《通玄真經(二)》Vol. 6

The sixth chapter "Shang De" (Superior Virtue) of the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Authentic Scripture of Pervading Mystery) presents Laozi's teachings on the wisdom of governing a state and cultivating the self.

The text states that a ruler is like the heart of a nation, determining its survival, prosperity, or decline. If the ruler's mind is at peace, the various functions of the state operate smoothly; if the ruler's mind is disordered, the entire country falls into chaos. This is similar to the human body—only when all limbs and bones are in harmony can health be maintained. When each part of the body is in its proper place, a person feels comfort; likewise, when each department of the state fulfills its role, harmony exists between ruler and ministers.

Laozi once learned from his teacher Chang Cong, observing that the tongue is soft while the teeth are hard, yet the hard teeth fall out first. From this, he grasped the importance of "maintaining softness." Just as we see flexible branches growing high and fragile wood being used for rooftops, these are examples of how "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." The sage navigates the world like a shadow following the body, always maintaining a posture of humility and yielding, never contending with others—thus achieving lasting peace. This is like stacking firewood: the pieces placed later end up on top, illustrating that only by following the natural order can one accomplish great deeds.

Laozi also uses several metaphors to explain how forceful displays invite disaster: a bell destroys itself by ringing, a candle consumes itself by shining, tigers and leopards are hunted for their beautiful stripes, and monkeys are captured because of their agility. Similarly, the courageous often perish due to their strength, and the eloquent often suffer from their own cleverness. These are the harms of knowing only how to display one's strengths but not how to conceal wisdom. True wisdom does not flaunt intelligence or contend for dominance—only then can one adapt to ever-changing circumstances. Those who excel in only one aspect are unfit for great responsibilities.

Laozi states that the essential nature of the Dao (the Way) is formless and without attributes ("wu you"). We cannot see its shape, nor hear its sound—it can only be described as "dark and subtle." Yet it's crucial to understand that "dark and subtle" is merely a metaphor for the Dao, not the Dao itself. Though the mysterious essence of the Dao is formless, it permeates the finest interstices of all things, never departing from them for even a moment.

While the Dao itself is profoundly unfathomable, its workings manifest everywhere. Even if we reluctantly give it a name, it remains unconfined by that label. Those who cultivate the Dao must turn their gaze inward, returning to their original purity, shedding desires to regain simplicity. Only then can they naturally comprehend the great Dao. True understanding reveals that all things under heaven partake of the Dao.

Those who cling to petty cleverness fall into great confusion; those content with small wisdom ultimately become truly foolish. The obstinate can never return to the state of "great wisdom appearing as folly." Turbid water cannot serve as a mirror—only still water reflects clearly. So too with the human heart: only when undisturbed by external things can it perceive all things with clarity.

The moon is brightest on the fifteenth day of the lunar month because it faces the sun directly; for humans to attain stillness, they must first transcend restless opposition. Yet true stillness isn't achieved through contrast—it arises spontaneously. Just as yin cannot dominate yang, nor the humble overstep the noble, only this maintains eternal balance. When the sun rises, the stars fade, for stars cannot rival the sun's radiance; when great De (Virtue) manifests in the world, lesser virtue naturally pales. The branch cannot surpass the trunk, nor the tip outweigh the root—when top-heavy, collapse is inevitable.

When desire conquers the human heart, turmoil ensues. Just as a deep pool cannot harbor two flood dragons, nor a female bird mate with two males, singularity brings stability while multiplicity breeds conflict. Right and wrong cannot coexist—only the prevailing side determines the outcome.

When precious jade lies hidden in mountains, vegetation flourishes; when pearls form in deep pools, shoreline plants never wither—the Dao exists within all things, naturally nourishing their forms. Earthworms lack strong sinews or sharp claws, yet they tunnel through dry soil above and drink from subterranean springs below, sustained by single-minded focus. When form doesn't depend on externals, the heart remains unbound; when the heart expects nothing, life preserves itself as effortlessly as water and earth nurture all things.

Clear water reflects the eyes, while murky rivers cannot mirror Mount Tai—with inner clarity, one perceives all things, regardless of the vessel's size. Orchids don't cease being fragrant when unworn, boats don't sink when unridden, and noble persons don't abandon the Dao when misunderstood, for these are their inherent natures. Plants and trees each follow their nature—so too does the Dao follow its spontaneous course.

This scripture primarily expounds on the principles of harmonizing Yin-Yang and following nature's way, along with wisdom for human conduct.

Those who cultivate the Great Dao (Dadao) must understand "daily diminishment" (gradually reducing desires) - something ordinary people cannot achieve. The sage's original intent was to perfect one's innate nature through acquired learning, but if one's nature is already aligned with the heavenly Dao, why cling stubbornly to predetermined fate instead of continuing to refine oneself?

