《道德真經註(五)》

The opening chapter of the Daode Jing speaks of the nature of the Dao: The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name. Before heaven and earth took form, the Dao was nameless; when the myriad things came into being, the Dao became their source. Only by maintaining a state of desirelessness can one perceive the Dao's profundity; by maintaining desire, one perceives its boundaries. These two states share the same origin but differ in name—both are called "Xuan" (the mysterious). This mystery within mystery is the gateway to all wonders.

Chapter Two discusses wisdom in worldly affairs: When all under heaven recognize beauty as beauty, the concept of ugliness arises; when all recognize goodness as good, the notion of bad appears. Thus being and non-being give rise to each other, difficulty and ease complement each other, long and short contrast with each other, high and low support each other, tones and sounds harmonize with each other, front and back follow each other. Therefore, the sage acts through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches through wordless example. The myriad things arise without interference, creation occurs without possession, action is taken without reliance, and achievements are made without claim. Precisely because no claim is made, the merit never fades.

Chapter Three presents the art of governance: Do not exalt the worthy, and the people will not contend; do not prize rare goods, and the people will not steal; do not display objects of desire, and the people's minds will not be confused. Thus in governing, the sage empties the people's hearts (making them receptive as valleys) while filling their bellies.

These chapters of the Daode Jing elucidate the operational principles of the Dao (the Way) and the wisdom of sages in governing and self-cultivation:

Though the Dao is empty and formless (chong), its function is inexhaustible, never overflowing. It is unfathomably deep, like the source of all things. The Dao wears down sharp edges, resolves conflicts, and blends radiance with dust—seemingly indistinct yet truly present. I do not know its origin; it seems to have existed even before heaven and earth took form.

Heaven and earth treat all beings as impartially as straw dogs (chugou), and the sage likewise treats the people. The space between heaven and earth is like a great bellows (tuoyue): seemingly empty yet never depleted—the more it moves, the more wind it produces. Excessive speech leads to exhaustion; it is better to maintain emptiness and stillness (shouzhong).

The "Valley Spirit" (gushen, another name for the Dao) is eternal and undying, called the most mysterious feminine (xuanpin). The gateway of this mysterious feminine is the root of heaven and earth. It exists continuously, unspent even with endless use.

Heaven and earth endure because they do not exist for themselves. Thus, the sage puts himself last yet ends up ahead, remains detached yet is preserved. To lead the people, one must place personal interests after theirs.

These chapters of the Daode Jing speak of the highest realm of human conduct. The supreme goodness resembles water—it nourishes all things without contending with them, willingly dwelling in low places that people disdain. This nature comes closest to the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe). The sage (one who has attained the Dao) is like water: choosing the appropriate position, maintaining profound thoughts like deep pools, treating others with sincere benevolence, speaking with integrity, governing with clarity, acting in accordance with nature, and seizing the right moment for action. Precisely because they do not contend with others, they remain free from fault.

Chapter Nine teaches that seeking perfection is inferior to knowing when to stop. Just as a vessel filled to the brim is prone to spill, a blade honed too sharp is more likely to break. Even a house filled with gold and jewels cannot be kept forever, and arrogance in wealth and honor only invites disaster. To withdraw at the height of success—this is the way that aligns with the Dao of Heaven.

Chapter Ten discusses self-cultivation. One should maintain the focused and gentle spirit of an infant, clearing away distractions to achieve a pure and unblemished mind. Governing a state requires following nature, allowing the people to transform themselves. To understand the world yet remain simple, to know much yet appear dull—this is the subtle and profound state. To give birth to and nurture all things without claiming possession, to act without taking credit, to guide all things without dominating—this is the deepest "Mystic Virtue" (Xuande, the supreme expression of De).

Chapter Eleven uses the metaphor of a wheel: thirty spokes converge at the hub (the center of the wheel), and it is precisely because the hub is empty that the wheel functions. This teaches us that what seems like useless emptiness often contains great utility. All things follow the patterns of the Dao, and it is De (the manifestation of the Dao) that they value most.

This scripture elucidates the essence of the Dao and methods of cultivation through several interconnected sections:

The first section employs metaphors of crafting vessels and constructing dwellings to illustrate the function of "non-being." Just as kneading clay forms a useful container where the emptiness within proves most valuable, or as cutting windows and doors creates functional space within walls, we learn that while tangible forms provide convenience, it is the intangible void that truly serves purpose.

The second section warns against excessive sensory indulgence. Dazzling colors blind the eyes, cacophonous music deafens the ears, rich delicacies dull the palate, reckless hunting unsettles the spirit, and coveted treasures obstruct virtue (De). Thus the sage seeks only sustenance, not sensory excess.

Regarding attitudes toward favor and disgrace, the third portion observes how both honor and humiliation cause agitation, while excessive concern for the physical form breeds fear of misfortune. Those of true understanding recognize that overvaluing the self invites calamity. Only one who regards the world as more precious than personal life may be entrusted with governing it.

The fourth section describes the Dao's characteristics: invisible, inaudible, and intangible—these three qualities blend into one. Neither luminously bright above nor darkly obscure below, it flows continuously beyond naming, ultimately returning to nothingness. This is form without form, image without substance, called "the indistinct."

Through everyday analogies and cultivation insights, the entire passage reveals the Daoist core principle of wuwei (non-action), emphasizing transcendence beyond sensory desires and maintenance of serene emptiness as the path to comprehending the Dao's profound mystery.

This scripture primarily elucidates the profound nature of the Dao (the Way) and the manifestations of those who cultivate it.

First, it describes the form of the Dao: It is neither dazzling nor dim (harmonizing light with dust), continuous yet nameless (the Dao is fundamentally nameless), ultimately returning to a state of emptiness. This state can be called "form without form" (within the chaos and indistinctness, there lies an image), "an image without substance" (the existence of the Dao seems both present and absent). Seeking its origin, one cannot see its beginning; following it, one cannot find its end (vast as the ocean, seemingly boundless). To grasp the ancient Dao is to master the affairs of the present (all things under heaven have their source), and understanding this source is to grasp the guiding principle of the Dao (from ancient times to the present, the essence of the Dao has never changed).

