Sensory Restraint and Favor-Disgrace
The lecture is at Yixin Lecture Center.
Patriarch Lü Chunyang explains the line about kneading clay to make vessels. Clay is shaped into bowls, jars, cups, plates, and other utensils, but although the vessel has form, its usefulness lies in the empty space inside it. A cup must be hollow if it is to hold anything. That is why Laozi says the usefulness of the vessel lies in its non-being, its emptiness. This is the second of the chapter’s analogies.
He then turns to the third analogy, concerning doors and windows. A room becomes usable because openings are made in it: a door allows people to enter and leave, and windows allow light to come in. If the walls were completely sealed, the room would be useless. So again, the function of the room depends on what is absent within it—the open spaces.
The lecturer says the chapter has now used three images: the hub-hole of the wheel, the hollow space in vessels, and the doors and windows of a room. All are meant to illustrate the principle that what seems empty is precisely what makes use possible. With that, he pauses for the evening.
The lecturer briefly reviews chapter 11 before moving on.
His point is that *being* gives a thing its visible form and practical convenience, but *non-being* is what lets it function. A house has walls and structure—that is “being”—but what makes it livable is the empty interior. A wheel has material spokes, but it works because of the open hub. So “being” and “non-being” cannot really be separated.
He compares this with the *Heart Sutra*: form and emptiness are not two unrelated things. He also gives modern examples. A machine has physical shape, but without electricity it cannot do anything. Yet electricity by itself also cannot act apart from the machine. The human body is the same: the body is visible form, but without the unseen spirit it cannot function; still, spirit by itself is not the whole person either.
So the chapter’s teaching is that usefulness arises from the interplay of the visible and the empty, of being and non-being together. From there the lecture turns into chapter 12.
The lecturer opens chapter 12 by reciting its well-known lines: the five colors blind the eye, the five tones deafen the ear, the five flavors spoil the mouth, and racing and hunting drive the mind mad.
He first explains the basic terms. The “five colors” are the standard ancient colors—blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black—but Patriarch Lü says they also stand for the whole realm of visual enticement, all the dazzling forms that confuse people. The “five tones” are the five notes of classical music—*gong, shang, jue, zhi,* and *yu*—and these stand for the whole realm of seductive sound. The “five flavors” are pungent, sour, salty, bitter, and sweet, and they stand for all forms of taste and sensory craving, not only these five in a narrow literal sense.
He then explains “racing and hunting” as an image. In the literal sense it means riding swiftly and pursuing game, but in an extended sense it refers to the mind running after the five desires. Taoist texts say the eye desires form, the ear desires sound, the nose desires scent, the mouth desires taste, and the body desires contact. When the mind is let loose like a horse chasing these things, it becomes agitated and unbalanced. That is why Laozi says such pursuits make the heart-mind go mad.
Patriarch Lü explains “The five colors make people blind” by taking the five basic colors as the source of endless mixed colors and visual variations. The point is not merely paint or pigments, but the whole field of seductive appearances. When people are confused by visual allure, their minds become disordered and they lose right judgment. “Blindness” here therefore means not only physical sight, but also confusion about principle and truth.
The lecturer then compares Taoist teaching with Buddhist and Confucian sayings. Buddhism warns that the eye-faculty is easily led astray by visible objects, so the *Heart Sutra* speaks of “no eye-realm.” Confucianism similarly says, “Do not look at what is contrary to propriety,” and also speaks of “looking without truly seeing.” Though the wording differs, the moral concern is the same: do not let the eyes drag the mind away.
He closes this session by saying the rest will continue next time.
The next session takes up the line “The five tones make people deaf.”
Patriarch Lü explains the five tones again as the classical notes that produce musical harmony, but says Laozi’s point is broader: they stand for the entire world of sounds that entice and distract the ear. “Deafness” here does not mean literal loss of hearing alone. It means that once a person is charmed by sensual or corrupting sounds, he can no longer hear what is truly good. Fine speech, upright counsel, and serious teaching no longer enter.
The lecturer again draws parallels from Buddhism and Confucianism. The *Heart Sutra* speaks of “no ear-realm,” and Confucian teaching says, “Do not listen to what is contrary to propriety.” In another phrase, one may hear and yet treat it as though unheard. These traditions all warn against giving the ear over to corrupting influences.
He also cites the *Jiuhuang zhenjing*, which says that people fond of sensuality often delight in deviant sounds, and such sounds disturb the ear. Patriarch Lü adds that sages find such sounds offensive, while foolish people enjoy them. Over time the ear becomes inwardly dulled, so that wholesome words no longer get through. That is the real meaning of “the five tones make people deaf.”
Patriarch Lü then explains “The five flavors spoil the mouth.”
The five basic tastes combine into countless delicious dishes, but Laozi’s warning is that the mouth can become enslaved to pleasure. Here the word *shuang* means injury, or the loss of true taste. If a person is obsessed with fine food, then the mind follows the tongue and becomes disordered through greed for enjoyment. This pursuit not only corrupts judgment; it also harms the body.
The lecturer says Buddhism therefore warns against attachment through the tongue and speaks of “no tongue-realm.” He also cites texts that say one should “eat without being ruled by taste,” meaning not that one literally cannot distinguish flavor, but that one does not let liking and disliking dominate the heart.
