《道德真經集義(一)》Vol. 5

This passage presents a collection of commentaries by several Daoist scholars on Chapter 30 of the Daodejing ("He who assists a ruler with Dao") from Daode Zhenjing Jiyi, focusing on the dangers of militarism.

The initial explanation concerns the principle that "one who assists a ruler with Dao does not dominate the world with military force." Lü Huiqing (referred to as "Lüshi") states that a true Daoist advisor must govern through De (Virtue), considering military power only as a last resort. When rulers treat ministers with propriety and ministers serve with loyalty, governing through Wuwei (non-action) naturally transforms the people. Warfare is inherently ominous—weapons are not instruments for noble persons except in dire necessity. Every conflict produces victors and vanquished; every advantage carries disadvantages. Bullying the weak ultimately invites retaliation, much like cornered beasts will turn on their pursuers.

The commentator "Nishi" adds that the text specifically mentions "assisting the ruler" rather than addressing the ruler directly because even if a ruler contemplates military action, proper ministerial counsel may prevent war. "Linshi" observes that any advisor harboring militaristic ambitions fundamentally misunderstands Dao—those who wield deadly instruments ultimately harm themselves. "Wangshi" further argues that if even ministers shouldn't assert dominance, how much more should this apply to rulers cultivating Dao?

The subsequent commentary explains the phenomenon that "where troops encamp, thorns and brambles grow; after great battles, years of famine follow." Lü Huiqing describes how battlefields throughout history become wastelands of ruined fields and collapsed dwellings. Major campaigns disrupt celestial timing and exhaust the people's vitality, creating disharmony between heaven and earth saturated with lethal Qi. When climatic rhythms fail, droughts and floods ensue—military disasters inevitably precede famine. The "Sushi" commentator adds that warfare disrupts agricultural cycles, while post-battle killing Qi blights harvests. The Zhenghe period annotations note that draining popular vitality produces brambles, while violating natural timing brings lean years. "Linshi" concludes that battlefields become infertile (hence the thorns), and warfare's destruction of heavenly-earthly harmony necessarily causes calamity.

These commentaries collectively emphasize the Daoist tenet that "weapons are instruments of ill omen," arguing that military force disrupts natural harmony and triggers cascading disasters. Governance should primarily rely on moral transformation through Dao and De.

This passage elucidates the true essence of mastering the art of warfare. Those truly adept in military strategy act with decisive resolve, never resorting to brute force or aggression. Even when achieving success, they refrain from boasting, showing off, or becoming arrogant, recognizing that military action is always a last resort rather than a display of power.

Master Lü (Lü Dongbin) explains: The means of warfare and suppressing violence are like fire and water—properly used they bring benefit, misused they invite disaster. The skilled commander acts with decisive determination, never seeking to dominate through force. Only when moral instruction fails and political measures prove ineffective does one reluctantly resort to arms. Such compelled actions often succeed effortlessly, achieving victory not through brute strength but through genuine strategic mastery.

By not boasting of achievements, one ensures their endurance; by not flaunting military merits, one truly establishes lasting accomplishments; by avoiding arrogance, one preserves one's strength. The purpose of military action is to rescue from peril, not to demonstrate might. Immortal He (He Xiangu) adds: True excellence lies not in waging war, but in understanding when decisive action is necessary. This decisiveness springs from a commitment to goodness, not belligerence. Only by refraining from flaunting ability, parading achievements, or growing conceited—acting solely when compelled—does one manifest genuine benevolence.

Master Dong (Dong Zhongshu) maintains: Warfare is never the choice of those who follow the Dao (the Way), yet like fire and water it exists naturally in the world—the key lies in skillful application. Military action serves solely to suppress violence and deliver from distress, requiring only principled decisiveness in execution. As the Spring and Autumn Annals state: The purpose of defeating enemies is simply to end their aggression—how dare one presume to dominate the world through force? True victory comes through principle; relying on military might inevitably leads to decline. For when things reach their zenith, they must decline—this is the manifestation of acting contrary to the Dao (the Way), and what contradicts the Dao soon perishes.

All things, upon reaching their peak of strength, inevitably decline—this is the natural order. Those who fail to understand this principle yet seek to dominate the world through force are acting contrary to the Dao (the Way). Recognizing such actions as contrary to the Dao, one should cease them immediately. The phrase "早已" (zao yi) means to stop in time and refrain from reckless action.

Su Zhe (the Su commentary) explains: The decline following prosperity is a universal pattern. Only those who embody the Dao can appear insufficient when achieving success and seem empty when full, thus never truly reaching a state of excessive strength and thereby avoiding decline and death. To rely on military might to dominate the world represents the extreme of strength—how could it not lead to swift decline?

He Yan (the He commentary) states: Sages appear humble and cautious, unwilling to compete for supremacy, because they understand that the sun begins to decline at its zenith, the moon wanes after becoming full, and all things decay after reaching their peak—none of these represent the constant state of the Dao. Knowing these transient phenomena, one should return to the Dao promptly and distance oneself from actions contrary to it. History offers many lessons of fallen states, and those who exhaust their strength in warfare are doomed to perish. How could those who govern through the Dao not take warning from the misuse of force and instead employ its outcomes judiciously?

