《道德真經四子古道集解》Vol. 3

This passage contrasts governance methods across different historical periods to elucidate the core concept of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)."

During the era of the Three Sovereigns (the earliest legendary sage-kings), rulers transformed the people through mystical resonance, needing no laws or decrees—the populace naturally followed the Dao. The court remained serene without disputes, fields were cultivated without warfare, and the people merely knew of their ruler's existence without sensing the traces of governance.

By the time of the Five Emperors (slightly later sage-kings), prohibitions and systems were established to prevent wrongdoing, yet rewards and punishments remained unnecessary.

When the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou) emerged, governance primarily relied on the deterrence of punishments and incentives of rewards. Though laws were strict and people obedient, this already represented a secondary method of rulership.

The scripture reveals a crucial insight: when rulers lack integrity, the people naturally lose trust. The Xia people needed only verbal promises, the Shang required oaths, while the Zhou had to seal covenants with blood—this precisely demonstrates the gradual erosion of trust.

True governance lies in Wuwei: just as extinguishing fire requires removing the firewood rather than pouring water (which only fuels the flames), sages understand rulership must grasp the root. Thus the scripture states: "When I (the ruler) refrain from arbitrary action, the people naturally transform; when I cherish tranquility, the people naturally rectify themselves." Excessive reliance on harsh laws is as futile as digging channels to stop water or carrying firewood to extinguish flames—such methods only exacerbate the problems they seek to solve.

This scripture primarily discusses the distinction between "superior speech" and "inferior speech," as well as the evolution of ancient governance methods.

Regarding the use of language: Words spoken by those in high positions (superior speech) will be adopted by those below, while words spoken by those in low positions (inferior speech) will be employed by those above. Superior speech represents conventional usage, while inferior speech serves as an expedient measure. The ancient sages understood the Dao of adaptive change—their words were invariably trustworthy, and their actions invariably appropriate.

The ancient sages cultivated themselves internally while governing others externally. When their achievements were complete, they became one with the Dao of Heaven. Though appearing to practice Wuwei (non-action), they actually accomplished everything effortlessly, and the common people perceived this as entirely natural. The speech of noble individuals is sincere, their intentions profound—internal loyalty and trust manifest through external conduct, demonstrating the transformative power of sage instruction.

Chapter Eighteen discusses social changes following the abandonment of the Great Dao. During the era of the legendary Emperor Hexu, people acted with simple naturalness—playing contentedly after eating, living joyful and uncomplicated lives. At that time, human nature remained pristine, naturally embodying virtues of loyalty and filial piety.

By the era of the Three Sovereigns (legendary sage-kings of Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties), they began promoting humaneness (ren) and righteousness (yi) to pacify the people—a manifestation of the Great Dao's virtue being abandoned. Later, the Five Hegemons (powerful rulers of the Spring and Autumn period) established elaborate rituals and righteousness to regulate punishments. With the emergence of intellectual cleverness came hypocrisy, plunging states into chaos as people competed in cunning pursuits of profit.

The Three Sovereigns used humaneness and righteousness as educational tools, while the Five Hegemons employed ritual propriety as the basis for punishment. Humaneness and righteousness were like temporary shelters (qu lu) for the Three Sovereigns—suitable for brief residence but not permanent dwelling, not the enduring Dao.

During the era of the Five Emperors, people behaved properly without calling it "humaneness," cared for each other without calling it "righteousness." Following their innate nature was the "Dao," while preserving their heavenly endowment was "De (Virtue)." By the Three Sovereigns' time, Dao and De had dissipated into humaneness and righteousness. Once these were established, true Dao and De were abandoned. The Three Sovereigns' method of governing actually precipitated the decline of Dao and De.

This passage draws upon the Scripture of Penetrating Mystery (Tongxuan Jing) and the Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) to reveal how excessive emphasis on superficial moral norms like benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) can paradoxically lead to social disorder.

