《文始真经言外旨》

Wenshi Zhenjing Yanwai Zhi is a Daoist commentary written by Chen Xianche of the Southern Song dynasty. It consists of nine volumes and was completed in the second year of the Baoyou era (1254). The original work was included in the “Jade Instructions” category of the Dongshen section of the Zhengtong Daozang; it is also included in the “Scriptures and Instructions” category of the Taixuan section of the Zhonghua Daozang.

The book focuses on explaining the Wenshi Zhenjing and also draws on texts such as the Guanyinzi. “Yanwai zhi” means exploring the intent beyond the words of a scripture; “Jade Instructions” is the name of a category of Daoist texts.

I have heard that the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism stand together between Heaven and Earth, like the sun, moon, and stars in the sky, each assisting the others to illuminate the world; none can be lacking. The scriptures of the three teachings rise in heaps like mountains, and each has works of the utmost profundity. The Confucian Six Classics are all exemplary words, with the Book of Changes (Yijing) the most subtle. Buddhist scriptures are vast in number, with the Lankavatara Sutra (Lengqie Jing) the most subtle. Daoist writings, too, number in the millions, with the Guanyinzi the most subtle. These three books hold the same place in their respective teachings as the sun, moon, and stars do between Heaven and Earth.

Yet even though the light shines in the sky, people without eyes cannot see it. And though these three books are wondrous, without wise and discerning people in the world, their marvels cannot be understood. Thus, although the books have been handed down, their essential meaning has long remained obscure. The Commentary says, “Without the right person, the Dao will not transmit itself.” Indeed.

Alas! After Confucius, as the tradition passed through three sages, the Book of Changes gradually became a book about images, numbers, and divination. After the Buddhist teaching passed through four generations, the Lankavatara Sutra gradually became a text about external rites and doctrines. Since the Qin and Han dynasties, the Daoist teaching of the Guanyinzi, too, has fallen into the hands of practitioners of arts and techniques in the Huainan region. What is more, the Great Dao is often obscured by partial and shallow views, while its teachings are often covered over by empty and baseless claims. Realized beings do not often appear, and the true principle is not always transmitted. It is hardly surprising, then, that the Guanyinzi has remained hidden and unknown to the world.

Even so, the most numinous Qi of Heaven and Earth takes form as writing, and the words that bear the Great Dao are secretly protected by divine powers. They will never be utterly lost; their time of transmission simply has not yet arrived. Thousands of years after Confucius, Chen Xiyi (Chen Tuan) restored the transmission of the Book of Changes’ mind teachings. Thousands of years after Gautama (Shakyamuni) entered nirvana, Bodhidharma brought the Lankavatara Sutra to China. Now, thousands of years have passed since Laozi traveled west and left through the pass, and only now has Master Baoyi begun to expound the Guanyinzi’s mysteries.

Even the punctuation and pauses in this book are difficult to understand; how much harder, then, to grasp its meaning? Having realized the truth of the Great Dao, the Master took pity on later students. He investigated the essence of Laozi and Guanyinzi and wrote this work to explain what lies beyond the words of the classic. At times he uses the original text to clarify its purpose; at times he restates it to explain its meaning; at times he offers an analogy to make its mysteries clear; at times he uses irony to reveal its hidden depths. Sometimes he conceals a meaning within a sentence; sometimes he hints at a mystery beyond the words. Sometimes he points out the intention before the words are spoken; sometimes he reveals, through the smallest details, a meaning that lies beyond them. This work chiefly expounds the unspoken intent of the Guanyinzi, and so it is titled The Meaning of the Classic Beyond the Words.

This book may be said to lay open the hidden storehouse of Heaven and Earth’s creative transformations, adding brilliance to the light of the sun and moon. It reveals the mysteries that the Book of Changes has yet to disclose and explains the secret meanings of the Lankavatara Sutra. It accords with Fuxi’s original mind, exhausts the spiritual insight of Ji Chang (King Wen of Zhou), probes the subtlety of Confucius, traces the fundamental meaning of the Buddhas, and searches out the essence of the successive patriarchs. It also reveals the pivotal secrets of the Yellow Emperor and the inner mind of Laozi.

For a student to encounter this book is a rare opportunity. How could one fail to cherish it? I am ignorant and unenlightened, yet I received the Master’s personal instruction and came to understand the truth of the Great Dao. Unable to repay my teacher’s kindness, I have respectfully prepared this book for printing, so that it may be handed down to later generations. In this way, people throughout the world and in ages to come who aspire to seek the Dao may have the chance to read it, understand its crucial passages, and realize the truth of the Great Dao. All this is due to the boundless grace of my teacher, Master Baoyi.

Wherever this book is kept, it should be accorded even greater reverence than Buddhist scriptures, and it is secretly protected by divine powers. How could anyone treat it lightly? Students should respectfully bow before it and read it with solemnity, in the devout manner of Ge Zhichuan. Therefore, I have written this preface.

