Great Virtue Following Dao
The lecture opens at Yixin Lecture Center and returns first to the end of chapter 20: “Ordinary people are bright and clear; I alone seem dim. Ordinary people are sharp and discriminating; I alone seem dull and muddled.”
The teacher explains that worldly people let fame, profit, and craving stir up their minds. They become restless, flashy, and eager to display their intelligence. In this sense they seem “clear” and “sharp”: always analyzing, distinguishing, and showing how much they know.
But the sage is different. He hides cleverness instead of displaying it. He does not compete in brilliance or insist on appearing superior. So outwardly he may look slow, plain, even somewhat foolish. “悶悶” here is explained not as stupidity, but as broadness, heaviness, and an unshowy simplicity that does not scramble after worldly cleverness.
So the contrast is this: common people delight in fine distinctions and self-display, while the sage keeps a large, quiet heart and does not contend in wit.
The teacher then moves to the next line: “Vast, like the sea; drifting, as though without end.”
He explains “澹” as abundance, giving, or a state like the great sea that can supply and receive everything. “飂” is taken as a high wind moving freely aloft. Together the image is of a sage whose heart is as open and all-containing as the ocean, and as unblocked as a great wind moving above the clouds.
He brings in the *Nirvana Sutra*’s eight marvelous qualities of the sea and uses them as analogies for the Dao:
- The sea becomes gradually deeper: so learning the Dao also deepens step by step. - Its depth is hard to measure: the Dao too is bottomless and cannot be exhausted. - Sea water has one salty taste: this is likened to the equality of Buddha-nature. - The tides do not miss their time: the Dao rests on trustworthiness and does not fail its rhythm. - The sea contains many treasures: the Dao is boundless in teachings and riches of principle. - Great creatures can live in it: the Dao can contain all beings. - It does not “lodge” impurity in the superstitious sense: true learning of the Dao does not cling to worldly taboos. - Countless rivers and rains enter it without increase or decrease: this is compared to the return of the many to the one.
His overall point is that the sage’s mind should be like the sea — deeply receptive, level, vast, and able to contain all things — and like a high wind, not obstructed by deluded thought. The evening session then ends.
A later session returns to the end of chapter 20: “Everyone else has something they use and pursue; I alone seem dull and rustic… I alone differ from others, and value being fed by the Mother.”
Patriarch Lü’s explanation is that ordinary people all have talents, plans, and worldly activity. They make use of their intelligence and learning and are always engaged in something. Laozi, by contrast, says he alone seems awkward, plain, and without worldly usefulness.
The teacher explains that “the Mother” means the Dao, since the Dao is the mother of the ten thousand things. Ordinary people nourish themselves with ordinary food and worldly aims. The cultivator nourishes himself by the Dao. This is the deeper meaning of “valuing the Mother”: not physical food alone, but taking the Dao itself as sustenance and basis for cultivation.
He closes by saying that chapter 20 ends here.
The lecture now enters chapter 21 with the line “孔德之容，唯道是從” — “The appearance of great virtue follows only the Dao.”
The teacher explains “孔” here as emptiness, spaciousness, and largeness. “孔德” is therefore not merely ordinary moral behavior, but a virtue grounded in the empty, unattached heart — what Buddhist language calls the mind of non-abiding. Such a mind does not cling anywhere and so can contain everything.
He stresses that true virtue must arise from and follow the Dao. If someone has outer goodness but no Dao, that person can become a false moralist, like the “village worthy” criticized in the Confucian tradition — outwardly upright, inwardly not genuine. On the other hand, if someone talks about the Dao but lacks virtue, that too is incomplete. Only when there is both Dao and virtue can it properly be called “great virtue.”
So the phrase means that the form, bearing, or functioning of true virtue is nothing other than following the Dao.
The second phrase explained is “道之為物，唯恍唯惚” — “As a thing, the Dao is dim and indistinct.”
The teacher says the Dao cannot be pinned down as simply existent or nonexistent. It has no fixed bodily form, yet it is not mere nothingness. It is elusive, shadowy, and hard to grasp — “玄” in the sense of deep, hidden, and wondrous.
He then moves to the next line, “惚兮恍兮，其中有象” — “Blurred and vague, yet within it there are images.” His explanation is that although the Dao is formless and indistinct, the forms of the ten thousand things arise from within that indistinctness. Out of what seems like non-being, the visible patterns of being emerge.
So the Dao is not an object one can point to, but the hidden source from which all forms and appearances come forth.
The lecture continues with “窈兮冥兮，其中有精；其精甚真，其中有信” — “Deep and dark, within it there is essence; that essence is very real, within it there is trustworthiness.”
The teacher explains “窈冥” as extremely deep, remote, and hidden from ordinary sight. The “essence” within the Dao cannot be seen directly, yet it is really there. It is abiding and unfailing, and from it heaven, earth, human beings, and living things all arise. In this sense the Dao is the hidden generative reality behind the cycles of the world.
He then joins this with the later line, “自古及今，其名不去” — “From ancient times until now, its name has not departed.” Drawing on the *Qingjing Jing*, he says that although the Dao is fundamentally nameless, we are compelled to call it “Dao.” The name does not “depart” because the reality to which it points does not cease. It is always present, always functioning.
So chapter 21 is being explained as a description of the Dao’s subtle reality: ungraspable in form, yet truly present; hidden, yet productive; nameless, yet enduringly recognized through its effects from ancient times to the present.
The source then moves on into chapter 22 with “曲則全” — “What is bent becomes whole.”
Patriarch Lü explains “曲” as bending, yielding, or enduring what feels like wrong or humiliation. This is linked to the familiar Daoist pattern: great wisdom appears foolish, great skill appears clumsy, great worth does not insist on itself. A superior person can accept being bent and does not rush to fight back.
