《太上老君说常清静经注(李道纯)》

Lord Lao said: “The Great Dao (the Way) has no fixed form, yet it gives birth to Heaven and Earth; the Great Dao has no human feelings, yet it drives the sun and moon in their courses; the Great Dao has no fixed name, yet it nurtures the myriad things. I do not know what it was originally called, and can only, for lack of a better word, call it ‘Dao.’”

The moment one says that the “Dao” can be fully explained in words, it is no longer the eternal, unchanging Dao. If the Dao cannot be put into words, why call it “Dao” at all? Alas—as soon as the word “Dao” is uttered, one has in fact already spoken of it.

It cannot truly be seen with the eyes, nor truly heard with the ears, nor grasped by reaching out to touch it; yet its workings are inexhaustible. It is hazy and hard to pin down, and cannot be understood as sound; it is subtle and formless, with no fixed appearance. If one takes it for something that can be heard, one cannot get hold of it; if one supposes that it has a fixed form, that kind of understanding cannot be used to meet the transformations of the myriad things.

Although the Dao has no form, its traces can be discerned from the fact that Heaven and Earth are born of it. Although the Dao has no human feelings, its function can be perceived in the movement of the sun and moon. Although the Dao has no fixed name, a name can be established for it from the process by which it nurtures the myriad things. The Xici (Appended Statements) of the Yijing (Classic of Changes) says: “In Heaven, celestial images take form; on Earth, concrete things take form; and from this, transformation becomes manifest.” Are these not the traces that the Dao displays? The Xici further says that thunder and lightning set the myriad things in motion, wind and rain moisten them, and the courses of the sun and moon bring the alternation of cold and heat. Is this not the working of the Dao? It also says that the Dao of Qian generates the male, and the Dao of Kun generates the female. Is this not using “Dao” to account for the names and stations of the myriad things?

The Dao originally has no name. The sages call it “Dao” only provisionally, because it can run through every transformation under Heaven and bring divergent paths back to a common source. What is called “Dao” is like a level, straight highway opening toward the four directions.

The Dao (the Way) itself contains the pure and the turbid, movement and stillness. Heaven is pure and rises; Earth is turbid and sinks. Heaven presides over movement, and Earth presides over stillness. Men and women likewise embody the differing qualities of purity and turbidity, of movement and stillness. The myriad things pass from the root to the extremities and, in this way, are continually brought into being. The pure is the source of the turbid, and movement is the foundation of stillness. If a person can long maintain purity and stillness, every principle between Heaven and Earth can return to the mind.

Before Heaven and Earth had separated, the principle of movement and stillness already existed; only after the pure and the turbid divided did the mechanism of the transformations of movement and stillness begin to appear. Pure Qi (vital energy) rose and became Heaven; turbid Qi sank and became Earth. Heaven and Earth open and close, now Yin and now Yang (Yin-Yang); they impel one another and also settle one another, transforming without cease, and so the four seasons take form and the myriad things come forth. Among all that Heaven and Earth produce, human beings are the most spiritually refined. Men take Heaven as their model, and women take Earth as theirs. Male purity and female turbidity symbolize the rising and sinking of the vital breath of Heaven and Earth; male movement and female stillness symbolize the opening and closing of Heaven and Earth. As the Qi of Heaven and Earth mingles, the myriad things are transformed and born. Extending outward from the root, they grow and change without ever stopping.

At the outset the Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun) spoke of “without form, without emotion, and without name,” the source of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things; he then spoke of “there being movement and there being stillness,” explaining that from this arise the myriad things that have names and forms. If someone understands that these two emerge together from the Dao and differ only in name, that person will know that the pure and the turbid are originally one, and that movement and stillness are not cut off from each other. What is transmitted out to the extremities may appear turbid, yet the source remains ever clear and bright; the function may show itself as activity, yet the underlying substance remains ever tranquil. Maintain purity and stillness for long, and Shen (spirit) can accord with the Dao and become one with Heaven and Earth.