Several contrasts illustrate the importance of balance: when clarity enters turbidity, it inevitably becomes trapped; when turbidity mixes with clarity, it will surely overturn. Just as worthy men become trapped when serving office in unsuitable times, fools inevitably fail when promoted beyond their capabilities.

The Three Powers of heaven, earth and humanity all emphasize Yin-Yang balance: when celestial Yin-Yang energies become imbalanced, rainbows appear; when earthly Yin-Yang is disordered, terrestrial energies leak; when human Yin-Yang is unregulated, illness occurs. Just as pent-up emotions of joy and anger in the chest cause sickness. Yin-Yang cannot remain constant - like winter suddenly turning to summer, the moon knowing not daylight, the sun knowing not night. Only when Yin-Yang and the sun-moon remain pure and unmixed can they accomplish the merit of transforming and nurturing all things.

The positions of ruler and minister, the distinctions between male and female - all follow natural order and must not be confused. Some say the greatest forms and energies between heaven and earth are none other than Yin-Yang and the sun-moon, yet even these cannot achieve perfection - how much more so other things? Only the function of the Dao remains eternally unchanging, thus it can be called supreme.

Several metaphors illustrate the importance of fundamentals: only broad rivers can nurture large fish; only tall mountains grow giant trees; only vast land accumulates thick virtue. Without roots, branches and leaves cannot flourish. Just as fishing requires bait, trapping animals needs tools - to accomplish anything, one must first prepare the necessary conditions. When mountains harbor fierce beasts, trees go uncut; when gardens contain poisonous insects, herbs go unpicked; when states have worthy ministers, crises can be resolved a thousand miles away - just as Yue State dared not attack Wu.

Those who attain the Dao are like wheel hubs turning on their axles - expending no personal effort yet traveling a thousand miles, cycling endlessly without exhaustion. All things move day and night without knowing why - only those who maintain empty stillness can move in harmony with them. Those who don't understand the Dao labor yet struggle to reach distant goals.

Finally, two historical anecdotes illustrate principles of employing people: how can appointing wicked men yield good results? When employing upright men, don't keep company with the wicked. Like bird-catching nets - though only one mesh hole actually catches the bird, a net woven with just one hole would never catch anything. Thus when sages establish teachings, they never rely on single methods.

This scripture expounds the Daoist philosophy of following nature's course and governing through wuwei (non-action), using multiple metaphors to illustrate the natural laws of development.

All things possess their own inherent qualities, just as all paths to truth ultimately converge in the same profound mystery. The same principle applies to governing a state and selecting talent. Certain matters cannot be predetermined, so the sage accumulates Dao and De (Virtue/Power) while awaiting the right moment. Just as one must first clear the streams to catch fish or plant trees to attract birds, water gathers naturally where fish thrive, and lush trees naturally draw birds. By understanding the nature of things and guiding them accordingly, even disparate elements can coexist harmoniously.

Creating an environment for fish does not mean forcibly throwing them into deep pools, nor does preparing conditions for monkeys mean carrying them up trees—it means allowing each to find its proper place. Bestowing De upon things does not demand perfection; preserving their natural essence requires no forced rules or constraints. Thus, following nature's course is sufficient.

Where the foot steps lightly, it is because there are places yet untrodden; where the mind knows little, it is because there are realms yet unexplored. Only by extending one’s steps toward the untraveled path can one journey far, and only by directing the mind toward the unknown can one comprehend the Dao. Just as a river dries up and the valley empties, or hills are leveled and the abyss fills, when the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold.

Still water becomes clear naturally; clarity brings stillness, and stillness reveals the true nature of things. When the mind remains pure and tranquil, it naturally perceives all phenomena. Leaves fall because of the wind; water muddies because of disturbance. Desires harm one’s innate nature, just as jade must be polished to become a vessel, and a sword must be whetted to grow sharp. Without carving, there is no vessel; without tempering, there is no usefulness—such is the way of study and cultivation.

A gadfly clinging to a swift horse can travel a thousand miles without flying, needing no provisions yet never going hungry. By finding the right support, one naturally achieves fulfillment. Just as hunting dogs are cooked once the cunning hare is caught, or fine bows are stored once the birds are shot down, withdrawing after accomplishing one’s purpose follows nature’s law. History abounds with examples of those who founded kingdoms yet met disgraceful ends—thus, those who understand the Dao know how to grasp both beginning and conclusion.

True anger arises from a state of no anger; true action emerges from wuwei (non-action). By perceiving the essence of things, one does not overvalue results.

The sage penetrates all things with an attitude of Wuwei (non-action). This principle does not mean deliberately refraining from certain actions of the past, nor does it mean intentionally becoming angry now when one wasn't before. To ultimately become angry because of belittling things, or to be forced into action after neglecting affairs—these are cases of reversing the root and branch.

To truly see things clearly, one must observe what appears nonexistent; to truly hear sounds distinctly, one must listen to what seems silent. If one only stares at what's immediately visible, the eyes will become dazzled; if one only listens to nearby sounds, the mind will become confused. How can this be considered true perception? Only by reversing this approach can one attain complete understanding.