On the winter solstice of the second year of the Baoyou era of the Song dynasty, your disciple Xiwizi Wang Yi, bowing twice and burning incense, respectfully wrote this preface.

Liu Xiang presented to the emperor the nine chapters of the Guan Yin Zi, which he had collated and arranged.

When I collated the copy of the Guan Yin Zi kept among the palace’s secret collections, I found that the version preserved by the Grand Court had only seven chapters, while the copy in my possession had nine. I removed passages so disordered that they could not be verified, supplied missing material, and joined sections that had been broken apart. I arranged the text into nine chapters, all of which have been dried over fire—the ancient method of preparing bamboo slips for writing—and are ready to be copied and circulated.

Guan Yin Zi’s personal name was Xi; he was known as Guan Yin Zi, and was sometimes also called Guanling Zi Yin. People greatly respected his virtue. He once asked Laozi to compose the two parts of the Dao De Jing. Lie Yukou and Zhuang Zhou also cited Daoist works. The chapters of this book are named through allegory, and each section begins with the words “Guan Yin Zi said.” The chapters appear in a different order, and the sections express different ideas, but their central purpose is the same. Its language differs from that of Laozi, Liezi, and Zhuangzi, yet it reaches the same conclusion. The ideas in the book are profound and unadorned, though at times also stark and strange; their expression is broad and free-ranging. Even so, the text remains within bounds: it can bring clarity to the mind and lightness to one’s conduct without leading to unrestrained arrogance.

It is said that Gai Gong passed this book on to Cao Shen. After Cao Shen died, the book was buried with him. During the reign of Emperor Wu of Han, a practitioner of the arts of the Dao presented seven chapters. The emperor grew weary of it and set it aside. Liu An, Prince of Huainan, delighted in the arts of the Dao and gathered books widely; this work was once kept in his collection but was not circulated. My father, Liu De, obtained the book while handling the case of the Prince of Huainan. I have loved it since childhood, believing that the Way of stillness is precious and indispensable. For this reason, I risk death to present it to the emperor.

On the gengzi day of the eighth month of the second year of Yongshi, your servant Liu Xiang, Protector of the Left Capital Waterways and Grand Master for Splendid Happiness, respectfully presents the collated and arranged Guan Yin Zi.

Preface to The Meaning Beyond the Words of the True Scripture of Wen Shi

The Dao (the Way) originally had no fixed name. The Laozi says that there is a unified existence, born before Heaven and Earth. Not knowing what to call it, I can only provisionally name it “Dao.” Since the Dao has no name, and its name cannot truly be known, words cannot explain it fully. Thus, when sages face the Dao, they ought not establish speech or writing. Yet sages wish for people in the world and in later generations to understand the Dao. If they do not provisionally give it a name and use writing to set out its real principles, the learning of the Dao will come to an end and cannot be passed down.

The Pass Guardian Yin (the legendary Yin Xi) watched the clouds, waiting for Laozi to leave through the pass. He invited Laozi to stay, studied the Dao with him, and asked him to write and speak so that later generations might benefit. This shows the deep compassion sages have for those who come after them. After the Pass Guardian had grasped Laozi’s Dao and passed down the five thousand words of the Daodejing, he also wrote this book to explain to later generations the intent left unstated in those five thousand words. Yet the Dao is ultimately beyond speech, and what this book discusses is likewise a principle that lies beyond words. How could it be fully understood through the teachings of the many schools alone? When Zhuangzi heard the Pass Guardian’s teachings, he rejoiced and believed his own learning came from him, calling him an ancient and all-embracing perfected person. Lie Yukou, known as Liezi, also studied under him and passed on his Dao.

Alas, perfected people who attain the Dao do not often appear, and the highest teachings are not easily heard. Since ancient times, the Pass Guardian’s book has been transmitted in secret, and few have known of it. Even in enlightened times, people called only the books of Zhuangzi and Liezi “classics.” This book was neither circulated nor presented to the court. If Zhuangzi and Liezi knew of this from beneath the earth, how could they not regret it? Zhuangzi said that one who does not depart from the root is called a Heavenly Person; one who does not depart from the essence is called a Spirit Person; and one who does not depart from what is real is called a Perfected Person. One who takes Heaven as the root, De (Virtue/Power) as the foundation, and the Dao as the path, and who can foresee change, is called a sage. Reading this book now, one can see that the Pass Guardian embodied all four of these states. Calling him an all-embracing perfected person is therefore entirely apt.

Since Heaven and Earth divided into the clear and the turbid, no work has ever established teachings in writing, revealed the Great Dao and its wondrous De, and reached such subtle and profound heights. Ge Zhichuan (Ge Hong) said that this book expounds the ultimate principle of the Great Dao as a unified whole—a principle that earlier Confucian scholars had never discussed and that even practitioners of the arts could not attain. Its principles are exalted, so those with shallow learning cannot see through them; its scope is vast, so the narrow-minded cannot enter it; its principles are simple, so even the widely learned cannot fathom them. Scholars look up to it but cannot reach it, probe into it but cannot grasp its essentials, and seek to understand it but cannot connect with it. It may seem flavorless to read, and offer no clear way in to those who seek its meaning. Some have even declared it a forgery, claiming it was written by a Han dynasty Confucian. Alas, if even Zhuangzi and Liezi could not fully express its principles, later writers and Confucians may not be able to explain them either. How, then, could a Han dynasty Confucian have written it?

