《通玄真經(二)》Vol. 5

This scripture explores the fundamental nature of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), as well as the methods for comprehending the Great Dao through different levels of learning. The text states:

Dao and De constitute the fundamental principle that permeates all things (Dao) and its concrete manifestations (De). When Wenzi (a prominent Daoist figure) inquired about the meaning of Dao from Laozi, the latter replied that the true Dao represents the supreme truth unattainable through ordinary learning. While people study to recover their original nature, superficial knowledge cannot reveal the profound meaning of Dao.

The text classifies the comprehension of Dao into three ascending levels: the highest involves spiritual realization (Shen), the intermediate employs mental understanding, and the basic relies on auditory learning. Mere listening yields superficial knowledge, mental understanding grasps substantial content, while spiritual realization touches the essential core. The shallower the comprehension, the more obscure the understanding becomes; the more obscure the understanding, the less sincere the practice.

Laozi emphasizes that genuine comprehension of Dao requires maintaining inner emptiness and stillness, eliminating distracting thoughts and restless Qi (vital energy). Only in this state can one progressively master Dao: beginning with worldly achievements (lower learning), advancing through moral cultivation (middle learning), and ultimately attaining wisdom (higher learning). Without profound learning, one cannot reach the highest realm; without true inner realization, outward actions cannot manifest sincerity.

(Note: "Wenzi" refers to the Warring States period Daoist master; "Laozi" is Li Er, founder of Daoism; "Shang De" denotes supreme virtue, while "Xuan De" signifies profound and mysterious virtue)

This passage expounds on the characteristics and functions of the Dao (the Way), and how to cultivate oneself and govern the state by following celestial principles.

It first describes the state of Dao cultivation: one's Qi (vital energy) flows smoothly, the Shen (spirit) remains pure, without random thoughts, eyes not gazing indiscriminately, ears not listening carelessly. Maintaining internal and external purity while concentrating on accumulating inner cultivation. Upon comprehending the true meaning of the Dao, one must steadfastly preserve it with prolonged focus. A mind free from distractions can perceive fundamental truths and grasp subtle principles, thus becoming impervious to external disturbances, progressing steadily over time.

The text explains the nature of the Dao: as the origin of all things, it initially manifests without form or substance, later giving rise to concrete phenomena. Like tender saplings growing into towering trees, or lofty platforms being built from foundations - this reflects natural laws. Sages emulate this pattern: the great Dao becomes vast by encompassing small things, heaven appears lofty by covering what lies below.

It then discusses principles for worldly conduct: humility earns respect, yielding prevents conflict, frugality accumulates wealth, reducing desires cultivates great De (Virtue/Power). These all result from emulating celestial principles, as the Dao of Heaven invariably diminishes the excessive and supplements the modest.

Finally, it elaborates the relationship between Dao and De: Dao is the root of De, while De manifests Dao. The formless, Wuwei (non-action) Dao accomplishes all things. Those who apply the Dao can cultivate themselves internally and govern people externally, achieving accomplishments naturally aligned with celestial principles. The subtle essence of Dao truly exists, revealing itself through resonance. Should the Son of Heaven practice the Dao, all under heaven would submit, ensuring enduring state prosperity. The Dao operates according to natural laws, never through forced human effort.

(Note: "Two Modes" refers to Yin-Yang; "Origins of Dao Chapter" is another section from the Tongxuan Zhenjing scripture)

This scripture elucidates the fundamental importance of the Dao (the Way) across all social strata, contrasting the consequences of aligning with or deviating from its principles.

For rulers, when ancient sage-kings like Yao and Shun followed the Dao, they attained supreme virtue (De); when founders like King Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou adhered to it, they established enduring dynasties. Feudal lords who embody the Dao bring harmony to their people and stability to their states, while commoners who practice it safeguard themselves and their families. Powerful nations embracing the Dao achieve victory without warfare—as seen when Jin and Chu dominated the feudal system through Dao alignment rather than military stratagems. Weak states practicing the Dao gain protection without contention, exemplified by Cao and Wei securing survival through submission to stronger allies, not through preemptive action.

