《道德真經藏室纂微篇》Vol. 9

This scripture employs a series of metaphors to expound the principles of governance and self-cultivation through nipping problems in the bud. Chen Jingyuan (Daoist name Bixuzi) emphasizes in his commentary that a nation is easiest to govern when it's stable and before wicked thoughts arise, just as new sprouts are easily broken and small streams easily diverted.

He points out: when a country shows no signs of crisis and evil intentions have yet to sprout, taking preventive measures can avert disasters. This resembles treating illness through early regulation before symptoms appear, or governing a state by addressing issues before chaos emerges. Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) illustrates this principle with vivid analogies: even a child can drive an undamaged carriage, but an overturned vehicle becomes unmanageable; an unhatched egg can be crushed with a finger, yet once it grows into a wild goose, it can break through hunting nets; a newborn tiger cub can be tied with rope, but when fully grown, even swords cannot subdue it.

The text further clarifies with three classical metaphors: a giant tree embracing its full girth grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-tiered tower is built basket by basket of earth; a thousand-mile journey begins with the first step. These all admonish people to recognize great matters from small signs and address problems at their inception. Just as a sapling is easily uprooted but becomes unmanageable when fully grown, or how a single basket of earth can be kicked over during construction yet becomes immovable once the tower stands complete.

Finally, it observes: accumulated small acts of goodness bring fortune, while unaddressed minor evils ultimately lead to ruin. This principle of quantitative change leading to qualitative transformation applies equally to state governance and personal cultivation.

Mountains and hills are difficult to destroy because they are formed by the gradual accumulation of countless small stones and earth particles. It is like a traveler setting out on a long journey—at first, they take only a small step and can easily turn back. But once they have traveled a thousand miles, facing vast rivers, treacherous peaks, narrow and perilous paths, and bewildering crossroads, turning back becomes nearly impossible. This mirrors the wisdom of the Yijing (Book of Changes): "Treading on frost, one knows that solid ice is coming"—all things develop gradually.

(Here, the phrase "nine layers" in ancient texts refers to the construction of an elevated platform requiring nine stages to complete, symbolizing the necessity of steady, step-by-step progress.)

Forcing action leads to failure; clinging to desires results in loss. Acting beyond one's natural capacity disrupts the order of the Dao (the Way), while acting for selfish desires depletes one's Shen (spirit). Obsession with fame invites disaster; obsession with martial prowess endangers the state. All these stem from failing to prepare before events unfold and neglecting to address disorder before it takes root.

Thus, the Sage (one who embodies the Dao) does not act recklessly and therefore does not fail; does not cling and therefore does not lose. Failure arises from forcing things—how could one fail by not acting recklessly? Disappointment comes from attachment—how could one lose by not clinging? Therefore, the Sage does not fixate on minor achievements but maintains a mind of serenity, detachment, and Wuwei (non-action). In this way, there is no forced action, no clinging, no failure, and no loss.

Zhuangzi tells a parable: The ruler of the Southern Sea was named Shu (representing swiftness), the ruler of the Northern Sea was named Hu (representing haste), and the ruler of the Center was named Hundun (representing the primordial, undivided state). Shu and Hu met in Hundun’s domain, where he treated them with great hospitality. Wishing to repay him, they said: "All people have seven orifices—eyes, ears, mouth, and nose—for seeing, hearing, eating, and breathing. Only Hundun lacks them. Let us bore them for him." So each day they drilled one orifice, and on the seventh day, Hundun died. This illustrates how forced action leads to ruin.

Ordinary people often fail when success is within reach. Though many begin with good intentions, they rarely see them through—starting with diligence but ending in negligence, abandoning caution just as their efforts near completion, and ultimately failing. If one treated the end with the same care as the beginning, there would be no failures.

Thus, the Sage seeks what the world neglects and does not prize rare treasures like gold and jade. While ordinary people suffer over what they cannot obtain, the Sage finds joy in having no desires. The Sage treasures purity and frugality, while the world indulges in extravagance and waste.

