《大明太祖高皇帝御註道德真經》

This passage presents Ming Dynasty Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary on the Daode Jing, offering straightforward explanations of profound Daoist concepts.

"The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao" means: the Dao that can be expressed in words is not the unchanging, perpetual Dao. Zhu Yuanzhang likens the Dao to a path—ordinary people walk common roads, while those dedicated to cultivation must follow the "extraordinary Dao" that transcends the mundane. The key lies in maintaining steadfast inner resolve without altering one's original intention.

"Nameless, it is the origin of heaven and earth" indicates that in its subtle, silent state (nameless), the Dao is the source of all creation; when the Dao manifests its function (named), it nurtures all things like a mother. Zhu illustrates this with governance: benevolent policies remain nameless when conceived in the ruler's mind, only gaining names like "rewards" or "punishments" upon implementation. When virtuous individuals harbor compassion to aid the world, they embody this transition from nameless to named.

"Constantly without desire, observe its mysteries" refers to cultivating without seeking fame or gain, using pure awareness to perceive the Dao's profundity. The "desire" in "constantly with desire, observe its manifestations" isn't craving, but the will to perfect one's actions. "Manifestations" here denote the boundary principles governing all phenomena.

The exclamation "mystery upon mystery" praises the Dao's profundity—these two aspects (observing mysteries without desire and manifestations with desire) share one origin yet appear distinct, both serving as gateways to myriad wondrous realms.

Chapter Two observes that when all people recognize beauty, ugliness arises; when all acknowledge goodness, its opposite appears. Zhu Yuanzhang cautions rulers: when practicing the great Dao, avoid embellishing it further, and when doing good, refrain from ostentatious displays. Excessive pursuit of superficial beauty and goodness may create temporary splendor, but cannot endure.

Here Laozi expounds principles of governing a nation and cultivating the self. He observes that excessive pursuit of beauty can bring about evil consequences, while rigid adherence to virtuous deeds may lead to opposite results. The truly wise ruler should let people live in peace and prosperity without being aware of the sovereign's benevolence, just as the old farmer in ancient times would say, "What influence does the emperor have on me?"

All things in the world are interdependent: being (you) and non-being (wu) generate each other, difficulty and ease complete each other, long and short contrast each other, high and low depend on each other, musical notes and sounds harmonize with each other, front and back follow each other. The sage understands this principle, therefore he adopts the method of "non-action" (wuwei) in handling affairs and teaches through "wordless instruction." Here, "non-action" doesn't mean doing nothing, but rather avoiding forced effort; "wordless instruction" means avoiding deliberate preaching. Just as all things grow naturally, the sage nurtures all beings without claiming credit. Precisely because he doesn't claim credit, his achievements never fade.

Chapter Two explains: When we stop excessively praising the worthy, people won't compete for fame and profit; when we stop valuing rare goods, people won't steal; when we stop displaying objects that arouse desire, people's minds won't be confused. Laozi sees deeply: if a nation excessively honors the worthy, many problems will arise; if it overvalues rare objects, people will steal. The truly wise ruler should keep people simple and unadorned, with tranquil hearts yet abundant lives, peaceful aspirations yet strong bodies.

In governing the world, the sage always maintains personal serenity and detachment, never pursuing luxury or pleasure, but rather ensuring the people's prosperity. Thus the people won't know what worthy men are worth competing for, nor what treasures are hard to obtain, and the world will naturally achieve stability.

This passage elucidates the principles of governing a state and cultivating the self. Regarding "filling the belly and weakening the ambitions," it means that the people's prosperity is the foundation of the state, yet the ruler should not act recklessly even when the nation is powerful. Keeping the people simple and guileless (without excessive knowledge or desires), as mentioned earlier by not exalting the worthy or valuing rare goods, prevents greed from arising. Even if there are clever individuals, they would not dare to act arbitrarily. Actions should follow the natural order—when what needs to be done is done, the state of Wuwei (non-action) governance can be achieved.

Chapter four describes the nature of the Dao: though it appears empty (chong), it is inexhaustible in use (never fills); though unfathomably deep (yuan), it is the source of all things. Metaphors illustrate the path of self-cultivation: blunt the sharp edges (file down their points), untangle complications (unravel their knots), soften the glare (temper their brightness), and merge with the dust (become one with the world), while maintaining inner clarity (serene, it seems to endure). Laozi uses these images to caution against excess, advising preservation of De (Virtue) to practice benevolence.

The passage concludes with the famous view that "Heaven and Earth are not benevolent": they treat all things as straw dogs (chugou, ritual straw effigies discarded after ceremonies), and the sage similarly treats the people. This is not cruelty but a lesson in following the constant Dao—neither excessively cherishing nor carelessly wasting things. Like straw dogs, they should be used when needed and discarded when appropriate, in accordance with nature.

Does the operation of Heaven and Earth resemble their treatment of straw dogs for sacrifices—so natural? When Heaven and Earth unite to form the cycle of seasons, can they remain unchanged once established? In truth, the reason Heaven and Earth can operate eternally lies precisely in the unceasing cycle of the four seasons, never resting for even a moment. If rulers governing the world could emulate this constant Dao, the people would not be treated as carelessly as straw dogs.

The space between Heaven and Earth is like a great bellows (tuóyuè)—seemingly empty yet never exhausted. The more it is worked, the more wind it produces. The mind of a sage is the same: seemingly tranquil and void, yet full of vitality; seemingly detached, yet all-encompassing. They cherish what should be cherished for long, and let go when it is time to release. This kind of cherishing that appears indifferent, and retaining that seems to relinquish, actually allows the people to live in peace and prosperity. Just as a blacksmith’s bellows seems empty when still, yet produces an unending flow of wind when pulled, so too does the sage’s governance remain ever-focused, never ceasing like the bellows.

Speaking too much often leads one into difficulty; it is better to hold fast to the inner foundation. The "Valley Spirit" (referring to the Qi of the Dantian in the human body) is eternal and indestructible—this is the mysterious origin of life (xuánpìn). Like the root of Heaven and Earth, it is continuous yet invisible and untouchable, inexhaustible in its use. The vast Qi within the human body is the "Shen" (spirit), and Shen and Qi are fundamentally one. The cavity in the heart is called the "Valley"; taking Qi as Shen, as long as the breath endures, the Valley Spirit will not perish, and one may attain longevity. A ruler takes the self as a model for the world and the Shen-Qi as the life force of the state. When the ruler embodies the Dao, the people are safe and well. If one can regard the self as Heaven and Earth, maintaining true Qi without disorder, one can endure like the root of Heaven and Earth. Nurtured well, the Qi flows endlessly; used properly, it will never be exhausted.

Chapter Five explains: The reason Heaven and Earth can endure eternally is precisely because they do not deliberately seek self-preservation. People generally do not understand whether Heaven and Earth exist for themselves; they only see the wind, rain, frost, and dew nourishing all things, never ceasing from ancient times to the present, yet never witnessing Heaven and Earth acting for their own benefit. Thus, this principle serves as a warning to later generations—the sage places themselves behind others yet leads, remains detached yet preserves the self.

This scripture expounds the Daoist concepts of "selflessness" and "the highest virtue resembles water."

Laozi teaches that precisely because sages lack selfish motives, they ultimately fulfill themselves. Those who willingly take the humble position and live simply may appear disadvantaged, but will ultimately reap good fortune. The same principle applies to governing a state - by prioritizing the people's welfare and enduring hardships first, one achieves lasting stability. This isn't feigned selflessness, but the authentic manifestation of Dao (the Way).

The supreme virtue flows like water that nourishes all things without claiming merit, content to dwell in low places. Virtuous individuals should emulate water's qualities: choosing appropriate places to dwell, maintaining hearts as deep as abysses, treating others with kindness, speaking with integrity, governing with skill, acting within one's capacity, and moving at the right moment. By embodying these, one avoids incurring resentment.

Just as walking while carrying a brimming bowl risks spills, it's better to fill it only seven-tenths full. A blade honed too sharp will break more easily. No one can forever guard halls filled with gold and jade, while arrogance amid wealth invites calamity. Withdrawing after achieving merit and fame aligns with heavenly Dao (the Way). Many worldly fortunes prove transient precisely because success breeds arrogance and excess, ultimately summoning disaster.

(Note: "The highest virtue resembles water" is a core Daoist concept describing how supreme goodness nourishes silently like water. "Retiring after achieving merit" refers to voluntary withdrawal at career peaks, representing revered Daoist wisdom for worldly conduct.)

This passage elucidates principles for personal conduct and state governance. It begins with "achieving merit, attaining fame, then withdrawing from prominence," suggesting that after accomplishing great deeds and realizing one's aspirations, one should remain humble without claiming credit arrogantly—yet this doesn't imply complete retirement.

Using metaphorical language, it then explains self-cultivation methods: comparing the body to a chariot, the heart-mind to its carriage, with the spirit (hun) as the guiding force. When spirit (hun) and physical form (po) remain inseparably united, health is preserved. The key lies in stabilizing the spirit within the body, preventing its dissipation—thus eliminating selfish thoughts and attaining infant-like purity.

Regarding statecraft, true enlightened rulers govern not through brute force (xiong) but by harmonizing with softness (ci). Just as breathing (the "Heavenly Gate") should flow smoothly, governance must follow natural rhythms. Tyrannical rulers bring suffering to the people; exhausted citizens lead to national collapse.

Finally, it discusses "Mysterious De (玄德)"—the highest virtue: rulers should let people thrive and accumulate resources (生之畜之) without claiming possession (不有); govern without boasting of ability (不恃); and allow prosperity without monopolizing control (不宰). This constitutes the most profound virtue.

Chapter 9 discusses the concept of "Mysterious De (Virtue/Power)"—the profound and subtle virtue of governance. It means that truly enlightened rulers maintain their position for long periods without becoming autocratic. This seemingly paradoxical yet profoundly wise approach to leadership embodies the highest form of virtue.

Chapter 10 illustrates the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu) through three everyday examples: Thirty spokes converge at the hub of a wheel, yet it is precisely because the hub's center is empty that the wheel can turn. Clay is kneaded to form vessels, yet it is the hollow space within that makes them useful. Doors and windows are cut out to build houses, yet it is the empty interior that makes them inhabitable. Thus, while "being" (the solid parts) provides practical benefits, it is "non-being" (the empty spaces) that truly enables functionality. This teaches us to leave room for flexibility in all endeavors—just as ancient wheelwrights kept spare hubs, potters kept spare vessels, and builders kept spare doors and windows.

Chapter 11 warns against indulging in sensory excess: Dazzling colors blind the eyes, clamorous music deafens the ears, rich flavors dull the palate, obsessive hunting agitates the heart, and rare treasures corrupt behavior. Therefore, the sage governs by ensuring the people's basic needs are met ("feeding the belly") rather than chasing luxuries ("pleasing the eyes"). Here, the "belly" symbolizes fundamental livelihood, while the "eyes" represent frivolous desires. A wise ruler discards extravagance to focus on essentials. This governing principle—"by standing behind, one leads; by setting oneself aside, one endures"—is truly profound.

(Note: The terms "obsessive hunting" (qinhuang), "sensual indulgence" (sehuang), and "lavish palaces with carved walls" (junyu diaoqiang) were classical expressions condemning rulers for decadence.)

This passage discusses the relationship between honor/disgrace and the physical body. The fundamental reason why people become mentally disturbed by gains and losses of honor and disgrace lies in excessive attachment to their own bodies. If one were free from the concept of "self," what would there be to worry about? Therefore, truly noble individuals regard all people's bodies as their own to cherish.

For a ruler, if they could care for the common people as they care for their own body, treating the people's ailments as their own to heal, the world would naturally be at peace. Conversely, if one focuses solely on personal honor and disgrace, even the protection of a thousand armies cannot ensure lasting security. Thus, an enlightened ruler cherishes the world as their own body, and only then can the nation prosper.

The passage then explains the mysterious characteristics of the Dao (the Way): Looking at it, you cannot see it—this is called "Yi" (formless); listening for it, you cannot hear it—this is called "Xi" (soundless); grasping for it, you cannot touch it—this is called "Wei" (intangible). These three characteristics cannot be fully described in words, so they are collectively called "the One." Here, "Yi," "Xi," and "Wei" all describe the Dao's ordinary yet imperceptible nature.

Though formless and imageless, the Dao manifests in perfectly ordered patterns. It is neither completely bright nor entirely dark—continuous yet indescribable, ultimately returning to emptiness. This formless form, imageless image is called "Huhuang" (a state of hazy indistinctness). The Dao is thus neither obvious nor hidden, appearing empty yet manifesting concrete functions, seemingly silent yet containing infinite vitality.

This passage speaks of the profound subtlety between the human mind and the Dao mind (referring to the state where one's original nature resonates with the natural Dao)—a realm so delicate and mysterious that only virtuous gentlemen can truly maintain it. This state is elusive and intangible, appearing without trace and vanishing without a shadow. Attempting to trace its origin reveals no beginning, and following it leads to no end. Only by grasping the eternal truth of the Dao can one master the concrete realities of the present. Those who comprehend the primal essence of all things may be said to have grasped the guiding principles of the Dao.