Affairs conducted according to the Dao bring success and blessings. Those who synchronize with cosmic timing witness tangible results; cultivators of orthodox paths receive tangible rewards. Between ruler and minister, the Dao manifests as benevolent leadership and loyal service; between father and son, as parental kindness and filial devotion; among common folk, as mutual care that preserves social bonds. Harmony flourishes where the Dao is honored, while harshness prevails where it is neglected.

The text emphasizes that when individuals abide by their inherent roles and natural dispositions, diverse customs coexist peacefully. Transgressing these boundaries breeds conflict even among blood relatives. Governing households or states without Dao as foundation courts grave peril.

The Dao's applicability is universal—effective in matters great and small: limited practice yields modest blessings, extensive cultivation brings abundant rewards, and complete embodiment commands universal allegiance. True emperors attract voluntary submission from all under heaven; genuine kings draw spontaneous allegiance. Where neither voluntary submission nor spontaneous allegiance exists, rulership remains nominal—a position devoid of true virtue (De).

The scripture concludes by warning that those who lose the Dao become extravagant, arrogant, contentious, and trouble-making. Commoners thus afflicted invite personal calamity or punishment; the powerful court familial or national ruin; feudal lords forfeit territories; ministers lose their offices.

When a person loses their ancestral foundation, it may seem to affect only themselves on the surface, but in reality, it brings calamity upon descendants. Thus the greatest transgression is defying the Dao of Heaven, and the deepest resentment stems from the loss of De (Virtue/Power) – this is determined by natural law. To oppose the Dao of Heaven is to act against nature's course; to lose De is to harm all beings – these are the roots of sin and resentment.

Laozi said that those who truly attain the Dao remain unharmed even when facing fierce attackers – blades cannot pierce them, nor can skilled opponents injure them. This comes from mastering the method of controlling Qi (vital energy) and adapting to circumstances, a minor ability of Dao cultivators. Yet even being invulnerable to weapons still means being violated. Though the body remains unharmed, the act of attack itself constitutes an insult. Better to make others, though courageous, dare not strike; though skilled, dare not assault. Maintain a humble and gentle demeanor, and the brave will naturally refrain from aggression; act without revealing weaknesses, and the cunning will find no openings.

This "daring not" doesn't mean the other completely lacks harmful intent, but that their malice isn't fully eliminated. The highest state makes others not even conceive malice: wear no strange garments, commit no eccentric acts, be open and natural in harmonious coexistence – why would anyone in the world wish to harm you? When people harbor no malice, they naturally won't have self-interested desires for gain. Rather than forcing superficial compliance, better to make all people sincerely admire and follow you.

The highest achievement of Dao practitioners is making all things return to and benefit from them. Even temporarily removing external threats isn't worth boasting about. What truly matters is blending into the multitude, harmonizing with all kinds of people, becoming someone beloved who naturally governs life's domain. Without deliberate pursuit, everything nurtures itself spontaneously – this realm is marvelously ineffable. Those who attain it become rulers without territory, leaders without official titles. All under heaven desire their protection and grace; even tiny creatures wish to draw near. Thus one can guide the world without relying on authority.

Those courageous in displaying strength invite fatal disaster; those courageous in showing weakness preserve their lives. Attackers are already dominated by murderous intent; those who dare appear weak find the great Dao flourishing endlessly among all things.

Wenzi asked about the meaning of De. Laozi replied: Nurturing all beings, helping them grow, impartially benefiting without favoritism, merging with heaven and earth's natural harmony – this is De. In human life, our forms contact external objects, our minds perceive worldly affairs, inevitably influenced by surroundings. Only by transcending love and hatred within, acting without involvement in gain or loss, can one command all things without being oppressed.

This passage elucidates the core ethical concepts of Daoism—benevolence (ren), righteousness (yi), propriety (li), and virtue (de)—along with their social functions.

