《道德真經四子古道集解》Vol. 6

This passage elucidates the Daoist core philosophy regarding the transformations of Yin-Yang and the cycle of life and death in all things.

The phrase "Reversal is the movement of the Dao" describes how when Yin energy reaches its extreme, it inevitably transforms into Yang energy—this mutual conversion embodies the Dao's dynamic principle. Correspondingly, "Softness is the function of the Dao" illustrates how Yang energy at its peak reverts to Yin energy, with this gentle alternation manifesting the Dao's operational mode.

All beings between heaven and earth emerge through these Yin-Yang transformations. Specifically: all things originate from the state of "being" (manifest existence), while "being" itself arises from "non-being" (formless origin). As the Tongxuan Jing states, all things grow by resonating with Yang energy during movement, and transform by harmonizing with Yin energy during stillness. The Chongxu Jing similarly observes that the birth and demise of all things follow natural laws—they emerge when it's time to emerge, and perish when it's time to perish.

The passage then cites the Nanhua Jing's critique of contemporary social phenomena: the authentic "methods of the Dao" (cultivation practices) of antiquity had become obscured by the Confucian-Mohist debates over right and wrong. Each school championed its own doctrines, plunging the world into chaos. Three types of people are described:

First are the "mountain valley recluses" like Bo Yi, Shu Qi, and Qu Yuan—aloof individuals who withdrew from society. Second are the "world-rectifying scholars" such as Confucius and Mencius who propagated benevolence and righteousness to educate people. Third are the "court scholars" like Yi Yin and Duke of Zhou who sought fame by advising rulers.

The author contends that all these groups deviate from the true Dao, as genuine methods of the Dao should transcend such worldly pursuits.

This passage discusses different people's understanding and attitude toward the Dao, as well as the state of Wuwei (non-action) and natural spontaneity.

Those who retreat to lakes and marshes to fish and live in idle seclusion, doing nothing, pursue the lifestyle of hermits like Chao Fu and Xu You. But the ancient ones who truly attained the Dao didn't deliberately seek nobility. Without preaching benevolence and righteousness, they cultivated themselves; without pursuing fame and merit, they governed effectively; without retreating to rivers and lakes, they maintained tranquility. Their minds were pure and clear, forgetting all attachments; following nature's course, they accomplished all things. In utmost simplicity, all virtues naturally followed. This is the Wuwei principle of Heaven and Earth, the pure virtue of sages that brings peace to the world.

Those of superior capacity, upon hearing of the Great Dao, diligently practice it. The Tongxuan Jing states that in high antiquity, people emulated the Dao's natural Wuwei—this is the law governing Heaven and Earth, where purity and non-action constitute the Heavenly Dao.

Those of middling capacity, upon hearing of the Great Dao, half believe and half doubt. The Tongxuan Jing says that in middle antiquity, people revered worthy men's teachings—this actually became the source of confusion. They clung to virtue while forgetting the Dao, causing the Dao to decline while virtue flourished.

Those of inferior capacity, upon hearing of the Great Dao, laugh loudly at it. The Tongxuan Jing remarks that in recent ages, people employ ministers' talents and learning—this is the path to peril. They tremble with fear lest they lose their scholarship. As the North Sea Spirit said to the River Earl in the Zhuangzi's "Autumn Floods" chapter: "Boyi resigned honors for reputation's sake; Confucius discoursed to display erudition—both puffed up by their learning, they mocked the Wuwei Dao as shallow. Isn't this like you, River Earl, smug about your water volume ridiculing the North Sea's vastness?" The frog in the well cannot comprehend the ocean, confined by his well; summer insects cannot speak of ice, limited by their season; those with shallow understanding cannot grasp the Great Dao, bound by doctrinal learning. Only when you left the Jing River and saw the sea did you recognize your insignificance—how then can you discuss Heaven and Earth's ultimate principles? Among all waters under heaven, none surpass the sea's greatness. Countless rivers flow into it endlessly, yet it never fills; its waters drain perpetually through the Weilu, yet it never empties.

(Note: Chao Fu and Xu You were famous hermits; Weilu is the mythical abyss where seawater returns.)

This passage elucidates fundamental Daoist perspectives on cosmic understanding through two vivid analogies.