Dong Sixing (the Dong commentary) observes: When things reach their zenith, they decline; when military force reaches its limit, it fails. Thus, relying on force for dominance can never bring lasting victory, and excessive strength only hastens decline. These are contrary to the Dao and should be stopped early.

Chapter 31 mentions: Fine weapons are instruments of misfortune, detested even by all things. Thus, those who follow the Dao do not employ them.

Lin Xiyi (the Lin commentary) explains: "Fine weapons" (jia bing) refers to the fondness for warfare. Those who regard military action as desirable are inauspicious, and employing inauspicious people for inauspicious deeds makes them "instruments of misfortune." Since all under heaven detest this, those who embody the Dao refrain from it.

Li Yue (the Li commentary) states: Not dominating the world through force leads to the discussion of weapons as instruments of misfortune. Here, the sage profoundly admonishes future rulers: Governing through Wuwei (non-action) and tranquility naturally brings stability to the state. Even possessing military strength, there is no need to deploy it, thus avoiding the calamities of contention forever.

Lü Huiqing (the Lü commentary) argues: Force is not the proper means to achieve peace, though suppressing tyranny may be excusable. Yet even when force is unavoidable, it inevitably involves deceit. Those who treat weapons and armor as objects of display are glorifying the use of harmful things. To beautify instruments of violence in seeking to rule the world invites not only human aversion but the fear of all things.

Emperor Taizong of the Song Dynasty once told his ministers that when reading Laozi's passage stating "those who delight in war will surely perish," he felt particularly moved. Laozi teaches that weapons are inauspicious objects, and sages only resort to them as a last resort. Every time he read this, the emperor would reflect deeply, taking it as a personal warning.

Laozi's original text is profoundly insightful: The noble person normally honors the left side (associated with Yang, symbolizing peace) but prioritizes the right (associated with Yin, symbolizing warfare) only in battle. Weapons are not things a noble person should wield—they are used only when absolutely necessary, and even then, with detachment. Victory is no cause for celebration, and taking pride in it would mean delighting in killing. How could someone who enjoys slaughter ever win the hearts of the people?

Commentators have provided illuminating explanations: Lin Xiyi notes that the ancients regarded warfare as an inauspicious affair, which is why military rankings were reversed—the deputy general (偏将军) stood on the left (the honored position), while the main general (上将军) took the right (the ominous position), much like in funeral rites. Lü Huiqing interprets this through Yin-Yang theory: the left belongs to Yang, representing life and growth, while the right belongs to Yin, representing execution and death. Wu Cheng emphasizes the phrase "detachment" (恬淡), meaning neither excitement nor fervor—this is the proper attitude toward war.

Finally, Laozi makes a striking point: Even in victory, one should follow the rituals of mourning. When many have been killed, there must be grief and lamentation; triumph should be marked with the solemnity of a funeral. This serves as a reminder that force is never something to boast about. Mencius's statement that "only a ruler who does not love killing can unify the world" aligns perfectly with Laozi's teaching.

On War and Compassion: This chapter teaches that a mindset constantly seeking to surpass others only brings calamity rather than good fortune. The ancients said even victory in battle should be treated as if it never happened, using funeral rites to mark triumph—this represents the highest form of compassion. Like when Duke Mu of Qin, dressed in mourning white, wept while receiving his defeated army outside the city after the Battle of Yao—such grief after defeat is understandable, but mourning after victory is exceedingly rare. Only those who truly comprehend heaven and earth's care for life, who cherish all living things, can attain such realization. True courage arises from compassion; genuine transcendence beyond victory and defeat comes from mourning. Herein lies profound wisdom. Those who glorify military force, delight in slaughter, and consider victory as honor neither understand the Dao nor comprehend celestial principles.

On the Nature of the Dao: The Dao can never be fully described in words (nameless), remaining as pure as uncarved wood (pu). Though seemingly insignificant, nothing under heaven dares disregard it. If rulers preserve this primal simplicity, all things will naturally submit. Lü Dongbin explains that the Dao encompasses everything, permeating the subtlest aspects of existence—impossible to name accurately, only approximated by "pu." This state of undifferentiated purity is boundless and omnipresent. Calling it "small" refers not to size but to its formless, mysterious essence. While named things become confined by concepts, the Dao's simple nature remains unconstrained—heaven and earth cannot defy it, sage wisdom cannot alter it, and none under heaven dare slight it. Rulers maintaining infant-like purity of heart (original spirit, yuanshen) in unity with inner divinity will naturally achieve stability, attracting all Qi to gather. Immortal He Xiangu adds that "Dao chang" (the constant Dao) should be understood like "heaven's constancy" or "true constancy"—referring to eternal, unchanging truth. The Dao has no fixed form or name; we reluctantly call it "Dao," and this very namelessness constitutes its constant state. All that can be named or described belongs to concrete vessels, not the true eternal Dao. All things originate from the formless void of Taisu (cosmic source), preserving primordial simplicity.

