《道德真經注疏》Vol. 7

The ancient sages who truly understood the Dao (the Way) governed their people in a distinctive manner. Rather than using the Dao to teach people cleverness and cunning, they sought to preserve the people's innate simplicity and authenticity, guarding against craftiness and hypocrisy.

When rulers excessively display their wisdom in governing, they inadvertently teach their subjects to become opportunistic. As Gu Huan's commentary explains: When a ruler employs clever strategies to manage the people, the people will respond with clever tactics of their own. This breeds a culture of deception, making the state difficult to govern. The reason people become hard to manage lies precisely in their overactive minds and excessive discrimination, which prevent them from maintaining a state of serene emptiness.

Governing through clever artifice actually brings calamity to the state. When those skilled in political manipulation hold power, they distance themselves from De (Virtue/Power), becoming tyrannical and abusive. Conversely, governing without reliance on cunning brings blessings to the nation. By appointing ministers of pure and simple character, the people maintain their integrity, and harmonious relations prevail between ruler and subjects. As Emperor Xuanzong of Tang noted in his Imperial Commentary: When clever officials are not employed, but instead virtuous ministers of sincere character are chosen, social cunning and deception gradually diminish while simple honesty flourishes.

These two approaches to governance—employing cleverness versus avoiding it—form a clear contrasting pattern. Understanding this principle reveals the correct method of statecraft. This truth applies not only to governing a nation but equally to personal self-cultivation. Truly wise individuals maintain inner clarity while manifesting outward simplicity, knowing when to sheath their brilliance and conceal their sharpness.

This passage expounds the fundamental principles for governing both oneself and the state. Laozi observes that employing cunning stratagems harms others, while upholding simple virtue (De) benefits the nation. If a ruler comprehends this truth and appoints virtuous ministers, they become a model of statecraft and self-cultivation.

The scripture discusses the dialectical relationship between "wisdom and non-wisdom": recognizing that cleverness brings calamity while preserving simplicity constitutes true virtue (De)—this is the essential method for self-cultivation and governance. Specifically, abandoning artifice and maintaining purity can eliminate ailments and replenish vital energy (Qi), which is the key to nurturing life.

Those who truly understand this principle of non-discriminatory conduct attain the realm of "mysterious virtue" (Xuande). People with mysterious virtue appear unfathomable—they act contrary to ordinary people. While worldly individuals constantly seek personal gain, those with mysterious virtue find joy in giving to others. This state resembles the descent of Great Purity's Qi into the body, where all things wither while one attains longevity alone.

This seemingly counterintuitive state ultimately achieves true "great harmony" (Dashun), the highest level of alignment. Here, harmony manifests in two forms: alignment with heavenly principles and accommodation of worldly customs. Superficially, "opposing worldly things" and "conforming to customs" may seem contradictory, but in reality they are not—neither deliberately opposing nor consciously submitting, yet naturally transcending and harmonizing: this is the supreme state of unity with the Dao.

This scripture employs the metaphor of rivers and seas to expound the Daoist wisdom of "remaining low and non-contentious."

The reason rivers and seas become the sovereign gathering place of all streams is their ability to remain in the lowest position. Just as water naturally flows downward, when rivers and seas maintain a humble and receptive stance, they naturally draw countless tributaries to them. Similarly, a truly wise person (the Sage) who wishes to guide the people must emulate rivers and seas by maintaining a modest and unassuming demeanor.

The text particularly emphasizes a threefold dialectical principle: To stand above the people, one must speak with humility; to lead the people, one must act with deference. This wisdom of "advancing by yielding" manifests in the Sage’s governance—though occupying a lofty position, the people feel no oppression; though guiding from the front, the people sense no harm. Just as rivers and seas contain all waters yet never boast of their fullness, the Sage governs the world by adhering to the principle of "few desires and little selfishness," lightening burdens so the people may live in peace and prosperity.

Notably, the concept of "mingling radiance with the dust" is particularly significant—a key Daoist cultivation state where the enlightened, though luminous in wisdom, blend seamlessly with the mundane world without displaying sharp edges. The state of "great harmony" (Da Shun) transcends attachment to distinctions between harmony and discord, achieving natural unity with the Dao. Like rivers and seas flowing effortlessly in accordance with the land’s contours, the Sage governs by following the people’s will without coercion, ultimately realizing the ideal of "governing through non-action" (Wuwei).

