler like its heart. When the heart is troubled, the body falls ill; when the ruler is serene, the nation finds peace. The key to great governance and preserving life lies herein. The Three Sovereigns lived in an age of pristine simplicity, governing through Wuwei (non-action). Had they not followed this method—had they resisted natural law—temptations would have arisen, and innate nature would have been lost. The present state of universal well-being is precisely the profound effect of their "non-action," its merit lying in its lack of ostentation.

This is "governing by not governing"—the best governance appears as no governance at all. The Dao of heaven gives birth to all things yet claims no possession, completes all yet asserts no dominion. Without intent to create, all things arise spontaneously—thus no possession; without deliberate shaping, all forms emerge naturally—thus no dominion. All beings depend on it for life yet feel no gratitude, depend on it for death yet bear no resentment. The Dao neither loves nor hates creation—why would it need to consciously bestow favor?

This passage expounds the Daoist profound understanding of natural laws and the way of being in the world. The essential meaning is:

The accumulation of wealth does not bring true abundance, nor does generous giving lead to depletion. Just as winter's storage and spring's dispersal follow natural rhythms, the Qi of life and death maintains constant equilibrium. The transformations of Dao (the Way) are mysteriously unfathomable, having no fixed form—freely shifting between presence and absence, impossible to encapsulate in any single image. Its function never exhausts itself: profoundly obscure yet perfectly attuned to all things without leaving traces, perfectly unimpeded yet only acting in response to resonance. It extends and contracts with hardness and softness, coordinates with the ascent and descent of Yin-Yang, and adapts to external forms while taking shape accordingly.

The "great person" Laozi speaks of refers to those who comprehend the great Dao. Their minds are serene and undisturbed by external things, regarding the heavens as their canopy, the earth as their chariot, the four seasons as their galloping steeds, and Yin-Yang as their charioteer, roaming freely in boundless expanses. Such individuals have spirits unconfined by limitations, entering and exiting without fixed paths. Taking heaven as canopy, they cover all; taking earth as chariot, they bear all things; taking the seasons as steeds, they drive transformation; with Yin-Yang as charioteer, they achieve perfect completeness. Thus they move swiftly without haste, travel far without weariness, their bodies still while their spirits gallop, their wisdom undiminished yet illuminating all under heaven.

The true key to mastering Dao lies in observing the realm of endless infinity. Desires entangle people in worldly complexities without release, while grasping the Middle Way (the balanced path) connects all directions between heaven and earth. Physical contact ultimately has limits; only spiritual wandering can illuminate the world. Worldly affairs cannot be forced—only by following nature can one respond appropriately. The transformations of all things cannot be exhaustively studied—only by holding to the unchanging root can one comprehend the essence of change. Therefore, sages focus on cultivating their inner foundation rather than embellishing external appearances, taking the alignment with inherent nature as fundamental and the understanding of circumstances as supplementary.

This scripture elucidates the essence of the Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)." The core teaching conveys:

True Dao cultivators do not deliberately pursue external pleasures, but maintain a state of inner purity and naturalness. They refrain from forcibly interfering with the natural course of events (Wuwei), yet skillfully accomplish all things by aligning with universal patterns (nothing left undone). Just as all beings grow spontaneously, the highest form of governance allows things to develop according to their intrinsic nature. "Non-action" doesn't mean passivity, but rather abstaining from actions that violate natural laws; "non-governance" isn't abandonment of responsibility, but guidance that follows the innate tendencies of existence.

