《道德真經注疏》Vol. 4

The essence of Dao (the cosmic origin and operating principle) appears as non-action (Wuwei), yet accomplishes all things. Gu Huan's commentary explains that the constant state of Dao is to follow nature without forced striving. From the perspective of Dao's fundamental substance, it is utterly still and unmoving; yet in its functioning, it responds to all phenomena and nurtures the myriad beings. The first part describes Dao's noumenon, while the latter illustrates its phenomenal operation - together manifesting the dialectical relationship between root and manifestation, stillness and movement.

If rulers (feudal lords and kings) can uphold the Great Dao, all things will naturally transform through its influence. Here "self-transformation" (zihua) means all beings spontaneously emulate the ruler's Virtue (De). When emperors maintain a state of serene non-action, the people will naturally return to simplicity. Whether the Son of Heaven commanding ten thousand chariots or the five ranks of nobility, all who follow this principle will find the eight directions submitting naturally. The special mention of feudal lords emphasizes how a ruler's transformative influence most profoundly affects the populace. When one's inner being achieves the state of emptiness (yi kong), all spiritual forces (wan shen) will naturally gather, and wayward thoughts transform into proper alignment.

When beings begin transforming yet develop covetous desires, they should be stabilized with the "nameless simplicity" (Dao's unadorned nature). Here "I" (wu) refers to the ruler's own being, and "nameless simplicity" is Dao itself. If craftiness and falsity emerge during beings' transformations, rulers should pacify them through Dao's Virtue. Though people may have initially accepted their ruler's teaching of non-action, should active desires arise again, they must be calmed through Dao's fundamental simplicity. The term "arising" (zuo) here indicates the emergence of desires, while "simplicity" (pu) represents Dao. Practitioners beginning cultivation often inevitably seek results - at this stage, they must stabilize their minds through Dao's simple nature, using emptiness to dissolve attachments. Gu Huan interprets "arising" as the emergence of hypocritical thoughts, showing that when rulers uphold Dao, all things originally achieve natural transformation.

When deceitful thoughts arise from the pursuit of stability and moral instruction, Laozi (Laojun) says: "I shall subdue such delusions with the Dao." The phrase "making the mind chaotic" refers to returning the human heart to its original undifferentiated state, eliminating all discrimination. The so-called "nameless simplicity" (referring to the unadorned state of primal authenticity) is actually achieved through moral instruction and precepts.

This genuine simplicity requires even the intention to "have no desires" to be relinquished. The commentary explains that when rulers use Dao and De (Virtue/Power) to pacify the people, they must avoid deliberately striving for desirelessness and instead guide them through natural and serene means. The further exegesis clarifies: not only should one not cling to "having methods" (specific regulations), but even the concept of "nameless simplicity" must not be grasped. Earlier, "non-being" was used to eliminate attachment to "being"; here, "non-being" is used to eliminate attachment to "non-being," reaching a state where both being and non-being are forgotten—this is the true Middle Way.

The world naturally returns to the correct path. The commentary notes that when this is achieved, the world naturally stabilizes. The exegesis explains: through "stillness," delusions are pacified—first using "namelessness" to dissolve attachment to "being," then using "desirelessness" to dissolve attachment to "non-being." When both being and non-being are forgotten, and even the thought of "desirelessness" ceases, absolute harmony is attained. This progressive transcendence is the cultivation of exploring the subtle and exhausting the truth. At this point, all things in the world are manifestations of the Dao; even weeds and tiles embody the supreme truth, hence the phrase "the world naturally corrects itself." This is the summation of the "gateway to all mysteries" (the Dao’s mystical manifestation).

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's (imperial) commentary adds: when rulers use "nameless simplicity" to pacify the people, they must not cling to this concept either, lest they fall back into artificial contrivance. Even the thought of "desirelessness" must be forgotten to attain true serenity, and the world will naturally align with the correct path. The Dao itself is eternally desireless and tranquil, thus maintaining the constancy of heaven and earth. Heaven and earth are the ministers of the Dao, and rulers emulate the Dao in their governance, so the hearts of the people naturally return to the right path.

The passage on "highest De (Virtue) does not display itself as De" states: the nameless rulers of antiquity possessed vast De yet did not claim it for themselves. They did not constrain the people with moral preaching but nurtured human nature in accordance with spontaneity. This De harmonized with heaven and earth, balancing Yin-Yang, and the people were preserved. The exegesis explains: "highest" signifies transcendence, and "De" signifies attainment. Those with highest De are mystically united with the Dao—their wisdom and state of being are one.