The sage treats the people with profound benevolence, just as parents cherish their infants. Thus all under heaven willingly support him and never grow weary of him. This is because the sage never competes for power or profit with others.

Heaven never tires of the sage precisely because he does not contend with the world for precedence. For this reason, no one under heaven can compete with the sage. While ordinary people struggle for fame and gain, who would bother contending with one who does not compete? The sage treats others with humility and regards all things equally, thus disputes and conflicts naturally subside.

All under heaven say the Dao is vast beyond measure, yet it seems unlike any concrete thing. Laozi explains that precisely because the Dao is supreme, it appears dull and ordinary on the surface (this illustrates the principle that "great wisdom appears foolish"). The Dao does not deliberately display itself nor contend with the myriad things, thus it can embrace all.

Heshang Gong's commentary states that Laozi (Lord Lao) attained the highest realm by comprehending the Dao of nature, thus he was revered as the supreme sage. His ability to achieve this stemmed from treating others with humility and never boasting. Scholars like Gu Huan believed the Dao "resembles nothing" because it transcends all things—neither resembling the wise nor the foolish—and thus defies description.

Truly great things often appear ordinary. Deliberately displaying one's greatness instead invites misfortune. Therefore, the sage feigns dullness, neither distinguishing between high and low status nor belittling others to elevate himself.

If we interpret "xiao" (肖) as argumentative cleverness, then those who consider themselves superior and implement harsh policies have existed since ancient times. But such petty cleverness ultimately remains the behavior of small-minded people. Genuine sage virtue is lofty yet unassuming—if one constantly boasts of oneself, that makes one no different from vulgar people. Heshang Gong said the reason ordinary beings cannot practice the virtuous path lies precisely in esteeming themselves too highly. The arrogant and self-important ultimately find it difficult to maintain humility.

Laozi said that the truly great sage does not deliberately imitate any specific form. If one becomes attached to fixed appearances and limited wisdom, they confine the great Dao within narrow perceptions—this is merely the shallow view of ordinary people, far from the understanding of a sage who comprehends the profound mysteries of the Dao.

I (Laozi referring to himself) possess three treasures that I firmly hold onto: The first is "compassion" (ci, loving-kindness), treating all beings with the tenderness of a mother caring for her infant, relieving suffering and bestowing peace—this is the fundamental treasure of cultivating the Dao. The second is "frugality" (jian, restraint and discipline), tempering desires as if drawing from one's own body, being content and free from greed—this is the precious principle for maintaining one's being. The third is "daring not to be ahead of the world" (humility and yielding), maintaining a gentle and yielding posture, conceding benefits to others—this is the supreme wisdom for navigating life. Ancient practitioners believed that if the three treasures of essence (jing), qi, and spirit (shen) within the human body could be cherished and nurtured in this way, one could achieve longevity and enduring vision.

Holding compassion, in fact, leads to true courage, much like the bravery of those with loyalty and filial piety. Maintaining frugality and discipline expands one's virtue (de), just as when a ruler is frugal, the people prosper. Willingly standing behind others and avoiding contention allows one to become a leader whom all look up to. Those who attain the Dao (Daode) are precisely those who, while compassionate in aiding the world, remain humble and self-restrained. Thus, they transcend the three realms (of desire, form, and formlessness) and dwell alone in the Jade Capital (a Daoist celestial realm) as the foremost among immortals, descending to the human world as the sovereign of the highest dignity.

Alas, people today abandon compassion in pursuit of mere martial prowess and discard frugality in favor of unchecked expansion—like cutting off the roots of a tree while expecting its branches to flourish. True courage arises from benevolence, and true greatness stems from restraint. To forsake the root and chase after appearances is to court certain ruin. Just as in battle, the side that holds compassion will surely triumph; in defending a city, only those who understand frugality can endure securely. When Heaven wishes to save someone, it protects them with compassion.

Laozi here expounds the fundamental principles of human conduct. Abandoning the virtues of frugality and simplicity to indulge in extravagance and pleasure-seeking, or discarding humility and deference to constantly vie for precedence—such behaviors are tantamount to courting one's own destruction.

The truly profound way of living lies in "compassion" (ci, loving-kindness). Applying compassion to warfare leads to victory; employing compassion to guard a nation ensures its stability. When one embodies compassion, people naturally draw near and unite wholeheartedly. On the battlefield, soldiers inspired by their commander's benevolence will fight courageously; in spiritual cultivation, safeguarding oneself with compassion makes one's Dao-heart (insight into the Dao) unshakable.