First, it contrasts rivers and oceans with Heaven and Earth: The changing seasons do not alter the vastness of the sea, nor do droughts or floods threaten its existence. Yet immense as the oceans may seem, they are but pebbles and saplings upon a great mountain compared to the cosmos. The Four Seas within Heaven and Earth resemble mere puddles in a vast lake, while the Central Kingdom (China) is but a single grain in a great granary. The multitudes inhabiting the Nine Provinces are as countless as the hairs on an ox, yet in the grand scheme of the universe, they amount to no more than a single strand on a horse’s back. The legacies of the Five Emperors, the struggles of the Three Kings, and the toils of benevolent scholars—all are confined to their own limited spheres. To exhaustively pursue the infinite with finite knowledge only leads one astray.

Next, it employs the fable of "the frog at the bottom of a well": Gongsun Long (a representative of the School of Names during the Warring States period) once boasted to Prince Mou of Wei about his mastery of argumentative sophistry, even mocking the teachings of Zhuangzi (a foundational Daoist philosopher). Upon hearing this, Prince Mou laughed heartily and recounted a tale: A frog in a well once bragged to a giant sea turtle about the wonders of its tiny world, but when the turtle described the boundless ocean, the frog was left dumbfounded. Prince Mou used this to satirize Gongsun Long, likening him to the frog—attempting to grasp Zhuangzi’s profound wisdom with shallow logic was as absurd as measuring the sky through a bamboo tube or probing the earth with an awl.

Both analogies convey the same truth: Human understanding and capability are profoundly limited, and in the face of the vast cosmos, humility is essential. Clinging to petty debates and narrow perspectives is like the frog gazing at the sky from the well—it can never comprehend the true essence of the Dao.

This passage contrasts the ideal society of antiquity with the disorder of later ages. The imagery of mouths gaping open and tongues raised but unable to lower depicts people in a state of shocked disarray (symbolizing societal chaos).

The Nanhua Jing (i.e., Zhuangzi) records the bandit Zhi telling Confucius: In high antiquity, people plowed fields for food and wove cloth for clothing, harboring no warlike intentions to harm one another—this was the golden age of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue). But later, the Yellow Emperor battled Chiyou at Zhuolu, staining the land with blood for miles; Yao and Shun established bureaucratic systems; Tang of Shang exiled Jie of Xia, and King Wu of Zhou executed King Zhou of Shang. From then on, the strong bullied the weak, the many oppressed the few, and rulers since the Shang and Zhou dynasties became perpetrators of the world's disorder.

True principles often appear obscure. The Nanhua Jing states that ancient cultivators maintained inner integrity while harmonizing with nature ("walking as companions of Heaven"), whereas modern practitioners focus only on external rituals and forced actions ("walking as companions of men").

The advancing Dao seems to retreat. The ancients emphasized inner cultivation without forcing external deeds, while modern people chase outward achievements while neglecting inner refinement.

The level Dao appears rugged. Ancient people adapted outwardly while holding fast to inner principles, whereas contemporary individuals waver internally yet rigidly cling to external forms.

The highest De (Virtue) resembles an empty valley—hollow yet capacious. The Tongxuan Jing (i.e., Wenzi) observes that the ancients constantly embodied the great Dao, while moderns abandon the Dao to pursue scholarship; those who discard Virtue and rely solely on cleverness will ultimately meet with disaster.

The purest white paradoxically seems sullied. Ancient cultivators embodied pristine naturalness ("illumined in primordial simplicity"), returning to unadorned genuineness. Modern rulers exhaust their intellects governing the world—laboring with schemes yet missing the essence, toiling with calculations only to find their efforts futile.

This passage draws upon multiple Daoist classics to illustrate how true virtue (De) often appears inconspicuous and seemingly deficient. The ancient masters who comprehended the Dao (the Way) possessed vast virtue yet manifested humble demeanor. In contrast, contemporary individuals lacking true understanding may boast wisdom commanding heaven and earth, eloquence shining like sun and moon, or ornate speech glittering like gold and jade—yet these bring no benefit to governing the world. Those preoccupied with bureaucratic minutiae fundamentally fail to grasp that Wuwei (non-action, or governing through natural accord) constitutes the root principle for restoring order amidst chaos.