Buddhism first entered China from the Western Regions during the reign of Emperor Ming of Han. The most subtle Buddhist sutras—the Shurangama Sutra, the Lankavatara Sutra, the Diamond Sutra, and the Lotus Sutra—discuss supernatural powers and wondrous meanings, transformation, the distinction between the right path and the wrong, and ideas such as no self and no person. All these have already been discussed in this book. Moreover, its language is concise and its meaning comprehensive; it cannot be matched by Buddhist sutras that have passed through repeated translation.

The Pass Guardian was a sage of the final years of the Zhou dynasty, a contemporary of Confucius. Both sages had met Laozi in person, so one or two of their statements occasionally coincide, such as “If in the morning you hear the Dao, in the evening you may die content.” Perhaps what they heard and saw had points in common. The opening of this book seems to explain the intent of the five thousand words of the Laozi, as though it were a commentary on the Daodejing. Scholars should read the two books side by side; doing so may bring sudden clarity and reveal their spirit.

If readers gain insight after reading this book, but then heed the prejudices of shallow-minded people and rashly disparage it, showing no reverence and even treating the words of sages with contempt, their originally luminous minds will again be clouded. They will lose their nature and, with it, the understanding they had gained. Such is the depth of this book’s wondrous power. How could those who read it fail to follow Ge Zhichuan’s example, cherishing and reciting it, and even bowing to it in reverence?

Now, beneath the provisional name “Dao,” I too will provisionally use words to explain its De. I therefore write this text to set out the meaning of the scripture that lies beyond its words.

On the Double Ninth Festival in the jia-yin year of the second year of the Baoyou era of the Song dynasty, Baoyizi Chen Xianwei burned incense in reverence, bowed twice, and wrote this preface.

Master Baoyi said, “‘Yu’ means the totality of the four directions, above and below. That is why The One Yu stands at the beginning of the chapters. Without this ‘Yu,’ people would have nowhere to settle and establish their lives. The Dao pervades the four directions, above and below; there is nowhere it is absent. Without the Dao, the workings of creation between Heaven and Earth would nearly come to a halt. Thus, The One Yu speaks of the Dao.

“Once Yu is established, it must have supports, so the next chapter is The Two Pillars. ‘Pillars’ are the foundations that support Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth each have their place, and the sage dwells between them. The sage embodies the Dao. The sage establishes what is centered and upright and sets the standards, so the next chapter is The Three Poles.

“Once the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—are established, the Four Images, the four categories that make up the myriad things of Heaven and Earth, each take their proper place. So the next chapter is The Four Tokens. A ‘token’ is something that accords with the spirits; here it refers to the spirit, the hun, and the po.

“Five occupies the center among the numbers, just as the heart occupies the center of the human body. That is why The Five Mirrors is placed in the middle: it explains how the true heart can illuminate and discern the myriad things. Yet without a body, the heart has nowhere to dwell, so the next chapter is The Six Ladles. ‘Ladle’ refers to food; food nourishes the body, and so body and food depend on one another. In time, the body changes, so the next chapter is The Seven Cauldrons. A ‘cauldron’ is a vessel in which things are transformed. A cauldron cannot be empty, so the next chapter is The Eight Counters. ‘Counters’ refers to things. All things can serve as medicines, and medicines can be combined to treat illness; therefore, The Nine Medicines brings the sequence to a close.

“‘Nine’ carries the meaning of completion and ending. When things have reached the stage of becoming medicine, their function has reached its utmost. Yet medicine can also save people and contains the principle by which life is restored. This shows that all things possess this Qi and nature, capable of generating the myriad things and not utterly severed when their physical forms perish. Thus, The Nine Medicines concludes the sequence.

“Now the nine chapters are divided into three volumes, to embody the principle by which one gives rise to three, and three to nine. At nine, things return to one, and so the cycle continues without end. What were originally the upper, middle, and lower volumes have now been divided into nine volumes.”

The Inner Meaning of the Wenshi Zhenjing, Volume One

Written by Chen Xianwei, the Master Who Embraces the One.

The Chapter on the One Character

“Yu” speaks of the Dao (the Way). It consists of twenty-eight chapters.

Guan Yin says: The Dao is not something that can be explained in words. Whatever cannot be explained in words is the Dao. The Dao is not something that can be grasped through thought. Whatever cannot be apprehended by thinking is the Dao.

The myriad things of Heaven and Earth surge and flow; human affairs are tangled and interwoven. They seem to circle without settling and contend with one another, seeming true and yet false. People then argue, draw boundaries, bring things to light, and talk at length. Some wish to leave it all behind; others try to seize hold of it.

