Keeping the Female and Returning to the Infant
Now we turn to this line again. “Male” corresponds to yang, and “female” to yin. Activity belongs to the outward mind; stillness belongs to non-action and the inward nature. One knows strength yet keeps to softness; one knows movement yet guards stillness. This is why the text says: *Know the male, but keep to the female.*
Master Lü Chunyang explains that “male” means yang, the active and outward side; among birds and animals it is simply the male. “Female” belongs to yin, the receptive side. Yang is firm and active; yin is soft, still, non-striving, and can also point to our inner nature.
If you understand yang and activity, you should still guard stillness. If you understand action, you should abide in non-action. If you recognize the outward-moving mind, you should still preserve the inward, receptive side. That is the meaning of “know the male, keep to the female.”
He then explains “ravine” or “valley” as an image for one who knows the strong yet keeps to the yielding. Such a person is truly wise. The wise delight in water, so Confucius, on seeing a great river, would stop to contemplate it. The reason for that will be explained later.
Thus the text says one becomes the valley of the world. “Constant virtue” means a lasting virtue that does not change. “Returning to the infant” points to a mind that does not cling anywhere—a state like returning to childlike simplicity.
The lecture then turns to several notes on the terms in this passage.
A classical source is cited to explain that yang is the energy that manifests outwardly, while yin is what is hidden, stored, or inward. In simple terms, yang points to external expression; yin points to inwardness and concealment.
A second note, quoting the *Cihai* and the *Book of Rites*, explains “outer mind” and “inner mind.” If ritual values outward display—splendor, scale, visible form—then the mind is turned outward. If ritual is simple but sincere, with the heart truly placed within, then it is inward. The lecturer uses this to explain that “outer mind” means attention directed toward appearances, while “inner nature” means sincerity rooted within.
The word for “valley” may also be written with a character meaning ravine or stream-bed. Dictionaries and older lexicons are cited, and the *Analects* passage “The wise delight in water” is brought in to connect this image with the *Dao De Jing*’s praise of water-like virtue.
At this point the speaker says time has run short. The fuller explanation of why Confucius contemplated great rivers, and how this relates to “constant virtue not departing” and “returning to the infant,” was postponed to the next session.
The lecture then resumes in a later class, returning to this same section and noting that among Lü Chunyang’s annotations, two especially important points still need fuller explanation: why “to be the valley of the world” is linked with contemplating great waters, and why “constant virtue not departing” means “returning to the infant.”
The speaker now explains those two remaining notes in more detail. He asks the audience to listen carefully and says the phrase “When Confucius saw a great river, he always observed it” comes from the *Da Dai Liji* (*The Elder Dai’s Record of Rites*), in a dialogue where Zigong asks and Confucius answers.
He quotes the passage in a rough paraphrase: Zigong asks, “Master, whenever you see a great river, you always contemplate it. Why?” Confucius replies by describing the qualities of water—how it follows principle, accepts what comes without refusal, remains level, and is upright in measure. Therefore, whenever he sees a great river, he observes it.
The lecturer then gives background on the *Book of Rites* tradition and where the *Da Dai Liji* fits within it. The historical discussion is somewhat garbled in the transcript, but the point is clear: this story is presented as a classical source explaining why sages contemplate water.
The lecturer says that water is used as a comparison for the virtue of the noble person. Water is impartial. It does not discriminate between clean places and dirty ones. Mixed with wine, it becomes wine; mixed with poison, it becomes poison; mixed with mud, it becomes muddy. It goes everywhere without favoritism. In the same way, a truly virtuous person does not divide people into rich and poor, noble and lowly, flattering some and despising others.
Where water reaches, life can survive. Without water, fish die, crops die, and people cannot live. So water gives life. This is compared to *ren*—humaneness. If you only associate with the rich and reject the poor, that is not humaneness.
He then gives an example: among Confucius’s disciples, Yan Hui was poor yet joyful, while Zigong was wealthy. The point is that value is not measured by wealth.
From there he shifts into moral instruction: in charitable giving, the size of the gift is not the whole story. A wealthy person may give a large sum without difficulty, while a poor person who gives a few coins may actually be giving much more of himself. He begins telling a Buddhist story about a poor old woman who sold her hair to buy a tiny amount of oil as an offering lamp to the Buddha.
He finishes the story of the poor woman’s lamp: though her lamp was just a broken bowl with a scrap of wick, lit from oil bought with the price of her own hair, it could not be extinguished. The Buddha explained that it was lit with *bodhicitta*—the awakened heart. A small offering made from total sincerity can outweigh a grand offering made without depth.
He adds another story of poor people offering spoiled porridge or meager food. The point is the same: merit is measured by the giver’s heart and means, not by outward size alone.
Returning to water, he says that water gives life wherever it reaches, always flows downward in accord with its nature, and follows the contours of the ground without forcing itself. It plunges from great heights without fear. It receives even what is filthy, yet it is not thereby morally “defiled”; this is compared to purity, like a lotus unstained by mud.
Water is also level and fair. If you pour it into a vessel, its surface becomes even. Builders use this property as a measure of levelness. And unlike grain measured in a bushel, water needs no scraping tool to level it off—if it is full, it simply overflows. For all these reasons, Confucius, seeing a great river, would contemplate water and learn from it.
The lecturer sums up the first point simply: when one sees water, one should learn to cultivate oneself like water. That is the meaning of “highest goodness is like water.”
He then turns to the second note: “constant virtue not departing—thus one returns to the infant.” A commentary is cited saying that “returning to the infant” is like “returning to childlike simplicity.” The infant is used as an image for the *non-abiding mind*.
Why? Because an infant does not cling. It may cry when pinched, but it quickly lets go; it does not brood or harbor resentment. This is a metaphor for the non-abiding mind.
The lecturer then connects this to Buddhist language: non-abiding is our original nature. When doing good or practicing generosity, one should not cling to acts, merit, or self-image. Thus “returning to the infant” means returning to one’s original nature.
To explain this further, the lecturer compares the idea across the Three Teachings. He brings in the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus says that unless people turn and become like little children, they cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.
His point is not doctrinal comparison for its own sake, but to show a shared principle: the child stands for simplicity, innocence, and freedom from scheming. In Buddhism this is called the non-abiding mind; in Daoist language it is “returning to infancy” or “returning to childlikeness.”
He stresses that spiritual cultivation depends on this. In the *Diamond Sutra*, generosity, patience, and moral discipline are all to be practiced without attachment. The same applies here: the heart must be straight, unhooked, and free from crooked motives. Cultivation is a matter of rectifying the mind and returning to its original simplicity.
The lecture ends here because time is short, with the speaker noting that any remaining material can be taken up next time.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.