When rulers deliberately govern through artificial standards of benevolence and righteousness, they often create greater chaos. For instance, selecting talent based on these contrived standards causes people to scheme against one another—even undermining the natural bond between parent and child. When cunning intelligence (here referring to manipulative cleverness) is excessively valued, human hearts become disordered, breeding deceitful tendencies—a harbinger of national collapse.

Similarly, when ritual and music systems are abused (the "Five Hegemons" refer to the power politics of the Spring and Autumn period), the Seven Warring States descend into conflict. Implementing rites through clever stratagems makes people deceive one another, potentially overturning the ruler-minister relationship. Only when basic familial bonds (the "six relations" of parent-child, siblings, and spouses) become discordant do societies conspicuously emphasize filial piety. In antiquity's ideal society, truly filial children never needed forced displays of devotion.

So-called loyal ministers only stand out when state governance grows corrupt. In the golden age when the Great Dao (Da Dao) prevailed, loyal ministers never had to flatter their rulers. The text concludes that ancient sages governed by attending to fundamentals, never resorting to petty cleverness. Overly detailed legal codes and mechanical regulations actually erode trust. Just as trying to stop a boiling pot by adding hot water only intensifies the boil, those who understand Wuwei (non-action)—the Daoist principle of governing through natural alignment—know simply removing the firewood solves the problem. Thus when rulers refrain from unnecessary interference, the people naturally govern themselves.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "rejecting sageliness and discarding wisdom," positing that excessive veneration of sages and intellectualism paradoxically creates societal problems.

Drawing from the Nanhua Jing (the Zhuangzi), the text observes that venerating sages encourages people to pursue empty fame, while exalting wisdom fosters opportunism. Only by abandoning such artificial standards can true peace prevail in the world. When people cease striving for the labels of sageliness or clever techniques, the common folk will naturally gain hundredfold benefits.

Regarding humaneness (ren), righteousness (yi), and virtue (de), the scripture contends that overemphasizing these virtues disrupts humanity's innate nature, ultimately leading to moral decay. Only by discarding such artificial ethical benchmarks can people rediscover their natural filial piety and compassion. Similarly, excessive pursuit of skills and profit triggers social chaos, breeding thieves and bandits. These external pursuits must be relinquished before great robbers disappear.

The "three things" mentioned refer to the artificial pursuits of sagely wisdom, humaneness-righteousness, and clever-profit. The author warns that when people exhaust their cunning, deception emerges and social morality deteriorates. These superficial embellishments ("wen") cannot truly resolve problems.

Finally, quoting the Tongxuan Jing (the Wenzi), the passage employs the metaphor of boiling water: attempting to stop boiling by adding hot water only intensifies it. Similarly, governing society through complex methods generates more complications. The true solution is simple—just as removing the fire stops boiling, social governance must return to fundamentals by eliminating artificial interference.

The sages of antiquity governed the world through clarity and stillness, practicing Wuwei (non-action). They preserved their innate purity and simplicity, maintaining empty stillness within without forced action—as spotless as undyed silk, as unadorned as uncarved wood, never entangled with external things.

These ancient sages possessed profound understanding yet returned to fundamental simplicity, achieving Wuwei and recovering their original nature. When rulers maintained such pristine authenticity, none in the world could oppose them. Consider the legendary land of Jiande in the southern wilderness, where people lived with childlike innocence—few selfish desires, minimal cravings. They worked without hoarding, gave freely without expectation, knew nothing of rigid Confucian rituals, yet their seemingly wild behavior aligned perfectly with the Dao (the Way).

The sovereigns of high antiquity governed through detached Wuwei, and the people transformed naturally; through serene desirelessness, the people remained simple. But in latter ages, rulers established grand academies to educate the masses—mere superficial techniques. When the Dao prevails, learning serves its purpose; when the Dao is lost, learning becomes harmful. Like bowstrings that cannot remain forever taut, all things decline after reaching their peak. As the world decayed, people indulged desires, obsessed over sensual pleasures, abandoned proper standards, and ultimately destroyed their states—this is the calamity of clinging to superficial knowledge.

