Ancient Masters and Clear Stillness
The file opens with the end of an earlier lecture, not yet on the *Daodejing* chapter itself. The teacher is explaining the *Analects* phrase “In teaching there should be no class distinctions.”
Patriarch Lü Chunyang says that “categories” include all kinds of human divisions: rich and poor, noble and lowly, good and bad, religious affiliation, customs, habits, and social status. A true enlightened teacher does not teach only one type of person and reject another. He teaches without making those distinctions. An ordinary teacher, by contrast, teaches with categories and preferences.
The lecturer then cites the story of the difficult youth from Huxiang. The disciples wondered why Confucius would still receive such a troublesome boy politely. Their thinking was that one should teach only those with good roots, not unruly youths. But Confucius says that if someone comes to see him, that itself shows some wish to change.
Confucius’ point, the lecturer says, is that when a bad youth comes seeking teaching, he likely wants to cleanse his mind and change. If you refuse to see him, you may push him into self-abandonment. So one should not be excessively strict or proud; one should still receive such people.
The teacher then broadens the point into a sermon on salvation without discrimination. Many people, he says, only want to save good people and leave bad people alone. But that is backwards. If a doctor sees a dying patient, that is the one who most urgently needs treatment. In the same way, evil people are often in greater need of teaching than good people. He says Guanyin even saves fierce ghosts and brutal people; therefore one should not refuse people because of lowly work, disability, or a wicked past.
He gives examples from Buddhist and popular religious tradition: even butchers, prostitutes, the disabled, and those who have committed grave wrongs are not outside the path if they truly cultivate. He cites the *Bloodstream Sermon* attributed to Bodhidharma: if one sees one’s nature, doubt falls away. Without seeing one’s nature, even a lifetime of chanting may not end rebirth. With genuine insight and cultivation, even someone previously engaged in killing can still attain realization. This, he says, is the real meaning of teaching without class distinctions.
The lecture session then closes for the night.
The lecture now turns to chapter 15 of the *Daodejing*. The OCR of the opening text is badly damaged, but the recoverable content is the standard passage on “the ancient masters of the Way”:
They were subtle, mysterious, profound, and penetrating, too deep to be fully known. Because they cannot be fully known, one can only describe them through comparisons: cautious as if crossing a winter stream, watchful as if fearing neighbors on every side, reserved like a guest, yielding like melting ice, plain like uncarved wood, open like a valley, and turbid like muddy water.
The lecturer then begins explaining the later line about muddy water settling clear. His basic point is that when water stops moving, it gradually becomes clear; likewise, one who is skilled in the Way may outwardly move among people, but inwardly remains still like standing water. By quietly waiting, clarity emerges of itself.
The lecturer now focuses on the line usually rendered, “Who can be muddy and yet, by stillness, gradually become clear?”
He first explains terms: *zhouxuan* means moving among people, handling social contact and response. *Zhishui*, “still water,” means water that is quiet and unmoving. He quotes the *Zhuangzi*: one should mirror oneself in still water, not running water. In older times, he says, before easy mirrors, people sometimes used water to see their reflection—but flowing water flickers and cannot show a clear image. Only settled water can reflect properly.
That becomes the main spiritual analogy. If the mind is always rushing and stirred by profit and desire, one cannot see one’s true nature. Desire clouds the heart. But if the movement subsides, clarity appears naturally, just as muddy water settles and clears. So an accomplished practitioner may outwardly work with others and move through the world, yet inwardly remain calm, unshowy, and still.
He then begins transitioning to the next line: after one has preserved inner stillness and self-clarity, can one then wait for the right time and move outward to benefit the world?
Here the teacher explains the next line, roughly: “Who can be still for long enough to come gradually to life?” His reading is that *an* means attaining the utmost stillness, *jiu* means waiting for a long time, and *sheng* means nourishing life or nourishing one’s nature.
Patriarch Lü’s interpretation is that the ancient practitioners of the Way did not rush into action. First they settled themselves and cultivated their own nature in stillness. When the time was right, and when they saw people morally lost or spiritually deaf and blind, they would come forth to awaken them. After helping others, they would return again to self-cultivation.
The lecturer says many people can “cultivate themselves alone,” but few can “also benefit the world.” In Buddhist language, the first is self-awakening; the second is awakening others as well, the path of the bodhisattva. So Laozi’s question is not merely about personal quietism. It asks who can preserve stillness long enough that true life and right action gradually emerge from it.
The chapter closes with Patriarch Lü’s explanation of the final line: “Those who preserve this Way do not wish to be full; precisely because they are not full, they can remain worn and yet newly complete.”
He says “preserving this Way” refers to all the qualities just described in the ancient masters: caution, watchfulness, reserve, yielding, simplicity, openness, the ability to let muddiness settle clear, and the ability to let life gradually arise from stillness. These are the practices or “kung fu” of the chapter.
“Not wishing to be full” means not seeking self-satisfaction, not becoming complacent, and not turning one’s cultivation into pride. To “cast off fullness” means to throw away self-importance. Such a person is not preoccupied with fame or profit. Because he is not self-satisfied, he can see through worldly name and gain.
That, the lecturer says, is Laozi’s conclusion: one who truly keeps this Way does not fill himself up. Precisely because he is not full, he does not harden into self-display, and so he remains spiritually alive.
The speaker then ends the evening and says the next session will move on to chapter 16.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.