Next, it describes the image of the ancient adepts who attained the Dao: They were subtle, profound, and far-reaching, beyond ordinary comprehension (their inner virtue was deep). Precisely because they were difficult to describe, they could only be roughly characterized: They were cautious, as if crossing a river in winter (fearful of artificiality); alert, as if wary of neighboring states (understanding brightness yet abiding in darkness); dignified, as if guests (preserving their innate simplicity); free and unrestrained, like melting ice (careful as if treading on thin ice); simple and unadorned, like uncarved wood (rough in appearance yet holding jade within); vast and open, like a valley (embracing all things like the Dao); indistinct, like murky water (harmonizing with the light). Who can remain like murky water that gradually clarifies through long stillness (maintaining tranquility)? Who can remain settled and slowly awaken to vitality (their virtue deep and abundant)? Those who uphold this Dao do not seek perfection (the greatest fullness appears empty), and precisely because they do not pursue perfection, they preserve their authenticity without striving for novelty.

Finally, it speaks of the foundation of Dao cultivation: attaining the utmost emptiness (like a vast valley) and maintaining absolute stillness (if a ruler can uphold this, all things will naturally return). Observe the cyclical growth of all things (when things reach their limit, they return), and the multitude of beings will ultimately return to their source (after understanding phenomena, one must guard the root). Returning to the source is called stillness, and stillness is returning to one’s nature (using wisdom to return to innate clarity). Returning to one’s nature is the eternal law (circulating endlessly without exhaustion). Understanding this law is wisdom (the great Dao is inherently smooth), while ignorance leads to reckless action.

When ordinary things become abnormal and virtuous actions turn ominous, the people have been trapped in this confusion for far too long. Only those who comprehend the eternal laws can embrace all things (the "One" refers to the fundamental principle of the Dao). When rulers master this principle, they can govern the world. Proper demeanor leads to impartiality, impartiality leads to kingly virtue, kingly virtue aligns with Heaven, and alignment with Heaven attains the Dao (the Dao is the origin of all things). Attaining the Dao brings longevity, ensuring one remains free from peril throughout life (those who deviate from the Dao meet early demise).

The highest rulers of antiquity were those whose people merely knew of their existence (this represents the state of knowing the ancient Dao). The next best were rulers whom the people cherished and praised (this shows self-awareness). The lowest were rulers whom the people feared and despised (ignoring the constant Dao leads to reckless actions and misfortune). Thus, when sincerity is lacking (those of middling capacity hear of the great Dao but waver between belief and doubt), distrust arises (those of lesser capacity hear of the great Dao and mock it—if it were not mocked, it would not be the true Dao). Be cautious and treasure your words (those who truly know do not speak carelessly). When achievements are made, the people say, "We accomplished this naturally" (the great Dao follows the state of spontaneity).

Only when the great Dao is abandoned do we emphasize benevolence and righteousness (virtue is sought only after losing the Dao). When cunning intellect appears, profound hypocrisy arises (using clever tactics to govern actually harms the state). Filial piety and kindness become conspicuous only when family harmony breaks down (discard artificial teachings of benevolence and righteousness, and the people will naturally restore filial piety and kindness). Loyal ministers are needed only when the state falls into chaos (if rulers truly care for and govern the people well, why deliberate action?).

Abandon the titles of sagehood and wisdom, and the people will benefit a hundredfold (when rulers do not disturb the people, they naturally prosper). Discard the doctrines of benevolence and righteousness, and the people will regain filial piety and kindness (when rulers are free from greed, the people remain simple). Eliminate cunning and profit, and thieves and robbers will vanish (do not value rare objects). These three principles are still insufficient as theory (those who truly understand the Dao appear foolish), so we must point to the root (I take this as the source of teaching): preserve your original, unadulterated nature (like unadorned cloth wrapping precious jade) and reduce selfish desires (only by maintaining desirelessness can one perceive the mysteries of the Dao).

Abandon worldly learning, and you will be free from worry (comprehend the subtle and profound Dao). How much difference is there between agreement and censure? Between good and evil? What people fear...

This passage presents a striking contrast between those who have attained the Dao and ordinary worldly people. While worldly individuals eagerly pursue pleasure, reveling in grand feasts and exulting in mountain excursions, I (referring to the Dao-realized person) remain tranquil and serene, as innocent and desireless as an infant who has yet to learn to smile. Where worldly people appear clever and capable, I seem dull and confused; where they calculate meticulously, I remain simple and unassuming. My state resembles the vast boundlessness of the ocean, transcendent like one who belongs nowhere. What distinguishes me from ordinary people is my reverence for the nourishing root of all things—the "Dao" (symbolized by the metaphor of "feeding from the Mother").

The text then elucidates the nature of the Dao: The manifestation of great De (Virtue/Power) perfectly follows the Dao's principles. This Dao appears indistinct and elusive, yet within this seeming chaos lies the true essence and order of existence. From ancient times to the present, the name of Dao never fades—it is through Dao that we comprehend the origin of all things. My understanding of existence's fundamental principles stems precisely from this "Dao."

Finally, it discusses the art of living: By bending one finds preservation (thus one should temper aggressive ambitions), through yielding comes straightening (hence maintain an open and receptive mind), and low-lying places naturally fill with water (true virtue always appears incomplete). These principles embody the core Daoist teaching that "the soft and yielding overcomes the hard and strong."

This scripture primarily teaches that human conduct should follow the principles of the Dao (the Way), with humility and non-contention at its core. In plain terms:

Those who truly understand seldom show off ("Great whiteness appears soiled"). Speaking less leads to deeper realization ("Those who know do not speak"), while excessive words often bring confusion ("Those who speak do not know"). Therefore, the sage holds fast to the fundamental principle of the Dao ("embracing the One"), becoming a model for all under heaven. By not displaying oneself, one becomes illuminated ("Not displaying oneself, thus enlightened"); by not asserting oneself, one becomes distinguished ("Not asserting oneself, thus distinguished"); by not boasting, one achieves merit ("Not boasting, thus meritorious"); by not being arrogant, one endures ("Not arrogant, thus enduring"). Precisely because they do not contend, no one in the world can contend with them ("It is precisely because one does not contend that no one under heaven can contend with them"). The ancients said, "To yield is to be preserved whole" ("To bend is to be straight")—this is no empty phrase.

Chapter 23 teaches the importance of conforming to natural laws. A raging wind cannot last all morning ("A whirlwind does not last a whole morning"), and a sudden downpour cannot last all day ("A sudden rain does not last a whole day"). Even heaven and earth cannot sustain such extremes for long—how much less can humans? Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao unite with the Dao ("Those who are with the Dao are one with the Dao"), and those who cultivate De (Virtue/Power) unite with De ("Those who are with De are one with De"). To those who unite with the Dao, the Dao gladly responds; to those who unite with De, De gladly responds.