"Su" refers to the most primordial, undifferentiated state where all things were yet unnamed, entirely contained within the undivided "Great Chaotic Simplicity" (Da Hun Yi Pu). This subtle state transcends sensory perception and is therefore called "minute." The sage grasps this fundamental essence, preserving innate purity through methods that appear simple yet yield profound results. Maintaining inner Wuwei (non-action) and holding to the true Dao, this state seems empty yet is fully substantial, appearing devoid yet containing all. Governing the world with this approach allows effortless mastery of complexity; responding to change through stillness draws all things to natural alignment.

(Li's commentary) The Dao itself is nameless, being empty and spontaneous. Though the "Uncarved Block" (Pu) is infinitesimally small, it holds supreme nobility—nothing under heaven fails to submit to it.

(Lin's supplement) The Dao has no fixed name; it may be called the "Nameless Simplicity." Though seemingly minute, nothing in creation fails to honor it. Should rulers preserve this Dao, all beings will naturally return to harmony.

When heaven and earth's Yin-Yang energies unite, sweet dew descends, distributed evenly without human command.

(Lü's explanation) Heaven-earth communion generates all things; human interaction achieves merit. When sages emerge, harmonious Qi fills creation—sweet dew falls, auspicious signs appear, and all beings receive grace. This Dao matches heaven-earth's patterns; its De (virtue) resonates with the divine. People rejoice spontaneously without commands.

(He's supplement) When sages align with heaven-earth's virtue, seasonal rains and sweet springs manifest as auspicious signs; sharing the people's heart, teachings spread naturally, creating harmony without coercion. Sweet dew symbolizes the sage-king's auspicious response—this numinous liquid, honey-sweet, collects even on pines and bamboos. Preserving pristine stillness, sages naturally evoke such resonance.

(Li's conclusion) "Heaven-earth union" signifies the blending of Yin-Yang energies, ascending to celestial realms and penetrating the earth's depths, transforming into life-nourishing dew. Balance emerges without deliberate arrangement. Understanding this principle enables return to original simplicity, recovering infant-like purity.

This passage explains how De (Virtue/Power, the manifestation of Dao) assists all things in their growth, just as heavenly dew results from the harmonious interaction of Yin-Yang energies. When all things maintain natural equilibrium, peace prevails.

At the moment of creation, names arose for all things. Once names exist, one must understand when to stop—knowing when to stop ensures one does not fall into danger. Lü Dongbin (a Daoist immortal) explains: As time flows, all things manifest through concrete forms, and the original, unadorned Dao disperses into specific vessels (material forms). Names are established based on these forms. Once distinctions are made, hierarchies of noble and humble emerge, and boundaries between high and low must not be overstepped. Those who fail to recognize when to stop cling to names while forgetting their essence, abandoning the root to chase after branches—thereby losing their foundation. Those who know when to stop are wise and enlightened, content within themselves without seeking externally—how could they ever be in danger?

Lin Xiyi (a Song Dynasty commentator) states: Originally, Dao had no name; only after the emergence of all things did names for Dao arise. "Making" refers to the original, simple Dao dispersing into concrete forms. Once names appear, they multiply endlessly—one gives rise to two, two to three, and so on without end. Those who understand Dao should know where to stop—recognizing this limit ensures they avoid danger.

He Yan (a Wei-Jin period scholar) argues: From the nameless to the named, from the origin to becoming the mother of all things, the process of Dao dispersing into concrete forms always preserves the profound mystery of wholeness, never truly divided. By tracing the flow back to its source, relying on the root to explore the branches, one returns to the original state, dissolving back into formlessness, never allowing Dao to drift away and be forgotten. Those who know when to stop in this way—how could they face danger or disgrace? Thus, it is said that after names arise, one must return to Dao—only then can merit and reputation endure, ensuring a lifetime free from calamity.

Wu Cheng (a Yuan Dynasty scholar) interprets: "Beginning" refers to Dao, and "making" means creation. "Having names" refers to De. Dao itself is nameless, but when it manifests as De, names emerge. When people employ this De, they must know to stop at De and not lower their standards further. The meaning of this chapter is: In the transition from nothingness to existence, one must know to stop at De and not descend further. De already has a name—it is one step below Dao—so how could one go lower than De? Those who know to stop at De are still not far from Dao.

Finally, an analogy illustrates this principle: Dao's role in the world is like countless streams naturally returning to the rivers and seas.