He links this with the *Great Learning*: when the mind is not properly present, one “eats without knowing the taste.” The moral point in all these traditions is the same—do not let appetite rule the person from within.
The line about “racing and hunting” is now explained more fully.
Literally it refers to riding swiftly and chasing birds and beasts. But Patriarch Lü says that inwardly it describes the mind like a horse, galloping after the five desires without rest. Once the mind starts chasing pleasure in this way, the heart is stirred and thrown into agitation. This is why Laozi says such pursuits make people inwardly frantic.
The lecturer again connects this to broader religious teaching. Buddhism warns against the mind being led astray by the realm of mental objects, and Taoist texts define the five desires as craving for sound, form, fragrance, taste, and contact. So the chapter is not only criticizing literal hunting; it is diagnosing the condition of a mind that is always in pursuit.
The lecturer then cites the *Zhuangzi*, specifically the “Tiandi” chapter, which says there are five ways human nature is harmed: colors confuse the eyes, sounds confuse the ears, odors overwhelm the nose, flavors damage the mouth, and grasping and rejecting things disturb the heart so that one’s natural disposition flies into disorder.
He pauses to explain the “five odors” as categories such as rank, smoky, fragrant, fishy, and rotten smells. He also explains again that “spoiling the mouth” means injuring one’s capacity for proper taste, and that “grasping and rejecting” is what disorders the heart.
His point is that *Zhuangzi* is saying nearly the same thing as Laozi: the sensory world and the passions tied to it become major obstacles in cultivation. The wording differs, but the moral diagnosis is the same.
The lecturer next explains Laozi’s line that “rare goods lead people into harmful behavior.”
Patriarch Lü says that gold, jade, antiques, and other difficult-to-obtain treasures are exactly the things wealthy households like to collect. But because such objects are precious and hard to get, people become willing to do wrong for them. If they cannot obtain them honestly, they may steal, rob, or even kill.
And even if one already possesses such treasures, publicly displaying them can bring disaster upon oneself by attracting thieves and violence. So “rare goods” do not simply enrich life—they easily become causes of moral corruption and danger. That, he says, is Laozi’s warning.
The chapter ends with the line that the sage attends to the belly and not to the eye, and therefore rejects the one and takes the other.
Patriarch Lü explains “belly” as the inner center—what the lecturer calls inner virtue—while “eye” stands for outward attractions and the whole pull of the senses. He links this with chapter 3’s phrase “fill the belly,” which he says means to strengthen inner substance rather than chase empty external stimulation.
The lecturer again brings in supporting parallels. Confucius says, “Do not look at what is contrary to propriety.” The *Heart Sutra* speaks of moving beyond attachment to the sensory realms. The *Diamond Sutra* says not to let the mind dwell in form, sound, smell, taste, touch, or mental objects.
So the conclusion of chapter 12 is clear: the sage cultivates inward substance and does not let the six senses become stained by the six dusts. That is what it means to “reject this and take that.”
The lecture then opens chapter 13 with the line “Favor and disgrace are both startling.”
Patriarch Lü says that the superior person is not shaken by either honor or humiliation. The lecturer compares this with the Buddhist idea of a mind that does not abide anywhere—a non-attached mind. Dictionaries explain the phrase as meaning that one is not inwardly moved by gain or loss.
He says that if a person still clings to likes and dislikes, then praise excites him and insult angers him. Either way the heart cannot remain at peace. But if one truly reaches the state of non-attachment, then whether others favor or scorn you, the mind does not panic.
He then turns to the line “Value great trouble as you value the body,” explaining that “great trouble” comes from attachment to the self. All kinds of emotional distress arise because one clings to “me” and “mine.” Patriarch Lü therefore says that in dealing with people and affairs, a cultivator should adopt a standpoint of no-self. If attachment to self weakens, then great trouble also recedes.
The lecturer glosses this in practical terms: once a person values the ego too heavily, desires and grievances multiply. But if one can treat the self more lightly, then even when others take advantage of you or things do not go your way, the heart does not become so burdened.
Patriarch Lü then asks and answers the question: what does it mean to say “favor and disgrace are both startling”? His explanation is that favor is actually a low position. Why? Because the one who receives favor must bend himself downward to obtain it.
The lecturer makes this vivid. A flatterer wins affection by ingratiating himself. When the superior grants him something, he must bow, thank, and submit himself. In older times he might even kneel to receive the gift. In that sense, to be “favored” already places one below another person. It is not so different from disgrace. Both involve dependence on others and a mind that is no longer free.
Patriarch Lü then says that ordinary people naturally seek favor. Before obtaining it, they fear not getting it. After obtaining it, they fear losing it. So whether in gaining or losing, the heart is startled and uneasy. That is why Laozi says favor and disgrace alike are shocking.
The lecturer compares such a person to “a bird frightened by the bow”—once hurt, it becomes fearful at every movement. He then recalls Laozi’s attitude in the *Shiji*: if the time is right, one may proceed; if it is not, one drifts away like tumbleweed. This is similar to the Confucian idea of acting when it is appropriate and withdrawing when it is not.
So the practical teaching is to stop living in anxiety over gain and loss. If favor comes, let it come; if it goes, let it go. If one does not cling, then where would all this distress come from? Trouble comes from fearing to lose what one has gained. Without that attachment, the heart becomes much freer.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.