A person’s Shen originally delights in clarity and brightness, yet it is often disturbed by thoughts; a person’s heart originally delights in quiet, yet it is often drawn along by desire. If one can constantly set desire aside, the heart grows settled of itself; if the inner heart is clarified, Shen naturally becomes clear and bright. In this way the six desires (the cravings aroused by the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) do not arise, and the three poisons (greed, anger, and delusion) are gradually removed.

Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) should constantly use the Dao to restrain desire, and must not allow desire to turn around and dominate the Dao. When desire is governed by the Dao, the spirit grows clear and lucid and the inner mind grows quiet. In this way the supreme Dao and Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy)—spirit and primordial energy—merge without interval, moving among the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity and among the myriad things. They can respond without end as affairs change, at once boundless in scope and able to enter the subtle and minute.

If desire is allowed to govern cultivation, the Dao is lost. For one who has lost the Dao, the moment a desire arises there is nothing that person may not do: power and profit tug from without, and every kind of anxious thought scorches from within. The mind is then carried off by external things, and the spirit is in turn driven by the inner mind. If mind and spirit cannot be pure and still, where is the Dao?

If one can constantly restrain desire, the mind can settle and remain unmoved. Once the mind is settled, it naturally becomes clear, deep, and still, casting off every obscuration and recovering its original state of lucid purity. At this point, what desire remains? The Commentary on the Changes says: “Beneath the mountain lies a marsh: this is the hexagram Decrease. The noble person therefore disciplines anger and restrains desire.” Is this not precisely the principle in question?

People fail to achieve this because the mind has not yet grown clear and still, and desire has not yet been removed. One who can remove desire looks inward at the mind and finds that within it there is no fixed, unchanging “mind”; looks outward at the bodily form and finds that the form likewise has no fixed, unchanging reality; and looks farther at external things and finds that the myriad things equally have no fixed, unchanging reality. Having grasped these three levels, what is finally seen is emptiness.

The Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun) says: clarity and stillness (qingjing) is the most impartial standard in the world. What is called “correctness” is great impartiality, free of selfishness. Only the supreme impartiality of the principle of Heaven can overcome the partial selfishness of human desire. People of the world fail to attain the great Dao (the Way) not because they are incapable of doing so, but because they are deluded by external things and by desire.

To cut off desire, one must first forget the distinction between things and the self: inwardly, forget one’s own thoughts; outwardly, forget one’s own bodily form; and, looking far outward, forget the things one faces. When all three have been forgotten, the principle of Heaven is once again made whole. This is what is meant by “greatness,” and it is also the meaning of “stopping with Gen” (genzhi) in the Classic of Changes (Yijing)—the ceasing of deluded agitation and the settling into unmoving calm.

The Classic of Changes says: “Stop at the back, and one no longer senses one’s own person; pass through the courtyard, and one does not see other people. There is no blame.” Here, “stopping at the back” means contemplating one’s own mind inwardly until the mind no longer clings to its thoughts; “not obtaining one’s own person” means contemplating one’s own form outwardly until one no longer clings to the form; “passing through the courtyard and not seeing its people” means looking afar at external things until one no longer clings to external things. “No blame” means the absence of desire. The Most High Lord Lao says that no fault is greater than coveting what one may obtain, and this is exactly the point. When desire for external things comes to seem empty, the nature of clarity and stillness is restored.

When contemplating emptiness, one must also let go of attachment to “emptiness,” so that within emptiness there is no longer anything being emptied. Once what was emptied no longer remains, one ceases to cling even to “nothingness.” After attachment to “nothingness” itself has vanished, the state of mind becomes limpid and deeply still, constantly quiescent. Since even quiescence is no longer an object of attachment, how could desire arise? Only when desire does not arise is there true quiet.

