《通玄真經(二)》Vol. 4

The fourth volume of the Tongxuan Zhen Jing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), titled "Fuyan Chapter" ("Fu" meaning resonance and "Yan" meaning principles, signifying the comprehension of the Dao's subtleties through language to ultimately transcend words), primarily discusses the nature of the Dao and the principles of cultivation.

Regarding the essence of the Dao: The supreme Dao has neither summit above nor foundation below—it is boundless in height and depth. It surpasses the straightness of the most precise plumb line, the perfection of the finest compass and square, yet remains unconfined by such measures. It envelops heaven and earth without distinction between inner and outer, vast without borders yet subtle without core, permeating all without obstruction. Those who truly embody the Dao maintain equanimity without emotional turbulence, sit in stillness free from distractions, sleep without chaotic dreams, perceive things with natural awareness, and respond to events with effortless composure.

On the perils of pursuing fame: Those obsessed with reputation inevitably create complications, and such complications lead them astray from universal principles toward selfish desires. Actions that violate the Dao while chasing fame may appear virtuous yet lack true goodness, seem wise yet are devoid of authentic wisdom. Governing a state without following the Dao's principles or acting contrary to proper timing results in futile efforts. Forced pursuit of merit and fame brings achievements insufficient to offset faults, while failure may invite life-destroying calamities.

Essential cultivation principles: Do not become a slave to reputation, a storehouse of schemes, a compulsive manager of affairs, or a manipulator of cleverness. Conceal yourself within formlessness while maintaining unwavering action. Neither forcibly seek blessings nor become the source of misfortune. Acting without deliberate display avoids the burdens of social obligations; responding to all things without negligence wards off future disasters. Begin from formlessness, act only when compelled by necessity. To obtain blessings, first avoid harm; to gain benefit, first distance yourself from danger.

(Note: "Shi" in the text denotes control or mastery; "plumb lines and compasses" refer to ancient measuring tools symbolizing standards; "welcoming and seeing off" represents worldly social engagements.)

This passage expounds on the Daoist wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and the misfortunes brought by excessive pursuit of external things.

True blessings come when matters are properly handled before signs of trouble emerge; disasters are avoided when one refrains from coveting extraordinary gains. Those who seek peace through Wuwei will fall into danger once they lose inner tranquility; those who attempt governance through Wuwei will create chaos once they lose the fundamental principles of ruling. The loss of inner peace occurs when one abandons mental serenity to seek outwardly—this inevitably leads to failure; the loss of governance stems from neglecting self-cultivation while trying to manage others—this is sheer folly.

The scripture employs jade as a metaphor: better to remain as ordinary stone in peaceful obscurity than to be prized jade inviting contention. Just as trees with beautiful bark are easily stripped, animals with fine antlers are easily hunted, sweet springs readily dry up, and straight trees are first felled, things suffer precisely because of their excellence, while people invite calamity through pursuit of fame. Eloquent words ultimately become faults; overly ornate speech attracts misfortune. Mountains suffer damage for harboring jade—how then can people avoid calamity without caution in speech and action? Commoners often meet disaster through reckless criticism of state laws. If even gentlemen guard their words carefully, how can petty talkers escape misfortune?

Laozi says: When the time comes, follow nature's course—those ignorant of this principle turn blessings into disasters; when the time hasn't arrived yet forcing action—those ignorant of this principle perish by their own blessings. The sage's way of governance lies in foreseeing survival and destruction, weighing gains and losses, thus remaining composed whether honored or disgraced, ultimately attaining auspiciousness and self-preservation. Foolish people often abuse their good fortune willfully, thus blessings eventually transform into calamities. This isn't about fortune and misfortune alternating, but about improper conduct causing the shift.

Heaven and earth resemble a carriage's canopy and base—those skilled in applying the Dao never reach exhaustion. Taking heaven as canopy, its coverage is boundless yet perfectly measured; taking earth as base, its operation is endless yet harmless. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) generate and overcome each other; metal and fire contend while prosperity and decline alternate. The Dao of heaven embraces all things spaciously, with each finding its proper place. Therefore, pretending to know what one doesn't is a fault, while recognizing one's ignorance is good; forcibly seeking knowledge of what shouldn't be known is also a fault.