Regarding "benevolence": Those in high positions should not boast of their achievements, while those in low positions should not feel ashamed of their shortcomings. True benevolence manifests when one yields in significant matters without belittling trivial ones, showing equal care for all without partiality, maintaining this quality unwaveringly. Only those with the purest innate nature can sustain this state permanently. Thus, ancient sages placed benevolence at the forefront of the five cardinal teachings.

Concerning "righteousness": Those in authority should support the weak, while subordinates must uphold their integrity. When prosperous, one should not become indulgent; when in adversity, one must not alter moral principles. Persistently following the right path without distorting principles due to personal bias constitutes righteousness. It means adhering to correct principles as constant standards, allowing no selfish interference, thereby achieving proper beginnings and endings.

On "propriety": Leaders should be reverent and meticulous, while followers ought to be humble and observe decorum. Yielding while maintaining gentleness, willingly occupying the world's most yielding position, and preserving an attitude of never presuming to take precedence—this is the essence of propriety. Propriety is not merely about formal rituals of bowing and yielding but represents the unity of inner harmony and outward expression.

Regarding their collective function: When rulers cultivate virtue (de), the people obey commands; when they nurture benevolence (ren), conflicts cease; when they uphold righteousness (yi), fairness prevails; when they practice propriety (li), respect flourishes. Perfecting these four aspects ensures national stability.

All things depend on the Dao (natural law) for growth, on virtue (de) for development, on benevolence for care, on righteousness for rectification, and on propriety for reverence. Without nourishment, growth is impossible; without compassion, fulfillment cannot be achieved; without correction, longevity is unattainable; without respect, importance cannot be gained.

Virtue (de) is cherished by the people because it brings stability; benevolence (ren) is remembered because all beings inherently yearn for care; righteousness (yi) is revered because impartial justice commands awe; propriety (li) is honored because dignified demeanor inspires respect. These four principles form the foundation of civilized society—the very means by which sages govern all things. Deviation from these orthodox principles leads to rampant selfish desires that become unmanageable.

Should rulers lack virtue, the people will resent oppression; without benevolence, they will fight over unmet needs; without righteousness, they will turn violent amid lost standards; without propriety, chaos will ensue from lost order. Failure to establish these four fundamental principles results in social turmoil.

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Laozi states: "There has never been a state that, being devoid of the Dao in its governance, did not eventually perish."

During eras when Dao and De flourish, merchants conduct business peacefully in the markets, farmers joyfully till their fields, officials fulfill their duties conscientiously, recluses devote themselves to cultivation, and the common people live in contentment. Thus winds and rains come seasonably, plants grow naturally, all beings receive blessings, Yin and Yang harmonize, and living creatures thrive. The Yellow River reveals auspicious diagrams while the Luo River manifests mystical writings (ancient signs believed to portend universal peace). But when the world declines, rulers impose exorbitant taxes and endless executions, those who dare remonstrate are slain, and the worthy suffer persecution. Then mountains crumble, rivers run dry, locusts swarm, fields lie waste, noxious vapors spread, and popular grievances accumulate. Such grievances can disrupt cosmic order, bringing famine and calamity.

In peaceful times, fools cannot alone create chaos; in chaotic times, sages cannot alone restore order. The actions of both wise and foolish are constrained by their era. Therefore, sages maintain their serene nature, never damaging their innate disposition through anxiety or agitation. Understanding destiny, they remain equanimous whether in hardship or prosperity. One must first comprehend destiny to master it, and meet the right moment to fulfill one's mission. Only when encountering enlightened rulers can sages realize their aspirations. As the "Nine Preservations" chapter states: "Without the proper era, who can accomplish great deeds?"

Wenzi inquired about the difference between sages and the wise. Laozi replied: "Those who understand through hearing are sages; those who understand through seeing are the wise. Sages foresee the roots of fortune and misfortune, choosing the correct path. By holding to tranquility, they prevent troubles before they arise. The wise discern fortune and misfortune only when signs appear, then act through upright caution to cultivate themselves and contain disasters. Sages know Heaven's auspicious and inauspicious patterns, understanding that 'contentment brings constant joy while greed invites calamity'—these being the roots of fortune and misfortune. Thus they preserve the Dao through stillness, never rushing ahead presumptuously. The wise perceive omens first, thereby grasping fortune and misfortune's pivots, remaining unswayed by superficial prosperity to avoid sudden disasters. To foresee what has not yet occurred is sagely; to detect emerging signs is wise—those lacking both are foolish."