To discard De (Virtue/Power) for scholarship is perilous; to abandon moral character for cleverness invites disaster. Ruling through intellectual schemes exhausts the mind without wisdom; governing through cunning artifice labors in vain. The more learning the ruler accumulates, the more troubles plague the people; when superiors never cease their meddling, chaos erupts below. Using knowledge to solve problems while creating new issues to suppress old ones resembles scattering sparks while hoping to prevent fire—a futile endeavor.

True learning must originate from the Dao. Written knowledge merely records human speech, which itself springs from cleverness—a source of deception and falsehood that never truly comprehends the Dao. Only by severing worldly learning can one become free of worries. Consider when Laozi asked Nanrong Chu, "Have you come from Chu?" and received the simple reply, "Yes." When posed with clever words, the mad philosopher Kuangqu could only sigh, "Alas!" What substantial difference exists between such surface-level responses?

(Note: The "Scripture of Profound Mystery" refers to the Wenzi, while the "Scripture of Southern Florescence" denotes the Zhuangzi. "Jiande Country" is an idealized realm from the Zhuangzi; Nanrong Chu and Kuangqu are both philosophical characters appearing in its parables.)

The Scripture of Penetrating the Mysteries (Tongxuan Jing) states: In the decadent latter days when Dao and De (Virtue/Power) have declined, scholars of various schools stubbornly cling to textual doctrines, attempting to govern the world with such methods. This is like trying to force a square peg into a round hole—how could it possibly fit?

Regarding the distinction between good and evil, the Scripture of Penetrating the Mysteries explains: Ancient cultivators of the Dao, when practicing deeply, embodied Dao and De; when practicing superficially, they manifested humaneness and righteousness; and when practicing only on the surface, they degenerated into ritual propriety and cleverness. How vast is the difference between these levels? The Scripture of Southern Florescence (Nanhua Jing) adds: The people of high antiquity first followed Dao and De, requiring neither cunning schemes nor clever tactics. Everything followed the natural course, governed through wuwei (non-action)—this was the true era of great peace.

The things people fear are indeed worthy of vigilance. The Scripture of Penetrating the Mysteries records: Wenzi once asked Laozi how rulers could make the people feel close to them. Laozi replied: They must accord with agricultural seasons and govern with caution, as though standing at the edge of an abyss or walking on thin ice. The law of Heaven and Earth is this: Treat the people kindly and gain their support; harm them and they become your enemies. Historically, the subjects of the tyrants Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang turned to assist Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou in overthrowing their oppressors—this is proof that one cannot disregard the principles of Heaven.

How boundless is the chaos of our present age! The Scripture of Penetrating the Mysteries points out: Rulers in these latter days govern through methods contrary to the Dao of Heaven, effectively making enemies of all under Heaven. It is like one person opposing the multitude—their defeat is inevitable. This disorder shows no sign of ending.

Today people bustle about pursuing fame and profit. The Scripture of the Numinous Grotto (Dongling Jing) criticizes: When latter-day rulers appoint officials, they value only empty reputations heard by the ear, superficial appearances seen by the eye, and flattering words spoken by the mouth. This causes people to resort to opportunism and embellished rhetoric to obtain positions—such governance is doomed to corruption.

Some imagine themselves feasting at grand banquets (the "Great Sacrifice" refers to ancient offerings of the highest ceremonial standard). The Scripture of Penetrating the Mysteries observes: True Dao cultivators may go ten days without eating yet feel as though they've enjoyed the Great Sacrifice, for diligent study without weariness is the foundation of self-cultivation. Others strut about as if reveling on springtime towers. The Scripture of the Numinous Grotto reveals: When latter-day rulers heed only rumors, the people turn to speculation and profiteering; when they prize superficial displays, everyone competes in novelty; when they favor flattery, the world fills with empty words.

All under heaven is bustling with clever tongues and ornate rhetoric (referring to worldly people's pursuit of flowery language and superficial polish), while I alone maintain serene detachment ("pa" here means "bo," indicating a state of wuwei non-action). The ancient sage-kings, when appointing people, valued wisdom that comprehends all without relying on ears, insight that perceives everything without using eyes, and the ability to discern truth without words—thus the people naturally governed themselves through wuwei, each finding their proper place.