From ancient times to the present, trying to portray the Dao in words is like blowing at a shadow; trying to carve it out through thought is like engraving flowers in dust. Even sages and wise people are led into confusion by this, and even spirits and gods cannot discern it. The Dao cannot be made by human effort, seized by force, measured clearly, or marked off by boundaries. That is why it is called “Heaven,” “Destiny,” “Spirit,” and “Mystery.” Taken together, these names refer to the Dao.

Bao Yizi says: “The Dao that can be put into words is not the constant Dao; the name that can be given to a name is not the constant name.”

Scholars in the world have seldom read the works of Guanyinzi. They often explain the Laozi through the sayings of the various masters and their own conjectures, and so find it even harder to understand Laozi’s original intent. Guanyinzi says: If you describe the Dao as something that cannot be expressed in words, you divide the Dao from speech as two separate things. Only when you understand that “the inexpressible itself is the Dao” can you see the Dao and speech as one. Beginners often read in haste and mistakenly suppose that the Dao can be spoken of. If the Dao could truly be spoken of, the text should say, “The Dao is not impossible to express,” rather than, “The Dao cannot be expressed.”

The saying here, “The Dao cannot be expressed; what cannot be expressed is the Dao,” uses a reversal of the original wording to reveal Laozi’s meaning beyond words. Put another way: “The Dao cannot be fixed by words; what cannot be expressed is the Dao.” From this we can see that “the Dao that can be spoken of” is not the true Dao. This is precisely what the Laozi means by “The Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao.”

Some still doubt that “Dao” in “the Dao that can be spoken of” means speaking. Bao Yizi offers “emptiness” as an analogy: If emptiness could still be treated as something identifiable and occupiable, it would not be true emptiness. True emptiness cannot be treated as any concrete thing. Once you understand that “emptiness that can be spoken of is not true emptiness,” you can also understand that “the Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao.”

Others offer this analogy: Human nature and temperament can be changed through deliberate practice, but the Dao cannot be produced by human effort. So the Dao cannot be treated as something that can be deliberately cultivated into existence or fixed in words. Had I not uncovered the meaning behind the words, I would never have understood the teachings of the Laozi, even if I had spent my whole life trying.

People are also often misled by the word “constant,” supposing that the Laozi speaks of an “extraordinary Dao.” In fact, Laozi deliberately uses the word “constant” to prevent people from thinking that the Dao is different from the things of the human world. The Dao is the constant Dao that runs through all under Heaven; “Dao” is merely a general name reluctantly assigned to it. The Dao pervades Heaven and Earth, runs through past and present, and is everywhere. As soon as one begins to speak of it, one has already strayed far from it. If this reluctantly assigned name is treated as something that can be named precisely, it is no longer the unbounded Dao. Hence the saying: “What cannot be named is the name.” This follows the same logic as “what cannot be expressed is the Dao,” and is what the Laozi means by “The Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.”

Laozi was a great sage. His words are like the principle by which Heaven, though silent, manifests itself naturally. Without a great sage like Guanyinzi to reveal, through “speech without words,” the meaning beyond Laozi’s words, who could do so? After explaining that the Dao cannot be named or expressed, Guanyinzi worried that people might think that although the Dao cannot be spoken of, it could be reached through thought alone. So he went on to say: “The Dao cannot be grasped by thought; what cannot be grasped by thought is the Dao.” This means the same as what came before.

What can be spoken of and grasped by thought belongs to human understanding; what cannot be expressed or grasped by thought belongs to the Way of Heaven. But can the human and the heavenly be viewed as entirely separate? Can all people be called Heaven? The workings of Heaven and the myriad things differ from one another, and human affairs are tangled and varied: some are alike yet avoid each other, some clash and struggle, some seem right but are not; some argue without end, some remain apart and make no contact with the outside world; some scold, some cry out, some depart, and some are forced together. The Way of Heaven and human affairs are so uneven and varied that they cannot simply be treated as one and the same. To try to exhaust the principles of the Dao through human speech and thought is like blowing at a shadow or carving in dust: it is only a waste of effort.

Even sages and the wise cannot fathom the Dao, and spirits and gods cannot discern it. It cannot be brought about through human effort, so it is said, “Heaven cannot be brought near.” It cannot be foretold, so it is said, “Destiny cannot be measured.” It cannot be divided and analyzed, so it is said, “Spirit cannot be divided.” It is obscure and difficult to understand, so it is called “mysterious.” Taken together, these four qualities can only be given the provisional name “Dao.”

Guan Yin Zi says: There is nothing that does not belong to the Dao of Heaven, nothing that is not governed by fate, nothing that does not possess a numinous nature, and nothing that does not contain profound and mysterious principles. All things are this way, and people are no exception. Anyone can experience the Dao of Heaven within themselves, understand the numinous, reach the source of life, and enter the mysterious realm. You cannot say that the Dao of Heaven is over there but not here; that the numinous is there but absent here; that what is there is governed by fate but what is here is not; or that what is there is mysterious but what is here is not.

