《文始真经注》

The Guanzi is traditionally attributed to Yin Xi, the Keeper of the Pass in the Zhou dynasty. Legend says that when Laozi traveled west, Yin Xi saw purple clouds appear above Hangu Pass and knew that a realized sage was about to pass through. He watched for the traveler and eventually met Laozi. Laozi, too, recognized that Yin Xi was no ordinary man, and wrote a book for him. After receiving Laozi’s book, Yin Xi also wrote nine chapters of his own, which he titled the Guanzi.

It is said that Taichu Temple, in present-day Lingbao County, Shaanxi, stands at the site of the ancient Hangu Pass, where Yin Xi waited for Laozi. Zongsheng Palace on Mount Zhongnan, meanwhile, was Yin Xi’s former residence. King Mu of Zhou is said to have built a thatched tower there, renamed it “Tower Observatory,” and erected a shrine to Laozi. The commentator holds that the rise of Daoist temples began at this very place.

Legend has it that after passing on the scriptures, Laozi departed westward through Dasan Pass. He later met Yin Xi again at the Green Ram Market in Chengdu and bestowed on him the title “Master Wen Shi.” Yin Xi’s writings later came to be known as the Wen Shi True Scripture.

Postscript and Preface to the Direct Explanation of the Wen Shi True Scripture

The bright moon was full and radiant, illuminating all four directions. Afterward, Laozi departed westward through Dasan Pass, then met Yin Xi again at the Green Ram Market in Chengdu and bestowed on him the title “Master Wen Shi.” Yin Xi’s writings later became the Wen Shi True Scripture.

The bright light of the full moon shines over a thousand rivers, and its reflection can be seen everywhere. Within true emptiness lies wondrous presence, which runs through the myriad volumes of scripture. People see perfect radiance in the moon’s reflection on the water, and grasp wondrous presence through the scriptures. Perfect radiance takes the bright moon as its root; wondrous presence has true emptiness as its source. Root and branch are one and the same; source and stream are no different. Since one can trace the branches back to the root, one can also follow the streams back to their source.

The source is true emptiness, which cannot be grasped through thought or speech. The streams, however, are wondrous presence, so they cannot be understood as nothing but complete silence and the absence of expression. Speech without words may be called a “scripture”; teaching without exposition may be called “wondrous.” Teaching without exposition leads one to understand the principle that precedes words, while speech without words brings one to understand the meaning beyond words. The mysteries that precede words are profound, and the realm beyond meaning is subtle and hidden. A plain, literal explanation cannot make them fully clear; without detailed commentary, they are also difficult to understand.

One sees the moon by means of a pointing finger, but once the moon is seen, there is no need to cling to the finger: then the true moon appears. In the same way, one comes to understand the scriptures through explanation, but should not cling to the explanation itself; only then can one fully penetrate their true meaning. Seeing the moon’s reflection in a thousand rivers, one knows they all reflect the same bright moon. Investigating the true principles of the scriptures, one comes to understand the “One Truth” that runs through them. When both seeing and knowing dissolve, and both investigation and understanding are let go, how could even the Heavenly Eye or the Dragon’s Eyes—metaphors for extraordinary insight—perceive the traces of the Dao? And even with the sacred wisdom of the spirits, how could one measure its faintest shadow? The Dao’s meaning lies beyond words and cannot be fathomed; it precedes words and cannot be discussed.

Commentary on the True Classic of Wenshi, Volume One

A direct explanation by Niu Daochun, the Carefree Master of Divine Peak

Chapter One: The Character “Yu”

“Yu” serves as a metaphor for the Dao of true emptiness. This section contains twenty-eight chapters.

Guan Yin said, “It is not that there is a principle that cannot be spoken…”

Here, “there is no Dao” means that, from the beginning, there is no Dao that can be grasped and named; therefore, it cannot be discussed in words. The scripture says, “Only what cannot be named can make the words of all under Heaven fall away.” This is the meaning of the phrase, “It is not that there is a principle that cannot be spoken.”

The Dao cannot be expressed in words.

This means directly realizing the wondrous Dao before words and discussion have arisen. Words cannot reach this realization, so it is said: “What cannot be spoken is the Dao.”

The Dao is not an object that can be grasped through thought.

“Dao” is merely a name established out of necessity; it also lies beyond the reach of thought. Thinking and discernment belong to consciousness and intellectual understanding, but the Dao cannot be grasped through knowledge. As the scripture says, “The moment thought takes hold, one is already engaged in the business of ghosts.” This means that as soon as one becomes caught in thought and distinction, one has already strayed from direct realization of the Dao. The scripture also says, “Precisely because it cannot be known, it takes away all the wisdom in the world.” In other words, the Dao cannot be known by ordinary intellect. Thus the Dao is not something that can be grasped through thought.

What cannot be grasped through thought is the Dao.

This again speaks of directly realizing the wondrous Dao before thought has arisen. Only then can one understand that the Dao cannot be grasped by thinking; hence it is said, “What cannot be thought is the Dao.”

What cannot be grasped through thought is the Dao.

When one directly realizes the wondrous Dao before thought has arisen, one understands that thought cannot reach it. Hence it is said, “What cannot be thought is the Dao.”

The myriad things within our innate nature surge and flow, while human affairs are intricate and chaotic.

“Things of Heaven” refers to the innate, natural qualities within people; “wrath” refers to great majesty; and “flow” refers to the movement of the mind. Human nature is luminous and vast, while thoughts flow without pause, stirring the activity of the senses and making human affairs varied and disorderly. The scripture compares nature to water and the mind to a current. Those who are deluded about the Dao each pursue their own course and hold their own views, multiplying differences without end.

It seems to turn and veer away from the Dao.

“Seem” means “appear” or “as if.” People imagine the Dao as the Great Void, the bright moon, a clear pool, or an ice vessel. Yet using such images to compare with the Dao only takes one far from it. Hence it is said, “It seems to turn and turn back”; “turn back” means to depart from the Dao.

They collide and argue with one another, giving rise to disputes.

“Jiajia” describes the sound of things striking against one another; here it refers to argument. People challenge and dispute with one another in words, each treating the teachings they have received as a path and the scriptures and commentaries as shield and spear, attacking one another. The scripture uses this to warn people against getting caught up in argument.

Do not rush to decide that something seems to be this way, or seems not to be.

Do not cling to appearances or argue without end. If you use scriptures and theories as shields and spears, attacking one another to win, you will become caught up in dispute. Hence the saying, “How fiercely they contend, yet something is missing”: insisting on argument only leads to loss.

Do not rush to decide that something seems to be this way, or seems not to be.

Do not cling to appearances or argue without end. Views of the Dao may seem close, yet in truth they are not. Hence the saying, “Hastily, it seems so, yet is not.”

Some people compete to outdo one another. Here, “compete” means striving to prove oneself superior. Three or five people may gather to study the Dao and apply themselves with great vigor, yet mistake competitiveness for excellence. A thought like this means they have not yet awakened to the Dao; hence the saying, “And they compete over it.”

Some people keep themselves aloof and apart. Here, “aloof” means living in isolation. A person may be alone, concentrating on subtle principles of the Dao, yet if this gives rise to self-satisfaction, they have not yet awakened to the Dao; hence the saying, “And they set themselves apart over it.”

Some people chant and praise. Here, “chant” refers to the ancients’ words of praise for the wondrous Dao. If one merely follows those words, repeatedly pondering and praising the wondrous Dao, one has not yet awakened to it; hence the saying, “And they chant over it.”

Some people condemn names and forms. Here, “condemn” means to criticize and censure. If one simply denounces the ancients’ words and forms, silently reflects on the wondrous Dao, and assumes this means one understands it, one has not yet awakened to the Dao; hence the saying, “And they condemn it.”

Some people abandon, while others seek to acquire. “Abandon” means to let go; “seek” means to pursue and acquire. One may abandon delusive thoughts and seek the real Dao, but as long as one deliberately chooses what to reject and what to pursue, one is still engaging in purposeful action and has not yet awakened to the Dao; hence the saying, “And they abandon it, and they seek to acquire it.”

To speak of it is like trying to blow away a shadow. Here, “shadow” is a metaphor for names and words: whether one argues, praises, or condemns names and forms, it is like trying to blow away a shadow—it cannot truly change it. What does this mean?

To ponder the Dao is like carving into dust.

“Dust” is a metaphor for discriminating thoughts and perceptions; “carving” means engraving or scraping. The confused imaginings mentioned earlier are like repeatedly comparing and distinguishing names and categories, or trying to blow away a shadow. In the end, they cannot be removed.

Thinking as if carving dust: “Dust” is a metaphor for discriminating thoughts and perceptions, and “carving” means scraping away. If one keeps guessing, comparing, distinguishing, and arguing, clinging to choices and rejections, all of this belongs to discriminating perception. It is like carving dust: in the end, the dust cannot be cleared away completely.

Sage wisdom can itself create confusion: Sage wisdom can be used to understand the myriad things. But if one clings to the idea of creating or seeking the Dao through wisdom, one cannot reach the Great Dao; that very wisdom becomes a source of confusion. Hence the saying, “Sage wisdom creates confusion.” “Abandon sagehood and discard wisdom” means letting go of attachment to sage wisdom, thereby realizing the mysterious Dao.

Even spirits and gods cannot know the Great Dao: Spirits and gods still have discriminating perceptions, and such perceptions cannot know the Great Dao. Hence the saying, “Spirits and gods do not know it.”

The Great Dao can only be followed in accordance with what is natural; it cannot be attained through deliberate human effort. Hence the saying, “It cannot be made.” Here, “only” is a grammatical particle linking this statement to what came before.

The Great Dao cannot be summoned from outside, either. It is complete in itself and need not be sought externally, just as “what is brought in through the gate is not one’s own treasure.” Hence the saying, “It cannot be summoned,” meaning that the Great Dao cannot be brought to oneself by seeking outside.

The Great Dao cannot be measured. Even spirits and gods can scarcely glimpse it, and Yin-Yang cannot discern it; how much less can ordinary people? Hence the saying, “It cannot be measured.”

The Great Dao is a seamless whole, profound and difficult to understand. It cannot be clearly distinguished through thought or words. Hence the saying, “It cannot be divided.”

Therefore, people call it “Heaven,” call it “destiny,” call it “spirit,” and call it “the mysterious.” Taken together, these names refer to the Dao.

The text that follows explains the meaning of what came before. “Heaven” refers to what happens naturally through non-action. “Destiny” refers to what is so of itself, though its cause is unknown. “Spirit” refers to the unfathomable transformations of Yin-Yang. “Mystery” refers to what is deep and hard to understand, with inexhaustible subtlety. “Joining” means accord and realization. Only by realizing the meanings of Heaven, Destiny, Spirit, and Mystery can one accord with the wondrous Dao. This chapter explains that the Dao lies beyond words and thought; only after the heart-mind opens and realizes it can one silently accord with the Dao.

That concludes Chapter One.

Guan Yinzi says: “There is nothing that does not belong to Heaven.”

“Heaven” means what is natural; what is natural is another name for the Dao. All things are born from the Dao, so each thing embodies the Dao in itself. Just as a riverbank is formed by water and cannot be separate from it, nothing lies outside Heaven.

“There is nothing that does not belong to Destiny.”

“Destiny” means what is naturally so, though its cause is unknown; it is another name for the Dao. All things receive their nature from the Dao, so nothing lies outside Destiny.

“There is nothing that does not belong to Spirit.”

Here, “Spirit” does not mean a deity. It refers to the wondrous principle that seems formless and whose workings are difficult to fathom. The unpredictable transformations of Yin-Yang are another way of speaking about the Dao. All things possess this wondrous Dao, so nothing lies outside Spirit.

“There is nothing that does not belong to Mystery.”

“Mystery” means what is deep and hard to understand; it is another name for the Dao. All things possess this mysterious Dao, so nothing lies outside Mystery.

Since this is so for all things, how could human beings be an exception?

Everything between Heaven and Earth, whether large or small, coarse or fine—including flying birds, swimming fish, animals, and plants—possesses the mysterious Dao. Human beings are naturally no exception.

Everyone can say this of all things. Could human beings be an exception?

Everything between Heaven and Earth, whether large or small, coarse or fine—including flying birds, swimming fish, animals, and plants—possesses the mysterious Dao. Human beings are naturally no exception.

Everyone can be called “Heaven”; everyone can be called “spirit.” Everyone can realize the source of life and penetrate the profound, wondrous principles of the Dao (the Way).