Master Lü (Lü Dongbin) explains that the Dao is the root of all things, just as rivers are branches of water, and oceans its ultimate destination. The Dao exists between heaven and earth—manifesting above as the pure Qi of the celestial realms (Qingdu Ziwei, the highest Daoist heaven), while below it merges indistinctly with tiles and weeds. To follow the Dao brings prosperity; to oppose it invites ruin. Like the sea: yielding to it nourishes all beings, while resisting it brings floods and calamities. People often fail to grasp that the more humble the Dao appears, the more exalted it truly is—just as the deeper the ocean’s basin, the more it can contain. The virtue (De) of sages encompasses heaven and earth, their grace reaching far and near, so none among the people fail to turn to them.

Master Wu (Wu Cheng) elaborates: the previous passage described the process from non-being to being, while this section speaks of the cyclical return from being back to non-being. The Dao in the world is like rivers and seas; virtue resembles streams that ultimately flow into them.

Master He (He Xinyin) illustrates with metaphor: the Dao embraces all under heaven as the ocean receives a hundred rivers. The sea does not deliberately seek water—water naturally flows to it. If humans can return to simplicity, embracing stillness and non-action (Wuwei), they need not strive for the Dao—it will come to them naturally. This is the law of spontaneity, not forced attainment. Sages dwell in tranquility, free from worldly ties of fame and profit. Such a Dao remains unchanged through ten thousand generations—this alone is true eternity.

Master Lin (Lin Xiyi) concludes: rivers inevitably return to the sea, just as all things ultimately return to the Dao. Thus, the Dao’s relationship to the world mirrors that of rivers converging into the ocean.

Chapter 33 states: "To understand others is wisdom; to know oneself is enlightenment. To conquer others is strength; to master oneself is true power."

Master Lü comments: understanding others focuses on external judgments, whereas recognizing one’s own ignorance and lack of clarity constitutes genuine self-knowledge. Outer victories rely on force to subdue others, while inner cultivation uses the Dao to overcome the self. Those who establish nations, claim titles, wield authority to intimidate, or command the allegiance of lords—they prevail through mere physical dominance. True self-masters honor virtue (De), embody benevolence and righteousness, restrain themselves through ritual, and inspire submission through humility. Thus, none in the world can surpass them—this is authentic power.

Master He adds: human nature tends to scrutinize others yet remain blind to oneself; conquering others comes easily, while mastering oneself proves arduous. Thus, understanding others amounts only to superficial discernment of right, wrong, and material gain.

This passage describes the inner cultivation realm of Daoist practitioners. When one becomes aware of their own faults, the luminous spiritual light within naturally manifests—this state of self-awakening is profoundly vast. Surpassing others merely involves contests of strength versus weakness or courage versus timidity, while true great courage lies in overcoming inner delusions. This spirit of unceasing self-mastery far surpasses those who pursue only external achievements.

Master Wu explains: Understanding others constitutes worldly wisdom, but knowing oneself represents genuine insight into one's fundamental nature—thus it is called "illumination" (ming). Overcoming others through external force is mere brute strength, while conquering oneself constitutes true power. Those who are content are truly rich, and those who persevere in cultivation will inevitably attain realization.

Master Lü further elaborates: Those who accomplish great deeds leave lasting achievements precisely because they maintain their original authenticity (preserving innate nature), remain unmoved by external things, and constantly align with the Dao (the Way). Such practitioners enter the realm of eternal constancy, merging completely with the Great Dao. The wisdom of sages endures for myriad generations—though their physical forms perish, their spirit (shen) remains eternal. Daoist cultivators regard life as temporary lodging and death as returning home. While alive, they harmonize with the Dao; after death, their spirit ascends like a cicada shedding its shell. Though the physical body dies, the true self endures forever, with lifespan as enduring as heaven and earth.

Master He adds: True wisdom lies in contentment—not worldly abundance, but realization of the Dao. True strength manifests in persistent cultivation that overcomes all obstacles. These points continue the earlier discussion about "knowing" and "power." "Endurance" depends on not losing one's fundamental destination, just as the Gen hexagram in the Yijing symbolizes stopping at what should be stopped. All things find lasting stability when they occupy their proper place; losing one's root leads to chaos. "Longevity" doesn't concern physical survival—death merely marks the end of a life form. True longevity is the eternal existence of spirit.

This passage elucidates the eternal nature and omnipresence of the Dao (the Way), along with the essential qualities required of its cultivators.

Regarding the Dao's eternal nature, the scripture reveals: The Dao serves as the fundamental basis for all things' enduring existence. Zhuangzi's description of "ascending to immortality after millennia of worldly detachment, riding those white clouds to the Divine Realm," alongside the Confucian doctrine of "three immortalities" (establishing virtue, merit, and words), both embody the truth of transcending physical dissolution. Those content with their lot find joy even in poverty, steadfast practitioners never waver in their cultivation, and those with luminous awareness surpass life and death to attain the enduring state of True Unity (the Dao's primordial source).

While Laozi ostensibly advocates "taking obscurity as brightness, weakness as strength," this represents merely an external teaching method. In truth, Dao cultivators must maintain internal clarity and fortitude. This seemingly paradoxical approach functions like medicinal treatment—addressing both internal and external aspects without contradiction. Those who truly comprehend and practice the Dao can maintain equanimity in all circumstances, unaffected by external changes, thereby attaining the eternal realm beyond life and death.

