Selflessness and the Virtue of Water
We now turn to page seven.
“The reason heaven and earth can endure long and last long is that they do not live for themselves; therefore they can live long.”
Patriarch Lü Chunyang explains that Laozi is pointing out why heaven and earth have such long life, in order to teach people by analogy.
Heaven and earth have no selfish intention. They generate the ten thousand things, but not for their own private sake. That is why Laozi says they do not “self-live.”
If something lives only for itself, it immediately begins contending with other things. Once there is contention, there is damage and depletion. But heaven and earth do not make the ten thousand things serve private selfhood, so they are not diminished. Because they are not diminished, they endure.
The lecturer says some people resist this teaching. They object that many good people die young.
But chapter 33 already says, “One who dies but is not lost truly has longevity.” So *long life* does not only mean the number of years one remains in the visible world. If a person’s spirit, influence, and name do not perish, that too is longevity.
Laozi has been gone for thousands of years, yet people still honor him. The Buddha has been gone more than two thousand years, yet his presence remains in the world through his teaching. Even Jesus, though short-lived in bodily years, is still worshiped and remembered.
So when this lecture speaks of longevity, it is not limited to ordinary earthly lifespan.
The lecture now turns from heaven and earth to the sage.
The sage learns from heaven and earth. Outwardly he places himself behind others and lets others go first. Yet in the end he comes before them.
He sets his physical body aside, treating life and death lightly, but precisely because of that his *dharma-body* or true spiritual body is preserved.
Patriarch Lü says that “placing oneself behind” means the virtue of humility and yielding. “Putting the body outside oneself” means not clinging to the false self of the physical form. Then “the body remains” means that the true self, the spiritual body, abides.
So the sage does not chase personal advantage, yet through selflessness his deeper being endures.
To “put oneself last” means to cultivate humility: let others go first and oneself come later.
Then why does such a person “come first”? Not because he competes to be first under heaven, but because people naturally honor and look up to him.
To “put the body outside” means not taking the physical body as the whole self. The lecturer distinguishes between the false self—the fleshly body—and the true self—one’s original nature.
The false body dies, but the true spiritual body can remain. In that sense, a realized person may die physically yet still remain “alive through the ages.”
So when Laozi says, “Is it not because he is without private self that he can fulfill his private self?” the lecturer explains the two meanings of *private*. The first means selfish benefit; the second points to the completion of one’s own inner virtue. By abandoning selfish gain, one fulfills true virtue.
A long spoken section follows here, and much of it is extemporaneous rather than close textual commentary.
The lecturer says that ordinary people spend their whole lives chasing wealth and advantage, yet when death comes they cannot carry even a little of it away. For that reason, cultivation is better than worldly accumulation.
He then turns to the popular question of saving or benefiting one’s parents through practice. His main point is that spiritual work requires real virtue and merit; one cannot simply perform a gesture and imagine one has saved one’s family. He also stresses that husband and wife share karmic life together. If one practices and the other supports rather than obstructs, the merit is shared. If they obstruct one another, both are harmed.
The lecturer then speaks personally. Though his eyes are in pain, he still continues teaching because he does not want people to drift away from the path.
Finally he closes chapter 7 and says that next they will discuss chapter 8: “The highest good is like water.”
Now we turn to page eight, chapter 8.
“The highest good is like water. Water benefits the ten thousand things and does not contend. It stays in places people dislike. Therefore it is near to the Dao.”
The lecturer says that if one asks what is best under heaven, it is something like water. Water can benefit all things, yet it does not argue, compete, or struggle with anyone. It is willing to remain in low places others reject. That is why it comes close to Dao.
He then cites Hanshan Master: the virtue of humility and non-contention is like water. Its marvel lies in benefiting the ten thousand things without fighting them. “Not contending” means adapting to circumstances, taking shape according to what it enters, and being willing to stay below.
The lecture now opens into a longer comparative aside.
The teacher says that the highest teachings often cross religious boundaries. Great Buddhist monks studied Taoist thought; Taoist and Confucian ideas are also quoted across traditions. He mentions Xuanzang and says that many later explanations in Buddhism were made intelligible in China by drawing on native categories already familiar from Taoist thought.
He then gives examples such as *namo*, *the West*, and *taking refuge*, arguing that in Chinese usage these were often explained through ideas like the five phases and the return to purity.
The point of this long aside is not sectarian rivalry. It is that the highest principle is not narrow. Once the teaching reaches a truly deep level, it tends to surpass rigid religious boundaries.
Humility means not fighting with others.
So when Laozi says, “The highest good is like water; it benefits all things and does not contend,” the lecturer focuses on this phrase *does not contend*.
What does that mean? It means “adapting to the square and becoming square, adapting to the round and becoming round.” Put water into a square vessel and it becomes square in form. Pour it into a round bowl and it becomes round. Put tea into it and it becomes tea-water; coffee into it and it becomes coffee-water.