“Heaven,” “destiny,” “spirit,” and “mystery” are different names for the Dao. Though there are four names, they point to the same Dao. The Dao is already complete within everyone, and everyone can personally realize it. With true understanding, there is no need to seek further methods of cultivation: one can immediately attain the state beyond birth and death and reach the same level as the sages. Thus everyone can be called Heaven or spirit, and everyone can realize the source of life and penetrate the mysterious principles.

We should not think that others possess Heaven while we do not, that others are spirits while we are not, or that others possess destiny and the mysterious Dao while we do not.

Everyone has an innate, original nature of Heaven, as well as a wondrous nature that operates naturally in ways beyond comprehension. Everyone receives a share of life whose cause cannot be explained but that is simply so, and everyone possesses a profound, unfathomable nature. Heaven, destiny, spirit, and mystery do not diminish in ordinary people or increase in sages. However subtle they may be, they are never less; however vast, they are never more. How, then, can we say that others alone possess them, while we do not? Therefore, we must not divide Heaven, spirit, destiny, and mystery into what others have and what we lack.

Thus, those who are skilled at realizing the Dao I speak of can recognize the principles of Heaven in any thing, fully apprehend the wondrous, perceive the source of life, and enter the mysterious realm.

The word “thus” carries the discussion forward, showing how the conclusion follows from what came before: since Heaven, spirit, destiny, and mystery cannot be divided into what one person has and another lacks, those skilled at realizing this Dao can recognize the principles of Heaven in a single thing, apprehend the wondrous, perceive the source of life, and penetrate the mystery.

The phrase “therefore” links what came before with what follows. Those who truly understand my Dao can grasp Heaven’s mandate, the wondrous and the mysterious principles through a single thing, reaching all the way to life’s root and its profoundest truths. From this, we can say that the worlds in the ten directions—a Buddhist and Daoist term for the four cardinal directions, the four intermediate directions, above, and below, and thus for all places—are the cultivator’s eyes, body, and own radiance. Everything, too, lies within this radiance.

If you treat radiance itself as the object of cultivation, you are still working within the play of light and shadow. You should instead awaken suddenly before light and shadow have appeared; then you will trust that the Dao is everywhere. What you grasp through a single thing—the mandate of Heaven, the wondrous, and the mysterious principles—is nothing other than this. Here, “knowing” means grasping; “attaining” and “reaching” both mean arriving at something. In other words, those who truly understand my Dao can grasp the mandate of Heaven, the wondrous, and the mysterious principles through a single thing, reaching directly to life’s root.

If students of the Dao chase after differences among the mandate of Heaven, the wondrous, and the mysterious principles, they will distinguish them by their names and describe what is essentially the same as though it were different. In this way, they will be misled by names and lose sight of what is real.

The Dao has no name of its own; people use names to grasp it. The Dao is the substance, while names are secondary. Once names have helped you grasp that what is named differently is essentially the same, you should understand the substance and forget the names. Just as you forget the fish basket after catching the fish, and the snare after catching the rabbit, once you have grasped the meaning, you no longer cling to words. Here, “name” means words. This chapter explains that the Dao is everywhere, and that once you understand the substance, you no longer cling to names.

The above is the second chapter.

Guan Yin Zi says: “Observing the Dao is like observing water.” Here, “observing” means discerning the principles of the Dao with wisdom; the comparison is a metaphor.

If one considers a pond insufficient…

Here, “pond” serves as a metaphor for ordinary people. When using wisdom to observe and assess ordinary people, one may recognize that they, too, possess the Dao, yet still doubt that the Dao within them is complete. Hence the phrase: “If one considers a pond insufficient…”

“Marshes” symbolize ordinary people. If we judge ordinary people by our own understanding, we may doubt that they fully embody the Great Dao and conclude that observing them alone is not enough.

So we go on to observe rivers and the sea, saying, “Only here is there enough water.”

“To go to” means to proceed toward something. The river symbolizes the exemplary person, the great river the worthy person, and the sea the sage. If we doubt that ordinary people fully embody the Great Dao, we go on to observe exemplary people. If we still doubt that they embody enough, we observe worthy people; if we then doubt that the worthy embody enough, we observe sages. Only then do we stop doubting that the Great Dao is complete. Hence the saying: “Go to the rivers and the sea, and only then call the water sufficient.”

Yet we do not realize that the fluids, saliva, and tears within our own bodies are also water. Here, fluids, saliva, and tears symbolize a person’s actions and stillness, speech and silence. We should understand that these everyday expressions are all workings of the Great Dao. By understanding the source through its workings, we can trust that the Great Dao is no less present in ordinary people, and no more present in exemplary people, worthy people, or sages. This is the point of the image: “Yet I do not realize that my fluids, saliva, and tears are all water.” This chapter uses the image to explain that the Great Dao is neither lacking nor excessive, and that sages and ordinary people embody it equally.

Guan Yin Zi said: “Within the Dao, there are no distinctions between people, and sages do not cling to seeing such distinctions. A is the Dao; B is not the Dao.”

A symbolizes the sage, and B symbolizes the ordinary person. The Dao has no form of “I” to begin with, and therefore makes no distinctions between people. A sage who has realized the Great Dao does not cling to personal views, which is why it is said, “The sage does not see.” Yet here it is also said that the sage is the Dao and the ordinary person is not.

“If there are no distinctions of self within the Dao, and the sage does not cling to seeing them, does this mean one has entered the Dao, or retreated from it?”

“To advance” is to want to take hold of the Dao; “to retreat” is to want to pick it up. Yet the Dao can neither be taken hold of nor lost by picking it up. The Dao has no form of “self,” and sages do not cling to their own opinions. They therefore do not regard anything as the Dao or as not the Dao, nor do they think they have advanced toward or retreated from the Dao. The saying “The Dao has no self; the sage does not perceive” means that sages do not distinguish the Dao in terms of gain and loss, or advance and retreat.

The Dao belongs neither to “being” nor to “nonbeing,” so it can be called neither being nor nonbeing. It also belongs neither to “obtaining” nor to “losing”: it manifests naturally of itself, rather than being obtained through pursuit, and it is not lost through abandonment. This chapter explains that the Dao is not constrained by distinctions between being and nonbeing, or gain and loss.

The text on the right is Chapter Four.

Guan Yin Zi says, “To know nothing of the Dao yet make divinations based on conjecture is like guessing what is hidden beneath an overturned bowl.”

“Knowing nothing of the Dao” refers to the deluded. “Divining recklessly” means making wild guesses based on one’s subjective thoughts. “Guessing” here means conjecturing, and the “overturned bowl” is used as a metaphor for the dust and delusion of the world, which obscure the mind. Those who are deluded have not grasped the subtle Dao, yet try to speculate about it with their thoughts, like guessing what is hidden beneath a bowl.

“Those who think themselves wise speak every day of gold and jade.”

Here, “gold and jade” are metaphors for subtle, profound words. Gold also symbolizes clarity, while jade symbolizes purity. Those who think themselves wise speculate about the Dao with their thoughts every day, describing it as bright as gold and pure as jade. Some also interpret gold and jade as the alchemical terms “golden lead” and “jade mercury,” or connect them with sayings such as “mysterious upon mysterious, the gateway to all wonders.” But when the mind remains obscured by delusion, clinging to such lofty words does not amount to truly grasping the Dao. This is the meaning of “Those who think themselves wise speak every day of gold and jade.”

Those at the middle level spend all day thinking about horns and feathers. “Horns” are a metaphor for sharp, agile intelligence; “feathers” suggest lightness, clarity, and a modest degree of intelligence. Such people imagine they can use their own reasoning to speculate about the mysterious Dao, honing their thoughts until they are sharp and nimble. Others think that Wuwei (non-action) and stillness, nurturing the spirit, and keeping the body light and healthy are the Dao. Some ask whether the antelope that hangs its horns or the luan phoenix that soars into the sky might be the Dao. Yet these speculations show that they still have not grasped it. That is why those at the middle level spend all day thinking about horns and feathers.

Those at the lower level spend all day thinking about tiles and stones. “Tiles” suggest something formed through firing; “stones” suggest hardness and stability. Such people imagine they can use their own reasoning to speculate about the mysterious Dao, deliberately training their stubborn will and believing that single-minded resolve, without the slightest wavering, will enable them to attain the Dao. Others say that the Dao is found among broken tiles and rubble, and ask whether this might be the Dao. Such speculation only makes it harder to grasp. That is why those at the lower level spend all day thinking about tiles and stones.

Are these claims right or wrong? Only those who know how to let go of such external things can understand. “Letting go” means relinquishing them; “understanding” means grasping the truth. The three groups discussed above—those at the high, middle, and low levels—all imagine they can use their own reasoning to speculate about such things as gold and jade, horns and feathers, tiles and stones, and decide whether they are the Dao. Only by relinquishing attachment to external things, no longer letting the mind be led by its own reasoning, and grasping the truth completely can confusion be dispelled and the mind freed from obscurity. Then one can understand that the Dao cannot be obtained from external things. That is why it says: “Are these claims right or wrong? Only those who know how to let go of such external things can understand.” This chapter explains that the Dao must be understood within the mind; it cannot be known through wild speculation.

The above is Chapter Five.

Guan Yin said: A potter can make all kinds of vessels, but no vessel can in turn make the potter, and no vessel can harm the potter.

A potter shapes clay into pottery, then fires it into vessels and roof tiles of every kind. One potter can make countless objects, but those objects cannot in turn become the potter, nor can they harm the potter. This chapter uses the image as a metaphor: the Dao gives rise to the myriad things, yet nothing can give rise to the Dao, and nothing can harm it.

The Dao sets Yin-Yang in motion and gives rise to Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. Thus it is said, “The One Dao can make all things.” Here, “make” means “give rise to.” The Dao is like empty space: profound and unfathomable. It is so by nature and does not come into being through cultivation or human contrivance, so nothing can give rise to the Dao. Since the Dao is like empty space, how could the myriad things harm that space? Thus it is said that nothing can harm the Dao. The metaphor of the potter and the vessels explains the relationship between the Dao and the myriad things: the Dao gives rise to the myriad things, and they cannot harm it.

The passage on the right is Chapter Six.

Guan Yin Zi said: “The Dao is vast and profound, beyond the limits of knowledge; the mind is free and open, unbound; the myriad things change one after another, and none is outside the Dao.”

The Dao is the mind’s original substance, and that substance is true emptiness. True emptiness is profound and unfathomable; before knowledge arises, it is boundless and without limit. When the mind takes true emptiness as its original substance, it can be free and open, unentangled by any circumstance. The myriad things are the mind’s functioning; substance and function are originally one. In the midst of change, the mind remains still, so every kind of change accords with the Dao. “One after another” means that things move in an unceasing cycle. Thus it is said: “The Dao is vast and profound, beyond the limits of knowledge; the mind is free and open, unbound; the myriad things change one after another, and none is outside the Dao.”

“Swift as a flash of lightning.”

Those who understand the Great Dao can fulfill themselves and benefit others. They respond to the sharp questions of people of superior capacity with great speed, like sparks flying when stones strike or a flash of lightning that vanishes in an instant. If one asks through deliberation and calculation, a thousand mountains and rivers lie between the two. People of superior capacity, however, can awaken in an instant and fully understand the wondrous Great Dao. Thus it is said: “Swift as a flash of lightning.”

“Like flying sand.”

Those who understand the Great Dao benefit all beings equally, leaving out neither those of middling capacity nor those of lesser capacity. Using metaphors such as “a mountain of ten thousand waters,” they enable people of superior capacity to awaken all at once and fully comprehend the subtle Great Dao. Hence the words “swift as lightning”: understanding the Dao comes as suddenly as a flash of lightning.

Those who understand the Great Dao explain many methods far and wide with skillful means, reaching across vast worlds to guide people of middling and lesser capacity. Hence the words “sand flying everywhere.” “Sand flying everywhere” means that when the wondrous teachings are widely explained, they scatter in every direction like dust and sand lifted by the wind.

The sage knows that mind, all things, and the Dao are each originally one. Even when these three are taken together, they remain one. The names “mind,” “things,” and “Dao” are like “sun,” “brightness,” and “light”: the sun is the source of brightness, while light is its function. Though the names differ, the underlying principle does not, so in the end the three are one.

Do not use “one” to measure “the many.” “One” refers to the nondual essence; “measure” means to assess; and “the many” refers to the function that responds to changing circumstances. Essence is function, while function has no fixed form, like a voice echoing through an empty valley: it responds to each sound, yet remains utterly still. The sage does not cling to the idea of essence and then use it to measure all the changes.