Thus, one who is skilled at grasping my Dao can recognize the Dao of Heaven in a single thing, plumb the depths of the numinous, reach the source of life, and arrive at the mysterious realm. If students pursue differences single-mindedly, they use names to divide what is one in substance. Those who truly understand, by contrast, accord with the substance shared by all things and forget their different names.

Bao Yi Zi says: The Laozi speaks of the Dao, then says: “Always without desire, one observes the Dao’s subtlety; always with desire, one observes its manifestations and workings.” Though “subtlety” and “manifestations” have different names, both refer to the mysterious. When the mysterious reaches a still deeper level, it is the gateway to the myriad wonders.

Guan Yin Zi was concerned that students might pursue differences, use names to divide what is one in substance, and regard Heaven, fate, the numinous, and the mysterious as four separate things. So in this chapter he repeatedly explains that in any single thing, one can recognize the Dao of Heaven, plumb the depths of the numinous, reach the source of life, and enter the mysterious realm. All things are this way, and everyone inherently possesses these capacities. You cannot say that the Dao of Heaven is over there but not here; that the numinous is there but absent here; that what is there is governed by fate but what is here is not; or that what is there is mysterious but what is here is not.

Sometimes, then, it is called “subtlety”; sometimes it is called “manifestation” (the Dao’s appearance and boundary); sometimes it is called “the mysterious.” In truth, all things are this way, and everyone inherently possesses it. Only those who truly understand can accord with the substance shared by all things and forget their different names. Reaching the state of “the mysterious within the mysterious,” one can enter the Dao.

Guan Yin Zi says: Observing the Dao is like observing water. If you think looking at a pond is not enough, you go on to look at rivers and the sea, believing that only then have you truly seen water. Yet you do not realize that your own saliva, spittle, and tears are also water.

Bao Yizi said: If you regard the Dao as water before your eyes, then water and I become two separate things. The broader the view, the farther apart we seem. But when I turn back and look within, I find that ponds, rivers, streams, and seas are already present in my body. Are not the fluids, saliva, and tears of the body the very manifestation of its “marshes, rivers, streams, and seas”? Only those clouded in understanding fail to notice.

Guan Yinzi said: In the Dao there is no “other,” so the sage does not distinguish between “A is the Dao” and “B is not the Dao.” Nor is there a fixed “I” in the Dao, so the sage does not cling to the idea that “I have entered the Dao” or “I have left the Dao.” Precisely because the Dao is not possessed, one cannot say that it is absent; and because there is no Dao that can be possessed, there is no question of losing it.

Bao Yizi said: As soon as you cling to the idea that there are others, you divide yourself from them and go on to say, “A is the Dao” and “B is not the Dao.” There is no fixed “I” in the Dao, so the sage does not cling to the idea that “I have entered the Dao” or “I have left the Dao.” Precisely because the Dao is not possessed, one cannot say that it is absent; and because there is no Dao that can be possessed, there is no question of losing it.

Bao Yizi said: Once you assume that there are others, you and they become two; once you assume that there is an “I,” the “I” and the Dao become two. If the “I” cannot be clung to as something real, how could the Dao be clung to as something real? If the “I” cannot be possessed, how could the Dao be possessed? Only those who do not cling to the “I” can say that they have never lost it. Only those who do not treat the “I” as something to be acquired can say that they have never lost it. Neither clinging to existence nor clinging to nonexistence, neither clinging to gain nor clinging to loss—how could this be like worldly things, which are made and broken, gained and lost? Those determined to believe they have gained something: how could they speak of this principle?

Guan Yinzi said: Those who do not understand the Dao make reckless guesses, like people trying to guess what is hidden beneath an inverted bowl. Those whose guesses soar high say there is gold and jade inside; those whose guesses come closer say there are animal horns or feathers; those whose guesses remain low and shallow say there are tiles and stones. Only the one who put something beneath the bowl knows whether the guesses are right.

Bao Yizi says: If an object is placed beneath an upside-down bowl, anyone trying to guess what is hidden there will find it hard to guess, however hard they think. On the surface, one person hides something and another tries to guess, as though there were two people. In fact, a person hides the object and covers it over, yet does not know what it is. Why? Because desire for external things is the bowl, and the obscuring influence formed by the activity of consciousness is called the “yin of consciousness” (a cognitive obstacle that keeps one from seeing one’s original mind). Desire and this yin of consciousness cover what has been hidden.

Even great wisdom and ability cannot see through this upside-down bowl. Once the reason is understood, one sees that as soon as the thought of hiding something arose, one had already forgotten it. One instead suspected that someone else had hidden it, and so could guess for a lifetime without ever finding the answer. Only after removing the bowl of desire and breaking through the veil of the yin of consciousness, and seeing what was hidden, does one understand that no one else hid it. The thoughts one once had, believing that gold, jade, animal horns, bird feathers, tiles, or stones were stored in the mind, were all delusions.

Alas, what lies beneath the upside-down bowl? Those who study the Dao should not miss it in their confusion, simply because they believe they never put anything there.