Ordinary people chase after wealth and pleasure, considering extravagance as glory. But the realm sages pursue is precisely the opposite—they regard gold and jade as no different from dirt, utterly indifferent to them.

People often seek external knowledge and learning, which in turn damages their innate pure nature. Sages, however, preserve their natural authenticity, deliberately avoiding the pursuit of external learning and guarding the harmony of their inner essence. Ordinary people view the lack of learning as a fault, while sages consider the refusal to pursue external knowledge as true learning. This is the meaning behind the phrase "returning to what the masses consider a fault."

Sages teach sentient beings through stillness and desirelessness, avoiding deliberate learning, in order to assist the natural development of all things and allow everything to grow according to its inherent nature. They dare not create artificial heresies, fearing the loss of the fundamental Dao.

In ancient times, those who truly understood the Dao did not use cleverness to educate the people but guided them back to simplicity. They cultivated inner sincerity, allowing the Dao to naturally merge with all things without deliberately displaying the achievements of governance. They avoided implementing cumbersome doctrines, preventing the people from losing their authenticity through cunning and deceit. This is an admonition for people today to emulate the ways of the ancients.

The reason the people are difficult to govern lies precisely in their excessive cleverness. When cleverness abounds, deceitful acts proliferate, and even laws and decrees cannot deter them. It is like using too many bird traps, which startle the birds; too many fishing tools, which agitate the fish; or too many hunting devices, which drive the beasts to flee. When clever sophistry prevails, society falls into chaos. Thus, the root of great disorder in the world lies in the excessive veneration of cleverness.

Using cleverness to govern a state is actually a disaster for the country. If a ruler employs ministers skilled in scheming and deception to govern, they will inevitably become entangled in manipulative calculations.

This passage discusses two contrasting approaches to governing a nation and their respective outcomes.

When rulers employ cunning strategies and elaborate policies to control the state, imposing complex and harsh regulations, they create chaos and unrest among the people. Such governance becomes the nation's misfortune. As the scripture states: "When cleverness appears, hypocrisy follows; the more stringent the decrees, the greater the people's discontent."

Conversely, when a sovereign appoints officials of simple virtue to govern, adopting the principle of Wuwei (non-action) and implementing straightforward policies, the people can live in peace and prosperity. This constitutes the nation's blessing. The scripture explains: "When the ruler refrains from arbitrary action, the people naturally transform; when the sovereign avoids unnecessary interference, the people naturally prosper." Du Guangting (a renowned Tang Dynasty Daoist) elaborates: "The ruler is like the gnomon of a sundial—when the gnomon stands straight, the shadow is true; when it tilts, the shadow slants. Employing scheming ministers breeds political manipulation, while appointing honest officials fosters simple customs."

These two governing methods—employing cleverness versus avoiding it—represent fundamentally different models of statecraft. The former harms the state and oppresses the people, ultimately leading to personal and dynastic ruin, serving as a cautionary example. The latter benefits the people through virtuous governance, bringing national prosperity, and stands as a positive paradigm.

Understanding the distinction between these two models constitutes what is called "profound virtue" (Xuande). This virtue runs so deep as to appear unfathomable, seemingly contradicting conventional wisdom yet ultimately achieving the most harmonious and natural state. As Yan Junping (a Han Dynasty Daoist scholar) observed: "The sage's virtue appears foolish yet accomplishes all things; it brings cosmic harmony without leaving traces, thus called 'profound virtue.'" The Liezi records: "When Yao governed for fifteen years, he didn't even know whether the realm was well-ruled or whether the people loved him—this represents the highest art of governance."

(Note: "Qianshou" refers to common people; "Xuande" denotes the highest virtue that remains hidden; "Dashun" describes perfect alignment with the natural Dao's harmonious state)

Emperor Yao (the sage ruler of antiquity), wishing to understand the hardships of the common people, first inquired with his close ministers—they did not know. He then asked his court officials—they too were unaware. Finally, he questioned the villagers, yet they also had no clear answer. So Yao donned plain clothes and walked among the markets, where he heard children singing: "You nurture us, the people, with nothing but your virtuous grace (De). Though we understand not its principles, we naturally follow the laws of the Dao (the Way)." Delighted, Yao asked, "Who taught you this song?" The children replied, "We heard it from the scholar-officials." Upon questioning the officials, he learned it was an ancient folk song passed down through generations. Returning to his palace, Yao abdicated the throne to Shun, who accepted without hesitation. This exemplifies the highest form of profound Virtue (Xuan De)—vast, deep, and wholly aligned with the natural order.