Nor should “the many” be allowed to obstruct “one.” Function has no fixed form, like a voice echoing through an empty valley: it responds to circumstances while the essence remains still. Essence and function are originally one, so function cannot obstruct essence. “Obstruct” means to hinder. This chapter makes clear that the Dao, mind, and all things are not separate from one another; essence and function are always one.

Chapter Seven

Guan Yin Zi said: Take a basin for a pond and stones for islands. Fish swim around within it, seeming to travel tens of millions of miles without ever reaching an end. Why is this? Because the water has no fixed source and no fixed destination.

Water surrounds it, and a mountain within the water is called an “island.” It is like filling a basin with water, placing a stone in the middle as an island, and then putting fish into it. The fish swim around the stone as though they had traveled thousands upon thousands of miles, yet they never reach an end. Why is this? Because the water in the basin has no source and no outlet to anywhere else, the fish seem able to swim on forever. This is a metaphor: the Dao of the sage has neither beginning nor end, and so it can respond to all things without limit.

“Root” refers to the substance of true emptiness; “branch” refers to the function of wondrous presence. “True emptiness” and “wondrous presence” are terms Daoism uses to explain the substance of the Dao and the way it manifests in function. The sage sees this principle clearly and understands that the Dao has neither beginning nor end and cannot be measured. It can respond flexibly as things change, so its function is inexhaustible. This chapter teaches that the Dao has neither beginning nor end, and that its responses to things are without limit.

The text on the right is Chapter Eight.

Guan Yin Zi says: Do not cling to loving the Dao; love belongs to Water.

Here, “do not” expresses a prohibition. Do not cling to loving the Dao, because the Dao has nothing to do with romantic attachment. As soon as thoughts of love arise, one falls into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), belonging to Water and becoming far removed from the Dao.

Do not cling to observing the Dao; observation belongs to Fire. Do not cling to pursuing the Dao; pursuit belongs to Wood. Do not cling to speaking about the Dao; speech belongs to Metal. Do not cling to thinking about the Dao; thought belongs to Earth.

“Observation, pursuit, speech, and thought” are each assigned to one of the Five Phases: observation to Fire, pursuit to Wood, speech to Metal, and thought to Earth. The text goes on to reiterate that one should not cling to observing, pursuing, speaking about, or thinking about the Dao; such attachments all cause one to fall into the Five Phases.

The Dao cannot be known by pursuing words and thoughts. The Dao does not belong to form and color, actions, reputation, or feelings, so how could it be measured through observing, pursuing, speaking, or thinking? As soon as thoughts of observing, pursuing, speaking, or thinking arise, one falls within the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water): observing belongs to Fire, pursuing to Wood, speaking to Metal, and deliberation to Earth. To be governed by the Five Phases is to move farther from the Dao. Therefore, do not seek the Dao through observation, for observation belongs to Fire; do not seek it through pursuit, for pursuit belongs to Wood; do not seek it through speech, for speech belongs to Metal; do not seek it through deliberation, for deliberation belongs to Earth. This is a sincere admonition to later students.

Only the sage, by remaining true to the original state, can reach the Great Dao. Before thoughts have arisen, even the name “Dao” is merely a provisional designation.

The word “only” links the preceding passage to what follows. To say that the sage “remains true to the original state” means that the sage abides before observation, pursuit, speech, and deliberation have arisen. That state is the essence of true emptiness; true emptiness is the Dao. In true emptiness, thoughts have not yet arisen, and the name “Dao” is only a temporary expression. Strictly speaking, the Dao has no name. Here, students are shown how to awaken to the Dao: experience true emptiness before observation, pursuit, speech, and deliberation have arisen. The whole chapter explains that the Dao does not belong to the Five Phases and should be realized where these thoughts have not yet arisen.

This concludes Chapter Nine.

Guan Yin said: Thick clouds cover the sky, and rivers and lakes lie in darkness; fish swim about bewildered and lost. Suddenly, they see the water brighten and food flicker on its surface. Thinking Heaven has bestowed food upon them, they approach and swallow it—only to be caught on a hook and die.

On a night when layer upon layer of dark clouds covers the sky, thick clouds hide the stars and moon, and the surface of the rivers and lakes grows dim. The fish lose their bearings and wander through the water. Then a fisherman holds up a light and casts bait into the water. The fish suddenly see the water glimmer and the food move, but do not realize that a person has cast the bait. They mistake it for a gift from Heaven, swim over, and swallow it—only to be caught and killed by the fisherman. Thus, when dark clouds cover the sky and the rivers and lakes grow dim, the fish are disoriented. They suddenly see the water glimmer and the food move, mistake it for a gift from Heaven, and swim over to swallow it, only to be caught and killed.

People who do not understand that “originally, I am without a self,” yet keep pursuing the Dao outside themselves, are just the same.

Those in confusion are obstructed by ignorance—delusion that clouds the mind—just as dark clouds cover the sky. Their hearts and minds lack clarity, like rivers and lakes in darkness; they cannot grasp the wondrous Dao, like fish that have lost their bearings. Their minds drift along with external circumstances and cling to various methods in hopes of attaining the true Dao, just as the fish suddenly see the water glimmer and the food move. Their minds are thereby led astray: external methods and things instead cloud their inner selves, just as the fish approach the bait and, in the end, lose the Dao and lose sight of what is real, like fish caught and killed.

“Not understanding” means failing to realize. They do not understand that “originally, I am without a self” is the Dao of true emptiness. Instead, they cling recklessly to the “self” and pursue the Dao outside themselves, just as in the preceding analogy. This chapter laments that those in confusion cannot realize the Great Dao and ultimately lose their lives as a result.

The above is Chapter Ten.

Guan Yin, a Daoist figure, said: “The arts and methods under Heaven are many.”

The teachings of the various schools under Heaven are numerous, and the Dao’s currents flow far and wide; hence the saying, “The arts and methods under Heaven are many.” “Methods” here refers to the Dao.

Some esteem obscurity, while others esteem clarity; some esteem strength, while others esteem softness.

The teachings of the hundred schools cannot be listed one by one, so here I will speak briefly of four kinds. “Esteem” means to honor or value something. Some teachings esteem concealment and reserve, preferring not to be known; some esteem openness and visibility, teaching others clearly; some esteem active effort and ceaseless self-strengthening; and some esteem gentleness and humility, yielding without contending with external things. Thus, some value concealment, some openness, some strength, and some gentleness.

To cling to these ways of acting is to deal only with particular affairs. To cling to none of them is to accord with the Dao (the Way).

“Affairs” means particular functions and ways of acting. If one clings to concealment, openness, strength, or gentleness, each is merely a method of conduct. Clinging to a method means losing sight of the root—how could one fully realize the subtle Dao? If one does not cling to any particular method, one can put methods to use without being bound by them, and keep the mind from settling in any one place. In this way, one transcends all partial distinctions; this is called the subtle Dao. Thus, to cling to these ways of acting is to be caught up in particular affairs, while not clinging is to accord with the Dao. This chapter explains that the Dao is everywhere, and that one should not cling to any particular way of acting.

The above is Chapter Eleven.

Guan Yin Zi says: The Dao can never be attained. Whatever can be attained is called “De” (Virtue/Power), not “Dao.”

The substance of the Dao is true emptiness; it does not fall within gain or loss. If one can act without clinging to what one does, one accords with the Dao. This chapter explains that the Dao is everywhere, and that one should not cling to any particular way of acting.

The above is Chapter Eleven.

Guan Yin Zi says: The Dao can never be attained. Whatever can be attained is called “De” (Virtue/Power), not “Dao.”

The substance of the Dao is true emptiness, beyond the limits of gain and loss; what is gained may also be lost. The Dao exists within human nature. Sages and ordinary people share this fundamental nature, though not everyone can bring it forth as the sages do. A newborn infant and an adult, for example, share the same nature, yet the infant cannot use its abilities as an adult can. Ordinary people and sages likewise share the same fundamental nature, but ordinary people cannot bring it forth as the sages do. This nature has no name in itself; names arise from how it is used. When it is used for evil, one is called an ordinary person; when used for good, a worthy person; when put into practice without seeking any gain, a sage. To seek nothing and yet naturally attain something is called “De,” not “Dao.” Thus, the Dao can never be attained; whatever can be attained is called “De,” not “Dao.”

The Dao can never be realized through particular actions. Whatever can be put into action is called “conduct,” not “Dao.”

The essentials of cultivating the Dao lie in inner realization. Thus, the Dao can never be attained; whatever can be attained is called “De,” not “Dao.”

The Dao can never be realized through particular actions. Whatever can be put into action is called “conduct,” not “Dao.”

To realize the Dao, one must understand it with the heart-mind. Only by remaining true to one’s original nature can one enter the Great Dao. The Great Dao, therefore, cannot be put into practice through specific methods. Any method that can be followed is called “good,” but cannot be called the Dao. The Dao, then, cannot ultimately be treated as a method to carry out. What can be carried out is called “practice,” not the Dao.

The sage uses principles that can be understood and put into practice to perfect life. Knowing how to benefit both self and others, the sage helps everyone equally and seeks no return. This is De (Virtue/Power). De enables the sage to respond well to worldly affairs and benefit living beings. Thus, the sage uses principles that can be understood and practiced to perfect life: this is benefiting others.

The sage also uses principles that cannot be grasped or put into practice to settle the “death” of the self. Here, “death” means that thoughts come to rest and return to stillness. To be ungraspable and impracticable means to gather all functions inward; gathering them inward is Wuwei (non-action). Wuwei enables one to settle the mind and return to stillness. Thus, using principles that cannot be grasped or practiced to settle the mind’s cessation is benefiting oneself. This chapter explains that De is concrete function, while the Dao is the root.

The passage on the right is Chapter Twelve.

Guan Yinzi says: “After hearing the Great Dao, if you still act deliberately and hold fast to things in your mind, the path you follow remains the path of ordinary people.”

If people who study the Dao, after hearing the Great Dao, remain attached to deliberate actions or cling to their own opinions and understanding, then the path they follow is the same as the path ordinary people take in dealing with worldly affairs. The word “zhi” means to go toward or proceed along. Thus, to act deliberately and remain attached after hearing the Great Dao is to proceed along the path of ordinary people.

Without deliberate action or attachment, the path one follows is that of natural, uncontrived spontaneity. Here, “Heaven” refers to one’s original, natural nature. After hearing and gaining some understanding of the Great Dao, one should stop seeking outwardly and clinging to learning, so that the mind no longer holds fast to external things.

Heaven refers to our original, natural nature. After hearing the Great Dao and gaining some insight, one should stop pursuing external knowledge and let that understanding take shape in everyday life, without deliberately seeking anything. One is not attached to the forms of things outwardly, nor to emptiness inwardly. With the mind clear and still, one accords with one’s original, natural nature. Thus, doing nothing and clinging to nothing is the way to return to that nature.

Deliberate action will end in failure; clinging will end in loss. Acting with intention goes against the Dao; holding to things in the mind causes one to lose De. Thus, action with intention must fail, and clinging must lead to loss.

So, if one hears the Dao in the morning, one may die that evening without regret. That is, after hearing the Dao and understanding its principles, one can let go of body and mind, stop the mind from reaching outward and stirring up delusion, and rest peacefully while maintaining this state. This chapter says that those who have realized the Dao do not act recklessly or cling to things; they let body and mind rest and maintain their understanding.

Guan Yin Zi said: “When every feeling returns to deep stillness, one is a sage.” “Darkness” here means the true void, profound and unfathomable; “one feeling darkens” means that feelings return to the true void. Such a person is called a sage.

When a feeling tends toward good, one is a worthy person; when it tends toward evil, one is a petty person. Human feelings suddenly arise from the original substance of the true void, and may incline toward either good or evil, so one must be vigilant as soon as a feeling arises. If it inclines toward good and one continues to accumulate good deeds, the accumulation will deepen, giving rise to the blessings of virtue and making one a worthy person. If it inclines toward evil and one continues to accumulate evil deeds, the accumulation will deepen, bringing calamity and making one a petty person.

When feelings return to darkness, they move from being to nonbeing, beyond what words can express.

When all thoughts and feelings return to deep stillness, a person returns to the original “nonbeing.” Returning from outward manifestations to the root makes it possible to accord with the Dao of true emptiness—the fundamental principle that is still and formless. This state cannot be displayed to others. The scripture says that in the end even a sage cannot bring out the Dao for people to see; this is precisely what it means. Thus, when a thought returns to stillness and one returns to original nonbeing, the state cannot be displayed.