This passage elucidates the Daoist classification of De (Virtue/Power) and the characteristics manifested at different levels.

The highest level, "superior De," represents a state of natural compliance without deliberate action. This virtue completely follows the laws of the Dao, with a mind of pure Wuwei (non-action), thus requiring no titles or labels to proclaim itself. True De flows forth spontaneously, needing no conscious display.

The next level, "inferior De," though still virtuous, retains elements of contrivance. This virtue manifests through specific policies and teachings, often aimed at establishing reputation and achievements. Precisely because it involves such deliberate pursuits, it appears less pure in comparison.

"Superior benevolence" refers to the highest form of compassionate love. This kindness springs from the heart, given freely without expectation of return. Though it involves active giving, it arises completely naturally, devoid of utilitarian motives. Among the Daoist "Three Treasures" (compassion, frugality, and not daring to be first in the world), compassion holds the foremost position.

"Superior righteousness" carries more artificial regulations. It maintains order through establishing precepts and punishing evil while rewarding good, but such actions already bear elements of compulsion and purposefulness. Though necessary, they deviate from the Dao's natural essence.

The lowest level, "superior ritual," overemphasizes elaborate formalities. Creating various ceremonial norms and emphasizing pomp and dignity, it becomes mired in superficial forms. Such contrived behavior instead leads people away from the great Dao, receiving no genuine response.

In summary, this passage expounds the Daoist philosophy of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)," asserting that the highest virtue lies in complying with nature without deliberate striving. The more one consciously pursues a particular virtue, the further one strays from the true Dao.

This passage describes the gradual decline of social morality and the resulting problems. When people cease pursuing the Dao (the cosmic origin and natural order), they begin focusing on superficial De (artificial moral codes). As De deteriorates, emphasis shifts to "benevolence" (compassionate heart); when benevolence is lost, society clings to "righteousness" (behavioral norms); and when righteousness fades, only "ritual propriety" (etiquette rules) remains to maintain order.

The text critiques how contemporary society excessively pursues ornate appearances while neglecting plain substance. People no longer value serene naturalness, instead admiring elaborate ceremonial displays. Such superficial efforts resemble initiating social interactions with jade and silk (luxury gifts) while establishing intricate ritual systems—this ultimately burdens commoners who cannot meet upper-class demands, leading to conflict. It's like someone performing a ceremonial bow only to receive no response, provoking angry gestures of reproach.

The author cites Zhuangzi's allegory "thin Lu wine leading to the siege of Handan" (illustrating how minor matters spark major disputes) to show that when society fixates on surface-level etiquette, it ironically breeds more discord. True governance should return to "supreme De"—the highest form of virtue that harmonizes with the Dao, requiring no forced display, as its natural Wuwei (non-action) nurtures all things.

Finally, the text clarifies that concepts like Dao, De, benevolence and righteousness address different historical conditions. Advocating ritual systems in an age of simplicity is absurd, yet completely abandoning them during moral decay is equally misguided. The ideal approach involves gradual regression: retreating from ritual to righteousness, from righteousness to benevolence, from benevolence to De, ultimately forgetting artificial virtue to return to the natural Dao—only then can society restore its pristine state.

This passage discusses the problems that arise when ritual propriety (ancient social norms) loses its essence. When ceremonial laws remain only as superficial forms, it resembles a person forcing an imposing demeanor while actually being full of hypocrisy. True ritual should originate from inner loyalty and trustworthiness, but when people focus solely on elaborate formalities, the essence of sincerity gradually fades.

Such empty rituals, devoid of substance, not only fail to prevent disorder but become the very source of chaos. Because they disregard the simplicity of genuine nature and instead elevate flashy appearances, they lead to fewer upright individuals and more acts of corruption. Just as one might care only about external adornments while neglecting true feelings, such rituals cannot restrain indulgence—instead, they fuel the beginnings of confusion.

The so-called "foreknowledge" (unverified subjective judgments) may seem to grasp the essence of the Dao (the Way), but in reality, it marks the beginning of foolishness. Those who pretend to understand without true knowledge merely cling to the superficial brilliance of the Dao, losing its authentic substance. Like using jade and silk (luxurious gifts) and prostration to flaunt ritual propriety—such people are precisely the most ignorant.