Just as flying birds eventually return to their homeland, wild rabbits always run back to their burrows, foxes point their heads toward hills when dying, and cicadas cling to trees for shelter—all things ultimately return to their origins. Though water and fire oppose each other, in the ancient cooking vessel (dingli) they harmonize to produce the five flavors; though bones and flesh are intimately connected, slander can turn them against each other. When methods are skillfully applied, even dissimilar things can coexist harmoniously; when the Dao is violated, even innate nature may be altered.

Dogs and pigs don't discriminate among feeding vessels—the fatter they grow, the closer they are to death. Officials who don't choose their posts may enrich their families but endanger themselves. The phoenix soars a thousand ren high where none can harm it, because it knows to avoid perilous states and never lingers in turbulent lands. Just as eyes can see clearly a hundred paces away yet cannot perceive their own eyelashes, people in worldly affairs always pursue external things without understanding self-reflection.

Building mountains upon high ground ensures natural stability without danger; creating ponds in low-lying areas naturally gathers deep waters and fish. Those who occupy noble positions while accumulating De (Virtue) will never topple; those who dwell in non-contention while maintaining humility will gain the support of all things. Ditches overflow during heavy rains and dry up in droughts, while the sources of rivers and seas flow eternally without exhaustion. Without finding the root, one sways with external things; only with its source can the river maintain constancy.

The deaf lack hearing, but their vision isn't obscured because they focus on sight; the blind lack sight, but their hearing isn't obscured because they concentrate on sound. Each faculty has its function without mutual interference—this is the essence of focusing on one thing without dispersion. Turbid water can wash feet, just as one can withdraw from the world in dark times; clear water can wash hat tassels, just as one may serve in government during enlightened eras. Silk threads can be woven into white silk—some become hats, others become socks—their uses differ but their essence remains the same.

This scripture employs natural phenomena as metaphors for human affairs, illustrating how all things possess their own inherent characteristics and limitations. Though made from the same white cloth, a hat and shoes differ in status; though born of the same Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, distinctions of nobility and baseness still exist. Just as metal can fell trees, a single blade cannot destroy an entire forest; earth can block water, yet a handful of soil cannot dam a river; water extinguishes fire, but one ladle cannot quench a cartload of burning firewood—even when wielding tools of restraint, if one lacks sufficient De (Virtue/Power) and capability, efforts remain futile.

Nature also exhibits anomalies: winter thunder and summer hail reveal how Yin-Yang transformations persist even in extreme cold or heat. Like frost melting under sunlight, thunder before the winter solstice signals the resurgence of Yang Qi, while hail before the summer solstice marks the condensation of Yin Qi—proof that inner laws ultimately transcend external constraints. The wise understand and align with this inevitability.

Further metaphors illuminate principles for navigating life: what tilts easily topples; dampness invites rain—thus the virtuous excel at leveraging circumstances. Orchids wither early for their fragrance; toads are captured for their medicinal use—talents may invite misfortune, much like the prophetic turtle in the legend who, despite forewarning Duke Yuan of Song in a dream, could not escape capture. This warns that displaying brilliance is not always a blessing.

The text also observes: those indulging desires harm their primordial Qi; fruits out of season jeopardize health. Teeth and tongues serve as a parable—the hard wear out first, straight arrows snap sooner, while pliancy endures. A crooked shadow stems from a misshapen form; a muddled echo arises from an impure sound—adverse outcomes manifest when the root is flawed. Finally, it cautions: a physician sharing symptoms with a dying patient cannot heal; an advisor sharing ideals with a doomed ruler cannot offer loyal counsel—rulers must heed unwelcome truths.

Throughout, the text emphasizes the wisdom of "aligning with natural laws" and "embracing humility and softness," blending classic Daoist dialectics of Yin-Yang with implicit admonitions for governance and self-cultivation.

This scripture primarily discusses the principles of rulership and worldly wisdom, employing multiple metaphors to illustrate the importance of moderation and alignment with nature.

A deaf person cannot enjoy music, just as a blind person cannot interact with the world. When the heart harbors expectations, external forms and sounds naturally follow. Thus, those who can calm their minds will not cling to external things. Walking through dense forests makes it hard to follow a straight path, and traversing treacherous roads makes balance difficult to maintain. Becoming entangled with external matters inevitably leads to chaos, and encountering hardships often results in harm. Yet if one deliberately seeks out forests or intentionally walks dangerous paths, how can they ever tread the broad, unobstructed highway?

The vastness of the ocean comes from its capacity to receive a hundred rivers; the greatness of supreme virtue (De) lies in its all-encompassing nature. Without deliberately blocking the ears and eyes, one can still embrace all sights and sounds; without forcibly altering one’s nature, one can harmonize danger and safety. Only such a state can match the ocean’s expansiveness and possess the virtue (De) to encompass all things.

