If I were suddenly to become known, and (put into a position to) conduct (a government) according to the Great Tao, what I should be most afraid of would be a boastful display. The great Tao (or way) is very level and easy; but people love the by-ways. Their court(-yards and buildings) shall be well kept, but their fields shall be ill-cultivated, and their granaries very empty. They shall wear elegant and ornamented robes, carry a sharp sword at their girdle, pamper themselves in eating and drinking, and have a superabundance of property and wealth;--such (princes) may be called robbers and boasters. This is contrary to the Tao surely!
The chapter warns that true power lies in simplicity and alignment with the natural way, not in display and accumulation. When leaders (or we ourselves) become attached to status symbols, wealth, sharpness, and the appearance of control, we've already lost the plot—we've become thieves of our own peace and robbers of what matters. The 'by-ways' are the distractions we choose; the 'great Tao' is the quiet, level path of what actually needs doing. Boastfulness is the telltale sign we've wandered off.
We live in an age of relentless display: our conflicts broadcast, our possessions curated for view, our sharpness rewarded in speech and argument. The chapter's observation that people 'love the by-ways'—the ornate, the combative, the accumulative—rings with uncanny accuracy. We've made elegance and edge into virtues while the fields of genuine care, connection, and nourishment grow thin. The granaries of what sustains us—silence, presence, community built on trust rather than transaction—sit empty. This verse does not scold; it simply shows us what happens when we mistake the costume for the person, the sword for strength, the noise for power.
Today, notice where you are performing rather than being. Notice what you're carrying that you don't actually need—what ornament, what sharpness, what proof. One small thing: set it down, even for an hour, and feel the difference.