A true "great man" (one of noble virtue) should be grounded in the simple, profound essence of De (Virtue/Power), rather than dwelling on shallow ritual appearances. They seek inner authenticity, not external extravagance. As the commentary states, a great man must possess courage and wisdom, capable of protecting all beings with a heart broad in moral virtue—how could he be satisfied with superficial ceremonial forms? Thus, the wise choose to uphold the essence of loyalty and trustworthiness rather than chase hollow displays.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concepts of Wuwei (non-action) and "returning to original simplicity." Laozi posits that deliberate pursuit of benevolence and righteousness paradoxically signals moral decline, as truly virtuous sages naturally transcend artificial distinctions between good and bad.

Heaven, Earth, spirits, and valleys maintain their authentic states precisely because they embody the "One" (the primordial source of Dao). When Heaven receives the One, it becomes clear; when Earth obtains the One, it finds stability; when the Shen (spirit) embraces the One, it achieves numinous wisdom; when valleys contain the One, they overflow with abundance. This "One" represents the most refined Qi (vital energy) of Dao—the fundamental generative principle of all existence.

Specifically: Heaven maintains clarity by embodying Dao's pure Qi; Earth achieves stillness through Dao's tranquil Qi; the human heart-mind (considered the sovereign of internal organs in classical thought) manifests spiritual intelligence by harmonizing with Dao's Qi; valleys sustain perpetual springs by containing Dao's nourishing energy.

The text references key Neidan (internal alchemy) terminology: the "Mud Ball" (crown-point acupuncture locus) and Dantian (lower abdominal energy center). In alchemical practice, pure Qi descends from the crown while turbid Qi ascends from the Dantian—this constitutes the foundational dynamic of inner cultivation.

The entire passage advocates discarding superficial ornamentation to reclaim primordial authenticity. True sages don't artificially separate opposites or calculate gains, but spontaneously align with Dao's natural rhythms. Like all phenomena in creation, they flourish precisely by preserving their inherent connection to Dao's essential nature.

As mountain streams converge in valleys until they overflow, all beings depend on the "One" (the primordial source of Dao) to receive life. This passage explains that all living things must rely on the Great Dao to come into existence. Whether animals or plants, though their forms may differ, they all equally embody this fundamental "One" in their being.

If rulers can grasp this "One," they can guide the world back to proper order. The commentary notes that only when monarchs comprehend the source of Dao can they govern with impartiality. Specifically, this operates like the spleen (in Chinese medicine, associated with Earth element and the center) residing at the body's core, using the "One" to regulate all directions. Historical sage-kings like Yao (Fangxun) and Yu (Wenming) governed through Wuwei (non-action), administering their rule by upholding the Great Dao.

All these phenomena stem from the same fundamental principle. The term "zhi zhi" (致之) refers to attaining a certain state. When heaven becomes clear, spirits manifest their power, and harvests abound—these all result from following the marvelous workings of Dao. Though these six phenomena appear differently, their root originates from the same "Dao."

Should heaven lose its clarity, it might collapse. The commentary explains that heaven requires the alternation of Yin-Yang and the cycle of day and night. If it stubbornly maintains perpetual clarity, this would instead lead to fragmentation—just as when the human brain (the "muddy pellet" or nihuan) loses nourishment from the "One," hair turns white and teeth fall out.

Should earth lose its stability, it might quake. The earth needs undulating heights and depths, firmness yielding to softness. If forced into absolute stillness, this would instead trigger earthquakes and landslides—just as when the Dantian (the body's energy center) loses the "One," vital essence (Jing) and energy (Qi) dissipate.

Should spirits lose their efficacy, they might vanish. Divine beings must follow cycles of growth, flourishing, rest and dormancy. If they persistently manifest their power without respite, this would exhaust their strength—just as when a person's Shen (spirit/vitality) loses the support of the "One," it withers and perishes.

When the heart-mind (Shen) is scattered and unable to maintain focused unity (referring to the concentrated state in Daoist cultivation), the body becomes empty and prematurely declines. Thus, it is said that one may fear decay and ruin. If the spirit does not follow the Great Dao (Dao), wisdom becomes dull and indolent. Without efficacious practice, one may fear complete dissipation.