The reason rivers and seas become the sovereigns to which all streams flow is precisely because they excel at occupying the lowest positions. As the Book of Changes states: "The way of Earth is to diminish the full and supplement the deficient." Rivers and seas reign not by accumulating favors, practicing benevolence, promoting rituals, flaunting cleverness, nor through cunning schemes or displays of force. They simply remain tranquil, empty, and receptive in their lowly positions, acting through non-action (Wuwei) and free from desire—and thus, all streams naturally return to them. This is not because the streams admire the virtue of rivers and seas, nor because they are coerced, but because water’s nature flows downward—this is the inherent law of Heaven and Earth.

Thus, the principle of humility and lowliness is truly profound. No harm can injure it; no strategy or force can seize it. Without contention, it becomes the strongest; without displays of power, it holds the greatest might; in silent non-action, it harmonizes with all things. Just as valleys endure because of their depth, rivers and seas remain sovereigns because they dwell below.

Therefore, when the sage (one who embodies the Dao) wishes to stand above others, he must speak with humility. To lead the people, he must place his own interests last. In this way, even when occupying a high position, the people feel no burden; when standing at the forefront, they sense no obstruction. The world gladly supports such a leader without resentment—precisely because he contends with no one, no one in the world can contend with him.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "humility and non-contention" in worldly affairs. A ruler who truly embodies the Dao (the Way) must first address subordinates with modest speech, understanding that complacency invites loss. They speak gently, referring to themselves as "the solitary one" or "the unworthy one," yet their De (Virtue/Power) grows ever more sublime, their foundation becomes more secure, and they are naturally elevated to high positions by popular acclaim.

To lead others, one must instead place oneself behind. To become a model for all things, one must speak and act with humility, willingly standing behind others. This is because through careful self-cultivation and alignment with the Dao of heaven, by not contending for precedence, one is paradoxically lifted to the forefront by all things. Thus, when sages occupy lofty positions, people feel no burden; when they walk ahead, none feel envy.

All under heaven gladly support such sages without weariness. A ruler enlightened by the Dao is revered like the sun and clouds—people willingly honor them as sovereign. This stems from the sage's virtue of humility, their refusal to contend with others, making them unconquerable in the world. Just as rivers and seas, by occupying the lowest position, become receptacles for countless streams, so the sage, through humility, earns universal esteem.

Laozi said: "All under heaven consider my Dao too vast, as if impractical." Precisely because the Dao is supremely vast, it appears unlike ordinary things. Were it to resemble concrete objects, it would long have become insignificant. Supreme De resembles dullness; perfect fullness seems incomplete. The true Dao is boundless yet leaves no trace—maintaining this quality of "apparent unlike-ness" is the genuine "Great Dao."

In the Dao De Jing, Laozi presents three fundamental principles he considers the most precious treasures for self-cultivation and governance. The first is ci (compassion and benevolence), the second is jian (frugality and restraint), and the third is bu gan wei tianxia xian ("daring not to be ahead of the world" — avoiding contentiousness).

Regarding ci, as explained in the Kaiyuan Imperial Commentary, it refers to extending kindness broadly with a loving heart, caring for all beings. Paradoxically, genuine compassion gives rise to true courage, for "the benevolent are inevitably brave." As for jian, it means moderating consumption and avoiding waste. Maintaining frugality, counterintuitively, leads to greater abundance, echoing the ancient adage: "Be sparing in expenditure and love the people." Concerning bu gan wei tianxia xian, it advises against initiating conflict and instead embracing humility. By doing so, one naturally becomes a leader among others, much like the I Ching's auspicious image of "dragons without a head."