Laozi further said: "When rulers esteem cleverness, they become superstitious about timing and self-willed, abandoning natural law to rely on personal schemes. This is believing in chance while being self-opinionated—discarding inevitable principles to depend solely on subjective thought."

This scripture primarily discusses principles of governance and self-cultivation, presented in two parts:

The first section warns against overreliance on human ingenuity. Human wisdom has limits, while the transformations of phenomena are boundless. Relying solely on personal stratagems inevitably leads to repeated errors. Obsession with political maneuvering results in dead ends, while glorifying military force invites destruction. Arbitrary rewards create inequitable distribution—when superiors lack consistent standards, subordinates become insatiable. A ruler's unrestrained generosity breeds endless demands from ministers. Excessive taxation breeds public resentment, while oppressive levies lose the people's hearts. Insufficient revenue leaves the state impoverished, uneven allocation angers officials, and heavy conscription demoralizes soldiers. Thus governance cannot rely on material resources alone—it requires proper methods.

The second part, through a dialogue between Wenzi and Laozi, expounds the governing philosophy of "holding to the One through Wuwei (non-action)." "Holding to the One" means aligning with nature's flow without rigid opinions, while "Wuwei" means avoiding forceful interference. Like channeling water by following its nature, one must adapt alongside all things according to cosmic patterns. The world resembles a vast vessel—attempting to forcibly control it guarantees failure. Those skilled in one specialty fail when facing myriad phenomena; those fixated on particular qualities inevitably lose comprehension of the whole. Truly "holding to the One" appears modest in capability yet achieves greatness through humble inclusiveness. "Wuwei" means maintaining tranquility without proactive disturbance—only through stillness can one become the world's compass. Restlessness harms the innate nature of things, while harmonizing with natural transformations allows all beings to fulfill their proper places.

The conclusion emphasizes balanced wisdom: remaining full without overflowing, occupying high positions without pride. By understanding subtle principles and maintaining serenity, one avoids arrogance and excess. Such is the Great Dao (the Way): brimming yet never depleted, thus maintaining lasting abundance; lofty yet never precarious, thus preserving enduring nobility. When cultivated thus, wealth and honor endure, with blessings and prosperity following naturally.

The fundamental principle by which ancient sage-kings governed the world lies precisely here—only by following this Great Dao can the order of heaven and earth be established.

Laozi said: When the common people collectively follow the Dao (the fundamental law of the universe), their conduct naturally conforms to proper measures. People yearn for moral principles yet fear laws, because relying solely on morality cannot endure, nor can intimidation maintain lasting restraint. Thus rulers are needed to provide unified governance. Since the people cannot permanently uphold morality or maintain reverent focus, sovereigns are established to provide unified standards. When the ruler grasps the "One" (the fundamental principle), the state becomes well-ordered; losing the constant Dao brings chaos, and disorder stems precisely from governance without constant standards.

True statecraft lies not in deliberate action but in accordance with natural spontaneity. The essence of governance values tranquility and wuwei (non-action)—not racing ahead of events, but guiding and teaching by following the people's needs. The wise never use virtue as political achievement—those who flaunt their virtue as capability lack a ruler's wisdom; the courageous never employ violence—those who bully people with power lack a ruler's true courage; the benevolent never bestow favors through authority—those who exploit the Son of Heaven's position for personal gain lack a king's true benevolence. Only by unifying these three can one be said to have grasped the "One"—this "One" being the omnipresent Great Dao, the source of all things. Maintain stillness to preserve the root, and in action you'll naturally accord with all things' patterns.