If mountain valleys lack abundant springs, they may eventually run dry. This speaks of how valleys should naturally cycle between fullness and contraction, emptiness and repletion—they cannot perpetually pursue absolute fullness, lest they dry up and cease to be valleys. The Jie Jie commentary states: If the mouth loses its fluids (referring to the saliva produced in the "Hua Chi" during cultivation), it will parch—hence the danger of exhaustion. Another interpretation notes that when river valleys lose harmony and unity, calamities arise, causing springs to dry and water flow to cease.

If all things lose the conditions for growth, they may face extinction. The flourishing and withering of all beings should follow the rhythms of the seasons—life and death are natural patterns. To demand perpetual life without death may instead hasten destruction. The Shu commentary explains: All things survive by attaining the Dao (where "unity" refers to the Dao). If they turn away from the Dao and betray their true nature, they perish in an instant.

If lords and kings (rulers) cannot maintain their noble station, they may topple. This means rulers should be humble in dealing with others, urgently seeking the worthy, and not fixated on eternal supremacy—lest they risk overthrow. The Yu Zhu commentary states: Those who attain the Dao must not become arrogant. Though the sages' teachings encompass the purity and stillness of heaven and earth, their ultimate focus remains on rulers. If one can remain gentle and yielding, calamities like collapse and ruin will not occur. The Shu commentary cites the tyrants Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang as cautionary examples.

Thus, nobility must take humility as its root. To be truly noble, one should ground oneself in modesty—like Yu and Hou Ji tilling the fields themselves, Shun crafting pottery by the river, or the Duke of Zhou deferring to worthies. The Jie Jie says: Those seeking longevity must take primordial Qi (Qi) as their foundation. The Shu explains: Rulers who attain the Dao remain humble; those who lose it grow arrogant. Clearly, arrogance is the beginning of baseness, while humility is the root of nobility.

Loftiness must be built upon a lowly foundation. To establish exalted status, one must first lay a solid base—like building a wall from the ground up. If the foundation is unsteady, collapse and peril will surely follow.

This passage expounds the core wisdom of Daoist cultivation and worldly conduct. For practitioners nurturing essence (Jing) to replenish the marrow-brain (养精补脑), the foundation must always be the lower Dantian (energy center in the lower abdomen). Just as towering structures rise from solid foundations, true nobility doesn't emerge from emptiness but grows upon humility.

The wise understand this fundamental principle—maintaining modesty prevents calamity, while fools chasing superficial glory climb only to fall harder. Consider how ancient rulers styled themselves "the Solitary One," "the Virtueless," or "the Unworthy"—terms normally despised, yet adopted as self-deprecating titles. This reveals how genuine nobility paradoxically roots itself in humility, much like a wheel's hub (毂) occupies the lowest position yet remains the pivot of all movement.

The scripture employs chariot-making as an extended metaphor: individual components like spokes, axles, or shafts don't constitute a complete chariot—only their harmonious assembly does. Similarly, rulers achieve true nobility not by flaunting titles but by transcending them. Both physical form and social status prove illusory; only by preserving humility can one safeguard the root.

True Daoist masters rise above praise and blame—neither inflated by others' acclaim of their virtue (De), nor diminished by accusations of being Dao-less. Cultivated individuals should establish their foundation through practical moral deeds, recognizing that empty fame resembles chariot parts—transient illusions. Only by abiding in humble sincerity does one embody the great Dao (大道).

The truly wise (superior practitioners) immediately devote themselves to diligent cultivation upon hearing the truth of the Dao. Recognizing the illusory nature of all worldly phenomena, they persevere in practice without slackening.

Those of average understanding (middling practitioners) waver when encountering the Great Dao. Though they yearn for longevity and universal peace, temptations of wealth, beauty, fame, and status easily sway them, causing their resolve to falter. Their cultivation flickers like a candle in the wind, sometimes bright, sometimes dim.

The highest state of cultivation returns the mind to its original, uncontrived nature—neither flaunting virtue (De) nor leaving traces of practice. Like a deeply rooted tree, it remains unshaken by external judgments of right and wrong. True practitioners are neither dazzling jade nor coarse, unyielding stone, but embody simplicity and authenticity.