Zhuangzi records Laozi telling Shi Chengqi: "Those who boast of their wisdom and sanctity — I long ago transcended such notions." Laozi placed no value on worldly reputations of worthiness, just as the ancients said of Ning Wuzi: "His intelligence others could match, but his 'foolishness' (great wisdom appearing as folly) none could emulate."

Modern people, however, act contrary to these principles: abandoning compassion yet posturing as brave, discarding frugality while flaunting extravagance, refusing to yield yet striving to be first. Such conduct invites calamity: forced displays of courage lead to drowning in deep waters; profligacy and oppressive taxation exhaust both people and resources; using cleverness to intimidate the ignorant or flaunting superiority to stand apart — all run counter to the Great Dao (Da Dao).

This passage expounds on the application of "compassion" (ci'ai), a core Daoist principle, in military affairs and leadership, as well as the true qualities of genuine strength.

It first warns that those who constantly strive for dominance, refuse to yield, act stubbornly, and fail to exercise restraint will ultimately bring ruin upon themselves and their families. Such behavior does not align with the enduring principles of the Dao (the Way).

The text particularly emphasizes that "compassion" is the most precious of the Three Treasures (compassion, frugality, and not daring to take the lead in the world). A general who leads with compassion, showing care for his soldiers, will be invincible. This manifests in specific ways: when the army enters enemy territory, they do not destroy crops, desecrate graves, plunder goods, or burn homes. As a result, the people welcome them as if greeting loving parents, and the enemy's surrender comes as naturally as a strong arrow piercing a deep valley. Victory is achieved without large-scale battles, and defense is secured without excessive fortifications.

When Heaven wishes to aid someone, it protects them through compassion. The Dao of Heaven always supports the virtuous, so those whom Heaven aids are the generals who safeguard soldiers and common people with benevolence.

A truly excellent general does not flaunt military might but upholds compassion, using moral virtue (De) and righteousness to quell violence and relieve suffering, never using force to oppress the weak. Those skilled in warfare do not act in anger—even when employing force, they do so out of necessity, treating enemies with sorrow as if conducting a funeral, rather than waging war out of rage.

The one who truly overcomes an enemy does not rely on conflict but on the transformative power of virtue (De). Historical examples include Lu Zhonglian (a renowned debater of the Warring States period), who resolved disputes by reciting poetry, and Xiong Yiliao (a warrior of the Spring and Autumn period), who defused crises through juggling. Those adept at leadership maintain humility, guiding others through virtue rather than force. Assistants should be treated like one's own limbs and trusted advisors, while generals should be appointed with reverence, entrusted with authority and transformed through moral influence.

This passage embodies the Daoist military philosophy of "overcoming hardness with softness," emphasizing that true strength arises from compassion, humility, and virtue—not from brute force.

Those skilled in employing force always make their move last. This embodies the virtue (De) of non-contention, the ability to harness others' strength, and the supreme principle of heaven's Dao in ancient times.

The true masters of military strategy maintain an attitude of yielding softness and non-aggression, restraining themselves with humility. Thus all things can manifest their strengths, and all talents can fulfill their capacities—is this not the perfect demonstration of "the virtue of non-contention" and "employing others' power"? Just as heaven and earth speak not yet the four seasons proceed in order, seem to bestow no favor yet nurture all things—this represents the highest state of aligning with celestial Dao and governing creation on heaven's behalf.

Observing the warmongering tendencies of his era, Laozi deliberately quotes ancient military wisdom to admonish the world: "I dare not initiate hostilities but prefer to respond passively; dare not advance an inch but would rather retreat a foot." In military strategy, preemptive strikes represent the host position while reactive responses represent the guest. The sage's army only engages when absolutely necessary, thus always maintaining a responsive posture. What appears as excessive concession actually demonstrates profound foresight and prudent opposition.

The genuine art of warfare lies in: marching troops as if not marching (marching without marching); raising arms to attack as if having no arms (raising without raising); possessing formidable forces as if facing no enemy (confronting without confronting); wielding weapons as if holding none (grasping without grasping). This is because rulers embodying the Dao abhor slaughter and honor benevolence. Even when encountering violent invaders, they transform them through moral influence until the enemy naturally withdraws. Thus they maintain military might without actual combat, remain thoroughly prepared without engaging in battle.

