Softness Overcomes Hardness
The speaker opens with Laozi’s teaching that “the strong are followers of death.” The point of the sentence, he says, is the Way of softness and weakness: the soft overcomes the hard, and the weak overcomes the strong.
He notes that some later readers treat this line as if it were a doctrine of hidden manipulation or political scheming, but he says that is not the main point. To clarify, he turns to the old example of the tongue and the teeth.
The tongue remains because it is soft; the teeth fall out because they are hard. The tongue can even be bitten until it bleeds, yet it does not retaliate—it withdraws. The teeth, however hard and numerous, eventually break or disappear. This is presented as a simple but profound illustration of Laozi’s meaning.
He then connects this with the traditional story of Zhang Gongyi and the teaching of “a hundred forbearances”: what endures is pliant, patient, and yielding, not aggressive and forceful.
The lecture expands on the theme of forbearance within family life. “A hundred forbearances” does not literally mean only one hundred acts of patience; it means enduring humiliation, pressure, and friction without immediately exploding.
The story of Zhang Gongyi is used to illustrate this. When Emperor Gaozong heard that nine generations of the Zhang family lived together without splitting apart, he asked how such harmony was possible. Zhang Gongyi simply wrote the character *ren*—“forbearance” or “endurance”—again and again. That, the lecturer says, was the whole secret.
He then contrasts this with violent toughness. A person may seem fierce and unbeatable for a time, but brute force does not last. He tells local stories about gangsters and bullies whose apparent strength came to a bad end. The moral is plain: ferocity is temporary; softness and restraint endure.
Here the speaker gives two formal notes. The first is the familiar image: the tongue remains because it is soft, while the teeth perish early because they are hard. The second cites Chapter 76 of the *Dao De Jing*: when living, people and plants are soft and tender; when dead, they become stiff and brittle. Therefore softness belongs to life, and hardness belongs to death.
He explains this with ordinary observations. A living body is pliant; a corpse becomes rigid. A living branch bends; a dead branch snaps. From this, one can see that softness and weakness are signs of vitality, while rigidity signals decay.
But he makes an important clarification: Laozi is not praising physical weakness as such. This teaching concerns the *state of mind*. A person may be physically strong and still be inwardly coarse and defeated; another may appear mild yet possess true spiritual power. The real meaning is that a gentle, yielding mind can overcome harshness and force.
So, he says, “the soft overcomes the hard” and “the weak overcomes the strong” are universal principles, not cynical tricks or secret tactics.
The lecture then turns to the line about the fish not leaving the deep waters. Drawing on the *Laozi yishu*, the speaker says Laozi is teaching people how not to be deceived.
A fish is safe when it stays deep below the surface. Once it rises toward the bait, it is easily caught. Human beings are the same. If one remains inwardly steady, does not chase petty advantage, and does not let the mind become restless and greedy, one stays out of danger. But once greed rises, one becomes easy to manipulate.
Lü Chunyang’s explanation is summarized in the same spirit: why does a fish leave the deep? Because it is tempted by food. Why do people leave the Dao? Because they are tempted by profit and craving.
The speaker then launches into many oral examples of fraud—prize scams, false promotions, fake bargains, and everyday tricks. These stories are repetitive and OCR-damaged, but the message is clear: people are cheated because they are greedy for easy gain. If there were no greed, the deception would not work.
Thus, “the fish must not leave the deep” becomes a moral lesson: stay grounded, do not chase bait, and you will not be trapped.
The next part explains the line “the state’s sharp instruments must not be shown to others.” On the political level, this means that a nation’s effective means of defense should not be carelessly displayed, because once exposed, they invite countermeasures and attack.
But the lecturer is more interested in its personal meaning. In life, one should not expose all one’s cleverness, talents, or cultivated powers. If a person constantly advertises his abilities, he attracts rivalry, envy, manipulation, and trouble. Better to “hide deep as though empty” and remain inwardly full while outwardly modest.
Lü Chunyang is quoted as interpreting the “sharp instrument” within the body as one’s spiritual cultivation—especially wisdom, compared to a “sword of insight.” If one flaunts such attainments, one invites *mózhàng*—obstacles, disturbances, and spiritual interference.
The conclusion is summed up with the old maxim: a gentleman of abundant virtue appears outwardly simple, even a little foolish. That is the practical meaning of “the state’s sharp instruments must not be shown.”
At this point the source moves into Chapter 37. The *Laozi yishu* says that the basic body of the Dao is forever without shape, form, or visible trace. It cannot be grasped. Yet once it functions, nothing can be apart from it.
If a ruler keeps to this Dao, government need not rely on excessive complexity. The power of non-action does not mean doing nothing at all; it means acting in a way that does not violently interfere with the natural tendencies of things. Then people transform of themselves.
Lü Chunyang interprets this inwardly. “Ruler” here means the sovereign heart-mind; “the myriad things” are the countless deluded thoughts within. The Dao is “nameless” in its essence and therefore non-acting, yet because it nourishes all things it is also “nothing not done.” If the inner ruler can keep to the Dao, the mind’s many disturbances gradually settle and transform on their own.
Lü Chunyang’s explanation of “Once transformed, if desire arises, I will suppress it with the nameless block” is that beginners often experience only temporary calm. While listening to the teaching, desire seems to lessen. But once they go back out into the world and see profit, comfort, and temptation, desire rises again.
Why does this happen? Because they have not yet used the “uncarved block” to steady themselves. Here the “block” means one’s own original nature. If one truly sees that nature, craving naturally subsides and does not keep returning in the same way.
The lecturer emphasizes that this “suppressing” is not external repression. It is not merely being forced or corrected from outside. Real mastery means discovering one’s own original nature and using that inner truth to settle oneself. Only self-awakening can truly subdue recurring desire.
The surrounding lecture becomes very oral and repetitive here, but the sustained point is that habits may subside for a while, then flare up again; only returning to one’s true nature brings lasting stability.
In the final portion, Lü Chunyang glosses the line “The nameless block is likewise without desire. If one is without desire and still, the world will settle of itself.” Since the original nature is nameless, it is also desireless. When desire falls away, the heart becomes clear and quiet; when quiet, thoughts become upright. Therefore stillness and desirelessness naturally bring order.
The lecturer then pauses to explain that the same words can carry different meanings in different passages, so one should not be trapped by literal wording alone. This leads into a long and somewhat damaged digression on terms such as *fangbian* (“skillful means,” “convenience,” or provisional expedients), including Buddhist examples meant to show that some teachings are temporary aids rather than ultimate statements.
Much of this section is textually noisy, but the main recoverable thread is consistent: provisional methods may be used to guide people, yet the deeper aim remains the same—returning to simplicity, stillness, and freedom from desire.
The source ends with an announcement that the next session will be skipped because the lecturer plans to travel to Japan to investigate materials related to Xu Fu. He says they will meet again in the following session.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.