There are never two suns in the sky, nor two alpha males among foxes. Divine dragons do not appear in pairs, fierce beasts do not travel in packs, and birds of prey do not fly in twos. The virtue (De) of a single ruler, the application of a single talent—these are already hard to rival, let alone the Dao by which sages transform the world or the achievements accomplished through solitary operation. Just as rafters alone cannot fully block the sun, and spokes alone cannot outpace a swift horse, these components are insufficient to rely on entirely.

Any ability that acts upon external things should not be overly depended upon. The true test lies in practical results, not superficial efforts. Thus, when sages save the world and aid the people, they adapt their talents to the nature of things, leveraging circumstances and relying on others to accomplish their work. It is like drawing a bow to shoot an arrow—without the bowstring, the arrow cannot hit its mark. The key to archery lies in accuracy; if one fundamentally misses the target, what meaning does the act of shooting hold? One hit out of a hundred arrows cannot offset the failures. All great achievements in the world follow this principle. To forget repeated failures and boast over a single success—is this not contrary to the pragmatic principles of worldly conduct? It is like hungry horses in a stable: silent at ordinary times, but the moment fodder is placed beside them, their competitive instincts immediately arise.

This passage elucidates several essential Daoist principles:

First, it addresses the issue of desires: While human hearts naturally harbor desires, they remain undisturbed when not exposed to tempting stimuli. The text employs vivid metaphors - a three-inch wide pipe without a bottom could never contain all the waters under heaven, while a ten-dan capacity vessel with a stopper needs only a hundred bamboo tubes of water to be filled. These container analogies illustrate the heart-mind and emphasize the importance of moderation.

Petty individuals, confined by their narrow-mindedness, remain perpetually unsatisfied, whereas noble persons of expansive capacity understand the wisdom of knowing when to stop. Just as a carpenter's ink line ensures straight cuts and scales guarantee accurate measurements, following the Dao (the Way) prevents entanglement in disputes, and impartially practicing De (Virtue) avoids favoritism.

On governance, the text advises: Ancient laws must adapt to contemporary circumstances, like farming tools being used in proper seasons. Rigidly applying outdated methods to new situations, even with the same implements, leads to poor governance. Only those who comprehend temporal shifts and adapt flexibly can make sound judgments. Actions defying current realities create chaos, while laws aligned with the times establish stability.

Regarding social roles: Farmers labor diligently to sustain the noble class, who in turn cultivate Dao-De. When each fulfills their proper function, no hierarchy of nobility or baseness exists. The wise assimilate collective wisdom as effortlessly as recognizing jade within rough stone. Limited perception resembles having ten windows that provide less illumination than a single door - accumulating trivial knowledge while presuming omniscience falls far short of true understanding.

Finally, the text illustrates capability through metaphor: Crossing six feet is easy when lying down (representing low position) but difficult when standing (symbolizing high rank). Thus noble persons dread remaining downstream and must constantly strengthen themselves. As sacrificial participants receive offerings while peacemakers risk injury, different positions yield different outcomes - demonstrating how circumstances determine consequences.

This scripture elucidates principles for personal conduct and state governance through multiple analogies. When someone commits misdeeds yet still helps others, such mixing of good and evil will eventually rebound upon themselves, like an inauspicious tree struck by lightning. Those who lose their foundation will suffer consequences even without formal punishment—hence the noble person must carefully choose where to establish themselves.

Natural phenomena serve as metaphors: the sun and moon seeking radiance are obscured by floating clouds; rivers desiring clarity are muddied by silt; orchids aspiring to flourish are withered by autumn winds. Similarly, human nature yearns for harmony but is disrupted by desires. Therefore, one must be prudent about preferences—just as dust-covered eyes cannot avoid irritation, those maintaining purity won't indulge in sensual pleasures.

A golden tortoise-seal ornament (precious regalia) is worn by sages, while plain cloth is valued by capable individuals. Giving gold to the weak is less practical than providing useful fabric—an object's worth lies in its appropriateness. Those who cannot utilize objects properly have essentially lost the root of governance and the path of cultivating De (Virtue).

Like thirty spokes converging to support a wheel's hub, when a ruler humbly embraces talents, benevolent and righteous individuals will each contribute their strengths. No single type of talent can govern the world alone. All things gather with their kind: citrus grows in specific regions, reeds cluster together, animals with similar feet herd, and birds with matching wings flock. Though phenomena appear diverse, only like attracts like.

Attempting to understand the Nine Provinces without traveling a thousand miles, or ruling myriad people without political foundations, proves futile. When rulers assess circumstances and adapt teachings accordingly, people naturally follow. The aggressive get captured, the swift get shot—apparent bravery invites calamity. Truly virtuous individuals appear humble; maintaining simplicity prevents De from spilling outward.

