Taoism 20 — Literal Translation Version

The lecture first finishes the end of chapter 19 with “reduce selfishness and lessen desire.” The teacher says a person cannot literally have no private interest at all. If you cultivate merit, the merit belongs to you; if you work in ordinary society and receive wages or bonuses, that too is your proper due. Such rightful gain is not what Laozi is rejecting.

What must be rejected is improper selfishness: craving spiritual credit in the Dao, or grasping for profit in worldly life. That is why Laozi does not say “no selfishness” and does not say “no desire.” He says “less selfishness” and “fewer desires.” Legitimate, natural needs may exist; greedy desire and self-seeking must not be indulged.

The teacher gives the example of people who want to monopolize merit in religious work — wanting to print books or do charitable acts alone so that all the credit belongs to themselves. He says this is also greed. If others sincerely want to participate in good works, refusing them that chance can itself be a form of craving merit.

So “less selfishness” means keeping only what is rightful and proper. “Lessen desire” means reducing selfish craving, not becoming a dead piece of wood. With that, the lecture closes chapter 19 and turns to chapter 20: “Cut off learning, and there is no anxiety.”

Patriarch Lü Chunyang explains that “cutting off learning” does not mean becoming uneducated in an ordinary sense. It means going beyond relative, comparative, discriminating knowledge and entering the learning of the formless. This is the highest learning, the utmost principle. If one truly reaches it, Dao and virtue become complete, the heart grows quiet and desire thins out, and many ordinary worries, loves, hates, and afflictions fall away.

The teacher then contrasts the relative and the absolute. Relative knowledge depends on paired comparison. Absolute realization is what has no opposite standing beside it. To illustrate this, he cites the *Diamond Sutra*: all forms are empty and deceptive, and one must not take the visible body as the true reality of the Buddha. Only by not clinging to appearances can one see the real nature.

He then gives Chan examples. In one story, a monk is highly skilled at carving Buddha images, but the Sixth Patriarch tells him that knowing how to shape an image is not the same as understanding Buddha-nature. In another, Danxia burns a wooden Buddha in winter and says he is looking for relics. The point is not lawless imitation, but a shock meant to break attachment to mere form and superstition.

So “ultimate learning” here means learning that cuts through attachment to external shape and reaches the root: freedom from birth-and-death bondage, not clever skill with appearances. When that learning appears, name and profit are seen through, and anxiety diminishes.

The lecture next turns to Laozi’s line about “wei” and “a” — two different tones of verbal response. One is a respectful assent, the other a more drawn-out or casual answer. As sounds, they differ only slightly.

The teacher says that for ordinary people such distinctions matter a great deal: Was the reply polite? Was it warm? Was it cold? Was there respect in the voice? But for a sage who has reached “ultimate learning,” such differences have little weight. Whether the reply sounds like “wei” or “a,” the sage meets it with a non-abiding mind and is not inwardly disturbed.

So the line asks: how great is the distance, really, between one response and the other? Much of the difference exists only because ordinary minds cling to tone, preference, and emotional reaction.

The teacher then moves to the line asking how far apart good and bad really are. He uses a story from the *Han Shi Waizhuan* to explain three levels of response.

At the ordinary level, represented here by Zilu, if others treat me well, I treat them well; if they treat me badly, I answer in kind. At the better level, represented by Zigong, one still guides and advises others, and if they refuse correction one simply withdraws instead of fighting. At the highest level, represented by Yan Hui, even when others are not good, one still responds with goodness.

Confucius in the story ranks these three accordingly: Zilu speaks as ordinary people do, Zigong as a worthy person does, and Yan Hui as a sage does.

The teacher’s point is that good and bad are relative distinctions as seen by the ordinary mind. The sage, having reached deeper purity of vision, is not driven by the same tight oppositions of like and dislike. This does not erase moral discernment, but it does loosen emotional hostility and reactive attachment.

Here the source becomes more conversational and partly noisy, but the sequence is still clear. The teacher digresses into a long recommendation of a television drama about Confucius, especially because it portrays Zilu’s bold, impulsive, loyal temperament.

He says the drama helps illustrate the difference between rough righteousness and higher sagehood. He retells scenes in which Zilu is hot-blooded and outspoken, while Confucius shows a broader compassion and a deeper commitment to teaching all alike. One example centers on the principle of *you jiao wu lei* — teaching without class discrimination. Another emphasizes Confucius’s concern for harmony among disciples rather than pride or prestige.