Chapter 34 employs the phrase "The Great Dao overflows—it can go left or right" to illustrate the Dao's omnipresence. The Dao stands supremely exalted yet profoundly immanent, permeating the cosmos without distinction between inner and outer. It permeates the Great Void (cosmic space), moving and resting with measure, coming and going without end, existing freely within all things. Like primordial qi (vital energy) filling every joint of the human body, the Dao is omnipresent. The recurrent use of the exclamatory particle "xi" in the text represents Laozi's distinctive literary style.

Multiple commentators emphasize: The Dao constitutes the mystery within all things—bound by no constraints, it freely abides everywhere. The sage's realized Dao derives its greatness precisely from this all-pervasive, all-encompassing nature.

This passage elucidates the characteristic of the Dao (the Way) in nurturing all things. The Dao is like a boundless ocean or towering mountain peaks, cycling endlessly without terminus. It flows effortlessly in all directions, naturally adapting whether turning left or right. As the Daode Jing states, "Hold fast to the great Dao, and all under heaven will follow," demonstrating the Dao's omnipresence.

All beings rely on the Dao for growth, yet the Dao never declines responsibility; it accomplishes all things without claiming merit. Master Lü (Lü Dongbin) explains that this generative power originates from nature itself—the Dao never deliberately employs skill or flaunts ability. Though heaven and earth are vast, they still depend on the Dao, which provides nourishment whenever needed, responding to every request. The entire cosmos resides within the Dao; even the smallest thing takes form through it. When has the Dao ever refused its labor?

The Dao exists independently, giving birth to all without interference, perfecting all without possession, never boasting of achievement—these are its fundamental attributes. Master He adds that all things rely on the Dao for gestation, everywhere manifesting its presence, yet sages remain composed when encountering these manifestations. Master Lin further notes that all things are transformations of the Dao, which never declines them; having transformed them, it never claims credit.

The Dao covers all things like clothing yet does not dominate them. Being desireless, it may be called "small"; yet as all things return to it without its domination, it may also be called "great." Master Lü elaborates: the Dao conceals itself in profound depths while manifesting in endless transformations, nurturing all things as if without beginning. It shelters each being according to its nature, like an infant relying on milk by day and swaddling by night. It generously bestows benevolence without self-importance, guides growth without control, completely following nature without selfish desire.

Observing inwardly the Dao's mystery, we find nothing excluded from its embrace; observing outwardly the movements of all things, we find no trace of submission—thus it may be called "small." All things return to it without domination, and being desireless, it may be called "small." The Dao withdraws nameless, yet this "namelessness" encompasses all without exception, profound beyond measure. Precisely because the Dao itself is no particular thing, when all things return to it, none are discordant—harmoniously coexisting without domination, thus it may also be called "great."

Master He uses the metaphor of "clothing" to illustrate the Dao's protection, quoting Zhuangzi: "The sage encountering the Dao does not oppose it, passing through does not linger. Harmonious response is De (Virtue); adapting to circumstance is Dao"—revealing the meaning of neither declining, possessing, nor dominating. "Constant desirelessness" refers to a state of empty stillness.

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) maintains a constant state of wuwei (non-action) and desirelessness, allowing the mind to return to its original state of luminous emptiness. This simple and unadorned condition may appear insignificant, yet it functions like a lodestone that naturally attracts all things. Rather than forcibly controlling the myriad beings, one lets them follow their natural course. When this power disperses, it fills heaven and earth - how vast and boundless it is!

Heaven and earth possess their eternal patterns, the sun and moon their inherent radiance, birds and beasts their natural groupings, trees and plants their spontaneous growth. By acting in accordance with Dao and De (Virtue), by following the way of heaven, one attains the highest state. From this perspective, those who attain the Dao do not chase after fame and achievement, nor do sages covet positions of control. They are like this: their merits cover all under heaven yet seem unrelated to themselves; they nurture the myriad beings yet the common people feel no dependence; they claim no titles yet all things rejoice naturally. They stand in the profound and unfathomable realm, wandering in the emptiness of non-being.

Scholar Li explains: Like garments that cover all things without claiming lordship, forgetting their own origins; all things return to them yet they exercise no forced control, completely following what is natural.

Precisely because sages never consider themselves great, they can achieve true greatness. Scholar Lin adds: Only by being content with smallness can one accomplish vastness. The sage's deliberate avoidance of pursuing greatness is precisely the key to their accomplishments - like willingly occupying the lowly position of a valley that becomes the gathering place for all under heaven.

Scholar He observes: Sages maintain constant humility, yet great reputation naturally forms; they show no trace of action at the beginning, yet in the end their great achievements cannot be concealed. Scholar Wu concludes: This chapter begins with the patterns of heaven and earth and ends with the realm of sages, showing that sages share the same essence with heaven and earth. Just as the alternation of seasons brings about the growth of all things - this is the greatest Dao, yet heaven and earth never claim credit, nor do the myriad beings know who governs them. Though the Dao of heaven and earth is vast, it never considers itself great - the sage is likewise, thus achieving true greatness.