Chapter 24 criticizes arrogance and self-satisfaction. Standing on tiptoe, one cannot stay steady ("Those who stand on tiptoe cannot stand firm"); taking giant strides, one cannot go far ("Those who stride cannot walk far"). Those who display themselves cannot see clearly ("Those who display themselves are not enlightened"); those who assert themselves cannot become distinguished ("Those who assert themselves are not distinguished"); those who boast cannot achieve merit ("Those who boast have no merit"); those who are arrogant cannot endure ("Those who are arrogant do not endure"). To those who cultivate the Dao, such behavior is like leftover food or bodily tumors—utterly superfluous ("Surplus food and excrescences"). The great Dao is perfectly level, yet people constantly prefer shortcuts ("The great Dao is very smooth, but people love bypaths").

In the "Manifestation of Origins" chapter, the primordial state of the Dao is described. There exists something perfectly natural (referring to the Dao) that predates the formation of heaven and earth. Silent and soundless, vast and formless (the "Great Image" signifies the formless essence of the Dao), it stands alone and unchanging, circulating endlessly without exhaustion ("never losing its place" means maintaining its intrinsic nature). It serves as the source of all things in the world ("root of heaven and earth" signifies the origin of all existence). We do not know its name, so we reluctantly call it "Dao" ("the Dao conceals its name" points to its hidden nature), and further describe it as boundless and vast ("the Dao follows its own nature" means it adheres to its intrinsic essence). This vastness manifests as flowing away, flowing away manifests as extending far, and extending far returns to the origin (this is the movement of the Dao). Thus, it is said the Dao is great, and heaven, earth, and the sage ruler are likewise great. In the cosmos, there are four great things, and the sage ruler is one of them. Humans follow the earth, the earth follows heaven, heaven follows the Dao, and the Dao follows its own nature (ultimately merging into perfect unity).

The "Virtue of Gravity" chapter discusses the importance of steadiness. Gravity is the root of lightness (just as heights must be grounded in a foundation), and stillness governs agitation (tranquility overcomes heat). Thus, the noble person travels always with a heavy-laden carriage (symbolizing steadfastness), remaining detached even in bustling surroundings ("holding to stillness" means maintaining deep calm). Why would a ruler of ten thousand chariots treat the world with recklessness? (Only those who value themselves can be entrusted with the world.) Lightness loses subjects, agitation loses the throne (only through purity and stillness can the world be governed).

The "Skillful Application" chapter elucidates the wisdom of natural non-action (Wuwei). Those skilled in walking leave no trace ("acting without action" means not forcing effort), those skilled in speech make no mistakes ("teaching without words" means leading by example), those skilled in calculation need no tallies ("its use is inexhaustible" means infinite application), those skilled at closing need no latch yet cannot be opened ("embracing the One" means holding to the Dao's essence), and those skilled at binding need no cords yet cannot be untied ("standing alone and unchanging" means preserving intrinsic nature). Therefore, the sage is always skilled at saving people, so none are abandoned ("fine words can win respect" means virtuous speech transforms others); always skilled at saving things, so nothing is wasted ("noble conduct can influence others" means virtuous deeds inspire). This is inheriting the light ("using its light to return to clarity" means applying wisdom to return to original insight). Thus, the virtuous are teachers to the unvirtuous ("the Dao's nobility" refers to its exalted nature), and the unvirtuous are lessons for the virtuous ("Virtue nurtures" refers to its capacity for cultivation).

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "maintaining softness and abiding below," presented through several layers of meaning:

Regarding the principle of "returning to simplicity and authenticity": One who understands the principle of strength yet dwells in softness (just as the female often overcomes the male through stillness) willingly becomes the valley of the world. Thus one can maintain eternal De (Virtue) without losing it, returning to the innocent state of an infant. Knowing the principle of brightness yet dwelling in obscurity, becoming the model for all under heaven, one's De will not deviate, returning to the boundless realm. Understanding glory yet abiding in humility, embracing all like the ocean, one's De will become abundant, returning to the original state of simplicity.

Concerning the governing principle of "Wuwei (non-action)": Those who seek to seize the world by force, I observe that they cannot succeed. The world is a sacred vessel that cannot be manipulated—those who act forcefully will surely fail, those who grasp tightly will surely lose. All things follow their natural course—some advance while others follow, some are warm while others cold, some strong while others weak, some secure while others endangered. Therefore, the sage eliminates extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Regarding the admonition of "prudent use of military force": Those who assist rulers with the Dao do not rely on military might to dominate the world (when governing with the Dao, even ghosts and spirits lose their influence). Military affairs easily invite retribution—where armies have camped, thorns and brambles will grow.

This scripture expounds two fundamental principles: the wisdom concerning war and peace, and the essential nature of the Dao.

Regarding warfare, it teaches that weapons are instruments of misfortune, and those who follow the Dao will never wield them lightly. After every war comes inevitably a year of calamity. Those truly skilled in military strategy remain humble even in victory ("achieving results without arrogance"), never boasting of their accomplishments ("achieving results without glorification"), nor becoming overbearing ("achieving results without pride"). Arms should only be employed as a last resort ("using them only when compelled"). For when things reach their zenith, they must decline—this contradicts the natural rhythm of the Dao.

Ancient tradition holds that auspicious affairs honor the left, while ominous affairs honor the right. Thus noble persons prioritize the left in daily life, but reverse this precedence during warfare. Even in triumph, one should observe mourning rites, grieving sincerely for the fallen. Those who delight in killing can never attain true fulfillment under heaven.

Concerning the Dao's essence, it states: "The Dao remains eternally nameless and unhewn" ("Dao chang wuming pu"). Though appearing insignificant, none in the world can subordinate it. Should lords and kings preserve this Dao, all things would spontaneously submit ("If rulers can maintain it, the myriad beings will naturally pay homage"), and the Qi of heaven and earth would harmoniously intermingle. Here "pu" (unhewn simplicity) refers to the Dao's primordial, authentic state—pure as uncarved timber.

The entire passage embodies the Daoist opposition to warfare and reverence for Wuwei (non-action), emphasizing that even unavoidable military action requires humility and restraint. Simultaneously, it reveals how the formless Dao governs all existence.