When affairs have yet to show signs of emerging ("wei zhao" refers to the state before things sprout), it is like the stage when an infant has not yet learned to laugh aloud ("wei hai" describes the infant's pure state before displaying smiles). The Tongxuan Jing states that a three-month-old infant knows nothing of gain or loss—this wordless teaching carries the most profound influence. I follow nature as though without fixed destination ("cheng cheng" describes going with the flow). The Tongxuan Jing explains this as "not knowing what one is doing, acting without specific purpose, carrying all things without attachment"—this is the Dao.

People in the world all seem to have surplus cleverness (referring to ordinary people's pursuit of outward display). The Tongxuan Jing points out that when common people study, they laboriously rush about: they hear but do not truly understand, see but do not clearly perceive, speak but lack sincerity, act but without order, move but achieve no results. I alone seem deficient (maintaining simplicity). The Tongxuan Jing says the way of sages appears foolish yet understands without listening, sees clearly without looking, convinces without speaking, and governs properly without deliberate action.

I embrace the pure heart-mind of a simpleton ("chun chun" describes utter simplicity without distraction). The Tongxuan Jing says this is how the ancient sages differed from worldly people. Worldly people shine with obvious cleverness ("zhao zhao" describes sharp锋芒毕露). The Dongling Jing criticizes the degenerate age for selecting officials based on keen ears and sharp eyes, leading to political chaos as people compete to display their schemes and seek reputation. I alone seem dim and unclear (great wisdom appearing as foolishness). The Dongling Jing records that in antiquity, selecting officials with a wuwei mind brought clear governance, where people cultivated virtue in quiet uprightness.

People in the world nitpick over trivialities ("cha cha" describes petty scrutiny). The Dongling Jing laments that chaotic times only select officials with superficial talent, causing punishments to lose effect. I alone remain simple and tolerant ("men men" describes unpretentious包容). The Dongling Jing says well-governed eras seek officials with formless virtue who transform the people without verbal instruction.

My mental state is indistinct as if obscured ("hu ruo hui" describes chaotic darkness). The Nanhua Jing describes the ancient sages' hearts as dead ashes—dark, obscure, and free from desire. This mindless wuwei is the highest state. Profound stillness... (referring to ultimate tranquility beyond words).

This scripture expounds the core Daoist principle of "following nature's course." Heaven and earth operate according to their inherent patterns, never deliberately concerning themselves with human predicaments. Humans should emulate this attitude of natural Wuwei (non-action).

The Scripture of Penetrating Mystery states: The sky possesses radiance yet never worries whether people dwell in darkness; the earth holds abundance yet never frets over human poverty. Only by conforming to the natural patterns of heaven and earth can one grasp true principles.

While multitudes scramble competitively for gain, Laozi (Lao Dan) observed that excessive rigidity leads to breakage, and obsessive pursuit of blessings invites setbacks. He chose a distinctive approach to life: willingly standing behind others, enduring worldly misunderstandings; appearing foolish while actually preserving himself; pursuing emptiness, taking profundity as his foundation and simplicity as his standard, observing people's cleverness with Wuwei detachment.

The Southern Florescence Scripture praises Laozi as an ancient sage of vast profundity because he could tolerate all things without harming others. Chapter 21 further elucidates the essence of Dao: though formless and imageless, Dao generates the formed heaven and earth. Dwelling in chaotic emptiness, it produces Shen (spirit) from void, Qi (vital energy) from Shen, form from Qi, and life from form - as naturally as the four seasons cycle. Though profoundly formless, Dao contains authentic Jing (essence) that manifests seasonal rhythms, constituting Dao's true embodiment.

The Scripture of Penetrating Mystery explains: The eternal Dao flows unobstructed, never changing arbitrarily but moving with the natural transformations of hardness/softness and Yin-Yang. Before heaven and earth formed, all existed in chaotic indistinctness. Within this haze already lay the embryonic forms of all things.