The movement of the Dao operates through opposition and complementarity ("Reversal is the movement of the Dao"). Sages understand flexible adaptation (strategic action), appearing to defy convention while aligning with the Dao's deeper truth. What seems weak and useless is precisely how the Dao functions ("The weak is the Dao's employment"). Sages abide in a receptive, tranquil state—this is the fundamental application of the Dao.

All things under heaven arise from the tangible world ("born from existence"), yet heaven and earth themselves originate from the formless, nameless Dao ("born from non-existence"). This teaches us: simplicity surpasses ornamentation, softness overcomes hardness, and humility outweighs pride. Just as strategic action must return to the root, practical methods must rest on the foundation of emptiness. The profoundest Dao transcends names and concepts; all things are inherently empty, free from attachment to dualities. Only by relinquishing distinctions—between strategy and substance, being and non-being—can one attain true liberation, like a cartwright who forgets the cart itself.

All things emerge from the "responsive Dao" (the manifest Qi that gives form), which in turn arises from the "marvelous origin" (the ultimate void, the source of all). This primordial source is the silent, mysterious "abyss of stillness"—the beginning of all beginnings.

When people of dull comprehension hear the truth of the Dao (the Way), they often find it laughable. This is because their desires run deep—they fear the Dao's apparent softness and disdain its simplicity, thus responding with mockery. These obtuse individuals, upon hearing profound teachings, consider them vague and illusory, dismissing them as absurd nonsense, even clapping their hands in derisive laughter. Yet it is precisely this quality of being incomprehensible to ordinary people that marks the true Dao.

The ancients summarized the characteristics of the great Dao thus:

Those who truly understand the Dao appear as if confused (明道若昧, ming dao ruo mei);

Those advancing in cultivation seem to be regressing (进道若退, jin dao ruo tui);

The smoothest path of the Dao looks like a rugged trail (夷道若类, yi dao ruo lei).

The highest virtue (上德, shang de) is like an empty valley, capable of embracing all impurities;

The purest character appears as if stained (大白若辱, da bai ruo ru), for the truly noble conceal their brilliance, blending with the dust of the world;

The most expansive virtue seems incomplete (广德若不足, guang de ruo bu zu), because those of genuine virtue never grow self-satisfied.

(Note: This passage uses paradox to reveal the Dao's seemingly contradictory yet profoundly true nature. Practitioners of the Dao often display outward characteristics opposite to those of ordinary people—a manifestation of the Daoist principle of "blending radiance with the dust" (和光同尘, he guang tong chen), where the higher one's inner cultivation, the more humble and unassuming their outward demeanor.)

The person of supreme Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue) appears dull and inadequate in outward demeanor. This illustrates how those who have truly attained greatness maintain humility. One who possesses lofty virtue is inwardly abundant yet outwardly unassuming. As recounted in the biography of Laozi: "The wisest merchants conceal their treasures deeply, while those of profound virtue appear simple-minded to the world."

Those who establish virtue seem to act as if in stealth. This means genuine cultivators of virtue conceal their reputation and traces like thieves avoiding detection. Hence the earlier passage in the Daode Jing states: "as if fearing their neighbors might know them."

The person of pure essence appears capable of transformation. This signifies that those of simple nature maintain their fundamental truth in stillness yet adapt flexibly in response, thus seeming changeable.

The most square object actually lacks sharp corners. True squareness follows nature's flow, unconstrained by trivial details or deliberate displays of edges—what is called "the superior person has no fixed moral rigidity."

Precious vessels require prolonged crafting. Just as the Nine Tripods and ritual jades (hulian) cannot be hastily completed, this metaphor shows how profound cultivation demands sustained practice to reach the highest state. Like the tale of Lord Ren fishing for the great fish—only through persistent focus can one attain the Dao.

The greatest sound is ultimately inaudible. Like thunder awaiting its moment to strike, this teaches the value of preserving primordial Qi (vital energy) and speaking sparingly. The true Dao is silent as sound—even the master musician Shi Kuang could not hear it. The most sublime tones fill the cosmos yet remain noiseless.

The grandest form has no definite shape. The Dao's appearance is formlessness itself. Not even Li Lou (legendary for keen sight) could discern its contours. Though permeating emptiness, it exists as formless presence.

The great Dao remains hidden and nameless.

The Dao is profoundly mysterious and cannot be fully named or defined. This supreme Dao is unfathomably subtle—hidden in depths beyond sight, immeasurable by tangible forms, and impossible to fully articulate with words.