Because of that, the Dao in him remains whole and without defect. To “straighten” here is not always to push outwardly, but to let what is crooked be inwardly rectified through patience, humility, and non-contention. The teacher explicitly compares this to endurance and forbearance.
His practical lesson is blunt: when people insult you or wrongly accuse you, you need not always struggle to win the argument. If you can bear it without losing the Dao, then from the standpoint of the Dao what is bent has already been made straight, and your cultivation becomes complete.
The next phrase explained is the line usually read as “窪則盈，敝則新” — “What is low becomes full; what is worn becomes renewed.”
The teacher compares low ground to the sea, the place toward which all waters flow. Because it stays low, it receives everything. So too the sage places himself beneath others in humility. He does not sort people by sect or class, but can receive all streams. In that sense “low becomes full”: humility makes virtue abundant.
He then turns to the line about being worn, damaged, or dirtied becoming new. A stained garment must be washed; once washed, it appears renewed. He applies this morally: when the sage suffers slander or humiliation, he does not erupt in resentment. Instead he reflects on himself, purifies his own mind, and asks what in himself should be corrected. He cites Mencius to support this habit of self-examination.
So renewal comes through accepting correction, cleaning the heart, and letting adversity become a chance for further cultivation. That is why, in his reading, one who is “worn” can become “new.”
At this point the lecture opens into a long side discussion on “the three teachings and nine streams.” The immediate trigger is the word “流” in the commentary, which leads the teacher into the historical classification of schools of thought.
He says that in the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods the “three teachings” originally referred to Ru, Dao, and Mo — Confucianism, Daoism, and Mohism. The “nine streams” are nine major intellectual lineages later distinguished in traditional bibliographic history.
He especially pauses over Mohism, describing its ideal of universal concern and its opposition to warfare, and remarks that such ideas are noble but difficult for ordinary people to accept in practice.
He then previews the nine streams as transmitted in the *Hanshu* bibliographic treatise and says the next session will explain them one by one.
The next session begins the promised explanation of the nine streams.
First comes the Confucian stream. The teacher says it is associated with the office of instruction and moral education, helping rulers accord with cosmic order and clarify social teaching. It reveres the transmitted models of the ancient sages and is centered, in later understanding, on the teachings of Confucius and Mencius and on the study of principle and human nature.
His explanation of the glosses is straightforward: this stream is concerned with education, ritual order, inherited models, and the moral transformation of society.
He then turns to the second stream, the Daoist one.
For the Daoist stream, he says traditional sources trace it to the historical record-keepers who observed patterns of rise and decline across time. From that came an emphasis on holding to essentials, guarding simplicity and emptiness, and sustaining oneself through humility and softness.
In later usage, he says, this stream refers especially to the teachings of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, and also to methods of self-cultivation and longevity, including guiding and nourishing practices.
So in his summary, Daoism is the school that sees through fame and profit, keeps to the root, and values emptiness, humility, and self-cultivation.
He then proceeds to the third stream: Yin-Yang.
The Yin-Yang stream is presented as the school concerned with observing heaven, the movements of the sun, moon, and stars, and the ordering of the seasons. The teacher expands this to include astronomy, calendrical knowledge, geography, divination, and related arts.
From there he turns to the Legalist stream. This one, he says, arises from judicial office and is centered on clear rewards and punishments used without private bias. Its strength lies in law, adjudication, and public regulation.
So these two streams are contrasted as one oriented toward cosmic patterns and calculations, and the other toward legal structure and enforcement.
The fifth stream is the School of Names.
The teacher explains it as the tradition concerned with proper naming, correct distinctions, and the relation between words and realities. He links it with the Confucian saying that if names are not correct, speech will not be orderly, and if speech is not orderly, affairs cannot succeed.
He then compares it to logic or dialectics in more modern terms. Its specialty is not broad moral or political teaching, but rigorous attention to conceptual clarity, definition, and argument.
The sixth stream explained is the Mohist school.
The teacher says Mohism values frugality, plain living, and care for the elderly, but its most distinctive principle is *jian ai* — impartial or universal concern. This means not dividing one’s concern by closeness or distance, liking or disliking. In his language, it is a kind of equal love that does not stop at one’s own group.
He compares this to the broad religious ideal of treating all people as one’s own family. At the same time, he notes that such a doctrine is hard for ordinary society to accept, because people remain attached to self-interest, faction, and conflict. That, he says, is one reason Mohism did not remain as publicly influential as later Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism.
The session ends here, after reaching only the sixth of the nine streams, with the remaining schools left for a later continuation.
The lecture then resumes the broad survey of the “three teachings and nine streams,” restating the first five currents in order: Confucian, Daoist, Yin-Yang, Legalist, and the School of Names.
The Confucian stream is described as arising from the office responsible for teaching and moral guidance, emphasizing the imitation of the ancient sages and the ordering of society through education and ritual.
The Daoist stream is traced to the historians who observed the rise and fall of states and from this learned to hold to essentials, preserve emptiness and humility, and follow the teachings of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, along with self-cultivation and longevity methods.
The Yin-Yang stream is associated with officials who observed the heavens, seasons, and calendrical order, extending into astronomy, geography, divination, and correlative cosmology.
The Legalist stream is linked to judicial officers, emphasizing clear rewards and punishments and the regulation of society through law.
The School of Names is then explained as the stream concerned with proper naming, clear distinctions, and logical analysis — something like an ancient form of dialectics or semantics.
This long recap does not add much new substance beyond the earlier session, but it re-establishes the framework of the first five currents before the lecture moves on later to the remaining ones.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.