Once thoughts and feelings distinguish between good and evil, “being” arises from “nonbeing,” and it can no longer be concealed. Here, “nonbeing” means true emptiness, while “being” means thoughts and feelings: they suddenly emerge from true emptiness, accumulating good deeds when directed toward good and evil deeds when directed toward evil. This is the root appearing as outward signs; the traces left by good and evil naturally cannot be hidden.

When thoughts and feelings distinguish between good and evil, this is a form of awareness, like that found in sentient animals.

When thoughts and feelings return to stillness, the state is one of unawareness. No distinctions or knowledge have yet arisen; the Dao of wondrous being within true emptiness—the formless Dao that can bring forth and transform the myriad things—fills the space between Heaven and Earth and is everywhere. This chapter explains that the Dao does not belong to thoughts, feelings, or discriminating consciousness: there is no place between Heaven and Earth where the Dao is absent.

The note on the right records Chapter Fourteen.

Guan Yin Zi says: “Do not assume that because the sage keeps striving and never grows lax, the Dao is attained through diligence…”

“Do not” means that something is forbidden or must not be done. Do not say that sages attain the Dao only after striving diligently, practicing without letup, and laboring hard over time. The Dao is realized in the heart-mind and can manifest of itself. Why would it require forced effort and prolonged hardship to attain? So do not think that sages reach the Dao through diligent practice, and do not say, “The Dao is attained through toil.”

Nor should you say that sages attain the Dao by holding firm and never changing.

Do not suppose that sages reach the Dao only after clinging fast and laboring without respite. Their hearts and minds are clear: they understand the Dao and take it as their ground. The Dao is real and constant; it does not change. Sages practice Wuwei (non-action) and cling to nothing, so there is neither loss nor gain. Therefore, do not say that sages attain the Dao by holding firm without change, and do not say, “The Dao is obtained by clinging to it.”

When sages act, it is like releasing an arrow: they respond to what comes from outside; they do not act recklessly of their own accord.

An arrow is a shaft used in archery. Sages respond to things in the world with compassion and continually benefit living beings. People may think they are making great efforts, but they do not see that this action is like drawing and releasing a bow: the sage responds only after being moved by what they encounter, acting only when there is no other course. Thus, sages act like one who releases an arrow: they act in response to what comes from outside, not on their own impulse. In other words, their actions are not contrived; they respond when something calls forth a response.

When sages hold to something, it is like gripping an arrow’s shaft: they hold to it in response to the circumstances before them, rather than deliberately clinging to it.

“To hold” means to grasp or retain. The sage rests alone in quiet, and people assume that he is deliberately keeping to this state. Yet they do not realize that the sage’s composure is like holding an arrow in one’s hand before shooting it. When external things give no response, he naturally becomes quiet and says nothing. How could he be intentionally guarding silence? Thus the sage’s composure is like holding an arrow: it responds to external things, rather than arising from deliberate self-restraint. This chapter explains that whether the sage acts or rests, he is never attached to the self.

Chapter Fifteen

Guan Yin Zi said: If you seek the Dao through speech, action, learning, and knowledge, these means will turn around and follow one another endlessly, and in the end the Dao will remain beyond your reach.

The Dao has no name, so it cannot be attained through words. It has no traces or form, so it cannot be attained through action. It has no fixed rules, so it cannot be attained through learning. It has no feelings or perceptions, so it cannot be attained through knowledge. To seek the Dao by means of names, forms, rules, and feelings is like millstones revolving against each other: you remain trapped among these things. When will you awaken to the Dao? Thus it is said: the Dao has no traces or form, so it cannot be sought through action; it has no rules, so it cannot be sought through learning; it has no feelings or perceptions, so it cannot be sought through knowledge. If you cling to these approaches, you will be like millstones turning without end, never escaping them. How could you awaken to the Dao?

To treat words as an understanding of the Dao is like a spring welling up; to treat action as an understanding of the Dao is like a bird in flight; to treat learning as an understanding of the Dao is like picking up shadows; to treat knowledge as an understanding of the Dao is like calculating the contents of a dream. Once not even a single thought remains in the mind, you can accord with the Dao.

When you understand speech as the sound of a spring, you know that its sounds cannot be distinguished. Once they cannot be distinguished, you forget names and appearances. When you understand action as a bird passing through the sky, you know that its traces cannot be pursued. Once they cannot be pursued, you forget all traces of action. When you understand learning as reaching out to catch a shadow, you know that its illusions cannot be grasped. Once they cannot be grasped, you forget its rules. When you understand knowledge as calculating a dream, you know that delusions cannot be trusted. Once they cannot be trusted, you forget thoughts and feelings.

“Breath” means one inhalation and one exhalation. Within a single breath, names and appearances, traces of action, rules, and thoughts and feelings are all suddenly forgotten and leave no residue. Then one can accord with the wondrous Dao. Thus speech is like the sound of a spring, action like a bird in flight, learning like catching a shadow, and knowledge like calculating a dream. If these things do not remain in the mind for even a single breath, the Dao will accord with the person. “Xie” means to seize something with the hand. This chapter explains that the Dao does not belong to names and appearances, traces of action, rules, or thoughts and feelings; it cannot be sought through speech, action, learning, or knowledge.

The above is Chapter Sixteen.

Guan Yin Zi said, “It is difficult to establish the myriad things by relying on particular affairs; it is easy to cast them aside by following the Dao.”

Here, “affairs” means various functions, “establish” means to bring forth all kinds of wondrous workings, and “things” means people and other beings. The meaning is that it is truly difficult to bring forth all kinds of functions, benefit all under Heaven, and enable everyone to awaken to the Dao. Hence the saying, “It is difficult to establish the myriad things by relying on particular affairs.” If one can sweep everything away, return the myriad things to their root, and leave nothing behind, so that only the wondrous reality of true emptiness appears, what difficulty would there be? Hence the saying, “It is easy to cast them aside by following the Dao.”

Nothing under Heaven is easy to bring to completion, but bringing it to ruin is easy.

The myriad things under Heaven are numerous and complex; it is truly difficult to bring them all to completion. Hence the saying, “Nothing under Heaven is easy to bring to completion.” This explains, “It is difficult to establish the myriad things by relying on particular affairs.” For example, the Epang Palace of the Qin dynasty could not have been built in a single year, yet a single fire set by the people of Chu destroyed it in an instant. Does this not show that destruction is easy? Hence the saying, “Bringing it to ruin is easy.” This explains, “It is easy to cast them aside by following the Dao.” This chapter explains that establishing the myriad things is difficult, but returning them to their root is not.

The above is Chapter Seventeen.

Guan Yin Zi said: A single spark can burn all things. When everything has been burned away, where is the fire?

Fire itself has no fixed, unchanging substance. It can be made by drilling wood or striking stone. Once a spark is produced, it can be carefully kindled until the flames grow and spread through all things, like the great conflagration said to consume the world at the time of a cosmic catastrophe. When everything has burned away, the fire is gone as well. Since fire has no independent, unchanging “self,” the text asks: “A single spark can burn all things; once all things have vanished, where is the fire?” Fire serves here as a metaphor.

Likewise, in a single moment of thought, realizing the Dao (the Way) can bring all things into dark stillness. When all things have vanished, where is the Dao?

If, within a single breath, one sees through to the Dao of true emptiness—that all things lack an independent, unchanging substance—the mind becomes deep and still, with nothing fixed in it from the outset. One then ceases to cling to things outside the mind; letting go of attachment to external things, one also ceases to cling within. “Dao” is simply a name used to describe the realm of true emptiness. Thus the text asks: “The Dao in a single thought can bring all things into dark stillness; once all things have vanished, where is the Dao?” This echoes the earlier metaphor of fire. The chapter explains that those who truly realize the Dao do not cling even to the name “Dao”; in the end, “Dao” is only a name established as a makeshift designation.

Guan Yin Zi said: Among people in the world, some live only one day before they die; some live ten years before they die; and some reach a hundred years of age before they die.

People’s lifespans vary. Some die as infants, some after growing into children, and some live to a hundred before passing away. Thus the text speaks of people in the world dying after one day, ten years, or a hundred years. The different lengths of human life serve here as a metaphor.

Those who live only one day before dying represent realizing the Dao in a single moment of thought. Those who live ten or a hundred years before dying represent realizing the Dao only after a longer period.

Those with keen faculties can attain sudden awakening as soon as a teacher offers instruction and guidance. In the space of a single inhalation and exhalation, their thoughts cease and all doubts vanish. This is like a person dying that very day, hence the saying “die in one day”: it is a metaphor for attaining the Dao in a single breath.

For those of middling or lesser faculties, fully grasping a teacher’s instruction is not easy. Their understanding deepens gradually, like water slowly soaking into an object. They may spend ten or even twenty years applying themselves wholeheartedly without ever turning back. Daily experiences move them and bring them insight, until one day they understand completely and their doubts come to rest. This is like a person living in the world for ten or a hundred years before dying, hence the saying “die in ten or a hundred years”: it is a metaphor for attaining the Dao through long practice. The differing lengths of human life serve here as a metaphor for the faster or slower pace of awakening.

Those who have not yet “died” may show clarity and intelligence in their conduct and actions, but they can only be said to remain alive; they cannot yet be called “dead.”

“Those” here refers to the three kinds of people mentioned earlier: those who die in one day, in ten years, or in a hundred years. Before undergoing this “death,” they may seem clever and perceptive in stillness, movement, and action, but they are only “alive,” not yet “dead.” “Death” here is a metaphor for the disappearance of ordinary thoughts and doubts in the course of cultivating the Dao; it does not mean physical death.

Those who have not yet become one with the Great Dao may show clarity and intelligence in their conduct and actions, but this can only be called worldly affairs; it cannot be called the Dao.

“Those” here refers to the various kinds of people described earlier who awaken suddenly or gradually. Before they understand and become one with the Great Dao, even if their actions and responses display clarity and intelligence, these are only expressions of everyday human affairs; they cannot yet be called the mysterious Great Dao. This chapter explains that awakening may be sudden or gradual, but the Dao itself is the same.

Guan Yin Zi said: If you do not know that my Dao is originally without words or actions, yet insist on seeking the Dao through words and actions, then the moment you encounter an unusual person or event, you will cling to it and take it for the Dao.

Those who are deluded have not understood that the Dao has no name or outward signs. The teachings and ritual forms left by the ancients, as well as accounts of miraculous events, are only outward manifestations. If you cling to these in seeking the Dao, and set your heart on pursuing the miraculous, you may encounter an unusual person transformed by evil spirits. This person may speak of Heaven and Earth, expound events and principles, or display wondrous transformations. The deluded may mistake him for a realized sage and wish to take him as their teacher. Thus, insisting on seeking the Dao through words and actions makes it easy to encounter strange beings and fix upon them as the Dao.

They do not know that abandoning the source to pursue its branches will never bring them to the source; abandoning the root to pursue its lesser details will never bring them to the root.

The Dao must be realized within the heart. The numinous source—the mind’s lucid origin—is profound, subtle, and clear; its substance and function are originally one and true. Those who are deluded do not understand this. They take the Dao to be external names and signs, seek it outside themselves, and so lose the numinous source, chasing names and signs and wandering everywhere. The root is the source; the lesser details are its branches. Chasing those details makes it impossible to return to the source. This chapter cautions those who cultivate the Dao against pursuing external names and signs in their search for the Dao.

The above is the second section of Chapter Twenty.

Guan Yin Zi said: Practicing archery, driving a chariot, playing the zither, or playing chess—none of these can be learned in a single breath.

Practicing archery, driving a chariot, playing the zither, and playing chess all takes years of repeated effort. None of these skills can be mastered in a single breath. Thus, no one can learn archery, chariot driving, the zither, or chess in the space of one breath.

Only the Dao has neither form nor direction, so it can be realized in a single breath.

The Dao is empty in the truest sense: it has no appearance and no fixed direction. Those with keen natural capacities can suddenly awaken to this emptiness in the present moment and fully understand it in a single breath. Thus, only the Dao, having neither form nor direction, can be realized in a single breath. This chapter explains that, compared with worldly skills, the Dao is easy to learn.

Chapter Twenty-One

Guan Yin Zi says: When two people meet to compete in archery, it becomes clear whose skill is superior and whose is inferior; when two people meet to play chess, the winner and loser can be distinguished.

When two archers compete, the one who hits the target shows superior skill, while the one who misses appears clumsy. Thus, when two people meet to compete in archery, their relative skill becomes clear. When two people play chess, the winner prevails and the loser is defeated. Thus, when two people meet to play chess, the winner and loser can be distinguished.

But when two people meet on the Way, there is nothing to display. Since there is nothing to demonstrate, there can be no question of superior or inferior skill, victory or defeat.

