《道德玄經原旨》

The Daode Jing begins by introducing the concept of "Dao" (the Way). The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal, unchanging Dao; the name that can be defined is not the constant name. "Non-being" (wu) is the origin of heaven and earth, while "being" (you) is the mother of all things. By maintaining a state of desirelessness, one can observe the mysteries of the Dao; by maintaining a state of desire, one can observe its boundaries. These two arise from the same source but differ in name—both are called "profound" (xuan), and this profoundness upon profoundness is the gateway to all mysteries.

Du Daojian (a Yuan dynasty Daoist master) comments: Heaven is the ancestor of all things, yet the Dao is the ancestor of Heaven. Heaven does not speak—how, then, can the Dao be expressed in words? What can be spoken is not the true Dao. What is beyond speech and definition is the natural Heaven, eternal and unchanging, belonging to the primordial state (xiantian). What can be spoken and defined is the Heaven that generates and transforms all things, ever-changing, belonging to the manifested state (houtian). From this, we can discern the beginning of heaven and earth, the mother of all things, and the dialectical relationship between being and non-being, boundaries and mysteries—encompassing the entire secret of cosmic creation.

By observing the mystery of "constant non-being," one can perceive the origin of the nameless; by observing the origin of the nameless, one can comprehend the undifferentiated state (wuji) and the Supreme Ultimate (taiji). By observing the boundary of "constant being," one can perceive the mother of the named; by observing the mother of the named, one can comprehend the two modes (liangyi) of Yin and Yang and the generation of all things. These two share the same origin, emerging from the same mother, differing only in name. Delving deeper, one discovers that "profound upon profound" is the gateway to all mysteries.

Thus, the Heaven that generates and transforms all things becomes manifest, while the natural Heaven remains ever hidden. Whether in the metaphysical Dao or the physical vessels (qi), Heaven and the Dao are interconnected. The Dao needs no words, just as Heaven does not speak. Sadly, profound principles are difficult for ordinary people to grasp, and ultimate truths are often drowned in worldly discourse. Thus, the sages originally wished to remain silent but ultimately had to speak.

When Laozi journeyed westward, the Guardian of the Pass, Yin Xi, foresaw that the Great Dao was about to vanish from the world and insisted that Laozi compose a text. Compelled, Laozi wrote: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be defined is not the constant name." Guan Yinzi remarked: The Dao cannot be spoken, yet saying "it cannot be spoken" is itself an explanation of the Dao. Once heaven and earth were established, the interaction of Yin and Yang energies produced the harmonious qi (chonghe), which embodies the essence of the Supreme Ultimate and serves as the root of all creation. Only after the triad of heaven, earth, and humanity was established did the human way begin to flourish. As the Book of Documents states: "Heaven and earth are the parents of all things, and humans are the most intelligent among them."

This passage primarily discusses the relationship between the Heavenly Dao and human affairs, as well as the way of the sage.

Looking upward from "constant non-being" (the original state of the Dao) refers to the Heavenly Dao, while looking downward refers to human affairs. If humans can observe the Heavenly Dao to cultivate human affairs, they will surely attain the realm of sages. The Yinfu Jing states: "Observe the patterns of the Heavenly Dao and act accordingly—this is sufficient." "Constant non-being" represents the prenatal state—by observing its mysteries, one discovers one's true self; "constant being" represents the postnatal state—by observing its boundaries, one discovers the deathless self. Tracing back to the origin, it's formlessness giving birth to form; investigating the end, it's form returning to formlessness. Whether observing the comings and goings of daily affairs or the movements and stillness of the mind, none depart from this principle.

These two aspects (Heavenly Dao and human affairs) share one source though named differently—they are fundamentally interconnected. "Mystery" (xuan) appears empty yet substantially exists; "further mystery" (you xuan) appears existent yet returns to emptiness—this constitutes the profound wonder of all things. The "gate" implies both entry and exit—all things emerge from creation and return to it. The human body embodies the characteristics of heaven and earth; the mind contains the wisdom of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Understanding this principle reveals that life fundamentally transcends birth and death.

The sage's mind is the mind of heaven and earth. Observing the transformations between morning mists and evening hazes while the Great Void (cosmic origin) remains unchanging, we understand that although sages manage myriad affairs daily, their inner stillness remains undisturbed, their heavenly nature ever constant. I once said: "Heaven and earth are my magnification; I am heaven and earth in miniature." Only one like Emperor Yao, whose virtue was so vast the people couldn't describe it, could be called a sage who attained the Dao.

The scripture states: "When all under heaven recognize beauty as beauty, ugliness arises; when they recognize good as good, evil appears." Thus being and non-being generate each other, difficulty and ease complete each other, long and short contrast each other, high and low depend on each other, sounds harmonize with each other, front and back follow each other. Therefore, the sage handles affairs with Wuwei (non-action), teaches through wordless instruction, lets all things arise without interference, nurtures without possessing, acts without claiming, accomplishes without dwelling. Precisely because they don't dwell, their achievements never fade.

The original commentary explains: The Dao stands alone without opposition—once opposition appears, concrete things emerge. When forms manifest, beauty/ugliness and good/evil arise. Just as heaven and earth possess great beauty without boasting, and Yao embodied great goodness without self-awareness—how could evil or non-good exist? The moment thoughts of self-praise or seeking recognition arise, beauty turns to ugliness and good becomes evil—how much more so when making these known to all under heaven? The ancients profoundly understood this.

The Original Intent of the Profound Dao-De Scripture discusses how rulers should govern by personal example. Ancient sages performed good deeds fearing others might notice, while modern people perform good deeds fearing others might not notice—such is the vast difference between them.

This classic's fundamental purpose is to admonish rulers—for the sovereign is the teacher of all under heaven. Whatever those above favor, those below will emulate. The Book of Documents states: "Following the right path brings good fortune; opposing it brings calamity." This principle operates as naturally as shadows following forms or echoes responding to sounds. Thus the six pairs of concepts—being/non-being, difficult/easy, long/short, high/low, sound/echo, front/back—all mutually depend on and complete each other, representing eternal patterns of heaven and earth.

Therefore, sages govern through Wuwei (non-action) and teach through wordless example. Wuwei doesn't mean doing nothing, but rather not forcing outcomes; "wordless" doesn't mean complete silence, but rather not constraining people with cumbersome decrees. Let all things develop naturally—without interference, possession, or dependence—thus achieving the transformative merit of nurturing all existence. When merit is accomplished, they don't claim it, so it endures; claiming merit makes it vanish.

Throughout the text, "sage" refers specifically to ancient rulers up to Emperor Yao; beginning with Emperor Shun, the terms shift to "king," "duke," "virtuous gentleman," or "great man"—subtle distinctions reflecting gradations of De (virtue/power) and implicit praise or criticism. Readers must adopt ancient perspectives, understanding the text within pre-Zhou dynasty contexts.

The scripture states: "Not exalting the worthy prevents people from competing; not treasuring rare goods prevents theft; not displaying desirable things keeps minds undisturbed." Thus when sages govern, they purify people's hearts while enriching their lives, weakening contentiousness while strengthening health. Keeping people simple and contention-free, even the clever dare not act recklessly. Governing through Wuwei (non-action), nothing remains ungoverned.

Laozi composed the Dao-De Jing to illuminate the Way of Emperors and the Virtue of Sovereigns. Though the myriad things appear complex, some may exist in the world but shouldn't be privately possessed. When rulers flaunt talents, covet rarities, and indulge desires, people imitate them—inevitably causing strife, theft, and chaos. Only when rulers themselves harbor no greed will people refrain from stealing even when rewarded. Therefore, sages governing the world first purify their own minds, remaining unclouded by external things.

My belly does not allow wicked thoughts to invade and weaken my will, nor does it contend with the myriad things for supremacy. My bones do not oppose with brute force, always making the people understand they should harbor no presumptuous delusions. Even if possessing the wisdom of Longbo the Giant (legendary figure who hooked six giant turtles), I would not dare the slightest transgression—how then would those so-called treacherous ministers dare act recklessly? The ancient rulers governed the world by following nature’s course, appearing to practice Wuwei (non-action), yet achieving a state where nothing remained ungoverned.

The Daode Jing states: The Dao appears empty yet is inexhaustible in use, profound as the source of all things. It blunts sharp edges, untangles complications, harmonizes radiance, and merges with the dust—serenely translucent, seeming to exist yet not. I know not whose offspring it is, as if it preceded heaven and earth. Its core truth is this: What governs heaven and earth and embraces all things is actually the human heart. The heart is the pivot of the Dao; every person possesses this heart, and within each heart resides this Dao. Precisely because the Dao is empty and receptive, silent and all-encompassing, it can contain heaven and earth without overflowing and comprehend the myriad things without losing its root. Once one deviates from this Dao, external things will occupy the mind. When interacting with others, first rectify yourself, and external things cannot disturb you. At the slightest disturbance of distracting thoughts, immediately cleanse them completely, and you will naturally harmonize with all things. Maintaining this state of empty stillness and clarity, one feels the Dao as if it exists and yet does not—say it is me, yet its origin is unknown; say it is not, yet it seems to precede my very spirit. Unless one’s heart is pure and will united with the divine, how could such a state be realized?

The Daode Jing says: Heaven and earth are not benevolent—they regard the myriad things as straw dogs (sacrificial offerings); the sage is not benevolent—he regards the people as straw dogs. Is not the space between heaven and earth like a bellows? Empty yet never collapsing—the more it moves, the more wind it produces. Excessive speech leads to exhaustion; better to embrace emptiness and stillness. The essential meaning is this: Heaven’s duty is to cover, earth’s to support, the sage’s to teach—letting all things and people find their place without proclaiming benevolence—this is the highest benevolence. Precisely because they do not claim benevolence, they seek no reward; treating all things as straw dogs, they harbor no thought of abandonment. Just as straw dogs are reverently used in state rituals for the gods, then left to decay afterward—so too do heaven, earth, and sages treat the myriad things. Seemingly heartless, they embody the greatest love.

All things between heaven and earth are like a great bellows (tuoyue) — seemingly empty yet containing everything within. Precisely because it maintains this emptiness, it never becomes exhausted; because its movement and stillness are perfectly balanced, its energy flows endlessly. Just as the wind's voice in nature transforms in countless ways, these are all sounds produced by the myriad things themselves — where is there any external controller? The sage governs the people in the same manner. Issuing frequent decrees and excessive interference will only lead to predicaments. One should emulate the operating principles of heaven and earth, maintaining a mind of empty stillness and adhering to the rule of moderation. This is why Emperor Yao could govern through wuwei (non-action), treating all people equally and bringing peace to the world.

The scripture states: "The Valley Spirit (referring to the empty and numinous nature of the Dao) never perishes; it is called the Mysterious Feminine (symbolizing the source of yin-yang creation)." The gateway of this Mysterious Feminine is the root of heaven and earth. It exists as if present yet absent, yet its function is inexhaustible.

Here is the explanation: The Valley Spirit is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin). Though empty, the Taiji contains numinous intelligence. Both heaven and humanity possess this empty and numinous quality. The term "valley" refers to its capacity to embrace yin and yang and contain the transformations of creation, while "spirit" describes its marvelous ability to nurture all things. Precisely because it never perishes, it gives birth endlessly. The "Mysterious Feminine" represents the two energies of yin and yang, the "gateway" symbolizes the passage where heaven and earth interact harmoniously, and the "root" is the source from which all things emerge. It stretches unbroken through past and present, yet its operation is entirely spontaneous and wuwei.

This passage builds upon the earlier bellows metaphor, clarifying that our heart-mind also possesses the qualities of Taiji. The microcosm of the human body shares the same origin and flow with the macrocosm of the universe — fundamentally, it transcends life and death. Only when the mind is empty can it resonate with all things; only when the spirit is tranquil can its luminous clarity manifest. By observing the wondrous interactions within stillness, one may witness the undying true nature. But note this: Shen (spirit) requires Qi (vital energy) to manifest, while Qi requires Shen to be animated. When spirit and energy intermingle, they reveal the state of the Mysterious Feminine — the "Mysterious" (yang) represents heaven's virtue of creation, the source of spirit; the "Feminine" (yin) represents earth's virtue of nourishment, the root of energy. This Mysterious Feminine is the small heaven-and-earth within our bodies. Its gateway is the passage where spirit and energy converge — though its form remains invisible, we can perceive it through the opening and closing of breath. Its root is the state where spirit and energy return to their origin, merging into perfect unity.

This passage conveys two main layers of meaning:

The first layer reveals the secret of heaven and earth's enduring existence. The reason heaven and earth can exist perpetually is precisely because they don't strive for self-preservation (不自生), thereby attaining true longevity. The sage emulates the Dao of heaven and earth by putting personal interests last (后其身), yet gains universal respect; by transcending self-concern (外其身), yet preserves life. This isn't because they lack self-interest, but because by not forcibly pursuing personal gain, they achieve genuine self-realization.

The second layer uses water as a metaphor for supreme virtue. The most perfect De (Virtue) resembles water - it nourishes all things without contention, willingly resting in lowly places others disdain. This nature comes closest to the Dao. It manifests concretely as: dwelling where the place is right, maintaining profound stillness of mind, treating others with sincere benevolence, speaking with unwavering integrity, governing with skillful administration, accomplishing tasks through capable execution, and acting with perfect timing. Precisely because it contends with nothing, it incurs no resentment.

The text notes that many passages in Laozi's "Dao De Jing" actually quote ancient sages, much like Confucius' attitude of "transmitting rather than creating" (述而不作). Only those who truly believe in and cherish the ancient Dao can comprehend its profound truths.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture expounds on the principle that "the highest virtue is like water" and the wisdom of withdrawing after achieving merit.

The most exalted goodness resembles the nature of water. Those of supreme virtue embody water’s qualities: humility and lowliness, nourishing all things without contention. When Yu the Great served as Minister of Works (an ancient office overseeing flood control), it was precisely his understanding of water’s virtuous nature that enabled him to succeed in taming the floods and ultimately attain the realm of a sage. The goodness of water manifests in seven aspects: settling in low places (excellent positioning), purity and depth (excellent depth), nourishing selflessly (excellent benevolence), flowing with constancy (excellent trustworthiness), overcoming hardness with softness (excellent governance), bearing all things (excellent capacity), and moving or resting in accordance with the time (excellent timing). If one can emulate the virtue of water, remaining free from contention with the world, they will avoid inviting misfortune. During the abdication from Shun to Yu, Yu the Great maintained humility throughout, never boasting of his abilities or achievements.

The scripture warns: A bowl filled to the brim is better left unfilled; a blade honed too sharp cannot long retain its edge. No one can forever guard halls filled with gold and jade, while arrogance in wealth and rank only invites calamity. To withdraw after achieving merit—this accords with the Dao of Heaven.

The author elaborates: Humility brings benefit, while complacency invites loss; the rigid are easily broken, while the pliant endure—this is the inevitable principle of Heaven. A vessel filled with water, unaware of restraint, will spill; a blade too sharp, unaware of moderation, will snap. Those who occupy high positions yet indulge in extravagance, greed, and insatiable desires will ultimately lose everything, like a tripod’s broken leg (symbolizing downfall). Rather than this, it is better to emulate Xu You, who retreated to Mount Ji, or Fan Li, who sailed away on Lake Taihu—those who understand timely withdrawal. True wisdom lies not in how great a merit one establishes, but in knowing when to stop; true renown lies not in how high one climbs, but in contentment. In this world, how many can truly see through fame and profit, withdraw after achieving merit, and preserve the Dao of Heaven? This realm—only sages like Yao and Shun have truly attained it.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture expounds on the principles of self-cultivation and governance, illustrating the philosophy of "being and non-being generating each other."

The section on self-cultivation begins by explaining that human life consists of the union of physical form and ethereal spirit (shen). One should maintain this unity of body and mind with the tender care of holding an infant. Regulating one's qi requires achieving a state of infant-like softness, while purifying the mind demands eliminating distractions until it becomes flawlessly clear. Governing a state resembles a mother's quiet embrace—appearing wuwei (non-action) yet capable of bringing stability to the people. True wisdom understands principles without flaunting knowledge, allowing all things to grow naturally without interference. This embodies the profoundest "Mystic Virtue" (Xuande).

Through six rhetorical questions, the text reveals essential cultivation techniques: maintaining unity of body and spirit, keeping qi soft and harmonious, purifying the mind to spotless clarity, governing through wuwei, balancing movement and stillness appropriately, and embodying great wisdom that appears simple. Mastering these enables governance akin to Emperor Yao's golden age—where people lived in contentment without sensing any coercive governance.

The second part uses three everyday objects to demonstrate the function of "non-being": A wheel's thirty spokes converge on the empty hub (gu) at its center to enable rotation; the hollow space within pottery vessels creates their utility for holding contents; doors and windows carved as voids in walls make dwellings inhabitable. This reveals the interdependent relationship between "being" (substantial form) and "non-being" (emptiness)—while the wheel's physical structure (being) provides the means, its functional efficacy truly resides in the void (non-being). Just as the space between heaven and earth appears empty yet contains infinite creative potential, all things exist within this dialectical relationship of "non-being within being" and "being within non-being."