Laozi teaches that those who embody the Dao govern people by responding to the transformations of phenomena. Their minds maintain five essential qualities: emptiness (a clear and open mental state), simplicity (natural and unadorned), tranquility (mirror-like clarity), pliancy (yielding adaptability), and pristine purity (genuine authenticity). These five attributes manifest the Dao itself:

• Emptiness is the Dao's dwelling place—only the void can contain all things
• Simplicity is the Dao's essence—naturalness requires no embellishment
• Tranquility resembles a polished mirror, reflecting all phenomena with perfect clarity
• Pliancy demonstrates the Dao's function—yieldingness enables universal penetration
• Pristine purity forms the Dao's foundation—preserving original, unadulterated nature

Those who attain supreme virtue achieve ultimate mental states: when emptiness reaches perfection, no distracting desires remain; when equanimity peaks, preferences and aversions dissolve; when concentration becomes absolute, constant serenity prevails; when purity is perfected, external phenomena cannot disturb. Aligning with heavenly patterns, they transcend worry; viewing all existence equally, they rise beyond joy and sorrow.

Sages who truly embody the Dao govern without over-relying on sensory perception, preserving inner luminosity. By not exhausting any single sensory faculty, they attain the supreme state of bodily and spiritual harmony. Like the seven bodily orifices (eyes, ears, nose, mouth etc.) performing distinct functions without mutual interference, this represents the highest achievement in self-cultivation.

This passage primarily discusses how Dao cultivators should pursue their innate simplicity while eliminating external ostentation and desires.

The text first advises discarding superficial embellishments to return to one's fundamental simplicity. Those cultivating the Dao should follow the Great Way, relinquish cunning strategies, and maintain impartiality like common people. They should reduce desires, embrace simple living, and avoid being tempted by external things. By abandoning envy for sages' fame and excessive scheming, and by preserving their roots, they can perceive things clearly. Having fewer cravings paradoxically leads to constant fulfillment.

The passage emphasizes the principle of "using the inner to govern the outer" - by mastering internal fundamentals, external matters naturally resolve themselves. When the five viscera are tranquil, thoughts calm, and Qi flows smoothly, one's innate nature remains undisturbed. This brings robust sinews and bones, sharp hearing, and clear vision, showing the Dao is never far away. Those who seek the Dao by looking afar while neglecting their own being will lose their way; true cultivation requires turning inward.

Laozi said the sage cares not about governing others but focuses on self-cultivation. Artificial governance uses solutions to solve problems endlessly, whereas nurturing one's nature and following spontaneity allows all things to find their proper place. Hence "Through my non-action (Wuwei), the people transform themselves." True nobility lies not in power but in self-attainment. When one attains self-realization, all things find their proper states.

Happiness resides not in wealth but in inner harmony. Riches often bring worry and toil; only those harmonious within enjoy lasting joy. Those who value self-cultivation over worldly possessions approach the Dao. Thus we must "reach utmost emptiness, maintain steadfast stillness" - all things in their complexity ultimately return to the root of void-like stillness. Those whose nature is empty and still can emulate Heaven's Dao; those whose body-mind is tranquil can unite with Heaven and Earth.

The earth's De (Virtue/Power) in bearing all things is profound and vast. The Dao (the Way), like a potter shaping clay, creates all things from formlessness. Though we cannot see the specific process of creation, the cycle of birth and death continues endlessly. While we cannot fathom the ultimate workings of the Dao, its ceaseless creative power never wavers—this unchanging primordial state remains ultimately unfathomable.

The Dao itself is silent and unmoving, yet it permeates the undifferentiated chaos (hunming refers to the primordial state before the division of Yin-Yang). All moving things must eventually come to rest, yet absolute stillness alone governs the generation and transformation of all things. It is vast beyond boundaries, subtle beyond division, neither confined by spatial limits (huandu denotes narrow spaces) nor bounded by the six directions of heaven and earth. Though the Dao has no concrete form, it manifests its function through the dynamic interplay of "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu).

The perfected person (zhenren, one who has attained the highest spiritual realization) embodies the qualities of the Dao: maintaining a serene and balanced nature, pure and free from artificial action (Wuwei), pliant yet unadulterated, never becoming entangled with external things. Such a person possesses the five virtues and achieves harmony with the three powers of heaven, earth, and humanity. The perfected person values self-cultivation more than governing others, remains undisturbed by external matters, restrains desires to preserve innate nature.