True Constancy—the inherent nature that does not change—can respond to external things and can also settle the nature. When responding to things, one constantly preserves clarity and stillness; when abiding in stillness, one likewise constantly preserves clarity and stillness. This is constant clarity and stillness.

The myriad affairs of the world are not sheer emptiness and nothingness. One must run a single fundamental principle through them all, so that they ultimately return to their source. This is the essential method of using “emptiness” to dispel desire. By contemplating emptiness one removes desires, so that desires no longer arise, and one does not cling even to “emptiness.” Emptiness itself does not exist, nor does one cling to “nothingness”; not clinging even to “the nothingness of nothing,” the mind becomes clear and still. Not clinging even to the state of clarity and stillness—only this is called true stillness.

“Limpid and ever still” means gathering the spirit and entering the realm of empty stillness; “still, with nothing that is still” means the spirit becomes freely interpenetrating and comes forth from that realm of empty stillness. What is called true stillness is not mere immobility. If one takes not moving as stillness, one treats stillness as a fixed condition; once there is a fixed condition, it cannot adequately meet change. A truly constant mind can therefore adapt in response to things without losing its own nature: although it acts and responds to things, its fundamental true nature remains unshaken. Understood in this way, one can meet affairs and yet remain constantly still, clear and tranquil throughout.

When such clarity and stillness are reached, one gradually enters the true Dao (the Way). Entering the true Dao is called “obtaining the Dao.” Although one speaks of obtaining the Dao, in reality there is nothing to be obtained. Only for the sake of teaching living beings is it provisionally called “obtaining the Dao.” Those who can realize this may then transmit the sacred Dao.

To be silent and unmoving is the root; upon being stirred, to penetrate and respond is its function. This is called true stillness. If one can realize that root and function arise from a single source, and that there is no barrier between what is manifest and what is hidden and subtle, one has grasped the constant Dao. The word “obtain” is only a name set down under necessity; if one supposes that there is truly something to be obtained, one is no longer in accord with the Dao.

The sages feared that people of the world would not understand how “being” and “non-being” generate one another, and would fall into the one-sided views of annihilation or eternal permanence. They therefore tactfully used the teaching of “obtaining the Dao” to guide them, so that they might advance step by step and at last awaken suddenly. When accomplishment is silently fulfilled within, and others are convinced without words, one may draw near to the sacred Dao. The “transmission” spoken of here is a transmission without words and without form; the “sacred Dao” is the Dao that lies beyond ordinary understanding and cannot be fully fathomed.

Lord Lao said: Those of high cultivation do not contend with others, while those of shallow cultivation delight in competing and striving to excel. Those who truly possess De (Virtue/Power) do not keep “having De” in mind, whereas those whose virtue is insufficient cling instead to their own virtuous conduct. Whoever clings to virtuous conduct cannot be called one who has truly attained the Dao (the Way) and possesses De.

Follow the teaching of “non-contention” in the Confucian classics, and practice the non-contentious conduct of the Buddhist scriptures. One who can awaken to this principle through non-attachment, and unite with the Dao in profound stillness, is a “superior adept” (shangshi)—a person of high cultivation and deep insight. The inferior adept is different: such people compete to outdo others and are often self-satisfied and opinionated. This is self-praise, and it is also what gives rise to contention. At the slightest good deed they take it to be their own merit; such people in fact do not yet possess true virtue.

The practice of the superior adept is precisely the opposite: they do not display their virtue, they dwell in humility, they do not promote themselves, and they do not boast. Precisely because they do not contend, no one in the world can contend with them. When the Most High says, “Superior De does not regard itself as De, and therefore it truly possesses De,” this is the principle he means. Those who cling to virtue have not even understood virtue—how then can they understand the Dao?

