This is the chapter in which the book explains where the word way came from, and it does so by insisting that it is not a name.
Something is formed out of confusion and born before heaven and earth. It is silent and empty, stands alone without changing, and goes everywhere without tiring. It might, the text says, be the mother of all under heaven. Then: I do not know its name, and I call it the way; pressed for a name, I would call it great.
Two things are happening in that admission. The first is that the term is being introduced as a makeshift, chosen because something had to be said, which is the same position chapter one takes when it warns that the way that can be spoken is not the constant way. The second is that the speaker appears, in the first person, to take responsibility for the choice. The book almost never does this. Chapter twenty is the other place, and there the first person is used to describe isolation rather than to make a decision.
The word chosen, dao, was not invented for the purpose and was already in general philosophical use for a doctrine, a method or the correct course, which is what makes it a modest choice rather than a grand one. The alternative offered, great, is then immediately unfolded into a sequence: great means going, going means far, far means returning. The word is not left as a superlative. It is turned into a description of movement that comes back, which is the same claim chapter forty makes in four characters when it says that returning is how the way moves.