True practitioners conceal their names and obscure their merits (those of superior virtue forget their own virtue), handling affairs with non-action (Wuwei) while following the natural course of all things. Like a clear mirror that reflects without retaining traces, they embrace the heavenly Dao, regulating Yin-Yang through their breathing (tugu naxin refers to Daoist breath cultivation techniques), expelling turbid energies from the five viscera while maintaining harmony among the six qi (wind, cold, heat, dampness, dryness, and fire).

The perfected person's life rhythms synchronize with the transformations of Yin-Yang: withdrawing when Yin energy contracts, expanding when Yang energy extends, balancing firmness and flexibility, rising and falling in accordance with celestial timing. They transcend the fluctuations of joy and anger, maintaining unified spirit, perceiving all things as one, dissolving all distinctions between right and wrong.

This passage elucidates how practitioners of the Dao cultivate the state of a "Perfected Being" (zhenren) through harmonizing form and spirit while aligning with natural rhythms. It reveals that although all things in creation manifest diverse forms, they share the same essential nature. The Perfected Being, having attained the Dao, maintains pristine emptiness and stillness, unifying their innate nature with all existence, thereby transcending the limitations of dualistic judgments.

When the physical body suffers invasion from external pathogenic factors like cold, heat, dryness, or dampness, both corporeal form and spiritual vitality become impaired. This damage stems from toxic imbalances in Yin-Yang dynamics. Life emerges from the interplay of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy): the Shen (spirit) perceives external phenomena through subtle material resonances, while the physical form sustains vitality through breath. Harmonious Qi flow yields lucid consciousness, whereas physical exhaustion depletes vital essence. When cold or heat injures the body, the spirit loses its anchoring foundation.

Similarly, when the spirit becomes entangled in emotional disturbances—be it joy, anger, or obsessive thoughts—even an intact physical form will exhaust its spiritual reserves. Though the mystical transformations of Yin-Yang defy measurement, human capacity has limits. Calming the mind to unite with celestial principles brings unimpeded clarity; being driven by external objects leads to lifelong confinement. Human existence is fundamentally the coalescence of form and spirit. Persistent overthinking without returning to one's authentic root leaves the hollow physical shell merely existing without true life.

Thus, the Perfected Being tames the heart-mind and follows divine guidance, allowing form and spirit to mutually support each other in perpetual harmony. They sleep without dreams and dwell beyond anxiety. Free from desires, their innate nature rests in natural ease. Preserving desirelessness nurtures their fundamental nature; following spontaneity stabilizes their spirit—this embodies the true meaning of "subduing the heart-mind to tame one's nature." Herein, the spirit finds its lodging, unafflicted by temperature extremes; the body receives proper care, undisturbed by emotional storms. Harmony and stillness reinforce each other without violating primordial life-force. When form and spirit each occupy their proper stations, they accord with creation's flow, achieving perfect beginning and ending. Hence, the Perfected Being remains unperturbed by external matters and never suffers spiritual confusion.

When Confucius sought Laozi's wisdom, the ancient master instructed: "Straighten your physical form yet remain supple as all things; purify your vision until no distinctions remain—then natural harmony will arrive. Withdraw your cleverness; don't perform benevolence and righteousness for praise. Rectify your bearing without constraining yourself by rules—the divine will naturally return. When spirit is fully internalized, De (virtue/power) manifests spontaneously, and the Dao accomplishes itself. Thereafter, all actions align with cosmic principles, innocent as a newborn calf, utterly free from attachment." This exemplifies the wondrous operation of Qi—the spontaneous movement of life-energy in its natural state.

This scripture expounds the Daoist understanding of Dao (the Way) and knowledge, revealing how to align with nature and preserve one's innate nature.

The highest adepts appear externally like withered bones—unadorned and unpretentious—while internally their minds resemble dead ashes, utterly undisturbed. They comprehend true principles yet remain unattached to distinctions of right and wrong, accepting whatever comes naturally. Maintaining expansive awareness without deliberate scheming, they effortlessly attain boundless states, free from fixed objectives. Though possessing penetrating wisdom, they never flaunt their knowledge.