The spokes and hub (gǔ) of a wheel may not directly mention the rim or carriage, yet when we speak of a "chariot," these components are inherently included. It is the same principle as kneading clay (shān zhí) to form vessels or carving doors and windows to build a house. The Dao speaks of "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), while the Book of Changes (Yijing) speaks of "movement" and "stillness"—their essence is fundamentally interconnected. To comprehend the mystery of "non-being" in the Dao is to grasp the truth of "stillness" in the Yijing; to understand the patterns of "movement" in the Yijing is to realize the manifestation of "being" in the Dao. Profound indeed are the meanings of "being" and "non-being," the arcana of "movement" and "stillness"!

The Daode Jing states: The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones deafen the ears; the five flavors dull the palate; chasing and hunting madden the mind; rare treasures hinder virtuous conduct. Thus the sage attends to the belly, not the senses, and therefore discards the superficial to embrace simplicity.

When sages occupy positions of eminence, they become models for the people, and all under heaven follow them. Like the dragon and tiger generating wind, or water and fire counteracting each other, their influence arises naturally without deliberate summoning. Therefore, all that is ostentatious and harmful to the people's livelihood should be abandoned. Knowing that dazzling colors blind the eyes, one refrains from lavish adornment and maintains simplicity; knowing that clamorous music deafens the ears, one avoids decadent tunes and preserves tranquility; knowing that rich flavors corrupt the palate, one spurns exotic delicacies and is content with plain fare; knowing that excessive hunting deranges the mind, one abstains from frivolous amusements and abides in one's true nature; knowing that coveting treasures obstructs virtue (De), one disdains worldly riches and cherishes the heavenly virtue (tianjue). These five indulgences all unsettle human nature and bring no benefit to the people's welfare—they are not the enduring path for self-cultivation and strengthening the root. Hence, the sage values inner substance over outward display, rejects the ornate for the simple, and personally practices frugality to guide the people. Thus the world is naturally transformed: all find contentment without being tempted by external things, and peace prevails under heaven.

The Daode Jing states: Favor and disgrace seem alarming; honor great calamity as you honor the self. What does "favor and disgrace seem alarming" mean? Favor elevates the lowly, so receiving it brings apprehension, and losing it brings fear—this is "favor and disgrace seem alarming." What does "honor great calamity as you honor the self" mean? The reason we have great calamity is because we possess a self. If we had no self, what calamity could befall us? Therefore, one who can govern the world by valuing the self as the world may be entrusted with the world; one who can care for the world by loving the self as the world may be entrusted with the world.

The sage values the body because it follows the Dao (the natural order), while ordinary people value the body for the sake of empty reputation—these two are vastly different. To value the body in harmony with the Dao is to align with nature; to value the body for fame inevitably leads to chasing selfish gains. People become anxious when encountering honor or disgrace because honor is inevitably accompanied by disgrace.

To regard great calamity as equally important as the body—those who value both the body and empty reputation suffer equally profound misfortunes. Why is honor considered lowly? Because fame is something that brings anxiety when gained and anxiety when lost—a double affliction of worry. Why should great calamity be regarded as equally important as the body? The reason we face great calamity is precisely because we cling to this body. Clinging to the body leads to entanglement with external things, and entanglement with external things means being bound by fame and profit. Forgetting the body allows one to transcend external things, and transcending external things frees one from the shackles of fame and profit. This is said for those ordinary people who value the body for the sake of reputation. The sage values the body with a mind attuned to the Dao—how could there be any calamity?

Understanding that empty reputation is not worth pursuing reveals the true value of the body; understanding that the body is not worth excessive attachment reveals the greater value of the Dao. Knowing the preciousness of the Dao, what is left to worry about? It is like when the states of Han and Wei were contending for territory, and Zihuazi advised Marquis Zhaoxi: "Better to lose both arms than to fight for the world." The marquis refused, showing that arms are more important than the world; the body is more important than arms, and the Dao is more important than the body. When a nobleman is compelled to govern the world, he must value self-preservation more than governing the world—only then can he shoulder the world's burdens; he must cherish himself more than the world—only then can he be entrusted with the world's affairs. "Value" refers to status, while "love" refers to virtue. Status can be relinquished, but virtue must not be discarded. Understanding this principle, one will regard honor and disgrace lightly—what is left to worry about?

The scripture says: What you look at but cannot see is called "Yi" (formless); what you listen to but cannot hear is called "Xi" (soundless); what you grasp but cannot touch is called "Wei" (substanceless). These three cannot be fully examined, so they are unified as "One." Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. Unbroken yet indescribable, it ultimately returns to nothingness. This is the form without form, the image without substance—it may be called "the elusive." Facing it, you cannot see its head; following it, you cannot see its tail. By holding fast to the eternal Dao, you may govern the present. To know the origin of the primordial is called the guiding principle of the Dao.

The essential teaching is this: One cannot be ignorant of the Dao, and to understand the Dao, one must know its origin. The origin must have a beginning, and the beginning must manifest in substance. The substances of the world are so numerous—which is not a manifestation of the Dao? Which Dao does not manifest through substance? Yet it cannot be precisely described in words.

This scripture describes the profound nature of the Dao (the Way) and the worldly conduct of ancient enlightened beings.

The Dao itself cannot be seen, heard, or touched—it is neither bright nor dark, continuous yet beyond description. Without fixed form, it appears empty yet truly exists, having neither beginning nor end. This formless, shapeless state is the very essence of the Dao. Those who grasp this primordial, intangible Dao can master tangible affairs in the world, cultivating both self and society.

Ancient enlightened beings (those "skilled as scholars") deeply understood this mysterious Dao, attaining a realm beyond ordinary comprehension. The scripture uses seven metaphors to describe their qualities: cautious as crossing a winter river, vigilant as fearing neighboring states, dignified as a guest, natural as melting ice, simple as raw timber, open as a valley, and accommodating as turbid water. They knew how to remain calm amid turmoil and nurture vitality within stillness.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture further explains that these enlightened beings abide in the great Dao, cultivating De (Virtue/Power) in obscurity, flowing with circumstances yet never complacent. The seven metaphors all illustrate their balanced, harmonious approach to life: neither hasty nor impulsive, neither indulgent nor obstinate, neither artificial nor narrow-minded, embracing all things. Just as turbid water clears when still and new life emerges from tranquility, the rise and fall of human affairs follows the cyclical patterns of heavenly Dao. Had Qu Yuan understood this principle, he could have remained loyal without drowning himself; had Bo Yi grasped it, he could have preserved his integrity without starving.

This scripture expounds the core Daoist concept of "maintaining emptiness and stillness, returning to the fundamental origin." Laozi teaches that those who embody the great Dao (the Way) do not pursue perfection nor cling to personal desires. Precisely because they lack such attachments, they can preserve things in their original state without forced innovation. Laozi himself lived through the Shang and Zhou dynasties, repeatedly declined official positions to live in seclusion, and famously disappeared westward through the Hangu Pass in his later years—embodying this very philosophy of life.

The scripture states that when one reaches a state of extreme emptiness and perfect stillness, one can observe the cyclical patterns of all things' growth and decay. Though the myriad phenomena appear complex, all ultimately return to their source. Returning to the source means stillness; stillness means returning to one's true nature; returning to one's true nature means abiding by the eternal Dao (the Way). Understanding this eternal principle is wisdom; failing to understand leads to reckless actions and misfortune. Those who comprehend the eternal Dao become all-embracing; being all-embracing leads to impartiality; impartiality leads to true sovereignty; true sovereignty aligns with heaven; aligning with heaven means attaining the Dao; attaining the Dao ensures endurance, safeguarding one from peril throughout life.

Here the text explains the origin of all things: Before heaven and earth existed, there was Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, cosmic origin), and before Taiji there was an even more primordial state of emptiness—this is the root of heaven and earth. The reason it doesn't say "reach Taiji" but rather "reach extreme emptiness" is because extreme emptiness is Wuji (the Limitless Void). When one attains perfect emptiness and stillness, one can perceive the cyclical essence of all phenomena, thereby comprehending the core principles governing heaven and earth.

The scripture also describes different levels of governance: The finest ruler is one whose people merely know of his existence; the next best is loved and praised by the people; the lesser makes people fear him; the worst is despised. Where trust is lacking, people naturally distrust. The wisest rulers seldom issue commands—when achievements are made, the people feel it happened naturally.

The commentator adds that in ancient times, people lived in nests and caves without taxes, corvée labor, rituals, punishments, or bureaucratic documents. The people knew they had a ruler, and the ruler knew his people—all coexisting in spontaneous harmony. This state of Wuwei (non-action) governance represents the highest political ideal in Daoist thought.

This passage describes the gradual moral decline from ancient times to the Spring and Autumn period. During the era of the Three Sovereigns (Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor), people lived in primal simplicity and natural harmony. Later, with the invention of writing, fishing nets, and farming tools, civilization emerged, and artificial governance began. The people benefited and felt close to their rulers.

By the time of the Five Emperors (Shaohao, Zhuanxu, Diku, Yao, and Shun), rituals and music systems developed, bringing stability that earned rulers praise. Subsequent events like Xia Qi's conquest of the Youhu clan, Shang Tang's exile of Jie of Xia, and King Wu of Zhou's campaign against King Zhou of Shang marked the rise of military force, making people fear their rulers. Later still, during King Zhao of Zhou's southern expeditions, King Yi of Zhou's decline, and King Ping of Zhou's eastern relocation, feudal lords overstepped ritual propriety, and respect for rulers diminished.

This transformation stems from a mutual lack of sincerity between rulers and subjects. When Emperor Yao governed, people remained so naturally simple they didn't even know how to praise his achievements.

The Classic of Rites states: The highest achievement is establishing virtue (De), next comes establishing merit, and last comes establishing writings. From ancient times to the Five Hegemons period, we observe people's attitudes shifting from closeness and praise to fear and disrespect. Though not naming specific historical figures, this passage reveals the profound pattern of moral decline over millennia.

Guan Yinzi observed: During the reigns of Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang, people perceived governance as completely natural. The scripture notes: Only when the great Dao (Way) is abandoned do humaneness and righteousness appear; only with the emergence of wisdom comes great artifice; only when families are discordant does filial piety become valued; only when states are chaotic do loyal ministers stand out.

The original commentary explains: After the Three Sovereigns, the great Dao began declining (primal nature fading); with the Five Emperors came humaneness and righteousness; the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou) brought wisdom; the Five Hegemons ushered in widespread artifice. This continuous moral deterioration ironically made virtues like loyalty and filial piety more conspicuous. Is this not the inevitable movement of heavenly principle?

In Emperor Yao's time, every household naturally embodied virtue—who then could be singled out as particularly loyal or filial? Later, Emperor Shun unfortunately had an obstinate father and arrogant younger brother who repeatedly tried to kill him, yet Shun's unwavering filial piety eventually transformed them. Precisely such difficult family relationships made Shun's virtue shine forth.

This passage examines the essence of loyalty and filial piety through historical contrasts. The author observes: had Tyrant Jie of Xia not been cruel, Guan Longfeng wouldn't have been executed; had King Zhou of Shang not been debauched, Bi Gan wouldn't have died remonstrating. These historical tragedies paradoxically highlight the value of loyal ministers. When families live in harmony, "filial piety" seems invisible yet remains ever-present; when the realm enjoys peace, "loyalty" appears diminished yet never disappears.

The text laments how the ostentatious promotion of loyalty and filial piety often signals the erosion of genuine virtue, marking society's departure from ancient simplicity. The classic injunction to "abolish sagely wisdom, discard benevolence and righteousness, renounce cunning and profit" may seem extreme, but targets precisely those who exploit sagely wisdom to deceive people, cloak wars in righteousness, or use clever schemes to aid thieves. Stripped of such hypocrisy, people would live contentedly with abundant resources, naturally returning to their filial and compassionate nature, leaving no room for banditry.

The author argues that by the late Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, so-called sagely wisdom and benevolence had degenerated into fig leaves for usurpers like Tian Heng who murdered rulers to seize Qi. Hence classics advocate returning to fundamentals: maintaining outward simplicity while preserving inner integrity, with leaders setting examples. Even if complete selflessness proves unattainable, reducing selfish desires and eschewing thievery remains essential. When people prosper, filial devotion and kindness naturally reemerge.

Later passages contrast worldly pleasures with Daoist realization: where ordinary people delight in lavish banquets and spring outings, awakened beings resemble innocent infants—seemingly possessing nothing yet inwardly fulfilled. This "foolish" mentality actually represents the purest enlightenment. The entire passage reveals Daoism's profound insight about returning to primal authenticity and eliminating hypocrisy.

The worldly people all appear clever and sharp-witted, while I alone seem muddled and dull; the multitudes are all calculating and shrewd, while I alone remain simple and unheeding. My mind is vast like the ocean, boundless in its silence. All people have their pursuits, while I alone cling to stubborn simplicity, standing apart from the crowd.

What sets me apart from others is that I treasure seeking nourishment from the "Dao" (the Mother, source of all things). The sage's learning comes from inward attainment of true knowledge, while worldly learning chases after external information. The sage does not pursue outward acquisition, hence it is said: "Sever worldly learning and there will be no worries." Yet between flattery and condemnation, between good and evil—how much difference is there really?

The "dread" mentioned here refers to the worldly people of later times. The multitudes bustle about, shrewdly calculating, each believing they've achieved something—but how could they know the Dao is boundless and inexhaustible! Lavish feasts and springtime terrace excursions—these are all external pursuits. I alone remain tranquil and serene, like an infant who has not yet learned to smile; free and unrestrained, as if with nowhere to return; empty within, as though something were missing.

Ah, this foolish mind of mine! Pure and unadorned, alone in its dim confusion; simple and unheeding, vast like the ocean in its boundless silence. All people have their pursuits, while I alone cling to stubborn simplicity, standing apart from others. I treasure seeking nourishment from the "Dao"—the "Dao" is sought within myself, is this not indeed inward attainment? Having attained true knowledge within, there's no need to pursue external acquisition. One may sever worldly learning, and I too shall be without worries.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture elucidates the nature of the Dao (the Way) and the wisdom of sages in navigating life.

Regarding the essence of the Dao, Du Daojian explains that "great De (Virtue/Power)" refers to the supreme moral attainment of the human heart. This virtue is all-encompassing and wholly aligned with the principles of the Dao. The Dao itself is elusive and unfathomable—appearing empty yet containing form, seemingly present yet intangible. Within its profound obscurity lies pure Jing (essence), utterly genuine and eternally unchanging from antiquity to the present. By observing this timeless Dao, one may comprehend the origin of all things in heaven and earth.

As for understanding the myriad phenomena, the key lies in inner realization. Du Daojian asserts that we perceive the world through the heart's attunement to the Dao.

The second section discusses the art of living: bending leads to preservation, yielding brings eventual vindication, hollows become filled, the worn-out is renewed, restraint yields abundance, while greed breeds confusion. Sages uphold the fundamental principle of the Dao as their guiding standard. They achieve prominence without self-display, discernment without self-assertion, accomplishment without self-promotion, and endurance without arrogance. Precisely because they contend with none, none in the world can contend with them. The ancient saying "yielding achieves completion" is no empty phrase—it truly leads to fulfillment.

Du Daojian emphasizes that sincerity is essential. When sages maintain "holding to the One" (adhering to the Dao's foundation) as their life principle, they act from genuine sincerity. Sincerely maintaining bending leads to straightening; maintaining hollowness leads to fullness; maintaining worn-out things leads to renewal; maintaining restraint leads to attainment. Without sincerity, greed only brings confusion. Therefore, sages achieve merit precisely through avoiding self-display, self-assertion, self-promotion, and arrogance.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "non-contention" (bu zheng) and "utmost sincerity." Laozi states: Only by not clinging to personal views can one perceive truth clearly; only by not self-righteousness can virtue (De) manifest; only by not self-promotion can achievements be established; only by not self-aggrandizement can lasting development occur. Those who uphold these principles will not contend with all things, thus no one in the world can contend with them. The ancient saying "yielding leads to preservation" — could this be empty words? If I can steadfastly hold to the Dao (the Way), I shall become the world's model, truly attaining perfection.

The scripture continues: Speaking little accords with the natural Dao. Violent winds cannot last a morning; torrential rains cannot persist a full day — these are acts of heaven and earth. Even heaven and earth's (referring to natural laws) most violent states cannot endure, let alone humans? Therefore, those who seek the Dao must unite with it; those who seek virtue must unite with it; those who are lost will unite with loss. Those united with the Dao will attain it; those united with virtue will attain it; those united with loss will sink into it. Those lacking sincerity will naturally not gain trust.

The Original Meaning commentary explains: True "wordlessness" represents the highest state of wuwei (non-action). If one constantly seeks to act through words, it reveals insufficient sincerity, thereby severing the great Dao. This chapter extends the preceding discussion on "utmost sincerity," showing that gaining or losing the Dao hinges on authenticity. Violent storms harm all things yet cannot last a day — this is not the way of utmost sincerity. If heaven and earth's violent phenomena cannot endure, how much less can humanity's harsh governance and oppressive decrees? Policies that harm the people inevitably bring suffering and ultimately prove unsustainable.