When heaven wishes to save someone, it endows them with compassionate qualities. The truly cultivated sages of antiquity never flaunted military might, and skilled warriors never gave way to anger easily. They understood that force cannot resolve fundamental issues, and rage only clouds judgment.

The reference to "six sense armies" (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) battling "six dusts" (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects) illustrates how practitioners should guard their senses with compassion, avoiding delusion by external temptations. Daoism teaches that maintaining inner emptiness and stillness—keeping one's Dao-heart steadfast—is of paramount importance.

Laozi particularly emphasizes compassion's primacy among the "Three Treasures" (compassion, frugality, and not presuming to lead the world), as well as its leading position in the "Four Immeasurables" (compassion, mercy, joy, and equanimity) cultivation practice, demonstrating the profound significance of compassionate heart-mind.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "non-contention" (bu zheng). Those skilled in overcoming adversaries never initiate conflict; truly wise individuals transform others through virtuous power (De), subduing opponents without battle. Just as military victory depends on internal unity rather than brute force, those adept at leadership maintain humility.

By remaining humble, one naturally wins hearts and inspires willing service. This virtue of non-contention mirrors the way of Heaven (Dao). Ancient sage-kings ruled in harmony with the cosmos through this very virtue, embodying the fundamental truth of the Great Way.

When discussing military strategy, Laozi uses warfare as a metaphor for navigating life. True masters of conflict never provoke strife ("dare not take the initiative") but respond with stillness ("act as the guest"). The phrase "six senses encountering worldly dust" illustrates how sages face worldly turmoil—like generals deploying troops with wisdom while maintaining transcendent detachment.

Advanced practitioners perceive the emptiness (kong) underlying worldly disputes, recognizing both fortune and adversity as illusory. Thus, they avoid futile contention, aligning with nature's way to reach the supreme realm praised by ancient sages. The core teaching resonates throughout: non-contention is the highest wisdom; humility is true strength.

This passage expounds the core wisdom of Daoist military strategy and worldly conduct, emphasizing the philosophy of "non-contention" and "gentleness."

Regarding the art of warfare, true mastery lies not in initiating conflict (the "mouth" symbolizing reckless words and actions) but in responding in accordance with the Dao's natural flow. Just as the Jing (essence) in the lower body (representing Yin) should not be carelessly depleted—as excessive expenditure leads to loss of primordial Qi—the wise refrain from provoking disputes, maintaining instead an attitude of humility and harmony.

The "host-guest" relationship illustrates this principle: our body is the "host," while external phenomena are "guests." Those who truly comprehend the Dao realize both self-awareness and external objects are illusory ("roots and dust both empty"). Thus they neither cling to self nor become tainted by material things. In warfare, invading others' territory or plundering resources may appear as "advancement," but maintaining one's fundamental virtue constitutes true "yielding."

The scripture employs the metaphor "dare not advance an inch but retreat a foot": forced advancement by even an inch invites disaster, while yielding by ten feet preserves De (Virtue). Those who attain this state transcend both the duality of Wuwei (non-action) versus action and the distinction between subject and object ("both circumstance and wisdom abandoned").

"Action without action" means even when confronting evil ("the thieves of the world"), one maintains non-attachment as if taking no action at all. "Baring no arms" signifies true warriors never easily anger, as if having no arms to raise; "grasping no weapons" means holding weapons with compassionate hearts as if unarmed. Harming others invites heavenly retribution—even facing tyrannical rulers, one cannot bear total annihilation.

The greatest calamity lies in underestimating opponents. Through imagery like "no arms to bare," "no weapons to hold," and "no enemy to confront," the text reveals true excellence lies in perceiving the illusory nature of phenomena ("the emptiness of material circumstances"), attaining the state where form and spirit are both forgotten ("leaving form and abandoning wisdom"). This wisdom that transcends dualities represents the Daoist ideal of military strategy and philosophy of living.

This scripture primarily discusses several erroneous behaviors that Daoist practitioners should avoid, along with proper approaches to warfare and speech.

It first identifies three actions that invite calamity: reckless warmongering, coveting material possessions, and indulging in carnal desires ("unrestrained sexual indulgence"). These behaviors attract misfortune, miring people in worldly attachments ("easily stained by mundane dust"), ultimately leading to rebirth in the Three Wretched Realms (referring to the three karmic destinies of hell-dwellers, hungry ghosts, and beasts). Particularly, underestimating opponents depletes one's most precious Jing-Qi (vital essence, a crucial energy in Daoist cultivation), and repeated military miscalculations exhaust one's Shen (spirit).