When two people who have fully realized the wondrous Dao meet, there is nothing for them to display to each other and nothing by which to compare themselves. With nothing to display, they are unlike archers or players of chess, whose skill can be judged and whose contests can be won or lost. Thus, when two realized people meet, there is nothing to display; when there is nothing to display, there can be no ranking, victory, or defeat. This chapter explains that the Dao has no higher or lower, no victory or defeat, and cannot be displayed to others.

This is the twenty-second chapter.

Guan Yin Zi said, “My Dao is like the ocean. Cast in billions of pieces of gold, and the ocean does not seem any greater; cast in billions of stones, and it does not seem any smaller; cast in billions of impurities, and it is not changed by them.”

The commentary explains that the ocean is a metaphor for the true void—the Dao’s empty, still, formless, and featureless state. Gold represents subtle words and wondrous practices; stones represent various good deeds; impurities represent various evil deeds. The true void can contain and unite every wondrous principle, good deed, and evil deed without revealing any trace. Thus, whether gold, stones, or impurities are cast into the ocean, no change can be seen.

The ocean can carry both small fish and great whales.

The commentary explains that small fish represent ordinary beings, while great whales represent noble and worthy people. The true void can sustain both ordinary beings and the worthy, treating them equally and benefiting them all. From birth until death, people are continually nourished by it, yet in daily life they often use it without knowing.

When many streams flow together, the ocean does not seem too full; when many streams flow away, it does not seem depleted.

Add the Empty Void—the formless, life-filled ground of being—and it does not become full. Thus, it profoundly contains Heaven, Earth, and all things, yet gains nothing by doing so. Diminish the Empty Void, and it suffers no loss. Thus, it gives birth to Heaven, Earth, and all things, yet is in no way depleted. It is like gathering many waters together: the Empty Void does not seem to have more than enough. Scatter those waters, and it does not seem to have too little. This chapter explains that the Dao lacks nothing and has nothing in excess, and so there is nothing it cannot contain.

This is Chapter Twenty-Three.

Guan Yin says: “My Dao is like being in darkness. Those in a bright place cannot see anything in the dark, while those in the dark can see many things in the bright.”

The Dao is the Empty Void: deep and obscure, its transformations of Yin-Yang are difficult to fathom, and even spirits and gods cannot peer into it. That is why it is said, “My Dao is like being in darkness”: those in a bright place cannot see what lies in the dark. Though the Empty Void is deep and unfathomable, and beyond the gaze of spirits and gods, when it acts upon things it is like drawing wine from a vessel and pouring it into a cup. When it responds to all things, it is like a hanging mirror that reflects forms. It is also like a vast valley echoing a sound: silent and still in itself, it responds when touched by things from outside. Nothing can escape its awareness. That is why it is said that those in the dark can see many things in the bright. This chapter explains that the Dao is deep and difficult to fathom, yet its responses to change are inexhaustible.

This is Chapter Twenty-Four.

Guan Yin says: “The means and actions of petty people all tend toward evil.”

“Means” refers to the ways one acts and makes use of things. Petty people are ignorant and confused, and all their actions tend toward evil. The evils meant here include killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, false speech, flattering words, sowing discord, as well as greed, anger, delusion, defiance of what is right, and failure to be filial, loyal, humane, or righteous. That is why it is said that everything petty people do tends toward evil.

“The means and actions of exemplary people all tend toward good.”

Exemplary people understand the Way of things, and all their actions tend toward good. The good meant here includes refraining from killing, stealing, and sexual misconduct; speaking no deceitful words; refusing to flatter; and respectfully practicing the Five Constant Virtues—humaneness, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—along with all manner of good deeds. That is why it is said that everything exemplary people do tends toward good.

“The means and actions of sages all tend toward having nothing to gain. Precisely because they have nothing to gain, they accord with the Dao.”

The sage benefits all things equally, seeking no reward and asking no one to repay a kindness. The highest virtue does not deliberately present itself as virtuous. It can follow change and has no fixed method; it leaves behind all kinds of biased views, transcends every form and appearance, and ultimately attains nothing. If forced to give it a name, one might call it “true emptiness.”

Thus the sage’s expedient actions ultimately return to attaining nothing. It is precisely because nothing is attained that this can be called the Dao. This chapter explains that the Dao is not confined by distinctions between good and evil, but far transcends all forms of existence.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Guan Yin Zi said, “My Dao is like a sword: when its blade cuts something, it can put its sharpness to use; when a hand grips the blade, the hand is wounded.”

Here the sword is used as a metaphor for the Dao. The Dao joins with all things and benefits them everywhere, just as a sword puts its edge to use by cutting. But if one clings to the Dao and becomes attached to fixed views, one obscures one’s nature and loses the Dao. That is why gripping the blade wounds the hand. This chapter explains that the Dao can benefit all things widely, while those who lose themselves in attachment harm only themselves.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Guan Yin Zi said, “A bamboo vessel does not question a ritual vessel, and the ritual vessel does not answer the bamboo vessel. Tile does not question stone, and stone does not answer tile. Yet the Dao has never been lost.”

The Dao is everywhere. Though bamboo vessels, ritual vessels, tile, and stone do not consciously question or answer one another, they remain within the workings of the Dao. It is as though they ask and answer every day, though in truth no question or answer takes place; the Dao is not diminished by this. Such inanimate things themselves manifest the principle of the Dao, though the deluded fail to notice. This is what is meant by “not answering, yet concealing the true meaning; answering, yet without prejudice. In what is unknown, there is true knowledge.”

Question and answer seem like the back-and-forth of a single breath. Where, then, is the Dao?

The Dao has no questions or answers to begin with. Before questions and answers arise, if one can observe the state in which they have not yet arisen, the mind will not stir. When the mind does not stir, the One Qi (the inner movement of vital energy) does not flow back and forth. When the One Qi does not flow back and forth, the mind has neither arising nor ceasing. Without arising or ceasing, one accords with the wondrous Dao.

Once the thought of asking or answering arises, the mind turns in a particular direction, and Qi moves along with it. Thus each question and answer sets the One Qi in motion; when the One Qi flows back and forth, one moves farther from the Dao. So the moment one tries to grasp that very first thought, one has already fallen into distinctions. Amid questions and answers, and the movement of Qi, where is the Dao? This chapter explains that the Dao is everywhere, yet attachment to questions and answers takes one farther from it.

This concludes Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who look up toward the Dao go astray; those who pursue the Dao become entangled in confusion. They know only the Dao’s workings, not the Dao itself.

“Looking up” means longing for and admiring; “rushing” means hastening in pursuit; and “going toward” means heading for. To admire the Dao of the sages but feel unable to attain it because one longs for it is what “those who look up toward the Dao go astray” means. To rush outward in pursuit of the wondrous Dao and fail to find it is what “those who go toward the Dao become entangled” means. “Workings” refers to what the Dao does. Longing and pursuit are only workings of the Dao. If one loses sight of the root by following its workings, one knows only the Dao’s workings and not the Dao itself. The saying “The source of the Dao is not far away; the sea of one’s nature is not remote” means simply to seek within oneself rather than from others. Deliberate searching cannot find it, and even if one thinks one has found it, it is not the true Dao. That is the point.

Therefore, sages do not feel deficient because they have not attained the Dao, nor do they rely on the Dao to feel complete. They do not use the Dao to elevate the sages, nor do they treat it as a commodity to sell to the foolish.

“Deficiency” means lacking or falling short; “abundance” means having more than enough; “borrowing” means taking something on loan; and “selling” means offering something for sale. “Therefore” links what came before to the conclusion that follows.

The wondrous Dao of the True Void—the pure and still, indescribable Dao of one’s original nature—is already complete and whole, lacking nothing and exceeding nothing. The sages understand this completely. They do not expect to obtain something from the Dao to make up for a lack, nor do they treat the Dao as surplus capital of their own. Everyone already possesses the Dao and need not borrow it from the sages. Nor can the sages bring the Dao out to display it to others, much less sell it to those who do not understand it. Thus, the sages seek nothing from the Dao and do not rely on it as though they had something to spare; people need not borrow the Dao from the sages, and the sages do not sell it to the ignorant.

This chapter explains that everyone already possesses the Dao and has no need to borrow from or give it to one another.

The text above is Chapter Twenty-Eight.

The first volume of Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing is complete.

The second volume is titled “The Two Pillars.” “Pillars” refers to the wondrous workings that establish Heaven and Earth and set Yin-Yang in motion. This section contains twelve chapters.

Variants such as “Everyone can attain the mandate of life and penetrate the mystery” reflect differences in wording among editions.

Guan Yin Zi said: Bowls, basins, bottles, jars, urns, and crocks—all reveal the principles of Heaven and Earth, whether their shapes are intact or damaged.

These six kinds of vessels are all everyday utensils. Their exteriors are solid and their interiors are empty: the solid aspect belongs to Yin, and the empty aspect to Yang. Yang corresponds to Heaven, Yin to Earth. Thus, the subtle principles governing Heaven and Earth can also be seen in these vessels. Since all things can serve as points of reference, these vessels are said to reveal Heaven and Earth.

Turtle-shell divination, yarrow-stalk divination, broken tiles, and patterns in stone can all foretell good or ill fortune.

“Signs” means indications of good or ill fortune. In turtle-shell divination, people heat a shell with fire and read the resulting cracks to judge what is auspicious or inauspicious. “Counting the yarrow stalks” means divining with yarrow: each bundle contains fifty stalks, and, following the Great Expansion number of the Yi Jing (Classic of Changes), one uses forty-nine of them to perform the divination. The stalks are divided into two groups, symbolizing the Two Modes of Heaven and Earth; one stalk is set aside, symbolizing an intercalary month; then the groups are divided and counted to symbolize the four seasons. Three rounds of this procedure form one line, and eighteen transformations make a hexagram. Once the hexagram is established, it is used to judge good or ill fortune.

“Broken tiles” refers to tile divination: a tile is smashed, and an odd number of fragments, belonging to Yang, is taken as an auspicious sign; an even number, belonging to Yin, is taken as inauspicious. “Stone patterns” means judging good or ill fortune by observing the patterns formed when a stone is struck and cracked. Straight patterns in an odd number belong to Yang and are auspicious; slanting patterns in an even number belong to Yin and are inauspicious. Thus turtle-shell divination, yarrow-stalk divination, broken tiles, and stone patterns can all reveal good or ill fortune.

From this we can understand that the principles of Heaven and Earth are fully contained in a single thing. Every object contains these principles in its own way; none depends on or borrows them from another.

It is important to understand that everyday objects such as bowls, cups, bottles, pots, jars, and urns can all embody the principles of Heaven and Earth. Tortoise shells, yarrow stalks, broken tiles, and stones can likewise be used to divine good and ill fortune. From this we can see that the principles governing Heaven and Earth are present in all things. The “Dao” here refers to the fundamental principles inherent in Heaven and Earth and all things; it is not something created through human cultivation. The Dao is everywhere: things flourish when they accord with it and perish when they lose it. Thus, every thing contains the wondrous principles of the Dao—not because the thing itself encloses the Dao, but because nothing in Heaven and Earth exists apart from it. Each thing has its own principles complete within itself and need not borrow them from anything else.

My sincere intent joins with the vital energy of that object. The two energies respond to one another, and a wondrous efficacy appears.

“that object” refers to a tortoise shell, yarrow stalks, a tile, or a stone; “I” refers to the person performing the divination. Dry tortoise shells and yarrow stalks, and hard tiles and stones, have no spirit of their own and cannot know good or ill fortune in advance. The diviner brings their sincere intent into accord with the principles of Heaven and Earth embodied in these objects. The two respond to one another, and a wondrous efficacy then appears.

When a female bird mates with a male, life takes shape in the egg; when a female animal mates with a male, the young develops within the mother.

The pairing of birds is described as “female” and “male.” Animals with eight orifices are born from eggs; the pairing of beasts is described as “female” and “male,” and animals with nine orifices are carried in the womb.

“‘Those’ refers to the two partners in the union of male and female, the Yin and Yang. When they respond to one another and their spirits and vital energies merge as one, an embryo forms. Its physical substance is made from the partners’ essence and Qi. ‘Principle’ refers to an inherent nature that can be known: the intention of the spirit at the union of male and female, the Yin and Yang. Thus the physical substance is the essence of ‘those,’ while principle is their spirit.

“‘Affection’ is the essence within oneself; ‘contemplation’ is the spirit within oneself. Affection belongs to Water, and contemplation to Fire. When affection and contemplation hold fast to one another and unite, they transform into Wood. When contemplation persists and affection joins with it, they are gathered in and transform into Metal.