Laozi teaches that all phenomena follow the flow of transformation—when external conditions shift, we respond accordingly. Change emerges through proper timing, and those who understand timing never cling to rigid conventions. Thus "the Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be defined is not the eternal name." Books record human knowledge, yet true wisdom lies not in rigid scholarship but in understanding fluid adaptation.

Excessive knowledge breeds confusion—far better to maintain inner equilibrium. Worldly learning teaches elaborate rituals and norms that ultimately erode one's fundamental nature. Sages instruct people to preserve their innate qualities, hence we must discard superficial scholarship. By abandoning the pursuit of sagely wisdom, common people gain hundredfold benefits—for sagely knowledge initiates systems and schemes that easily disrupt original nature.

Humans are born tranquil—this is our natural state. External stimuli arouse desires that damage this essence. Responding to circumstances constitutes cognitive activity. Frequent contact with phenomena generates preferences that solidify into fixed mental patterns, enslaving the mind to external things. When people use knowledge to categorize phenomena, desires arise; when perceptions assign beauty or ugliness to things, values form.

This scripture emphasizes returning to natural simplicity—unfettered by external constructs like knowledge or ritual—maintaining inner emptiness and stillness while flowing with nature's transformations.

This scripture primarily discusses how humans can preserve their innate nature and accord with the natural Dao. The essential meaning is:

When negative thoughts invade a person's heart, they manifest in outward behavior. Those who fail to return to their original mind will lose their heaven-endowed nature. Heavenly principle is human nature itself—thus sages never use artificial desires to alter their innate disposition. While outwardly adapting to the transformations of all things, they remain inwardly undistracted from their essential nature (here "qing" refers to fundamental nature).

Those who truly comprehend the Great Dao ultimately return to purity and stillness; those who investigate the essence of all phenomena eventually realize the state of Wuwei (non-action). Returning to one's nature enables communion with the Dao, while maintaining Wuwei allows complete understanding of all things. Nourishing wisdom through serenity, one gains clarity in stillness; embracing spirit through detachment, emptiness rectifies the heart-mind.

Those who follow heavenly principles wander with the Great Dao; those who yield to spontaneity dance with creation—never departing from the Dao. But those who drift with the current merely interact with worldly customs, accommodating human conventions—this is nothing more than dealing with vulgar trends. Therefore, sages prevent artificiality from disturbing heavenly nature and desires from confusing innate disposition, thereby preserving pristine simplicity.

Without strategizing, they respond appropriately; without deliberate effort, they accomplish naturally. Because their empty minds are transparent, they comprehend without deliberation; abiding in their fundamental position, they achieve all through Wuwei governance. Such people in high positions don't oppress others; standing at the forefront, they incur no resentment. Sheltering all beings with the Great Dao, the myriad things find peace; guiding creatures with De (Virtue), all natures become fulfilled.

All under heaven submit to those possessing De; the treacherous fear those without selfishness. Because they contend with nothing, none can contend with them. Subduing all things through pliant Dao, perfecting themselves through the Great Dao—who can compare with them?

Laozi said: When humans indulge desires, they lose their nature and behavior becomes difficult to rectify. Cultivating the body with such a mindset fills it with defiled desires, exhausting the physical form; governing a state this way fills it with chaotic desires, wearied people and ruined administration. Thus those ignorant of the Great Dao cannot return to their nature—the Dao manifests nature, while nature restrains desires. Those who don't penetrate the principles of all things cannot maintain purity. Understanding principles brings penetration; undisturbed, one naturally becomes pure.

Investigating human nature reveals it was originally unstained—all is heaven's endowment. But prolonged immersion in external things causes alteration; forgetting the root creates estrangement from original nature. Just as water's nature is clarity yet sand and stones pollute it, human nature is harmonious yet cravings harm it. Only sages can preserve this genuine original nature.

This passage explains how practitioners of the Dao can achieve unity with the Dao through clarity, stillness, and non-action (Wuwei).