Only the Dao excels in giving and perfecting all things. The term "lend" here implies benevolent provision. The Dao embodies great compassion, stooping to aid all beings by lending them virtuous power (De), nourishing the myriad creatures, transforming and nurturing the Three Realms (heaven, earth, and humanity), and guiding them toward perfection through manifold means.

The Dao first generates the "One" (referring to undifferentiated primordial Qi), from which emerges the "Two" (Yin-Yang energies), and from the Two arises the "Three" (the harmonious Qi born of Yin-Yang interaction). From the Three, all things are brought forth. Specifically: Heaven bestows Yang Qi, Earth bears Yin Qi, and humanity nurtures the myriad beings. All things contain both Yin and Yang aspects—externally manifesting as Yin while internally harboring Yang.

Within all things flows the harmonizing vital energy (Qi). Just as the human body has organs in the chest, marrow in the bones, and hollows in plants and trees, this harmonizing Qi circulates unseen, enabling growth and vitality. Pure Yang alone is too scorching to foster life; pure Yin alone is too frigid to take form. Only through the Dao's operation, mediated by balanced and harmonious Qi, can all things properly flourish.

People typically despise terms like "orphaned," "widowed," or "destitute" as inauspicious, yet kings and nobles adopt them as self-referential titles. This reflects their emulation of the Dao's qualities—humility, emptiness, gentleness, and inclusiveness. Loneliness and bereavement are conditions people shun, yet rulers use these terms as self-admonishments, illustrating that nobility must be rooted in humility, and that those above must be founded upon those below.

This scripture primarily expounds the principle of humility and softness in human conduct. Practitioners should maintain a humble and yielding attitude, for sometimes what appears as loss may bring benefit, while apparent gain may lead to actual detriment.

The text provides two examples: When rulers and nobles refer to themselves using self-deprecating terms like "solitary and unworthy" (an ancient royal modest expression), the people actually respect and support them more; but if rulers become arrogant and complacent, the people will scatter and turn away. This echoes the Book of Documents' teaching that "pride invites loss while humility receives benefit."

Laozi points out that those who are humble, soft, and self-diminishing for others' benefit will attract all things to return to them, thus preserving the Dao of life. Conversely, the arrogant and domineering will face universal resistance, ultimately leading to failure and ruin. This illustrates the principle that "diminishment brings increase, while increase brings diminishment."

Regarding education, ordinary people teach others to transform weakness into strength and softness into hardness, but Laozi advocates the opposite approach—turning strength into weakness and hardness into softness. He emphasizes that the domineering and violent (qiangliangzhe) often meet untimely ends, either cut off by heaven's mandate or perishing by weapons or punishment. Therefore, Laozi establishes "the violent man shall die a violent death" as the fundamental teaching principle (jiaofu) for guiding humanity.

Here "jiaofu" doesn't denote a religious father figure, but rather the foundational principle for moral instruction. Observing how the violent perish while the gentle endure, Laozi particularly emphasizes educating people through the way of humility and softness. While Confucianism also advocates humility, Laozi's method focuses more profoundly on the realm of emptiness-quiescence (xujing), non-action (wuwei), yielding and non-contention.

Laozi here uses the properties of water to illustrate the workings of the Dao (the Way). The softest water can penetrate the hardest metal and stone, demonstrating how the seemingly weak and effortless path of Wuwei (non-action) can resolve the troubles caused by forceful striving. Just as water, though supremely soft, can overcome anything rigid—a feat other things cannot accomplish.

"The formless enters the seamless" describes the nature of the Dao. The Dao itself has no fixed form (wu you), so it can permeate even places without the slightest gap (wu jian). Consider the examples of wind and water: both are formless in essence, yet they can seep into what appears impenetrable, like the marrow of metal and stone. To attain such a state, practitioners must maintain a tranquil mind, undisturbed by desires, allowing their inner being to harmonize with the Dao.

The text critiques those with rigid and aggressive temperaments (qiang liang), noting that they often meet untimely ends. Instead, Laozi advocates for a gentle and Wuwei approach to life, considering it the foundation of Daoist cultivation. Just as water wears away stone, seemingly soft methods often solve the most stubborn problems. The key to cultivation lies in relinquishing attachments and preserving inner clarity, allowing the power of the Dao to manifest naturally.