“Here, ‘I’ refers generally to each person. As soon as a person gives rise to affection, it belongs to their own essence and feeling. Turning one’s gaze toward an external thing and observing its form and color belongs to one’s own spirit. Essence belongs to Water, so affection belongs to Water; spirit belongs to Fire, so contemplation belongs to Fire. When affection and contemplation unite, they transform into Wood: twisting and pressing Wood can produce Water, revealing the form of the mother; drilling Wood to make Fire can produce Fire, revealing the form of the child. Contemplation is spirit, and affection is essence. When the two remain present to one another and unite, they are gathered in and transform into Metal: striking Metal can produce Fire, revealing the form of the husband; melting Metal can produce Water, revealing the form of the child. Thus affection is the essence within oneself, and contemplation is the spirit within oneself; affection belongs to Water, contemplation to Fire, and when affection and contemplation unite they transform into Wood. When contemplation persists and affection joins with it, they are gathered in and transform into Metal.

“First, visualize the primordial One Qi—the Qi that is the source of all things—present within a particular thing. Then hold fast to its form with affection, and attune yourself to its nature through still, settled contemplation. Its image will then appear.”

“Her” refers to the mother. The father’s original nature is truly empty and still. Within this still, empty nature, a thought and desire suddenly arise, just as “the Dao gives birth to the One Qi.” Thus, one first thinks of the primordial Qi. Once desire has arisen, the mother’s image has already taken shape in consciousness; hence it is said that a concrete image is present in the mind. The father clings to this feeling, imagining the primordial Qi, and joins with the mother’s body so that their Jing and blood unite. Thus, with a heart attached to desire, he joins with the mother’s physical form.

The parents’ feelings and awareness respond to one another, mingling in a deep, indistinct state. From contemplating the body comes a thought of desire, which then leads to their joining. When the father’s and mother’s natures of awareness unite, the image of the fetus takes shape. Since the human body already exists in the womb, it is said that, in the deep and indistinct state, one contemplates it and accords with its principle, and its form appears. Here, “principle” refers to the nature of awareness. The passage above discusses the mating and mutual response of animals and humans, and also describes how the Qi of concentrated sincerity can elicit a numinous response from turtles and tiles or stones.

The Qi image of one cycle—the course of a single change in Taiji—extends throughout space: rising from the center, it forms Heaven; descending from the center, it forms Earth.

“The Dao gives birth to the One”: the Dao is Wuji, and the “One” is Taiji. Wuji gives birth to Taiji, within which the forms of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are already contained. Although Taiji encompasses all phenomena, it has not yet departed from Wuji. Hence it is said that the Qi image of one cycle extends throughout space; “space” here means Wuji.

Taiji stirs, and movement gives birth to Yang. Yang Qi is light and clear; rising from Taiji’s center, it gathers and forms Heaven. Hence it is said to rise from the center and become Heaven. When movement reaches its utmost point, it turns to stillness, and stillness gives birth to Yin. Yin Qi is heavy and turbid; descending from Taiji’s center, it gathers and forms Earth. Hence it is said to descend from the center and become Earth.

Nothing rises without falling, and nothing falls without rising.

At the winter solstice, the Qi of Yang begins to sprout. Over thirty-six periods, Yang Qi gradually rises throughout 180 days, reaching the highest point in the heavens. When Yang Qi reaches its peak, Yin Qi begins to arise. At the summer solstice, the Qi of Yin begins to sprout. Likewise, over thirty-six periods, Yin Qi gradually descends throughout 180 days, reaching the lowest point on earth. When Yin Qi reaches its peak, Yang Qi begins to arise again. Qi of the Yang kind naturally rises, while Qi of the Yin kind naturally descends. Rising and descending alternate in an unceasing cycle, so all things continue to grow and change without end. Where there is rising, there is falling; without rising and falling, there would be no life or death. Thus, nothing rises without falling, and nothing falls without rising.

Rising belongs to Fire; descending belongs to Water.

Fire belongs to Yang and naturally rises upward; its upward flames are the very image of rising. Water belongs to Yin and naturally flows downward; it is the very image of descending. Hence, what rises is Fire, and what descends is Water.

Wood is what wishes to rise but cannot; Metal is what wishes to descend but cannot.

Water generates Wood, and Wood generates Fire. Fire is Wood’s offspring, while Water is Wood’s mother. The relationship between Water and Fire in their rising and descending is contained within Wood: Fire wishes to rise, Water wishes to descend, while the Qi of Wood wishes to rise but cannot. Hence, Wood is what wishes to rise but cannot.

Water is Metal’s offspring, while Fire is Metal’s mate. Their relationship is also contained within Metal: Water wishes to descend, Fire wishes to rise, while the Qi of Metal wishes to descend but cannot. Hence, Metal is what wishes to descend but cannot.

Wood can yield Fire when drilled and release Water when squeezed and pressed. Metal sparks when struck and becomes liquid when melted. Metal and Wood occupy the position where Water and Fire meet.

Drilling wood can produce fire; this reveals the nature of the “son.” Twisting wood can produce water; this reveals the nature of the “mother.” Here, the text explains why wood wants to rise but cannot: wood can yield fire when drilled and water when twisted.

Striking metal can produce fire; this reveals the nature of the “husband.” Melting metal can produce water; this reveals the nature of the “son.” Here, the text explains why metal wants to descend but cannot: metal can yield water when struck. From this we can see that metal and wood each possess the qualities of water and fire. They unite and give birth to transformation, forming metal and wood. Thus, metal and wood are products of the union of water and fire.

Water represents Jing (essence) and Heaven; fire represents Shen (spirit) and Earth.

Water is Yang within Yin. For example, the Kan trigram is Yin as a whole, while its central line is Yang. Yang tends to rise and symbolizes Heaven. In correspondence with the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), water belongs to the Water phase; in correspondence with Qi (vital energy), water symbolizes Heaven; in the human body, it symbolizes Jing; in direction, it corresponds to the north; in season, to winter; in number, to one and six; in trigram, to Kan; among the Five Constant Virtues, to wisdom; among the stars, to the North Star; among the sacred mountains, to Hengshan; among the internal organs, to the kidneys; among the earthly branches, to Hai and Zi; and among the heavenly stems, to Ren and Gui. Thus, water represents Jing and Heaven.

Fire is Yin within Yang. For example, the Li trigram is Yang as a whole, while its central line is Yin. Yin tends to descend and symbolizes Earth. In correspondence with the Five Phases, fire belongs to the Fire phase; in correspondence with Qi, fire symbolizes Earth; in the human body, it symbolizes Shen; in direction, it corresponds to the south; in season, to summer; in number, to two and seven; in trigram, to Li; among the Five Constant Virtues, to propriety; among the stars, to the Planet of Fire; among the sacred mountains, to Hengshan; among the internal organs, to the heart; among the earthly branches, to Si and Wu; and among the heavenly stems, to Bing and Ding. Thus, fire represents Shen and Earth.

Wood represents the hun (ethereal soul) and humanity; metal represents the po (corporeal soul) and things.

In the Five Phases, Wood corresponds to Wood; in the classification of Qi, it corresponds to human beings, and at the level of spirit, to the hun soul. In direction, it corresponds to the east; in season, to spring; in number, to three and eight; in the Bagua, to the Zhen trigram; among the Five Constants, to benevolence; among the stars, to Jupiter; among the Five Sacred Mountains, to Mount Tai; among the five organs, to the liver; among the Earthly Branches, to Yin and Mao; and among the Heavenly Stems, to Jia and Yi. Thus, Wood represents both the hun soul and the human being.

In the Five Phases, Metal corresponds to Metal; in the classification of Qi, it corresponds to things, and at the level of spirit, to the po soul. In direction, it corresponds to the west; in season, to autumn; in number, to four and nine; in the Bagua, to the Dui trigram; among the Five Constants, to righteousness; among the stars, to Venus; among the Five Sacred Mountains, to Mount Hua; among the five organs, to the lungs; among the Earthly Branches, to Shen and You; and among the Heavenly Stems, to Geng and Xin. Thus, Metal represents both the po soul and things.

The ceaseless movement that never comes to a halt constitutes the four seasons. The Five Phases revolve in cycles, giving rise to spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Thus, what moves without ceasing is the seasonal cycle. Heaven and Earth contain one another, and all things find their place; together they form the space of the four directions above and below. Thus, what contains all things and gives each its place is direction.

Only Earth runs through all things from beginning to end. Some can explain its underlying principle, while others can reveal it.

Earth has no fixed season in which it governs, but flourishes in all four seasons. From the beginning to the end of the year, the growth and ripening of all things depend on Earth’s Qi: spring and summer mark the beginning of growth, while autumn and winter bring ripening to completion. Thus Earth is said to run through the whole cycle.

“Dissolution” refers to Earth’s Qi dispersing and lying hidden. In the first and second months, Wood is flourishing and Earth’s Qi lies hidden. In the third month, Wood flourishes for twelve days and Earth for eighteen. Here, “flourishing” means becoming manifest and governing the season. In the fourth and fifth months, Fire flourishes and Earth’s Qi lies hidden; in the sixth month, Fire flourishes for twelve days and Earth for eighteen. In the seventh and eighth months, Metal flourishes and Earth’s Qi lies hidden; in the ninth month, Metal flourishes for twelve days and Earth for eighteen. In the tenth and eleventh months, Water flourishes and Earth’s Qi lies hidden; in the twelfth month, Water flourishes for twelve days and Earth for eighteen.

Among the Five Phases (Wuxing), Earth corresponds to Earth; in direction, it occupies the center; in the seasons, it corresponds to all four seasons; in number, to fifty; in the trigrams, to Kun and Gen; among the Five Constant Virtues, to trustworthiness; among the celestial lodges, to the Planet Saturn; among the Five Sacred Mountains, to Mount Song; among the earthly branches, to Chen, Xu, Chou, and Wei; among the heavenly stems, to Wu and Ji; among the organs, to the spleen; and among mental activities, to intention.

When people hear subtle words, if they can grasp them with wondrous insight, they can gain the subtle means of self-cultivation. Hence the text says, “There are those who understand.” Once they have understood, they can perfect themselves and help others. For those of the highest capacity, a restrained gesture is enough to point the way, and they awaken at once. The wondrous insight at this point goes beyond what is ordinarily called “wondrous insight.” Hence the text says, “There are those who show.”

This chapter explains how the wondrous workings of Heaven, Earth, and all things are established.

Chapter One

Guan Yin says: The people under Heaven are so numerous that they cannot be counted, even in the hundreds of millions.

The people of the world are countless in kind and number. They cannot be measured by figures such as “one hundred thousand make one hundred million” or “one billion make one trillion.” Thus, there are more people in the world than can be counted in millions or trillions.

Each person’s dreams are different, and the dreams of each night differ as well. In dreams there are Heaven and Earth, people and things—all formed by thoughts of the mind. When the people of the world dream on the same night, their dreams vary; and each person’s dreams change from night to night. Their number is therefore as great as dust and impossible to calculate.

“Dust” refers to the tiny motes that drift in a beam of sunlight. People dream of Heaven and Earth, people and things because they have encountered these in daily life and become attached to them. When they dream, the mind and spirit are muddled, and the corpse-soul—the soul associated with the body—takes the lead. Impressions left behind from daily life then appear, stirred by thought.

If the people of the world dream on the same night and their dreams are still all different, how much more varied must each person’s dreams be from night to night? Their number is beyond counting. So how do we know that the Heaven and Earth before our eyes are not also formed by some kind of thought?

“Stillness” means tranquility. If we observe the myriad things of Heaven and Earth while fully awake, would we not find that they seem to have no thoughts? This passage speaks of those who have not yet awakened: their understanding is influenced by external things, so what they see in the myriad things of Heaven and Earth is no different from what they see when fully awake, because they remain deluded day and night. How, then, can we know that the things of Heaven and Earth before us are not thinking? This chapter explains that the distinctions between delusion and awakening, and between dreaming and waking, as well as the many ways the myriad things of Heaven and Earth appear, may all be produced by deluded perception.

Guan Yinzi said, “The heart corresponds to the jujube, the liver to the elm; I am connected with Heaven and Earth.”

The myriad things born of Heaven and Earth each belong to one of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Jujubes are red and belong to Fire; within the body’s organs, Fire corresponds to the heart. Hence the heart corresponds to the jujube. Elms are green and belong to Wood; within the organs, Wood corresponds to the liver. Hence the liver corresponds to the elm. The Yin and Yang Qi of Heaven and Earth interact and give rise to jujubes and elms. Since the heart corresponds to the jujube and the liver to the elm, I am connected with Heaven and Earth.