When laws are frequently altered and rulers frequently replaced, the people become overwhelmed. If rulers indulge their preferences based on position, chaos spreads below. When the Son of Heaven, relying on his exalted status, fails to restrain desires and acts according to whims, partiality takes form. The more intricate the laws become, the more deviant paths emerge below. Thus when rulers lose the standard of "One," the resulting disorder surpasses that of having no ruler at all. Without rulers, people can still support and trust one another; it was precisely because this couldn't last that rulers were established. If rulers instead become sources of chaos, it would be better to have no rulers at all. Rulers must grasp the fundamental principle of "One" to truly lead the people.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) asked: How many varieties of the Kingly Way exist? Laozi replied: Only one. Wenzi pressed: In ancient times some governed through the Dao, others ruled through military force—why say there's only one? Laozi explained: Governing through the Dao relies on De (Virtue/Power), and ruling through force also depends on De. Those above attain all under heaven through the Dao; those below win the people's hearts through righteousness. Military force divides into five types: there are armies of righteousness, armies of retaliation... (the subsequent discussion on military principles remains incomplete)

This scripture expounds on two major principles: the Dao (Way) of military strategy and the Dao of governing a state and cultivating oneself.

Regarding warfare, the text identifies four types of armies: righteous armies (yibing), responsive armies (yingbing), wrathful armies (fenbing), and greedy armies (tanbing). Armies mobilized to overthrow tyrants and rescue the oppressed are called righteous armies; those forced to counter invading enemies are responsive armies; those acting on petty disputes due to uncontrolled anger are wrathful armies; those coveting others' lands and wealth are greedy armies. Righteous armies win popular support and thus can become rulers; responsive armies prevail by striking after the enemy attacks; wrathful armies fail by lacking restraint in minor matters; greedy armies perish by being unable to hold their gains; arrogant armies collapse by defying the Heavenly Dao (Tian Dao). These are all natural laws.

Concerning statecraft and self-cultivation, Laozi states that abandoning the Great Dao (fundamental principle) to rely on cleverness is perilous, while discarding celestial patterns (natural laws) to act based on talent leads to predicaments. One should maintain fundamental integrity and follow heavenly principles, remaining unmoved by gain or loss. True achievement is not attained through forced pursuit, nor is genuine attainment obtained through coercion. Like the four seasons in their cycles—spring's growth and autumn's harvest—those who benefit feel no gratitude, and those who perish bear no resentment. This is how one approaches the Dao. One must dissolve personal attachments and act in harmony with celestial timing.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) asked how to win the hearts of all under heaven. Laozi replied: Be like rivers and seas—humble without arrogance, inclusive without discrimination. Remain tranquil and empty, yet capable of responding infinitely. To stand above others, first let your words be humble; to lead others, first place your own interests behind. Thus, people will naturally cherish you. This method—attaining nobility through humility and advancing by retreating—is the path of aligning with the Heavenly Dao (Tian Dao) and accomplishing all things. Sincerely practicing this will naturally garner devotion.

This scripture primarily discusses how governance and personal conduct should adapt to changing circumstances rather than rigidly adhering to dogma.

A truly benevolent ruler implements humane governance without oppressing the people. Though occupying a lofty position, the masses feel no burden; though leading the way, none are harmed. Thus all under heaven gladly support such a ruler—even distant lands with different customs, down to the smallest creatures, feel affection. By aligning with the Dao and practicing benevolence, even culturally distinct groups instinctively recognize such leadership as worthy of reverence.

Those who master this art of governance act without obstruction, earning universal respect. This method proves universally applicable, capable of responding to all situations—is this not the most precious wisdom?

The text then employs a zither-tuning metaphor: Clinging to the legal codes of one era to negate customs passed down through generations is like gluing the tuning pegs in place (note: fixed pegs cannot adjust pitch). Just as the five tones require variation and harmony to create music, each dynasty must establish laws according to actual conditions. The essence of governance lies in adapting to the times, not stubborn adherence. Sages take appropriate measures according to changing circumstances—this is true flexibility.