Thus, those in the world who seek the great Dao must follow the true Dao. When leaders follow the Dao, the people will unite with it; when leaders honor virtue, the people will unite with it; when leaders lose direction, the people will follow them astray. Therefore, those united with the Dao will attain it; those united with virtue will gain it; those keeping company with loss will ultimately lose all. Those lacking sincerity gain no trust — should this truth not be deeply contemplated? The Doctrine of the Mean states: Cultivate sincerity in subtle beginnings, and it will manifest; manifesting, it will become evident; becoming evident, it will shine forth; shining forth, it will move others; moving others, it will transform them; transforming them, one attains the power to nurture all things. Only those of utmost sincerity in the world can achieve this transformative work. From subtle sincerity to ultimate transformation requires six stages of change — this is truly demanding. Those in positions of leadership should particularly understand this principle.

This scripture primarily expounds two key teachings:

The first warns against seeking quick success. Just as standing on tiptoe makes one unsteady and taking oversized strides slows progress, those who self-display cannot perceive truth clearly, the self-righteous struggle to manifest their abilities, self-promoters find it hard to establish merit, and the arrogant cannot endure. From the perspective of the Dao (the Way), such behaviors are like leftover food or unsightly tumors - even objects would detest them. Thus, those who truly understand the Dao would never act this way. The same applies to pursuing fame in officialdom - once impetuous ambition arises, one becomes trapped in futile striving. When the heart is pulled by material desires, excessive pursuit of fame without proper measure inevitably leads to downfall.

The second explains the nature of the Dao. Before heaven and earth formed, there existed an undifferentiated unity (referring to the Dao) - silent and soundless, standing alone unchanging, circulating endlessly without cease. This can be considered the source of all things. Though we cannot name it, we provisionally call it "Dao" or alternatively "the Great." This "Great" continuously extends in operation, yet ultimately returns to its origin. Therefore the Dao is supreme, as are heaven, earth, and humanity. Among the cosmic "Four Greats," humanity is one. Humans emulate earth, earth emulates heaven, heaven emulates the Dao, and the Dao emulates spontaneity (ziran). The mentioned "Five Ultimates" (Taiyi, Taichu, Taishi, Taisu, Taiji) represent different stages in the Daoist cosmological process, illustrating how all things originated from an undifferentiated chaotic state.

(Note: The "Five Ultimates" are Daoist cosmological terms referring to five evolutionary phases before heaven-earth formation; "Liezi" was a prominent Daoist figure)

This scripture explores the origin and characteristics of the Dao (the Way). The author first presents a fundamental view: before the human body took form, heaven and earth already existed; and before heaven and earth came into being, the original mind of humanity already existed. This original mind is the Dao—not only do I possess it, but every person carries this original mind, and every mind contains the Dao within. Understanding this principle is called "knowing the Dao," and mastering it is called "attaining the Dao."

The author describes how during moments of leisure while performing daily tasks like sweeping, they would sit quietly in spiritual contemplation, tracing back to the primordial Dao in its undifferentiated chaos. This Dao is silent and formless, operating independently without change, endlessly generating and transforming all things in cyclical fashion. From ancient times to the present, it has never erred—it can truly be called the source of all things under heaven. Laozi (the Venerable Sage) humbly claimed not to know its name, reluctantly calling it "Dao" or sometimes "the Great."

The text uses four characters to describe the Dao's operational patterns: "Great" (da) indicates its vastness, "Passing" (shi) its movement, "Far-reaching" (yuan) its infinite extension, and "Returning" (fan) its cyclical nature. Through this cyclical movement, one can observe the original mind of heaven and earth. The Dao's waxing and waning resemble a seamless circle without endpoints—it precedes heaven and earth yet its beginning cannot be known; it outlasts heaven and earth yet its end cannot be discerned.

Viewed from the perspective of the Dao, the Dao is the most vast; viewed from heaven and earth's perspective, heaven and earth are most vast; viewed from the ruler's perspective, the ruler is most vast. Yet fundamentally, all four are encompassed within the law of emptiness. If people can observe heaven and earth, seek near and far, comprehend heaven through earth and know the Dao through nature, they can cultivate their inner nature while governing the external world. Ultimately achieving success and withdrawing, transcending the ordinary to become sage-like, they merge with the Dao in lasting harmony.

The passage concludes by quoting scripture to illustrate how steadiness is the root of lightness, and stillness governs agitation. Even amidst worldly splendor, the noble person remains transcendent. If the ruler of ten thousand chariots acts rashly and impulsively, they will lose both subjects and throne. Here the character for "ruler" (wang) also represents "person"—mentioning "ruler" inherently includes "person," and using "ruler" expresses reverence for sovereign authority.

The patterns of the world operate thus: the substantial governs the insubstantial, and stillness overcomes restlessness—this is the natural order. Substance and stillness are the root, like the sovereign; lightness and agitation are the branches, like the subjects. When the root is substantial, the branches flourish; when the sovereign is still, the subjects are at peace. I observe that when this principle is followed, the world naturally submits, and all under heaven is tranquil. Thus, those with De (Virtue) always move with deliberate gravity (symbolizing stability). Though surrounded by splendor, they remain detached—these are the ones who truly understand the Dao (the Way).

Only genuine noble persons comprehend this principle, maintaining dignified composure in action and transcendent detachment in repose. Their conduct never loses substance, their dwelling never loses stillness. Alas! Those who rule ten thousand chariots often act with reckless abandon. Consider the foolish rulers of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties—they fell short of noble persons who maintained substance and stillness. Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang exemplify reckless governance: Yi Yin's five remonstrations went unheeded, and Prince Wei fled to Zhou with sacrificial vessels—these show how insubstantiality loses subjects. The foundations laid by Yu of Xia and Tang of Shang crumbled when their descendants became tyrants—this demonstrates how restlessness loses sovereignty. Should not those who govern take warning from this?

The scripture states: "Those skilled in walking leave no tracks; skilled speakers make no missteps; skilled counters need no tallies; skilled closers need no bolts yet what they shut cannot be opened; skilled binders need no cords yet what they tie cannot be undone." Therefore, sages always excel at saving others, so none are abandoned; always excel at utilizing things, so nothing is wasted. This is called "inherited clarity." The virtuous serve as teachers for the unvirtuous, while the unvirtuous serve as cautionary examples. Not esteeming teachers nor favoring examples may seem muddled, but this is actually profound wisdom.

Here, "skill" encompasses both compassionate kindness and perfect appropriateness. When one attains perfect appropriateness, nothing is inappropriate, nothing unskillful. Skillful walking, speaking, counting, closing, and binding—in all affairs, perfect appropriateness is achieved. Leaving no tracks, making no missteps, needing no tallies, bolts, or cords—these manifest flawlessness in concrete matters. Thus, when sages save people and things, they always employ the most appropriate means, abandoning neither person nor object. This is the meaning of "inherited clarity"—doing only what is perfectly appropriate, never what is inappropriate.

The virtuous can serve as teachers for the unvirtuous, while the unvirtuous may become mirrors for the virtuous's cultivation. Though teachers should guide others with virtuous teachings, harboring an arrogant attitude of "I am instructing others" makes such mentality unworthy of admiration. This is why Mencius cautioned against those who relish being teachers. While learning from others' experiences is valuable, approaching it with a utilitarian mindset of "I'm using others" strips the act of its benevolence. Thus, the noble person ensures that the act of teaching never harms others—neither promoting the arrogance of teaching nor favoring utilitarian learning.

Viewed through worldly eyes, these principles may seem simplistic, yet they conceal profound mysteries; seen through the lens of the Dao, they reveal subtle and profound truths.

The scripture states: Knowing the strength of the masculine yet abiding in the softness of the feminine, one becomes the valley of the world. As a valley, eternal De (Virtue/Power) never fades, ultimately returning to the purity of an infant. Aware of brightness yet dwelling in obscurity, one becomes the model for the world. As a model, eternal De never errs, ultimately returning to the undifferentiated state of Wuji (the Limitless). Recognizing honor yet embracing humility, one becomes the deep ravine of the world. As a ravine, eternal De is fulfilled, ultimately returning to original simplicity. This primal simplicity differentiates into the myriad things, and sages who master this principle become true administrators—thus, perfect governance never forcibly disrupts nature.

The original commentary explains: The infant symbolizes the mysterious essence of the human body, Wuji represents the mysterious essence of heaven and earth, and primal simplicity embodies the mysterious essence of the Dao. Understanding the body's mysterious essence allows one to abide in gentleness without contention, like an ocean containing all things—thus eternal De never departs from the body's essence, returning to infant-like purity. Comprehending heaven and earth's mysterious essence enables one to dwell in obscurity without flaunting brilliance, like upholding fundamental principles that unite all existence—thus eternal De never strays from the essence of creation, returning to Wuji's undifferentiated state. Realizing the Dao's mysterious essence allows one to embrace humility without craving glory (humility preserves one's lowly position), like an unfathomable abyss harboring the yang qi's nascent vitality—thus eternal De reaches fulfillment within the Dao's essence, returning to original simplicity. As primal simplicity differentiates into concrete forms, sages who grasp this pattern become true rulers. Perfect governance never forcibly severs natural harmony.

This passage elucidates the principles of governing the world. The world is like a sacred vessel (shenqi) that only sages can properly wield. When sages occupy the imperial throne (baowei), they resemble the ocean accommodating all rivers, allowing all things to naturally submit. If one harbors intentions of forceful possession—like the ocean attempting to control all rivers—the result will only be dried-up tributaries, and the ocean itself will soon run dry.

This sacred vessel of the world cannot be controlled through clever schemes nor seized by brute force. Those who attempt forceful possession will inevitably fail; those who stubbornly cling will ultimately lose. All things under heaven follow their own patterns: some advance while others follow, some are praised while others are disparaged, some flourish while others decline, some remain stable while others face peril. Understanding this principle, sages avoid extremes, extravagance, and excessive actions.

Those who assist rulers with the Dao never rely on military might to assert dominance. For warfare brings dire consequences: lands where armies pass become desolate, and great battles inevitably lead to years of calamity. Truly skilled strategists know when to stop after achieving their aims, never bullying the weak through brute strength. They achieve victory without arrogance and accomplish goals without forcefulness. When things reach their zenith, they inevitably decline—this contradicts the Dao, and what contradicts the Dao soon perishes.

The reason rulers can possess the world lies in possessing the land; with land comes the state, and with the state comes the people. Since the foundation of the state rests with the people, governing the world must be rooted in the Dao, never through forceful seizure by military might.

The common people of the world are like sacred vessels (referring to treasures that require careful handling). The previous chapter used this principle to admonish rulers to govern in accordance with the Dao (the Way). This chapter employs the remaining teachings to caution ministers against the reckless use of military force. Ah! The profound intentions of the sage Laozi are far-reaching, never forgetting the welfare of all under heaven—this is precisely why he became a teacher for all ages.

The Dao of heaven (natural law) delights in nurturing life and abhors destruction; it diminishes the full and benefits the humble; it values compassion and gentleness, not brute force. For compassion brings vitality, while brute force only invites ruin—this is an inevitable truth. Thus, a noble person resorts to action only when absolutely necessary, for the sake of the people, and must follow the Dao to assist the ruler, protect the state, and bring peace to the populace. Never should they rely on military might to harm the nation or oppress the people. Moreover, there is no eternal victory in war, and the use of force often invites retribution, with defeat following closely behind. How can one not be vigilant?

If a minister fails to assist the ruler with the Dao but instead acts recklessly, indulging in militarism and coveting military achievements, inciting internal strife over territorial disputes and plunging the people into the misery of war—when the people can no longer endure such oppression, they either perish in the conflict or flee to other lands. Such are the calamities brought by brute force: wherever the army marches, fields lie fallow, and thorns grow rampant. A campaign spanning a hundred li brings disaster to a hundred li; a thousand-li campaign brings calamity to a thousand li. Once the army is mobilized, famine strikes that very year, even before natural disasters like floods or droughts occur. Is this the duty of a minister?

The truly wise achieve their purpose and then stop, never seeking to flaunt their strength or engage in strife. The key lies in knowing what to embrace and what to discard. Consider Confucius’s response when Duke Ling of Wei asked about battle formations: he spoke of ritual vessels (zudou, sacrificial utensils), showing that military affairs were not worth discussing. When Zigong asked about governance, Confucius advocated abolishing armaments, demonstrating that war could be avoided. Alas! Confucius’s concern for the world was no different from that of the sage Laozi.

Having achieved the goal, one should not boast, show off, or grow arrogant. Recognize that such actions are taken only as a last resort—just as we say these principles are followed only when absolutely necessary. This is the true meaning of "achieving the goal without flaunting strength." When things reach their zenith, they begin to decline. A minister who rises to the highest rank but fails to retire, still obsessed with wielding military power, invites danger at the peak of their influence—this is the mark of one who does not understand the Dao. What does not accord with the Dao perishes prematurely, let alone practices like "discarding the bow when the birds are gone and cooking the hound when the hare is caught" (metaphors for being cast aside after achieving one’s purpose), which only hasten one’s downfall. How can such a person hope to assist the ruler in governing and bringing peace to the world? Those who hear these teachings should take them as a solemn warning.

Weapons are instruments of ill omen, detested by all beings between heaven and earth. Thus, those who truly understand the Dao do not resort to them lightly. While noble men traditionally honor the left side in peaceful times, military affairs place precedence on the right—this shows weapons are not tools for gentlemen. They should only be used as a last resort, and even then approached with calm detachment.

Victory in war merits no celebration. To take pride in triumph is to delight in slaughter. Those who revel in killing can never win the allegiance of all under heaven. Auspicious affairs honor the left; ominous events honor the right. Therefore in military formations, the lieutenant general stands on the left while the commanding general stands on the right—treating warfare with the solemnity of funeral rites. When casualties are numerous, they should be mourned with grief; even victories should be handled with funeral ceremonies.

(Original Meaning) The bow and arrow's role as instruments of deterrence has a long history, yet there's no shortage of examples where force was misused to oppress the Son of Heaven. How can we not be cautious about weapons? They are murderous tools—if certain weapons are praised as exceptional, it inevitably means there exist those who take pleasure in killing. While earlier we discussed "sacred vessels" (objects aligned with heavenly principle), here we speak of "murderous implements"—the objects themselves carry no inherent morality, only the manner of their use. How could one who governs the world allow themselves to be detested by all beings? Thus, those who embody the Dao never lightly resort to arms.

This passage continues the admonition to ministers fond of warfare: in peaceful times, noble men occupy the honored left position; only during conflict do they shift to the subordinate right. Weapons are not a gentleman's constant companions—when compelled to use them, one must maintain detachment. This detachment reflects the true intent of a kingly army: to pacify the people without coveting prisoners or spoils, free from deceitful designs. Hence even victory brings no sense of glory. To consider triumph beautiful is to love killing—like Zi Yu of Chu at the Battle of Chengpu or Xian Gu of Jin at Bi, both warmongers who ultimately failed. Mencius told King Xiang of Liang: "Only those who dislike killing can unify the world," adding, "There is none under heaven who would not submit." How could anyone who delights in slaughter ever succeed in ruling all under heaven? The left signifies honor, the right humility. Auspicious events favor the left for celebration, inauspicious ones the right for mourning. The lieutenant general, holding lesser authority over slaughter, stands at the honored left; the commanding general, wielding the power of life and death, takes the subordinate right.

This scripture conveys two main themes: reflections on warfare and power, and an exposition on the essential characteristics of the Dao (the Way).

Regarding warfare, the text observes that rulers who hold the power of life and death should maintain a humble demeanor. Just as in military formations where the lieutenant general (assistant commander) stands on the left while the senior general (chief commander) takes the right position, this arrangement embodies vigilance against potential dangers. Even when resorting to arms becomes unavoidable, one should approach warfare with mourning in heart, treating it with funeral rites. This reflects the ancient sage-kings' political philosophy of "compassionate heart," emphasizing that war must remain the last resort.

The second part delves into the nature of the Dao. The Dao itself is nameless and formless (referring to the ultimate existence beyond specific names and shapes), appearing insignificant yet supremely profound. If rulers can follow this nameless Dao, all things will naturally submit. Like the heavenly dew (symbolizing natural blessings) that falls when yin and yang energies interact between heaven and earth, it distributes itself evenly without requiring commands. Though all things acquire specific names after differentiating from the Dao, the Dao itself knows when to stop—just as streams ultimately return to the sea.

The text concludes with examples of Fu Xi and King Wen: Fu Xi comprehended the Dao and created the primordial Bagua (the earliest divination system), establishing cosmic order; King Wen inherited this tradition to build the kingly way. This illustrates how true rulers achieve governance through realizing the nameless Dao.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Scripture of Dao and De explores the wisdom of human conduct and perspectives on life and death. The text states: The Great Dao (the Way) accomplishes all things by naming them, just as in the later Heaven Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the Qian trigram retreats to the northwest and the Kun trigram to the southwest—both heaven and earth understand the importance of knowing when to stop. Only by knowing when to halt can danger be avoided; yielding at the right time prevents calamity. This embodies the exemplary conduct of ancient sage-kings.