The Dao is an undivided whole—invisible and inaudible. If one upholds the timeless truth of the Dao to navigate the present, this is the meaning of "governing what exists today." Human nature is inherently aligned with the Dao of Heaven, which is why the Zhongyong states: "What Heaven decrees is called nature; following this nature is called the Dao; cultivating this Dao is called teaching." This is the fundamental order of the Dao.

The ancient sages who truly attained the Dao embodied a state so profound and mysterious that it defies comprehension. Precisely because it is indescribable, Laozi had no choice but to resort to metaphors: they were cautious as if crossing a winter river, alert as if wary of their neighbors, dignified as if guests in another's home, free and unrestrained as melting ice, simple and unadorned as uncarved wood, vast and open as a valley, and indistinct as murky water.

The minds of Daoist gentlemen are filled with benevolence and unwavering resolve, making their mysteries inaccessible to ordinary people. Laozi used seven metaphors (referring to the seven "as if" descriptions above) in an attempt to capture their essence, yet even these fall short of fully conveying their true nature. It is like using the characteristics of the legendary hesitant beasts (ancient creatures symbolizing doubt) to describe them—simultaneously dignified and carefree, both pure and indistinct. No matter how one probes, their true heart remains elusive. The steadfast sincerity of noble gentlemen cannot be shaken—how could petty individuals ever hope to reach such a state?

Who can remain still in turbidity until clarity emerges? Who can nurture vitality within stillness? The Daoist gentleman awakens the deluded, bringing tranquility through action and aiding clarity through murky circumstances. When the gentleman abides in his true nature, who could possibly disturb his mind with clever schemes?

This passage elucidates the principles of self-cultivation for noble individuals. When a noble person's thoughts have not yet arisen, who could possibly use schemes to gradually induce them? Those who maintain this path of cultivation do not pursue excessive fullness. Precisely because they avoid seeking perfection, they can preserve their original state without deliberately striving for new achievements.

This teaching essentially instructs people in self-cultivation and maintaining the naturalness of the Dao (the Way), with the key principle being the avoidance of excessive striving. The phrase "not pursuing new achievements" means not deliberately seeking fresh accomplishments, for if the original state remains undamaged, why seek new attainments? Maintaining this path of cultivation is actually not difficult.

(End of Chapter 14)

The phrase "attaining ultimate emptiness and maintaining profound stillness" refers to reaching a state of perfect mental clarity by eliminating delusions and selfish desires. "Maintaining profound stillness" means steadfastly preserving a state of purity and simplicity. Here, "profound" signifies sincerity and genuineness.

All things grow and transform, and I observe their cyclical patterns. The myriad complex phenomena ultimately return to their source. This return is called "stillness" - stillness means returning to one's original nature, and returning to one's nature is called the "constant Dao (the Way)." Understanding this constant Dao constitutes wisdom, while ignorance of it and reckless action invite misfortune. Those who comprehend the constant Dao become tolerant; tolerance leads to impartiality; impartiality enables one to become a true ruler; ruling in this way aligns with the Dao of Heaven; such alignment brings enduring stability, ensuring a lifetime free from danger.

Noble individuals studying the Dao should emulate the operating principles of Heaven and Earth. Therefore, they must maintain a state of ultimate mental emptiness to observe the cyclical patterns of all phenomena. All things in their growth and development have clear beginnings and endings, never becoming disordered. The noble person follows moral principles and practices virtue (De), just as the four seasons proceed in orderly sequence according to the Dao. The so-called "return to destiny" refers to the cycle of all things growing, maturing, withdrawing, and ultimately returning to their source, only to repeat the process the following year. Ordinary people who understand this constant Dao can comprehend the workings of the Dao; those who fail to understand it and act recklessly against natural patterns will bring misfortune upon themselves. Those who understand the constant Dao maintain inner joy and can act with fairness, thereby governing the world in accordance with the Dao and naturally avoiding danger.

(End of Chapter 15)

The highest rulers (Taishang, the Most High) implement the Dao so subtly that the people benefit without sensing their actions. The next level of rulers are those whom the people cherish and praise. The inferior rulers are feared by the people, while the lowest are despised by them. When sincerity is insufficient, trust is naturally lost.

The highest noble individuals spread the Dao throughout the world - people benefit from their influence without recognizing their contributions, representing the realm of "Taishang." Average individuals, before the Dao becomes manifest in them, already seek others' praise.

(Note: The text retains Daoist technical terms like "Taishang" and "return to destiny" with brief explanations. Key cultivation methods such as "attaining ultimate emptiness and maintaining profound stillness" are appropriately interpreted. The language employs modern vernacular while avoiding classical Chinese structures.)

This passage explains how rulers should govern through De (Virtue/Power) rather than force. Compelling obedience through violence may achieve surface compliance, but fails to earn genuine respect—this constitutes humiliation. History from ancient times to the present consistently proves this truth, yet some still refuse to believe it. Hence the saying: "When sincerity is insufficient, distrust naturally arises."

Truly wise rulers seldom issue commands. When affairs are accomplished, the people perceive them as occurring naturally. Noble individuals don't flaunt their abilities while working, nor boast after completing tasks. Those who constantly showcase their skills tend to resort to opportunistic shortcuts, making their efforts unsustainable. Without self-promotion or blaming others, matters proceed smoothly. With time, the people's genuine praise emerges—this constitutes true "naturalness."

Only when society loses the Dao (the natural harmonious state) do we emphasize benevolence and righteousness. When intellectualism prevails, hypocrisy follows. Filial piety becomes conspicuous only when family harmony breaks down; loyal ministers gain recognition only when the nation falls into chaos. Laozi advocated discarding superficial displays of benevolence, righteousness, wisdom and cleverness, urging people to return to their original simplicity while reducing selfish desires.

These phenomena of loyal ministers, filial children, wisdom and righteousness persisted from the Shang and Zhou dynasties through the Qin and Han periods. Laozi's insight was profound: Why? Because during the golden ages of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, and the reigns of Yao and Shun, society maintained natural harmony. Families lived in concord where filial piety was universal, rulers practiced abdication, and ministers served loyally—no need existed to specially promote such virtues.

Only after Yu the Great ended the tradition of abdication, when Tang of Shang exiled Jie of Xia and King Wu of Zhou overthrew King Zhou of Shang, did virtues like benevolence, wisdom and filial piety become artificially emphasized. Laozi warned people to abandon these artificially constructed moral standards and return to fundamental simplicity. Ordinary thinking might assume that simply discarding concepts like benevolence, filial piety, sagely wisdom and clever profit could bring peace—but this is impossible. Therefore Laozi described these three as "insufficient ornamentation," fearing people might miss his deeper meaning.

This passage presents Ming Dynasty founding emperor Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary on the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), focusing on the essence of chapters like "Abandon Learning and Be Without Sorrow."

Regarding "Abandon Learning and Be Without Sorrow," the meaning is that relinquishing worldly knowledge brings inner peace. Like Confucius, who had no fixed teacher yet learned extensively. Ordinary people may grasp only three or five types of worldly knowledge, but those who attain the Dao (the Way) — the Supreme (Taishang) — can absorb the strengths of all, reaching heights unattainable for most. Thus, the Daode Jing's reference to the "Supreme" is no empty phrase but denotes the highest embodiment of Dao attainment, beyond ordinary comparison. Confucius achieved "no confusion at forty" precisely because he reached this state of "abandoning learning to be without sorrow."

The lines comparing "respectful assent" (wei) and "casual assent" (a) use this distinction to admonish people. Superficially, it's just a difference in tone, but it contains profound principles of right and wrong, good and evil. The ignorant, failing to discern, confuse these in their responses — an attitude unworthy of true seekers.

The passage "What others fear, one must also fear" highlights Laozi's extraordinary insight: he remained vigilant before calamity reached its peak. Ordinary people panic only when disaster strikes, but Laozi prepared in advance, maintaining calm without fear. Here, "yang" means "limit" or "end."

Finally, while others indulge in pleasure, Laozi remains innocent as an infant — his transcendence of worldly attachments. The joy of Dao study differs fundamentally from worldly pleasures, hence Laozi's refusal to follow the crowd. "Grand Sacrifice" (Tailao) refers to ancient ceremonial feasts; "Spring Terrace" symbolizes places of revelry. Yet Laozi preserves his original, untainted state of mind.

This passage elucidates the distinct realms between Dao practitioners and ordinary people. The essence conveys:

Dao cultivators may appear different from common folk, yet they are simply aligning with nature's Dao (the Way). Ordinary people chase material pleasures, indulging in revelry and feasting—seemingly prosperous and joyful—but such satisfaction inevitably fades, leaving minds dissipated. The Laozi (referring to adepts) preserves primordial simplicity, not like an infant's ignorant innocence, but rather understanding cosmic principles while practicing wuwei (non-action), steadfastly upholding heaven-earth's natural order.

To worldly eyes, practitioners resemble drifting boats without mooring, yet they are actually immersed in nature's joy; where ordinary people feel abundant, adepts appear lacking—not due to actual loss, but because they embody the Dao's essence. Their seeming muddle-headedness (dùndùn, hūnhūn, mènmèn) reflects a state beyond cunning calculation; where common people are sharp-eyed (zhāozhāo, cháchá), adepts maintain pristine simplicity. Vast as boundless oceans, free as untamed winds—this realm transcends ordinary comprehension.

What seems like stubborn simplicity (wán sì bǐ) in adepts actually signifies unshakable conviction; their apparent peculiarity holds precious meaning in "nourishing from the Mother"—not literally, but symbolizing how infants rely on maternal sustenance, representing the adept's constant connection to life-nourishing primordial Dao.

The later section on "the appearance of great De (Virtue/Power)" describes Dao's characteristics: though indistinct (wéi huǎng wéi hū), it contains substantial reality (yǒu wù, yǒu xiàng). Within profound darkness (yǎo xī míng xī) resides pure jing (essence)—utterly authentic (shèn zhēn) and trustworthy (yǒu xìn). From antiquity to present, Dao's name never fades; through it we perceive all things' origin. The reason "I" (the adept) comprehend existence's source lies precisely in realizing this Dao.

Note: "Nourishing from the Mother" is a Daoist term metaphorizing how adepts, like infants dependent on maternal nourishment, eternally uphold life's foundational Dao; "great De" refers to supreme Virtue's manifestation, while "all beginnings" denotes the primordial state of myriad beings.

This passage describes the manifestation of great De (the highest virtue). If practitioners can follow such principles, they are no longer dealing with ordinary Dao. The nature of Dao and De cannot be perceived through sight or hearing—they exist in a state between presence and absence. Concerned that seekers might struggle to grasp and forget them, the text describes them as "dim and indistinct" yet containing genuine reality, or "indistinct and dim" while harboring form. This is to prevent people from mistakenly viewing Dao and De as illusory, emphasizing that they indeed possess tangible qualities, making it clear that their principles are utterly real.

Dao and De are both profound and obscure, yet they contain essence (referring to the quintessence of Dao). If one can steadfastly preserve this essence without alteration, their sincerity will resonate with heaven and earth. This sincerity has never diminished from ancient times to the present, hence it is said that the name of Dao never fades—it is truly imperishable. The phrase "observing the origin of all things" means that the great Dao eternally exists while all things undergo transformation. "Origin" also carries connotations of excellence—why observe the excellence of all things? Because the great Dao never breaks its promise, ceaselessly generating and transforming all things like the cycles of the four seasons, following inevitable patterns. Thus, it teaches people to sincerely uphold this Dao, as naturally as a shadow follows the body or an echo responds swiftly.

The subsequent eighteenth chapter states: To bend is to be preserved whole; to yield is to be straightened; to be hollow is to be filled; to be worn out is to be renewed; to take less is to gain more; to grasp for more is to be confused. This teaches people not to go to extremes in conduct and to discern truth from falsehood when cultivating Dao and virtue. Using bending, yielding, hollowness, weariness, and taking less as metaphors for avoiding excess—while grasping for more leads to confusion. Some scholars may read widely yet fail to distinguish truth from falsehood—how is this any different from not studying at all? Failing to discern truth from falsehood invites calamity, as falsity taints genuine goodness. Thus it is said that good and evil are not far apart.

Therefore, the sage holds fast to the "One" (the root of Dao) as the standard for all under heaven. Choosing the good and eliminating the bad, unifying all virtuous deeds while eradicating all evils—this is how one becomes a model for the world. Does this not precisely avoid the pitfall of "grasping for more leads to confusion"? True Dao arises from precisely this.

Not displaying oneself, yet becoming manifest; not asserting oneself, yet becoming distinguished; not boasting, yet achieving merit; not exalting oneself, yet enduring long. Precisely because they do not contend, no one in the world can contend with them. Were the ancients speaking empty words when they said "to bend is to be preserved whole"? It truly can be wholly realized.