Gentlemen drink wine to fulfill ritual propriety, while commoners beat fou (earthenware drums) for pleasure. Though methods differ, both achieve harmony of mind. Ritual and music stem from innate nature—the wise and simple each find their place. There's no need to disparage commoners' joy while exclusively praising gentlemen's refinement. Human nature manifests precisely through such natural expressions.

The man clad in silken robes, when struck by an arrow, will immediately don armor for protection. This shows that what appears inconvenient may prove invaluable in specific circumstances. Similarly, things often overlooked in daily life may become precious in critical moments—thus we should never discard them lightly.

Consider how thirty spokes converge at the hub of a wheel, each mortise fitting only one spoke without interference. This mirrors how ministers should each fulfill their roles—only by proper arrangement can their full potential be realized. A ruler skilled in employing talents operates like the centipede's hundred legs moving in harmony, or like the tongue and teeth complementing each other—the hard teeth and soft tongue work together without hindrance. A true master of governance ensures that even with numerous officials, all remain in their rightful places, and civil and military officers, though their duties differ, can jointly achieve great deeds.

Stones are naturally hard; orchids are innately fragrant—these traits manifest early and grow more pronounced with time. All things possess their inherent nature: governance that aligns with this nature succeeds, while defiance leads to futile effort. Supporting and guiding, gratitude and humility, gain and loss, acceptance and refusal—these seemingly similar actions differ profoundly in practice. The same method applied in different contexts may yield vastly different results. The world abounds with such phenomena, which is why the sages repeatedly caution us.

Plants that sprout twice rarely bear fruit; leaves that emerge too early wither before the first frost—what matters is perfect timing. Acting too soon invites disorder; acting too late forfeits opportunity. It is like placing rotten meat on the steps while burning incense in the hall, or plunging into water yet resenting the wetness, stinking yet craving fragrance—even the most capable cannot achieve such contradictions. If the fundamental approach is flawed, no amount of skill can ensure success.

In winter, one can break solid ice; in summer, one can bend trees—timing is fleeting and hard to grasp. Nothing in the world is inherently easy or difficult—the key lies in seizing the moment, for sometimes the right moment is more precious than jade. Trees in midsummer regrow despite daily harvesting, yet a single night of autumn frost withers them. Aligning with the Dao (the Way) brings effortless results; stubbornness leads only to wasted effort. Raise a target, and arrows will fly; let forests flourish, and axes will strike—not by summons, but by the force of circumstance.

Exceptional conduct invites envy; great wealth invites plunder. A small dog dares to bite a tiger; a hen dares to fight a wildcat—all because emotion overrides reason. Few in this world accurately assess their own capabilities; most indulge their desires to their own ruin. Like those who wait for high tide to escape, only to drown—over-reliance on external advantages leads to peril.

This scripture expounds the fundamental principles of governing a state and cultivating personal virtue, with "sincere devotion" (jingcheng) at its core. The text employs multiple analogies: if rulers govern people through material incentives, it's like rewarding rescuers—soon people would intentionally create drowning incidents to claim rewards. During the Spring and Autumn period, when Lord Jian of Zhao rewarded those who released turtledoves, it only led to more people capturing the birds for profit. Thus, the essence of governance lies not in rewarding merit but in eliminating the root causes of harm.

The text uses the natural principles of boats floating and stones sinking to illustrate that sages understand the inherent laws of things and thus avoid reckless action. Like a thousand-mile steed that won't advance when pushed or stop when pulled, if a ruler fails to attract talents through proper methods, even capable individuals won't serve loyally. Still water inevitably ripples, balanced scales inevitably tilt, and measured lengths inevitably vary—similarly, laws and decrees may appear fair but inevitably falter in execution. Just as compasses and squares define circles and rectangles, and plumb lines determine straightness, what truly matters is the impartial heart of those wielding these tools.

If one possesses sincerity but lacks laws and teachings, people won't understand proper conduct; if laws are strict but sincerity is absent, they still won't inspire trust. Like Mount Tai—though towering, it disappears when you turn your back; like autumn hair—though tiny, it becomes visible under close scrutiny. Bamboo and wood can ignite but won't burn without drilling; groundwater exists but won't flow without digging. All things follow their Dao (the Way), and only through profound study can we master them. An arrow's flight spans no more than two miles, yet a lame turtle crawling persistently can traverse a thousand miles. The legend of the Foolish Old Man moving mountains teaches that steadfast perseverance achieves grand goals. To catch fish, one must first weave the net—true success comes from fundamental preparation.

Finally, the text emphasizes gradual progress: a bow must first be adjusted before seeking power; a horse must first be tamed before pursuing speed; a person must first establish integrity before developing talent. If one's heart seeks superficial adornment, true cultivation becomes impossible. Preserve the simplicity of your essence, and refinement will manifest naturally. Just as the finest blacksmith cannot melt wood, nor the most skilled carpenter carve ice, all things possess an unalterable nature.

This scripture primarily expounds on principles for personal conduct and state governance, employing vivid metaphors to illustrate profound philosophical truths.