All things contain both Yin and Yang aspects, growing naturally under the nourishment of the Dao. When the sweet dew (symbolizing the Dao's grace) descends, it distributes itself evenly without human intervention. The Dao eternally maintains its natural essence, establishing names and forms from chaos. Though names and concepts exist, one must recognize their fundamental origin in the Dao ("Daoji" refers to the Dao's foundational principles). Understanding this truth prevents peril, and true knowledge of the constant Dao is called wisdom. The Dao's movement between heaven and earth flows as naturally as streams returning to rivers and seas.

The truly wise can perceive others clearly, but more importantly, they understand themselves. Conquering others may demonstrate strength, but conquering oneself is true power. Knowing contentment is genuine wealth—even halls filled with gold and jade cannot guarantee preservation. Only those who steadfastly follow the Dao possess true resolve, and only by not losing their roots can they endure. Though the physical body perishes, the spirit (Shen) remains undying—this is true longevity.

The great Dao flows everywhere without boundaries ("dafang wuyu" means the Dao has no edges). All things rely on it for growth, yet it never refuses. Like heaven and earth treating all beings as straw dogs ("chugou," sacrificial objects symbolizing impartiality in nature), it achieves merit without claiming credit. It nourishes all things yet does not dominate them. This desireless state may seem insignificant, yet even plain wood (symbolizing pure simplicity), though small, is never belittled by the world. All things return to it, yet it never presumes mastery—this is true greatness. Thus, sages never exalt themselves, yet they accomplish greatness.

Those who grasp the great manifestation of the Dao ("daxiang," the Dao's total expression) will find all under heaven returning to them. When all return without harm, peace and stability prevail. Music and delicacies may detain passersby, yet the Dao, when spoken, seems bland and flavorless. Look for it—it has no form; listen for it—it makes no sound. Yet its function is boundless and inexhaustible.

This passage elucidates the Daoist wisdom of "the soft and weak overcoming the hard and strong" in both personal conduct and political philosophy.

Regarding the principle of "subtle illumination" (weiming): To contract something, one must first allow it to expand; to weaken another, one must first let it strengthen; to abolish something, one must first let it flourish; to take something, one must first give it. This constitutes profound and subtle wisdom. The soft and weak often prevail over the hard and strong, just as fish cannot leave deep waters, and the essential methods of governance (sharp tools of state) should not be carelessly displayed.

In statecraft: The Dao (cosmic principle) appears to do nothing yet accomplishes everything. When rulers follow Dao's principles, all things develop naturally. When people develop excessive desires, they should be settled through the simple, unadorned nature of Dao. Maintaining a state of desirelessness brings natural peace to the world.

On the hierarchy of De (Virtue/Power): The highest De (shangde) does not consider itself virtuous, thus truly possessing De; inferior De (xiade) deliberately maintains virtue, thereby losing its true essence. Those with superior De follow natural spontaneity through wuwei (non-action), while those with inferior De act with forced intention. When society loses Dao, it emphasizes De; when losing De, it emphasizes humaneness; when losing humaneness, it emphasizes righteousness; and when losing righteousness, it resorts to ritual propriety. Ritual propriety actually signifies the thinning of loyalty and trust, marking the beginning of chaos.

(Note: "Xi" means to contract; "pu" refers to Dao's original simplicity; "rangbi" means raising arms in exhortation; "qianshi" denotes predetermined norms)

The seemingly magnificent appearances are actually superficial manifestations of the Dao (the Way), marking the beginning of foolishness (the Great Dao is originally broad and smooth, yet people always prefer shortcuts). Thus, truly wise individuals choose the profound essence rather than lingering on shallow appearances (like wearing coarse cloth while holding precious jade within), abiding in simple inner substance rather than pursuing flashy exteriors (returning to the state of original authenticity).

Therefore, one should discard such superficial things and embrace this simple essence (this is precisely where I differ from ordinary people). This passage comes from the first volume of the Commentary on the True Scripture of Dao and De (Virtue/Power).

This commentary on the Daode Zhenjing primarily elucidates the relationship between the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) and "the One" (its concrete manifestation), along with the philosophical concept of the unity of opposites.

In ancient times, all things that attained the Dao followed this pattern: Heaven attained clarity through the One, Earth attained stability through the One, the divine spirits attained efficacy through the One, valleys attained fullness through the One, the myriad creatures attained life through the One, and rulers attained the ability to govern the world through the One. All of these were possible because they adhered to the fundamental laws of the Dao. Conversely, if Heaven lost its clarity, it would collapse; if Earth lost its stability, it would quake; if the divine spirits lost their efficacy, they would disperse; if valleys lost their water, they would dry up; if the myriad creatures lost their vitality, they would perish; and if rulers lost their righteous path, they would fall.

Thus, nobility must take humility as its root, and high status must rely on a firm foundation. This is why rulers referred to themselves as "the Solitary," "the Desolate," or "the Unworthy"—these humble titles demonstrate their recognition of lowliness as the foundation. Just as a single part of a chariot cannot be called a chariot, the true Dao neither shines like jade nor is as crude as stone; it transcends distinctions of high and low.

Chapter 40 states: The movement of the Dao is cyclical ("returning"), and its function is gentle and non-contending ("weak"). All things under Heaven arise from "being" (concrete existence), yet "being" itself originates from "non-being" (the formless source).

Chapter 41 explains: Those of superior capacity, upon hearing the great Dao, diligently practice it; those of middling capacity are half-convinced and half-doubting; while those of inferior capacity laugh at it—if it were not laughed at, it would not be profound enough. This reveals the different levels of human understanding of truth.

Note: In this text, "the One" refers to the manifestation of the Dao in concrete things; "the Solitary, the Desolate, the Unworthy" were humble self-references used by ancient rulers; and "superior, middling, and inferior capacity" denote differences in people's innate wisdom. These concepts embody the Daoist dialectical principles of "the soft overcoming the hard" and "nobility taking humility as its root."

The Great Dao (referring to the fundamental principle of the universe) often appears contrary to ordinary perception, which is why ancient sages employed these seemingly paradoxical expressions to illuminate the truth. The luminous Dao appears dim (its radiance is restrained rather than glaring), the level Dao seems uneven (though understanding brilliance, it willingly dwells in obscurity), the advancing Dao appears to retreat (the most perfect achievement paradoxically seems flawed).