Laozi further states: Mountains producing gold and rocks yielding jade invite mining; trees breeding insects end up devoured; people creating troubles ultimately harm themselves; prominent reputation leads to losing the Dao; when affairs flourish, calamity follows. Those fond of stirring up matters never escape disaster; those contending for profit never avoid distress—this is like stirring waves before crossing a river—how could one possibly reach the other shore smoothly?

The Tongxuan Zhenjing (Authentic Scripture of Pervading Mystery) expounds wisdom for personal conduct and state governance, using the characteristics of water to illustrate the philosophy of "non-contention" (Wuwei).

Those truly skilled in swimming are more prone to drowning, and expert horsemen more likely to fall—people often invite disaster through their very strengths. Boasting of ability leads to lost achievements, flaunting skill endangers oneself. Success lies in seizing the right moment rather than forceful striving; governing a state requires following the Dao rather than proclaiming sagely wisdom.

Water flows downward without contending for height, thus remaining steady and free from danger; it descends without competing in speed, flowing naturally without stagnation. What the Dao values and De (Virtue) esteems is attaining loftiness without contention, reaching far without haste. Therefore, the sage loses nothing by clinging to nothing and fails at nothing by acting through non-action. The Dao has no fixed form—grasping it forcibly leads to loss; it is no concrete object—carving it deliberately brings destruction.

Laozi said: Mastering one phrase ("true faith") brings inexhaustible benefit; two phrases ("Dao and De") make one a model for the world; three phrases ("promoting virtue and talent") establish strength among lords; four phrases ("rejecting the few to cherish the many") achieve peerless supremacy. Those fully embodying all four may become emperors; even mastering one aspect qualifies one to be a hegemon or ministerial aide.

Laozi identifies three unnatural deaths that people bring upon themselves: Intemperate eating and dissolute living invite fatal illness; insatiable greed and excessive demands incur deadly punishment; the weak attacking the many or bullying the strong provokes lethal warfare. Thus life, death, fortune and misfortune are not heaven-decreed but self-inflicted.

Laozi emphasizes: Generous giving brings abundant returns, deep grudges incur profound calamities. Expecting rich rewards for meager offerings or escaping disaster despite accumulated enmity is impossible. Observing a person's actions reveals their future fate.

In conclusion, Laozi states: Investigating the source of heavenly mandate, cultivating one's nature, harmonizing preferences, and moderating desires lead to mastery of governance. Understanding heaven's mandate prevents confusion by fortune or misfortune; self-cultivation avoids capricious emotions; balanced preferences eliminate craving for the useless; regulated desires prevent excessive indulgence. Thus one acts with perfect timing, administers just rewards and punishments, never harming intrinsic nature through desire, maintaining the golden mean of existence.

The way of nurturing life lies in contentment. These four principles (referring to the previously mentioned guidelines for health cultivation) need not be sought externally nor rely on others—they can be attained simply by turning inward and examining oneself. Those who understand these four principles may be called truly enlightened, for they depend not on others but focus solely on self-cultivation.

Laozi said: Do not engage in behavior that invites criticism, nor harbor resentment when others reproach you. How would others find fault with me if I possess no deceitful intentions? With a heart full of benevolent forgiveness, I will not blame others. Cultivate virtue sufficient to earn praise, yet do not demand recognition; refine your character without deliberately seeking admiration. We cannot guarantee that misfortune will never come, but trust that it will not come if we do not provoke it; we cannot ensure blessings will arrive, but believe they will not be missed if we do not reject them. Unexpected calamities cannot be fully guarded against, yet trust that destiny will not overlook you; do not forcibly pursue inevitable blessings—accept what comes with equanimity. When misfortune strikes, it is not of your making, so even in hardship there is no need for sorrow; when fortune arrives, it is not your doing, so in prosperity remain free of pride. Since disasters do not originate from me, why worry when they occur? Since blessings are not sought by me, why depend on them when they manifest? Thus, in solitude the heart remains at peace, governing through wuwei (non-action), maintaining only serenity and spontaneous ease.