The greatest calamity lies in underestimating one's enemy. To underestimate the enemy is to nearly lose what we hold most precious. Here, "nearly" means coming close to losing, while "precious" refers to life and status. Underestimating the enemy means being eager to wage war externally while remaining completely unprepared internally. External wars may end in victory or defeat, but internal unpreparedness inevitably leads to ruin.

When a sage reigns, the world may indeed have no match for him, yet from the perspective of order and chaos, enemies are in fact numerous. As ancient texts say: "Those who treat me well are my rulers; those who mistreat me are my foes." From this viewpoint, the entire world or a single nation may become my enemy, just as a village or even a household may turn against me. Therefore, when a ruler does not neglect minor officials, he wins the allegiance of all states; when lords do not oppress the orphaned and widowed, they gain the people's devotion; when men of purpose do not forget self-cultivation, they receive the joy of the spirits (Shen) and the favor of heaven. Only then can we preserve what is most precious.

Why say "nearly lose what we hold most precious"? Because my nature is benevolent—I take no pleasure in killing, and only when compelled do I achieve invincibility, which is contrary to my true intent. Acting against one's true heart is itself a loss. Fortunately, the loss is not yet severe, hence "nearly lose." Thus, when two armies confront each other, the side with compassion in its heart often prevails. "Confront" here means raising arms. When two states go to war, the side whose compassion arises from within often does so because its ruler embodies the Dao (the Way). If the ruler maintains benevolence without neglecting proper conduct toward ministers, and if ministers fulfill their duties while upholding the principles of service, what enemy could remain undefeated?

My teaching is easy to understand and simple to practice. The scriptures (Jing) say, "Act through non-action (Wuwei)," and also, "Without stepping outside the door, one knows the world; without peering through the window, one sees the heavenly Dao." They further state, "Teach through wordless example"—these are all simple and practicable principles within the realm of Wuwei. The words are not complex, the actions require little effort, and thus they are easy to understand and practice.

Yet most people in the world fail to comprehend or implement them. Those who cannot understand are of inferior capacity—confused by desires and aversions, seeing only superficial appearances, engrossed in deliberate action, eager to attack differing views. Unable to clear distracting thoughts, calm their spirit (Shen), and focus on holding to the One, they remain utterly ignorant of the principle of emptiness and non-fabrication, bewildered about how to practice it.

Speech must have its root; action must have its guiding principle. This explains why my teaching is easy to understand and practice. The "root" is the foundation; the "guiding principle" is the sovereign intent.

Although various schools of thought differ in their perspectives, they ultimately converge upon the same truth. Those who truly comprehend this truth no longer require words to express it, which is why the most profound principle takes "wordlessness" (不言) as its foundation. Though worldly affairs manifest in countless forms, they all point toward the same ultimate purpose. Once that purpose is fulfilled, these specific matters can be set aside—hence true wisdom is governed by "non-action" (无为 Wuwei).

Using "wordlessness" and "non-action" to teach people—is this not both easy to understand and simple to practice? Yan Junping (a Han Dynasty Daoist scholar) said: The words of sages take nature as their guiding principle and the divine mystery (the profundity of the Dao) as their root. They constantly dwell in the subtle balance between "speaking and not speaking." They appear to see nothing and hear nothing, yet their understanding seems obstructed while their clarity resembles confusion. All this originates from nature and ultimately returns to the realm of divine mystery, maintaining harmony throughout. Balancing between "action" and "non-action," they remain tranquil and yielding, their movements subtle and restrained, ultimately returning to the state of Wuwei.

Because the great Dao (道) is difficult to comprehend through ordinary perception, common people fail to understand my teachings. Those with shallow knowledge delight in parsing words and phrases, entangled in conceptual games like "hardness and whiteness, sameness and difference" (debates of the School of Names). When they hear me advocate the principle of "forgetting words and practicing non-action," they rashly dismiss and mock it—precisely because they fail to grasp the vastness of the Dao, mistaking it for untruth.