Guan Yin Zi says: Clay can be made into all kinds of vessels, but no vessel can in turn make clay, nor can any vessel harm clay. Likewise, the Dao, the source from which all things arise, can give rise to all things, but nothing can give rise to the Dao, and nothing can harm it.

Bao Yizi said: “If you call them vessels, how could vessels create pottery? And how could they harm the Way of pottery-making? If you call them the myriad things, how could they create the Great Dao? And how could they harm the Great Dao? Yet although vessels cannot create pottery, it does not follow that they are not pottery; and although the myriad things cannot create the Great Dao, it does not follow that they are not the Dao. What is more, though vessels cannot harm the Way of pottery-making, it is vessels themselves that do harm to it; though the myriad things cannot harm the Great Dao, it is the myriad things themselves that do harm to it.

“Pottery exists because vessels exist; the Dao becomes manifest because the myriad things exist. If vessels were removed, where would pottery be? If the myriad things did not exist, where would the Dao be? Can these vessels truly be removed? Their formation has no end. Can the myriad things truly be destroyed? Their coming into being has no end. Only one who does not rigidly treat vessels as vessels can be called skilled at making pottery; only one who does not rigidly treat the myriad things as the myriad things can be called skilled at embodying the Dao. The skilled potter lets pottery take shape of itself; the one skilled at embodying the Dao lets the Dao operate of itself. One who lets pottery take shape naturally is not attached to the act of ‘making pottery’; one who lets the Dao operate naturally is not attached to the name ‘Dao.’ When one is not attached to making pottery, no vessel has to be made; when one is not attached to the Dao, nothing in the myriad things has to be brought to completion. In the end, is it vessels, the myriad things, the Way of pottery-making, or the Great Dao?”

Guan Yin said: “The Great Dao stretches vast and boundless, seemingly beyond comprehension. The mind is spacious and at ease, free of constraint. The myriad things continually change and alternate, each following its own order; not one of them is wholly out of place. They dart like lightning and scatter like flying sand. The sage knows that mind, the myriad things, and the Dao each return to one, and that these three are themselves one. The sage does not use ‘one’ to confine what differs from ‘one,’ nor, because these things differ, does the sage damage the wholeness of ‘one.’”

Baoyizi said, “When you see things, you can thereby see the mind; without things, the mind cannot manifest. When you see the mind, you can thereby see the Dao; without the mind, the Dao cannot manifest.”

Someone asked, “The accomplished people of antiquity said that having no mind is the Dao. Is that not right? Others say that even without a mind, one still stands before a final barrier. Is that credible?”

Baoyizi said, “Do you understand the saying, ‘When you see things, you can thereby see the mind’?”

The person replied, “I do.”

Baoyizi asked, “Then, when there are no things, where is the mind?”

The person was at a loss.

A day later, he asked again, “Can the mind be seen?”

Baoyizi said, “If the mind cannot be seen, what else is there that can see?”

The person asked, “Can the Dao be seen?”

Baoyizi said, “Do you think the Dao and the mind are one thing or two?”

The person replied, “The mind and the Dao can be one thing.”

Baoyizi asked again, “Then can things, too, be one with the Dao and the mind? Would you use things that differ from one another to obstruct their becoming one?”

The person assented repeatedly and withdrew.

Guan Yin Zi said, “Take a basin for a pond and a stone for an island. Fish swim around within it, seeming to travel thousands upon thousands of miles without ever reaching the end. Why? Because the water has no source and no destination. The Dao of the sage has no beginning and no end, so it never runs out when responding to the myriad things.”

Bao Yizi says: Things that have a beginning and an end are easily exhausted in responding to external things; those without a beginning or an end never reach exhaustion in their responses. An ancient book says, “Like a cycle turning and turning without end—who could ever exhaust it?” I once wondered whether, before the Great Unformed (Taisu), the initial state of matter, there was the Great Beginning (Taishi), the initial state of form, and before the Great Beginning, the Great Origin (Taichu), the initial state of Qi. From this, the Dao seems to have both a beginning and an end. The Great Unformed is the beginning of matter, the Great Beginning the beginning of form, and the Great Origin the beginning of Qi. If a person can trace things back to their roots and return to their source, proceeding from the Great Unformed all the way back to the Great Origin, it is like climbing to the top of a hundred-foot pole: one has reached the utmost point and can climb no higher.

Yet people often do not know that beyond the Great Origin lies what is called the Great Change (Taiyi), the state in which Qi has not yet appeared. This is like reaching the top of a hundred-foot pole and then taking one more step forward; only then does one see the Great Change. The Great Change has no beginning or end, no source and no destination. No one knows where it begins or where it ends. But how, exactly, should those who cultivate and study take one more step at the top of the hundred-foot pole?

Guan Yin Zi says: Do not cling lovingly to the Dao; clinging is like water. Do not contemplate or fixate on the Dao; contemplation is like fire. Do not pursue the Dao; pursuit is like wood. Do not speak about the Dao; speech is like metal. Do not deliberate over the Dao; deliberation is like earth. The sage does not depart from their original nature and disposition, yet can ascend to the Great Dao. Before thoughts arise, the Dao is already revealed through them.