Laozi said: Those who cultivate the Dao must preserve what they already possess and not forcibly pursue what they lack. Chasing the unattained causes the possessed to be lost; by following what is already held, what is desired will come naturally. What you possess is your spiritual cultivation (shen), while what you lack lies in external techniques. Nowadays, people abandon their inherent spiritual foundation to seek unmastered arts of practice—before attaining the new, they forget the old. Failing to preserve the root of "attaining the One" (de Dao) makes it difficult to recover from dual loss. Thus, those who embody the Dao guard the root without chasing branches; they value inner attainment without being bound by externals. Governing a state requires consolidation before chaos arises—attempting order after turmoil invites danger; seeking fame before conduct is free of faults guarantees setbacks. When the root is firm, the nation is tranquil; when actions are upright, shame cannot touch you. Therefore, the greatest blessing is the absence of calamity, the greatest gain is the absence of loss. Blessings without disaster are true abundance; gains without loss are true prosperity. All things under heaven may seem to profit yet actually harm, or appear harmful yet truly benefit—only by reaching the state beyond fortune and misfortune can one transcend gain, loss, benefit, and harm.

The great Dao cannot be pursued through worldly profit, yet it brings mental serenity and freedom from harm. Dao cultivators are not tempted by gain—without greed for profit, there are no calamities, and thus the spirit naturally finds peace as the Dao reveals itself. Therefore, practitioners seek eternal freedom from misfortune rather than temporary blessings; perpetual absence of transgression rather than momentary achievement.

This passage elucidates the characteristics of the "Great Dao" (the fundamental principle of the cosmos) and how humans should align with it. The Great Dao manifests as vast and obscure (mang mang mei mei), formless and imageless. It emulates heaven's majesty and shares the same primordial Qi with heaven and earth. The Dao requires no deliberate planning or forced accumulation—like the sky, it takes emptiness as its substance and wuwei (non-action) as its nature.

Those who truly attain the Dao neither forcibly welcome things nor stubbornly retain them, allowing all beings to follow their natural course. Such individuals maintain inner equilibrium amidst chaos; while their bodies respond to worldly changes, their hearts remain united with the Dao. The Dao operates like the purest Qi in perpetual flow—it neither deliberately performs good nor avoids evil, completely adhering to natural law.

The text emphasizes: Heaven speaks not, yet all things grow naturally; humans plan not, yet all affairs reach completion. When the heart craves no special fortune, no unexpected calamities arise. Those with supreme De (Virtue/Power) align their words and deeds with the Dao, achieving unity without discord. Guiding people with orthodox principles proves more transformative than using biased views.

Laozi teaches: Encourage what you see as good; observe and reflect on what appears unvirtuous. Encouragement generates virtuous momentum; observation reveals one's own faults. Fixating on others' shortcomings to condemn them instead invites misfortune. Thus, the Dao cannot be pursued through ambition for fame—it must be cultivated through humble retreat. Sages seek no reputation through action and no praise through cleverness, following nature's course effortlessly.

The conclusion reveals: Those who force matters often fail; those who chase deliberately frequently miss. Human capacity has limits, yet the Dao penetrates all. The harder one strives, the more elusive attainment becomes, while the Dao's wuwei (non-action) naturally accomplishes everything.

This scripture expounds the Daoist concepts of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and "returning to original simplicity."

Having wisdom yet refraining from deliberate action produces the same effect as having no wisdom; possessing ability yet avoiding forced effort yields the same outcome as lacking ability. Those truly versed in the Dao (the Way) restrain their talents. Those with abundant inner virtue (De) appear outwardly humble, seemingly void of attainment. When one pursues personal fame, genuine comprehension of the Dao becomes impossible; when the Dao manifests, individual reputation naturally fades.

Laozi says: Rather than having trustworthy individuals distribute wealth, it's better to establish impartial rules for allocation by lot. For no person's fairness can surpass a system free from partiality. Entrusting valuables to incorruptible guardians proves inferior to simply sealing them away, for even the most upright may invite suspicion. The wise reflect and improve when their faults are pointed out, while fools constantly boast of themselves. Observing matters objectively without personal bias prevents misfortune. Always putting others before oneself ensures a lifetime without transgression.

In human interactions, don't rely solely on expensive gifts, but approach others with genuine humility. Noble individuals value not material exchange but sincere reverence in relationships—only such bonds endure. Between noble persons, no contracts are needed, as a single word suffices for lifelong commitment; among petty people, sworn oaths are broken within ten days. Thus the noble cultivate virtue (De) inwardly without ostentatious displays of righteousness, preserving inner purity while avoiding external affectation. Governing a state requires developing production, fortifying defenses, and fostering unity between rulers and people—then fame-seekers won't attack innocent nations, nor profit-hunters assault impregnable lands. Sharing benefits with the people makes them willing to sacrifice; working in concert with them ensures collective defense. Only such governance preserves the state and secures its borders.

