Near its very end, the teaching names its own reader — and the boundary it draws is not the one a modern reader might expect. There is no mention of birth, station, gender, or age anywhere in the qualification. There is only a state of heart.
This should never be told, the closing instruction says, to one without discipline, without devotion, unwilling to listen, or inclined to find fault with the teacher — four conditions, and every one of them a posture of the listener toward the teaching, not a fact about their birth. And on the other side of the same coin, a promise made earlier and just as plainly: those who follow this teaching with faith and without envy are released by their own actions, while those who hold it in contempt and refuse it are called, without much softening, thoroughly lost. Qualification runs entirely on posture — trust versus contempt — never on category.
The old image for this is exact rather than sentimental: water is for the thirsty, food is for the hungry, medicine is for the one who is sick. Nobody is excluded from drinking water by birth — only by not being thirsty. And by that measure, the class of people qualified to read this teaching turns out to be everyone who has ever been born, since being born is treated, throughout the text, as itself the underlying condition the whole teaching is medicine for.
A text this direct about the sincerity it expects from a reader does not really need a gatekeeper standing at the door. It already asks the one honest question that filters better than any gate could — not who you are, but whether the ache it addresses is actually one you recognize.