Scholar Lü cites the Daode Jing's teaching of "four greats in the realm" (referring to Dao, heaven, earth, and the king as the four greats of the cosmos), with the sovereign occupying one position. Sages take humility as their guiding principle, actively demonstrating meekness and willingly occupying lower positions - yet precisely thereby being elevated by others. They relinquish superior attitudes and guard against arrogant expressions, thus achieving the perfection of the great Dao.

Chapter 35 mentions: Holding fast to the root of the great Dao, all people under heaven will naturally return without harming each other, attaining peace and prosperity. Scholar He explains: The great Dao fundamentally has no form - thus formless form is the true image (essence).

The Dao (the ultimate source and truth of the universe) is vast and boundless—so immense it encompasses heaven and earth, yet so subtle it permeates the finest tip of a hair. It cannot be described or defined with words. As the Daode Jing states, "The greatest form has no shape." To "hold fast" to the Dao means to act in accordance with this ultimate truth.

If one can comprehend this nameless, formless Dao and follow the eternal laws of nature, they will encounter no obstacles in cultivating their life, nurturing their nature, or governing a nation. Even when traversing the world, they will not only remain unharmed but will also settle their innate nature and destiny, enjoying balanced blessings and attaining a state of serene composure. When a person fully merges with the Dao, they reach the supreme state of unity between heaven and humanity. Zhuangzi once said that with the Dao in hand, there is nowhere one cannot go.

Lin Xiyi (Master Lin) explains: "The greatest form" refers to the ultimate form that has no concrete image; "going forth under heaven" means walking the world while upholding the great Dao. Who could harm you when you act according to the Dao? When no harm befalls you, you naturally achieve peace, harmony, and prosperity. The Zhenghe-era commentary (from the Song dynasty) adds: Peace means no danger, harmony means no bias, and prosperity ensures proper governance.

Music and delicacies may detain a passing guest for a time, yet the Dao, when spoken, is flavorless; when looked at, it cannot be seen; when listened to, it cannot be heard—yet its application is inexhaustible.

Master He (He-shi) remarks: Beautiful music pleases the ears, and exquisite food satisfies the palate—these cater to sensory pleasures, serving only as temporary amusements for a traveler, not as the foundation for nourishing the spirit (Shen) or prolonging life. Once the banquet ends, what meaning do these indulgences hold? All material desires that disturb the mind are like this. The great Dao, however, is entirely different: it cultivates the body through stillness and disinterest in sensual pleasures; it nurtures life through frugality, free from craving for fine flavors. Let the spirit roam in the realm of detachment, merging with the breath (Qi) of emptiness. Preserve the formless origin, and you will attain permanence; hold fast to the shapeless true Dao, and you will safeguard your innate authenticity. Savor the flavorless taste, and you will find it sweet; contemplate the imageless form, and you will see clearly; listen to the soundless music, and you will hear distinctly; employ the useless function, and you will achieve greatness. The reason the Dao's application is inexhaustible is not because it is used up, but because it is inherently limitless.

Master Li (Li-shi) observes: Though music and delicacies possess sound, color, and taste, they lack the formless essence of the Dao—how could they endure? When the Dao is spoken, it has no taste, no form, no sound, no color. Precisely because it has no fixed shape, its function is boundless.

Lin Xiyi further elaborates: "Music" refers to the melodies of bells and drums, while "delicacies" denote food and drink. When a feast is laid out and music played to entertain honored guests, once the performance ends and the banquet concludes, the guests depart. "Passing" here means leaving.

The essence of the Dao may appear plain and flavorless—invisible to the eye, inaudible to the ear, and seemingly unremarkable in speech. Yet its function permeates past and present without exhaustion. This illustrates how concrete things have limits while the Great Dao is eternal. When we articulate the Dao in words, it's like expressing principle through language.

Chapter 36 states: "To contract something, you must first expand it; to weaken something, you must first strengthen it; to abolish something, you must first promote it; to take something, you must first give it." This reveals the subtle yet evident truth.

Scholar Li explains that by grasping the patterns of the Great Dao, one can perceive the subtle signs within phenomena. Seeing the first signs of expansion, one knows contraction will follow; observing present circumstances, one foresees future outcomes. Who but those possessing the world's most refined wisdom could attain such understanding?

Scholar Lin interprets these eight phrases as metaphors showing how apparent gains often conceal losses. What expands must eventually contract; what strengthens must eventually weaken; what rises must eventually fall; what is gained must eventually be lost. People often fail to comprehend this principle—delighting in perceived advantages while unaware of this seemingly obscure yet actually obvious truth. Hence it's called "subtle clarity" (weiming)—profound yet manifest.