The text concludes: Sages can restrain their selfish desires, while ordinary people cannot control their cravings.

This scripture primarily expounds the principles of self-cultivation, emphasizing the need to control desires and nurture upright Qi (vital energy). Laozi believed that if one can follow the right path—maintaining inner integrity, aligning outward actions with Daoist ethics, and acting in accordance with heavenly principles without being bound by external distractions—this constitutes upright Qi. Conversely, indulging in desires like rich flavors, sensual pleasures, or unchecked emotions, regardless of consequences, leads to perverse Qi. Perverse Qi conflicts with upright Qi; desires harm one's innate nature, and the two cannot coexist. Thus, sages reduce desires and align with their true nature.

The eyes delight in beauty, the ears in music, the nose in fragrance, and the mouth in delicacies—though these sensory pleasures bring joy, they are inseparable from personal gain and loss, falling under the category of cravings. In truth, the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth do not inherently know what they desire; it is the heart that governs them. If the heart can guide them properly, allowing each sense to fulfill its role without excess, desires will not harm one's nature. But if the heart is weakened by external influences, falsehood will obscure the true nature. Therefore, the key lies in inner cultivation: when the heart is upright, external things cannot become burdens.

Laozi states that those who cultivate themselves must regulate daily routines, eat moderately, control emotions, and balance movement and stillness. Cultivation begins within; there is no need to seek externally, as this prevents perverse Qi from invading. Focusing solely on outward refinement harms the inner self; indulging emotions damages the spirit; pursuing superficial embellishments obscures true nature. Even a virtuous person, if momentarily neglecting self-cultivation, will face difficulties. Just as one who forgets posture while walking will appear exhausted within a hundred steps. To nourish the body and govern one’s disposition, one must moderate food and drink, maintain tranquility, and stabilize internal Qi so that the spirit remains clear. A noble person must be cautious in small matters, guarding against potential dangers even within ten steps, for mishaps often occur in moments of carelessness.

Laozi illustrates with metaphors: birds with splendid feathers often suffer bone injuries; trees with lush foliage harm their roots—nothing in the world enjoys dual perfection. Kingfishers are hunted for their brilliant plumage; spring blossoms are plucked for their fragrance. Rarely can things possess two advantages simultaneously; rarely can affairs accommodate all aspects at once.

Finally, Laozi declares: Heaven has light yet does not worry about people living in darkness; Earth has abundance yet does not fear poverty among the people. The Dao of Heaven shines universally, illuminating even the darkest corners; the benefits of Earth nourish all things, boundless in their reach. A truly virtuous person stands firm as a mountain, acting with principle. When one is upright within, contentment follows naturally, and external things cannot become burdens.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom for navigating life and self-cultivation. Heaven and earth operate naturally without deliberately bestowing favors, thus nothing can be taken from them. Those who have attained the Dao (Zhiren) remain unmoved by power and fame, standing firm as towering mountains. Content in their sufficiency, they neither crave external things nor reject natural gifts, thereby maintaining enduring peace.

When humans frequently give vent to anger, they invite resentment; excessive generosity often sparks contention. Only by conforming to natural laws, transcending emotional fluctuations, and viewing gains and losses with equanimity can one preserve innate nature. Worldly matters invariably manifest in complementary pairs: praise arrives with slander close behind, goodwill accompanies acts of kindness, profit often heralds calamity, and fortune may transform into misfortune. Without deliberately pursuing gain, one avoids disaster; without coveting blessings, one naturally stays clear of misfortune.

A sound body constitutes the most enduring wealth, while riches and honor are but temporarily entrusted possessions. Though people universally cherish praise and good deeds, excessive display invites censure. There's no need to forcibly renounce virtuous acts or reputation—simply refrain from prideful boasting to naturally evade the entanglement of fortune and calamity while preserving one's moral essence.

