Weapons, Ritual, and Inauspicious Power
The lecture opens by returning to an earlier point: in traditional ritual, auspicious matters honor the left, while inauspicious matters honor the right. The speaker says this is not unique to Laozi; the same distinction also appears in the *Book of Rites*.
He explains the old ritual gestures. In a joyful or auspicious rite, the left hand covers the right. In a mourning rite, the right hand covers the left. The same distinction appears in offering incense and bowing: when worshipping the gods one uses the auspicious left-hand form, while funerary rites use the opposite form.
He then notes that classical phrases like “二三子” do not literally mean “two or three children,” but are a way of addressing a group of disciples or followers.
The speaker next turns to the *Yueji* (“Record of Music”) in the *Book of Rites*. He explains the phrase “begin with the civil, conclude with the martial” as referring to drums and bells.
“Civil” here means the drum; “martial” means the bell. A performance or ceremony begins with the drum and ends with the bell. In traditional opera, one still speaks of “raising the drum” to begin; one does not say “raise the bell.”
He further explains that the opening drum serves as a warning or signal that the event is beginning and performers should be ready. The closing bell marks conclusion and dismissal. In short: the drum initiates; the bell gathers things to an end.
The lecture then links ritual placement with the Five Phases and directional symbolism. The drum belongs to wood and the east, and is therefore associated with the left side. The bell belongs to metal and the west, and is therefore associated with the right side.
From there he connects the symbolism of dragon and tiger. The dragon corresponds to wood and the east; the tiger corresponds to metal and the west. This is why the left side is the dragon side and the right side is the tiger side.
He also recalls the standard directional images: vermilion bird in front, black warrior behind, blue-green dragon on the left, white tiger on the right. These associations, he says, are part of an old and consistent ritual system.
He expands the drum-bell contrast further. The drum stirs and mobilizes sound, so it belongs to the “civil” side; metal can be made into weapons, so the bell is classed with the “martial.” In military language, drums signal advance, while bells or gongs can signal stopping or withdrawal.
The speaker then criticizes contemporary temples for often arranging bells and drums incorrectly. According to the old rule, the inner ceremonial drum should be on the left and the bell on the right.
He adds an important qualification: there are sometimes two systems to distinguish—one for the inner hall and another for exterior bell-and-drum towers. Much confusion, he says, comes from failing to distinguish the viewing direction and ritual point of reference.
The lecturer says that all of this depends on *seat orientation*—one must determine placement from the point of view of the enthroned figure or the ritual center, not simply from the onlooker’s position outside.
He then gives the broader historical framework: rulers traditionally sat facing south, with the throne placed in the north. He ties this to cosmological symbolism and the title “Son of Heaven.” Because of that convention, left and right were reckoned from the ruler’s south-facing position.
He further claims that in earlier imperial times ordinary people were not permitted to use perfectly north-south, south-facing arrangements in the same way as the ruler or certain official and sacred buildings. Whether or not every detail was enforced everywhere, his main point is that temple and court orientation followed strict old ritual rules.
Returning to the text, the speaker briefly repeats the earlier conclusion: left is the dragon side, right is the tiger side, the drum belongs on the dragon side, and the bell on the tiger side.
He then shifts to a side discussion of “the nine clans” or “nine degrees of kinship,” because the lecture has touched on punishments extending to one’s relatives. He consults dictionary-style explanations and distinguishes among three clans, seven clans, and nine clans.
In his explanation, “three clans” refers in a narrow way to father, son, and grandson; “seven clans” extends upward to great-grandparents and downward to great-grandchildren; and “nine clans” expands still further through the direct ancestral and descending line. The exact wording in the source is somewhat damaged, but the speaker’s intention is clear: traditional punishment by “extermination of the clan” meant punishment extending through one’s patrilineal family line.
He emphasizes that *clan* is not the same as “relatives” in a loose modern sense. Properly speaking, the clan refers to the same-surname line descending through the father’s side.
At this point the lecture turns from ritual matters back to the *Dao De Jing* itself, now focusing on the teaching that the Dao is “constantly nameless.”
Drawing on older commentaries, the speaker says the Dao has no fixed name and no visible form. It is subtle, formless, unborn, and undying. Although one may provisionally call it “Dao,” that name does not capture its true reality.
Because the Dao is the root and mother of all things, nothing in the world can properly reduce it to the status of a subordinate. That is the meaning of the line that “the world does not dare make it a subject.”
The lecturer then notes that the remaining lines will reveal more of the Dao’s true character, and the session breaks before resuming on the next page.
The resumed lecture opens Chapter 32: “The Dao is constantly nameless. Though simple and small, none in the world can make it a subject. If lords and kings could preserve it, the myriad things would of themselves submit. Heaven and earth would unite and sweet dew would fall. The people, without being commanded, would be naturally balanced.”
Lü Chunyang’s explanation is that “the myriad things will become guests” means they will come of themselves and willingly submit. If rulers can preserve simplicity—the uncarved block—then people do not need coercion. They follow naturally.
The image of heaven and earth joining and sweet dew descending is read as a symbol of harmonious rule. When those above truly care for those below, social order does not have to be forced. Balance appears of itself.
The speaker repeatedly stresses the political point: a ruler who keeps to simplicity, impartiality, and the mean—neither excess nor deficiency—creates conditions in which the people become settled without oppressive command.
To illustrate “natural submission,” the lecturer tells the well-known story of King Tang and the four-sided hunting net.
A hunter had spread nets on all four sides and prayed that everything coming from every direction would fall into his net. Tang found this too cruel. He ordered three sides removed, leaving only one, and rephrased the prayer so that creatures wanting to go left could go left, those wanting to go right could go right, those wanting to fly high could fly high, and those wanting to go low could go low. Only those that truly could not avoid it would enter the net.
When neighboring states heard this, they said Tang’s virtue reached even birds and beasts. The lecturer interprets this as a model of rulership by virtue rather than force: if one governs through moral influence, people come willingly. If one relies only on coercion and war, victory is never assured.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.