The truly wise are never enslaved by external things. They maintain inner purity and stillness, never allowing desires to disturb their peaceful nature. Their joy doesn't stem from external stimulation, nor do they drown excessively in sorrow. Thus they can occupy high positions without peril and enjoy peace without collapse. When forgetting their status to share weal and woe with common people, they avoid danger despite high rank; when disregarding privilege to share people's concerns, they prevent collapse despite comfort.

Hearing good advice, even fools will agree; witnessing noble virtue (De), even the unvirtuous will admire. Yet few truly practice this, for people become bound by material things and worldly conventions. Humans are born with the innate ability to discern all things, but gradually become altered by external influences and assimilated by mundane customs.

Therefore the sages say: Through my non-action, people transform naturally; through my avoidance of trouble, people prosper naturally; through my stillness, people rectify themselves; through my lack of selfish desires, people remain simple and genuine. True virtue means maintaining purity and stillness, while supreme virtue appears as if having no virtue at all. Softness represents the Dao's mode of operation - it can subdue the rigid and violent. Emptiness and tranquility form the origin of all things, which emerge from nothingness and grow through harmony.

These three aspects (purity/stillness, softness, emptiness) unite as one to manifest the Dao's essence. This "One" has no concrete form yet embraces all things under heaven. Clinging to specific forms actually obstructs communion with all existence. The "One" manifests virtue by bestowing upon all things, and because things are infinite, virtue never exhausts itself - its application requires no strain.

What the eye cannot see is not truly formless; what the ear cannot hear is not truly silent. That which appears formless can generate forms; that which seems silent can produce the five tones (gong, shang, jiao, zhi, yu); that which seems tasteless can form the five flavors (sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, salty); that which appears colorless can manifest the five colors (blue, red, yellow, white, black). Thus all things in existence originate from emptiness, and all substance emerges from the void.

The essence of Dao is emptiness, yet it gives birth to all concrete phenomena—forms, sounds, and colors. Though there are only five musical tones, their combinations create endless variations; when the gong and zhi tones mix improperly, they disrupt hearing. Though there are only five flavors, their blending yields infinite tastes; only when sweetness and sourness balance properly do they refresh the palate. Though there are only five colors, their interweaving produces limitless hues; when black and yellow mix chaotically, they dazzle the eyes. In music, the gong tone forms the foundation of the five-tone system, serving as the sovereign of melody. In flavors, sweetness establishes the basis of the five-flavor system, acting as their governor. In colors, white provides the ground for the five-color system, being their fundamental principle. Similarly, Dao generates all things through the "One" (the cosmic origin), and this "One" manifests emptiness.

All quantities, whether great or small, begin with "One"; all things, whether vast or minute, are born from "Nothing." By investigating this "Nothing," one comprehends the forms of all things under heaven; by preserving this "One," one masters the root of all names and appearances. Thus by establishing the concept of "One," all things come into being. The principle of "One" applies across the four seas; its mystery can be observed throughout heaven and earth—penetrating all distances, clarifying all heights and depths. When Dao is whole, it resembles uncarved wood in its simplicity; when dispersed, it mingles like turbid water with all things. Murky water gradually clarifies; empty vessels slowly fill (as previously explained). It is placid as the vast ocean, drifting as floating clouds—boundless in depth, coming and going without trace. Seemingly absent yet truly present, apparently vanished yet enduring—this describes Dao's formless efficacy and traceless response.

Laozi said: All things must pass through the same gate (the law of Dao), for Dao is the gateway of transformation. The roots of all affairs emerge from this single path without exception. Therefore, sages consistently follow this principle—never altering inherent patterns nor abandoning natural standards. Just as carpenters follow the inked line for straightness and the square for right angles, they accord with the nature of things without violating Dao's framework, thus preserving their authentic essence. Even emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure originally manifest Dao, yet excess leads them astray from equilibrium.

This scripture primarily explores the relationship between human emotions and the cultivation of life, as well as how the characteristics of water embody the realm of the Dao (the Way).