Laozi said the sage wears no extraordinary garments nor adopts peculiar behavior. Their simple attire draws no attention; their ordinary conduct involves no affectation. In prosperity they avoid ostentation; in adversity they feel no fear. When prominent they refrain from showing off; when reclusive they experience no distress. Understanding that poverty and prosperity stem from destiny, they accept both with composure. Knowing prominence and obscurity arise from circumstance, they respond with effortless grace. This state of communion with all things yet attachment to none represents the supreme "Great Pervasion" (Datong).

The true Dao means rectifying oneself while awaiting the proper moment. What comes cannot be stopped; what goes cannot be retained. Thus sages neither force outcomes nor retreat unnecessarily, maintaining uprightness while surrendering to destiny's arrangement. Like following circumstances for three years—when circumstances depart, I depart; opposing circumstances for three years—circumstances will cast me aside. The key lies in neither advancing prematurely nor lagging behind, but resting serenely in the appropriate position.

The Dao of Heaven shows no partiality, favoring only the virtuous. Blessings arrive unsought—thus require no boasting; misfortunes emerge unprovoked—thus warrant no regret. This resembles archery where the target remains still—hitting or missing depends wholly on the archer, for gain and loss, honor and disgrace all follow nature's principle.

This scripture primarily expounds on the wisdom of living and the attitude toward life for Daoist practitioners, which can be summarized in several key insights:

Dao cultivators maintain inner tranquility, undisturbed by external influences. They preserve their innate purity, unshaken by worldly praise or blame, remaining composed whether honored or humiliated. Just as the barking of dogs does not startle them, their unwavering confidence in their true nature and understanding of principles dispels fear. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) are free from confusion, and those who grasp the Mandate of Heaven harbor no worries.

In ancient times, deceased emperors were buried in the wilderness while their Shen (spirit) was venerated in the Mingtang (ritual hall), illustrating that the spiritual was valued above the physical. This reflects how the ancients prioritized spiritual cultivation over bodily concerns. When the spirit governs the body, one thrives; but when physical desires overpower the spirit, adversity follows. True wisdom lies in directing one's intellect toward spiritual refinement—this is genuine attainment.

Laozi said that those in antiquity who excelled at self-preservation delighted in cultivating De (Virtue) and forgot their lowly status, so fame could not sway their resolve; they rejoiced in pursuing the Dao and overlooked poverty, so gain could not disturb their hearts. Humble yet joyful, serene and detached, they chose self-cultivation over fretting about the world's chaos. The real concern is not the end of one's lifespan, but the failure to bring order to the world.

Laozi identified three human grievances: the eminent invite envy, high-ranking officials incur their ruler's displeasure, and generous stipends breed resentment. The loftier one's status, the more humility is needed; the greater one's office, the more caution required; the richer one's rewards, the more generosity demanded. Disregarding the principle that "nobility is rooted in humility, and height is founded on the low" invites calamity.

Finally, words are the means to express oneself, while listening is the path to understanding others. Those who neither articulate nor comprehend are like the deaf and mute, cut off from communication. This underscores that Dao practitioners must master both expression and attentive listening to maintain harmony with the Way of humanity.

The eyes cannot see Mount Tai, the ears cannot hear thunder—this is physical deafness and muteness. Mistaking a deer for a horse, failing to distinguish beans from wheat—this is mental deafness and muteness. If one cannot even discern what is right before them, how much less can they perceive the Dao (the Way)? Not knowing how to comprehend the principles of things—all these belong to the realm of mental deafness and muteness.

The Dao, as the root of all things, gives birth to all that has form. It is as loving as the closest of parents. Those who know how to nourish themselves with the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and regulate their Qi (vital energy) can attain longevity—the Dao is like the most benevolent ruler. The wise who study the Dao find it to be the most enlightened teacher. Life takes the Dao as its parent—though formless, it gives rise to form, making this kinship the most vast. The Five Phases and Qi serve as the rulers of life—though they do not grant immortality, they extend years, making this beneficence the most profound. Wisdom takes the study of the Dao as its teacher—though not a concrete mentor, it enlightens the mind, making this illumination the most penetrating.

People often exhaust their energy on useless matters, thereby harming their limited lifespan. Thus, when wisdom is not broad, one feels time is insufficient. Noble individuals, aware of their limited knowledge, remain ever-thirsty for learning, using the brevity of time to spur themselves on. If the time spent playing chess were instead devoted to inquiring about the Dao, insight would deepen. If the effort spent on games were focused on cultivating De (Virtue/Power), one could reach profound and mysterious realms. Seeking guidance or not is like the difference between the clear-sighted and the deaf-mute. Those who neither listen nor ask are the truly mentally deaf and mute.