This passage elucidates the profound nature of the Dao and its manifestation in governance and self-cultivation.

The first section describes the ontological characteristics of the Dao: though appearing indistinct and obscure, it truly exists; though seemingly unfathomable, it contains subtle essences. These subtle essences are profoundly real (referring to the harmonized Qi of Yin-Yang) and embody eternal principles ("constancy"). From ancient times to the present, the essence of the Dao has never changed—it is the origin of all things. By observing the Dao's operation, one can comprehend the principles underlying the generation of all beings.

The second section, citing the Tongxuan Jing and Nanhua Jing, illustrates how the movement of Yin-Yang and the four seasons manifests the Dao. The essential method by which ancient sage-kings governed the world lay in "non-desire," "Wuwei (non-action)," and "tranquility," through which all things could naturally flourish and the people would spontaneously attain peace.

The third section presents six dialectical principles for navigating life:

1. Only by bending can one preserve wholeness (like flexing an arm to prepare for extension)

2. Only by enduring humility can one achieve expansion (small concessions lead to greater integrity)

3. Only the low-lying can become full (as rivers and seas receive all streams by occupying the lowest position)

4. The old inevitably renews (by not pursuing perfection, one enables continuous renewal)

5. Taking less ultimately yields more (grasping the essential allows mastery of the whole)

6. Greed for multiplicity leads to confusion (the sage, by holding fast to the Great Dao, becomes a model for all)

These principles collectively demonstrate that: only by not boasting can one reveal true merit; only by not self-promoting can one discern right from wrong; only by not glorifying oneself can one accomplish great deeds. Precisely because the sage does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with them. This is the meaning behind the ancient saying "yielding to achieve completeness"—a truth that is indeed authentic and beyond doubt.

This passage draws upon the Tongxuan Jing and Nanhua Jing to elucidate the core Daoist principle of "guarding the One through Wuwei (non-action)."

The fundamental principle of governing the world lies in grasping the essence of the Dao (the One), where methodology values refinement over multiplicity. Contemporary people constantly seek mastery of numerous techniques—though appearing accomplished in both civil and martial arts, with impeccable manners, such excessive pursuit ultimately leads to confusion. The enlightened rulers of antiquity understood this truth; they upheld the foundational principle of "the One" to govern the world. The One is the origin of all things—should a ruler lose this root, the state would descend into greater chaos than if it had no ruler at all. Truly sublime governance appears simple yet achieves universal efficacy.

The text then illustrates the sage's wisdom through four "non-self" principles: by not self-displaying, one becomes discerning; by not self-asserting, one manifests De (Virtue); by not self-promoting, one accomplishes merit; and by not self-aggrandizing, one endures. These all stem from embodying "non-contention"—the ancient masters of governance adopted the attitude of Wuwei and non-contention, thus leaving none in the world able to contend with them.

Finally, it emphasizes that the ancient saying "yielding achieves completeness" is no empty phrase. True rulership lies not in deliberate action but in natural Wuwei. The wise do not treat gain as purpose; the benevolent do not use authority as favor—this is the attainment of Wuwei's realm. In high antiquity, both superiors and subordinates revered Wuwei, constituting the most perfect state of being.

This chapter uses natural phenomena as metaphors for governance, pointing out that tyrannical rule cannot endure.

The Tongxuan Jing states that those prone to anger inevitably incur resentment, and only by following the natural patterns of heaven and earth can sagely governance be achieved. Just as fierce winds cannot last a whole morning (the Tongxuan Jing illustrates: ocean tides last at most three days, while storms typically subside before noon), torrential rains cannot persist an entire day (the Chongxu Jing records similar observations). What do these phenomena signify? Even the violent states of heaven and earth (the Tongxuan Jing explains: storms manifest the operation of aggressive Qi) cannot endure (the Tongxuan Jing notes: storms dissipate within a day)—how much less can human tyranny last?