The highest virtue resembles a valley (embracing emptiness like a gorge), the purest whiteness seems stained (the most upright appears bent), the most extensive virtue always seems insufficient (the fullest state paradoxically appears empty). The process of cultivating virtue appears indolent (the most eloquent seem inarticulate), the purest essence appears changeable (the most skillful art appears clumsy). The most square vessel has no corners (the Dao permeates everywhere without boundaries), the most precious vessel requires the longest formation (mighty trees grow from tiny sprouts), the grandest sound is inaudible (speaking less accords with nature), the grandest form has no shape (the invisible is called "Yi"—referring to formless reality).

The Great Dao remains hidden and nameless (though invisible, it truly exists), only the Dao nourishes all things and accomplishes everything (Dao is the most profound root of all existence).

Chapter 42 describes the generative process of Dao: First, Dao transforms into undifferentiated "One" (the origin of heaven and earth, the mother of all things), which divides into Yin and Yang Qi (thereby revealing the ancient source). The interaction of Yin and Yang produces "Three" (representing the harmonious state of their union), which then generates the myriad things. All beings carry Yin on their backs while embracing Yang (through the "Heavenly Gate"—referring to the opening and closing of breath via nose and mouth), with the two Qi harmonizing through blending (concentrating and preserving Qi achieves ultimate softness). Terms people detest like "orphan," "widow," and "desolate" are used by rulers as self-references (because supreme achievement appears flawed). Thus sometimes diminishing leads to increase, and increasing leads to diminishment (as endings and beginnings cycle continuously). The teachings the ancients gave me, I now impart to others (those who cultivate Dao become one with it). The violently domineering meet no good end (what is rigid belongs to the category of death)—I shall take this as the foundation of instruction (so the clever dare not act recklessly).

Chapter 43 explains how the soft overcomes the hard: The softest thing under heaven (nothing is softer than water) can penetrate the hardest substances (yet nothing surpasses water in overcoming the strong). Formless power can infiltrate seamless objects (being and non-being transform mutually), through which I understand the benefit of Wuwei (non-action). Wordless teaching, the benefit of non-action—few in the world attain this (those who understand me are rare, those who emulate me are precious).

Commentary on Chapter 44: Establishing Precepts

Which is more precious—reputation or life itself? Which holds greater value—wealth or one's physical being? Between gain and loss, which brings greater harm? By observing life through life itself, we realize: excessive attachment inevitably leads to great depletion, and those who force outcomes will ultimately fail. Accumulating too much results in greater loss; clinging tightly leads to forfeiture. Those who understand contentment avoid disgrace, for the greatest calamity lies in insatiability. Knowing when to stop prevents danger—this is how lasting stability is maintained.

Commentary on Chapter 45: The Virtue of Vastness

The most perfect seems incomplete, yet its function never falters (true De [Virtue] does not flaunt itself—thus it is genuine). The most full appears empty, yet its efficacy is inexhaustible (the Dao seems void yet operates boundlessly). The straightest seems crooked, the most skillful appears clumsy, the most eloquent seems tongue-tied. Movement overcomes cold (through Wuwei [non-action], all things are governed); stillness conquers heat. By maintaining clarity and Wuwei, one becomes the standard for all under heaven (abiding in stillness without contrivance, the world naturally returns to righteousness).

Commentary on Chapter 46: Frugality and Desire

When the world follows the Dao, warhorses retire to fertilize fields (those who assist rulers with the Dao do not rely on military force). When the world is disordered, warhorses breed in the wilds (where armies camp, thorns overgrow). The gravest crime is indulging desire (excessive attachment brings great loss); the deepest calamity is insatiability (knowing when to stop averts danger); the worst fault is insatiable greed (between gain and loss, which harms more?). Thus, the contentment of knowing true sufficiency is genuine fulfillment.

Commentary on Chapter 47: Mirroring the Distant

One need not step beyond the door to understand the world (comprehending without venturing forth); nor peer through windows to perceive heavenly patterns (penetrating subtle mysteries). The farther one travels, the less one truly knows (excessive seeking breeds confusion). Therefore, sages understand without journeying (their clarified minds penetrate all directions), discern without seeing, and accomplish through Wuwei (when their work is done, the people say it unfolded naturally).

Commentary on Chapter 48: Forgetting Knowledge

Those who pursue learning see their knowledge increase daily (the erudite may lack true wisdom); those who cultivate the Dao find desires diminish daily (the wise do not chase breadth). Diminishing further until Wuwei is attained—this is the way.

Here Laozi expounds the supreme state of Wuwei (non-action). When one reaches the extreme emptiness and stillness of non-action, they can accomplish everything effortlessly. Thus, governing the world requires following natural spontaneity - forceful interference will only make true governance more difficult. (Just as loyal ministers only become apparent when the nation is in chaos.)

Chapter 49 discusses the sage's way of interacting with the world: The sage maintains no fixed prejudices, taking the people's will as their own. They treat the virtuous with kindness, and equally treat the non-virtuous with kindness - this transforms all toward goodness. They treat the trustworthy with sincerity, and equally treat the untrustworthy with sincerity - this cultivates an atmosphere of integrity. The sage remains ever vigilant in the world, merging their heart-mind with all under heaven. (The Great Dao is like overflowing water, present everywhere.) The people attentively observe the sage's words and deeds - while ordinary people enjoy displaying themselves, the sage remains childlike in purity. Those with profound cultivation of De (Virtue) possess the pristine purity of a newborn infant.

Chapter 50 examines the Dao of life and death: From birth to death, three in ten live out their natural lifespan, three in ten die prematurely, and another three in ten perish early precisely because they excessively pursue longevity. Why? Because they become too attached to life-nourishment. Those truly skilled at nourishing life encounter no rhinoceroses or tigers when traveling by land, and suffer no weapon wounds on battlefields. Rhinos find no place to gore them, tigers no place to claw them, weapons no place to pierce them. Why? Because they never place themselves in dangerous situations. (Heaven's Dao shows no favoritism, yet constantly protects the virtuous.)

Chapter 51 clarifies the relationship between Dao and De: The Dao generates all things, while De nurtures them. All beings take distinct forms, shaped by their environments. Thus all things honor the Dao and value De. The Dao's noble status isn't conferred by anyone - it emerges spontaneously. Therefore we say the Dao generates all things. (All beings grow through attaining the Dao.)

This passage primarily discusses how De (Virtue/Power) nourishes all things and the profound significance of following the natural Dao. The Daode Jing uses the phrase "De rears them" to describe how the Dao nurtures all beings like tending livestock, allowing them to grow and mature. The most profound virtue (Xuande, Mysterious Virtue) operates like the movement of heavenly Dao—benefiting all things without harming them, creating without possessing, acting without claiming credit, guiding without dominating.