Baoyizi says: Love, observation, pursuit, speech, and reflection all arise from the mind. As soon as a thought stirs, these activities follow; when the mind returns to stillness, they all disappear. The scripture says, “The five thieves are in the mind, and their workings extend to Heaven.” Some people in the world cling to one of these ways as they seek the Dao: some rely on admiration, some on observation, some on pursuit, some on speech, and some on reflection. When the mind stirs and thoughts arise in this way, they only move farther and farther from the Dao.

The sage is not without love, but does not cling to love; the sage does not refrain from observing, but does not cling to observation. The same applies to pursuit, speech, and reflection: the sage may appear to engage in these actions, yet does not cling to them inwardly. Thus the sage does not go against their original nature, yet can attain the Great Dao. How does the sage’s nature differ from that of ordinary people? Only in that thoughts never stir and no attachments arise.

Guan Yin Zi says: Thick clouds cover the sky, darkening rivers and lakes, and the fish are bewildered, not knowing where to turn. Suddenly they see the water glint, as if food were moving there, and think Heaven has sent them a gift. They swim toward it at once. The fisherman is waiting for just this moment: the fish has only to let a greedy thought arise, and it falls into danger.

Guan Yin Zi says: Thick clouds cover the sky, darkening rivers and lakes, and the fish are bewildered. Suddenly they see the water glint, as if food were moving there. Thinking Heaven has sent them a gift, they swim toward it, only to be hooked and killed by the fisherman. Those who do not understand that “I am originally without an I” (that is, who do not cling to the self), yet pursue the Dao single-mindedly, may fall into the same trap.

Baoyizi says: Pursuit is like the growth of a tree: a thought has already begun to sprout. When you seek the Dao with a mind that clings, you may encounter strange sights, unusual beings, wondrous signs, sensations, lights, perceptions, delights, efficacious responses, or supernatural powers. If you seize on these phenomena and take them for the Dao, you are like the fish that sees the water glint, thinks there is food, and swims toward it. Only by understanding that “I am originally without an I” can you keep the mind from clinging to itself. Why pursue anything at all?

Someone asked: Is cultivating virtue and diligently applying oneself not also a form of pursuit? The reply was: None of this counts as pursuit. Learning adds continually, so it calls for diligence and effort. Cultivating the Dao, by contrast, means reducing: layer by layer, one lets go of attachment until reaching Wuwei (non-action). When Wuwei is attained, nothing remains unaccomplished. This is what true diligence means.

Guan Yin Zi says: There are many arts and methods in the world, some that esteem obscurity and others that esteem clarity; some that esteem softness and others that esteem strength. Clinging to these methods prevents one from attaining “Wuwei, yet nothing left undone.” That is true diligence.

Guan Yin Zi said: The methods of the world—ways of cultivating oneself or practicing magic—are many. Some prize the hidden and subtle, some the bright and manifest; some prize softness and weakness, others strength and firmness. To cling to any one of them can be called reasonable, but to cling to none is to accord with the Dao (the Way).

Bao Yi Zi said: People follow different methods to cultivate the true and refine their nature, bringing the mind and spirit to wholeness and ease. Some observe sounds and prize subtlety; some focus on light and prize clarity; some train through movement and prize strength; others cultivate through stillness and prize softness. All these methods can serve as ways of entering the Dao. Yet once one clings to a particular method, it is merely a specific practice and cannot be called the Dao. If one does not cling to it, any of them can become a path into the Dao. The difference between clinging and not clinging is great.

Guan Yin Zi said: In the end, the Dao cannot be attained by anyone. Whatever can be attained is called De (Virtue/Power), not the Dao. In the end, the Dao cannot be followed as a concrete path. Whatever can be put into practice is called a deed, not the Dao. Sages perfect their lives through what can be attained and practiced; through the Dao, which cannot be attained or practiced, they settle their deaths.

Bao Yi Zi said: The Dao cannot be left for even a moment; if it could be left, it would not be the true Dao. Whatever can be attained or practiced may be lost or brought to an end; since it may be lost or brought to an end, there will be times when it is absent. Only the Dao, which cannot be attained or practiced, can never be absent, at any moment. Since it is never absent, wherever I am, the Dao is there too. The Book of Changes says, “Make the Dao manifest; let De’s workings be wondrous.” The Dao is made manifest through me, while De’s workings especially need to reach a wondrous state.

Everything the sages gain from the Dao belongs to De; everything they put into practice belongs to their deeds. Thus they accumulate De and dare not lose it; they accumulate good deeds and dare not cease performing them. When merit and De are complete in three thousand deeds, one ascends to the Great Luo and becomes an immortal; when good deeds are complete in eight hundred, one ascends to the Great Luo and becomes an immortal attendant. In both cases, life is perfected through De and deeds that can be attained and practiced. As for the Dao, which cannot be attained or practiced, how could birth and death even be spoken of in relation to it? This is how sages settle death.