When authentic virtue is established, it often seems furtive and unremarkable. The ancient practitioners of Wuwei governance remained unburdened by trivial matters, moving in perfect harmony with all beings like form and shadow. Yet later generations developed eyes that could discern the finest details but became deaf to thunderclaps; ears that could distinguish exquisite melodies yet grew blind to Mount Tai's grandeur. Thus excessive focus on minutiae leads to forgetting the great Dao.

The genuinely simple and upright may appear to drift with the current. When examining the conduct standards of ancient sages and deeply contemplating virtue's true meaning, then comparing these with contemporary worldly behaviors, one cannot but feel profound shame.

The most perfectly square lacks sharp corners. The ancient Dao-comprehending masters followed a boundless Way requiring no artificial measurements. Later generations employed humaneness, righteousness, rituals and music as governing rules—though understanding their utility, when rulers constrain people with regulations, the people respond with regulatory mindsets. These become mere instruments of opportunism, not true governance.

The most precious vessel takes longest to craft. Ancient masters of expansive virtue relied on no particular implements; their upright path remained accessible, making people easy to guide. Later generations' trivial arguments damaged the great Dao, while petty cleverness eroded virtue. Mastering one specialty or skill serves only for narrow interpretation, not universal teaching and governance.

The loudest sound seems inaudible. The ancient Dao-following masters pursued a silent, soundless Way that ultimately returned to primal simplicity, with people naturally practicing Wuwei. Later generations' minor good deeds disrupted governance, while small techniques destroyed simplicity. Excelling in one rhetoric style or mastering one craft serves only for partial explanation, not comprehensive teaching and governance.

"The Great Form is formless" means that the most magnificent things often have no concrete shape. The Tongxuan Jing states that ancient cultivators preserved their simple nature, and when reaching the highest state, they became formless. They remained tranquil—not looking, not listening, keeping silent, relinquishing thoughts, abandoning cleverness and wisdom—returning to the most primal and pure state. They allowed their spirit (Shen) to rest and discarded cunning intellect, thereby eliminating distinctions of preference and aversion. This is the realm of "Great Pervasion."

The Dao (the Way) is concealed and nameless. The Nanhua Jing says that those who revere antiquity and disparage modernity exhibit a common failing of scholars. If one judges the present by the standards of the ancient Xīwéi clan, who would not seem deviant? Only those with supreme wisdom and profound Virtue (De) can practice the Great Dao in the world without straying, accommodating others without losing their innate nature. True teaching is not about learning cleverness but comprehending the true meaning of the Dao. The Tongxuan Jing explains that sages remain hidden and silent, appearing to do nothing yet governing the world effortlessly, their achievements naturally fulfilled. This is the way of sages.

Only the Great Dao (the Tongxuan Jing describes the nature of ancient true humans as perfectly aligned with the Dao). They cultivated their inner selves without deliberately altering the external, wandering freely within the origin of heaven and earth, transcending worldly disturbances, and roaming carefree in the state of Wuwei (non-action). Their minds harbored no cunning schemes—they understood without learning, saw without looking, achieved without acting, and attained clarity without governing. In this state of effortless wandering, the world naturally transformed. This is the realm where true humans dwell in the purity of the Great Dao.

"Skillful lending and perfect completion" (as recorded in the Nanhua Jing, Laozi said to Yang Ziju): A wise ruler governs the world, his achievements encompassing all yet seeming unrelated to himself; he nurtures all things, yet the people feel no dependence. He seeks no fame, allowing all beings to rejoice naturally. He stands in impartiality, his mind wandering in the realm of "non-being." Ancient perfected ones stood in the state of "non-lending" (refusing to impose their will outwardly), maintaining effortless wandering and never forcing their intentions upon external things.

Chapter 42 speaks of "the Dao gives birth" (the Tongxuan Jing explains that the Great Dao creates all things from softness, ultimately achieving strength. To attain strength, one must guard it with softness; accumulating softness eventually yields strength. Observing this process allows one to foresee survival or demise. The sages of great antiquity harmonized with the Dao, reducing restless Qi (vital energy), holding to softness without asserting strength—thus their accomplishments and fame naturally manifested. The Nanhua Jing states that ancient sages eliminated the outbursts of will and fluctuations of emotion; maintaining inner peace allowed them to reach the state of serene Wuwei).

This passage elucidates the Daoist cosmological theory of "the Dao giving birth to all things" and the wisdom of "humility and yielding" in worldly conduct.