All things under heaven have their origin, which is called "the mother of all under heaven." By understanding this fundamental principle (the mother), one can comprehend all things (the offspring); and having understood all things, one must return to the root. Following this way, one will remain free from danger throughout life. Closing the gates of desire ("blocking the openings, shutting the doors") ensures a life free from toil; conversely, indulging desires ("opening the openings, attending to affairs") leads to inescapable difficulties. The ability to perceive subtlety is called clarity; maintaining softness is called strength. By employing the light of wisdom and ultimately returning to inner purity, one avoids bringing calamity upon oneself—this is the true way of enduring.

The text then criticizes the extravagance of contemporary society: while court halls are lavishly decorated, fields lie barren and granaries stand empty. People wear ornate robes ("embroidered finery"), carry sharp swords, indulge in excessive feasting ("sated with food and drink"), and hoard wealth. Such behavior constitutes "robber's ostentation"—flaunting like bandits, completely contrary to the Dao.

Finally, it explains that true establishment ("setting up") and holding fast ("embracing") cannot be shaken. Those skilled in establishing cannot be uprooted; those skilled in holding fast cannot be stripped away—only such virtue can be passed on without end. When the Dao is practiced in oneself, the virtue is genuine; extended to family, community, state, and the world, the virtue expands ever wider. Therefore, observe others to understand oneself, observe other households to understand one's own, observe other states to understand one's nation. The ancient sages comprehended all under heaven through this method—knowing the world's affairs without stepping outside their doors.

This scripture primarily discusses the manifestations and importance of cultivating virtue (De) at different levels of practice.

Beginning with personal cultivation: When one cultivates at home, virtue will overflow abundantly; when cultivating within the village, virtue will endure; when cultivating within the state, virtue will flourish; when cultivating under heaven, virtue will become universal. Therefore, observe oneself through oneself, observe the family through the family, observe the village through the village, observe the state through the state, and observe the world through the world. Only those who truly value themselves can govern the world, and only those who truly cherish themselves can be entrusted with the world. The sage does not need to travel far to understand this truth.

Next, it describes the state of "profound virtue": A person of deep virtue is as pure as an infant. Poisonous insects will not sting them, fierce beasts will not seize them, and birds of prey will not strike them. Though their sinews and bones are soft, their grip is firm; though they know nothing of intercourse, their organs are potent—this is because their essence (Jing) is abundant. They may cry all day without becoming hoarse—this is because their harmony (Qi) is complete. To understand harmony is to comprehend the eternal Dao; to comprehend the eternal Dao is true wisdom. Excessive pursuit of longevity instead invites calamity, and forcibly driving vital energy (Qi) weakens the root. When things become overly strong, they begin to decay—this is contrary to the Dao's principle. What contradicts the Dao will perish prematurely.

Finally, it speaks of the state of "mysterious virtue": The truly wise do not speak much, and those who speak much are not necessarily wise. One must block the openings of desire, close the gates of craving, dull sharp edges, untangle knots, soften brilliance, and blend with the dust of the world—this is called "mysterious unity" (Xuantong). Those who attain this state can neither be drawn close nor distanced, neither tempted by gain nor harmed by loss.

This passage expounds on principles of governance and personal conduct. Laozi believed that governing a state requires upright methods (the way of stillness and Wuwei [non-action]), not petty cleverness. Stratagems and cunning are only needed in warfare. The true way to govern is to let people develop naturally without excessive interference.

When a nation establishes too many prohibitions and taboos, the people will only grow poorer; when overly refined artifacts proliferate among the populace, they breed contention; the harsher the laws become, the more thieves will emerge. Therefore, the sage says: "When I refrain from forced action, the people transform themselves; when I avoid stirring up trouble, the people prosper naturally; when I maintain stillness, the people correct themselves; when I remain desireless, the people return to simplicity."

Fortune and misfortune are interdependent—misfortune conceals fortune, while fortune harbors misfortune. Their boundaries are difficult to discern. Uprightness may turn into cunning, and kindness may transform into wickedness. The people have been lost in these illusions for too long. Thus, the sage remains square-edged yet never cuts others, incorruptible yet not harsh, straightforward yet not reckless, luminous yet never glaring.

All these principles demonstrate that governance should follow the doctrine of Wuwei—minimizing interference and allowing all things to develop naturally. Understanding this truth, the sage embraces profound De (Virtue/Power), neither dominating others nor flaunting personal merits.

In governing the people and serving Heaven, nothing surpasses frugality (referring to following the principles of the Dao). Only by understanding frugality can one return early to the origin (returning to the root of the Dao). This return is called "deep accumulation of De (Virtue/Power)"—the continuous accumulation of profound virtue brings limitless efficacy. Limitless efficacy leads to unfathomable depths (its application knows no bounds). Reaching this state enables one to govern the nation (thus ensuring enduring existence), and grasping the foundation of governance ensures lasting stability (the Dao itself is eternal). This is what is called the way of deep roots, firm foundations, and long-lasting vision (as enduring as heaven and earth).

When governing a large state, one must be as careful as when cooking small fish (policies should be stable, and the people will remain simple). Using the Dao to govern the world, even ghosts and spirits will not cause harm (noble virtue does not deliberately display itself). It is not that ghosts and spirits do not act (but rather that they harmonize with all things), but that they do not harm people (governing with a compassionate heart). It is not that the spirits refrain from harming (not forcefully demanding), but that the sage does not harm the people (I govern through Wuwei (non-action), and the people naturally transform). When neither side harms the other, their virtues merge (mastering the great Dao, the world naturally submits).

A great state should be humble like the lower reaches of a river (the mighty should be even more modest), for this is where all under heaven converges (only the low places can be filled). Among all things in the world, the feminine often overcomes the masculine through stillness (knowing strength yet abiding in gentleness), taking quiet humility as its foundation (because it excels in staying low). Thus, when a great state is humble toward a small state, it wins the small state (only by not boasting can one endure); when a small state is humble toward a great state, it gains the great state's trust (yielding leads to preservation). Sometimes humility is for gaining (surpassing others), and sometimes humility is the natural way (following the laws of nature). A great state merely seeks to embrace and nurture others (loving all things without dominating), while a small state merely seeks to rely on and serve others (excelling in handling affairs). In this way, both sides can fulfill their desires (their essence is the same), and the mighty should be even more humble (those who excel in employing others should be modest).