The text first discusses how emotions affect body and mind: Excessive grief harms one's De (Virtue/Power), making it impossible to maintain inner peace; strong preferences represent deviations of the heart-mind; stubborn opinions and excessive desires become burdens to life—these are major taboos in life cultivation. Anger disrupts Yin Qi (vital energy), while extreme joy damages Yang Qi (Yin-Yang are core Daoist concepts, where Yin represents stillness and contraction, while Yang signifies activity and expansion). The foundation of human life lies in the harmony of these two energies, yet excessive emotions disrupt this balance.

The text then describes the dangers of negative emotions: Conflict between Yin and Yang Qi can cause loss of voice; terror leads to mental confusion; prolonged sorrow triggers heart ailments. By overcoming these five emotional disturbances, one can attain the state of Shenming (spiritual clarity)—a condition of profound mind-body harmony where the physical form remains healthy and the spirit flourishes. True Shenming manifests as inner tranquility, harmonious organ systems, balanced thoughts, sharp senses, strong sinews and bones, and actions that flow smoothly without violating natural principles.

The latter portion uses water's nature to illustrate the Dao's realm: Nothing in the world appears softer than water, yet it is boundless and unfathomably deep. Water supports the heavens, bears the earth, and nourishes all beings without seeking reward. It embraces all life forms—even tiny insects benefit from its grace—yet demands nothing in return. Though enriching all under heaven, it never exhausts itself; though bestowing De upon countless people, it shows no signs of depletion. Despite its apparent softness, nothing can truly harm it—knives cannot cut it, fire cannot burn it. As the ultimate embodiment of gentleness, no force can truly violate its nature.

Through water's characteristics, this scripture demonstrates the Daoist principle that "softness overcomes hardness," while illustrating the selfless, life-nourishing realm of the Dao.

This scripture expounds the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," using water's properties to illustrate the state of one who has attained the Dao (the Way).

Though appearing soft, water can penetrate the hardest stone; though formless, it adapts to any container. This demonstrates the truth that "the softest things in the world overcome the hardest" — formless, silent things (referring to the Dao) are the source of all things. The authentic person (zhenren, one who has attained the Dao) connects their mind with nature's creative transformations, their spirit reaching profound mystical states while maintaining inner purity free from selfish desires.

True sublime virtue (xuande, mysterious virtue) requires no deliberate display, flowing naturally like water without leaving traces. Without issuing commands, they transform customs through the influence of their inner virtue. For the Great Dao itself operates through wuwei (non-action), yet all things naturally submit to it. Just as plants instinctively draw nourishment from their roots, all phenomena follow inherent patterns — only by maintaining a mind of emptiness and stillness can one perceive their essence.

The text concludes by emphasizing: Those who have attained the Dao may appear weak in will, yet prove strong in action. By aligning with natural patterns (appearing "weak-willed"), their actions gain greater power ("strong in deeds"). Like water that seems soft yet wears away stone, or appears to follow currents while steadily progressing toward the ocean. Maintaining a mind of clarity and emptiness allows one to reflect all things without confusion, respond to all affairs without exhaustion.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of how softness and pliancy overcome hardness and strength. Its core message reveals that the softest things can contain all things, and that the true Dao (cosmic principle) responds to infinite changes through constancy, never relying on forceful action.

Just as soft down adheres to the body without scattering, genuine cultivation requires sheathing one's sharp edges. When acting, one appears incapable and powerless, maintaining a state of Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness between movement and stillness. Thus one never misses the opportune moment, as all responses become perfectly attuned. Like nobility rooted in humility, or height founded upon depth, it is precisely by maintaining a humble and pliant state that one achieves the loftiness of De (Virtue/Power).

By holding to the center within (maintaining equilibrium), one masters external things—what seems gentle is in fact strong, and such power remains undefeated. That which keeps a pliant posture proves hardest to break; by adapting to change and seizing the moment, it avoids harm. To preserve strength requires guarding it with softness; to maintain greatness demands protecting it through smallness. Accumulated pliancy transforms into strength; gathered smallness becomes greatness. Observing this accumulation reveals the principles of survival and demise.