Times change, affairs transform, and customs evolve. Laws should be established according to contemporary realities, actions aligned with current trends. As people's temperaments vary and customs differ, imperial governance must adjust accordingly. The legal systems of ancient sage-kings all differed—not from deliberate opposition, but from necessity. Thus we should not imitate their codified laws, but rather learn their legislative principle: adaptation to change. Like ritual prayers to heaven and earth, which suit specific occasions—how could they serve as fixed models?

While a sage's laws may be observed and emulated, the reasoning behind their legislation remains elusive. External decrees can be examined, but internal decision-making cannot be fathomed. Their words may be heard, yet their deeper meaning proves difficult to grasp. For while legal codes can be transmitted, the original legislative intent often transcends verbal expression.

Finally, the text references the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors (legendary ancient sage-kings) who held power lightly, transcended worldly concerns, equated life and death, followed transformations, relinquished concerns over status and gain, and unified with the Dao. Upholding the great Dao, they contemplated all things with genuine sincerity. Through profound understanding of the Dao, they comprehended all phenomena. Above, they befriended the cosmic Dao; below, they moved in harmony with creation—every action and stillness aligned with natural law. Yet modern seekers attempting to learn this Way find its luminous essence obscured by worldly turbidity.

This scripture presents a dialogue between Wenzi and Laozi expounding the core principles of governance. Laozi asserts that ruling a state must adhere to the fundamental tenets of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power).

When guiding the people with Dao, they naturally find their proper place; when nurturing them with De, they understand where to turn. One should neither deliberately flaunt worthiness nor abuse authority. If a ruler glorifies the worthy, ministers will compete for fame in court; if power is wielded harshly, it breeds resentment among the populace. What should truly be upheld is the root of Dao-De.

A ruler must: refrain from displaying tempting profits or covetable desires. For chasing profit erodes compassionate nature, and exposing desires disrupts stable governance. Rule with rectitude that doesn't harm, integrity without severity, allowing people to preserve their innate nature. Avoid arrogance and boasting of achievements.

Guided by Dao, people draw near willingly; nurtured by De, they submit joyfully. Without glorifying worthiness, people remain content; without applying force, they stay simple and honest. Thus the people settle naturally, free from resentment.

Not flaunting worthiness constitutes frugality; not abusing force demonstrates humility. A frugal ruler prevents scarcity in the realm; a humble sovereign allows all things to develop naturally. Conversely, belittling the people severs their loyalty; neglecting their nurture invites rebellion; parading worthiness provokes contention; employing violence stirs popular grievance. A divided state declines; betrayed subjects undermine authority; contentious people turn to wrongdoing; when lower ranks resent superiors, the ruling position becomes endangered.

Laozi concludes: The words of superiors should be actionable by subordinates; the words of subordinates should be considered by superiors. Only through such mutual communication can true governance be achieved. Implementing these principles brings one close to the pristine way of ancient rulership.

This passage elucidates the importance of "strategic adaptation" (quanbian) in governance. The term "quan" (权变, flexibility) refers to the sage's ability to respond flexibly according to specific circumstances.

The text begins with an analogy: A ruler's commands descend like silk threads from above—this represents standard practice, while a minister's remonstrations serve as provisional measures. Establishing moral transformation relies on the ruler, who should therefore heed counsel. What is truly valuable is understanding strategic adaptation, a wisdom only sages can master. Speech must be trustworthy, and promises must be kept—only then can words and actions remain consistent.

Two cautionary tales then illustrate the dangers of rigid adherence to dogma: The first recounts the story of "Zhigong," a son who testified against his father for stealing a sheep; the second describes a woman who drowned while keeping an impractical promise. Such seemingly noble acts are ultimately unworthy of praise. Sages weigh right and wrong in handling affairs without fixed standards, responding flexibly according to circumstances and prioritizing the greater good.

