Taoism 30 — Literal Translation Version

The lecture begins at Yixin Lecture Center.

The speaker cites a traditional view, attributed here to Confucian commentary, on *governing through non-action*. Some people may assume that Yao, Shun, and Yu were all equally “sagely rulers” in the same way, but the lecturer says the one who most fully embodies effortless rule is Shun. He then quotes Cai Mo of the Jin dynasty: among the so-called “three sages,” Shun stands in the middle position; though their Way was one, the circumstances of their rule were different. Since antiquity, he says, only Shun inherited a fully ordered age and stood between earlier and later sages.

A note from the *Records of the Grand Historian* is then introduced: Emperor Zhi was first enthroned, and later his younger brother took the throne. The lecturer explains that the elder brother became emperor but was unable to govern effectively, so ministers forced him aside and the younger brother came to rule.

The lecturer develops the contrast among Yao, Shun, and Yu.

Yao did not simply inherit the throne in an untroubled way; the circumstances around his accession were already imperfect. If he had merely succeeded an elder brother in due order, that would have been straightforward. But because the elder brother was without the Way, and because the transfer of power involved human intervention, Yao cannot be described as wholly embodying pure non-action. Even though Yao himself was virtuous and his government was excellent, the conditions of accession were not entirely natural.

He then turns to Yu. According to the historical tradition, Yu intended the realm to pass not to his son but to Bo Yi, following the precedent of abdication. But after Yu’s death, the world was not at peace. The feudal lords did not rally around Bo Yi; instead they left him and supported Yu’s son Qi, who then took the Son of Heaven’s place. That means the age of smooth sage-to-sage abdication ended there. If Yu had passed the throne to someone who truly could stabilize the realm, then perhaps one might still speak of non-action; but because the realm did not accept Bo Yi, events moved into a different pattern.

So, although Yao, Shun, and Yu are all praised as sages, their situations were not the same. Shun ruled in a uniquely peaceful interval: he received a well-ordered world, stood between great sages, and governed without warfare or turmoil. In that sense his rule most closely matches *wu-wei*, effortless government. Their Way was one, but their modes of governing differed because the times differed.

The lecturer concludes that throughout thousands of years, from the Yellow Emperor down to modern presidents, nearly every ruler gained power through struggle. Only Great Shun, he says, seems to have received the throne peacefully and then passed it on peacefully. Cai Mo’s observation is therefore praised as especially perceptive.

The lecture now returns to the theme of *wu-wei*.

The speaker says that non-action is not merely a political slogan; it is also a primordial method and the highest state in cultivation. Laozi’s phrase “I practice non-action and the people transform themselves; I love stillness and the people correct themselves” is taken as the key. The point is not to force others into non-action. One must first transform oneself, purify oneself, and walk the proper path.

A citation from the *Book of Rites* is paraphrased: if the heart is without contrived action, it stays on the unbiased path, the way of the Mean, not veering left or right. To remain inseparable from the true is what makes a person complete. One who studies the Way cannot leave truth behind; this, the lecturer says, is what makes a true or perfected person.

To be sage-like, the lecturer says, is to act without falseness of heart. When there is no deceptive or self-seeking mind, one approaches *wu-wei*.

He next brings in the *Appended Phrases* of the *Yijing*: “The Changes has no thought; it is still and unmoving.” This is interpreted as the same principle: no contrived mental activity, no forced action, quiet and responsive.

He then parallels this with Buddhist language from the *Platform Sutra*: *no-thought* as the teaching’s principle, *no-form* as its substance, and *non-abiding* as its root. “No-form” means being among forms without clinging to them. “No-thought” does not mean blankness or stupidity; it means that even when thoughts arise, one does not get trapped by them. Other Buddhist texts are cited to clarify that this is not the absence of right mindfulness, but the absence of attachment.

“Non-abiding,” he says, refers to the original nature of the person. Whether one encounters good or evil, beauty or ugliness, friends or enemies, praise or insult, one does not become inwardly fixed. One sees all conditions as empty and does not react from greed, resentment, repayment, or revenge. The speaker then gestures toward a broader synthesis of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, though the OCR becomes too damaged here to preserve the exact spoken example.