Strength can only overpower what is weaker, while pliancy overcomes what is stronger. An army too mighty risks destruction (through arrogance), overly rigid trees snap easily, stiff leather cracks, and teeth—harder than tongues—fall out first. Thus pliancy is life's foundation, while rigidity borders on death. Qi (vital energy) finds harmony in softness, while physical rigidity manifests as sickness.

The same applies in human affairs: those who rush ahead often meet obstacles, while those who follow later frequently succeed. Forcing matters brings setbacks, while aligning with natural patterns ensures accomplishment. Those who embody the great Dao respond to changes with ease, mastering both initiative and response, thus remaining unconstrained by others. Maintaining inner emptiness, stillness, and centeredness allows one to naturally return to the true path amid external changes. Hence abiding in quiet stillness leads to perfect understanding.

This scripture primarily discusses the importance of seizing opportunities and adapting to change, as well as the wisdom of maintaining a tranquil and receptive state of mind.

It begins by revealing the key to mastering the patterns of transformation: those who can foresee changes gain control in advance, while those who return to stillness after observing changes can conversely seize the initiative. True agency lies within oneself, unaffected by worldly influences. The so-called "striking only after the opponent has moved" means aligning with natural laws and acting at the opportune moment. The window for action passes swiftly—acting too early becomes excessive, while acting too late means missing the chance. One must anticipate before change manifests, for responding after transformation occurs is already too late. Time flows unceasingly, which is why sages value timely moments over precious jade, recognizing that opportunities are hard-won yet easily lost.

The text then describes the sages' way of engaging with the world: they act according to timing, achieve through existing conditions, and maintain a tranquil, yielding attitude. Though appearing soft and weak, they remain composed and ultimately accomplish what no one else can. By preserving a mind as open as a valley, all things naturally return to them.

The latter section emphasizes inner cultivation: when cunning schemes occupy the mind, one's pure original nature becomes damaged. Only by relinquishing cleverness and maintaining stillness can one exercise boundless efficacy. Those whose spirit (Shen) and virtue (De) are incomplete cannot inspire others from afar. With no harmful intentions in one's heart, even a starving tiger may be approached. Those aligned with the Dao (the Way) remain unharmed even when encountering violent individuals. Relying on harsh punishments reflects poor governance, and excessive penalties reveal insufficient virtue (De). Like a charioteer who constantly whips his horses yet fails to control the carriage properly.

The core teaching advises aligning with natural laws, seizing timely opportunities, maintaining a tranquil and yielding mindset, and achieving through inner cultivation rather than external force.

This scripture primarily expounds on principles of governing a state and cultivating the self, emphasizing the need to follow natural laws and avoid excessive reliance on clever stratagems or harsh punishments.

It first points out that when a person becomes fixated on pursuing external things, generating too many personal likes and dislikes, calamity will inevitably follow. The ancient sage-kings did not create laws arbitrarily but adjusted them according to actual circumstances. Prohibitions were not established to display authority but to instill reverence in the people. Those who can align with nature achieve great things, while those who force their will only meet with failure.

An analogy illustrates this further: Relying solely on one’s limited observations and clever schemes to govern is as futile as a single person attempting to cultivate three acres of land with their meager strength. A truly wise ruler should "illuminate the four directions and hear the four quarters" (broadly consider all perspectives), attaining the state of effortless governance.

The text criticizes three detrimental tendencies: First, excessive pursuit of fame and sensual pleasures leads to flawed judgment. Second, relying only on ritual forms without sincerity fails to truly win the people’s hearts. Third, the abuse of cleverness and harsh laws only breeds more problems. Just as the deadliest weapon is not the sword but the malicious intent that disrupts harmony, the greatest enemy is not an opposing army but the calamity brought by the imbalance of Yin-Yang.