The text particularly emphasizes that in exceptional situations—such as a ruler in peril or a father drowning—not addressing the ruler by title becomes disrespectful, and not grasping a father's hair to save him becomes unfilial. Here, one must break conventions to achieve righteous ends. Strategic adaptation is wisdom unique to sages, beyond ordinary comprehension. First deviating from norms to later fulfill the purpose is called quanbian; first conforming only to fail later is called lacking quanbian.

The key to mastering strategic adaptation lies in foreseeing changes before they occur and acting promptly when opportunities arise. Flexibility manifests in actions, while seizing the moment depends on inner discernment. Only through quanbian can one internally grasp timing and externally respond to change—seemingly defying norms yet ultimately upholding righteousness to preserve the Dao (the Way). A ruler's conduct must align with heavenly principle (天理), with measures knowing when to add or subtract, making the people feel it is natural without understanding why.

Finally, through examples from the Yijing praising the Xun hexagram (symbolizing compliant adaptation) and the Shijing praising the harmony of cherry blossoms (symbolizing fraternal unity), the text illustrates that without sagely wisdom, who could foresee such insights? Yet caution is needed: Leaking secrets invites disaster, and misapplied quanbian turns good into harm—thus prudence is essential.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) asks: "Master, you say one cannot govern All-under-Heaven without Dao and De (Virtue), yet some ancient rulers without Dao died peacefully—why?" The answer: Such rulers relied on accumulated merit from their ancestors, which shielded them for a lifetime.

From emperors to commoners, all people live their lives, yet the quality of life varies greatly. The frequent occurrences of fallen states and broken families throughout the world all stem from a lack of Dao and De (Virtue/Power). While some may go through life without encountering calamity, that is merely fortunate destiny. Those who experience state collapse and familial ruin invariably lose everything due to their lack of Dao.

Only those who maintain constant vigilance and cautiousness—like driving a six-horse chariot with rotten reins—can preserve their households and states long-term. Indulging desires with laziness and negligence invites imminent destruction, making preservation impossible. Had tyrants like Jie of Xia or Zhou of Shang cultivated Dao and De, even virtuous rulers like Tang of Shang or Wu of Zhou couldn't have established their revolutionary achievements.

The fall of Xia and Shang dynasties wasn't solely due to Jie and Zhou's lack of Dao. When an era's moral fabric decays, though some may temporarily escape misfortune, ultimate collapse is inevitable. Had those two rulers followed Dao and De, what justification would Tang and Wu have had for dynastic change? While surviving calamity without virtue is possible, disasters never befall those who uphold Dao and De.

Dao and De exist for mutual nourishment and growth, fostering affection and mutual respect. Even deaf-mutes, though simple-minded, don't harm those they love. If all people embraced benevolent hearts, how could disasters arise? Even ignorant creatures know to seek benefit and avoid harm—how much more so for sentient humans?

By educating people through Dao and De, transforming hearts through virtue, and letting natural affection blossom, the roots of disaster find no soil. Those temporarily spared despite lacking Dao still retain some unbroken threads of benevolence and remnants of righteousness. Yet even with lingering virtue, feudal lords begin despising their sovereign; this contempt erodes court authority until governance becomes impossible.

True reverence and obedience must spring from hearts genuinely moved by Dao and De. When benevolence and righteousness completely vanish, lords rebel, masses rise up, the strong bully the weak, great states invade small ones, and mutual aggression becomes commonplace.

This scripture primarily discusses how the foundation of state governance and personal cultivation lies in adhering to the principles of "Dao" (the Way) and "De" (Virtue/Power). Departing from these fundamental principles will inevitably lead to various calamities.

The text first observes that when rulers lose moral standards, society gradually declines. The deterioration occurs progressively: first losing the "Dao" (the fundamental law of the universe), then losing "De" (moral conduct), subsequently relying on "benevolence," and when benevolence fails, turning to "righteousness." When even righteousness is lost, the state will perish. This decline accumulates step by step. Ultimately, the rise and fall of individuals and the fate of nations all stem from departing from the root principle of Dao.