These are all fundamental principles concerning the cultivation of the Dao.

The Dao is the most profound source of all things (all beings revere the Dao and cherish De). The virtuous hold the Dao as their treasure (when Heaven attains the "One" of the Dao, it becomes clear). Even the unvirtuous rely on the Dao for preservation (the Dao gives birth to all things, and De nourishes them). Kind words can win people's hearts (yet the sage does not hoard words), and noble actions can influence others (the sage is always skilled at saving people). Why should we abandon those who are unvirtuous? (Thus, the virtuous serve as teachers for the unvirtuous). Therefore, when appointing the Son of Heaven and establishing the Three Dukes (the sage understands), it is better to cultivate this Dao in stillness than to present jade disks and ride in chariots drawn by four horses to pay homage (the Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao).

The ancients treasured this Dao (profound beyond profundity)—why insist that daily pursuit can attain it? Even those with faults can be pardoned through the Dao (understanding this principle ensures no danger), which is why the Dao is revered by all under Heaven.

The benefits of Wuwei (non-action) (few in the world can attain it) lie in handling affairs as if doing nothing (when I do not disturb the people, they naturally prosper), and savoring as if there were no flavor (the Dao, when spoken, is bland and tasteless). Whether dealing with great or small grievances, respond with De (De nourishes all things). To resolve difficulties, start with what is easy (those who consider things too simple will surely encounter greater hardships). To accomplish great tasks, begin with the subtle (even the mightiest tree grows from a tender sprout). The world's difficult tasks must start from what is easy (difficulty and ease transform into each other), and great undertakings must begin with the minute (if I can steadfastly comprehend the great Dao). Thus, the sage never undertakes great tasks, yet accomplishes them (not boasting of oneself ensures longevity). Those who make promises lightly will surely lack trust (pretending to understand is a flaw), and those who consider things too easy will surely face greater hardships (principles that seem easy to grasp are simple to practice, yet few in the world truly understand and embody them). Therefore, the sage treats matters as difficult, and thus ultimately encounters no difficulty (the world's difficult tasks must start from what is easy).

What is stable is easy to maintain (tranquility is the finest state). What has not yet manifested is easy to plan for (prepare before things arise). What is fragile is easy to dissolve (rigidity is the path to death). What is minute is easy to disperse (cultivating the Dao requires daily reduction of desires). Prepare before events unfold, and govern before disorder arises.

This scripture expounds the Daoist wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)," using vivid metaphors to illustrate the natural laws of development.

A great tree that fills one's embrace grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-story tower rises from baskets of earth; a thousand-mile journey begins with a single step. This shows that all great undertakings must start from small beginnings. Those who force or act recklessly often fail, and those who cling tightly are more likely to lose. The sage (one who has attained the Dao) does not act rashly and thus does not fail; they do not grasp and thus do not lose.

People often fail when they are on the verge of success. If they could remain as cautious at the end as they were at the beginning, they would not ruin their efforts. The sage seeks what others do not seek, valuing not rare treasures but returning to the root that most neglect. They assist the natural development of all things without presumptuous interference.

In ancient times, those skilled in practicing the Dao did not teach the people cunning or cleverness but helped them remain simple and genuine. The people are difficult to govern precisely because they have too much cleverness. To rule a nation with cunning is its calamity; to rule without cunning is its blessing. Understanding this distinction is to grasp the principle, and this profound virtue is called "Mysterious De (Xuan De)"—the deepest and most profound Virtue. Though this virtue seems contrary to ordinary ways, it ultimately leads to the greatest harmony.

The reason rivers and seas can become the gathering place of all streams is that they excel at staying low. Thus, if the sage wishes to lead the people, they must speak humbly; if they wish to stand before the people, they must place their own interests last. Just as the sea, by staying low, can contain all rivers.

The sage, though occupying the highest position, does not oppress the people (for by not exalting the worthy, he prevents contention). When he stands before them to lead, they feel no harm (because he values self-restraint over self-importance). Thus, all under heaven gladly support him without resentment (for they recognize true goodness).

True goodness lies in not contending with others, so no one in the world can contend with him. Precisely because he does not contend, he remains free from fault.

Chapter 67 speaks of the "Three Treasures": All under heaven say the Dao is vast, yet it seems elusive (the bright Dao appears obscure). Precisely because it is vast, it does not resemble ordinary things (its radiance is restrained, not glaring). If the Dao were like ordinary things, it would long have diminished (the Dao is elusive, beyond grasp).

I hold fast to three treasures: The first is compassion (nourishing all things without claiming possession), the second is frugality (acting without self-importance), and the third is daring not to be first in the world (accomplishing without domination). Through compassion, one becomes courageous (true strength lies in embracing gentleness); through frugality, one becomes expansive (by discarding extravagance); through not contending, one becomes the leader of all things (yielding appropriately brings true advancement).

People today abandon compassion for reckless bravery (arrogance invites destruction), discard frugality for lavishness (wealth breeds pride), and forsake yielding to rush ahead—this leads only to ruin (the violent meet untimely ends). With compassion, one prevails in battle (gentleness overcomes hardness); with it, one stands firm in defense. Those who uphold this Dao are guarded by heaven’s compassion (the Dao favors none, yet always aids the virtuous).

Chapter 68 speaks of "Emulating Heaven": The true commander does not rely on brute force (those who assist rulers with the Dao do not dominate through might). The skilled warrior is not easily provoked (gentleness conquers hardness). The master of victory does not engage in contention (yielding ensures preservation). The wise leader remains humble (the greatest should be the most modest). This is the virtue of non-contention, the wisdom of employing others, and the highest principle of aligning with heaven’s way (embracing the ancient Dao).

Chapter 69 speaks of "Military Strategy": Those who wield arms often say (hence the proverb): "I dare not take the offensive but prefer to hold my ground (understanding glory yet guarding my foundation)."

(Chapter 70: Knowing Difficulty)

Laozi said: The Dao I speak of is actually easy to understand and simple to practice (the Great Dao is inherently straightforward). Yet people in the world find it hard to comprehend, even harder to embody (they remain entangled in superficial appearances). Speech should have foundation, actions should follow principles (the highest governance lets people perceive naturally). Precisely because people don't understand this truth, they fail to understand me (those who truly know don't flaunt their knowledge). Few can comprehend me (excessive knowledge breeds confusion), and those who emulate me are even rarer (this honors the Dao). Thus the sage appears plain in demeanor (wearing coarse cloth), yet harbors wisdom precious as jade within (the luminous Dao seems obscure).