The conclusion is clear: The more cleverness the people possess, the more bizarre phenomena arise; the more intricate the laws, the more thieves emerge. Only by abandoning such cunning and harshness, returning to simplicity and Wuwei (non-action), can calamity be avoided. To govern a state with clever artifice is, in truth, to harm it.

This passage expounds the Daoist core concept of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)." In modern terms, it means that forcibly governing a nation through personal intellect alone will ultimately harm the people, while ruling without cunning artifice constitutes true governing De (Virtue). The optimal governance follows the innate nature of all things, allowing affairs to develop spontaneously.

The formless (referring to the Dao) appears vast, while the formed seems insignificant. The Dao's boundless transformations make it expansive, whereas concrete matters appear small due to their limitations. The invisible (Dao) seems abundant because it defies measurement, while the visible appears scarce. Formless things govern all existence and thus appear mighty, while formed things seem weak as they're subject to the Dao. The formless represents eternal reality, the formed but temporary illusion.

Formed objects represent completed matters, while the formless Dao constitutes the origin of all things. Concrete objects produce sounds, yet the great Dao remains silent. When the Dao disperses into specific vessels it becomes nameable, but returns to namelessness when unified with the Dao itself. All formed things emerge from the formless Dao - thus the formless is the source of everything.

The world values broad and weighty reputation, yet Daoism venerates the pure De (Virtue) of simplicity and namelessness. People chase empty fame, while sages hold fast to the Dao and maintain humility. Wealth and status bring honor, while poverty and anonymity invite disdain; the masculine (Yang) displays renown, the feminine (Yin) remains hidden; the surplus gain reputation, the deficient willingly stay lowly. The world considers achievement and fame beautiful, yet Daoism regards namelessness and lack of reputation as true De (Virtue).

All reputation originates from a nameless state, like a mother giving birth. Willingly dwelling in simple anonymity achieves genuine nobility. The movement of heavenly Dao follows the pattern where being and non-being generate each other, difficulty and ease complete one another. Form and nature, principle and law - all exist in this unity of opposites. Sages deeply understand this Dao, maintaining a subtle state of emptiness and stillness to accomplish De (Virtue).

This passage elucidates the relationship between De (Virtue/Power) and Dao (the Way), along with depicting the ideal state of ancient society.

True virtue lies in upholding the ineffable Great Dao (the nameless Way), for only thus can the noblest character be achieved. Where Dao exists, De naturally follows; where De is present, accomplishments can be made; with accomplishments come reputation, yet all fame ultimately returns to Dao. If one can forget the reputation of saving the world and return to the Dao of Wuwei (non-action), then fame and achievements can endure without bringing lifelong faults. Such seemingly effortless accomplishments prove most lasting, and such apparently nameless renown avoids calamities.

While nobles pursue fame and merit, sages humbly call themselves "solitary and bereft"—this reflects a return to original authenticity. Those who establish grand achievements and enjoy lofty reputations invariably take humility as their foundation. Achieving without claiming credit ensures accomplishments bring benefit; not pursuing fame allows reputation to function properly. The merit of nourishing all things is realized through benefiting all beings; the nameless Dao manifests its function through the sage's attainments.

People of antiquity possessed childlike simplicity, unaware of distinguishing east from west. Their outward appearance matched inner disposition, their Shen (spirit) harmonized with physical form, and words matched deeds. They walked without concern for posture, dressed without seeking finery—only warmth against cold. Their weapons remained blunt, unknowing of harming others. They moved with natural ease, their gaze peaceful and serene, drinking from wells and tilling fields without ulterior motives. Neither forcing charity nor demanding gain, each remained content without distinctions of high or low, without comparisons of long or short, their minds free from concepts of right and wrong.

When social customs maintain pure unity, people follow nature spontaneously; when undertakings match actual capability, tasks become effortless. Those who confuse the world with falsehoods or deceive the masses with strange behavior—these methods sages never employ to teach the people. Should rulers promote falseness to disrupt governance or persist in eccentric conduct to mislead the populace, customs will fragment and endeavors fail. Therefore, sages never take these as foundations for governing.