This passage elucidates the Daoist principle of "natural non-action (Wuwei)." The initial mention of the "four self-characters" (likely referring to concepts like self-so [自然], self-transformation [自化], self-correction [自正], and self-simplicity [自朴]) actually reveals the profundity behind the earlier six-character phrase "Yield and remain whole, bend and become straight." The meaning is that once the preceding principle is understood, the subsequent ideas become clear—superficial comprehension will never grasp the true essence.

Chapter 19 employs the metaphor of transient storms: Observe how a gale cannot last a morning, nor torrential rain persist a full day. Who causes this? Heaven and Earth. If even Heaven and Earth cannot sustain wind and rain indefinitely, how much less can humans? This admonishes rulers seeking quick results—those who demand praise immediately upon implementing policies. Such "desire for acclaim" resembles the unsustainable nature of violent storms.

Those who truly cultivate the Dao become one with the Dao; those who cultivate Virtue (De) unite with Virtue; while those who lose their way remain with their confusion. As Dong Zhongshu said, "Rectify relationships without seeking profit, illuminate the Dao without calculating merit." When the direction is correct, favorable outcomes naturally follow. What humans pursue in this world, they ultimately attain—those who love the Dao will obtain it, those who cherish Virtue will gain it, while those harboring deceit will reap corresponding consequences.

The conclusion references those with partial or complete disbelief, illustrating the saying "When faith is insufficient, disbelief arises." Like someone standing tiptoe who cannot endure long, forced outcomes ultimately prove unsustainable. The entire passage emphasizes aligning with nature's flow and rejecting rushed achievements, opposing all impatient, result-driven approaches.

Standing on tiptoes makes one unsteady; taking oversized strides prevents swift movement. Those who self-display fail to perceive truth, the self-righteous cannot manifest true wisdom, self-promoters lack genuine merit, and the arrogant cannot endure. Such behaviors are to Dao cultivation like leftover food and superfluous fat—even spirits detest them. Thus, those who attain the Dao (the Way) refrain from such conduct.

A lame person cannot stand firm on one leg; those who leap in oversized strides cannot travel far. It resembles mounting a horse but attempting to gallop before settling in the saddle—such forced actions are unsustainable. The four warnings (self-display, self-righteousness, self-promotion, and arrogance) caution against empty posturing. True cultivation follows the natural course. Self-promotion is like leftover food and excess fat, inviting only ridicule—thus, noble practitioners avoid it.

Before heaven and earth took form, there existed an undifferentiated chaos. Silent and formless, it stands alone unchanging, cycling endlessly without cease—it may be called the origin of all things under heaven. Not knowing its name, I reluctantly term it "Dao" (the Way) and further describe it as "boundless."

Here, the primordial Qi (vital energy) before heaven and earth's separation serves as a metaphor for the noble person's heart of benevolence yet to unfold. This state is tranquil and profound (silent and formless), stable as if congealed (standing alone unchanging), yet ceaselessly circulating (cycling without cease). Constant contemplation of this Dao prevents straying; not straying naturally benefits all things. To benefit all things with this Dao—is it not like a mother nurturing her child? Though reluctantly named "Dao," it is truly the principle of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) in motion—hence its description as "boundless."

"Boundless" implies perpetual motion (passing), perpetual motion leads to expansion (far-reaching), and expansion inevitably returns to the source (returning). "Passing" signifies the Dao's ability to return to its essence after manifesting all things; "far-reaching" denotes the Dao's universal flow. Thus, the Dao is boundless, heaven is boundless, earth is boundless, and the sovereign is boundless. The cosmos contains these four greatnesses, and the sovereign occupies one among them.

Heaven and earth jointly nurture all things; the sovereign emulates them, upholding this Dao between heaven and earth. How could the sovereign be insignificant? His place among the four greatnesses stems from grasping the principles of creation. The sovereign holds this primordial truth—hence his "boundlessness."

Humans emulate earth's stability and depth, earth emulates heaven's ceaseless motion, heaven emulates the Dao's natural laws, and the Dao follows pure spontaneity.

This passage contains Ming Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary on the Daode Jing, focusing on principles of state governance and self-cultivation.

First, he explains the meaning of "Man follows Earth, Earth follows Heaven, Heaven follows the Dao (the Way), and the Dao follows nature": Humans emulate the Earth, meaning rulers should govern by observing the orderly progression of the four seasons in their policies. The Earth follows Heaven, adapting to natural phenomena like wind, rain, frost, and dew to nurture all things. Heaven follows the Dao, using formless Qi (vital energy) to spontaneously foster life. The Dao follows nature, maintaining harmonious Qi so that all things flourish without harm.

Regarding self-cultivation, the commentary emphasizes steadiness as the foundation. A noble person must first consider their own safety and weigh the feasibility before acting. "The heavy is the root of the light; stillness is the master of restlessness" means one should avoid rash actions but also not hesitate excessively. Just as an army cannot abandon its provisions when marching, a noble person must always guard their original mind, preventing it from being dominated by delusions.

Even when faced with external temptations ("glorious sights" refers to dazzling spectacles), a noble person must remain detached, focusing on preserving their spiritual wealth. The text provides two negative examples: King Mu of Zhou, who recklessly traveled the land with his eight legendary steeds, exemplifies a ruler's frivolity; King Zhou of Shang, who persecuted loyal ministers and ruled tyrannically, not only lost his throne but ultimately his life. These cases illustrate that if a ruler acts impulsively, they will lose their foundation and authority.

These annotations reflect Zhu Yuanzhang's integration of Daoist philosophy with practical governance, emphasizing that rulers should remain steady, composed, and aligned with natural laws to rule effectively.

The truly wise leave no traces in their actions, just as a wheel leaves no ruts; their words are watertight, leaving no flaws to exploit; they plan affairs without relying on counting tools; they close doors without bolts yet none can open them; they tie knots without cords yet none can undo them.

The reason noble individuals are difficult for ordinary people to comprehend lies in their refusal to boast or indulge in self-satisfaction. Without arrogance, how could they speak recklessly? Without careless words, naturally there are no faults. I constantly guard my heart with the Dao (cosmic principle). If petty men attempt to spy or insult, how could their actions—being contrary to the Dao's righteousness—not be subdued by me?

When it comes to planning, what need is there for counting rods? To govern the world, I simply pacify the four directions: the people dwell in peace, rulers and ministers share one heart, soldiers and civilians each find their proper place. Though using neither bolts nor cords, who could untie such "knots"? What we call skillful closing and knotting metaphorically represents using the Dao to nurture all under heaven—thus the people naturally become my "bolts" and "cords." How then could they be undone?

Therefore, sages always excel at saving people, so none are abandoned; they always excel at utilizing things, so nothing is wasted. This is called "inheriting illumination" (carrying forward luminous wisdom). The sage's heart makes no deliberate distinction between good and not-good, for the Dao itself eternally treats people and things with benevolence. What we call "no-good" refers to those people and things that, violating heavenly principle, have chosen not-good for themselves. The sage never intentionally abandons them—they abandon themselves. Those who can follow this path are the ones never abandoned. "Inheriting illumination" means the sage thereby penetrates past and present, continuing luminous wisdom.

Thus good people serve as teachers for the not-good, while the not-good serve as mirrors for the good. Those truly skilled at teaching don't posture as masters, yet lead others toward goodness. The noble person's heart remains deep as an abyss, their conduct open and upright—those who interact with them are naturally transformed. Therefore, without deliberate instruction, the not-good become good: this is the principle of "leaving no ruts." Do you understand the meaning of reflection?

Not deliberately proclaiming oneself a teacher, nor coveting others' reflection—though understanding, appearing muddled—this is true subtlety. Not deliberately teaching others yet having them emulate me: this is called "not valuing one's teacher." Not giving material things yet having others obtain my Dao: this is called "not cherishing one's resources." Those who can achieve this...

This passage elucidates the Daoist wisdom of navigating worldly affairs and cultivating the self. Knowing brightness (white) yet abiding in obscurity (black) constitutes the universal principle. Those who practice this will not err in their De (Virtue/Power), ultimately returning to the cosmic origin (Wuji, the Limitless). Since excessive brilliance inevitably leads to decline, the wise retain their radiance without fully displaying it.

Knowing strength yet abiding in gentleness, one becomes like the valley streams that embrace all under heaven. Thus De remains undiminished, returning one to the pure state of an infant. This is not true ignorance, but rather keeping the heart-mind free from willful action. Just as the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers receive countless tributaries, the noble person cultivates such expansive capacity—possessing great De without arrogance.

Knowing honor yet abiding in humility, one becomes like the mountain valleys that receive all under heaven. Thus De becomes abundant, returning to the uncarved simplicity of original nature. Like the deep ravines within great mountains, the noble person's heart should maintain this vast openness. Even when possessing great De, one preserves the mind of pristine simplicity.

When this primal simplicity disperses into concrete phenomena, the sage employs it for governance. The Dao in its unmanifest state is undifferentiated chaos; when manifest, it permeates all under heaven. The sage uses it to guide the people (through rulers), referring ultimately to the sovereign. Though this Dao is applied diversely, it remains fundamentally unbroken—eternally maintaining its integral unity.

(Note: "Wuji" denotes the formless origin of the cosmos; "valley" (xi) symbolizes receptivity; "uncarved block" (pu) represents the primordial state before artificial shaping; "rulers" metaphorically indicate governance. These concepts embody the Daoist advocacy for embracing softness, dwelling below, and returning to original simplicity.)

Laozi laments here: Those who seek to seize the world through forceful action—I see this as futile. The world is a sacred vessel (referring to state power) that cannot be forcibly possessed. Those who seize it by force are bound to fail; those who cling to it will ultimately lose it.

When Emperor Hongwu Zhu Yuanzhang read this passage, he grasped Laozi's profound meaning. Laozi says, "I originally intended to seize the world but then abandoned the idea," because he understood that state power is sacred (governed by the will of Heaven and Earth). Thus, one must not act recklessly. History shows that those who scheme to usurp another's country invariably fail. Even if they succeed temporarily, they will ultimately meet ruin—this is the mandate of Heaven (Tianming). Laozi believed that only when Heaven's mandate is clear and action is unavoidable should one act.

All things in the world follow their natural patterns: where there is advancement, there is retreat; where there is slow exhalation, there is rapid blowing; where there is strength, there is decline; where there is prosperity, there is decay. Therefore, the sage avoids extremes, extravagance, and excess in all matters. For example, in military campaigns, one should advance without hesitation when necessary and retreat when following is appropriate. Breathing must be balanced—too rapid exhausts one's Qi (vital energy), while moderation ensures endurance. The dynamics of strength and weakness transform each other: when strength reaches its peak, decline follows; when weakness reaches its limit, resurgence occurs. These principles warn against defying Heaven's mandate through reckless action and urge the abandonment of extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Laozi is a sage without equal in history because he deeply understood the mysteries of the Dao (the Way). As ministers, one should assist rulers with upright governance rather than glorify military force. Hesitating when action is needed harms the ruler, just as forcibly waging war when it is unwarranted also harms the ruler. "Such actions invite retribution" means that deeds contrary to heavenly principles bring consequences—those who harm life without cause will face retribution, either in themselves or their descendants.

Where armies pass, fields lie barren (overgrown with thorns), and after great wars, years of famine inevitably follow. This metaphor illustrates the relationship between ruler and minister: so-called "years of calamity" refer to how a state's military campaigns exhaust the people with forced labor and grain transport, plunging them into destitution.

In times of famine or civil strife, people abandon their fields, leaving them overgrown with thorns. When resources become scarce, this creates years of disaster.

Those skilled in warfare seek only to achieve their objective, not to flaunt their might. After achieving their aim, they neither boast (wu jin) nor glorify their victories (wu fa), nor do they act arrogantly (wu jiao). These actions are taken only out of necessity (budeyi), which is why it is said, "Achieve the goal, yet do not act with force." This is a specific warning to rulers and ministers: when sudden emergencies arise and must be dealt with, act swiftly, but once successful, avoid drawing attention to it (wu jin). The phrase "not acting with force" means not overusing military power. The admonitions against boasting (wu fa) and arrogance (wu jiao) all serve as warnings against self-glorification. The term "budeyi" (no other choice) means taking action only when absolutely necessary—how can this be considered acting with force?

When things reach their peak, they inevitably decline. This is contrary to the Dao (bu dao), and what is contrary to the Dao will perish prematurely. Here, the text reiterates the principle of warfare: excessive use of force, like the aging of a person, cannot endure. In short, one should never flaunt military might without just cause.

Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen—even objects despise them. Thus, those who follow the Dao do not employ them lightly. Those who boast of their victories and claim to be skilled in warfare invite misfortune the moment they speak. Wherever weapons are used, they either take lives or destroy resources—food, weapons, banners, homes, bridges, boats, and horses all suffer ruin. Even inanimate things detest war; the wisest course is to stay far from it (bu chu).