Regarding warfare, the text suggests that when armies face each other, the side embodying compassion holds greater advantage. A benevolent commander avoids underestimating foes, and soldiers consequently abstain from such reckless attitudes. The Buddhist term "gen-chen xiangbi" (sensory faculties confronting external phenomena) metaphorically describes battlefield confrontations, illustrating how only through Great Compassion can one transcend adversarial dualism to attain the pure state of "forgetting both self and objects."

Laozi states that his Dao is actually simple to comprehend and practice, yet few in the world truly understand or follow it—because people prefer rigidity over softness. The text emphasizes "speech should have its ancestral root, affairs their sovereign principle"—words must grasp the essence (taking "wordlessness" as ancestral root), actions must hold the key (taking "non-interference" as sovereign principle). True wisdom lies in forgetting words after grasping meaning, and relinquishing claims to achievement after accomplishing deeds. Here "ancestral root" refers to the source of scriptural teachings, while "sovereign principle" denotes the guiding tenet of cultivation—both pointing to the core Daoist concepts of "emptiness" and "unadorned stillness."

(Note: "Three Wretched Realms" indicate hell, hungry ghosts, and beasts; "gen-chen" is a Buddhist term where "gen" means sensory faculties and "chen" means external phenomena; "empty mirroring" describes observing reality with a mind clear as void.)

This passage expounds on the worldly wisdom of those who have attained the Dao. Laozi observes that ordinary people often become obsessed with superficial appearances, failing to comprehend the true Dao. Though the teachings of the celestial sovereign (referring to the Dao-realized sage) are vast and profound, few can grasp their profound mysteries; though worldly affairs are complex, one must hold to fundamental principles.

"The ignorant alone" refers to worldly people's lack of true insight, which prevents them from understanding my (Laozi's) teachings on Wuwei (non-action). Only those who have penetrated the great Dao can comprehend these truths, making such understanding especially precious. Those who have attained the Dao appear outwardly simple ("clad in coarse cloth"), yet inwardly cherish treasures ("holding jade within"). Like wearing rough garments while concealing precious jade, they do not display their De (Virtue), yet cultivate within the purest Qi (vital energy, a Daoist technical term referring to the fundamental energy of life).

"To know yet think we do not know is best" represents the highest state - those who truly understand the great Dao appear to lack knowledge. Because the Dao's profundity is unfathomable, maintaining this "appearance of unknowing" is the superior approach. Conversely, "not knowing yet thinking we know is sickness" refers to those who pretend to understand what they don't - this is indeed a kind of affliction. Zhuangzi similarly remarked: "Who knows what you call 'not knowing'? How can I truly know anything?" These statements both emphasize that true wisdom transcends superficial knowledge.

Through these contrasts, the passage reveals the Daoist approach to life: cultivating inward refinement without outward display, opposing ostentation and boasting. The image of being "clad in coarse cloth yet holding jade within" became a classic metaphor in later generations for describing reclusive sages of profound attainment.

This passage explores the profound wisdom regarding "knowing" and "not knowing." Those who pretend to understand what they don't actually comprehend are fundamentally going against the nature of the Dao. It's like those who don't grasp the true meaning of "ingesting Qi" (a Daoist cultivation practice called fuqi) yet indulge solely in sensory pleasures—this very attitude constitutes a kind of sickness.

The true sages (shengren) are free from such ailments precisely because they constantly worry about this common human failing of "pretending to know the unknowable." Though sages possess penetrating wisdom, they appear as if they know nothing, maintaining this demeanor to help all people preserve their original, unadorned nature. In contrast, petty persons who don't understand the Dao's true meaning insist on feigning knowledge to show off, only to exhaust their Shen (spirit) and shorten their lifespan.

Ordinary people stubbornly cling to this "sickness of forced knowing," becoming so immersed in discrimination and calculation that they forget to return to their source—a truly lamentable state. Only sages can truly comprehend the Dao's profound mysteries and regard this common failing with compassionate benevolence. The reason sages can do this is precisely because they themselves are free from such afflictions.

Sages attain the state of "forgetting both emptiness and stillness" (a transcendence of subjective-objective duality), where they perceive all things yet remain unbound, capable of riding clouds and Qi to roam heaven and earth. Having transcended the opposition between form and essence, how could they possibly be troubled by such maladies?