Sages illuminate the essence of Dao by observing the patterns of heaven and earth, offering guidance to rulers on governance. They employ various metaphors to explain profound truths, yet still worry that later generations may not fully grasp them. Thus, they use even simpler analogies, such as: The Dao's movement through the world is like streams eventually flowing into rivers and seas (an analogy previously explained in the chapter "Knowing the Masculine").

The scripture states: To understand others is wisdom; to know oneself is enlightenment. To conquer others is strength; to master oneself is true power. Contentment is wealth, and persistent action demonstrates resolve. Only by not losing one's roots can one endure; only when the spirit (Shen) does not perish after death can one achieve true longevity.

The original commentary explains: Life and death are matters of great significance. Whether ancient or modern, wise or foolish, after death, the soul either reincarnates as a human or transforms into a spirit—the essence remains the same. In life, people experience ups and downs, gains and losses, with emotions fluctuating like the changing weather. Without the guidance of Dao, one is prone to missteps. Therefore, one must first know oneself and others to navigate human affairs skillfully and ultimately penetrate the mysteries of life and death.

The so-called "knowing" does not refer to understanding another's relatives, friends, or achievements, but to comprehending the human heart. Recognizing others' thoughts prevents harsh judgment—this is wisdom. Understanding one's own true nature prevents reckless action—this is enlightenment. Conquering others relies on strength (because all people have desires), but mastering oneself is true power (because it aligns with heavenly principle). The contented are inwardly rich; persistent action embodies vigor and resolve. Not losing one's roots ensures endurance (because it accords with the Middle Way), and the spirit's immortality after death is true longevity (because it signifies complete return to the Dao).

Regardless of lifespan, one should follow the natural course. Not only should one establish enduring deeds of merit to benefit the world, but more importantly, one must realize this truth: In life, a person manifests in human form; after death, they transform into a spirit. Though they seem to vanish, they persist—formless yet mysteriously present. This is true immortality.

In the Daode Jing, Laozi describes the Great Dao (Da Dao) as being like overflowing river water—omnipresent, nurturing all things yet never claiming credit. It fulfills all without asserting ownership, nourishes all without domination. Precisely because the Dao is eternally free from selfish desire, it may be called "small"; yet when all things return to it, it may be called "great."

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) emulates this nature—caring for and nurturing the people without arrogance. The world supports him without feeling burdened, gladly elevating him without weariness. Even if the sage does not seek greatness, he is naturally revered. The Dao is everywhere, effortlessly accommodating all. All things rely on it for growth, yet it never refuses them. Though it enables their flourishing, it never demands gratitude; though it accomplishes what must be done, it claims no merit. It nourishes without ruling, giving love naturally.

When the Dao is desireless, it appears humble (called "small"); when all things return to it, it appears vast (called "great"). The sage, following this example, achieves great merit and virtue yet never considers himself great. Thus, the world naturally turns to him, and in the end, his greatness is fulfilled. As I (the author) contemplate this chapter with closed eyes, I seem to glimpse the pristine simplicity of the era of Fuxi (the legendary Emperor Yi Huang), when people lived as naturally as birds on branches or deer in the wild.

Another passage states: When a sage who embodies the Dao governs the world, people from all directions return to him without harm, achieving peace and stability. Just as music and fine food make travelers pause, the Dao manifests as bland and flavorless. Look for it—it cannot be seen; listen for it—it cannot be heard, yet its function is inexhaustible.

The sage follows the boundless Dao, treating all peoples (the "Four Barbarians and Eight Tribes" refer to various ethnic groups) with equal care, ensuring balanced development for all things. Thus, the world comes to him. Those who come suffer no harm, settling in contentment. Contentment brings harmony, and harmony brings tranquility. The Yellow Emperor of antiquity acted thus—observing the heavenly Dao and following its principles, he governed through non-action (Wuwei). How, then, does one govern? Just as one entertains guests with music and food, so should one pacify rebels with virtue, treating them as honored guests.

This passage speaks of the natural laws governing the development of all things. Just as day alternates with night and human affairs wax and wane, there exist irresistible cosmic principles. Spring inevitably warms after winter's chill, autumn cools after summer's heat—these are cyclical patterns of nature.

Laozi illustrates this truth with vivid metaphors: what you wish to contract must first be expanded; what you would weaken must first be strengthened; what you would abolish must first flourish; what you would take must first be given. These reveal the subtle signs of transformation, embodying the wisdom that "the soft overcomes the hard." For pliant things adapt to circumstances, while rigid things decay upon reaching their zenith.

As fish cannot leave water, so people cannot exist without their nation. Water is the foundation of a fish's existence, just as food and resources sustain the people's livelihood. A ruler who understands this principle wouldn't flaunt wealth or impose harsh taxes. One who truly comprehends the Dao's operation governs like water nourishing fish—treating people with kindness so they prosper without scattering.

This passage from The Original Meaning of the Profound Scripture of Dao and De explains that governing a state must follow the natural patterns of the Dao (the Way). Just as the changing seasons and the ebb and flow of water follow their inherent rhythms, statecraft must discern the boundary between "what should be done" and "what should not be done."

The scripture states that the Dao appears to engage in Wuwei (non-action), yet it accomplishes everything. If a ruler can uphold this principle, all things will naturally flourish. Even when greed and desire arise, they should be pacified with the "nameless simplicity." This state of pristine simplicity returns people to tranquility, and the world naturally settles into order.

The original commentary explains: The Dao has constant principles governing what should and should not be done. Just as spring naturally brings warmth and summer naturally brings heat, the movement of Yin-Yang never errs. Violating these patterns leads to climatic anomalies and harm to all beings. The same logic applies to governance—when the ruler fulfills the ruler's proper duties without overstepping into ministers' affairs, and officials each perform their roles, the bureaucracy naturally corrects itself, and the people find their rightful places.

If the ruler's De (Virtue/Power) is deficient, chaos emerges. So long as superiors and subordinates each keep to their stations—with those above not oppressing those below, and those below not usurping those above—the people will naturally submit to transformation. When improper desires arise, the ruler should reflect on their root cause and resolve them through serene Wuwei rather than forceful suppression. This approach of non-forced action allows problems to dissolve naturally.

The so-called "nameless simplicity" means neither deliberately pursuing nor forcibly prohibiting. Maintaining this transcendent attitude, those above need not feel ashamed, while those below naturally feel reverence. Ultimately, this achieves the effect of teaching without words and the world rectifying itself. True Wuwei is not like inert wood or stone, utterly inactive, but action that aligns with natural patterns—precisely measured and perfectly timed.

Wuwei (non-action) does not mean doing nothing, but rather achieving the state of accomplishing all things precisely by not forcing or contriving. The profound meaning of this state transcends ordinary human understanding.

Just as water flows naturally without deliberately choosing its path, yet nourishes all things; or as the seasons change without human arrangement, yet allow all beings to grow in harmony—true Wuwei involves letting go of personal attachments and allowing the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe) to unfold naturally. In doing so, everything is fulfilled. This subtle principle requires us to move beyond superficial perception and truly embody its deeper essence.

This scripture primarily discusses the different levels of De (Virtue/Power) and their evolutionary process. Du Daojian (a renowned Daoist master of the Yuan Dynasty) explains in his commentary: The highest level of "superior De" naturally aligns with the Dao without conscious pursuit of virtue, embodying the most expansive quality; the lesser "inferior De," by contrast, clings to maintaining virtuous conduct, thereby appearing constrained.

Those with true superior De govern through Wuwei (non-action), free from deliberate effort; practitioners of inferior De act with conscious intention. The benevolent act purposefully yet without selfish motives; the righteous perform good deeds with specific aims. When it reaches the level of ritual propriety, even strenuous efforts to implement it receive little response and may even provoke contention.

The devolution of social morality unfolds thus: Only after losing the great Dao does De emerge; only after losing De does benevolence arise; only after losing benevolence does righteousness appear; and only after losing righteousness does ritual propriety become emphasized. Ritual propriety, in fact, marks the beginning of the decline of loyalty and trustworthiness, potentially becoming the seed of chaos. Those who boast of foresight merely grasp superficial forms of the Dao, representing in truth the onset of folly.

Therefore, the noble person should establish themselves in the substantial essence of sincere virtue rather than superficial embellishments. Du Daojian laments: The royal way of ancient sovereigns (the Dao of Fuxi and other sage-kings) gradually degraded into imperial virtue (the De of Yao and Shun), then further declined into kingly benevolent governance, then into hegemonic stratagems, ultimately devolving into the deceit and strife of the Warring States period. This moral degeneration resembles rolling up one's sleeves for combat—a truly lamentable state.

(Note: The term "hegemonic lords" refers to feudal leaders like the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period; "rolling up sleeves" signifies preparing for physical confrontation.)

This scripture expounds how the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) manifests in all things. The ancient sages (xuan sheng su wang) governed the world through moral teachings—though their expressions differed, their core philosophy remained consistent. A true noble person should embrace the world in their heart, maintaining integrity whether serving in office or living in seclusion, for the Dao is embodied in such conduct.

The text enumerates the importance of "attaining the One" (grasping the essence of the Dao): When heaven attains the Dao, it becomes clear; when earth attains the Dao, it becomes tranquil; when spirits (shen) attain the Dao, they become efficacious; when river valleys attain the Dao, they become full; when all things attain the Dao, they flourish; and when rulers attain the Dao, they govern the world properly. Conversely, without the Dao, heaven would collapse, earth would quake, spirits would vanish, valleys would dry up, all things would perish, and rulers would lose their authority.

The scripture emphasizes that nobility must take humility as its root, and height must be founded upon the low. Thus, rulers refer to themselves as "solitary," "desolate," and "unworthy" (ancient royal self-deprecations)—precisely because they recognize lowliness as their foundation. Just as a cart with too many spokes becomes unusable, it is better to be an unadorned stone than a polished jade.

The principle of the Dao is this: All things in heaven and earth have their proper measure—it is better to fall short than to exceed. Just as the heavens lack the northwest (an ancient astronomical concept) and the earth sinks in the southeast, it is precisely because of these deficiencies that they endure. Even sages are not omnipotent, and it is this very limitation that makes them sages. If rulers understand this truth, they must remain humble—how much more so should their subjects?

From a macro perspective, many things should not exist; from a micro perspective, many things should. Neither absolute being nor absolute non-being is ideal—the key lies in grasping the proper measure of the Dao. Only when all things in heaven and earth find their rightful place can they fulfill their functions. Exceeding one's proper measure leads to reversal: When heaven becomes excessively clear, it cracks; when earth becomes excessively still, it trembles; when spirits become excessively manifest, they vanish; when valleys become excessively full, they dry up; when all things grow excessively, they perish; and when rulers become excessively exalted, they fall. This is the principle of reversal when things reach their extremes.

This scripture elucidates the Daoist perspective on the dialectical relationship between nobility and humility, height and foundation, as well as the operational principles of the Dao (the Way).

It begins by stating that nobility must take humility as its root, and height must be grounded in what lies below. Only by knowing contentment and maintaining proper measure can one endure long. Thus, when occupying an elevated position, one must not forget the foundation. This is exemplified by how ancient rulers referred to themselves as "the solitary," "the unworthy," or "the deficient"—demonstrating humility as their fundamental principle. True De (Virtue/Power) values concealment; deliberate display leads to the loss of its essence. Just as focusing solely on the wheels or shafts of a carriage obscures the true nature of the whole vehicle, the Way of rulers should neither flaunt brilliance like jade nor debase itself like a common stone. Only by maintaining the Middle Way can one endure.

The passage then explains the phrases "Reversal is the movement of the Dao" and "Weakness is the function of the Dao." The first refers to the Dao's essence, the second to its operation. The Dao moves in cyclical patterns, like the changing seasons that reveal the laws of heaven and earth. The Dao has no fixed form—transformation is its very nature. Weakness manifests the Dao's function, for what is soft and yielding often possesses greater vitality. All things under heaven arise from "being" (you), yet "being" itself originates from "non-being" (wu). Emptiness transforms into Shen (spirit), Shen into Qi (vital energy), and Qi into form (physical manifestation). All that takes form must eventually perish and return to "non-being." Only that which never perishes is the true Dao. Observing the growth of all things reveals the role of Qi, while the source of Qi is Shen, and the origin of Shen is the Dao.

Here, "Shen" is interpreted as nature (xing, one's innate character), and "Qi" as life (ming, vitality). Their union constitutes the Dao. The sages established teachings to guide people in cultivating both nature and life through the practice of the Dao. This aligns with Confucius's concept of "fulfilling one's nature to reach the mandate" and Zisi's statement that "what Heaven decrees is called nature," though Laozi emphasizes "returning to the source of life" (fuming) rather than extensively discussing "nature."

This passage explores the relationship between human nature (xing) and celestial mandate (ming). Our innate nature (xing) is what we're born with, while the celestial mandate (ming) is bestowed by heaven—together they form the foundation of life. Without the celestial mandate, life cannot exist; without innate nature, heaven would have nothing to bestow life upon. Only when nature and mandate mutually nourish each other can the complete principle of life manifest. When life ends, the physical form perishes and the celestial mandate returns to heaven, yet innate nature remains indestructible, eternal like the Dao itself. To cultivate this principle is to practice the Dao; to comprehend it is to attain the Dao.

Some seekers fail to examine their own nature when studying the Dao, instead inquiring about celestial mandate from others—this shows they haven't truly understood the essential relationship between nature and mandate. Thus the scripture continues: Those of superior capacity hear the Dao and diligently practice it; those of medium capacity hear it with half-belief and half-doubt; those of inferior capacity hear it and laugh heartily—if they didn't laugh, it would indicate the Dao wasn't profound enough. Hence the ancient saying: Those who understand the Dao appear simple; those advancing in the Dao seem to retreat; the smoothest path appears rugged. Supreme De (virtue) resembles an empty valley; purest whiteness appears stained; abundant virtue always seems insufficient; vigorous virtue appears indolent; unadorned genuineness seems changeable. The most square has no corners; the most precious vessel takes longest to complete; the loudest sound is barely audible; the greatest form has no shape. Thus the Dao remains hidden and nameless, yet perfectly nourishes and accomplishes all things.

The Original Meaning commentary explains: The Dao truly exists yet eludes grasp—it can be transmitted but not directly given, attainable yet invisible. Superior practitioners recognize both the Dao's real existence and its formless, Wuwei (non-active) state, hence their diligent cultivation. Medium practitioners know the Dao exists but haven't fully comprehended its formless mystery, hence their partial belief. Inferior practitioners remain confused about both aspects, hence their laughter—for such people possess shallow endowment, clouded by desires, with heavenly principle still obscure. If they struggle with tangible, active phenomena, how much more with the Dao's formless Wuwei existence? Their laughter thus confirms the Dao's profundity. The subsequent eight paradoxical examples (understanding appearing like ignorance, advancement resembling retreat, etc.) all illustrate how the Dao's manifestations often contradict conventional logic. The most square having no corners (thus embracing all); the most precious vessel requiring prolonged crafting (thus more valuable); the loudest sound being nearly silent (thus universally audible); the greatest form being shapeless (thus all-encompassing)—the Dao remains subtly nameless, yet most perfectly nourishes and accomplishes all things.

This scripture elucidates the essential characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and its process of generating all things, with core concepts that can be summarized as follows:

Though formless and seemingly void, the Dao contains boundless creative power. It operates silently without display, knows all yet remains wordless, and possesses infinite capacity while practicing wuwei (non-action). The Dao's most remarkable quality lies in its ability to bestow life upon all beings and nurture their growth. Precisely because of this nature, the truth of the Dao can be transmitted and attained through cultivation.

The text emphasizes that the Dao isn't an external object that can be grasped with hands or seen with eyes. To comprehend it, one must engage in diligent practice and realize it inwardly. Through persistent cultivation, the true meaning of the Dao will naturally become clear.

The scripture details the cosmic generative process: The Dao first manifests as "One" (Taiji, the Supreme Ultimate), which divides into yin and yang energies (the Two Polarities). Their interaction produces "Three" (Heaven, Earth and Humanity as the Three Powers), from which all things emerge. All beings contain both yin and yang attributes, achieving harmony through "chong qi" (the harmonizing energy of yin-yang interaction).

A profound paradox is highlighted: Terms people dislike such as "orphaned," "widowed" and "unworthy" are precisely what rulers use for themselves. This illustrates the principle that "what seems diminished may actually increase" - apparent loss brings gain, while apparent gain may conceal loss. Through this, Laozi warns that tyrants never meet good ends, presenting these truths both as ancient teachings and his own transmission.

Commentary further explains that the essence of cosmic creation lies in "chonghe zhi qi" (harmoniously blended vital energy). The Dao's generative process unfolds as: Wuji (Limitless)→Taiji→Yin-Yang→Three Powers→Myriad beings. All creatures carry yin on their backs and embrace yang in their fronts, achieving balance through their interaction. The purest qi forms humans, while more mixed qi creates other lifeforms.

The author reflects: Heaven and Earth serve as mother to all things, while humanity represents their most refined manifestation. Ancient sage-kings considered caring for creation and nurturing people their sacred duty. But by late Xia, Shang and Zhou dynasties, rulers glorified warfare, seized lands, and oppressed populations. Therefore Laozi advocates emulating Heaven-and-Earth's life-giving compassion, following natural harmony, valuing softness over force - using rulers' self-designations as "orphaned" to demonstrate this transformative teaching.

