Returning to the Root
Good evening, everyone.
We are now on chapter 16. The text says:
“Bring emptiness to the utmost; keep stillness with deep firmness. The ten thousand things all arise together, and I thereby watch their return. Things flourish in profusion, yet each returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to destiny. Returning to destiny is called constancy. Knowing constancy is called illumination. Not knowing constancy, one acts blindly and meets misfortune. Knowing constancy brings tolerance; tolerance then becomes impartiality; impartiality then becomes kingliness.”
Last time the lecture had reached the words “gong nai wang” — “impartiality then becomes kingliness.” Though these are only three characters, the teacher says their meaning is not simple. Here “king” does not mean an emperor ruling the world by political power. It means one to whom the world naturally turns, one whom people honor and respect.
Looking at the written form of the character *wang* 王, he says, the three horizontal strokes are penetrated by one vertical line. The upper can connect with the Way of Heaven, the middle with the virtue of Earth, and the lower with the way of human beings. When these three are linked through, that is why it is called “king.” So in this passage “king” means the “uncrowned king” — one who has the Dao but not royal rank — not a political monarch with worldly power.
The *Cihai* says: “King is one toward whom all under heaven turn.” In other words, it carries the sense of being honored and followed by others. Heaven’s Way means heavenly principle. Earth’s virtue means the earth’s power to bear, nourish, and transform the ten thousand things. Human way means right relations: affection between parent and child, righteousness between ruler and minister, distinction between husband and wife, order between elder and younger, and trust between friends. When these three are all joined together, that fulfills the meaning of “king.”
So Patriarch Lü Chunyang explains that the “king” spoken of here means one who possesses the Way without possessing royal title. If a person can move others through Dao and virtue and becomes honored by the world, then even without a throne he may be called a king.
The teacher then gives further notes on the idea of the “uncrowned king.”
In Taoism, Laozi is honored as the founding ancestor. Some traditional materials say that his surname was Li and his personal name was Er, and that he was called the Most High Lord Lao. Another note turns to Confucius. Certain commentators say that if someone possesses the Way but does not possess rank, then figures like Laozi and Confucius may both be called *su wang* — “uncrowned kings.”
The lecture then brings in old Confucian materials, including a story from the *Kongzi jiayu* and related commentarial tradition. The general point is that Confucius, though he never met an enlightened ruler who could employ him fully, gathered and ordered the ancient heritage: he examined the records of the hundred schools, edited the *Poetry*, transmitted the *Documents*, regulated ritual materials, and composed the *Spring and Autumn Annals*. Because of this, his civil virtue shone brightly, and some therefore saw him as the kind of figure Heaven was raising up as an “uncrowned king.”
A visiting historian is said to have praised Confucius by saying that he had long heard of his name but had never met him, and that Confucius’s virtue stood as high as Mount Tai and as vast as the sea. His sorrow was only that Confucius had not encountered a truly enlightened king. In the declining age of the Zhou, Confucius had to work amid disorder rather than in an age that could fully receive him.
The teacher’s point is that Confucius preserved, edited, and transmitted the ancient classics in a time of collapse. His literary and moral virtue was therefore bright and manifest. He taught many disciples — thousands are mentioned in the traditional records — and this too is taken as a sign of his greatness.
But Confucius himself, the teacher says, remained humble. Even if others called him an “uncrowned king,” he did not accept it proudly. His attitude was: if the world is in disorder, then bringing order is simply my duty. How could Heaven be “granting” me some grand title? The lecture stresses that he was deeply modest.
At this point the teacher briefly criticizes modern religious figures who boast of being living Buddhas, enlightened masters, elders, and so on. True sages, he says, are compassionate and humble. He points to the Sixth Patriarch and to Confucius as examples of people who did not casually accept grand titles for themselves.
The lecture then takes up a side issue that had arisen in earlier discussion: the phrase *shu xiu* 束脩, often associated with Confucius. Many people explain it as “a bundle of ten strips of dried meat,” and speak of this as the gift students brought to a teacher. The teacher says that this explanation is mistaken, or at least badly misunderstood.
If *shu xiu* really meant ten strips of dried pork given by every disciple, then with Confucius’s thousands of students he would have ended up with tens of thousands of strips of meat — impossible to consume, and impossible to store in an age without refrigeration. So, he says, the problem lies in how the word is being read and interpreted.
He says there is no time to settle the whole issue in this sitting, and that he will continue explaining it later. For the present, he returns to the text of the *Dao De Jing*: after “impartiality then becomes kingliness,” the next phrase is “kingliness then reaches Heaven.” Though the scripture is very short, its meaning is all-encompassing, so it must be studied slowly, phrase by phrase.
In the next session the teacher returns once more to the same issue, because he thinks it matters for understanding both Confucius and the idea of the “uncrowned king.” He says many people repeat the phrase *shu xiu* without really knowing what it means.
He cites a modern interpretive work on the *Analects* that argues *zi xing shu xiu* should be understood in the sense of self-discipline and firm resolve. If it meant preserved meat, then how could Confucius’s poor disciples have managed it? He points to Yan Hui, Confucius’s favorite disciple, who lived in extreme poverty, with only a bamboo container of rice and a gourd ladle of drink in a poor alley, yet never lost his joy. Such a disciple could hardly have been bringing bundles of meat to his teacher.