The cosmogonic process unfolds as follows: Initially there exists the undifferentiated chaos of the Dao (the Way), from which emerges the subtle and pure "Heaven" (One). Heaven then gives rise to the dense and turbid "Earth" (Two), and through their interaction comes "Humanity" (Three), ultimately generating the myriad beings. All things contain both Yin and Yang attributes, achieving harmony through "chong qi" (neutralizing Qi). Different lifeforms manifest distinct characteristics: womb-born creatures possess nine orifices while egg-born creatures have eight.

Regarding worldly wisdom, it emphasizes emulating natural principles by maintaining humility and softness. Ordinary people often delight in aggressive competition, yet true sages resemble ancient sage-kings who willingly adopted self-deprecating titles like "the Solitary One" or "the Virtually Unworthy." This reflects the Dao's fundamental principle: what appears as diminishment may bring increase, while apparent gain may conceal loss. Just as the absence of calamity constitutes supreme fortune, not losing represents the greatest advantage.

The text references multiple Daoist classics (Tongxuan Jing, Nanhua Jing, Chongxu Jing) to illustrate how yielding constitutes the way of survival and humility ensures lasting success. While Confucianism similarly teaches courteous humility, Daoism advocates the philosophy of overcoming hardness with softness and advancing through retreat.

This passage expounds the principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," emphasizing the benefits of governing through Wuwei (non-action).

Those who rely on brute force and domination often meet untimely ends. The Tongxuan Jing (one of the Daoist scriptures) states that those who insist on aggressive competition in an age of decline are destined to perish prematurely. Laozi advised taking this principle as the foundation of teaching.

The softest things in the world can master the hardest. The Tongxuan Jing illustrates this by showing how water—the ultimate soft substance—can penetrate the hardest materials. The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) uses water as a metaphor: though formless, it permeates everywhere; appearing to do nothing, it embodies the natural way of heaven.

The most insubstantial things can enter where there are no gaps. Both the Tongxuan Jing and Nanhua Jing discuss how "what is without form can enter what has no crevices," much like the "Heavenly Gate" (referring to the Dao of nature) that, though formless, embraces all things.

The "Way of Heaven" chapter in Nanhua Jing explains that emptiness, stillness, simplicity, and Wuwei—maintaining a state of pristine purity—represent both the operating principle of heaven-earth and the highest realm of Dao-De. Emperor Yao of antiquity understood this and became an enlightened ruler; Emperor Shun comprehended it and became a virtuous minister. When sages embody Wuwei while occupying the throne, they manifest imperial virtue; when Laozi practiced Wuwei as a subject, he exemplified the way of the "Mysterious Sage and Unadorned King" (referring to one with sagely virtue who declines rulership). Hermits who understand the way of emptiness and stillness wander freely among mountains and streams, while worthy scholars achieve fame by pacifying the world through their unforced simplicity.

Through stillness one attains sagehood; through action one becomes king. By practicing non-action, one gains reverence; by preserving original simplicity, none in the world can contend with one's excellence. Therefore Laozi said, "Thus I know the benefit of non-action." This wordless teaching and the advantage of Wuwei—few in the world can attain them.

This passage elucidates the fundamental importance of "non-being" (wu). All things arise from "non-being," for "being" (existing things) cannot create "being" out of nothing—every instance of "being" must emerge from "non-being." This state of "non-being and being" is the origin of all things, possessing no concrete form or gateway yet encompassing the full potential of life and death, emergence and disappearance. This formless primordial state is called the "Gate of Heaven" (Tianmen), the portal leading to the Dao.

From this principle, we understand why Laozi (Lao Dan) advocated "non-action" (Wuwei) as the fundamental method for governing the world, a principle also employed by the ancient sage-kings (Xuan Su Wang). The benefit of "non-action" lies in its alignment with the natural operation of heaven and earth—spontaneous yet all-encompassing, achieving everything without deliberate pursuit. This is the "teaching without words"—the ancient sages instructed the people not through verbal doctrines but through their own exemplary conduct. Though they remained humble and empty, the people received tangible benefits.