(Chapter 71: Knowing the Flaw)

To recognize what one doesn't know—this is the highest wisdom (not displaying oneself brings clarity); pretending to know when one doesn't—this is the true flaw (self-display brings confusion). Only by treating "pretending to know" as a serious flaw to guard against can one avoid this flaw (the path of cultivation appears like retreat). Sages are free from such flaws precisely because they regard "pretending to know" as a grave illness, thus remaining immune to it (the vastest Virtue always seems insufficient).

(Chapter 72: Cherishing Oneself)

When the people cease to fear authority, greater chaos will arise (without understanding constant principles, reckless actions follow). Don't constrict the people's living space (maintain emptiness like a valley), nor exhaust their life-sustaining resources (the Dao flows ceaselessly). Only by not oppressing the people will you avoid their resentment (those skilled in holding to the Dao never lose it). Therefore sages possess self-knowledge without self-promotion (the level Dao seems rugged), cherish themselves without self-exaltation (the highest De doesn't conspicuously display virtue). Thus discard self-exaltation and self-display; choose self-knowledge and self-cherishing (this reverses worldly ways).

(Chapter 73: Assuming Action)

Reckless boldness invites fatal consequences (what's rigid belongs to the realm of death); knowing how to yield preserves life (what's tender belongs to the realm of life). These two approaches differ in benefit and harm (like the distinction between good and evil). Who can fully comprehend why Heaven despises certain things? (Nature holds the power of life and death) Even sages find these matters difficult to grasp (the greatest fear is acting arbitrarily). The Way of Heaven contends with none.

(Note: Phrases like "throwing a punch without showing arms" and "holding weapons without revealing arms" metaphorically describe true warriors who leave no traces; "coarse garments concealing jade" refers to sages' plain exteriors hiding true wisdom; "the Way of Heaven contends not" emphasizes nature's humble character.)

The Dao follows what is natural, responding perfectly to all things without the need for words. Without being summoned, all things come of their own accord. Action must seize the right timing; only by remaining composed can one plan properly. The Dao of Heaven is like a vast net—sparse in appearance, yet nothing slips through its gaps. What the Dao of Heaven despises—who can truly understand the reason behind it?

Chapter 74 on governing delusion states: When the people no longer fear death, what use is there in threatening them with it? If the people always feared death, those who presume to be clever would not dare to act recklessly, while those who seek novelty would naturally invite disaster. If I could seize and execute such people, who would dare to act with arrogance? Heaven inherently holds the power over life and death. For someone to presume to take Heaven’s place in wielding this power is like an unskilled person trying to chop wood in place of a master carpenter. Know this: those who try to chop wood for the master carpenter rarely escape injuring their own hands.

Chapter 75 speaks of the harm of greed: The people starve because their rulers levy too many taxes; they become difficult to govern because their rulers interfere too much; they treat life lightly because they pursue pleasure to excess. Only those who do not cling too tightly to life are wiser than those who treasure it excessively.

Chapter 76 warns against stubborn strength: When alive, the human body is soft and supple; in death, it becomes stiff. When growing, plants are tender and pliant; when withered, they turn brittle and dry. Thus, what is rigid belongs to the category of death, while what is yielding belongs to the category of life. Therefore, an army that insists on brute strength will not prevail; trees that grow too tall are cut down. The strong and unyielding often find themselves in lowly positions, while the soft and yielding rise above.

The Dao (the Way) of heaven operates like drawing a bow to shoot: when the string is pulled too high, it is lowered; when drawn too low, it is raised. The natural law always reduces excess to supplement deficiency, just as it maintains emptiness in the mind while filling the body with substance. Yet human practices do the opposite, often taking from the insufficient to offer to those who already have abundance.

Who can dedicate their surplus to the world? Only those who have attained the Dao can do so. The sages (enlightened beings) create without possessing, accomplish without claiming credit, and have no desire to display their own worthiness. Like the most perfect things that appear flawed, they embody profound humility.

Nothing in the world is softer than water, yet it can wear away stone—nothing overcomes the hard better than water. This principle of the soft conquering the hard and the weak overcoming the strong is rarely truly understood or practiced by people. Therefore, the sages say: Only those who can endure a nation’s humiliation are fit to be its rulers; only those who can bear a nation’s misfortunes can become kings of the world. These seemingly paradoxical words contain the profound mystery of De (Virtue/Power).

Even when deep enmity is resolved, resentment may linger—how can this be considered perfect? Thus, though the sage holds the debt contract (the left tally, symbolizing authority), they never demand repayment. Those with De are generous like keepers of agreements, while those without it are harsh like tax collectors. The Dao of heaven treats all things impartially, yet it always favors those who act with goodness.

An ideal state should be small in scale and population. Though the people possess tools, they do not misuse them (the "shi-bo" refers to various implements), living instead with simplicity and frugality. In this way, no conflicts arise from competition for fame or profit, resembling the ancient state where "not exalting the worthy kept the people from contention."

In governing the state, do not exalt rare and precious goods (meaning avoid excessive pursuit of luxuries), so that the people will value their lives and not lightly migrate far away. When governance is clear and bright, even if there are boats and carriages, the people will have no need to use them frequently (because they live in peace and contentment); even if there are armor and weapons, there will be no occasion to deploy them (because the world is at peace).

Let the people return to the simple lifestyle of tying knots to keep records (returning to natural authenticity). Let them find their food sweet, their clothing comfortable, their dwellings peaceful, and their customs joyful (when the ruler does not interfere excessively, the people naturally prosper). Neighboring states may be within sight of each other, and the sounds of roosters and dogs may be heard, yet the people grow old and die without ever visiting one another (without coveting external things, the world naturally stabilizes).

Chapter 81 speaks of the manifestation of essence:

True words are not ornate; ornate words are not true (I believe what is true, and I embrace what is not true). The truly virtuous do not argue; those who argue are not truly virtuous (I treat the virtuous with kindness, and the unvirtuous with tolerance). The truly wise do not flaunt their knowledge; those who flaunt knowledge do not truly understand (taking less actually brings more gain, while greed leads to confusion).

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) does not hoard personal possessions. The more one helps others, the more one becomes enriched (always excelling in aiding others); the more one gives to others, the more one becomes abundant (always excelling in cherishing all things). The way of heaven is to nourish all things without harming them (this is why the great Dao is revered). The principle of the sage is to act without contention (this is why virtue is exalted).