The teacher also praises the production for trying to depict ancient life plainly and realistically rather than glamorizing it. The overall point of the digression is still connected to the chapter: ordinary people and even worthy people often remain caught in strong preferences, tempers, and reactions, while the sage responds from a more spacious heart.

The lecture restarts the opening lines of chapter 20 and reaches the sentence: “What people fear cannot be left unfearful — vast indeed, without end.”

Patriarch Lü explains that the evils feared by ordinary people are also things the cultivator must fear. This is connected with the Confucian idea of being cautious when alone. A noble person guards himself even in solitude; a petty person, once unobserved, goes wherever misconduct can go.

The teacher says this is why Laozi’s line does not mean reckless transcendence. If the world rightly fears evil, I too should fear it. But the way to meet this fear properly is through a non-abiding mind. “Vast” here is linked with emptiness or openness, and “without end” means that the depth of this principle cannot easily be exhausted.

He then brings in the *Diamond Sutra*: one should give rise to the pure mind without abiding in sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, or mental objects. If the mind abides in appearances, deluded thought arises. If it does not abide, true wisdom becomes bright and affliction does not arise.

So in plain speech, the teacher says: what the world fears, I also cannot fail to fear. But to avoid falling into fearful and corrupt things, one must cultivate this formless, non-abiding mind. That is part of the real work of “ultimate learning.”

The lecture then turns to the line about “the crowd all bustling and happy, as if enjoying the great sacrificial feast.” Patriarch Lü reads this as a picture of people chasing pleasure and letting desire run loose.

“Great feast” originally refers to the major sacrificial offering of ox, sheep, and pig, but the teacher extends it to rich food, luxury, sensual enjoyment, and the places where men and women delight in one another. These are not condemned merely as external objects; the point is that people become intoxicated by them and forget the Dao.

“Bustling and happy” thus means more than cheerful. It points to a crowd excited by appetite, taste, sex, amusement, and endless hobby-like cravings. Such indulgence consumes wealth, injures life, and damages virtue. People feel only that it is pleasurable, but from the standpoint of the Dao it becomes self-loss.

So the line portrays the ordinary world as excited and festive, running after flavor and stimulation as though forever attending a banquet or climbing a spring terrace.

After describing the bustling crowd, Laozi’s voice turns sharply inward: “I alone am still and quiet, not yet giving any sign; like an infant that has not yet learned to smile; drifting as if with no place to return.”

Patriarch Lü explains *bo* here as calm, quiet, and pure. “Not yet showing signs” means that no trace of stirred desire has yet appeared. When the mind has not generated deluded impulses, outward marks of agitation do not yet emerge.

The image of the infant means a heart not yet entangled in object-desire. The baby has not entered the world of grasping preferences and worldly appetites. In that sense the sage resembles an infant.

“As if with no place to return” does not mean hopeless homelessness. It means natural freedom. The sage, practicing non-action and carrying an empty heart through the world, is not fixed to one narrow resting place. He can dwell anywhere; all four seas are his home. The phrase points to looseness, naturalness, and not being inwardly nailed down.

The closing lines say: “Everyone else has more than enough, while I alone seem lacking. I have the heart of a fool.”

Patriarch Lü explains that ordinary people seem full of surplus cleverness. They have schemes, profit-seeking, reputation-seeking, and worldly calculation in abundance. Laozi therefore says that he alone appears left behind, as though foolish.

The teacher insists that this “foolishness” is not real stupidity. He illustrates it with Confucius’s praise of Yan Hui: Hui sat all day listening without objection and appeared dull, but once he withdrew and reflected in private, he could unfold the teaching fully. So he was not foolish at all. He only looked simple on the surface.

That becomes the teacher’s model for spiritual cultivation. A true practitioner may appear plain, slow, or unsophisticated, because he is not constantly scheming, competing, envying, and calculating. Wang Chongyang is then cited to similar effect: if one wants to learn the highest method, one must be willing to seem clumsy, foolish, and ordinary, without letting the seven emotions run wild.

So the chapter closes with a paradox: to the world, the cultivator may look like a fool or a useless person. But the foolishness is only outward. Inwardly, it is freedom from grasping, clever deceit, and restless worldly intelligence.

This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.