In the governance of ancient rulers, both superiors and subordinates adhered to the principle of "non-action." This approach, in harmony with heavenly Virtue (De), meant that those above did not act willfully, and those below did not create artificial disturbances. The true benefit of "non-action" is this: what appears as doing nothing is actually the most fundamental way of governance. Conversely, methods that seem beneficial but lead to chaos are never adopted by genuine sages. Sadly, few in the world today comprehend or attain this state.

(Note: The "Nanhua Jing" refers to the Zhuangzi, and the "Tongxuan Jing" refers to the Wenzi—both essential Daoist classics.)

This passage vividly illustrates the dangers of excessive pursuit of fame and wealth through several historical anecdotes.

Zhuangzi (the Nanhua Zhenren) tells a parable: When King Wei of Chu offered him lavish riches to become prime minister, Zhuangzi compared himself to a sacrificial ox—though well-fed and adorned with colorful silks, it ultimately faces slaughter. He rejected officialdom to preserve his freedom. Similarly, when the ruler of Lu tried to recruit the enlightened Yan He with generous gifts, this Daoist adept refused, maintaining that the true Dao (the Way) exists for self-cultivation.

The text recounts the fates of different historical figures: virtuous scholars like Bo Yi and Shu Qi who died for reputation, loyal ministers like Guan Longfeng and Bi Gan who perished remonstrating tyrants. These examples demonstrate how excessive worldly pursuits become self-destructive. Using the legendary Suihou Pearl to shoot sparrows would be senseless waste—yet human life is far more precious than any jewel.

The core teaching emerges: Those who know contentment avoid disgrace; those who understand moderation escape danger—this is the path to longevity. The entire passage warns that preserving life and cultivating inner virtue (De) outweigh hollow fame and material possessions. How pitiful are those who sacrifice their vital essence (Jing) for external things!

The soft and weak

Are the strength of the Dao (the Way).

Great fullness seems empty.

(The Tongxuan Jing states: "Heaven follows the One without error, thus it is without fault. Earth follows the One without change, thus it is without alteration.")

Its function is inexhaustible.

(The Tongxuan Jing states: "Clarity and stillness, wuwei (non-action), are the root of the Dao. Softness, weakness, humility, and deference are its function.")

Great straightness seems bent.

(The Tongxuan Jing states: "The Way of Heaven reduces the excessive to supplement the deficient. The Way of Earth diminishes the high...")

This scripture expounds the core Daoist principle of "clarity and stillness through non-action (Wuwei)," illustrating the principles of governing the state and cultivating the self by contrasting two states: "possessing the Dao" and "lacking the Dao."

The text first explains several key Daoist concepts: The essence of heaven is "clarity and emptiness" (qingxu), and maintaining pure constancy represents the ultimate stillness. The greatest fullness appears empty ("Great fullness seems hollow"), because the Dao's operation requires no artificial constraints ("Heaven's compass needs no measuring hook"). True non-action (wuwei) is the natural state of the Dao, and aligning with spontaneity constitutes heaven's virtue (De).

Four contrasting pairs then illustrate the Dao's characteristics: The straightest appears bent ("Great straightness seems crooked"), the most skillful appears clumsy ("Great skill seems awkward"), the most eloquent appears inarticulate ("Great eloquence seems stammering"). This is because when Yang qi reaches its zenith it transforms into Yin—thus one should never exhaust cleverness; when Yin qi reaches its peak it shifts to Yang—hence eloquence should never be pushed to extremes. Only by maintaining clarity and stillness can one become the world's true standard.

Chapter four discusses the Dao of warfare. Ancient sage-kings employed arms not for plunder, but to quell crises and eliminate public harm—like the Yellow Emperor capturing the Red Emperor (fire god) to stop conflagrations, or Zhuanxu executing Gonggong (water god) to control floods. But when the seven warring states lacked the Dao, rulers' insatiable greed caused mass unrest, forcing military intervention until warhorses were bred in battlefields—a sign of great disorder.

Finally, two governing paradigms are contrasted: In an era when the world possesses the Dao, rulers govern through non-action—warhorses return to plow fields, and distant regions submit though chariot tracks never reach them. In times lacking the Dao (like the Spring and Autumn period), constant warfare breeds warhorses in borderlands. This demonstrates that clarity, stillness and non-action form the root of ordering the world.

The Dongling Jing states that among the rulers of the Spring and Autumn period, few truly understood the Dao of governance, while many were foolish and lacking in virtue. Governing a state should not abandon the root to chase trivialities, just as waging war cannot forsake fundamentals for superficial gains.