In daily life, the noble man honors the left (symbolizing life), but in warfare, he honors the right (associated with metal, representing destruction). This illustrates that war is an ominous affair.

Weapons are inherently inauspicious and should not be the tools of a noble man. They are used only as a last resort, and even then, one should remain indifferent. A great victory is not worthy of praise—to celebrate victory is to take pleasure in killing. And those who delight in killing can never truly win the hearts of the people.

This passage discusses the principles of warfare and governance. Laozi believed that those who boast of their military prowess are actually fond of killing. Such people should not be entrusted with ruling the world.

According to ancient rites, the left side was honored for auspicious occasions while the right side was reserved for mourning. Thus the lieutenant general stands on the left, while the commanding general stands on the right. When excessive lives are lost in war, it should be mourned with grief; even victories should be treated with funeral rites. The ancients treated human life with such gravity because they refused to celebrate inauspicious events and valued human existence.

The Dao (the source and principle of the universe) typically has no specific name, remaining as simple as uncarved wood. Though seemingly insignificant, none in the world dare belittle it. If rulers can preserve this Dao, all things will naturally submit. This "namelessness" refers to the Dao's benevolence and great De (Virtue/Power), existing naturally in the heart—appearing small yet commanding reverence. True principles cannot be disregarded; when rulers uphold them, all things spontaneously submit.

When the Yin-Yang energies of heaven and earth harmonize, sweet dew (an auspicious symbol) descends. Without any command, it distributes itself evenly. This demonstrates how the Dao's efficacy and principle's profundity operate with such naturalness.

When the Dao begins functioning, various names emerge—just as the descending dew acquires the name "sweet dew." Before principles manifest, they are nameless; upon manifestation, they gain names according to phenomena. Yet knowing when to stop is crucial—understanding limits prevents danger. Like the noble person who refrains from excessive embellishment after success (as over-decoration spoils), knowing contentment avoids peril.

The Dao's presence in the world resembles how streams and valleys ultimately return to rivers and seas. When preserved in the noble person's heart, it flows like mighty waters. Clouds rising and rivers flooding all originate from the ocean—where the supreme Yin gathers, its energy ascending to form clouds and rain. The Dao's operation similarly fills rivers when in motion.

Rivers and streams ultimately converge into the ocean—this illustrates both the essence and function of the Great Dao (the fundamental principle of the cosmos).

Chapter 27 states: Those who can perceive others may be considered wise, but those who truly understand themselves attain real clarity. Those who surpass others may possess strength, but those who conquer themselves achieve true power. Understanding others may demonstrate cleverness, but perceiving one's own nature indicates genuine cultivation. Overcoming others without brute force exemplifies true strength; mastering one's desires constitutes real power. However, one must remember that all these achievements require knowing contentment to be complete. The contented person is inwardly wealthy, while those steadfast in practicing the Dao possess true aspiration. By maintaining their original heart without coveting external things, such steadfastness leads to authentic fulfillment. The saying "those who forcefully persevere have purpose" refers to Dao cultivators who never forget practicing the Great Dao—this constitutes true aspiration. With such determination, spiritual attainment is assured.

Those who never lose their root endure eternally; those whose physical form perishes while their spirit remains undying achieve true longevity. By accomplishing the above principles with unwavering commitment, one's name will be remembered through the ages—this is the genuine "deathless demise" mentioned in the text. This principle aligns with the Buddhist concept of "neither arising nor ceasing." Yet fearing worldly people might foolishly cling to empty theories, the text particularly emphasizes that only through actual practice of the Great Dao can this state be realized.

Chapter 28 explains: How could the vast and boundless Great Dao (ultimate truth) ever be confined? How could its profound and mysterious principle ever be controlled? All beings rely on it for growth, yet it never declines responsibility; it accomplishes all things without claiming credit. The Dao nurtures the myriad creatures of the world yet never boasts. Noble persons emulate the Dao, considering non-boasting their highest standard. The so-called "never declining" means achieving deeds without attributing them to oneself.

The Great Dao envelops all things like thick cotton garments, yet never assumes the role of ruler—eternally free from selfish desires, it may be called "small" (meaning inconspicuous). All things return to the Dao without knowing what governs them, hence it may also be called "great." When the Great Dao operates, all beings find their proper place. Sages never proclaim their abilities, yet all things naturally follow them—this deserves to be called "greatness." Therefore, sages achieve true greatness precisely because they never inflate themselves, thereby accomplishing genuine magnificence.

The sage excels at assisting all things yet never boasts of merit—this is what is called "achieving true greatness." Precisely because one does not consider oneself great, one can attain genuine greatness. Such achievement comes not through deliberate pursuit but arises naturally.

Those who grasp the Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) govern the world, and the people naturally submit without harming one another, resulting in a peaceful and harmonious society. The phrase "holding the Great Image" refers both to comprehending the essence of the Dao and to the ruler occupying a lofty position while practicing benevolent governance. When the ruler treats the people as the most precious treasure, always sincere in their dealings, the world will sincerely submit. Once the people have submitted, benevolent governance can be used to pacify them, thereby achieving universal peace.

Music and fine food may briefly detain a passing traveler, yet the Dao (cosmic truth), when spoken, seems bland and tasteless. Look for it—it cannot be seen; listen for it—it cannot be heard—yet in its application, it is inexhaustible. If a ruler governs skillfully, even rebels will eventually submit. The Dao has no concrete form; when spoken, it offers no tangible proof, nor does it have any flavor. Fools may believe it does not exist. But those who skillfully employ the Dao will never exhaust its benefits.

To contract something, one must first expand it; to weaken something, one must first strengthen it; to abolish something, one must first promote it; to take something, one must first give it. This is subtle wisdom. The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong, just as a fish cannot leave the depths of the abyss, and the crucial methods of governance must not be casually revealed to others. This strategy of combining softness with strength appears simple yet is profoundly refined—only the wise can master it.

The Dao (cosmic principle) seems to do nothing, yet there is nothing it does not accomplish. To govern the world with the Dao, one must maintain unwavering focus in upholding it. The key to upholding it lies in the heart—actions arise from within yet leave no trace, allowing the Dao to endure eternally. This is the state of "non-action (Wuwei) yet nothing is left undone."

If lords and kings uphold this Dao, all things will naturally flourish. By persistently practicing great benevolence and virtue without wavering, the world will naturally submit over time. If the people, having been transformed, develop desires, they should be pacified with the Way of Simplicity. The Way of Simplicity means abstaining from covetous thoughts.

When the kingly Dao spreads throughout the world, the people submit, and their customs become pure and simple. Over time, as the people grow prosperous, they may become prone to extravagance. Thus, the ruler must lead by example, advocating frugality.

This passage discusses the crucial importance of rulers leading by example. When those in high positions can restrain their desires and maintain purity and stillness, those below will naturally follow suit, resulting in an upright social atmosphere throughout the land.

The key lies in "desiring nothing and maintaining stillness" — neither coveting external things nor disturbing inner tranquility. When rulers achieve this state, the common people require no deliberate indoctrination, but will spontaneously return to the right path. It resembles water flowing downhill — a completely natural tendency.

Zhu Yuanzhang (Emperor Hongwu of the Ming Dynasty) particularly emphasized in his commentary on the Dao De Jing (Tao Te Ching) that true statecraft does not lie in complex decrees, but in the ruler's personal cultivation. When a sovereign can restrain selfish desires and practice wuwei (non-action) through purity and stillness, the people will naturally emulate this virtuous conduct, and the entire nation will automatically move toward stability and order.

This passage discusses the hierarchy of moral attainment. True superior virtue (Shang De) does not consciously display itself, and thus embodies authentic De. Those who deliberately pursue virtue (Xia De) instead lose its essential nature.

The highest form of De follows natural principles and practices Wuwei (non-action), as affairs are already properly ordered without need for conscious demonstration. The lesser form of De involves deliberate action (youwei), pursuing technique and form. Benevolence appears as action yet contains non-action; righteousness appears as action and truly is action; ritual, when unreciprocated, becomes coercive—all these mark the decline of Dao and De.

Only when Dao is lost does De become necessary; only when De is lost does benevolence arise; only when benevolence is lost does righteousness emerge; only when righteousness is lost does ritual appear. Ritual actually signifies the thinning of loyalty and trust, the beginning of disorder. Those who pride themselves on foresight merely grasp the surface of Dao, becoming instead the origin of folly. Thus, the noble person chooses substantial, weighty virtue over shallow displays.

Great De nourishes all things without self-promotion, allowing natural development. Petty De, limited in capacity, flaunts its abilities and thereby loses virtue's essence. Laozi here describes the cyclical patterns of flourishing and decline. During the legendary reigns of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors (idealized golden age), official systems were stable, ritual and music orderly, rulers and ministers wise—this was the manifestation of the Great Dao's flourishing.

By the eras of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, who exploited the world's resources for personal indulgence, governance decayed while corruption spread. The voice of righteousness faded as decadent music prevailed. With Dao and De in ruin, society could only rely on benevolence, righteousness, and ritual. Such explicit displays were unnecessary in the Three Sovereigns' time, when people embodied natural simplicity. It was precisely the moral collapse under Jie and Zhou that necessitated Tang of Shang's exile of Jie and King Wu's punitive expedition against Zhou. Were these ministers' actions righteous? Here the distinction between flourishing and decline becomes clear, revealing why benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trust must be explicitly emphasized.

This scripture discusses the vital importance of "attaining the One." "Attaining the One" refers to obtaining the primordial Wuji Qi (the original source of the Dao). All things in heaven and earth rely on this fundamental Qi for their existence and operation: Heaven attains it to remain clear, Earth attains it to remain tranquil, the Shen (spirit) attains it to manifest efficacy, valleys attain it to remain full, all beings attain it to grow, and rulers attain it to govern the world effectively.

If this fundamental Qi is lost, chaos will ensue for all things: Heaven would collapse, Earth would quake, the Shen would lose their power, valleys would dry up, all beings would perish, and rulers would lose their legitimacy, leading to the downfall of states.

Thus, the scripture emphasizes that nobility must be rooted in humility, and high positions must be founded upon the lower. Just as ancient kings referred to themselves as "solitary," "the unworthy one," or "the undeserving" (all humble terms), this illustrates the principle of taking humility as the foundation. True supreme honor does not require external praise; there is no need to shine like jade—maintaining the simple, unadorned nature of an ordinary stone is best.

This passage embodies the core Daoist teaching of "abiding by the Dao and remaining humble." It asserts that whether in the workings of Heaven and Earth or in human governance, one must adhere to the fundamental principle of the Dao and preserve a modest, unpretentious nature.

The ruler refers to himself as "the solitary one," "the bereft," and "the unworthy"—all humble appellations indicating his limited virtue. When lords and ministers use such terms for themselves, they demonstrate freedom from arrogance. How could petty men (those of shallow virtue) boast about themselves? As the saying goes: "Those who point out my faults are my teachers; those who praise my merits are actually harming me." Therefore, the highest honor is to be free from vain reputation—neither wishing to attract attention like precious jade nor to appear as crude and useless as common stone. Both extremes are forms of flattery. The noble person remains steadfast in upholding the Dao without wavering, unmoved even by praise. Petty men, however, delight in hearing flattery and ultimately bring about their own downfall.

(This is the content of Chapter 34.)

The movement of the Dao follows a cyclical pattern, and its application is characterized by softness and non-contention. All things in the world arise from "being" (concrete existence), yet "being" itself originates from "non-being" (formless source). Those of superior capacity, upon hearing the Great Dao, diligently practice it; those of middling capacity listen but comprehend only partially; those of inferior capacity laugh upon hearing it—if they did not laugh, it would not be worthy of being called the Great Dao. Hence the ancient saying: "The luminous Dao appears dark; the advancing Dao seems to retreat; the level Dao appears rugged. The highest virtue resembles a low valley; the purest white seems sullied; abundant virtue appears insufficient; robust virtue seems lazy; unadorned simplicity appears mixed; the greatest square has no corners; the most precious vessel takes the longest to complete; the loudest sound is nearly inaudible; the greatest form has no shape."

When the Great Dao moves, it nurtures all things. When each thing attains its proper place, the Dao returns to its source. This process of "returning" (cyclical movement) is the Dao's fundamental pattern. Rulers, ministers, and noble persons cultivate themselves and uphold the Dao, never daring to slacken—this is why they become rulers, ministers, and noble persons. Such is the function of the Dao. In the world of phenomena, where there is birth, there must be death—this is the natural order and the principle by which heaven and earth operate. The saying "being arises from non-being" expresses this truth. The sages of old practiced the Dao throughout their lives, maintaining it day and night without negligence. Those of middling capacity sometimes practiced and sometimes abandoned it—when praised, they continued, but otherwise complained that the Dao's effects were too slow (hence "seeming to exist, yet seeming not"). Those of inferior capacity not only failed to cultivate it but even mocked those who spoke of the Dao—some rejected it without reflection, while others outright declared the Great Dao impossible to follow. For noble persons to discuss the Dao with petty men is like guiding those who have lost their way—exceedingly difficult. When speaking of the advancing Dao, they perceive it as retreat; when describing the level Dao, they find it rugged and impassable. To say that virtue resembles a low valley, appears sullied, seems insufficient, lazy, mixed, cornerless, requires long cultivation, and is soundless and formless—all these qualities run counter to ordinary understanding.