Human nature responds to De, not force. It can be moved by virtue but cannot be seized by might. True De lies in giving without seeking return, bestowing kindness without expecting repayment. Thus, the sage who wishes to be honored must first honor others; who wishes to be exalted must first exalt others; who wishes to surpass others must first surpass themselves; who wishes to humble others must first humble themselves. Therefore, all distinctions of nobility, baseness, honor, and humility are governed by the Dao. The sage-kings of antiquity spoke humbly and acted with deference, so the world gladly exalted them without weariness, supported them without feeling burdened—all because their De was deep and their Qi harmonious. To understand that giving is gaining, that yielding is advancing—this is to come near the Dao.

Honoring others is not for the sake of being honored; yielding to others is not for the sake of gaining advantage. Rather, it is to align one’s heart and Qi with the Dao, allowing De to return to oneself. Thus, people exalt them without weariness and support them without burden. When De is shallow yet favor is excessive, it invites criticism; when ability is low yet position is high, it invites danger.

This scripture primarily discusses the dialectical relationship between benefit and misfortune, life and death, as well as the contrasting ways of conduct between noble individuals (junzi) and petty persons (xiaoren).

Regarding gains and losses of profit: Those who enjoy abundant emoluments without corresponding merit will inevitably invite disaster. What appears as gain may in fact bring loss, while apparent loss may conceal benefit. When one's abilities don't match their position, it invites criticism and danger—gain and loss always accompany each other, just as misfortune and fortune mutually validate. Ordinary people understand the advantages of pursuing profit but fail to recognize that greed itself is calamity. Only sages comprehend that coveting gain is an affliction, while non-attachment to profit constitutes true blessing. Just as trees overladen with fruit inevitably damage their roots, families that suddenly amass wealth invariably face endless troubles. The greatest benefit can transform into the gravest harm—this is nature's law. Wealth obtained through unrighteous means brings initial profit but eventual calamity, for such is the Dao of Heaven.

On the distinction between noble and petty individuals: Petty people act solely for immediate gain, while noble individuals act solely in accordance with righteousness (Dao). Those who perform good deeds don't seek fame, yet reputation naturally follows; fame itself isn't tied to profit, yet benefits naturally accrue. Petty people covet ill-gotten wealth only to ultimately suffer harm, while noble people uphold the righteous path without seeking profit yet gain both fame and fortune. Thus even when obtaining the same benefits, the outcomes differ completely. Those with inconstant words and deeds who forget righteousness at the sight of profit are petty people; those who can thoroughly understand one matter or master one skill are ordinary people; while sages can comprehensively observe situations and synthesize various talents. Sages discern right from wrong and employ the worthy.

On the perspective of life and death: Life is but a temporary lodging, while death constitutes the ultimate homecoming. In times of peace, one preserves oneself through righteousness; in chaotic times, one sacrifices life to defend righteousness. Noble individuals harbor no resentment even when giving their lives for others, regarding death as simply returning home. Therefore noble people act with caution, aligning all conduct with the Dao of Heaven, never deviating from the proper path. Human talents and endowments come from Heaven, while encountering favorable circumstances depends on destiny. Having ability yet being born at the wrong time is Heaven's will—pursuit requires method, but attainment depends on fate. Neither rejoicing in gain nor lamenting loss—this constitutes the cultivation of noble individuals.

The Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) expounds principles for human conduct and spiritual cultivation. One need not deliberately pursue blessings, for even refraining from wrongdoing does not necessarily avert misfortune. Those of true virtue (De) perform good deeds without seeking reward, and while avoiding evil may not completely prevent calamity, they never abandon righteousness (Dao) to chase after fortune.

The text states that "human nature cannot be casually altered." When opportunities arise, the noble person acts in accordance with circumstance, achieving success through righteousness; when fortune wanes, they withdraw while preserving propriety—how could this be considered misfortune? Thus, true noble persons never regret poverty or lowly status, for they hold fast to what is truly valuable. In success, they feel no undue pride, knowing it was attained through righteousness; in adversity, they feel no shame—what cause for regret? With righteousness in their hearts, why should they be troubled by poverty?