This passage elucidates the principle that softness and weakness overcome hardness and strength. Laozi uses the metaphor of "solitary and bereft" (referring to a state of humble self-containment) to illustrate the good Dao, showing that those in lower positions are more prone to blindly trust cleverness and brute force, failing to understand that strength often invites misfortune instead.

Worldly affairs often unfold this way: what appears as loss may turn into gain, and what seems like gain may result in loss. When human desires inflate, people assume that aggression and force will bring advantage, that the weak suffer while the strong benefit. But when the patterns of Heaven's Dao manifest, the outcome reverses—the weak ultimately gain, while the strong suffer instead.

Those who have not realized the Great Dao always exalt cleverness and brute force, even teaching others to be unyielding. This is akin to our advocacy for harmony and softness, teaching that gentleness is virtuous. The difference between the insights of sages and ordinary people is as vast as heaven and earth. The domineering ultimately meet no good end—this is a warning we must heed. I take the correct Dao as the foundation of teaching, reflecting on my own faults when seeing others' mistakes—this too is a form of instruction.

In personal cultivation, failing to understand this principle prevents harmony of body and mind; in governing a state, ignoring this principle makes it impossible to nurture all things under heaven. The Daodejing states: "The softest thing in the world overcomes the hardest. That which has no form penetrates where there is no crevice." From this, we see the benefits of Wuwei (non-action)—the teaching without words, the advantages of non-action, which few in the world truly grasp.

Zhang Yu-chu (author of The Original Meaning of the Profound Scripture of Dao and De) explains: The previous chapter used the virtue of harmony to warn that the domineering meet no good end, while this chapter employs the principle of ultimate softness to illustrate how weakness can master strength—a pattern of Heaven's Dao. This is not empty talk; there is evidence in natural phenomena: observe the movement of celestial bodies, ceaseless through the ages—what propels them? It is the formless Qi (vital energy) and tangible water. Though water is soft, it wears away stone; though Qi is formless, it moves all things. The sages speak of "ultimate softness" rather than directly naming "Qi," yet Qi is already implied. The Dao of Heaven uses the softest Qi to operate within the firmest cosmos—this is the essence of "softness overcoming strength." "The formless enters the seamless" refers precisely to Qi, for having no substance, it penetrates everything.

This scripture elucidates the wondrous function of Wuwei (non-action) and the principle of contentment bringing constant joy. Laozi suggests that within emptiness, what appears as nothingness actually contains the ceaseless primordial Qi (vital energy). The changing seasons and the growth of all things occur spontaneously without human intervention. This method of teaching through Wuwei proves most beneficial, yet few in the world truly comprehend it.

The sages (those who have attained the Dao) emulate the way of heaven, handling affairs with an attitude of non-action and teaching through wordless example. Though this approach is simple and clear—and should therefore be easily accepted—in reality, very few genuinely believe in it. Even Confucius once sighed, "I wish to remain silent," not because he truly desired inaction, but because the great Dao proves difficult to practice in the mundane world.

The text then examines the relationship between fame and life: Which is more precious—reputation or life itself? Which holds greater importance—material possessions or one's vital existence? Excessive pursuit of fame and wealth inevitably depletes one's life force, while insatiable greed ultimately invites great loss. Those who understand contentment avoid disgrace; those who know when to stop can endure long.

The commentary explains that nurturing life fundamentally lies in preserving one's innate nature. All beings between heaven and earth receive natural nourishment, each following its own patterns and predetermined measure, requiring no forced pursuit. If one must strive forcefully to obtain sustenance, it suggests heaven has partiality—a principle contrary to the Dao's perfect impartiality. True life cultivation means following nature's course: neither forcing nor grasping recklessly. This is the way that accords with heavenly Dao.

This passage elucidates the wisdom of knowing contentment and moderation, as well as the importance of the virtue of humility.

It first points out that if one constantly seeks more to satisfy their desires, this mindset is greed. Those who covet wealth and possessions inevitably suffer losses in one way or another, failing to preserve the innate nature bestowed by heaven—a lamentable state. The sages, pitying those who do not understand this principle, teach them to reflect: Which is closer—fame or the body? Which is more important—the body or material possessions? Which is more harmful—gain or loss? The more one craves something, the greater the price they pay for it; the more one accumulates, the deeper the pain when it is lost.

Only by understanding contentment and avoiding excessive attachment can one avoid disgrace. By knowing when to stop and refraining from hoarding, one steers clear of danger. Only then can one truly preserve the innate nature bestowed by heaven and attain longevity. Those in high positions who grasp this principle need not wait for their subordinates to request provisions before providing for them. Those in lower positions who understand this will not make excessive demands of their superiors, remaining content with their proper roles. Without excessive attachment or hoarding, knowing when to stop and being satisfied, each preserves their innate nature—this is how families endure and nations prosper.

The text uses several contrasts to illustrate this truth: The most perfect seems flawed, yet its function never wanes; the fullest seems empty, yet its usefulness is inexhaustible; the straightest appears bent, the most skillful seems clumsy, and the most eloquent seems inarticulate. Restlessness overcomes cold, while stillness overcomes heat. Clarity and stillness, through Wuwei (non-action), are the true path to governing the world.

The original commentary explains that the significance of humility is paramount. The Dao of heaven diminishes the full and benefits the humble, so the humble, though in lowly positions, emit radiance—this is the principle of "great perfection seems flawed." The Dao of earth transforms the full and spreads the humble, so the humble rise—this is the principle of "great fullness seems empty." Spirits and deities harm the full and bless the humble, so the humble, though bowed, shine brightly—this is the principle of "great straightness seems bent." The Dao of humanity despises the arrogant and loves the humble, so the humble remain unsurpassed—this is the principle of "great skill seems clumsy." The noble understand taking from excess to supplement deficiency and distributing fairly—this is the principle of "great eloquence seems inarticulate." Restlessness overcomes cold like earth above and mountain below; stillness overcomes heat like mountain below and earth above. Clarity and stillness, through Wuwei, are the true path to governing the world. Humility allows the noble to end well and the people to submit willingly.

Finally, it notes that the principles of the Yijing (Book of Changes) and the Laozi share the same origin, differing only in name. The Daodejing expounds through texts, while the Yijing manifests through diagrams—both observe the Dao of heaven to illuminate the Dao of humanity. The previous chapter warned against excessive desire through the lens of fame and profit, while this chapter emphasizes the importance of knowing contentment and moderation through the principle of gain and loss, embodying the truth of fair distribution.

This scripture primarily discusses the principles of "knowing contentment" (zhizu) and "humility." Laozi observes that in times of peace, warhorses are repurposed for plowing fields and fertilizing soil, while in chaotic eras, even the outskirts of cities are used to breed warhorses. The greatest transgression lies in indulging desires, the gravest calamity stems from insatiability, and the most severe fault arises from unbridled greed. Only those who understand contentment can attain true fulfillment.

During the reigns of the ancient sage-kings Yao, Shun, and Yu, the realm was vast, and the people lived in peace and prosperity. Yao and Shun voluntarily abdicated their thrones, preserving both the dignity of rulership and their longevity, with their descendants receiving hereditary titles and uninterrupted ancestral sacrifices. This exemplifies the model of "knowing contentment brings lasting satisfaction."

The text particularly emphasizes the importance of "humility." While the Yijing (Book of Changes) mentions in the Qian (Modesty) hexagram that military action may be justified, Laozi advocates overcoming hardness with softness. If a society reaches the point of breeding warhorses in city outskirts, the Dao of humility has already lost its meaning. Legalist figures like Shen Buhai and Han Fei misinterpreted Laozi's teachings, steering them toward harsh laws and punishments, earning them condemnation in Confucian eyes.

The scripture warns us: excessive craving leads to tremendous waste, overaccumulation invites greater losses, and insatiable greed ultimately brings self-destruction. The stark contrast between the golden age of Yao and Shun and the war-torn decline of the late Xia and Shang dynasties illustrates that contentment and humility are the true foundations of governance and stability.

This scripture explores the wisdom of contentment and non-action (Wuwei) in worldly affairs. Laozi says: What I desire, others also desire—when all under heaven contend for the same things, why resort to force? Rather than resenting those without the Dao and clinging to those with it, it is better to do nothing at all. During the decline of the Xia and Shang dynasties, people longed to restore the golden age of Tang and Yu. Yet those who understand contentment are forever rich, and thus never lose the honor of rulers like Yao and Shun.

When we speak of "the world being in accord with the Dao," it means having sovereigns like Yao and Shun, ministers as wise as Gao Yao and Kui, and people like those of the Tang and Yu eras—where every household could receive honors, and all understood the great principles of the world without harming life. Where, then, would there be room for the sin of greed, the calamity of discontent, or the error of contention?

The Daode Jing states: Without stepping outside the door, one knows the affairs of the world; without peering through the window, one comprehends the ways of heaven. The farther one travels, the less one truly understands. Thus, the sage knows without journeying, perceives without seeing, and achieves without striving.

The original commentary explains: "Knowing the world without leaving the door" describes the realm of a sage in harmony with the Dao. Like Xu You, who declined Yao’s offer to abdicate the throne, saying: "The sun and moon already shine upon all; the seasonal rains have already fallen—what use is the flicker of my torch or the dribble from my gourd?" Xu You retreated to Mount Ji without venturing forth, yet knew the world was well-governed. "The farther one goes, the less one knows" refers to how those who lack contentment fail to grasp the great Dao. Xu You did not replace Yao in ruling the world; he sought no fame yet his name endured, refused Yao’s throne yet achieved eternal renown—surpassing even Yao in wisdom.

When Chao Fu’s ox refused to drink from the stream where Xu You had washed his ears, it showed Chao Fu’s rejection of even the reputation of righteousness, transcending even Xu You. Yao and Shun were sages who possessed both the Dao and worldly authority; Chao Fu and Xu You were sages who embodied the Dao without position. Seemingly without achievement, they attained the truest merit—this is the accomplishment of non-action.

As Zhuangzi said while observing fish in the Hao River: "How joyfully the fish swim at ease!" When Hui Zi challenged how he could know the fish’s happiness, Zhuangzi replied: "I know it here by the Hao." For the river’s depths held no nets; the fish, never leaving its waters, knew all other streams bore the threat of traps—thus they dwelt in untroubled delight.

This passage contrasts the ways of sages and ordinary people to elucidate the core Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)."

The fish at Haoliang (an allusion to Zhuangzi and Huizi's famous debate by the bridge) refuses to emerge, just as the recluses Chaofu and Xu You chose to remain in seclusion on Mount Ji rather than serve in government. The author reflects: without later rulers, the sageliness of Yao and Shun wouldn't be recognized; without enlightened rulers like Yao and Shun, the purity of Chaofu and Xu You wouldn't stand revealed.

In learning worldly knowledge, we accumulate daily, but in cultivating the Dao, we must reduce daily. Reduce and reduce again, until we reach the state of "non-action." Here, "non-action" doesn't mean doing nothing, but rather refraining from forced action. Governing the world requires following natural principles—attempting to force outcomes will only result in losing the world.

Ordinary people pursue the accumulation of knowledge, while sages seek the reduction of selfish desires. Even sage-emperors like Yao and Shun had to admonish their successors to "hold fast to the Mean." When it came to Yu the Great controlling the floods, he emphasized vigilance regarding the subtle distinction between "human mind" and "Dao mind." The so-called "reduction" means eliminating human selfish desires; "further reduction" means completely eradicating them. When selfish desires are fully removed, all actions accord with heavenly principle—just as Yu passed his own home three times without entering during flood control, appearing laborious yet naturally effortless.

"Gaining the world" doesn't mean seizing lands or wealth, but joyfully learning virtuous conduct from others. "Doing nothing" means acting in accordance with natural principles. Only thus can one win the world's allegiance as naturally as water flows downward. Forcing others to submit is the way of ordinary people—one can never truly gain the world this way. As the Book of Documents wisely states: Don't violate the Dao to seek popular praise, nor go against the people's will to satisfy selfish desires.

The sage has no fixed selfish mind, but takes the people's hearts as his own. To the kind I show kindness; to the unkind I also show kindness—thus all are transformed toward goodness. To the trustworthy I show trust; to the untrustworthy I also show trust—thus all become trustworthy.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture discusses the way of being for sages—those who have attained the highest state of moral cultivation. The sage does not approach all things with fixed attitudes but aligns with the natural order. Like a cloudless sky or still water without ripples, where fish leap freely and eagles soar unhindered, all beings manifest their innate nature spontaneously.

The sage takes the people's hearts as their own, responding to all with reason. To the kind, they return kindness; to the unkind, they also return kindness. To the trustworthy, they respond with trust; to the untrustworthy, they still respond with trust. Virtue (De) has no rigid standard—it takes goodness as its fundamental principle. Thus, under such influence, all in the world incline toward goodness, and none remain unkind; all honor trust, and none forsake it.

The text cites ancient sage-kings like Yao and Shun as examples. When Yao governed, he cherished the people as if they were infants. Shun advised Yu the Great to examine public opinion, setting aside personal views to follow collective wisdom—never oppressing the helpless nor abandoning the distressed. This exemplifies the sage's "undivided heart" (浑其心), maintaining pure simplicity. The people's eyes are Heaven's eyes; the people's ears are Heaven's ears. Where the sage's virtuous governance flows, hearts naturally turn toward it.

The latter part discusses the Dao of life and death. Of every ten people, three are destined for longevity, three for premature death, and three who could have lived long but die early due to excessive pursuit of longevity. Why? Because they cling too fiercely to life. Those truly skilled in nurturing life walk on land without meeting rhinos or tigers and enter battlefields untouched by weapons. Rhinos find no place to gore, tigers no place to claw, weapons no place to strike. Why? Because such individuals never place themselves in death's path (i.e., they do not violate natural law). All beings between Heaven and Earth belong to their own kinds and origins—life and death are part of nature's course.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles governing heaven, earth, and all phenomena. Laozi employs the metaphor of "a temporary lodging" (qúlú) to describe all worldly things, illustrating that life and death are merely natural patterns. Birth inherently contains future death, while death nurtures new life—this cyclical movement represents heaven and earth's constant rhythm, requiring no artificial interference.

Those who truly comprehend the essence of life and death recognize that so-called "emerging into life" and "entering death" are ultimately illusions. Can those who appear alive truly be considered living? Are those who have died truly deceased? In reality, life and death exist in relativity. Laozi uses numerical symbolism: of thirteen parts, three represent life, three represent death, while seven signify a state transcending both.

This transcendent foundation is the Dao. The Dao encompasses the Three Powers (sāncái—heaven, earth, humanity): heaven's three parts manifest as the light, pure yang qi (energy), visible in sun, moon and stars; earth's three parts as heavy, turbid yin qi, expressed through mountains, rivers and vegetation; humanity's three parts as harmonizing qi, embodied in jing (essence), qi (vital energy) and shen (spirit). Human nobility derives from simultaneously containing these Three Powers while harboring the primordial origin of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, referring to innate qi). Mencius' statement "all things are complete within us" conveys precisely this meaning.

Yet people often forget their intrinsic value, neglecting to cultivate their innate nature while chasing external objects to satisfy desires—this is termed "excessive pursuit of material life" (shēngshēng zhī hòu). Such mentality proves dangerous, akin to venturing into tiger dens or treading on knife blades. True masters of life cultivation walk without encountering wild beasts and fight without sustaining injuries, for their purified hearts attract no calamity.

The passage concludes by emphasizing the Dao's greatness: the Dao generates all things, De (Virtue/Power) nurtures them, matter forms their bodies, and environment facilitates their development. Thus all beings honor the Dao and cherish De. This reverence isn't conferred but arises spontaneously. The Dao produces and nurtures without possessing, accomplishes without claiming—this constitutes the profoundest "Mysterious De" (xuándé).

All things between heaven and earth are born from "Dao-Qi" (the primordial energy of the Dao), which serves as the progenitor of all existence. Within it lies all mystical creation - while it gives birth to all things without discrimination, it produces infinite transformations. De (Virtue) constitutes the root of all beings, existing within them before they take form. When accumulated sufficiently, all things obtain their distinct configurations. Once formed, they manifest different appearances, shapes, sounds and colors.

From the vast celestial dome and terrestrial veins to the smallest fermented foods, ephemeral fungi that live but a morning and evening, and natural phenomena like cicada molting and snake shedding - all originate from the nurturing of Dao-De (the Way and its Virtue). Thus all things honor the Dao and treasure De. The nobility of Dao-De isn't conferred by any title, but is their inherent nature. When we say Dao-De are the progenitor and root of all things, we mean they stand as parents and ancestors to heaven, earth and the myriad beings - a position requiring no official bestowment.

The essential nature of Dao-De is natural Wuwei (non-action). It nurtures all things without possessing them, completes all without claiming merit, guides all without dominating - this constitutes the most profound "Mysterious Virtue." Sages take the Dao as their heart-mind, perfecting all things without controlling them, their virtue truly profound and far-reaching. Emperor Shun's sublime virtue could reach heaven's ears precisely because of this principle.