Two metaphors then illustrate the wisdom of governance: First, just as fanning flames to extinguish them only makes them burn stronger, using complex decrees to solve problems creates more issues. Second, like stirring muddy water hoping it will clear, employing clever tactics to prevent disasters actually breeds more calamities. True governance requires rulers to abandon cunning strategies and let people maintain their natural dispositions. The fundamental way to eliminate misfortune lies in reducing artificial interference.

Finally, the text criticizes the dangers of rulers' personal preferences: Excessive preference for "benevolence" leads to rewarding the unworthy and pardoning the guilty, while overemphasis on "punishment" results in neglecting the meritorious and punishing the innocent. Genuine governance should transcend personal biases, because the Dao is the supreme principle governing all things. Ironically, stubbornly clinging to any preference while seeking the Dao will instead lead one astray from its essence. Even "Dao" and "De" should not be deliberately pursued—how much more so for lesser matters?

(Note: Here "Dao" refers to the fundamental law of the universe and supreme truth; "De" denotes the virtue manifested through following the Dao; "benevolence" and "righteousness" are core Confucian moral concepts discussed here within the Daoist philosophical framework.)

This scripture conveys two main teachings: the way of governing a state, and the discernment of right and wrong.

Regarding governance, the text states that those truly capable of ruling the world should be as impartial as heaven and earth. They do not act based on personal preferences—when punishing, they incur no resentment, and when bestowing kindness, they seek no gratitude. Just as heaven and earth operate according to natural laws, covering and supporting all things without bias, a ruler who follows such principles aligns with the virtue (De) of the cosmic duality (Yin-Yang). The function of law lies in distinguishing severity and fairness, so that even when punished, the people accept it willingly, ensuring the stability of the state.

On the matter of distinguishing right from wrong, Laozi points out that worldly standards of judgment are difficult to unify. People often label what they favor as "right" and what they dislike as "wrong." Such judgments are frequently clouded by subjective bias rather than true impartiality. Those who pursue "right" are actually seeking views that align with their own preferences, while rejecting "wrong" merely because it contradicts their opinions. If one insists on following only what they deem "correct" and dismissing what they consider "incorrect," they risk falling into obstinacy. A truly wise ruler does not cling to personal views—just as small fish should not be stirred too much while cooking ("Governing a large state is like cooking a small fish"), lest they fall apart, so too should governance avoid excessive laws, which only bring chaos.

Finally, the text observes a common human tendency: those who echo others' words appear agreeable, while those distant—even when offering sound advice—are met with suspicion. Thus, even when one seeks to conduct themselves with integrity in dealing with others, it remains unpredictable what standards the world will use to judge them.

This scripture conveys two main teachings: the first half discusses the path of cultivating the mind, while the latter half addresses the way of governing a state.

Regarding mental cultivation, the text employs the metaphor of "seeking shelter from rain": deliberately pursuing transcendence from worldly affairs is like running through the rain to avoid getting wet, only to end up drenched. True liberation isn't achieved through forced effort, but resembles a chariot's axle that remains perfectly centered—though it doesn't actively rotate, it enables travel over great distances. Maintaining mental emptiness (referring to a state free from attachments) isn't about forcibly emptying the mind, but rather attaining it naturally. Those who embody the Dao are like the unmoving axle around which all things revolve, while they themselves remain capable of responding to infinite transformations. The sages who comprehend the great Dao appear motionless yet can adapt to all changes—this profound state cannot be reached through deliberate striving.

Concerning state governance, the text uses warfare as an illustration: nations that frequently wage war inevitably perish. Constant warfare exhausts the people, while repeated victories inflate the ruler's arrogance. An arrogant ruler indulges in desires, and an exhausted populace breeds resentment. When both ruler and subjects reach extremes, the state's collapse becomes imminent. Thus, the wise course is to withdraw after achieving success—this aligns with the natural patterns of the Dao.

The term "penetrating the mysterious" (tongxuan) refers to comprehending profound truths, while "true scripture" (zhenjing) denotes classics that elucidate the great Dao. What's called "embodying the Dao" (tidao) means realizing the great Dao through physical and mental practice—this constitutes an essential method of Daoist cultivation.