Scholar He further elaborates: The transformations of heavenly principle are unfathomable—who can maintain permanence? Like the sun appearing brightest just before sunset. Weather shifts between cloudy and clear; energy fluctuates between strong and weak; destiny cycles through prosperity and decline; all things alternate between gain and loss. These are irresistible laws of nature. Even violent winds don't blow all day, nor torrential rains pour endlessly. If heaven and earth cannot sustain constancy, how much less can humans?

From the perspective of Qi: when Yang energy peaks, Yin begins to emerge. From the perspective of momentum: after reaching full strength, decline follows. From destiny's view: after zenith comes inevitable descent. Materially: what's precious eventually becomes ordinary. These transformational patterns all demonstrate that achieving any state requires first experiencing its opposite. Using human affairs to illustrate heavenly principle merely reflects the natural waxing and waning of Yin-Yang. Neither heaven-earth nor sages deliberately orchestrate this. Later generations misunderstanding this as mere strategy stray far from the sages' original intent.

Zhuangzi said that when eyes are about to lose their sight, they first perceive the finest autumn hairs; when ears are about to go deaf, they first detect the buzzing of mosquitoes; when the body is about to stiffen, it first bursts into desperate running; when the mind is about to be lost, it first distinguishes right from wrong. Thus when things reach their extreme, they turn into their opposites. Commentators regard this as the natural law of heaven and earth—the sage maintains the Middle Way and follows harmony, thereby preserving the integrity of Dao throughout life. This principle is profoundly subtle and difficult to fully articulate.

Liu explains: What opens must close; what flourishes must decline; what rises must fall; what is given must be taken back. This is the natural pattern of things, called "weiming" (the subtle yet manifest principle). Some interpret this through the lens of political strategy, but the Dao of heaven benefits all things without harming them. Dong supplements: Though the mutual transformation of prosperity and decline, fullness and emptiness is subtle and hard to discern, its pattern is clearly observable. Only those who maintain stillness and softness avoid being trapped in this cycle.

The soft overcomes the hard, just as fish cannot leave deep waters, and a state's strategic methods should not be casually revealed. Li argues: Practitioners of Dao should remain formless and shapeless, preserving ultimate softness without contending with external things—thus they naturally perceive omens. To use force, violence, or cunning to suppress things violates Dao. Fish belong to water; if they insist on leaving it to stand out, how can they survive? Likewise, people shouldn't exalt political strategy, for that would be as unnatural as fish abandoning water. A state's strategic methods resemble Confucius' saying: "They can establish norms but shouldn't be lightly employed." Even sages employ strategic adaptation only in alignment with Dao—how much more cautious should ordinary people be? This warrants serious reflection.

He further elaborates: Nothing under heaven is softer than Dao. Dao's softness lies in its capacity to encompass heaven-earth and penetrate all things. This is how softness overcomes hardness. Thus humans dwell in Dao as fish dwell in water—Dao in humans, water in fish. Losing Dao, humans perish; water drying up, fish die. This teaches that rashly abandoning one's root leads inevitably to failure. The "sharp tools" refer to adaptive strategies, like the butcher's blade slipping between sinews and bones when carving oxen—wiped clean and stored after use, remaining keen as new after nineteen years. How could such "sharp tools" be carelessly displayed?

Laozi taught that statecraft is the unique wisdom of sages. Zhuangzi illustrated this principle with the metaphor "the octopus never leaves the depths," further explaining: The sage is like a sharp instrument of governance for the world, yet cannot be casually displayed to ordinary people. The sage employs these methods mysteriously to respond to the endless changes of worldly affairs. Keeping them concealed isn't meant to deceive the populace, but stems from profound foresight and concern.

Master Lü (Lü Dongbin) elaborated: Fish preserve themselves by hiding in deep waters - once leaving the abyss, they become prey, and when stranded without water, even ants can harm them. Statecraft resembles a sharp sword; if common people discern its secrets, it's like handing the hilt to others, and reckless use will surely endanger the nation. Using the body as metaphor: fish dwell in water as water dwells in fish; humans exist within Qi (the primordial energy of Daoism) as Qi exists within humans. Fish perish without water, humans die without Qi. If fish can retract their scales and hide among water plants, circulating water ensures longevity; if humans can retreat to blessed lands (ideal cultivation sites), circulating primordial Qi brings immortality. Revealing state secrets or cosmic mysteries (Daoist celestial mechanisms) carelessly invites heavenly retribution. The Great Cavern Celestial Constitution Scripture states: Transmitting to unworthy recipients leaks celestial treasures. The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) similarly warns: Like safeguarding legendary swords Ganjiang and Moye, such knowledge requires cautious preservation, never casual use.

Master Heshang (Han dynasty recluse commentator on the Daodejing) maintained: Statecraft shouldn't be shown to governing ministers, nor cultivation methods taught to unworthy recipients. Scholar Lin (Lin Xiyi) explained: The abyss symbolizes the Great Dao, the fish represents humanity. Humans cannot separate from the Dao, just as fish cannot leave the depths.