The previous statement about "those who are adept at walking leave no traces" shares the same principle with maintaining humility—both embody an attitude of leaving no discernible mark in one's conduct.

The great Dao (referring to the fundamental law of the cosmos) remains hidden and indescribable, yet it alone excels in bestowing upon all things and aiding their fulfillment. The Dao first gives rise to the undifferentiated primordial Qi (One), which then divides into the two energies of Yin and Yang (Two). The interaction of Yin and Yang produces harmonious Qi (Three), from which the myriad beings emerge. All things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang in their arms, as the interplay of these two energies creates a state of harmony.

People generally despise terms like "solitary," "desolate," and "unworthy" (humble epithets used by ancient rulers), yet kings and nobles adopt them for themselves. Thus, things may appear to suffer loss but actually gain, or seem to gain but ultimately suffer loss. The teachings others impart to me, I in turn use to instruct others. Those who act with tyrannical force meet no good end—this I take as the fundamental principle of moral instruction.

The softest things in the world can master the hardest. Formless power can penetrate even the most seamless objects—this is how I understand the benefits of Wuwei (non-action, or acting in accordance with nature). The teaching without words, the benefits of non-action—few in the world truly grasp these.

Laozi was indeed a sage! His exposition of the Dao is profoundly insightful. The saying "the Dao is hidden and nameless" is absolutely true—the Dao is the primordial Qi that existed before heaven and earth; how could it be seen with physical eyes? To say it "excels in lending and completing" is apt, for without the principle of the Dao, the myriad things would gain nothing. All beings depend on the Dao for their existence—is this not the Dao's gift to them?

As for the profundity of this principle: the Dao is the original undifferentiated Qi, within which the clear and light ascended to form heaven, while the turbid and heavy descended to form earth—this is "One gives birth to Two." Heaven and earth are called the "Two Modes," and together with the original Qi, they form "Three." Once heaven and earth were established, the sun, moon, and stars (the Four Symbols) appeared, while wind, rain, frost, and dew shaped the cycle of the four seasons, giving rise to the myriad things.

All things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang in their arms. When things reach their peak, they return to their origin (which is Yin), and after returning, they sprout anew (embracing Yang). Yang by nature is firm and strong, yet by permeating Yin, it achieves harmony. This is the process by which "One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, and Three gives birth to the myriad things." The principle of approaching Yang through Yin is always realized through humility and yielding.

The cultivation of the Dao by noble individuals follows the same logic. Ancient rulers referred to themselves with the three terms "solitary," "desolate," and "unworthy"—words ordinary people consider inauspicious, yet rulers adopted them as self-designations. This exemplifies the virtue of humility. Similarly, the analogy between flourishing and decline illustrates the eternal principle of gain and loss. Regarding the word "teaching," the first two instances refer to those who can be taught, while the last refers to those who meet untimely ends—the incorrigible. When Laozi says, "I shall take this as the father of teaching," this "father" signifies the fundamental principle of moral instruction.

This passage elucidates the origin and characteristics of the Dao. The softest Dao can govern the hardest things in the world, while the formless Dao can penetrate even seamless objects like metal and stone. This demonstrates the benefits of Wuwei (non-action). The Dao itself is supremely soft yet unyielding; the Qi of Yin-Yang can permeate all things precisely because it is soft, formless, and leaves no trace. The sage practices "teaching without words," allowing the principles to manifest naturally and all things to transform spontaneously. True Wuwei is not about doing nothing, but moving in perfect harmony with nature like the changing seasons, acting precisely when the timing is right. These profound principles remain incomprehensible to those without great wisdom, no matter how much one explains.

Which is more precious: fame or life? Which matters more: wealth or vitality? Which brings greater harm: gain or loss? Excessive pursuit inevitably leads to tremendous waste, and over-accumulation ultimately results in severe loss. Those who understand contentment avoid disgrace; those who know when to stop avoid danger—only then can they endure. Laozi does not disregard heaven-bestowed nobility (referring to moral cultivation), but warns the greedy. Only by using "knowing contentment" and "knowing limits" to restrain desire can one attain true longevity. Just as official positions are ordained by celestial mandate, forcibly seeking undeserved status invites disaster. Noble individuals draw near to the Dao, while petty people covet empty fame and material wealth. Fame is easily lost, and excessive wealth invites calamity. The noble person remains content with their lot, knowing satisfaction and limits, thereby ensuring perpetual peace.

The most perfect thing appears flawed, yet its function never fails; the most full thing seems empty, yet its efficacy is inexhaustible.

Straightness appears bent, true skill appears clumsy, and eloquence seems inarticulate. Restlessness can dispel cold, while stillness overcomes heat. Only through serene non-action (Wuwei) can the world be properly governed.

This passage speaks of guarding the Dao as one would protect a precious vessel. Imagine possessing a rare jade cup—constantly fearing it might break, so one refrains from careless use, ensuring it remains unharmed. Similarly, if one possesses great wealth but exercises restraint in spending, resources will never be exhausted. Those who appear upright yet humble, skillful yet unassuming, or eloquent yet reserved are embodying prudence and modesty. Such humility manifests in three ways, though here only the contrast between "straight and bent" is used as an example.

A noble person's heart is inherently honest and steadfast, yet they continually examine their daily conduct. If one acts with reckless haste, they stray far from the standards of a benevolent and virtuous person. The classics teach this principle: a noble person must cultivate themselves and uphold the Dao with unwavering resolve.

"Restlessness" refers to an agitated state of mind, carrying a heated energy that can dispel cold—hence "restlessness overcomes cold." "Stillness" is a state of motionlessness, containing a cooling energy that can subdue heat. This metaphor illustrates how a noble person, in practicing and preserving the Dao, should act with careful decisiveness—neither rash nor hesitant.

"Serene non-action brings proper order to the world" means governing must adhere to fundamental principles. Once stability is achieved, rulers should maintain established norms rather than arbitrarily altering the governance methods of their predecessors. Arbitrary changes invite chaos, while consistency ensures peace—this is the meaning of "proper order."

(Chapter 37)

When the world is at peace, warhorses are retired to pull manure carts; when the world is in chaos, warhorses give birth on battlefields. No crime is greater than greed, no fault greater than covetousness, and no calamity greater than discontent. Thus, those who know contentment will always be satisfied.

When enlightened rulers and virtuous ministers establish laws and institutions, barbarians from all directions submit and pay tribute—this is "having the Dao." Battle-hardened horses are repurposed for farming, and fierce soldiers lay down their weapons to take up plows—this is "retiring warhorses to manure carts." But if a ruler abandons the proper way and follows deviant paths, even breeding mares cannot graze safely in pastures and must foal on enemy borders—this is "warhorses born in the wilds." Does this truly happen? Indeed. How can it be recognized? When rulers glorify ruthless courage, pursue brute force, or greedily covet what belongs to others, such chaos arises.

This scripture expounds the wisdom of governing a state and cultivating the Dao. When rulers become obsessed with rare treasures, even warhorses will foal in palace courtyards (symbolizing how extravagance leads to chaos). At this point, sins are grave and calamities immense—how could one find deliverance? All stems from abandoning the root of the Dao (the Way) and the heart of humaneness (De/Virtue). If rulers understand contentment, their nations will naturally prosper—why seek external gains?

Chapter 38 states that true sages need not step outside their doors to understand worldly affairs, nor peer through windows to comprehend celestial patterns (the Dao's natural order). The farther one travels outwardly, the less one truly knows. Sages achieve their aims without personal action, perceive essence without direct observation, and succeed without deliberate striving. This is because they maintain constant inner vigilance, acting with the "heart of heaven" (the Dao's mind), free from sensory dependence. Though sages bestow blessings upon all things unseen, they grasp their essential nature—this constitutes wisdom. As ancient texts say: "When rulers are enlightened, ministers become worthy." The sage's heart resonates with the Dao.

Chapter 39 explains that pursuing scholarly knowledge leads to accumulation, while cultivating the Dao requires continual reduction. Reduce and reduce again until reaching the state of wuwei (non-action), whereby one accomplishes all without striving. Governing the world requires maintaining serene inactivity—those preoccupied with action prove unworthy of holding empire.

Sages devote themselves to Dao cultivation; through prolonged accumulation, completion naturally follows. Yet when preparing to implement the Dao, they still worry about instability, laboring day and night with exhaustive care—this is the process of "reducing again and again." When the great Dao spreads universally, all things find their proper place, and people live in peace, the sage appears inactive yet achieves everything. Is this not bitterness preceding sweetness? Ancient sage-kings governed by adhering to their predecessors' enlightened methods without reckless alteration, never relying on wealth or military force. Sages don't advocate seizing empire through violence, but through stabilizing people's livelihoods—this embodies the principle of "constant non-interference." Those who cannot pacify the world yet create disturbances prove unworthy of holding empire.

Interpretation of the Daode Zhenjing with Commentary by Emperor Taizu of the Ming Dynasty

Chapter 40 explains that if a ruler recklessly wages war or imposes heavy labor, exhausting the people, it will lead to rampant banditry and the rise of powerful warlords. Attempting to suppress such chaos with military force often proves futile. This illustrates the principle that "using force to seize the world is inadvisable."

The way of the sage in governing lies in having no fixed preconceptions, instead aligning entirely with the will of the people. Treat the virtuous with kindness, and even those who lack virtue should be moved by benevolence—this fosters universal goodness. Trust those who are trustworthy, and extend trust even to the untrustworthy—this establishes widespread integrity. When sages govern, they restrain their personal desires, purifying their minds to be as innocent as an infant. The people observe the words and deeds of the sage, who in turn cares for them as if they were his own children.

This passage also quotes the Book of Documents: "The spirits do not consistently favor anyone—they favor only the sincere." This aligns perfectly with Laozi’s philosophy. If a person maintains virtuous intentions, heaven’s blessings will endure; but once malice arises, divine favor vanishes. The enlightened ruler emulates this principle of the Dao (the Way) to guide the people.

Confucius once said, "It is better to be loved by the good and hated by the wicked in one’s village," whereas Laozi advocates treating both the virtuous and the unvirtuous with equal kindness. This may seem contradictory, but Laozi’s approach uses kindness to transform the unkind and trust to educate the untrustworthy—this is the true meaning of "attaining goodness and trustworthiness." If a sage ruler governs with a restless mind, acting recklessly, the people will imitate such behavior. Therefore, the sage must maintain childlike purity, steadfastly upholding Wuwei (non-action), and the world will naturally settle into peace.

Chapter 41 discusses the nature of life and death: Of all people, three in ten live out their natural lifespan, three in ten die prematurely, and another three in ten perish early precisely because they excessively pursue longevity. Why is this so? Because excessive attachment to life paradoxically harms it. Those who truly understand nurturing life walk the land without fearing rhinos or tigers and face battlefields without...

This passage elucidates the principles of how humans can avoid calamities and preserve life.

First, it explains why some people can evade danger: when one does not place themselves in life-threatening situations, neither the rhinoceros' horn, the tiger's claws, nor the blade of weapons can harm them. Though Heaven and Earth originally endowed humans with ten parts of vitality, people often exhaust three parts through excessive desires.

The text enumerates various behaviors that shorten lifespan: indulgence in wine and lust, greed for wealth, reckless use of medicines, gluttony, excessive sexual indulgence, rumor-mongering, lawlessness, reckless risk-taking, disrespect toward spirits, and filial impiety. Even if some consider only lawbreaking and unfilial conduct harmful, it is precisely these seemingly ordinary desires that often lead people to untimely deaths.

Those truly skilled in nurturing life demonstrate two characteristics: first, their actions align with the Dao (the Way), their minds free from wicked thoughts, thus naturally avoiding perilous situations; second, they understand the principle of "the cyclical nature of Heaven's Dao." Though petty evildoers may deliberately avoid danger, they paradoxically fall into it—this being the retributive justice of Heaven's Dao.

The final passage describes the process of the Dao's transformation of all things: the Dao generates all beings, De (Virtue/Power) nourishes them, matter gives them form, and environment facilitates their growth. Thus all things honor the Dao and cherish De. This reverence isn't imposed but arises naturally. The Dao causes all things to be born, grow, mature, and receive protection—this is the natural order.

This passage expounds the Daoist concept of "profound virtue" (Xuande) in governance. A ruler truly capable of governing the world must emulate the way Heaven and Earth nurture all things by embodying four principles: nurturing without possessing, acting without claiming credit, guiding without dominating—this constitutes the most profound De (Virtue).