The Chongxu Jing observes that the wise neither indulge in arbitrary emotions nor mete out rewards and punishments unjustly. The Nanhua Jing adds that ancient sages transcended emotional disturbances, maintaining inner tranquility, thereby attaining the state of Wuwei (non-action) where all things are accomplished effortlessly. Thus, those who follow the Dao (the Tongxuan Jing explains: sages emulate heaven's way by practicing goodness and avoiding violence, thus achieving enduring De [Virtue]) become one with the Dao (the Nanhua Jing clarifies: when superiors and subordinates alike follow the Dao, hierarchies dissolve). Cultivators of De align with its power (the Nanhua Jing states: where all embody De, no master-servant distinctions exist). Those who stray from the Dao consort with failure (the Dongling Jing cautions: examine yourself before reproaching others; the Tongxuan Jing advises: mastering emotions prevents resentment, for anger often stems from personal inadequacies).

This passage primarily discusses the rewards practitioners attain when aligning with different spiritual realms, as well as the importance of sincerity.

The relationship between Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue) resembles two sides of leather—seemingly separate yet fundamentally one. Those who truly attain the Dao are like clear mirrors: neither welcoming nor rejecting external things, they reflect reality without retaining traces, handle affairs without suffering harm. Such is the transcendent state of sages.

The accumulation of virtue is crucial, just as piling stones forms mountains and gathering streams creates rivers. Only through continuous accumulation can great achievements be realized. Success without this gradual process is impossible. True wisdom lies in transforming softness into strength and misfortune into blessings.

Emotional regulation is equally vital. Unpredictable mood swings and excessive reactions both deviate from the Middle Way. Genuine Dao cultivators maintain inner tranquility, undisturbed by external circumstances whether favorable or adverse.

Sincerity forms the linchpin of a nation's stability. When rulers lack sufficient sincerity, govern unjustly, or become negligent and incompetent, they lose the people's trust. Abundant sincerity brings stability to the world, while its absence leads to peril.

The subsequent quotation from the Nanhua Jing (Classic of Southern Florescence) employs the metaphor of "losing sheep at a fork in the road" to illustrate: the Great Dao becomes obscured by too many diverging paths, just as scholars lose the true path through excessive methodologies. Like the various schools of Yang Zhu, Mo Di and others—though differing in doctrines—all resemble those branching paths that lead sheep astray from the fundamental way. Authentic Dao cultivation requires returning to the source, discarding clever arguments, sensory distractions and other external disturbances.

This scripture primarily critiques how excessive pursuit of external techniques and artificial morality causes people to lose their innate nature. It states: If we destroy ornate patterns, scatter the five dazzling colors, and blind even Li Zhu (a legendary figure with extraordinary eyesight), people would retain their natural vision. If we abolish measuring tools and break the fingers of craftsmen like Gong Chui (a legendary artisan), humanity would return to simple, unadorned skills.

The text further criticizes moral exemplars like Zeng Shen and Shi Yu, as well as debaters like Yang Zhu and Mo Di, arguing that their ostentatious displays of benevolence and righteousness disrupt people's pure, innate nature. True De (virtue/power) lies in following the natural Dao through Wuwei (non-action), not in forced adherence to external moral reputations.

Five manifestations of lost innate nature are listed: obsession with music, beauty, fragrances, flavors, and the pursuit of fame and profit—all deemed harmful to life. Figures like Yang Zhu and Mo Di, who championed unconventional ideas, or virtuosos like the musician Shi Kuang, the craftsman Gong Chui, and the sharp-eyed Li Zhu, dazzle the world with external cleverness and sensory allure, ultimately disrupting the natural order of the universe.

Later, referencing the Nanhua Jing (Classic of Southern Florescence), it elaborates: Just as extra toes are useless, excessive devotion to artificial morality is like grafting superfluous organs onto the body—contrary to natural disposition. Those who flaunt themselves lack true wisdom (like Li Zhu’s obsession with visual indulgence); the self-righteous fail to reveal their true selves (like Shi Kuang’s fixation on music); self-promoters possess no real merit (like Zeng Shen and Shi Yu’s forced pursuit of moral fame). True wisdom lies in aligning with the natural Dao and preserving one’s innate authenticity.