The lecture now turns to Lü Chunyang’s commentary on the chapter.

A good government, he says, is not attached. Good rule has no stubborn insistence. “Those who act by force ruin things; those who grasp lose them.” One note explains that “to grasp” means to cling rigidly to one’s own opinion and refuse all correction.

Another note explains the imagery of breathing or blowing: opening the mouth and expelling breath. These images are used to illustrate natural variation rather than rigid control.

The commentary explains that breath can warm or cool depending on how it is released: slowly exhaled breath feels warm; sharply exhaled breath feels cool. The point is that circumstances differ, and one should not cling to a single rigid method.

Thus, in governing or in life, sometimes one leads and sometimes one follows. Sometimes one advances, sometimes one yields. The central warning remains the same: if one imposes things by force, one spoils them; if one grips them stubbornly, one loses them. Real action accords with nature instead of insisting on a fixed personal will.

The second part of the commentary explains paired opposites: strong and weak, success and collapse. “Strong” means power that surpasses others; “weak” means emaciated and lacking strength. “Carried to completion” means achievement; “falling” means failure and decline.

The governing principle is: when things reach an extreme, they reverse. Push success too far, and it becomes failure. Carry power too far, and decline begins. This is the world’s constant pattern. For that reason the chapter speaks in shifting pairs—now strong, now weak; now accomplished, now fallen.

The lecturer closes that session by saying the final phrase, “reject excess, reject luxury, reject arrogance,” would be explained next time.

The next lecture resumes with the final phrase of Chapter 29: “Remove excess, remove luxury, remove pride.”

Lü Chunyang’s explanation is straightforward: - “Excess” means going beyond proper measure, especially clinging too strongly to one’s own will. - “Luxury” means extravagance and waste. - “Pride” or “swagger” means arrogant self-inflation and pressing down on others.

A person of the Dao does not dwell in any of these. One avoids extremity, wastefulness, and overbearing pride. With that, the lecturer says, the discussion of Chapter 29 is complete, and he moves into the next chapter on warfare.

Chapter 30 is now explained through Lü Chunyang’s reading.

“To assist” means to help. “To advocate” means to take a position. A ruler who uses the Dao helps people settle down, live securely, and carry on their livelihoods. Weapons are for self-defense and resisting aggression, not for invading others. Therefore one should not use arms to impose power over the world.

Several terms are glossed: - “Assist” means help or support. - “Advocate” means to uphold a position. - “Bright virtue” is linked to the *Great Learning*: the Way of learning lies in manifesting luminous virtue. - “Weapons and armor” refers to the old use of leather and hide in military gear.

The lecturer’s moral point is clear: righteous rule protects; it does not glorify aggression.

The speaker continues explaining the terms, then returns to the chapter’s practical teaching.

Weapons always bring consequences. If you kill others, retaliation follows; that is a fixed principle of the world. When armies are raised, fields and homes are abandoned, weeds overrun the land, and after many deaths disease spreads. Pestilence and famine follow in war’s wake. Such things are no blessing to the people.

That is why Laozi says one should assist with the Dao, not use weapons to dominate the world.

Lü Chunyang’s explanation of the next lines is that a good commander uses arms only when necessary, for defense, and stops once the objective is achieved.

To “gain victory” simply means to win. To “stop” means to halt there. One must not continue on in boastful violence after success. If military action was truly unavoidable, then even after victory one must not flaunt strength, despise the enemy, or press on in arrogance.

The lecturer repeatedly stresses the same point: arms may be used only because one is forced into it. If others attack and one must defend one’s land and people, then action becomes necessary. But once the danger is resolved, one must not use victory as an excuse to dominate the world.

The chapter closes with a warning: whatever becomes excessively strong begins to age and decline. All things move from vigor toward old age; military power is no exception.