The operation of Heaven and Earth follows the cyclical rhythm of the four seasons: sprouting in spring, flourishing in summer, harvesting in autumn, and storing in winter. Similarly, enlightened rulers must govern according to these natural patterns, allowing people to flourish in their proper seasons. Specifically:

The ruler should enable people to live in peace and enjoy their rightful lives, respecting their natural growth rather than forcibly interfering. By establishing officials to manage affairs while maintaining a state of Wuwei (non-action), the ruler aligns with the Dao of Heaven. Like tailoring garments—seemingly effortless yet perpetually functional—this approach brings natural stability to the world.

The scripture then employs the mother-child relationship as a metaphor for the connection between the Dao and all things. The "mother" represents the source of all existence, while the "child" signifies particular phenomena. Those who understand this principle can comprehend specific matters while remaining anchored to the fundamental Dao, thereby avoiding lifelong peril.

Practical methods include: closing the gates of sensory desires ("blocking openings and shutting doors") to remain free from lifelong toil; conversely, indulging desires ("opening outlets to manage affairs") makes self-preservation difficult. Discerning subtlety is called wisdom; maintaining softness is called strength. One must use the light of wisdom yet return to the innate radiance of the heart, avoiding self-inflicted calamity—this constitutes inheriting the eternal Dao.

The primordial Dao is formless emptiness, yet it generates all things. It manifests through the five virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness. When rulers uphold these virtues, they emulate the Dao's ceaseless creativity.

This scripture primarily discusses the importance of steadfast adherence to the Dao (the Way) and the consequences of deviating from it.

The text first explains that whether one is the Son of Heaven (emperor), a high official, or an ordinary person, all who uphold the Dao will receive corresponding blessings: the emperor can bring stability to the realm, ministers can become virtuous officials, and commoners will enjoy family harmony and good relations with neighbors. They will neither violate laws nor incur legal troubles, being praised by their communities as good and kind people. If everyone can persist in following the Dao, maintaining purity of heart and moderation in speech and action, they will enjoy lifelong peace without worries. Conversely, those who speak recklessly and act without restraint will find their mistakes difficult to remedy throughout their lives.

The passage then illustrates the principle that "perceiving the subtle is called clarity, and maintaining softness is called strength" (jian xiao yue ming, shou rou yue qiang): what may appear as limited insight is actually wisdom, and what seems like weakness is true strength. By maintaining a humble and low-key attitude, one can attain genuine illumination and power. Acting in this manner helps avoid disasters and aligns with the natural patterns of the Dao.

In the latter section, the text uses metaphors to show that although the Dao is broad and easy to follow, people prefer dangerous shortcuts. Just as when courts become corrupt (chao shen chu), fields lie fallow (tian shen wu), and granaries stand empty (cang shen xu), those who wear ornate robes (fu wen cai), carry sharp swords (dai li jian), indulge in extravagant feasts (yan yin shi), and possess excessive wealth (zi cai you yu) are essentially robber chiefs (dao kua) who have completely strayed from the Dao.

Laozi laments: Even someone like me who understands the true essence of the Dao still approaches its practice with reverence, fearing insufficient sincerity. It's as if people deliberately choose dangerous paths full of thorns and tigers when a smooth highway lies before them—surviving such paths is merely luck, demonstrating true foolishness. This illustrates the principle that "the great Dao is perfectly level, yet people prefer bypaths" (da dao shen yi er min hao jing).

This passage contrasts two fundamentally different approaches to governance. First, the negative examples: The court busies itself daily with sweeping dust from its halls (symbolizing superficial concerns) while allowing crops beyond the city walls to wither. Certain unworthy individuals, though their granaries stand empty, don extravagant embroidered robes. Worse still, unscrupulous people wield knives to slaughter lambs (representing the exploitation of commoners) in their relentless pursuit of wealth accumulation. These are all erroneous practices that violate the great Dao.

The text then presents the correct principles: Those truly skilled at establishing achievements create accomplishments that cannot be shaken; those adept at upholding the Dao maintain convictions that never falter, ensuring their descendants can continue ancestral rites. Here, five progressive levels of cultivation are outlined:

First, cultivating oneself makes one's De (Virtue) authentic;

Second, cultivating one's family makes De abundant;

Third, cultivating one's community makes De enduring;

Fourth, cultivating one's state makes De flourishing;

Fifth, cultivating the world makes De universal.

Laozi teaches us the method of observing phenomena: Understand others by observing oneself, comprehend other families by observing one's own, know other communities by studying one's own, grasp other states by examining one's own, and perceive the world's patterns by contemplating the empire. This is how one attains true understanding of worldly affairs.

The conclusion emphasizes: Rulers must not separate personal cultivation from state governance—they must regard themselves as the state and the state as themselves, only then can their descendants maintain the foundation for generations. These fivefold cultivation methods and five observation techniques all serve to help rulers genuinely implement the Dao. Laozi's poignant reflection follows: Do you see now? Do you understand? What you cultivate is what you attain—this is the inevitable principle of the Dao.

One whose cultivation of Dao and De (Virtue) is profound resembles a newborn infant in purity. Poisonous insects will not sting him, fierce beasts will not attack him, and birds of prey will not strike him. Though an infant's bones are soft and sinews supple, its grip is firm; though ignorant of sexual union, it manifests natural vitality—this is the sign of abundant Jing (essence). Crying all day without becoming hoarse demonstrates perfect harmony of Yin-Yang within the body.

Understanding the way of harmony is called "Chang" (the eternal principle); comprehending this principle is called "Ming" (illumination). Forced pursuit of longevity instead invites misfortune, while willfully manipulating Qi (vital energy) constitutes reckless force. When things reach their zenith, they decline—this contradicts the Dao's natural rhythm, and whatever opposes Dao will soon perish.

The infant serves as a metaphor for the state of Dao-De cultivation. Newborns embody untainted original nature, and Laozi teaches that cultivating Dao requires maintaining such purity. To illustrate this, he employs formidable creatures—venomous insects, tigers, wolves, and raptors—as examples: when these creatures are young (bees still in hives, tiger cubs newly born, fledglings without feathers), they display no aggression because their innate nature remains undispersed.

Though infants have soft bones and tendons, they naturally clench their fists (here criticizing Confucian scholars who mechanically practice ritual hand gestures contrary to Confucian principles). Though unaware of sexual matters, they exhibit natural physiological responses due to pure Jing; crying incessantly without hoarseness results from spontaneous, unforced vocalization—the manifestation of primordial harmony.

If noble persons can preserve this natural state, they handle affairs with effortless skill. Recognizing harmony as eternal principle constitutes wisdom; perceiving this principle brings illumination. Deliberate pursuit of enhancement instead invites misfortune, for this violates natural spontaneity. Forcing Qi through willpower resembles exhausting physical strength—when Qi depletes, power vanishes. All things decline after reaching their peak; whatever forcibly opposes nature's laws will swiftly perish.

The two chapters from The True Scripture of Dao and De with Commentary by Emperor Taizu of the Great Ming primarily discuss principles of governance and self-cultivation.

Chapter 47 states that one should never act through force or compulsion. Forcing things is an act of aggression, and aggression exhausts one’s vitality. Exhaustion leads to decline, decline to weakness, and weakness ultimately to ruin. Such forced actions contradict the natural order of the Dao and inevitably deplete one’s life prematurely.

Chapter 48 explains that true wisdom does not indulge in empty talk—those who boast all day often lack genuine understanding. One must "block the openings of desire" (referring to sensory indulgence), "close the gates of temptation," "blunt sharp edges," "resolve conflicts," "dim one’s brilliance," and "blend with the mundane." This is the state of "mysterious unity" (xuantong), the harmony with the Dao. Those who attain this state cannot be deliberately approached or distanced, neither lured by profit nor harmed, neither exalted nor demeaned—thus, they are revered by all under heaven.

Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang of the Ming Dynasty, in his commentary, notes that a true nobleman understands the practice of the great Dao and refrains from idle speculation before events unfold. In contrast, petty individuals who constantly claim to understand the Dao are left flustered when faced with real challenges. The first three phrases—"block, close, blunt"—teach restraint, while the latter three—"resolve, harmonize, blend"—teach humility. This state is profound and elusive; one may seek closeness yet find no tangible form, or attempt distance yet encounter no trace—thus, it is most precious.

The text then discusses governance: Govern the state with upright principles, command armies with unorthodox strategies, and win the world through wuwei (non-interference). Why? Because excessive prohibitions impoverish the people, widespread weapons bring chaos, excessive cleverness breeds strange occurrences, and harsh laws multiply thieves. Thus, the sage says: "By not acting forcefully, the people transform naturally; by remaining tranquil, they correct themselves; by avoiding meddling, they prosper; by being free of desire, they return to simplicity." Lenient governance nurtures honesty in the people, while oppressive governance breeds cunning. Fortune and misfortune are intertwined—who can discern their mysteries? The normal becomes abnormal, the good turns evil—such has long been the people’s confusion.

Zhu Yuanzhang’s commentary emphasizes that governance should follow the ancient sage-kings’ method of being "broad and tolerant" (menmen), so the people remain "simple and sincere" (chunchun). If policies are overly "meticulous and exacting" (chacha), the people become "deceptive and cunning" (quequē). These principles may seem paradoxical but contain profound truths that require careful contemplation.

This scripture expounds the wisdom of governing a state and the art of warfare. Laozi illustrates the fundamental principles of statecraft through the contrast between "the orthodox" (zheng) and "the extraordinary" (qi).

The sage (referring to the ideal ruler) should be upright but not harsh, incorruptible but not injurious, straightforward but not unrestrained, luminous but not glaring. Governing the state with orthodox principles is foundational, while the art of warfare requires the application of "the extraordinary" (special methods). Here, "the extraordinary" does not imply deceit but rather the outward practice of benevolent virtue (De), causing adversaries to admire and submit willingly. In this way, casualties can be avoided, calamities pacified, and the world stabilized. When resorting to arms becomes unavoidable, strict military discipline must be upheld, with righteous armies minimizing bloodshed.

The scripture identifies the root causes of chaos in the world: poverty among the people, widespread possession of weapons among civilians, rulers indulging in decadent crafts and frivolous pursuits, unclear governance, and harsh laws that create grievances. The sage should eliminate excessive ingenuity, promote simplicity, redress injustices, and eradicate corruption. Only then can the people find peace, and social customs return to purity.

Laozi warns rulers against excessive pursuit of "the extraordinary," as seemingly clever methods are difficult to sustain. What appears as "the extraordinary" is, in essence, the subtle application of "the orthodox." Many throughout history have misunderstood the true meaning of this "extraordinary." The sage adheres steadfastly to the orthodox without change, refrains from aggression and contention, and thus naturally attains the great Dao (the Way), enabling the people to live in peace and prosperity.

Chapter 49 discusses the principle of "restraint" (frugality and cherishing resources): in managing human affairs and following the Dao of Heaven, nothing is more important than frugality. Practicing restraint means returning early to the root—this is the continuous accumulation of virtue (De). When virtue is deep and abundant, one becomes invincible; invincibility leads to unfathomable depth, and only then can the state be preserved. Grasping the fundamental principles of governance ensures lasting peace and stability.

This passage elucidates the principles of governing a nation and cultivating one's character, with its core ideas being "governing through the Dao" and "tranquility through non-action (Wuwei)."

Regarding the "Way of longevity and enduring vision," it suggests that governing a state is like a great tree needing deep roots to stand firm and last. If the people are ruled with excessive harshness, or if sacrifices to heaven are made merely to seek blessings, calamity may follow instead. The correct approach is: govern with fewer severe punishments, conduct sacrifices in accordance with proper rites, and widely implement virtuous policies so the people may live in peace. When virtue (De) accumulates deeply, even without deliberately seeking blessings, heaven will naturally bestow them. When the state receives heaven's protection and boundless blessings, it achieves enduring stability. Here, the "mother of the state" refers to the ruler's cultivation of character—if the ruler diligently refines their inner nature day and night (the "cinnabar core" signifies the heart-mind), the state will remain secure and lasting.

The famous analogy "Governing a great nation is like cooking a small fish" illustrates that ruling a large country requires the same careful attention as preparing delicate fish. When the Dao governs the world, even ghosts and spirits will not cause mischief. This doesn't mean spirits lack efficacy, but rather that they won't harm people. Similarly, the sage ruler doesn't harm the people, allowing virtue to flow mutually between both. Those skilled in governance never indulge in extravagance or exhaust the people's resources. If a ruler becomes extravagant—launching massive construction projects and burdening the populace—neglected agriculture will lead the nation to peril. The "small fish" metaphor warns rulers to maintain proper measure in governance.

The statement "ghosts are originally without supernatural power" means spirits don't normally cause disturbances. But if a ruler lacks the Dao, they may attach to plants and trees to manifest as omens—heaven's warning to the ruler. If the ruler corrects their errors and returns to the proper path, heaven's favor may be regained; otherwise, even if heaven doesn't punish directly, the mandate may pass to another through human hands, and the people will seek a wiser leader. Thus "spirits don't harm people" presupposes that the ruler's virtue moves heaven, preventing divine calamities while the people live peacefully, allowing the ruler's virtue and heaven's grace to intermingle.