Regarding personal conduct, the scripture states: The wise do not insist on achieving the impossible, just as one cannot demand a river to cease its waves—yet one may choose not to cross it. If one must cross and wishes to avoid drowning, proper preparation is essential. Like those who handle clay pots with daily care, their vessels never fall into wells. If someone criticizes you, they may seek your friendship; if another disparages your goods, they may desire to trade. Do not hastily resent others, for discerning another's true intentions is difficult.

A single move in chess reveals no wisdom, nor does one note on a zither convey joy or sorrow—one cannot judge a person's capability by a solitary act. The same piece of charcoal may burn your hand when held close, yet ten thousand stones of blazing coal will not kill you from ten paces away—identical substances produce entirely different effects based on their accumulation.

Concerning governance, the scripture teaches: Where there is splendor and wealth, sorrow and hardship inevitably follow. When those above wear silks and brocades, those below must don coarse hemp. If rulers indulge in pleasure while the people suffer, even their riches cannot endure. Just as a great tree requires thriving roots, or a towering mountain needs a solid foundation, those of noble station must be supported by fundamental virtue (De).

Laozi said: A drum does not conceal its sound—thus it can resonate; a mirror does not hide reflections—thus it can reveal. Deliberate preservation makes lasting retention difficult, while maintaining a state of empty tranquility (Wuwei) allows one to respond to all circumstances. Like metal and stone that produce sound only when struck, or pipes that emit notes only when blown, the sage harbors wisdom within without ostentation, acting only when circumstances arise—just as metal and stone follow nature's course.

The Dao of heaven operates without cease, cycling perpetually—thus it endures; a wheel rolls unendingly—thus it travels far. Heaven's movements never err, for they eternally follow natural law. When celestial Qi descends and earthly Qi ascends, the harmonious interplay of Yin-Yang allows all things to flourish. When noble men govern, petty men recede—this mirrors heaven and earth's natural order. Should celestial and earthly Qi fail to commune, or Yin-Yang remain disconnected, the growth of all beings is disrupted.

This scripture primarily discusses the principles governing heaven and earth's operation and the proper way of human conduct. The term "decline" here refers to a state where things fail to flourish. When petty men gain power, noble men naturally decline—this is the natural order. Therefore, noble men should cultivate their virtue (De) and maintain humility to avoid misfortune.

The operating principles of heaven and earth are as follows: The Dao of heaven diminishes the excessive and supplements the deficient; the Dao of earth levels the high and fills the low, ultimately achieving balance. The Dao of spirits punishes the arrogant and brings misfortune to the self-satisfied, while blessing the humble. Human Dao follows the same pattern—the wealthy often withhold generosity, disliking complacency while valuing humility. Though the Dao of sages appears humble, none can surpass it, for it is precisely through humility that the highest state is attained.

The text emphasizes the importance of "clarity": When heaven is bright, the sun and moon illuminate all directions; when rulers are wise and ministers discerning, the state achieves stability. This "clarity" does not imply mutual surveillance but rather freedom from obscurity. Governance following this principle can match the achievements of heaven, earth, sun, and moon, bringing peace to the world and harmony to the seasons. However, if the relationship between ruler and minister is improper, even with heaven's watchful eyes, chaos will inevitably prevail in the world.

Humans should emulate heaven's Dao to attain longevity. The Dao of heaven manifests as splendor, the Dao of earth as orderly patterns—the movement of stars and the flow of rivers all demonstrate this unified harmony, which is called the "Dao." Through harmonious Qi, the Dao generates all things, and the seasons follow their proper sequence. This pattern of transformation is termed the "Dao of Vast Heaven."

The great Dao is actually simple and never distant from us. The human body itself is part of heaven and earth—is this not the embodiment of Dao? Cultivate yourself, and virtue (De) becomes pure; follow heavenly destiny, and you'll merge with Dao effortlessly. Nurture all things, and virtue remains unbroken, for as all things transform endlessly, virtue too becomes boundless.

Heaven covers all things, bestowing virtue to nourish them—giving without taking, thus all things' spirits (Shen) return to heaven. What nurtures growth is heaven's virtue (Tian De), yet heaven never claims ownership. The spirit originally receives qualities of clarity and brightness, hence heaven possesses virtue that seeks no return, residing in the highest position. The spirit has the capacity to penetrate all things, thus it is honored. That the honored belongs to heaven is only natural. To give without taking—this is supreme virtue. Therefore, true virtue leaves no trace yet accomplishes all, seeks no reward yet dwells in the highest place.

This scripture elucidates the principles of celestial and terrestrial movement, and how sages emulate the workings of heaven and earth. Heaven above and marshlands below establish the natural hierarchy that remains eternally unchanging. Sages, modeling this cosmic order, institute proper social distinctions so rulers and subjects, fathers and children all occupy their rightful positions—an immutable principle throughout history.