“When the sky is about to turn cloudy, I dream of water; when it is about to clear, I dream of fire. Heaven and Earth are connected with me.”

When the Qi of Heaven is about to descend and the Qi of Earth is about to rise, clouds gather and rain is near. Yin Qi then resonates with a person, who dreams of water at night. This is what is meant by “when it is about to turn cloudy, I dream of water.” When the Qi of Heaven begins to draw back from its descent and the Qi of Earth from its ascent, Yang Qi resonates with a person, who dreams of fire at night. This is what is meant by “when it is about to clear, I dream of fire.” The Yin and Yang Qi of Heaven and Earth first resonate with a person, causing dreams of water or fire. This shows that Heaven and Earth are connected with people, hence the saying, “Heaven and Earth are connected with me.”

Between me and Heaven and Earth, there is both likeness and correspondence, and also an apparent separation; in the end, each returns to its own pure, original state.

Heaven and Earth are connected with me, and I am connected with Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth are connected with me as well. This shows that I seem to accord with Heaven and Earth, yet do not fully coincide with them. There are people within Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth within the human body. Heaven and Earth are like the great cosmos, while a person is like a small cosmos. The two may seem far apart, but in fact they are not; hence I both accord with Heaven and Earth and seem separate from them.

Heaven and Earth and I come into being together. Heaven and Earth have the Dao, and people have the Dao as well. The Dao is pure and undivided, complete and true from the beginning. Heaven, Earth, and humanity ultimately all return to the Dao; thus each of the myriad things returns purely to its source. This chapter explains how Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things come into being together.

Third Chapter

Guan Yin Zi said: Although Heaven and Earth are vast, they have colors, forms, fixed measures, and directions.

The sky is dark and profound in color, while the earth is dusky yellow; thus Heaven and Earth have colors. Heaven is round and Earth is square; thus they have forms. Since Heaven and Earth have colors and forms, they will eventually return to the soil; thus they have a fixed measure. Heaven and Earth are bounded by above and below and the eight directions; thus they have directions. Vast though they are, Heaven and Earth still have colors and forms that can be observed, as well as measures and directions that can be exhausted. This is the meaning of “Although Heaven and Earth are vast, they have colors, forms, measures, and directions.”

The Dao I speak of, however, has no color, form, fixed measure, or direction. It makes Heaven Heaven and Earth Earth, yet it exists forever.

What I possess is the Dao of “true emptiness.” It cannot be seen, so it has no color; it cannot be grasped, so it has no form. True emptiness is boundless, so it has no fixed measure; it is not limited by any place, so it has no direction. The Dao of true emptiness gives rise to Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth have a fixed measure and eventually return to the soil. After returning to the soil, they come into being again; after coming into being, they return to the soil once more. Thus they are born and perish in an endless cycle, while the Dao itself is neither born nor destroyed and endures through vast eons. Therefore, the Dao has no color, form, fixed measure, or direction, yet it makes Heaven Heaven and Earth Earth and exists forever. This chapter explains that Heaven and Earth undergo generation and destruction, while the Dao does not.

Guan Yin Zi said: Some people die in the womb; some living creatures die in the egg. Though they possess the nature of a person or an animal, they never come into the world. However vast Heaven and Earth may be, they have no way of knowing them.

“Those who die in the womb” and “those who die in the egg” refers to the life-nature of people or animals entering a womb or egg, then perishing before birth. Since they are never born and develop perception, they naturally do not know the vastness of Heaven and Earth.

Our ability to measure and conceive of Heaven and Earth arises entirely from our own distinctions and understanding.

While still in the womb, a person does not yet know Heaven and Earth. Only after being born and growing up do they begin to know that what is above is called “Heaven” and what is below is called “Earth.” From childhood to old age, people carry this understanding with them. Thus, the distinctions and ideas we call Heaven and Earth are formed by our own habits of differentiation and consciousness.

For example, if the hand does not touch a blade, the blade cannot injure it.

The hand represents human understanding, and the blade represents Heaven and Earth. If the hand does not touch the blade, the blade cannot injure it. If consciousness does not cling to Heaven and Earth, they cannot obscure one’s inherent nature. When consciousness is forgotten, one no longer knows that Heaven and Earth exist. This chapter explains that deluded attachment in consciousness can become an obstacle to cultivating the Dao.

Chapter Five

Guan Yin Zi said: Dreams, mirrors, and water all present images of Heaven and Earth.

When people sleep and dream, they vaguely see Heaven and Earth and their inhabitants. A mirror can reflect Heaven and Earth and their inhabitants; a clear pool can also reflect the scenery above and below, along with the nearby mountains, rivers, and open country. Thus, images of Heaven and Earth appear in dreams, mirrors, and water.

To make Heaven and Earth disappear from a dream, keep yourself from falling asleep. To make them disappear from a mirror, keep your form from being reflected. To make them disappear from water, do not draw water from a basin.

Those who are deluded have not awakened to this: true emptiness and stillness are not obstructed by Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth do not impede true emptiness. It is only the deluded mind, steeped in habitual tendencies, that takes the Heaven and Earth in a dream for reality. Yet it does not know that the dream itself is illusory. How, then, could it remove them from the dream? If it tried to remove them by force, it would be unable to sleep peacefully. Thus, trying to rid a dream of Heaven and Earth only makes one unable to sleep.

The ancients cast mirrors to reveal people’s features. A mirror turned toward the sky shows the sky; turned toward the ground, it shows the ground. The mirror itself has no awareness. It is only the deluded mind that mistakes the images in the mirror for Heaven and Earth. How could the mirror know anything of this? And how could Heaven and Earth be removed from the mirror? To remove them, one could simply smash the mirror—but once broken, it could no longer reveal people’s beauty or ugliness. Thus, trying to rid a mirror of Heaven and Earth leaves it unable to show people’s features.

When water is clear, it reflects the sky above and the fields and hills around it. It also nourishes all things, and people draw it for drinking and the needs of daily life. To remove Heaven and Earth from the water, one could simply let the water dry up—but then there would be no water to draw into a vessel. Thus, trying to rid water of Heaven and Earth leaves the vessel with nothing to draw.

Whether things exist or do not exist depends on one’s own understanding, not on the things themselves. Therefore, the sage does not eliminate Heaven and Earth, but dispels the deluded mind.

“Other” refers to the images seen in a dream, while “this” refers to the consciousness that makes distinctions. It is like dreaming while gazing into a mirror of water: sometimes one dreams of Heaven and Earth, and sometimes one does not. If Heaven and Earth do not appear in the dream, then there is no Heaven and Earth within it. Whether Heaven and Earth exist in the dream is a matter of the consciousness making distinctions and judgments on its own; it does not depend on the images seen in the dream. Thus, whether Heaven and Earth exist in the dream depends on the consciousness here, not on the images there.

“Therefore” links what came before to what follows. The sage has realized true emptiness—the fact that nothing has a fixed, unchanging self-nature—and has stilled the turmoil of discriminating thoughts, making them clear as a deep pool. The sage understands that Heaven and Earth are empty, each at ease in its own way, with neither obstructing the other. Thus, the sage need not eliminate Heaven and Earth, but only deluded consciousness. This chapter explains that awakening can dispel deluded consciousness, and that within true emptiness, things do not obstruct one another.

The passage on the right is Chapter Six.

Guan Yin Zi says: Heaven did not become Heaven by itself; there is a source that made it Heaven. Earth did not become Earth by itself; there is a source that made it Earth.

Heaven and Earth cannot generate themselves. What generates them is the Dao. The Dao gives birth to One; “One” refers to the Supreme Ultimate. One gives birth to Two; “Two” refers to Heaven and Earth. Thus, Heaven did not become Heaven on its own, and Earth did not become Earth on its own.

This is like houses, boats, and carts: they all depend on people to build them and cannot form by themselves.

Heaven and Earth depend on the Dao to come into being, just as houses, boats, and carts take shape only when people build them. How could they form by themselves? We can therefore understand that Heaven and Earth, too, depend on the Dao’s transformation of the primal Qi of the Supreme Ultimate—the primordial energy from which Heaven, Earth, and all things arise—in order to come into being. Thus, houses, boats, and carts are made by people and cannot form on their own. Here, “other” refers to Heaven and Earth.

When you know that Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things depend on something, and that the Great Dao (the Way) exists without depending on anything, you no longer see Heaven above and Earth below, nor cling to an inner “self” and an outer “other.”

Heaven and Earth depend on the Dao for their generation, but the Dao itself does not depend on anything else to arise. The scripture says, “I do not know whose descendant it is; it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven.” This refers to the Dao. Here, “knowing” means awakening: grasping the wondrous Dao and understanding that it transcends relative distinctions. Once distinctions are transcended, opposing concepts such as above and below, Heaven and Earth, inside and outside, self and other no longer appear. This chapter explains that Heaven and Earth arise from the Dao, while the Dao is not constrained by opposites or by life and death.

Guan Yin Zi says: What undergoes change over time is Qi (vital energy); what does not belong to Qi has never been subject to day and night.

The passage of time results from the movement and transformation of Qi. The wondrous Dao is empty, still, and formless; it is not Qi. Before the Dao gave rise to the One Qi, Heaven, Earth, the sun, and the moon did not yet exist, so there could be no day and night or the twelve double-hours. Thus, what undergoes change over time is Qi; what does not belong to Qi has no day or night.

What has direction is a thing with form; what has no form has never had a distinction between north and south.

Directions are determined by form. The wondrous Dao is empty, still, and formless. Before the Dao gave rise to the One Qi, Heaven and Earth and the positions of things with form did not yet exist, so there could be no four directions—east, west, south, and north. Thus, what has direction is a thing with form; what has no form has no north or south.

What does it mean to “not belong to Qi”? It means the source from which Qi arises. For example, wind appears when a canopy is shaken. Before it is shaken, that gust of wind does not exist; only after the shaking do we call it wind.

What is meant by “the wondrous Dao of true emptiness”? It is not Qi itself, as the term is usually understood, but the source from which Qi arises. When someone waves a bamboo fan, a breeze comes and cools them. This is like the Dao’s transformation giving rise to a single Qi. Before the fan is waved, the breeze has not yet appeared; after it is waved, the breeze becomes perceptible. This is what is called “Qi.”

What is meant by “without form”? It is the source from which form arises. Consider making fire by drilling wood: before the wood is drilled, fire has no visible shape; once the drilling begins, fire appears. This is what is called “form.”

The “true emptiness of the Dao” spoken of here is the source from which the forms of Heaven and Earth arise. Fire appearing after wood is drilled can serve as a metaphor for Taiji (the fundamental state from which the cosmos generates and transforms), differentiating into forms such as high and low, thick and thin. Just as fire has no visible shape before the wood is drilled, Taiji has not yet appeared. When fire emerges after drilling, this is like Wuji (the undifferentiated origin) appearing as Taiji; Taiji then differentiates, and the positions and forms of Heaven and Earth take shape.

This chapter explains that the Dao is not constrained by time, Qi and its cycles, or direction.

Guan Yin Zi says: Changes such as cold, heat, warmth, and freezing are like things such as tiles and stones: placed over fire, they become hot; placed in water, they… [the original text is unfinished here].

Guan Yinzi said: Changes in cold, heat, warmth, and chill are like a tile or stone. Place a tile or stone over a fire, and it becomes hot; put it in water, and it becomes cold. Breathe warm air onto it for a long time, and it grows warm; blow cool air onto it for a long time, and it grows cool.

The Dao sets primordial Qi (the fundamental energy that makes up all things between Heaven and Earth) in motion, bringing about changes in Yin-Yang and the Five Phases. In this way, winter’s cold, summer’s heat, spring’s warmth, and autumn’s coolness take shape. As the seasons change, primordial Qi responds to outside influences just as a tile or stone does: in summer, Fire Qi is strong, and primordial Qi grows hot along with it; in winter, Water Qi is strong, and primordial Qi grows bitterly cold along with it. When someone breathes warm air onto a tile or stone for a long time, it grows warm; in spring, Wood Qi is strong, and primordial Qi likewise grows mild. When someone blows cool air onto a tile or stone for a long time, it grows cool; in autumn, Metal Qi is strong, and primordial Qi likewise grows cool. Thus the changes in cold, heat, warmth, and chill are like a tile or stone growing hot over a fire, cold in water, warm from breathed air, and cool from blown air.

External things come and go, but the tile or stone itself does not.