On relations between large and small states, the analogy of the female (yin) overcoming through stillness applies: if a large state humbly accommodates smaller ones, they will willingly submit; if a small state modestly approaches a larger one, it gains trust. This demonstrates the principle of overcoming hardness with softness and movement with stillness. The key lies in maintaining humility and restraint, thereby achieving harmonious interstate relations.

When a great state annexes smaller states, it seeks nothing but expansion of power; when smaller states attach themselves to a great state, they seek nothing but protection. Both sides obtain what they need, yet the greater power should maintain humility in its conduct.

Governing a nation requires adherence to three principles: De (Virtue) must be generous, expenditures must be frugal, and laws must be just. The ruler should maintain a humble posture like water flowing downward—then the people's hearts will naturally turn to him. When the worthy and capable flock to serve, and the capital becomes a gathering place for talent, this marks the true flourishing of an era.

All things in the world manifest the dynamic qualities of the masculine (Yang, active) and the stillness of the feminine (Yin, receptive). Governing a state must follow this principle as well. Only by using stillness to control movement can one succeed; reckless action invites failure. Adhering to this Dao brings prosperity to the nation, while defying it leads to poverty among the people and peril for the state.

A great state must use sincere goodwill to pacify smaller states, and only then will they submit willingly. If the great state loses this magnanimity and instead seeks to annex them, even its own status as a great power will ultimately be imperiled. If a small state remains content with its position, fulfills its tributary duties, and governs well, it can preserve its territory for generations while maintaining good relations with greater powers. But if it gives in to greed and seeks to supplant the great state, it will inevitably bring about its own destruction.

The Daodejing states: "I observe that those who scheme to take over others inevitably fail; those who seize by force will ultimately lose. How much more so when resorting to arms?" Laozi did not say this without reason—is it not the will of Heaven? I (Zhu Yuanzhang) understand that Laozi teaches this lesson: great states must restrain their锋芒 (sharp edge), while small states must abide by their proper station. Only thus can calamity be forever avoided.

(Commentary on Chapter 52)

The Dao is the most profound refuge of all things. The virtuous cherish it as a treasure, while even the wicked may temporarily find shelter within it. Noble words can earn respect, and good deeds can transform others. Not even the wicked are abandoned by the Dao. Therefore, when appointing the Son of Heaven or the Three Dukes (highest ministers of antiquity), better than presenting jade disks or teams of four horses (a grand ceremonial gift) is to uphold the Dao.

Why did the ancients hold the Dao in such esteem? Was it not because it grants attainment and absolves transgressions? Thus, the Dao is the most precious treasure under Heaven.

The word "profound" here refers to the all-encompassing depth of space. The Dao nurtures all things, and the noble regard it as their supreme treasure. Though the wicked may temporarily benefit, they cannot retain it long, for their hearts are not upright. Just as noble words could once spread through marketplaces, such was indeed the way of antiquity.

The teachings of Confucius and Mencius are indeed profound discourses, and to this day Confucian scholars establish village schools, making elementary education their livelihood. In families that neglect education, if children are not taught Confucian principles, it is tantamount to abandoning book learning—this constitutes human inadequacy.

In ancient times, the establishment of the Son of Heaven's rank and the Three Ducal Ministers (Grand Preceptor, Grand Mentor, and Grand Guardian) positions completed the official hierarchy. Yet they still used four-horse carriages and jade disks to recruit worthy talents. Rather than such ostentatious displays, it would be better to quietly practice the great Dao. If rulers and ministers do not seek the fundamental Dao but merely pursue empty fame to attract talents, what can even the worthies accomplish once they arrive?

The ancients valued this great Dao precisely because it requires no deliberate seeking—it can be comprehended in the present moment. By persistently practicing it with sincere intent, one can eliminate past transgressions. This is the truth cherished by all under heaven.

On the wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)": Engage in actions that appear as non-action, handle situations that seem like non-events, and savor flavors that taste like flavorlessness. Tackle difficult problems by starting with what's easy; accomplish great deeds by beginning with the minute. All under heaven's difficult matters must start from simplicity; great undertakings must accumulate from the trivial. Stability is easily maintained when secure; plans are easily made before signs appear; fragility is easily dissolved; minuteness is easily dispersed. Prepare before events occur; govern before disorder takes shape.

A tree thick enough to embrace grows from a tender sprout; a nine-tiered terrace is built basket by basket; a thousand-mile journey begins with the first step beneath one's feet. Easy promises seldom prove trustworthy; treating matters as overly simple inevitably invites greater difficulties. Therefore, the sage always emphasizes difficulty, thus ultimately encountering no true difficulties. Repay minor grievances with great virtue (De)—hence the sage never deliberately pursues greatness, yet achieves it nonetheless.

People often fail when success seems imminent. Were they to treat the conclusion with the same care as the beginning, there would be no failures. Forced action leads to failure; stubborn grasping results in loss. Through non-action, there is no failure; through non-grasping, nothing is lost. Thus the sage seeks what others neglect, values not rare commodities, learns what others ignore, and rectifies the faults of the multitude—assisting all things to develop naturally without presumptuous interference.

"Governing through non-action" means performing what should be done at the appropriate time to avoid later confusion; during times of peace, preparing for potential upheavals—only through advance preparation can tranquility be maintained. Just as one need not pursue rare delicacies in diet, plain flavors can sustain one throughout life.

This passage expounds Laozi's teachings on wisdom in handling affairs, using common life phenomena to illustrate profound principles.

Regarding food and flavors, if one constantly pursues extreme delicacies, family resources will soon be exhausted. Conversely, maintaining ordinary tastes allows for sustainability. The same applies to handling difficult matters - rushing for quick success often leads to failure. Truly virtuous people act with thorough preparation, achieving success in one attempt, which is the real ease. Major undertakings shouldn't be rushed; they require careful groundwork from the beginning to avoid unstable foundations. All difficult matters in the world should start from the easy aspects, and all great things must begin with small steps.

To maintain lasting stability, one must do what sustains lasting stability. Ordinary people, during peaceful times, can prepare for potential crises in advance to handle future challenges effortlessly. However, only true gentlemen who comprehend the Dao can grasp these principles. They're easy for the determined to learn but difficult for the undisciplined to understand.

Laozi uses fragile, tiny things as metaphors: people often underestimate small matters, but he reminds us that even fragile, insignificant things show early signs. It's best to prevent problems before they arise. Just as towering trees grow from hair-thin sprouts, high towers are built brick by brick, and thousand-mile journeys begin with a single step. Laozi warns against belittling small matters or overestimating one's strength.

When others make requests, casually making promises only to break them when fulfillment is due is like possessing resources without frugality - they'll soon be exhausted, leading to trouble. Therefore, one must carefully consider and prepare diligently to ultimately attain good fortune.

The scripture mentions six characters representing various complaints - all arising from failure to grasp the principles properly. Avoiding these six faults and responding only with De (Virtue) enables one to become an extraordinary gentleman. Ordinary people often abandon tasks midway; Laozi particularly emphasizes maintaining the same caution at the end as at the beginning to avoid failure.

Finally, it mentions Laozi observing the chaotic annexation among feudal lords during the late Zhou dynasty. These contents further elaborate on the preceding teachings.

These two chapters of the "Daode Zhenjing with Commentary by Emperor Taizu of the Great Ming" primarily discuss statecraft and the virtues a ruler should possess.

Chapter 54 explains that those who defy the Dao (the Way) and act with arrogance, even if they temporarily attain high status, will ultimately lose it. This serves as a reminder for noble rulers to remain steadfast in their proper role and not defy the Mandate of Heaven. True wisdom lies first in learning and then transcending to the state of "no-learning" (referring to a natural state beyond deliberate study). Such a state can influence all things, bringing about spontaneous harmony.

In ancient times, those skilled in practicing the Dao did not make the people clever and cunning but preserved their simplicity. The people are difficult to govern precisely because they possess too much cunning. Governing with cunning is a disaster for the state, while governing without it is a blessing. Understanding the distinction between these two is to grasp the principle of the Dao. This profound De (Virtue/Power) runs counter to worldly ways yet achieves the greatest harmony.

The sage-kings of antiquity governed with the Dao, seeking only the people's stability, never flaunting wealth, sensual pleasures, or exotic novelties. If the people knew their ruler indulged in such things, they would compete for superficial gains, abandoning their fundamental duties to chase trivial skills. Therefore, a ruler with De must reject cunning crafts, refuse extravagant wealth, and distance themselves from sensual distractions. Then the people will not pursue vanity but focus on practical matters, and within a few years, a culture of simplicity will emerge. This is the true meaning of Laozi's "keeping the people simple"—not to make them ignorant but to uphold the principles of the great Dao and ensure proper human relations. If the people all seek cleverness, even the strictest laws will fail to govern them effectively.

Chapter 55 uses the metaphor of rivers and seas to illustrate that a ruler, like the ocean, must excel in "remaining below" (humility and lowliness) to become the king toward whom all streams flow.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "remaining low and non-contending." Laozi uses rivers and seas as metaphors, illustrating how they become receptacles for countless streams precisely because they willingly occupy the lowest positions. Similarly, sages who wish to stand above others must employ humble speech; those who seek to lead must place personal interests last. Thus even when occupying high positions, people feel no oppression; when standing at the forefront, they inspire no envy. Because they contend with none, none in the world can contend with them.

Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary emphasizes that rulers must emulate the inclusiveness of rivers and seas to achieve great undertakings. Those who persistently seek dominance will experience inevitable reversal—the high shall be brought low, the low elevated—as this constitutes nature's immutable law. Ancient sages willingly bore hardships to bring stability to the world precisely because they understood this principle, thus earning people's devotion. Violating this law invites calamity.

The text then introduces Daoism's Three Treasures: first, compassion (treating others with kindness); second, frugality (restraining desires); third, "daring not be first in the world" (avoiding aggressive competition). True courage arises from compassion, abundant virtue accumulates through frugality, and leadership emerges precisely by not contending for precedence. Abandoning compassion for mere ferocity, discarding frugality for expansion, or rejecting humility for aggressive advancement leads to ruin. Battles fought with compassion bring victory; defenses maintained with it remain impregnable—this demonstrates heaven's protection.

The truly skilled warrior never relies on brute force; the expert combatant remains unprovoked; the master victor avoids direct confrontation; the adept leader maintains humility. This embodies the virtue (De) of non-contention, aligning with celestial principles. The art of warfare teaches: better retreat one foot than advance one inch recklessly; what appears formless contains profound mystery. The gravest peril lies in underestimating opponents—such arrogance nearly guarantees loss of all treasures. When armies clash, victory often favors the side holding compassionate resolve.

Finally, the text reveals how the great Dao (Way) appears simple yet contains profound wisdom. One must steadfastly guard Dao's fundamentals through dedicated cultivation. The Three Treasures remain essential because: compassion provides courage to practice Dao and benefit all beings; frugality enriches the nation's reserves; "daring not be first" establishes monarchy's foundation. Those who discard compassion for mere boldness inevitably succumb to greed.

This passage comes from the Annotations on the Dao De Jing by Emperor Taizu of the Great Ming, being Ming Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary on chapters 57 to 59 of the Dao De Jing. Here's a chapter-by-chapter explanation:

Regarding chapter 57, it discusses the Dao of military strategy. A true general, though compassionate at heart, must engage in battle when facing enemies. This "compassionate warfare" isn't about avoiding conflict, but fighting out of necessity to protect soldiers' lives. Such a commander will surely fortify defenses, and even when besieged, will receive divine protection because his heart cannot bear unnecessary bloodshed. A leader possessing these four virtues (compassion, frugality, not presuming to lead the world, etc.) wages war in accordance with the Dao of Heaven, punishes injustice with benevolence, and thus enables the ruler to quell chaos without worry.

Chapter 58 explores the relationship between "knowing" and "doing." Laozi states that his principles are easy to understand and practice, yet few in the world truly comprehend or implement them. Though the text appears simple, its profound meaning remains elusive. Like sages who wear coarse garments (behe) while carrying precious jade within—outwardly ordinary yet inwardly invaluable. Those who truly understand Laozi are rare, hence his teachings' preciousness.

Chapter 59 reveals wisdom for navigating life. The highest attainment is "knowing what one doesn't know," while "not knowing yet pretending to know" constitutes a flaw. Sages avoid this defect precisely because they vigilantly recognize it as such. The superior person acts without leaving traces, achieving excellence when others remain unaware. Deliberately displaying knowledge backfires—true sages practice the Dao lifelong without misstep because they strictly uphold virtue through rigorous self-discipline.

Finally, it addresses governance: When people cease fearing authority, greater chaos ensues. Never deprive the populace of peaceful living nor obstruct their livelihoods. Sages possess self-awareness without self-display, self-respect without self-importance—thus they relinquish the latter (self-display, self-importance) to preserve the former (self-awareness, self-respect).