The scripture states: All things under heaven have their beginning - this beginning is the mother of heaven and earth. Understanding this origin enables knowledge of all things; knowing all things while maintaining this origin ensures no danger throughout life. Blocking the apertures of desire (the senses) and closing desire's gates brings lifelong freedom from toil; conversely, indulging the senses and chasing external objects makes one incurable throughout life. Perceiving the subtle is called wisdom; maintaining softness is called strength. Using inner illumination to reflect on original wisdom while leaving no calamity for oneself - this constitutes following the eternal Dao.

The original commentary explains: The beginning of all things under heaven is the "One" (the primordial state of Dao). This beginning includes: the origin before parents beget us, the chaos before heaven and earth separated, and even the "beginning before beginning" prior to that. This origin is profoundly unfathomable - is this not precisely the manifestation of "when Shen (spirit) attains the One, it becomes numinous"? Daoists call it "divine luminosity," Buddhists term it "spiritual light," Confucians name it "acumen" - all referring to the same origin.

As "mother of all under heaven," this origin is the source from which all things emerge, a root everyone possesses. Understanding this origin allows Shen to generate wisdom; knowing all things enables wisdom to radiate brilliance. But after knowing all things, one must still maintain the origin - like appreciating light's value while guarding the wisdom that produces it. When light doesn't depart from wisdom, Shen can endure eternally; even when the physical body perishes, wisdom remains undiminished. Here "mother" refers to Qi (energy), while "child" denotes Shen (spirit) - when Shen and Qi mutually sustain each other, one can...

This scripture primarily expounds the principles of self-cultivation and state governance. Practitioners should close their sensory gates ("blocking the orifices and lowering the blinds") and withdraw their mental focus ("turning vision inward and reversing hearing")—these are the fundamental methods of internal cultivation. When internal cultivation is perfected, one maintains clear spiritual awareness (Shenming) and thus avoids exhaustion throughout life. Conversely, indulging the senses ("opening the orifices") and busying oneself with external affairs ("attending to worldly matters") represent the path of external action. While skillful external action can achieve merit, such a path brings lifelong unrest.

Ancient sage-kings like Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) mastered this wisdom: Fuxi thereby harmonized primordial Qi, Huangdi ascended to the heavens, while Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou, though short-lived, established enduring dynasties. This illustrates the distinct realms of "inner sageliness" (internal cultivation) and "outer kingship" (external achievement).

Understanding subtlety is called "illumination" (Ming); knowing the way of softness is called "strength." Just as a child returns to its mother's embrace, the light of wisdom must return to its source. Guarding this fundamental principle prevents calamity—this is the state of aligning with the eternal Dao, the Middle Way that stands alone and unchanging.

The scripture continues: If I truly possessed wisdom to walk the Great Dao, my greatest fear would be straying from it. The Dao is inherently level, yet people insist on shortcuts. When courts grow corrupt, fields lie fallow, and granaries empty, while officials don ornate robes, gird swords, feast daily, and hoard wealth—this is nothing less than banditry, a complete departure from the Dao.

Laozi laments the decline since the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou), with warlords contending and people suffering. He states: If I truly held governing wisdom to walk the Dao, my deepest concern would be deviation. Rulers who refrain from stirring troubles allow people to live in peace, and the nation naturally prospers. This is the true Way where "none grow slack or negligent, and all states pay homage." Yet the feudal lords of his time craved glory and war, squandering resources, abandoning the Dao for schemes—resulting in bloated bureaucracies, extravagant palaces; barren fields and displaced peasants; empty granaries and exhausted treasuries. They wore lavish robes (though clothing need only cover the body)...

This scripture conveys two main teachings: first, it critiques extravagant lifestyles, and second, it expounds on the importance of self-cultivation and virtue (De).

The text begins by criticizing superficial extravagance: Clothing should prioritize comfort—why insist on lavish garments? Weapons serve for self-defense—why demand razor-sharp swords? Food sustains life—why crave rare delicacies? Possessions need only meet practical needs—why hoard treasures? Such indulgence not only contradicts nourishing life (yangsheng) but also disrupts social harmony, akin to bandits flaunting wealth—a complete betrayal of the Dao of sages.

It then uses the metaphor "those skilled in building cannot be uprooted; those skilled in embracing cannot be separated" to illustrate how true virtue should be as enduring as heaven, earth, mountains, and rivers. From individual to universal practice, cultivating De unfolds in five stages:

• Cultivating the self yields genuine virtue (De)
• Harmonizing the family brings abundant blessings
• Governing the village ensures lasting goodness
• Ruling the state creates prosperous governance
• Pacifying the world spreads boundless benevolence

By observing a person, household, community, nation, or the world, one can discern their level of virtue cultivation.

The Original Meaning commentary further explains: Ancient sage-kings established models (the "Imperial Ultimate" or Huangji) to guide the people, while upholding the Dao ("embracing the One" or Baoyi) to define life's principles. Like Yu the Great's unshakable five-zone system for flood control, those governing land and people must build such steadfast foundations. Yet tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang neglected virtue (De), losing popular support and their dynasties. Thus, from emperor to commoner, all must root themselves in self-cultivation.

Practice the Dao's essence for personal refinement, apply its residual power for statecraft, and employ its simplest principles for world governance. The broader the scope, the shallower one's Dao understanding may become—hence extreme caution is needed. Seek purity in self-cultivation, accumulate virtuous deeds for the household, associate with worthies in community leadership, and win hearts in state governance. Only thus can one truly establish unshakable virtue.

This scripture uses the characteristics of an infant (the "red child") to illustrate the highest attainment of Dao-De cultivation. Laozi believed that one with profound virtue resembles a newborn in pure naturalness: poisonous insects won't sting them, fierce beasts won't attack them, and birds of prey won't claw them. This is because infants embody the purest virtue of softness and pliancy.

Though an infant's bones are soft and sinews supple, their tiny hands can clench tightly into fists. Though unaware of sexual union, their reproductive organs naturally become erect—this manifests abundant Jing (essence). Their constant crying never makes them hoarse, demonstrating perfectly harmonized Yuanqi (primordial qi). Understanding this state of harmony means comprehending the "constant Dao," and such comprehension constitutes true wisdom.

Yet the scripture warns: forced pursuit of life-nourishment invites misfortune ("excessive nurturing brings calamity"), while coercively controlling qi with willpower leads to decline ("mind forcing qi is called violence"). Just as things decay after reaching their zenith, whatever violates natural law ("not-Dao") will perish prematurely.

Zhang Yu (original commentator) further explains: though these venomous creatures appear fierce, they won't harm infants who possess supreme soft virtue. If adults could maintain this childlike heart, even encountering wicked people wouldn't endanger them. An infant's Jing remains naturally complete ("essence perfected"), their qi spontaneously harmonious—this represents Dao-De's highest expression. Conversely, losing this pliant nature through deliberate striving violates Dao's principles and hastens decline.

The one who truly understands the Dao (the Way) does not engage in empty talk, while those fond of preaching actually lack genuine understanding. One must close the sensory gateways (where "dui" refers to the mouth, ears, and other senses), withdraw sharp edges, resolve conflicts, and blend light with dust—this is the state of "profound unity" (xuantong), the supreme realm of merging with the Dao. Having attained this state, others can neither draw close to nor distance themselves from him; neither can they tempt him with profit nor threaten him with harm; neither elevate him to nobility nor degrade him to lowliness. Precisely because of this, he becomes the most revered in the world.

Those who awaken to the Dao can bend and stretch, adjusting themselves according to the times. They may recede into seclusion like Nan Guo Ziqi, hidden behind a wooden table, or appear outwardly simple like Yan Hui—this is the true wisdom of the silent sage. Yet those like Gongsun Long, who delight in sophistry, reveal only their ignorance. Alas! Their cleverness can be imitated, but this profound wisdom that appears as simplicity is beyond reach.

The six disciplines of closing the senses and withdrawing sharp edges lead one to the state of "profound unity" with the Dao. In this realm: one is unmoved by praise or dispirited by slander; neither covets profit nor fears harm; neither seeks fame nor cares for honor or disgrace. Freed from these worldly entanglements, one flows with nature, living like duckweed drifting on water and dying like peaceful rest. Not even life and death can sway such a person—how much less worldly gains and losses? Deep as an abyss yet resonant as thunder, he merges with all things, his actions aligning with the Dao without revealing sharpness. Precisely because ordinary people cannot fathom this state, he becomes the most revered in the world.

Govern the state with uprightness (zheng), command armies with ingenuity (qi), and win the world through non-action (wuwei). How do I know this is the way? By observing these signs: the more prohibitions in the world, the poorer the people; the more weapons among the populace, the greater the chaos in the state; the more clever techniques people possess, the stranger the occurrences that arise; the stricter the laws, the more thieves multiply. Thus the sage says: "When I refrain from interference, the people transform naturally; when I remain tranquil, the people correct themselves; when I avoid meddling, the people prosper naturally; when I am free from desire, the people return to simplicity."

"Uprightness" (zheng) refers to governance by proper principles, as seen when Emperor Yao's policies flourished and Emperor Shun's officials fulfilled their duties—this is "governing the state with uprightness." "Ingenuity" (qi) is the adaptive variation of uprightness, like Yu the Great reforming his army for seventy days to pacify the Miao tribes—this is "commanding armies with ingenuity." Tang of Shang attacked Ge Bo for neglecting sacrifices, ultimately unifying eleven states and exiling Jie of Xia to win the allegiance of Huaxia—this too exemplifies the application of "ingenuity."

The Zhou dynasty launched a punitive campaign against King Zhou of Shang due to his tyrannical and unprincipled rule. After assembling allies at Mengjin, they ultimately defeated King Zhou at the Battle of Muye, where the Shang ruler immolated himself, bringing the Shang dynasty to its end. As military strategy teaches: the highest form of warfare is to thwart the enemy's plans, next is to disrupt their alliances, and only lastly to engage in battlefield confrontation. Historical examples like Yu the Great subduing the Miao tribes, King Tang's campaign against Jie of Xia, and King Wu of Zhou's overthrow of King Zhou all embody this principle. However, these strategies gradually devolved into deceitful tactics, and deceit further degenerated into chaos. Truly enlightened rulers govern the world through "Wuwei" (non-action), which aligns with the essential teachings emphasized at the conclusion of the Daode Jing: non-action, tranquility, non-interference, and desirelessness.

How do we know this is true? Consider the history of the Zhou dynasty: By its middle period, the royal house had declined. King Li of Zhou, greedy for wealth, appointed Duke Yi of Rong as minister to monopolize profits, exploiting the people. He even sent the Wei shamans to spy on public discourse, executing anyone who voiced grievances. As a result, the people lived in fear, sinking deeper into poverty. When the Huaiyi tribes invaded, the populace rebelled and attacked King Li, forcing him to flee to Zhi, while the Dukes of Zhou and Shao jointly administered the government. During this time, weapons proliferated among the people, and the state descended further into chaos. By the reign of King You of Zhou, matters worsened. He employed the treacherous minister Guo Shifu, a silver-tongued opportunist whose corruption led to political decay and widespread defection among the feudal lords. Ultimately, the Rong and Di tribes invaded, killing King You. By then, people had become obsessed with bizarre crafts and strange phenomena, while the stricter the laws became, the more banditry flourished.

Thus, the sages said: "When I govern through non-action, the people transform naturally; when I remain tranquil, the people correct themselves; when I avoid meddling, the people prosper; when I am free from desire, the people return to simplicity." These ancient wise words were cited by Daoist sages as evidence—are they not the wisdom of antiquity preserved in classical texts?

In the second year of King You's reign, earthquakes struck three rivers in Western Zhou. The Grand Historian Bo Yangfu observed: "When the Yi and Luo rivers dried up, the Xia dynasty fell; when the Yellow River dried up, the Shang dynasty collapsed. Now the virtue of Zhou resembles that of the late Xia and Shang. Within ten years, the omen will manifest." That year, the three rivers indeed ran dry, and Mount Qi collapsed. Three years later, King You deposed Queen Shen and Crown Prince Yijiu, replacing them with Baosi and her son Bofu. Reading the historical records, Bo Yangfu remarked: "Zhou is doomed to perish." Eleven years later, King You sought to kill the former crown prince Yijiu and launched an attack on the state of Shen. Marquess Shen allied with the state of Zeng and the Western barbarians Quanrong to kill King You, installing Yijiu as King Ping and relocating the capital east to Luoyi. Thus, Western Zhou met its predicted end.

Bo Yangfu, styled LaoSheng, once served as the archivist under Earl of the West (King Wen of Zhou), later becoming the Pillar Historian (keeper of documents) under King Cheng of Zhou, and finally Grand Historian under King You. Cultivating Daoist practices for longevity, he long presided over historical records and composed the Daode Jing as a timeless mirror for posterity. The ancient wisdom of the "Nameless" (Dao) I speak of finds validation in these events. Though Bo Yangfu held the position of a minister, his Daoist attainment surpassed that of all officials.

This passage elucidates the way of sagely virtue that possesses De (Virtue) but lacks formal authority. The scripture states: When governance is tolerant and inclusive, the people remain simple and honest; when decrees become excessively harsh, the people grow cunning and restless. Within misfortune may lie blessing, and within blessing may lurk misfortune—who can discern the patterns governing these transformations? Indeed, fortune and misfortune have no fixed standards, the normal may become abnormal, and good may turn to evil—the people have long been bewildered by these mysteries.

Therefore, the sage maintains integrity without causing harm, remains incorruptible without being harsh, upholds straightforwardness without becoming overbearing, and shines with radiance that never dazzles. The original commentary explains: The so-called "unassuming" governance resembles Confucius' ideal of "ruling through virtue," educating the people through ritual and music. When policies are generous, the people live in contentment, and simple customs arise naturally. Conversely, "scrutinizing" governance employs severe punishments and harsh laws, leaving the people at a loss, causing their behavior to become hypocritical and cunning. This illustrates how excessive harshness from above begets crafty responses from below.

The interdependence of fortune and misfortune resembles the alternation of cold and heat—the natural principle that what flourishes must decline. Who can foresee the limits of such transformations? Consider how Yu the Great ascended the throne through proper Dao, yet when his descendants abandoned this Dao, Heaven sent calamities that enabled Tang of Shang to overthrow the Xia dynasty—thus the proper became improper. Tang's punitive expedition against the ruler of Ge began as virtuous action, yet when this lineage produced the tyrant Zhou, whose wickedness surpassed even Jie of Xia, King Wu of Zhou's punitive campaign transformed good into evil. The people remain perpetually confused by appearances, seeing only existence without perceiving dissolution, grasping only acquisition without understanding loss.

The sage internally maintains the virtues of integrity, incorruptibility, uprightness, and radiance, while externally manifesting these qualities without causing injury, harshness, arrogance, or glare. By focusing on inner cultivation without deliberate correction of others, people become naturally influenced. Under such guidance, how could the proper Dao turn perverse or good deeds become evil?

In the fourth volume of The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture, Du Daojian elucidates Laozi's wisdom on governing the state and nurturing life.

Laozi states that in governing the people and serving Heaven, the most essential principle is understanding restraint (frugality). Restraint implies making preparations in advance (early readiness), and such preparation lies in the continuous accumulation of De (Virtue/Power). When De becomes profoundly深厚, one can overcome all difficulties and reach unfathomable depths, thereby governing the state effectively. By mastering the fundamental principle of statecraft (the Mother), one ensures lasting peace and stability—this is the Dao of deep roots and enduring vision.

Du Daojian explains: Governing the people nurtures the external; understanding self-cultivation teaches one how to nurture others and all things. Serving Heaven nurtures the internal; understanding how to nourish the heart-mind teaches one how to nourish Shen (spirit). The method of nurturing lies in restraint, which means cherishing and preserving. Only by understanding restraint can one prepare early and diligently cultivate. The deeper the accumulation of De, the more omnipotent one becomes. When both humanity and Heaven are nurtured, danger transforms into peace, and the subtle becomes manifest. Reaching this state means possessing the "state" (here, the "state" metaphorically represents the human body). The Dao of governing the state and nurturing life are interconnected. The state takes the people as its root, just as the body takes the heart-mind as its foundation—when the foundation is firm, it endures.

Laozi further states that governing a large state is like cooking a small fish (delicacy). Du Daojian explains: When cooking a small fish, excessive stirring will break it, and improper heat will scorch it—moderation is key. Governing the world with the Dao ensures that even ghosts and spirits do not act disruptively. This does not mean ghosts and spirits lack power, but that they do not harm humans; likewise, the sage does not harm others. When neither humans nor ghosts and spirits harm each other, their De merges and returns to harmony.

Governing the world is like cooking small fish—policies are like the heat control. If you flip the fish too often (symbolizing frequent policy changes), the fish will fall apart; similarly, erratic policies harm the state. When the world is governed by the Dao (natural law), even ghosts and spirits cannot manifest their disruptive influence. Ghosts and spirits are actually manifestations of the Yin and Yang energies in heaven and earth, just as the state has ministers to assist it. The sage ruler (the highest sovereign) practices Wuwei (non-action) governance from above, while virtuous ministers actively carry out their duties below. When both upper and lower levels align with the Dao, the Yin and Yang energies remain harmonious, disasters do not occur, and ghosts and spirits cannot manifest their power. This achieves natural harmony: clear skies when they should be clear, rain when it should rain, people free from illness, all things free from calamity, abundant harvests, and the people living in peace and contentment.