Chapter 37 teaches: The Dao appears non-active (Wuwei) yet accomplishes everything. If rulers uphold this principle, all things transform spontaneously. Scholar He (He Yan) cites Zhuangzi: Though the myriad things differ vastly, all follow the same Dao. Being nameless (beyond complete linguistic description), it is non-active; precisely through non-action, nothing remains unaccomplished. The previous chapter discussed "namelessness," while this chapter begins by adding "the constant Dao." The Daodejing states: "Through constant non-desire observe its mysteries; through constant desire observe its manifestations." Maintaining emptiness enables non-action; maintaining substance enables omnipotent action - these two are fundamentally one.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing is left undone." The constant state of the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe) is natural non-action, yet it accomplishes everything. Zhuangzi teaches that emptiness leads to fullness, and extreme stillness gives rise to movement—this Wuwei refers to the eternal Way of serene naturalness.

The sages (those who have realized the Dao) are not inactive. As described in the Zhuangzi: they appear still as corpses yet manifest dragon-like majesty, silent as deep abysses yet produce thunderous echoes. When their Shen (spirit) stirs, heaven and earth respond accordingly. They act with effortless ease, allowing all things to grow and transform naturally. This is because heaven and earth themselves embody Wuwei while accomplishing all things. The sages emulate this cosmic principle—whether cultivating their essential nature or responding to worldly affairs, they follow this eternal truth. Movement and stillness are fundamentally one: Wuwei is the Dao's constant state, and "nothing left undone" is equally its natural expression.

The Dao is omnipresent. If rulers (here symbolizing practitioners) can maintain this Wuwei approach without forced striving, all beings will flourish spontaneously. Scholar Lin's commentary notes this chapter echoes the theme of "the Dao is eternally nameless," emphasizing natural spontaneity. Scholar Lü further explains that when practitioners (symbolized by rulers) stabilize their consciousness in the upper Dantian (the "Mud Ball Palace" where the spirit resides), their vital substances undergo natural transformation: bodily fluids become marrow, marrow refines into Jing (essence), and Jing crystallizes into the Golden Elixir (a key Neidan/internal alchemy term)—these are the spontaneous transformations wrought by Wuwei.

When worldly phenomena become excessively agitated, sages employ the "nameless simplicity" (the primordial state of Dao) to restore equilibrium. Scholar He clarifies: while mutual resonance between higher and lower realms follows natural patterns, sages carefully discern the proper timing—neither rushing nor delaying. They claim no merit but simply return to Wuwei, harmonizing all through the Dao's authentic essence. This "pacification" resembles restoring carved jade to its uncarved state, preserving its intrinsic nature. Even amid responsive changes, they maintain inner stillness. The so-called "nameless simplicity" refers to the ineffable origin of the Dao itself.

This passage discusses how practitioners should maintain a state of wuwei (non-action) and natural spontaneity. The Dao (cosmic origin) itself has no subjective will—how much less so for things that deviate from it? When sages (those who have attained the Dao) preserve inner purity and stabilize their shen (spirit), all things naturally return to them, and the world finds peace of its own accord.

Master Wu explains that "desire" refers to deliberate, contrived thoughts. Practitioners who have not yet reached pure wuwei are prone to generating intentions to forcibly alter things when influenced by external phenomena. Once such willful impulses arise, they violate the principle of wuwei. "To pacify" means using the primordial power of the Dao to quell these deluded thoughts. The "nameless simplicity" (the original state without labels) is wuwei itself. When distracting thoughts emerge, one must use this fundamental power to stabilize the mind—this is how the Dao subdues the self.

Master Lü elaborates: For practitioners, the initial stirring of a single thought constitutes "emotion," and once emotional impulses arise, they trigger all manner of artificial striving. When noticing thoughts leaking outward, one must immediately turn inward through self-observation, extinguishing restless mental activity to return to pristine naturalness. Only by using "simplicity" (the primordial state of the Dao) to calm the mind can one maintain unified original nature. The Dao itself has no fixed form—using "simplicity" as a metaphor is merely a provisional teaching. Sages feared later generations would cling to the concept of "simplicity," hence they emphasized approaching all things with emptiness, using stillness to govern movement. By restraining desires to empty the heart-mind and relinquishing knowledge to achieve mental tranquility, self-cultivation becomes universally appropriate, and the world naturally attains peace.

Master Li provides an alchemical interpretation: Just as heaven and earth practice wuwei while all things grow spontaneously, sages embody wuwei while people find contentment naturally. During practice, maintain stillness while contemplating the formless state (reality without concrete images). The moment stray thoughts sprout, recognize them immediately and use "nameless simplicity" to stabilize. This "simplicity" is essentially the nameless, formless void state.

The core teaching emphasizes practitioners emulating the Dao's natural wuwei quality, achieving mind-body harmony through returning to primordial simplicity and restraining deluded thoughts. Though commentators approach from different angles, all converge on maintaining inner emptiness as the essential practice.