So the phrase is better read, he says, as referring to those who can examine and restrain themselves, those who are ready to advance in study. In that case Confucius’s saying means: anyone who comes in a sincere spirit of self-cultivation and learning, I have never failed to teach.
The teacher then compares this with other annotations. Some traditional explanations still gloss the phrase as dried meat, but he rejects that as unworthy of a sage. To suggest that Confucius required a meat gift before teaching would be to insult him and make him seem greedy, which is impossible.
He therefore sides with Zheng Xuan and similar interpreters, who take the phrase as referring to age and readiness — around fifteen, when one binds up the hair, enters fuller study, and begins learning how to cultivate oneself and govern others. In this reading, *shu* points to binding up the hair, *xiu* to cultivation, and the whole phrase means one who has reached the stage fit for study.
The teacher then surveys several commentarial positions.
Some older ritual commentaries and Song commentators, including Zhu Xi and Xing Bing, explain *shu xiu* as dried meat — ten strips tied in a bundle, a very light gift brought when first meeting a teacher. In that reading, the saying would mean that if a student came with even the smallest proper gift, the teacher would not refuse instruction.
But other sources, including the *Book of the Later Han*, the *Cihai*, and Zheng Xuan’s tradition, allow another line of interpretation. Here *shu* can connect with the idea of “binding up the hair,” that is, the transition to youth or adulthood, while *xiu* can mean adornment, cultivation, or self-cultivation. In this line, the phrase points not to meat but to a stage of life and readiness for study.
He then cites ritual sources about children beginning formal education: at about eight years of age they learn minor skills and smaller forms of discipline, while by around fifteen — when the hair is bound up and one reaches “mature youth” — one enters higher learning and greater rites. This supports the reading of *shu xiu* as referring to maturity and preparedness for study.
The teacher also brings in dictionary notes on *xiu* as beautifying, adorning, regulating, and cultivating. These senses fit much better, he says, with the educational context than the crude idea of preserved meat.
So there are really two broad interpretations in circulation: the Song-style view that takes the phrase as a minimal gift of dried meat, and another, which the teacher clearly favors, that takes it as referring to one who has reached the age and condition suitable for learning. He says the issue will be continued next time, but repeats his practical objection: if every student literally brought ten strips of pork, the numbers would become absurd.
The lecture now returns directly to the *Dao De Jing* text: after “impartiality then becomes kingliness” comes “kingliness then reaches Heaven.”
Patriarch Lü Chunyang explains that the uncrowned king — one who has the Way without worldly title — accords with Heaven. Human and Heaven become one. Such a person models himself on Heaven and acts accordingly. His conduct does not leave the proper track.
To explain this, the teacher pauses over the word “track” or “orbit” (*guidao*). The dictionary gives three senses: following rule and standard; the orbital path by which heavenly bodies move; and the rails laid down for vehicles such as trains. Applied to human beings, it means acting according to proper law, norm, and moral pattern.
So, he says, the sage who is an “uncrowned king” follows Heaven the way the moon follows its orbit or the earth follows its course. Heaven’s way and human action are not identical in outward form, but they can be identical in staying within the proper track. The natural Way does not lurch off to one side, just as a train should not leave the rails.
He then moves to the next part of the chapter: “Heaven then reaches Dao; Dao then reaches enduringness. Even when the body dies, there is no peril.” Patriarch Lü explains that the constant Dao is the permanent, unchanging right Way. Because it does not change, it is called enduring.
If one acts in accord with this constant and upright Way, then even though the physical body dies, what is aligned with Heaven and Earth remains. “Not imperiled” means not falling into danger or annihilation. The fleshly body may perish, but the realized life of Dao does not perish with it. With that, the teacher says, chapter 16 is complete.
At this point the source moves on into chapter 17.
Patriarch Lü explains the opening line “The highest rulers…” by saying that “the highest” means the most sage-like human beings. When such a highest sage governs the world, he does so through clarity, stillness, and non-action. He teaches without words, regards the people as himself, and sees the whole world as equal. The people barely know that such a sage is there.
The teacher then explains that *taishang* means the highest or most honored. In Taoism it can be used for the supreme divine title, as in the Most High Lord Lao; more broadly it can refer to the highest kind of sage, whether in Taoism, Confucianism, or Buddhism.
Such a person governs not through greed or display, but through silent example. He does not stand above others in arrogance. This is why the text says that with the highest ruler, the people only dimly know he exists.
The lecture then links this to a line from the *Book of Rites*: “The highest value virtue; the next seek repayment for benefaction.” The teacher explains that the truly highest person gives grace without expecting return; this is genuine virtue. Lesser people perform good deeds while still hoping for reward or recompense.
He then relates this to the idea of the “utmost person,” one who has gone beyond self. To make one’s body and possessions public to all under heaven, to give up clinging to “mine,” is the state of the highest person. This resembles the Buddhist teaching of no-self.
The discussion then moves to the distinction between “establishing virtue” and “establishing merit.” The highest sage establishes virtue without self-display. This is linked with the *Dao De Jing*’s earlier line “highest virtue is not self-consciously virtuous.” The truly virtuous do what is right without advertising it; those below them still cling to merit and credit. The teacher ends there and says the next line will be “Next, the people draw close to them and praise them.”
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.