Ghosts and spirits do not harm people when governance is clear, fortune is favorable, resources are plentiful, and the people are prosperous. The people can pay their taxes normally, the court does not impose excessive levies, and the ruler does not harm the people. The people are the children of heaven, and the ruler is heaven’s eldest son. When the eldest son does not harm the younger ones, heaven will surely bless them—this is called "neither harming the other," where virtues intermingle. From this, we see that heaven shows no partiality, blessing only those with virtue.

The Daode Jing says: A great state should be humble like the lower reaches of a river, becoming the convergence point of the world. The feminine (the pin) often overcomes the masculine (the mu) through stillness, for stillness signifies humility. Thus, when a great state is humble toward smaller states, it wins their allegiance; when a small state is humble toward a great one, it gains acceptance. Either through humility one gains, or through humility one is received. A great state seeks only to embrace and accommodate, while a small state seeks only to survive through dependence. Both can achieve their desires, so the great state should especially maintain humility.

The core message here is: A great state should position itself like the ocean at the lower reaches, becoming the central meeting point of the world. Just as King Xuan of Qi once asked Mencius how to interact with neighboring states, a great state should treat smaller states as the sea receives rivers. When the great remains below, the small naturally come to it. A great state skilled at staying low can engage in exchange with all the smaller states of the world. Just as the feminine overcomes the masculine through stillness and humility, a great state must not only excel at staying low but also govern with serene Wuwei. Like the feminine mastering movement through stillness, there is no need for military conquest—smaller states will submit willingly. Therefore, when a great state approaches smaller states with humility, it secures their allegiance. Only a ruler of true benevolence can serve smaller states despite being great, as Tang of Shang served Lord Ge or King Wen of Zhou served the Kunyi.

The Original Meaning of the Profound Dao-De Scripture conveys two key teachings: first, the wisdom governing interactions between large and small states, and second, the universal value of the Dao for all people.

Regarding statecraft, the scripture reveals that when small states humbly serve larger ones, they paradoxically gain greater respect—much like King Wen of Zhou's deference to the Xunyu tribes or Goujian of Yue's service to Wu. A great state's magnanimity toward smaller neighbors aligns with heavenly principles (Dao), just as a small state's cautious reverence reflects cosmic awe. When large states seek to unite the realm and small states simply wish to preserve themselves, both find fulfillment—like mountains nurturing vegetation, where deep roots sustain flourishing branches. Thus, truly wise rulers of great states maintain humility. Confucius sought wisdom from Laozi, while Mencius further developed these teachings—all sages drawing from the same wellspring of cosmic understanding.

Concerning the Dao's universal value, the text explains that the Dao resembles treasure stored deep within a house—the root of all things. Virtuous people cherish it for self-cultivation, while even the unvirtuous find shelter through it. Noble speech earns respect, and elevated actions transform others. Consider how Emperor Yao tested Shun: first evaluating his discourse, then observing his conduct, before finally abdicating the throne. If external words and deeds wield such power, how much more transformative is genuine inner realization of the Great Dao? The scripture insists no one is beyond redemption—even the unvirtuous can be guided toward goodness. The Book of Documents records how Emperor Yao recognized the Four Villains' (Huan Dou, Gong Gong, San Miao, and Gun) wickedness yet patiently sought to reform them, embodying the sage-king's inclusive, educative compassion.

The passage particularly emphasizes: when appointing a Son of Heaven or the Three Ducal Ministers (ancient high offices), sincere pursuit of the Dao surpasses ceremonial offerings of jade and steeds. The ancients treasured the Great Dao precisely because following it fulfills aspirations while averting calamity—making it the world's most precious possession.

The virtue of benevolence is as vast as heaven yet never arbitrarily inflicts punishment. Therefore, the Son of Heaven (the supreme ruler) is established, supported by the Three Dukes (the highest ministers: Grand Preceptor, Grand Mentor, and Grand Guardian). The Son of Heaven should care for the people like a loving parent, while the Three Dukes deliberate on statecraft, administer affairs, and harmonize Yin-Yang (the complementary forces of the universe).

They assist heaven and earth in nurturing all beings, bring stability to people's lives, and preserve peace under heaven. Ancient texts state, "Do not establish empty official posts," for officials govern on behalf of heaven. Beyond this, the Son of Heaven tours the sacred mountains, receives regional lords, and though possessing jade scepters and ornate carriages—these external honors pale before the importance of maintaining inner humility, presiding with dignity, and governing through Wuwei (non-action, following natural principles)—thus the world naturally becomes well-ordered.

Why did the ancients treasure this way of governance? Not because pursuing it brought personal gain or absolution from faults, but because when the ignorant people erred, the ruler would compassionately reflect, "Is this my failing?" This measured response neither condoned wrongdoing nor neglected punishment but acknowledged heaven's inherent justice. Thus, the ruler held grievances like unpaid debts yet refrained from collecting, transforming hearts through virtuous compassion. A sovereign like Emperor Yao remains an eternal model.

The Daode Jing states: "Act through non-action (Wuwei), handle affairs through non-interference, savor the flavorless." Whether matters are great or small, respond to resentment with virtue. Approach difficulties at their easiest point; undertake great tasks from their subtlest beginnings. All under heaven’s hard tasks begin with simplicity; great deeds accumulate from details. Thus, the sage never covets grand achievements yet accomplishes them. Promises made lightly are hard to keep; what seems easy invites greater difficulty. Therefore, the sage treats all as difficult and thus encounters no true hardship.

Lamenting the world’s decline, where cunning deception replaced trust and chaos made reform impossible, Laozi expounded the ancient teaching of governing through Wuwei. He urged later generations to reverse shallow customs and restore simple, honest ways. Taking the Dao’s propagation as his mission, he declared: "Acting through non-action" emulates natural law; "handling affairs through non-interference" follows cosmic principle; "savoring the flavorless" embraces serene contentment. "Great and small" encompass ruler-subject relations; "repaying resentment with virtue" means meeting ill will with kindness—treating both good and unkind people well. "Tackling difficulty at its easiest, achieving greatness through subtlety" means cautious planning to prevent escalation. All under heaven’s hardships begin simply; great deeds start small—this is the pattern of all things, born from minute beginnings.

The Book of Changes states: "Return before going too far, and there will be no regret." This means correcting one's course in time prevents major mistakes. Just as Yang energy develops from the first Yang line (initial hexagram line) to the second Yang line (changing trigram), gradually accumulating until forming the pure Yang Qian hexagram. Thus, the sage never becomes arrogant, yet achieves greatness. The sage embodies Qian's virtue—never self-aggrandizing, ultimately reaching the supreme state of complete six Yang lines.

Ordinary people often make promises lightly but rarely keep them, and by taking things too easily, they encounter more difficulties. Human minds are restless and shallow, often starting strong but finishing weak. Therefore, the sage always considers difficulties first. The sage's mindset is "to worry before the world's worries and rejoice after the world's joys." Who but the sage can see things through to the end? Precisely because they fully anticipate difficulties at the outset, they ultimately face no real obstacles.

The scripture says: What is stable is easy to maintain; what is not yet manifest is easy to plan for; what is fragile is easy to dissolve; what is minute is easy to disperse. Act before things arise; govern before disorder takes shape. A giant tree that fills one's embrace grows from a tender sprout; a nine-story tower rises from a basket of earth; a thousand-mile journey begins with a single step. Forcing things leads to failure; clinging tightly results in loss. The sage does not force, so does not fail; does not cling, so does not lose. Ordinary people often fail when success is near—if they remained as cautious as at the beginning, they would not fail.

Thus, the sage seeks what others do not seek (the Dao), not valuing rare objects; learns what others do not learn (fundamental principles), and rectifies others' faults, thereby assisting all things in their natural development without presumptuous interference.

This passage continues the previous theme, elucidating the principle governing all things under heaven: to achieve a perfect outcome, one must be cautious at the start. The key lies in maintaining vigilance during peace, avoiding reckless action. Just as things are easiest to plan when not yet manifest, easiest to dissolve when fragile, and easiest to disperse when minute. "Acting before things arise" does not mean literal action, but prevention; "governing before disorder" does not mean literal governance, but stabilizing before chaos emerges.

The metaphors of a tree growing from a sprout to immense size, a tower rising from one basket of earth to nine stories, and a journey advancing from one step to a thousand miles illustrate how the initial signs are minuscule, yet the final achievements monumental—how could this be accomplished overnight? Thus, one cannot afford carelessness at the beginning. In all worldly affairs, forcing things invites failure, and excessive grasping leads to loss. What is pursued with utmost effort often backfires.

This scripture primarily discusses the distinction between how sages govern a nation and how ordinary people conduct affairs, as well as the harm caused by "governing through cleverness."

Sages act without stubborn personal opinions, thus they do not fail; they do not force outcomes, thus they do not regret. Ordinary people, however, often fail when success seems imminent because they do not understand the principle of maintaining stability. If one could remain as cautious at the end as at the beginning, failure would not occur—yet only sages achieve this. Take King Wen of Zhou as an example: though he already possessed two-thirds of the realm's territory, he still submitted to the Shang dynasty. This demonstrates his understanding of restraining desires and not coveting rare treasures.

In ancient times, those skilled in practicing the Dao did not seek to make the people clever but rather to preserve their simplicity. The difficulty in governing people arises precisely from their excessive cunning. To govern a state through cleverness is its calamity; to govern without cleverness is its blessing. Recognizing this distinction means grasping the principle of governance. This profound De (virtue) may appear contrary to common sense, yet ultimately it achieves the greatest harmony.

Consider how Emperor Yao governed the realm: the people lived in peace and prosperity without understanding why—this is the effect of "not enlightening the people." When rulers administer through Wuwei (non-action), allowing the people to live naturally without self-awareness, this becomes the nation's true blessing. The difficulty in governing people often stems from rulers having stimulated their cunning.

Humanity's five inherent dispositions (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness) are innate, just as nature has the Five Phases and four seasons. If only cleverness were valued (like having only winter all year), nothing could flourish. Governing a state by focusing solely on accumulating wealth without understanding generosity resembles perpetual winter—can this truly be called governance? Therefore, it is better to have ministers who steal than those who hoard wealth. Those who govern through cleverness not only harm the people but ultimately endanger the state itself.

A ruler who governs the nation with wisdom ensures his blessings extend to all people, thus the state naturally prospers. Understanding this principle means grasping the fundamental law of governance. Those who truly comprehend this law don't resort to manipulative tactics, but rather let their benevolence permeate the entire land—this is what we call "Mysterious Virtue" (Xuande). Those possessing Mysterious Virtue assist all things in their natural development without flaunting their own cleverness. This profound virtue is vast and far-reaching, returning all things to their authentic state, fundamentally different from governing through cunning artifice. Only by abandoning clever stratagems in governance can perfect harmony be achieved, allowing all beings to flourish according to their inherent nature.

As the Dao De Jing states: "The reason rivers and seas can reign over all mountain streams is their skill in staying low. Thus the sage, wishing to stand above the people, must in speech keep humble; wishing to lead the people, must in person stand behind. Therefore the sage occupies the highest position yet the people feel no burden, leads the procession yet none feel hindered. All under heaven gladly support such a ruler without weariness. Precisely because he contends with none, none under heaven can contend with him."

The Original Meaning commentary explains: "Rivers and seas become lords of all valleys by excelling in staying low. The sage emulates this principle—though circumstances place him in high position, his words remain humble. Isn't this the truth that 'humility brings benefit'? Though his reputation precedes him, he puts actual benefits last, thus people naturally elevate him. Because the sage can stay low and remain behind, the people feel neither oppressed nor obstructed, willingly supporting him. Why? Because he competes with none for profit, so none under heaven think to compete with him."

The essential teaching of Dao De Jing reveals: "Speaking of self-cultivation naturally includes family and state governance; discussing state governance already implies self-cultivation." Discerning readers should perceive the profound meaning beyond the written words.

The Dao De Jing further states: "All under heaven say my Dao is vast, resembling nothing concrete. Precisely because it's vast, it resembles nothing particular; were it like specific things, it would long have become insignificant. I treasure three jewels which I hold dear..." (scripture passage continues)

In the Daode Jing, Laozi presents three fundamental principles for navigating life: first is compassion, second is frugality, and third is the refusal to contend for precedence. It is through compassion that one attains true courage; through frugality that one accumulates abundant reserves; and by not competing for first place that one naturally becomes a leader among people.

To abandon compassion in pursuit of ferocity, discard frugality for extravagance, and insist on always taking the lead rather than yielding—this is the path to self-destruction. When compassion is employed in battle, victory follows; when used in defense, stability is secured. When Heaven wishes to save someone, it protects them through compassion.

The essence of this classic teaches that the Dao Laozi speaks of is neither the absolute non-action (Wuwei) of ancient times nor the superficial prosperity of the Yao-Shun era. The true Dao is vast and boundless, beyond description in words, making it difficult for ordinary people to comprehend. Thus, people say my Dao is too grand, seemingly impractical.

Laozi explains: "Precisely because the Dao is immense, it appears unlike concrete things. If it resembled specific objects, it would long have seemed insignificant." As the ancients said, "Only Heaven is truly great, and only Yao could emulate it"—but who can truly follow such an example? Yu the Great's achievements in flood control, however, can indeed be emulated.

Lamenting the world's failure to understand the Great Dao, Laozi offers three more accessible principles: First, compassion—avoid harming the people; second, frugality—do not waste natural resources; third, refusing to contend—avoid initiating wars rashly. Compassion breeds courage, as seen when Shun transformed the Miao people through virtuous governance; frugality creates abundance, exemplified by Yu living in humble quarters while completing waterworks; and by not contending, one becomes a leader, as when Shun yielded authority to the capable Gao Yao.

Modern people, however, do the opposite: abandoning compassion for ferocity leads to tragedies like the execution of loyal minister Bi Gan; discarding frugality for extravagance results in building jade palaces; refusing to yield while contending for precedence brought King Tang's imprisonment at Xiatai and King Wen's confinement at Youli, ultimately causing their downfall. Historical figures like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang exemplify this.

True victory in battle comes through compassion, for the benevolent are invincible; defense through compassion brings stability, as people will follow unto death. When Heaven seeks to rescue someone, it protects them with compassion—just as King Tang and King Wen ultimately escaped their predicaments.

This passage illustrates the governing wisdom of "the virtue of non-contention" through historical examples of sage-kings like King Tang of Shang and King Wen of Zhou.

When King Tang overthrew the tyrannical Jie of Xia, he declared: "The ancient kings of Xia diligently cultivated virtue (De), during which time no natural disasters occurred, mountain and river spirits remained peaceful, and even birds, beasts, fish, and turtles flourished. But when their descendants abandoned ancestral virtue, Heaven sent down calamities, using me as its instrument to execute the Mandate of Heaven." Similarly, King Wu of Zhou, when attacking King Zhou of Shang, stated: "The Shang ruler shows no remorse, having abandoned rituals to Heaven, Earth, and ancestral spirits. His crimes reach to Heaven, and the Mandate decrees his destruction." Though Tang and Wu may not equal sage-kings like Yao and Shun, their actions followed principled reasoning.

The Dao De Jing teaches: "The true commander doesn't flaunt martial prowess; the skilled warrior isn't easily provoked; the master victor doesn't contend with others; the wise employer of men humbles himself beneath them." This is the virtue (De) of non-contention, the capacity to utilize talents effectively, aligning with the supreme principle of the Dao (the Way).

King Wen exemplified "not flaunting martial prowess." Framed by Chong Houhu, he endured six years imprisonment in Youli (a Shang dynasty prison) before finally attacking Chong—demonstrating how "the skilled warrior isn't provoked." When Chong Houhu slandered him, King Wen voluntarily offered a thousand li of fertile land west of the Luo River to King Zhou, requesting abolition of the cruel "roasting pillar" punishment. Not only did Zhou consent, he bestowed ceremonial weapons, enfeoffing Wen as "Earl of the West" to oversee military campaigns and govern the Jianghan region's feudal lords—this being "the master victor who doesn't contend."

Jiang Taigong's (Lü Shang) story illustrates "the wise employer who positions himself beneath others." This recluse from the eastern seashore remained obscure past seventy, mocked as eccentric. While fishing at the Wei River, King Wen personally inquired: "Do you enjoy fishing, sir?" Taigong replied: "Noble men delight in realizing aspirations; petty men in trivial pursuits. My fishing isn't mere amusement." After profound discussion, Wen exclaimed joyfully: "My ancestor Grand Duke long awaited such a man as you!" Honoring him as "Taigong Wang" (Grand Duke's Hope), Wen appointed him chief strategist.