Through observing the Dao's natural operation, I've come to understand the benefits of Wuwei (non-action). The Dao itself takes no deliberate action, yet all things flourish according to their nature. This reveals how non-interference benefits both humanity and all creation.

The so-called "teaching without words" means true guidance lies not in verbal instruction but in embodying the Dao's principles through example. The advantages of Wuwei manifest in two ways: for personal cultivation, it preserves one's Shen (spirit); for governing a nation, it prevents exhausting the people and resources. Just as soft water penetrates hard stone, the state of "non-being" dissolves attachments to "being." This demonstrates the profound benefits of non-action. Yet few rulers in the world attain this state, finding it difficult to emulate the Dao's governance through non-interference.

(Supplementary commentary notes) "Without words" doesn't mean complete silence, but rather speaking of both being and non-being when expounding principles, alternating between speech and silence when teaching. This dynamic interplay of expression and quietude, presence and absence, truly constitutes "teaching without words" and "benefits of non-action." Genuine teaching appears as non-teaching yet accomplishes teaching; true benefits seem absent yet bring great advantage. This represents the supreme state that exhausts heavenly principles and human nature, which worldly rituals can scarcely approach. Like the silent heavens that effortlessly rotate the seasons, practicing governance through non-action naturally transforms the people.

Laozi then poses two profound questions: Which is more precious—reputation or life? Which matters more—wealth or the body? People often sacrifice life for empty fame and harm their bodies to amass riches, completely reversing priorities. Reputation should serve life—what use is fame after death? Wealth exists to nourish the body—yet fools perish pursuing it. Like Bo Yi who starved at Shouyang Mountain for vain glory, such inverted values are truly lamentable. Laozi reminds us to discard empty fame and illusory gain, preserving instead life's authentic essence.

This scripture passage discusses the perils of insatiable greed and the wisdom of contentment. Zhuangzi once recounted how the notorious robber Zhi ultimately met his end on Dongling Hill. This raises a profound question: Which brings greater suffering - gain or loss?

The commentary explains that excessive pursuit of profit corrupts one's character. Those consumed by greed inevitably lose themselves, while those who maintain purity and few desires preserve their true nature. Ordinary people mistakenly regard acquisition as joy and loss as sorrow - a complete inversion of truth. Thus the scripture prompts us to contemplate: Between gain and loss, which truly constitutes the greater affliction?

Excessive attachment invariably leads to great loss. Obsession with beauty depletes one's vital essence (Jing), while covetousness for wealth invites calamity. Those overly concerned with reputation inevitably exhaust their spirit (Shen) and dissipate their wisdom.

Accumulating excessive wealth inevitably invites significant loss. Hoarding treasures in storehouses during life and filling tombs with grave goods after death means living in fear of robbery and resting in fear of grave-robbing. As ancient texts state: Commoners commit no crime, yet carrying precious jewels makes them guilty. Zhuangzi records Confucian scholars proclaiming: "Green wheat sprouts grow on hillsides - if you wouldn't share in life, why clutch pearls in death?" This illustrates how robbers would break jaws with golden hammers to retrieve burial pearls.

Knowing contentment prevents disgrace. The contented person abandons greed and preserves their integrity. Understanding wealth's illusory nature, they remain satisfied with their lot, maintaining purity and avoiding humiliation.

Understanding limits prevents danger. Knowing when to stop pursuing prevents wealth from burdening body and mind, prevents sensory pleasures from deluding eyes and ears, and ensures one never falls into peril throughout life. Recognizing fame's emptiness allows timely withdrawal, preserving life and avoiding harm. As the Daodejing states: "Fame once attained, one should know when to stop."

Those who achieve contentment and know their limits can preserve blessings indefinitely. Cultivating oneself in this way...

In governing a state, if the ruler refrains from abusing spiritual power (meaning excessive intervention), the people will remain undisturbed, and such governance can be sustained long-term. Understanding when to stop pursuing fame, being content with existing wealth, forgetting empty reputation, and letting go of profit—only then can one attain true longevity.

This passage distills the essence of the concept of "fame"—excessive pursuit of it brings calamity instead. As stated in the Commentary and Subcommentary on the Dao De Jing, Volume 4, true wisdom lies in comprehending the principles of "knowing when to stop" (zhizhi) and "knowing contentment" (zhizu).