The earth nourishes all things without claiming merit, just as bones ultimately return to dust in perfect naturalness. Heaven manifests the forms that nurture creation, earth embodies the De (Virtue) that sustains all life, yet neither boasts of their accomplishments. The physical body originates from turbid Qi and eventually returns to the soil—this is nature's way. What belongs below naturally settles downward, and this is perfectly proper.

"To give without seeking return" represents inferior De. While still virtuous, this doesn't attain the highest state. Sages possess the profound upper De (supreme Virtue), lofty as the heavens; their established Virtue stands solid as the earth. The earth rests peacefully while bearing heaven's mandate, enabling all things to flourish. Vast and substantial, the earth supports all existence; its deep contours gather waters, and its expansive breadth ensures endurance. Sages emulate these qualities—their Virtue embraces all, humility attracts universal accord, and tranquility naturally yields attainment.

The transformations of Yin-Yang govern the waxing and waning of all things: When Yin Qi cannot suppress Yang Qi, all beings prosper (referring to the period before the fourth lunar month); when Yang Qi diminishes before Yin Qi, all enters dormancy (before the tenth lunar month). In prosperity, nothing lacks abundance; in dormancy, all achieves tranquility. Through tranquility, natural harmony arises.

Qi originates from form and thus nourishes; non-interference brings ease. Maintain silent stillness, and all things regulate themselves spontaneously. When Yin Qi harms creation, Yang Qi naturally withdraws—just as noble men avoid harm when petty men gain power, for this is heaven's operating principle. Movement and stillness each have their seasons; violating these timings invites calamity. When Yang Qi activates, all things unfold comfortably in their proper places. Therefore sages follow the Yang Dao (the way of natural law), aligning with circumstance to fulfill their intentions effortlessly.

Those who accord with external phenomena find phenomena accord with them; those who oppose phenomena meet opposition. One who completely transforms external reality experiences no separation from the myriad things; perceiving phenomena as adversarial reveals incomplete transformation. Thus the essential lies in never losing this state of harmonious unity with all existence.

All things possess their inherent nature and unique qualities. When water and marshes are abundant, all beings can grow naturally; yet without moderation, excessive flooding will instead destroy life. In governing a state and implementing education, one must follow the inherent nature of all things and the characteristics of the seasons—only then can all beings receive nourishment and mature in due time. If water sources dry up or overflow without restraint, plants will wither and miss their growth cycles.

Yang qi rises and then descends, thus it governs all things. Though occupying an exalted position, it maintains humility—its loftiness inspires reverence in all beings, while its humility fosters closeness, enabling it to become the sovereign. Without deliberately pursuing permanence, it instead cycles endlessly; understanding the patterns of prosperity and decline, it never exhausts itself. This cyclical nature makes it the fundamental source that nurtures all under heaven. To become the foundation of the world, one must possess such virtue.

Only when yang qi accumulates can it bestow; only when yin qi condenses can it transform. Without the process of accumulation, no change can occur. If one's own being is incomplete, how can any endeavor succeed? How much less can one govern all things? Therefore, the sage emphasizes accumulating virtue—only with profound virtue and harmonious yin-yang can one educate the world. When yang qi flourishes, all beings thrive; when yin qi becomes excessive, all beings wither. If rulers honor the yang path (the positive and luminous way of governance), the people will prosper; if they honor the yin path (harsh and shadowy methods of rule), the state will decline.

If yang qi does not intermingle with yin qi, all beings will struggle to mature. The nature of yin is humble and tranquil—if the virtue of yang does not descend, transformation cannot be completed. If a ruler does not treat worthy ministers with courtesy, virtuous governance cannot be implemented; though ministers assist in completing governance, if the ruler does not bestow kindness, decrees cannot be carried out. When a ruler treats subordinates with humility, collective wisdom can be gathered; obstinacy renders one deaf and blind—relying solely on personal perception is utterly insufficient.

When the sun rises from the earth, all beings flourish. A wise ruler occupying a high position spreads moral education like sunlight, nourishing the people. After the sun sets, all beings enter dormancy. If petty persons hold power, the people will flee and hide—under petty rule, lacking methods to govern subjects, hearts scatter, just as all activity ceases after sunset.

The thunder's vibration awakens hibernating creatures; the rain's moisture prompts all beings to grow. So too does the sage govern: his actions awaken vitality like spring thunder; his beneficence nourishes growth like spring rain.

This scripture primarily expounds on principles of governance and self-cultivation, using natural phenomena as metaphors for human affairs.

When a ruler issues decrees, it resembles thunder and rain from heaven—nothing under heaven fails to comply. The transformations of Yin-Yang follow their inherent patterns, and the sage's actions never reach extremes, instead emulating celestial timing to avoid missteps. Excessive pursuit of external things suppresses one's innate nature and may even sever heavenly endowment. Just as thunder shakes the earth and all things unfurl, or wind moves through trees causing grasses to sway, the sage governs by eliminating harmful policies and implementing benevolent ones. When heaven and earth bestow De (Virtue) to cleanse impurities, and when sages reform corrupt governance with virtuous policies, the people will not flee to distant lands.