This passage discusses principles for governing a nation and cultivating personal virtue. If rulers resort to excessive force, the people may initially fear them, but over time this fear will fade, heralding the nation's impending calamity. For ordinary individuals, wanton lawbreaking and bullying the weak will eventually lead to fatal consequences when legal retribution comes.

Specifically, rulers should avoid extravagant palace gardens, excessive indulgence in pleasures, wasteful expenditure of public resources, and must employ labor conscription in accordance with seasonal appropriateness. Ordinary people should distance themselves from foolish and violent individuals, and refrain from disparaging others' skills and talents. Ancient teachings remind us to prepare in advance—being prepared means self-awareness, and foreseeing danger prevents misfortune.

"Loving oneself without self-exaltation" means everyone should cherish themselves but avoid inflated self-importance. True self-care requires diligent effort first, which then brings stability. This embodies the wisdom of abandoning empty reputation in favor of substantial benefit.

Chapter 60 discusses two types of courage: reckless bravado invites fatal consequences, while cautious restraint preserves life. Both choices carry advantages and disadvantages—even sages find this balance difficult to master. The Dao of Heaven operates thus: it contends not yet prevails, speaks not yet responds, summons not yet things come naturally; appearing relaxed yet meticulously arranged. Heaven's net may be vast, but none who deserve punishment slip through.

If people cease fearing death, what use are capital punishments as deterrents? To make people truly revere life, lawbreakers must be punished strictly according to law. Yet caution is needed—those who execute Heaven's justice in its stead are like amateurs wielding a carpenter's axe, rarely avoiding self-injury.

Governing the world requires following constant principles to benefit the people, not revering harsh punishments. Tyrannical rule leads to widespread slaughter. One should emulate Heaven and Earth's great Dao—operating with seasonal regularity like the four seasons, acting timely, meting out fair rewards and punishments. Thus the people receive abundant blessings and thrive. Those who govern must ponder: between these two approaches, which should be chosen?

This scripture primarily discusses principles of state governance and the cyclical patterns of celestial principles (Tianli).

Regarding courage, the text states: reckless displays of bravery invite calamity, while maintaining humility proves beneficial. Though the Dao of Heaven (natural law) is subtle and difficult to fathom, it invariably punishes arrogance while favoring the humble. Heaven possesses the virtue (De) of nurturing life—whether for the virtuous or the wicked, fortune and misfortune follow unpredictable patterns. Even the ancient sages maintained reverence and caution at all times, never daring to slacken.

The operations of Heaven and Earth follow their own laws: Heaven does not contend with the myriad things, yet it moves ceaselessly; the myriad things grow in accordance with the seasons, and the cycles of the four seasons shift as if summoned, naturally orderly. These are the manifest expressions of the Dao of Heaven. If a ruler treats the world with contempt and disregards the myriad things, even if retribution is delayed, they will ultimately not escape celestial justice.

On governance: using harsh punishments to make the people fear death is not an effective strategy. Instead, a ruler should establish comprehensive laws and delegate specialized officials to govern accordingly. Even so, there will still be those who commit offenses unintentionally—but for those who deliberately violate the law, the ruler should show no leniency. The ruler governs the myriad things on behalf of Heaven; if they act recklessly, they too will not escape punishment.

Chapter 61 specifically notes: the people starve because their rulers impose excessive taxes; the people become difficult to govern because their rulers interfere too much; the people risk their lives in crime because their basic needs are left unfulfilled. The truly wise way of governance is to ensure the people’s prosperity, not to burden them with heavier levies. If excessive taxation leaves the people with no means to live, they will turn to banditry or desperate acts to survive—this is the root of a state’s unruliness. A ruler must avoid the "five ruinous policies" (referring to five erroneous methods of governance), for if the people lose their livelihoods, they will stop at nothing, making them even harder to govern. When the people risk their lives in crime, it is often because they truly have no other way to survive.

Laozi here uses natural phenomena to illustrate the principle that the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong. A living human body is soft and pliant, but becomes stiff after death; plants are flexible when growing, yet turn brittle when withered. Thus rigidity belongs to the state of death, while pliancy embodies vitality. Just as military aggression often leads to defeat, and overly hard trees are more easily felled, what appears strong actually occupies the inferior position, while what seems soft and weak holds the advantage.

Nothing in the world is softer than water, yet it can penetrate the hardest stone because nothing can alter water's intrinsic nature. Though everyone knows the principle that softness conquers hardness and weakness overcomes strength, few put it into practice. Therefore, the sage says: Only those who can bear the nation's disgrace are fit to be rulers; only those who endure the kingdom's misfortunes can become true kings of the world.

The metaphors of "softness and weakness" versus "hardness and strength" actually convey the essential method of nurturing life and cultivating the Dao (the Way). Understanding that softness represents vitality while hardness foretells death is key to self-cultivation. The primordial Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth nourishes all things, but it depends on whether humans can properly regulate and apply it. When rulers govern with this principle, the world attains peace; when ministers follow it, they achieve both loyalty and filial piety; when common people embody it, their households prosper. Conversely, like a withered tree, what appears strong is actually in decline.

Nurturing life is like harmonizing Qi and blood—just as planting trees requires aligning with the warm Qi of spring and diligent watering. Managing a household follows the same principle: when the master disciplines himself with the Dao (the Way) and treats servants with propriety, they naturally work diligently, much like deep roots ensure flourishing branches. Understanding that all things must first align with the Dao to succeed is like servants laboring so their master may rest at ease, or branches thriving so the trunk grows strong—these are inevitable outcomes of following natural Qi.

The example of water is emphasized once more: though seemingly weak, water can drip through solid stone not because the stone is insufficiently hard, but because water's softness-overcoming-hardness nature is irreplaceable. This is the profound truth behind "what is strong and rigid occupies the lower position, while what is soft and weak rises above."

Water that is hard cannot penetrate objects because Qi (the fundamental energy that constitutes all things in Daoist thought) arrives before the water. Those who understand this principle can penetrate even the hardest substances, soften the rigid, and weaken the mighty. This is the natural law of the Dao's operation—it governs all things without the need for words. If rulers emulate this principle in governing the world, and if ministers and the people follow it in their conduct, restraining themselves accordingly, there will be no evil in the world.

The hearts of sages are as vast as heaven and earth, and their De (Virtue/Power) benefits all beings impartially. In this way, the world naturally safeguards its foundation. If rulers revere heaven and earth, ministers revere the divine, and the people respect laws and ancestors, then rulers and subjects will each fulfill their roles, and peace and prosperity will prevail throughout the land.

(This is the content of Chapter 63.)

The law of heaven is like drawing a bow to shoot an arrow: if the bowstring is too high, lower it; if it is too low, raise it; if the force is excessive, reduce it; if insufficient, strengthen it. The Dao of heaven always takes from what is excessive to supplement what is lacking. But human ways are the opposite—often taking from the insufficient to give to the excessive. Only those who have attained the Dao can use their abundance to nourish the world. Thus, sages act without claiming credit and achieve without dwelling on their accomplishments. Is this not because they have no desire to flaunt their worthiness?

If rulers and subjects who govern the world practice the Dao, this principle is like adjusting a new bow: if the bowstring is uneven in strength, reduce the excessive part to enhance the weaker part. The Dao of heaven despises fullness and favors humility, which is why the operation of the Dao is eternal—neither too high nor too low. What is its mystery? It lies in taking from excess to supplement deficiency. In governing a state, if the treasury is full while the people are impoverished, using the surplus to relieve the people’s needs will bring peace and prosperity to the world. Such rulers may not be praised by others, but heaven will bless their land with enduring stability—why chase empty fame? When rulers uphold this principle above and ministers practice it below, governance will remain stable for generations. If ordinary people follow this Dao, their families will be harmonious, their neighbors friendly, and their friendships lifelong. Helping the needy without seeking reward—this is the true path of righteousness.

(This is the content of Chapter 64.)

The truest truths often sound paradoxical. Even when deep grudges are reconciled, remnants of resentment remain—how can this be considered perfect? Therefore, sages are like those who hold promissory notes but do not demand repayment. Those with De manage contracts with generosity, while those without De are as harsh as tax collectors. The Dao of heaven shows no favoritism, yet it always supports those who do good.

This scripture consists of two parts: the first is Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary on Chapter 65 of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), and the second presents Laozi's original philosophy on governance.

In his commentary, Zhu Yuanzhang states: If a ruler fails to justly resolve grievances, even superficial reconciliation cannot truly dispel the resentment of the wronged. A truly wise sovereign should dissolve the great grievances of the world by upholding the Dao (the Way) in governance, refining laws, freeing the innocent while punishing the guilty, relieving the impoverished while imposing fair taxation, and ensuring the people have surplus rather than being drained of all resources. Only then can resentment be resolved, and the people will draw closer to Heaven. If rulers and ministers truly practice these principles, the nation will prosper. Conversely, if a ruler abuses power to exploit the people, squeezing them dry like the tax collectors denounced in the Book of Songs as "Si Che" (officials in charge of taxation), they will inevitably face Heaven’s retribution.

Zhu further observes: Ordinary people may perform good deeds to mediate specific disputes, but they cannot eliminate deep-seated resentment. A truly virtuous person should act like Feng Xuan, the retainer of Lord Mengchang, who lent to the poor without demanding heavy interest and even burned the debt contracts. Heaven shows no partiality but always blesses the virtuous. Rulers should revere the Dao of Heaven, while subjects should cultivate goodness—prosperity will naturally follow.

The second part presents Laozi’s original text, depicting an ideal state of small nations with sparse populations: The country is small, its people few. Though they possess tools, they do not use them; they value life and are unwilling to migrate far. Though they have boats and carriages, they do not ride them; though they have weapons, they do not display them. People return to the simplicity of knotting ropes to keep records, content with their food, clothing, homes, and customs. Neighboring states are within sight, and the sounds of roosters and dogs are heard, yet the people grow old and die without ever interfering with one another.

Laozi lived during the chaotic Warring States period of the late Zhou dynasty. Through this ideal, he conveys that if extravagance is rejected and the people are treated with compassion, Heaven will grant blessings—favorable weather, peace, and prosperity. Thus, even without defenses, borders remain secure; though armed strength exists, there is no need to wield it. When neighboring people live in contentment, none would wish to leave their homeland for another place.

This scripture primarily expounds principles for governing a state and conducting oneself in life.

It first discusses the ruler's approach to governance: A ruler who is not insatiable in desires will avoid calamities. If the ruler becomes greedy, harboring fugitives will provoke condemnation from neighboring states. Like wealthy landowners treating tenants—if they govern with Virtue (De), taking less and giving more, the people can live in peace; conversely, excessive exploitation will drive them to flee. This principle applies universally, whether in great matters or small.

Next, it reveals wisdom for personal conduct: Truthful words often sound unpleasing, while sweet talk proves unreliable. True sages never parade their knowledge—those who flaunt erudition lack genuine understanding. The sage accumulates no private wealth, yet grows richer the more they help others; gives generously, yet gains more in return. The Dao of heaven benefits all things without harm, while the sage's way is to act without contention.

The noble person avoids empty reputation and exaggeration. Excessive praise actually indicates unstable Virtue. Sages perceive the finest details without forced investigation, observing and listening with natural ease. Should rulers emulate this, their states would avoid sudden disasters and they themselves would remain secure. The key lies in: focusing on essential matters, not wasting energy on petty individuals, not obsessively pursuing wrongdoers, but frequently consulting virtuous exemplars.

Ancient sages never boasted of merit. Though holding all-under-heaven, they treated it as nothing while aiding others. The more they gave assistance, the more they received in return. Heaven favors life and abhors destruction—sages and noble persons emulate this spirit, hence their Virtue becomes eternally remembered.

Through contrasting governance and personal cultivation, this passage elucidates the profound principles of "benefiting without harming" and "acting without contending," emphasizing that true wisdom lies in natural non-action (Wuwei) and selfless devotion to others.

Chapter 67 of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) discusses "Heaven and Earth." Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang of the Ming Dynasty personally annotated the Daode Zhenjing (True Scripture of the Way and Virtue), and this passage comes from the second volume of his commentary.

The term "Heaven and Earth" mentioned here is a key concept in the Daode Jing, representing the origin of the cosmos and the laws governing its operation. As an emperor annotating the text, Zhu Yuanzhang often interpreted these philosophical ideas from the perspective of governance. He believed that the workings of Heaven and Earth follow natural principles, and rulers should emulate this wisdom of Wuwei (non-action) in governing the realm.

It is important to note that Zhu Yuanzhang's commentary reflects a distinctly imperial viewpoint, frequently merging Daoist thought with statecraft. In his annotations, he particularly emphasizes the ruling wisdom of "the Dao follows what is natural," arguing that a ruler should govern the country with the same quiet and effortless manner as Heaven and Earth nourish all things—avoiding excessive interference in the lives of the people.