The greatest transgression lies in indulging desires. The Tongxuan Jing points out that the most severe crime is defying the Dao (the Way) and engaging in endless petty conflicts. Armies driven by rage are doomed to fail—this is the law of nature.

The gravest calamity is insatiable greed. The Tongxuan Jing says the most terrible disaster is the loss of De (Virtue/Power), coveting the lands and wealth of others. Armies fueled by avarice will inevitably perish—this is the mandate of the Dao.

The worst mistake is forceful seizure. The Tongxuan Jing holds that the gravest fault is losing De (Virtue/Power), relying on national might and population to overpower rivals. Such arrogant armies are fated to collapse—this is the natural order.

Thus, those who understand contentment truly attain lasting fulfillment. The Tongxuan Jing explains that the ancients versed in the art of nurturing life knew that contentment prevents entanglement in transgressions.

Regarding the chapter on "knowing the world without leaving one’s door," the Tongxuan Jing clarifies that the wise rulers of old discerned the state of the realm without venturing out because they grasped things through their essence and understood people through human nature. First, they cultivated themselves before governing the people; first, they managed their households before overseeing officials. Later rulers issued edicts far and wide, yet the world grew more chaotic precisely because they neglected self-cultivation. Thus, the ancient sages followed nature, refined themselves, and without issuing commands, the people obeyed; without acting, understanding arose; without seeing with their eyes, knowledge came; without deliberate effort, achievement unfolded—and the world naturally found peace.

Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) know the great affairs of the world without stepping outside. The Tongxuan Jing·Chapter of Sincerity states that the sages of old understood the rise and fall of the realm without leaving their homes because their hearts remained in a state of pure Wuwei (non-action). The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) also says that the ancients who attained the Dao emphasized inner cultivation over outward forms.

Without looking out the window, one can perceive the patterns of nature. The Tongxuan Jing explains that without gazing beyond, one discerns the workings of the celestial Dao—this is because a tranquil spirit resonates with the transformations of heaven and earth.

Those who travel farthest, as the Tongxuan Jing·Nine Preservations notes, paradoxically know the least, for when the spirit wanders outward, inner wisdom is lost. The Nanhua Jing observes that people today chase external accomplishments while neglecting inner refinement.

This passage primarily discusses how excessive pursuit of external knowledge and cleverness can lead to the loss of one's original nature, while ancient sages focused on inner cultivation and achieved natural accomplishment through non-action (Wuwei).

The Tongxuan Jing states: When a person expends all their energy displaying external intelligence and cleverness while their inner self remains restless and unsettled, they cannot truly cultivate body and mind. The more one seeks outwardly, the more one loses what is most fundamental—this is the meaning behind "the more one knows, the less one truly understands." The Nanhua Jing similarly points out: Modern people only know how to pursue external forms while neglecting inner cultivation.

Therefore, the approach of sages (those who have attained the Dao) is as follows: First, they rectify themselves ("proper alignment of the body" represents the fundamental principle). They comprehend the nature of things without needing to travel extensively (ancient sages cultivated the root; they could prohibit wrongdoing without issuing commands, manifest benevolence without giving alms, and know everything without taking action). They perceive truth without visual confirmation (ancient sages cultivated the root; they understood without seeing, were discerning without hearing, and attained insight without direct observation). They achieve natural accomplishment without deliberate striving (ancient sages cultivated the root; they gained trust without excessive words, obtained results without forceful demands, and succeeded without contrived action).

Chapter 48 explains: During the era of the Three Sovereigns, people used knotted ropes for record-keeping, and the world was at peace—this represents the ideal state of governance. Nowadays, people crane their necks and stand on tiptoes chasing so-called "learning." Hearing of virtuous scholars, they pack provisions to seek instruction, abandoning their families at home and leaving their rulers abroad. This has led to continuous warfare, with chariot tracks crisscrossing feudal states—all calamities arising from excessive pursuit of knowledge and cleverness. Since the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou), rulers have esteemed literary sophistication and cleverness while discarding simple, honest people. They favor those who exhaust their minds with clever speech and charming manners, abandoning the great Dao of serene non-action (Wuwei) and indulging in flashy but insubstantial rhetoric.