This wisdom constitutes "matching Heaven's ultimate principle"—the highest standard for rulership. A sovereign like King Wen, adept at humbling himself, becomes a model for posterity. When Wen consulted Taigong about Shang's wanton executions, asking "Should we raise arms?", the sage advised: "Without Heaven's manifested calamities, don't initiate action; without Humanity's visible disasters, don't advance plans"—embodying the wisdom of aligning with celestial timing.

This scripture primarily discusses how rulers should govern the state and employ military force, as well as the dangers of underestimating adversaries.

Jiang Taigong (a founding minister of the Zhou Dynasty) pointed out that if a ruler imposes excessive taxes, launches massive construction projects, the people will suffer from numerous illnesses and disasters; if hunting and fishing are conducted contrary to agricultural seasons, it will invite gale disasters leading to crop failures; if sacred mountains are defiled and great rivers blocked, it will cause floods; if military aggression is pursued relentlessly, it will result in celestial anomalies like solar and lunar eclipses. King Wen of Zhou (the Earl of the West) lamented that it was precisely due to such tyrannical policies that King Zhou of Shang lost his kingdom in less than ten years.

The Daode Jing cites military strategy: "In the art of war, I dare not take the offensive but prefer to maintain defense; I dare not advance an inch but would rather retreat a foot." This is what is called "marching without marching" (advancing troops without rashly engaging), "rolling up sleeves without baring arms" (defending without hastily striking), "facing enemies without underestimating them," and "holding weapons without reckless slaughter." The greatest calamity lies in underestimating one's foe—doing so nearly causes us to lose our most precious treasures (referring to the Three Treasures of compassion, frugality, and humility). When two armies confront each other, the side that maintains compassion often prevails.

The scripture explains: The original purpose of military force is to prepare for contingencies, not to scheme for dominion over the world. "Daring not to act as host" means not daring to initiate warfare, engaging only when compelled by necessity. Even when responding to conflict, one must proceed cautiously, preferring defensive retreat to underestimating the enemy. For the Son of Heaven regards all under heaven as one body—harming others is harming oneself. The reason Great Yu could subdue the Miao people was precisely because he heeded good counsel, withdrew troops, and cultivated virtue (De). Underestimating adversaries nearly causes the loss of the "Three Treasures"—treasuring goodness, treasuring benevolence—all of which are precious gifts bestowed by Heaven.

All people under heaven are my treasures. Thus when two armies engage in battle, the side that holds compassion in its heart will ultimately prevail. When opposing forces stand facing each other, the one that harbors mercy and cannot bear to harm the people often subdues the enemy without fighting—this is true victory. This resonates with the previous two chapters—the earlier chapter praising King Wen of Zhou (who conquered through virtue) while implicitly criticizing King Wu (who took the realm by force). When Laozi speaks of the art of war, he often holds up Yu the Great (who transformed the Sanmiao tribes through virtuous governance) as the exemplar.

The scripture states: My Dao is easy to understand and simple to practice, yet people under heaven find it difficult to truly comprehend and follow. Words must have their root, actions must follow their guiding principle. Precisely because people do not understand this Dao, they cannot understand me. Those who comprehend me are few, and those who emulate me are even more precious. Therefore, the sage is like one who wears coarse cloth yet carries jade within (plain in appearance but precious in essence).

This passage means: Words are vessels for the Great Dao—only by understanding words can one comprehend the Dao, and only by practicing them can one walk the path. The principle is so clear and simple; I have hidden nothing, and true practice leads to unimpeded realization everywhere. Alas, why can't the people of the world understand and practice this? The "root" in "words must have their root" refers to the foundation, like tracing back to ancient texts; the "guiding principle" in "actions must follow their guiding principle" means returning to the governing ways of the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun—never empty talk. Without understanding words, one cannot comprehend the Dao, hence people fail to understand me. Since they neither understand nor practice, their ignorance becomes evident. Precisely because the world is ignorant, the rarity of those who understand me is no surprise. Ah! With so few who understand me, those who emulate me become all the more precious—one could also say "to emulate" means to follow, where "me" represents the Dao, and those who model themselves on the Dao naturally attain nobility. The sage "wearing coarse cloth yet carrying jade"—the rough garment symbolizes humble status, while the jade represents supreme virtue—this describes sages who possess virtue but no rank, hence few in the world recognize them. Laozi uses this metaphor to hint at his own circumstances.

The scripture states: To know that you do not know is supreme; to pretend to know what you don't is a flaw. Only by recognizing this flaw as a flaw can you avoid it. The sage is free from this flaw precisely because they regard it as a flaw to be vigilant against, thus remaining untouched by it.

Here is the explanation: "To know" means to comprehend the Dao, while "flaw" means failing to understand it. "To know you do not know is supreme" refers to the sage who understands the Dao yet refrains from speaking of it lightly—this is the highest state. "Not knowing yet pretending to know is a flaw" describes ordinary people feigning understanding—this is the flaw.

This scripture conveys two main teachings: first, the wisdom of "knowing one's faults," and second, the proper way for rulers to govern their people.

The first part points out that ordinary people's greatest flaw is their inability to recognize their own flaws, often masking them with clever words. In contrast, sages (wise individuals) are acutely aware of how much they do not know, speaking with caution and thus avoiding mistakes. The text cites two examples: a bronze figure from the Zhou dynasty sealed with three layers of inscriptions on its back, and Confucius (Kong Sheng), who, upon seeing this figure during his travels in Zhou, touched it and sighed in contemplation. Both serve as warnings for people to be mindful of their words and actions. True wisdom lies in "knowing what one knows and acknowledging what one does not know."

The second part discusses the art of governance. "Wei" (威) refers to punitive measures. Though people fear punishment, why do some still take reckless risks? Because when rulers abuse their power, pushing the people to desperation, rebellion becomes inevitable. The text contrasts the examples of King Tang of Shang (founder of the Shang dynasty) and the tyrant Jie of Xia (last ruler of the Xia dynasty): Tang's benevolence (such as the legend of him leaving three sides of his hunting net open) drew lords to submit willingly, while Jie's cruelty led to his downfall. If a ruler is narrow-minded and tyrannical, driving the people to despair, chaos will erupt—ministers may assassinate their sovereign, and sons may turn against their fathers.

The true way of governance lies in this: Do not let your heart grow narrow ("wu xia qi suo ju"), for only then can you embrace all things; do not despise your people ("wu yan qi suo sheng"), for only then will they not despise you. A ruler must practice self-reflection ("zi zhi"), cherish the people ("zi ai"), and avoid self-display ("bu zi jian") or self-exaltation ("bu zi gui").

This passage expounds principles for personal conduct and governance. First, it states that truly cultivated individuals understand the Dao (the Way) yet refrain from ostentatious displays, avoiding arrogance. They practice self-respect without self-aggrandizement, never oppressing others with power. One should abandon narrow-minded complacency while maintaining the De (Virtue) of self-awareness and self-care.

The Daode Jing says: Aggressive bravery invites fatal consequences, while yielding preserves life. These two attitudes—one beneficial, one harmful—present a dilemma even the sages find difficult to resolve, for who can fully comprehend what Heaven despises? The Dao of Heaven operates thus: It conquers without contention, responds without verbose commands, arrives unsummoned, and appears relaxed yet maintains perfect order. Heaven's net is vast—seemingly sparse, yet nothing escapes its judgment of good and evil.

The original commentary explains: Courage stems from will (Zhi), boldness from Qi (vital energy). Will is fundamental, Qi supplementary. Preserving will without misusing Qi is the path to survival. When Qi overrides will, disordered will leads to downfall—this is the path to destruction. Understanding these dual outcomes hinges on properly balancing will and Qi. What does Heaven despise? Precisely the seeds of evil. Heaven favors creation over destruction, yet its intentions remain ultimately unfathomable—even to sages.

The Dao's non-contention conquers, like softness overcoming hardness; its silent responses manifest, like perfect sincerity moving the spirits; its unsummoned arrival mirrors how goodness naturally attracts blessings, while evil invites calamity; its relaxed-yet-precise order ensures rewards for virtue and retribution for wickedness. Heaven's net, though seemingly loose, misses nothing. Fate is mutable—only constant De preserves one's station; its loss forfeits all. Misfortune and fortune have no fixed gates—they are summoned by one's own actions.

Consider the tyrants Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang: Had they employed wise ministers, heeded counsel, understood Heaven's aversions, and restrained their aggression to act with sage-like caution, even virtuous rulers like Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou would have remained subordinate. Alas, their downfalls prove how Heaven's net, though wide, lets nothing escape. Truly, the words of sages cannot be disregarded.

The Daode Jing further states: When people no longer fear death, what use are capital punishments? But if citizens maintain proper fear of mortality, executing rebels would deter further lawlessness. There exists an office (Heaven's law) that oversees executions—to usurp this role is like carving wood for a master carpenter: rarely does one avoid cutting one's own hand.

This scripture examines the relationship between rulers and the people, pointing out that when commoners no longer fear death, it is because their livelihoods have become unsustainable. When rulers impose harsh laws and excessive taxes, driving the people to desperation, they will naturally take desperate measures. This is akin to killing with a blade or killing with oppressive governance—both are fundamentally the same.

The text observes that if rulers would relax legal restrictions, reduce tax burdens, and decrease forced labor, allowing people to live and work in peace, they would naturally value life and refrain from rebellion. However, if people still violate laws despite living in stability, then enforcing punishments aligns with the Dao of Heaven. Yet it must be remembered: the authority over life and death belongs to Heaven alone. When humans overstep this boundary with wanton killing, it resembles an amateur attempting a carpenter's work—more likely to harm themselves than succeed.

The author cites the example of the warring states after the Zhou dynasty's eastern migration, demonstrating how those in power who abuse authority and wage arbitrary wars not only disrupt social order but leave people without even the luxury of fearing death—ultimately reaping what they sow. The scripture clarifies: people starve because those above overtax them; they become ungovernable because of excessive interference from above; they treat death lightly because their superiors excessively pursue pleasure. Only those who do not treat life as an instrument for gratification truly understand its preciousness.

Finally, it emphasizes that the state takes the people as its foundation, while the people regard food as their Heaven. During the era of the Five Hegemons in the Spring and Autumn period, heavy corvée labor and constant warfare led to unequal taxation, abandoned farmlands, widespread hunger, and consequently rampant banditry and social upheaval. All this demonstrates that when people's basic survival needs go unmet, society inevitably descends into chaos.

This passage conveys two main teachings: one concerning the art of governance, and the other regarding the philosophy of life and death.

Regarding governance, the scripture reveals that the difficulty in ruling a state lies not with the common people, but with rulers who practice excessive youwei (over-interference). When rulers pursue extravagant pleasures, extracting the people's hard-earned resources to satisfy their sensual desires, it inevitably leads to widespread suffering. The Shenming (natural laws) do not sanction such conduct, causing people to disregard death. Truly wise individuals do not obsess over life-nourishment practices, yet they understand life's essence more profoundly than those who excessively pursue longevity. While nurturing life requires material foundations, countless people possess material abundance without understanding true cultivation—such end-times practices are rejected by sages.

Concerning the philosophy of life and death, the text draws conclusions from observing natural phenomena: all living things are supple, while dead things become rigid. For instance, living human bodies remain flexible but stiffen after death; plants are tender when growing but become brittle when withered. Thus, hardness belongs to the category of death, while softness belongs to life. Just as military forces that rely on brute strength often fail to prevail, and trees that grow too rigid face the axe, powerful things tend to occupy lower positions while gentle things naturally rise above.

The passage further explains the essence of life and death: they result from transformations between Yin and Yang Qi (the two opposing yet complementary energies). These dual energies originate from the single Qi of Taiji (the cosmic source), which itself emerges from Wuji (the formless ultimate reality). As the Yijing states, "Taiji generates the Two Modes (Yin-Yang)." All things arise from "being," yet "being" itself originates from "non-being"—a concept resonating with Buddhism's teaching that "all phenomena return to One." Specifically, Heaven's Yang nature generates Water (whose nature is soft), while Earth's Yin nature produces Fire (whose nature is fierce). Through the interaction of Heaven-Earth and Yin-Yang, all things are born, with hardness and softness complementing each other to form natural laws.

The movement of Heaven and Earth operates like drawing a bow to shoot an arrow: if the bowstring is pulled too high, lower it; if too low, raise it; if overly full, reduce it; if insufficient, supplement it. This is the Dao's way of balancing all things—diminishing the excessive to compensate for the deficient. Yet human practices do the opposite, always taking from the insufficient to feed the excessive. Only those who have attained the Dao can act like heavenly rain and dew, offering their surplus to nourish the world.

Human life follows the same principle. While alive, one is soft like water (nourished by heavenly moisture), but in death, the body becomes rigid like scorched earth (gathered by earthly fire). The interplay of firmness and suppleness completes the cycle of life from beginning to end. Thus, the art of nurturing life emphasizes emulating softness—what is soft retains vitality, while what is rigid invites destruction. Just as overly hard trees are easily felled and overly rigid weapons easily broken, this is the eternal law of Heaven and Earth.

When Laozi speaks of "softness," he refers to the ceaseless flow of Qi (vital energy), while "firmness" denotes material form. When Qi is harmonized, all things flourish; when it becomes excessively strong, decay sets in. Decay leads to death, and death signifies a return to the source. Expressions like "returning to the state of an infant" or "reverting to the realm of Wuji (the Limitless)" all describe this cyclical path of return.

The fifth chapter of the "Great Plan" (Hongfan Jiuchou) speaks of the "Supreme Standard" (Huangji), which establishes the Middle Way free from extremes. Heavenly Qi descends while earthly Qi rises; scorching heat transforms into coolness, and bitter cold shifts to warmth—all manifestations of the Dao's balancing act. Yet human ways often defy this equilibrium, just as the noble person follows the Mean while the petty person strays from it. Only sages who govern with De (Virtue) and nurture all beings can achieve merit without claiming credit and perfect all things without displaying their worth.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," using water's nature as a metaphor for governance. Though water appears most yielding, it can penetrate the hardest stone; similarly, a ruler's humble and inclusive approach can achieve true sovereignty.

The scripture reveals this as nature's law: in action, one should avoid self-aggrandizement and emulate Heaven's way by maintaining equilibrium. The sage's deeds may seem like Wuwei (non-action) without forced striving, yet accomplish all things. Like water—gentle in stillness but capable of breaching dams when accumulated—historical exemplars Yu the Great's flood control, Tang of Shang's conquests, and King Wen of Zhou's overthrow of tyranny all demonstrated overcoming rigidity through pliancy.

A profound paradox is emphasized: only those who endure a nation's humiliations can become its true lords; only those who bear a kingdom's calamities can reign as sovereigns. This seemingly contradictory truth finds validation in history—Gun's execution and Tang's imprisonment involved extreme disgrace, yet Yu inherited the throne and the Shang-Zhou transitions produced enlightened rulers who replaced tyrants.

The text concludes with a warning to rulers: had Jie of Xia or Zhou of Shang understood this principle and emulated Yao and Shun's governance, they wouldn't have been supplanted by Tang and King Wu. King Wen's unwavering deference to Tyrant Zhou exemplified virtues rivaling the legendary sage-kings. The entire Mystical Classic of Dao and De ultimately admonishes monarchs: only by rectifying themselves can they rectify officials, and only then will the people be rectified. Never establish the precedent of subjects overthrowing rulers—this constitutes governance's fundamental principle.

This passage describes an ideal state of society where people live simply and naturally, free from excessive desires and contention. In the era of Fuxi (the legendary ancient sovereign), people had no need for knotted ropes to keep records. Their diet was simple yet satisfying, animal skins provided sufficient warmth, and dwelling in caves offered shelter from wind and rain. All maintained pristine customs—content with full bellies, neighbors living peacefully within sight of one another, hearing each other's dogs bark and roosters crow, yet carrying on their tranquil lives without interference until old age and death. No one harbored ambitions to seize cities or lands, for the natural resources of heaven and earth were already abundant. This pure and simple ethos permeated all creation, unchanged across time.

The realm comprehended by Laozi (the Venerable Sage) is beyond the grasp of later generations' domineering figures. Such rare wisdom spanning ten thousand ages will inevitably be encountered by those destined to understand it.

The scripture states: Truthful words are not ornate; ornate rhetoric often lacks truth. The virtuous are not contentious; the contentious have yet to attain true virtue. The genuinely wise do not seek breadth of knowledge; those pursuing breadth often lack true wisdom. The sage accumulates no possessions—the more they give to others, the richer they become; the more they bestow, the more they possess. The Dao (Way) of heaven benefits all things without harm; the sage's principle is to act without contention.

The original commentary explains: The sage's heart-mind is as vast as heaven and earth, embracing and giving all, like an inexhaustible spring that neither fills nor runs dry. Ordinary people differ—they favor flowery rhetoric while distrusting plain truths. The virtuous avoid contention because they embrace all; the contentious remain attached to verbal disputes. The truly wise seek not breadth of knowledge because they have mastered essential unity; those pursuing breadth lack true understanding, like counting wheel spokes while forgetting the wheel itself. Sages hoard no possessions, flowing with circumstance. The more they aid others, the more they receive, for the heart that generates life is eternal; the more they give, the more they possess, for the mind that creates all things never depletes. Heaven's Dao benefits without harming—appearing to confer no favor, yet this is the greatest grace.