Water does not insist on a fixed self. It does not say, “This I accept; that I refuse.”
People are not like that. People say, “This I want, that I do not want.” People love height and hate lowness. But the sage can dwell below.
That is why water is such a fitting image for the Dao.
The *Yishu* on Laozi says that the way of highest goodness must resemble water.
All living things, plants and animals alike, depend on water as a basic condition of life. Water benefits all things without demanding repayment. Even in filthy ditches and foul marshes, it does not recoil.
The lecturer then says frankly that many religions in actual practice still fail here. They classify people, reject some, accept others, and attack rival groups. In that sense, they are not yet like water.
He then turns to Confucius and says Confucius came much closer. Citing the *Xunzi*, he gives the line: “Those who come are not refused.” A good doctor’s door has many sick people; beside a tool used to straighten warped wood, there will naturally be much crooked wood.
The meaning is that a true teacher does not receive only the already good and easy. He also receives the troubled, difficult, and morally bent.
Returning to the text, the lecturer now quotes Patriarch Lü Chunyang.
Water benefits the ten thousand things and does not contend. Low places are exactly what people dislike, yet water gathers there. Because water has form, we can see the way it benefits beings. But Dao bestows its virtue without form. Therefore water is only *near* Dao—it is not identical with Dao itself.
So the goodness of water is a close image of the Great Dao.
The lecturer then brings in Confucian sources: using sound, appearance, spectacle, and outer display to transform people is only a lower method. The *Book of Odes* says, “Virtue is lighter than a hair,” and also says that Heaven’s carrying power works “without sound and without smell.”
The point is that the higher the virtue, the less it advertises itself. Water already teaches this. Dao does so even more perfectly.
The lecture next cites the *Han Shi Waizhuan* on why the wise delight in water.
Water follows the line of principle and does not miss even tiny openings; in that it resembles intelligence. It always moves downward; in that it resembles humility and ritual propriety. When it reaches a deep plunge, it does not hesitate; in that it resembles courage. And because all things live by it and a nation finds stability through it, the wise delight in water for these reasons.
The lecturer explains each point in practical terms. Water can enter even the smallest crack. It does not insist on high position but flows downward. At a waterfall it plunges without fear. All creatures depend on it.
He then adds another saying: the worthy resemble water. Water washes even corpses, excrement, and urine, yet its own clarity is not destroyed. The *Innumerable Meanings Sutra* similarly says that water washes dirt, and *Dharma-water* washes away the grime of accumulated afflictions. That is why religious teaching is sometimes compared to pure water.
The lecturer now says again: there is no good under heaven higher than water.
He quotes the *Da Dai Liji*: water receives what is foul without refusal, and so resembles humaneness. When dirty things go into it and emerge clean, it resembles good transformation. It levels itself and so resembles justice. When full, it does not need to be scraped level like a measuring vessel, and so resembles integrity. That is why, when one sees a great river, one should stop and observe it.
He explains this at length. Water flows everywhere without selfishness. Wherever it arrives, living things can survive. It follows the channel straight when straight, bent when bent. When it reaches a huge drop, it does not shrink back.
And when something filthy must be washed, water does not say, “I refuse this ugly task.” This, too, is part of its virtue.
The lecturer then makes a ritual application. He says that when people place three cups of water before the gods, this is not merely an offering to be “consumed.” It also symbolizes that one who studies the Dao should act like water.
He then quotes a verse by Patriarch Lü:
“The highest Dharma-gate is like the edge of water; It washes clean ten thousand stains without shame. A Chan practitioner should be like this, Traveling the world to transform living beings.”
He briefly explains *chan-hezi* as one who studies Chan and can accommodate all teachings.
So the ideal practitioner, especially one walking the higher path, should be like water: cleansing others without disgust, without pride, and without fear of being mocked.
The final section develops Patriarch Lü’s verse into a practical teaching.
The lecturer says the higher vehicle is the bodhisattva path, the middle vehicle is the arhat path, and the lower vehicle seeks blessings in the human and heavenly realms. But anyone who truly walks the higher path must become like water—able to wash away filth without feeling disgraced.
He says some people criticize him for still receiving gamblers, rough characters, and difficult people. His answer is that good people are actually easier to guide: show them the road and they will often walk it. Bad people are the ones who most need patient transformation. He compares this to medicine: a chronic illness may be treated slowly, but an emergency must be handled quickly.
He also alludes to the *Analects*, where Confucius is willing to correct a troublesome youth rather than cast him aside.
So a genuine cultivator should not be afraid of losing face. He should travel widely, meet all kinds of people, and help transform them. The lecturer ends with a more personal note, saying that teachings should be adjusted to people’s capacities, and that listeners should go back, review, and reflect repeatedly until the meaning ripens.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.