Yan Junping said: The reason people cannot understand me is not because my teachings are too shallow to be worth knowing, nor because my propositions are insignificant, nor even because people prefer failure to success. Rather, it is because human nature opposes mine, and worldly desires conflict with my way. The intelligent drown in passions, trapped lifelong in their own biases—their spirit (神 Shen) and vital energy (气 Qi) cannot resonate with mine, their thoughts and intentions cannot connect with my understanding.

That few comprehend me only demonstrates my rarity. The most profound truth has its guiding principle and essence, discernible only by the wise—hence it is always scarce and precious. Those who master this principle are revered by all things. The Kaiyuan Imperial Edition (Emperor Xuanzong's annotated text) states, "Those who take me as their standard are most precious." Yan Junping said: Thus, the wise remain unseen by the world, the enlightened unheard. Profound words invite slander, noble actions attract defamation. Unique insights are rejected, transcendent wisdom mocked. Those who align with the divine mystery struggle to conform to worldly ways; those whose merit matches heaven and earth find it hard to please the masses.

Therefore, the sage is like one who wears coarse cloth yet carries a jewel within. Coarse cloth is the garb of the poor and lowly, while the jewel—pure and luminous—symbolizes the virtue of a noble mind.

The true sage embodies lofty De (Virtue) within, as if cradling precious jade, yet outwardly appears simple and unadorned, clothed in coarse garments. Though their inner radiance shines with clarity, their exterior seems dull and unassuming—like a pearl concealed within an oyster shell or fine jade hidden in rough stone, remaining beyond the world's comprehension. This exemplifies the preciousness of what I call the Dao (the Way).

Regarding the wisdom of "knowing and not knowing": Sages are endowed with innate purity, possessing true insight that naturally comprehends all phenomena. Though omniscient, they never grow arrogant—this represents the highest virtue. Ordinary people, by contrast, possess turbid dispositions and rigid temperaments, their minds filled with cunning calculations and a penchant for grandiose claims. While fundamentally ignorant of the Dao, they forcefully argue and feign understanding—this constitutes the sickness of virtue. As Zhuangzi said: Those who don't know actually understand more profoundly; those who think they know remain shallow. The unknowing grasp the inner essence, while the self-proclaimed knowers see only surface appearances. This is the meaning behind "those who truly understand don't speak, and those who speak don't truly understand."

Sages worry about humanity's "disease of forced knowing," yet remain untouched by it themselves. They genuinely comprehend the universe's origin, perceive subtle mysteries, and maintain unfettered spiritual freedom. Constantly concerned about people's stubborn opinions and compulsive displays of cleverness—a disease that leads them into peril without return—this reveals the sage's compassion in worrying about such human failings. How then could sages themselves suffer from them? Thus true wisdom never falls ill—it's the forced display of cleverness that constitutes disease.

Sages avoid this disease precisely because they can worry about it. They understand that "not knowing" is the key to penetrating the great Dao. By relinquishing cleverness, they remain untainted by worldly afflictions. With hearts full of compassion, their ability to worry about others' failings proves their own freedom from them—for how could one help others overcome defects while still possessing them? As Zhuangzi observed: People don't use flowing water as a mirror, but still water instead. Only stillness can reflect other still things. Consider how pines and cypresses, rooted in earth, remain verdant through winter's cold and summer's heat; or how Emperor Shun, mandated by heaven, rectified his own life to guide the multitude. Thus one must first correct oneself before guiding others—just as sages avoid disease by remaining vigilant about it.

(Those who force displays of cleverness violate the great Dao and invite calamity. When disasters strike repeatedly yet people remain unafraid, we must teach them the principle of "fearing no authority.")

When people cease to fear the majesty of Heaven and the laws of the state, greater calamities will befall them. The "great majesty" mentioned here refers to the harbingers of death. Those with De (Virtue) revere the Mandate of Heaven, respect authority, and follow the teachings of sages. One should take reverence as fundamental—if minor evils are considered harmless and one acts without restraint, accumulated misdeeds will eventually bring unavoidable disaster.

Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty, said: When great calamity strikes and one then begins practicing virtue, even the principles of Dao and De cannot save them, nor can the powers of Heaven and Earth intervene—yet this is not Heaven's fault. Those who are self-important, abuse power, and lose their sense of vigilance, failing to reflect on their own faults, ultimately bring ruin upon themselves. The truly cautious person, by maintaining reverence in small matters, need not fear great disasters; by being sincere in present affairs, they will have no regrets about the future.

Do not take your dwelling lightly. Ancient commentaries explain "familiarity" (狎) as habituation—the prudent person chooses to dwell near good neighbors and keep distance from harmful influences, maintaining purity, self-restraint, humility, and yielding. Thus calamity finds no opening, and physical-spiritual well-being becomes true foresight. The Tang Emperor Xuanzong's commentary explains: One should broaden their living space, avoiding forceful self-assertion, instead harmonizing with others like "blending light with dust," never violating natural patterns. Another interpretation holds that "dwelling" refers to the mind—one should eliminate distracting thoughts and desires, maintaining an expansive heart-mind where the Shen (spirit) can dwell peacefully, thereby preserving the body.

Do not despise your origin of life. "That which gives you life" refers to the physical form generated by the Dao—one must not resent the Dao but should diligently serve it and revere Heaven's way to maintain eternal auspiciousness. If one indulges desires and scorns virtue, disaster will swiftly follow. Another interpretation considers "origin of life" as the human Yuan Shen (primordial spirit), the source of one's being. The Yuan Shen delights in purity—when people clarify their minds and calm restless thoughts, the spirit naturally abides peacefully. Excessive desires that dissipate vital energy lead to scattered Shen and the extinction of life. Hence the admonition to cherish one's Yuan Shen as the true path to longevity.

Only those who revere Heaven's Dao and steadfastly cultivate De—maintaining integrity through prosperity and adversity—will never harbor weariness or aversion. Precisely because they do not despise their origin of life, life in turn does not abandon them.

The Dao of Heaven secretly protects and bestows various auspicious signs, so people naturally safeguard and care for each other without resentment. Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's Imperial Commentary on the Dao De Jing explains that the phrase "with utmost refinement and single-minded focus" originates from the Book of Documents ("Counsel of Great Yu"), spoken by Emperor Shun when passing the throne to Yu the Great: The human mind is precarious and easily swayed, while the mind of Dao is subtle and unfathomable. Precisely because the human mind is unstable, it is hard to settle; because the mind of Dao is subtle, it is difficult to comprehend. Only through sincere refinement and undivided focus can one maintain the balanced Middle Way.

Thus, sages always know themselves without self-display. They first cultivate themselves before assisting others. They examine their original heart-mind, clearly discerning good from evil, purifying their spirit like washing away dust and grime, never allowing worldly defilements to invade their inner being—this is "self-knowledge." Further, they deeply embody the Great Dao (Da Dao), diligently practicing day and night without flaunting their talents to disturb external affairs, ever cautious of violating heavenly principles or mishandling matters. This stands in stark contrast to those who lack reverence for the awe-inspiring Dao of Heaven.

Sages cherish their own being, understanding that the body is a manifestation of the Great Dao. They neither indulge desires nor harbor resentment, for excessive emotions harm the fundamental principle (Li), damaging both form and spirit (Shen)—this is "self-love." If one craves fine flavors, lavish garments, sensual beauty, and music, indulging their nature in pursuit of pleasure while esteeming themselves and belittling others, this is to slight the very foundation of their existence. Without maintaining clarity and self-restraint, how could one remain reverently cautious in the subtlest matters?

Therefore, one must abandon the arrogance of self-display and self-importance, choosing instead the reverence of self-knowledge and self-cherishing. Only then does one align with the principle of honoring the Dao of Heaven. The Dao of Heaven does not despise humanity, so external punishments naturally dissolve, and the inner Dao of life flourishes spontaneously. (Without deliberate evil or wanton violence.)