Laozi teaches that human Qi (vital energy) flows either harmoniously or turbulently, and this flow originates in the heart-mind. When spiritual cultivation is refined, Qi flows smoothly; when thoughts are disordered, Qi becomes chaotic. The essence of spiritual cultivation lies in Dao and De: attaining Dao brings inner peace, while losing Dao creates agitation. Peaceful hearts foster mutual deference, while agitated minds breed contention. Deference nurtures virtue, while contention spawns calamity. Maintaining single-minded focus brings smooth, upright Qi, whereas scattered thoughts produce chaotic, deviant Qi.

When upright Qi flourishes, virtue prevails; when perverse Qi arises, disaster follows. Nourishing virtue clarifies the spirit (Shen), bringing harmony and stability; allowing calamity muddies the Qi, resulting in conflict and disorder. Those with harmonious Qi restrain themselves to benefit others, while those with chaotic Qi harm others for personal gain. Both Qi states can be regulated through Dao, but are difficult to rectify through mundane affairs.

Heaven's Dao responds like an echo to sound: accumulated virtue brings blessings, accumulated wickedness begets resentment. Heaven observes human actions—retribution for good and evil follows like a shadow. Officials fail through abuse of power, filial piety declines through favoritism toward wives and children, troubles arise from negligence, and illnesses worsen during apparent recovery. Therefore, maintaining caution from beginning to end prevents failure. Officials err by abandoning proper laws, filial piety weakens through selfishness, temporary relief from troubles still requires vigilance, and seeming recovery still demands moderation. Only through constant caution can failure be avoided.

Laozi asks: What good outcome can come from appointing crooked persons to govern the upright? But appointing the upright to govern the crooked ensures they won't be corrupted. This illustrates the principle of "sharing the mud yet retaining different natures." Understanding people is difficult—appointments require wisdom. If one mistakes crookedness for uprightness and foolishness for worthiness, how can the distinction of "shared mud but differing natures" be maintained?

Laozi observed that while both sages and fools face life and death, their understanding differs completely. The sage penetrates the essential nature of life and death, comprehending their underlying patterns; the fool remains ignorant, fundamentally unable to distinguish between benefit and harm. The sage regards life and death as one, free from attachment to their distinctions, thus transcending their bondage; the fool opposes life and death, calculating gains and losses, and consequently remains trapped by them.

The great Dao (the fundamental law of the cosmos) hangs in the heavens and nurtures all things, while the earth supports and harmonizes them. The key lies in the human heart. If the ruler fails to harmonize, the Qi of heaven and earth will not flow smoothly, the imbalance of Yin-Yang will lead to untimely winds and rains, and the people will suffer from disease and famine. The Dao of heaven manifests in celestial phenomena, all things grow upon the earth, and the way of equilibrium lies in the human heart. Humans are the concentrated essence of heaven and earth, the most spiritually endowed, and thus as rulers, they must harmonize their Qi and pacify all things. Only then will winds and rains arrive in their proper seasons, and calamities will not arise.

Laozi said, gaining a million soldiers is not as valuable as hearing one apt word; obtaining the Pearl of Suihou (a legendary treasure) is not as precious as understanding the origins and consequences of a matter; possessing the Jade of He (a famous jade disc) is not as beneficial as grasping the proper measure in handling affairs. A single beneficial word surpasses a thousand armies; one clear insight is more valuable than rare jewels. Though the world may be vast, a state that exhausts itself in militarism will ultimately perish; though a nation may be secure, forgetting to prepare for war invites danger. Thus, small states with few people need not use their fine weapons even if they possess them, while great states would do better to cultivate De (Virtue/Power), and small states to maintain good relations with their neighbors. In this way, conflicts will not arise, and all will enjoy peace.

A ruler who achieves hegemony must excel in victory, but without the Dao, it is difficult to sustain; one who defeats enemies must rely on De, for without De, true victory is impossible. Those skilled in employing others win the people's hearts, and employing the worthy gains the support of the multitude. To win the people's hearts, one must first perfect oneself, and those who perfect themselves must remain soft and weak. One who can defeat lesser opponents will falter when facing equals; the soft and weak can overcome the stronger, a realm beyond ordinary comprehension. Thus, only the sage can accumulate many small victories into great triumphs. Only by maintaining humility and softness, making it impossible for others to surpass, can one truly achieve victory.