People choose where to stay or leave—abandoning the worst places and seeking the best. Humans naturally prefer settling in their homeland; only under unbearable tyranny do they reluctantly depart, and only when local kindness is insufficient do they seek refuge elsewhere. This isn't human nature favoring change, just as fire cannot blaze without wind, nor people become obedient without proper education. Fire requires fuel to burn, just as speech requires trustworthiness. With genuine trust, what endeavor could fail? Fire depends on fuel, words rely on sincerity—only then can they flourish. By emulating this constant principle of education—unchanging and authentic—one finds smooth progress wherever one goes.

Like rivers that erode mountains when too deep, or Yang energy that transforms into Yin at its peak (and vice versa), desires should never be satiated to fullness, nor pleasures pursued to extremes. Fullness leads to collapse; extremes invite reversal. When angry, refrain from harsh words; when furious, conceal wrathful expressions—this demonstrates true understanding of balance. Comprehending the principle of retribution without provoking misfortune first—this is the method of self-preservation.

Fire burns upward; water flows downward—the sage's Dao follows the principle of like attracting like. Though the myriad things differ vastly, all that follow the same patterns find their proper place. When sages align with Yang energy, the world harmonizes; when they follow Yin, the world declines. The Yang Dao governs growth and flourishing, the Yin Dao governs austerity and withering. Abundant De (Virtue) brings joy to the people; excessive punishments bring suffering.

Laozi said: "What is thin accumulates to become thick; what is low accumulates to become high." Noble De (Virtue) is built through daily accumulation, while great calamities stem from repeated errors. The gentleman diligently pursues radiant achievements each day, while the petty person indulges desires daily, inviting disgrace. Diligent self-strengthening builds De; indulging desires invites shame. Different accumulations lead to distinct waxing and waning. Though one may not yet fully comprehend the gentleman's mind nor completely grasp the patterns of growth and decline, these principles remain ever-present.

This passage elucidates principles for human conduct and the natural order of heaven and earth, containing three main layers of meaning:

The first layer emphasizes the importance of virtuous orientation. When witnessing good deeds, one should emulate them immediately as if racing to catch up; when encountering evil, one should avoid it swiftly as if fleeing calamity. With a heart inclined toward the good Dao, even mistakes won't incur resentment. A true noble person, though harmed by external things, bears no grudge against others, understanding this stems from insufficient constancy in one's own De (Virtue). Rather than blaming others, better to examine oneself—fortune and misfortune are self-invited, like echoes following sounds or like attracting kindred spirits.

The second layer illustrates karmic retribution through metaphor. To stab someone with a sharp blade yet blame them for harming you is as absurd as harming external things only to suffer retaliation. Thus the noble person must be scrupulously cautious, paying particular attention to subtle beginnings. The phrase "carefulness toward subtle beginnings" refers to nipping problems in the bud.

The third layer expounds the natural law of Yin-Yang harmony. All things carry Yin on their backs while embracing Yang (referring to the two Qi energies), and the balanced fusion of these energies constitutes "harmony." Just as tree fruits grow at the heart of branches, grass seeds form at the heart of stems, and bird/animal embryos develop at the mother's center—all demonstrate harmony residing at the core. Even creatures born from damp or dry Qi require the proper temperature and humidity coordination of spring and autumn for gestation, all manifestations of Yin-Yang harmonization. The text concludes with the analogy of a level and balance scale: water doesn't flow on level ground, scales balance with equal weights—likewise, all growth and decay follows this principle. Excessive Yang Qi leads to growth, excessive Yin Qi leads to decline, just as water at crossroads changes direction with external force, remaining centered and balanced is the only way to maintain stability and correctness.

The term "chong qi" (interacting Qi) refers to the state of Yin and Yang energies mutually stimulating and blending; "crossroads water" metaphorically represents things easily influenced by external forces.

When divine creatures like flood dragons come into existence, it is precisely because noble persons embody the Great Dao (Dadao) and allow its Virtue (De) to flow forth. The profound realm of the Dao naturally enables noble virtue to spread widely. Those who secretly accumulate "hidden virtue" (good deeds performed without seeking recognition) will inevitably receive visible blessings; those who persistently cultivate in silence will ultimately attain illustrious renown. True hidden virtue does not deliberately seek reward—this is the very essence of Virtue (De); concealed good deeds that shun fame and gain—this is the true meaning of practice. When one's virtue reaches the state of utmost authenticity, even if one attempts to deliberately conceal blessings or obscure reputation, it becomes fundamentally impossible.

This is just like how planting millet will never yield panicled millet, nor will sowing resentment reap gratitude—what you sow is what you reap. Plant millet and harvest millet; sow resentment and you can only harvest resentment.