The reason sentient beings cannot attain the true Dao is that delusive thoughts dwell in the mind. Once a delusive thought arises, the mind and Shen (spirit) are disturbed; when the mind and Shen are disturbed, one clings to the myriad things; clinging to the myriad things gives rise to craving; and once craving arises, affliction follows. Affliction and delusive thoughts bring sorrow and pain to body and mind, and one then suffers defilement and disgrace, drifting through the cycle of birth and death, long sunk in the sea of suffering, and in the end loses the true Dao.

People of inferior spiritual capacity like to argue that they themselves possess De (Virtue/Power); this is precisely because delusive thoughts remain in the mind. Ancient cultivators said, “Constantly remove the delusive mind, yet do not extinguish the mind of clear illumination.” Any thought that cannot be stopped is the delusive mind; any mind that is settled and unmoving, clear and aware, is the mind of clear illumination. The moment a delusive thought arises, the deviant and the correct begin to be distinguished; once a thought is set in motion, honor and disgrace are decided along with it. How can one fail to strive to remain vigilant?

If the delusive mind does not cease, it gives rise to all manner of distinctions and entanglements, and one ultimately walks a defiled path, invites calamity, and even falls into the evil destinies of the underworld. Not one of these outcomes fails to begin from the delusive mind. Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) ought to be careful at the very first arising of a thought; if one is not careful at the outset, how can one begin well and end well?

When a delusive thought has just begun to sprout, a person often does not notice it: the spirit is driven by the mind’s thoughts, and the mind is in turn drawn by external things. Thereupon the Three Corpses (sanshi—the three spirits within the body spoken of in Daoism, commonly held to arouse desire and record faults) grow rampant, and the six desires (the desires of the six senses) one after another disturb the inner mind. How, then, can one avoid clinging to external things? Once one clings to external things, a mind of craving arises; once craving arises, that is affliction. All sorts of delusive thoughts become entangled with one another and cannot be released; they then distress body and mind, bring turbidity, defilement, and humiliation, cause one to revolve through birth and death, sink for a long time in the sea of suffering, and finally lose the true Dao. This is truly lamentable.

Therefore, the mind of delusive thought is the root of the cycle of rebirth. The reason sentient beings cannot attain the Dao is precisely that the mind of delusive thought has not come to rest.

The constant and unchanging Dao can be personally realized only by those who are awakened. One who has truly awakened to the Dao keeps the inner mind ever clear and still.

The body that people see before their eyes also arises from delusive thinking. Once the body has taken form, emotions and attachments appear; with emotions and attachments come sorrow and distress. As delusive thoughts continually increase, causes and conditions arise along with them, and people remain caught in the cycle of rebirth, stretching from what has no beginning to what has no end. Most people in the world are like this.

Only those who have awakened to the Dao (the Way) can keep the mind inwardly clear and bright, illuminating and seeing through all appearances born of causes and conditions as empty illusions, and not allowing themselves to cling to them. Once this inner illumination is maintained, delusive thoughts can no longer sway one. Through long practice, when the skill has fully matured, one finally realizes a body of clarity and stillness. Understood in this way, this is the Dao of true constancy.

What is called the “illuminating mind” is the mind of Heaven; what is called “true constancy” is the absence of delusive thoughts. When this mind is realized, the deluded mind recedes, and the Dao free of delusion is accomplished. “Freedom from delusion” follows upon “Return.” The Yijing (Classic of Changes) says: “In Return, does one not see the mind of Heaven and Earth?” (At the time of return, perhaps the original mind of Heaven and Earth may be seen.)

Reaching this stage, even thoughts that are extremely subtle, hidden, and hard to detect can be discerned in advance. One then attains a state of resting securely unmoved, perfectly clear, and constantly aware: awakening is profound, spiritual clarity is never dimmed, and the mind within is ever clear and ever still. Here the Dao of true constancy is fulfilled, and the sage’s cultivation is complete.

Note: The reading “true constancy responding to things” is the same in the commentarial editions of Du Guangting, Hou Shanyuan, Liu Tongwei, and others; the plain text instead reads “true stillness responding to things.”