If someone delights in strength, competition, and conquest, trying to seize the world by force, that is not in accord with the Dao. When things reach their extreme, they reverse. What is overgrown cannot endure. Thus “what is strong soon grows old” means that forceful excess is already on the road to death.

“Not according to the Dao” is explained simply as acting contrary to principle. Traditional commentary, including Heshang Gong, takes this to mean an early end. The lecturer gives Qin Shihuang as an example: immense domination, but short-lived. That, he says, is exactly the pattern of strength turning into decline. With that, Chapter 30 is said to be complete.

The lecture now spills into the beginning of Chapter 31 and continues the theme of war.

Lü Chunyang explains that “fine weapons” means sharp, effective weapons—but the sharper the weapon, the more easily killing increases. Therefore weapons are not auspicious objects. Once weapons are set in motion, injury follows. For that reason, people of the Dao are reluctant to use them at all.

The lecturer then moves to symbolic interpretation: in ordinary peaceful life, the left side is honored. In old ritual culture, the left is associated with yang, life, and benevolence. The right, by contrast, becomes associated with danger, death, and killing. Therefore when warfare appears, the symbolism shifts toward the right, precisely because war is a grim and inauspicious business.

The lecturer expands at length on traditional left-right symbolism.

In his presentation, the left corresponds to auspiciousness, life, and the civil or humane side of culture; the right corresponds to danger, death, and the martial side. He gives many spoken examples—ritual seating, modes of travel, martial arts customs, altars, and funeral associations—to reinforce the same point: the left is honored in ordinary benevolent life, while the right is linked with killing and therefore becomes prominent in military settings.

Some examples here are colloquial, repetitive, and partly damaged by OCR, but the consistent message is that weapons belong to the sphere of danger, not blessing.

Lü Chunyang’s symbolic explanation is summarized again:

- Left corresponds to east; east to yang. - Right corresponds to west; west to yin. - The Azure Dragon on the left signifies life. - The White Tiger on the right signifies death.

Because of this, civil virtue and the gentleman are associated with the left, while military action is associated with the right. Classical sources such as the *Book of Rites*, *Huainanzi*, and later esoteric texts are cited to support this symbolic structure. Hence the saying: in ordinary dwelling the gentleman honors the left; in the use of arms, the right is honored.

The lecture emphasizes again that weapons are ominous instruments and not what a true gentleman delights in.

Ancient people, the speaker says, treated weapons with solemn caution, whereas modern people tend to glorify force and think victory alone proves rightness. Laozi’s teaching says otherwise: if weapons must be used, it should be only from necessity, in a calm and level state of mind, not from bloodlust or ambition.

Even in victory, one must not congratulate oneself, revel in violence, or admire the act of killing. To delight in killing is to lose all right to rule or guide the world. Harm done to others brings its own moral return.

The speaker explains the line about generals standing left and right.

In auspicious affairs the left is honored; in inauspicious affairs, such as funerals, the right is honored. Since war belongs to the sphere of death and sorrow, military hierarchy follows the pattern of mourning. Thus the deputy general stands on the left, while the commanding general—who bears the heavier responsibility for killing—stands on the right.

Traditional commentators, including Hanshan, are cited to say that even after victory, war should be treated as a funeral matter, not as a celebration. One should mourn the dead rather than hold triumphal feasts. The lecturer adds from personal experience that war is brutally real; once one has seen a battlefield, the horror is unforgettable.

To illustrate this spirit, the lecturer tells the story of General Nogi of Japan.

He is presented as a humane and selfless commander during the Russo-Japanese War. Even though his own sons died in battle, he did not exempt them from service while others’ sons died. After victory, he did not celebrate. Instead, he visited the families of the dead to apologize and console them, and the memory of the fallen was honored in shrine ritual. The lecturer uses Nogi as an example of treating victory with grief rather than pride.

He also notes Nogi’s personal simplicity and humility in daily life. The story culminates in the image of a victorious general weeping because the fields were covered with the dead. With that, the lecture session comes to an end.

This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.