A tile or stone has no cold, heat, warmth, or chill in itself. Only when acted upon by external things—soaked in water, heated by fire, breathed upon, or blown on—does it display changes of cold, heat, warmth, and coolness. These changes come and go, but the tile or stone itself undergoes no coming or going of change. Hence the saying: external things come and go, but the tile or stone itself does not. The tile or stone is an analogy: primordial Qi itself has no coming or going of cold, heat, warmth, or chill. These changes appear only because the Qi of Water, Fire, Metal, and Wood waxes and wanes.

It is like reflections in water, which seem to come and go, though the water itself does not.

The preceding passage uses phenomena such as tiles and stones, water and fire, breathing out, and blowing to illustrate how primordial Qi (the fundamental energy that makes up all things) comes and goes and changes with the warmth and coolness of the seasons. To make the point clear, it compares these changes to reflections in water: a shadow appears to come and go, while the water itself does not. Water, fire, Metal, and Wood Qi wax and wane and come and go, but primordial Qi itself does not. If primordial Qi is unaffected by seasonal warmth and coolness, then the Dao is even less constrained by such changes. Thus, although reflections in water appear to come and go, the water beneath them does not. This chapter explains that the Dao does not depend on primordial Qi, and primordial Qi does not depend on the seasons.

Guan Yin Zi says: Shake a garment and wind arises in the air. Breathe onto an object and moisture forms on it. Pour water into water and a sound is made. Strike two stones together and sparks fly. Those who understand the principles behind these things can also bring about wind, rain, thunder, and lightning.

Human beings are small worlds, while Heaven and Earth are like a great person. Wind, rain, thunder, and lightning arise from Heaven and Earth, and people can imitate these phenomena: shaking a garment or waving a fan creates wind in the air; breathing onto an object causes moisture to condense, a sign of wind and rain. Pouring water into water makes a sound, and striking two stones together produces sparks, signs of thunder and lightning. Those who understand these principles can summon wind and rain and bring forth thunder and lightning. Hence wind, rain, thunder, and lightning can all be produced by human action.

Wind, rain, thunder, and lightning all arise from Qi, and Qi in turn arises from the mind.

“Green” means the causes and conditions. Wind, rain, thunder, and lightning all arise from changes in Yin-Yang Qi. When Yang Qi descends without Yin Qi to receive it, it becomes wind. When Yin Qi rises without Yang Qi to meet it, it becomes clouds. When Yin-Yang Qi churns against each other, it becomes thunder and lightning. From this we can see that wind, rain, thunder, and lightning arise from Qi.

If a person understands the wondrous Dao of true emptiness, grasps the source of the single Qi of Yin-Yang, and sees through the mysteries of creation and transformation, they can use the true mind to move and transform this single Qi, even summoning wind and rain or bringing forth thunder and lightning at once. For a sage, this is merely an incidental ability. Thus it is said: Qi is born from the mind.

It is like someone who visualizes a great fire in their mind: after a long time, they feel their body grow warm. If they visualize a great body of water, after a long time, they feel their body grow cold. Once we understand this principle, we can see that the workings of Heaven and Earth’s creation and transformation follow the same pattern.

The passage above says that wind, rain, thunder, and lightning can all arise in this way. Readers may find this hard to believe, so another analogy is offered. Someone may use deliberate, contrived methods of cultivation and visualize the lower Dantian (the site of Neidan practice in the lower abdomen) as a great wheel of fire. After a long time, their whole body grows warm. People take this sensation of warmth to mean that the Qi mechanism has come into harmony, but that is not so. Another person may visualize body and mind as a deep pool of icy water, clear and still. After a long time, they feel cold throughout their body. It is also mistaken to regard this sensation as a state of cool clarity.

They are merely imagining cold and heat. If bodily sensations can change with the thoughts of the mind, how much more so when one understands the true mind? Anyone who understands this analogy will know that summoning wind and rain and swiftly bringing forth thunder and lightning are also possible. These are workings of Heaven and Earth’s creation and transformation, and anyone who has penetrated the Great Dao can possess them. This chapter explains that the Dao is the root of Yin-Yang, and that its De and workings are the same as those of Heaven and Earth.

The passage on the right is Chapter Ten.

Guan Yin Zi says: Changes in the clouds of the five colors can be used to predict whether the harvest will be abundant or poor that year.

They can be understood in relation to one another. This chapter explains that the Dao is the root of Yin-Yang, and that De works in the same way as Heaven and Earth.

This is the right-hand commentary on Chapter Ten.

Guan Yin says: Changes in the five-colored clouds can predict whether the harvest will be abundant or poor that year.

“Five clouds” refers to clouds in five colors: blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black. “Changes” refers to these five colors alternating with one another. “That year” means the current year; “abundant” means the crops ripen and the harvest is good; “poor” means famine and a bad harvest.

According to the Book of Cloud Divination, on the morning of the first day of the first lunar month each year, one should observe the clouds appearing in the sky in the five directions. The color of the clouds in each direction can be used to predict whether that region’s harvest will be abundant or poor that year. Black clouds foretell little snow and much rain in that region; red clouds foretell drought and poor harvests of the five grains; blue-green clouds foretell insect damage and a poor wheat harvest; white clouds foretell calamities among the people and poor harvests of non-glutinous and glutinous rice; yellow clouds foretell peace among the local people but poor crops; and yellow clouds tinged with blue-green foretell an abundant harvest of the five grains.

The five grains refer to crops with different forms, such as those with ridges, chambers, awns, horns, and ears. Clouds of black, red, blue-green, white, or yellow appearing on their own each foretell a poor harvest. Clouds in a mixture of the five colors, or clouds combining blue-green and yellow, foretell an abundant harvest. Thus, by observing changes in the five-colored clouds, one can predict whether the harvest will be abundant or poor that year.

Winds blowing from the eight directions at dawn can predict good or ill fortune at that time.

“Eight winds” refers to winds blowing from the eight directions associated with the Eight Trigrams (Bagua). The previous passage says that changes in the five-colored clouds can predict whether the harvest will be abundant or poor that year. This passage continues by saying that winds from the eight directions blowing at dawn can predict good or ill fortune at that time.

The “Eight Winds” are the winds that blow from the eight directions associated with the Eight Trigrams (Bagua). “Coming” means that the wind blows from a particular direction. According to the Book of Wind Divination, the wind’s direction is observed each day at the hour of Yin. A wind from the Qian direction is called “Buzhou” and brings an equal chance of good or ill fortune; one from the Kan direction is called “Guangmo” and has no clear auspicious or inauspicious significance; one from the Gen direction is called “Rongfeng,” also known as the “ill-omened wind,” and brings an equal chance of good or ill fortune; one from the Zhen direction is called “Mingshu” and is greatly auspicious; one from the Xun direction is called “Qingming” and is greatly auspicious; one from the Li direction is called “Jing” and is greatly auspicious; one from the Kun direction is called “Dong” and is inauspicious; and one from the Dui direction is called “Yanhe” and is greatly inauspicious. Thus, by observing the winds from the eight directions, one can divine whether conditions at that time are auspicious or ill-omened.

From this, we can understand that good fortune and disaster, abundant harvests and poor ones, all arise from changes in the movement of Qi (vital energy).

The phrase “From this, we can understand” means that by divining from the winds and clouds, one can judge whether harvests will be abundant or poor and whether events will be auspicious or ill-omened. This reveals that changes in the winds and clouds, good fortune and disaster, and poor and abundant harvests are simply different outcomes of the movement of the same Qi.

To bring mind and body into complete accord with Heaven and Earth, one must no longer cling to the self. If one relies only on personal opinions to make distinctions and hold fast to fixed views, this accord will be lost.

Human beings, the self, and Heaven and Earth are all simply the movement of one and the same Qi; this is why life exists. Once this Qi disperses, human beings, the self, and Heaven and Earth all pass away. Since they still exist, we can know that they arise together, indistinguishably, from a single Qi. Thus, we should regard the self and Heaven and Earth as one undivided whole.

The claim above—that the self and Heaven and Earth should be regarded as one undivided whole—is an inference made by deluded perception and private intellect. Deluded perception and private intellect are not one’s original nature. It is mistaken for those who are confused to take them for their own nature. Thus, it is private intellect that identifies these thoughts as the self. This chapter clarifies that private intellect is not one’s nature, and that the self and Heaven and Earth are all simply the movement of a single Qi.

The foregoing is Chapter Eleven.

Guan Yin Zi says: Heaven and Earth come into being through reliance; the myriad things come into being through reliance; and the Dao, too, appears through reliance. If this reliance is set aside, the Dao cannot be established.

“Yu” means to rely on or lodge in something. No force of Qi is greater than Yin-Yang, and no form is greater than Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth are the greatest of formed things, yet within the Great Void—the vast, empty expanse—they are but tiny presences. We can therefore know that Heaven and Earth lodge within the primordial Qi of the Great Void; hence the saying, “Heaven and Earth rely.” The myriad things lodge within the Qi between Heaven and Earth; hence the saying, “The myriad things rely.” I have no fixed, unchanging self to begin with. This self that is without a self comes into being by lodging in the Qi of the Dao; hence the saying, “I rely.” The Dao originally has no name. The sage uses a provisional name, imposed for convenience, to speak of it; hence the saying, “The Dao relies.” “Gou” means “for the time being” or “if.” If this provisional name is set aside, there is no name available, and the name “Dao” cannot be established. Hence the saying, “If reliance is set aside, the Dao cannot be established.”

This chapter clarifies that the manifestation of concrete things from the root depends on reliance, while names return from concrete things to the root. The Dao manifests through a name, but the name itself is not the root of the Dao.

End of Volume Two of the Commentary on the True Scripture of Wenshi.

1. “Gao” is likely a mistaken character for “ji.”

2. In both the Guan Yinzi and the Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing, this sentence reads, “Thus we know the principles by which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things take form.”

3. “All can announce good fortune and greatness” is likely a mistake for “All can announce good and ill fortune.”

4. “Born in the mao year” is likely a mistake for “born from eggs.”

5. “Therefore, how can we know the greatness of today’s Earth?” is likely a mistake for “Therefore, how can we know today’s Heaven and Earth?”

6. In light of the preceding text, this sentence should read, “Therefore, it is said: those who wish to leave behind the dream of Heaven and Earth…”

7. In the Guan Yinzi, the phrase “I dwell” follows “the myriad things dwell.”

Volume Three of the Commentary on the True Scripture of Wenshi

Direct commentary by Niudaochun, the Carefree Master of Shennong Peak

“The Three Extremes” (Sanji)

“Extreme” refers to the highest point reached by transcending the realms of ordinary people and sages and attaining the Great Dao. This chapter contains twenty-seven sections.

Guan Yinzi said, “The sage governs the world without using himself as the measure of wise and foolish. He therefore regards people as wise according to their own wisdom, and as foolish according to their own dullness.”

Here, “sage” refers to the sage Son of Heaven who understands the Great Dao. “Governing the world” means that the sage Son of Heaven uses De to bring peace to all the people under Heaven. Thus, the sage treats people according to their own wisdom or dullness.

A sage is an emperor who has grasped the Great Dao and governs the world through De. He uses De to bring peace to the people; this is what is meant by “the sage governing the world.”

“Do not let me classify the worthy and the foolish” means that the sage has no private preferences. The worthy regard themselves as worthy, and the foolish reveal themselves as foolish; these labels are not imposed by the sage. So when everyone considers someone worthy, the sage follows their judgment and appoints that person. When everyone considers someone foolish, the sage follows their judgment and removes that person from office. This is what is meant by “regard as worthy whomever people consider worthy, and regard as foolish whomever people consider foolish.”

“Do not let me determine right and wrong” means that the sage does not judge right and wrong according to personal likes and dislikes, but according to the matter itself: if something is fitting, he approves it; if it is improper, he rejects it.

Since the sage has no private self, his judgments of right and wrong do not arise from personal bias. Hence the saying, “I do not determine right and wrong.” “Matter” refers to actual conduct and its effects. Things have no fixed names of their own; names are established according to the effects they produce. If an action is beneficial and everyone calls it good, the sage approves and rewards it. If an action is harmful and everyone calls it bad, the sage rejects and punishes it. Thus, judgments of right and wrong should be based on whether the matter itself is right or wrong.

The sage understands the fundamental principles connecting antiquity and the present, and knows that they are linked at their root. For this reason, at times he gives priority to the past, and at times to the present. “Knowing” means understanding; “the past” refers to principles from ancient times, while “the present” refers to matters at hand. The sage grasps the Great Dao and understands worldly affairs. He sees that the principles underlying them are one and the same, and that past and present belong to a single continuous thread.