Guanyinzi says: After hearing of the Great Dao, if you still set out to do things and cling to anything, you remain within the realm of human contrivance. To do nothing and cling to nothing is to follow the Way of Heaven. Deliberate action is bound to fail, and clinging is bound to bring loss. Thus, even if you hear of the Great Dao in the morning, you may die peacefully by evening.

Baoyizi says: Remaining within the realm of human contrivance means acting and clinging; following the Way of Heaven means doing nothing and clinging to nothing. Deliberate action is bound to fail, and clinging is bound to bring loss. So, if you hear of the Great Dao in the morning, you may die that evening.

Baoyizi adds: Can the Great Dao truly be heard with the ears? It is realized in the heart, not heard by the ears. Can the Great Dao truly be passed on by a person? It is attained by following the Way of Heaven, not passed from one person to another. Does the Way of Heaven cling to anything? Deliberate action leads to failure, and clinging leads to loss; these are all human limitations. From this we can see that if a person has not understood the Great Dao through the Way of Heaven by morning, then dying that evening cannot be called dying after truly attaining the Dao.

Guanyinzi says: A state of mind that returns to darkness and stillness is that of a sage; one that manifests as goodness is that of a worthy person; one that manifests as evil is that of a petty person. Darkness and stillness mean returning from being to nonbeing, a state that cannot be displayed. Good and evil, by contrast, emerge from nonbeing into concrete expression and cannot be concealed. Feelings of good and evil entail awareness, which all animals possess; darkness and stillness mean being without knowledge or distinction. Under Heaven, the Dao is everywhere.

Baoyizi says: King Wen of Zhou’s “not knowing and not understanding,” Confucius’s “without knowledge,” and Laozi’s question, “Can one be without knowledge?” all express the sage’s state of mind, dark and still. In this state, the Dao is everywhere.

Baoyizi adds: King Wen of Zhou’s “not knowing and not understanding,” Confucius’s “without knowledge,” and Laozi’s question, “Can one be without knowledge?” all express the sage’s state of mind, dark and still. Returning from being to nonbeing is boundless and cannot be described in words—how, then, could it be displayed? Yan Hui and Mencius exemplify benevolence and goodness, while Jie and the wicked exemplify violent evil. These all emerge from nonbeing into concrete expression: they are evident and cannot be concealed. Feelings of good and evil entail awareness, which all animals possess; a state of mind that is dark and still means being without knowledge or distinction. To be without knowledge or distinction is to merge with the Great Void, the vast, empty substance of Heaven and Earth. Thus it is said that under Heaven, the Dao is everywhere.

Guan Yinzi said: Do not think that the Dao is attained through day after day of effort simply because the sage practices diligently and without respite. Nor should you think it is attained by clinging to what one holds simply because the sage remains steadfast and never changes. The sage practices like someone shooting an arrow: acting in accord with the arrow’s momentum, not forcing the action through personal effort. The sage holds fast like someone gripping an arrow: keeping hold in accord with the circumstances at hand, not deliberately forcing oneself to persist.

Bao Yizi said: When the time is right to act, act; when the time is right to stop, stop. The sage has no rigid, unchanging way of doing things. When the course of events is like “Using the Nine” in the Book of Changes, the sage strives ceaselessly. This is not deliberate exertion, but action in accord with the times, which cannot be halted. When the course of events is like “Using the Six,” it is fitting for the sage to preserve correctness over time. This is not deliberate adherence, but settling into stillness in accord with the times, without rash action. The Book of Changes says, “When action and stillness both accord with the proper time, the Dao will become clear.” Thus, there are also fitting times and conditions for learning the Dao; the sage does not fix the mind on either movement or stillness. Those who would understand the sage need only observe how the sage responds to the times.

Guan Yinzi said: If you seek the Dao through speech, conduct, learning, and knowledge, these methods lead one into another in an endless chain, and you will never truly attain the Dao. Let words be like springs gushing forth, conduct like birds taking flight, learning like gathering shadows, and knowledge like calculating dreams. If not a single thought remains in the mind, the Dao will accord with you.

Bao Yizi said: Speech, conduct, learning, and knowledge can help people cultivate their De and accomplish their endeavors, but they cannot be used to seek the Dao. If the Dao cannot be sought through these four—speech, conduct, learning, and knowledge—where else can it be sought? One who is skilled at seeking the Dao neither clings to these four nor turns away from them. Such a person understands that speech is like the sound of a spring, with no right or wrong to distinguish; conduct is like a bird in flight, with no good or evil to ponder; learning is like gathering shadows, offering no way to verify gain or loss; and knowledge is like calculating dreams, giving no means to investigate their underlying principles. To speak without clinging to speech, to act without clinging to action, to learn without clinging to learning, and to know without clinging to knowledge—that is to draw near to the Dao.

Someone asked, “If that is so, can the Dao be attained by seeking it?” The reply was: “To seek it deliberately is not true seeking; to seek it without deliberate intent is true seeking. Thus it is said: As long as a single breath remains—that is, as long as the mind no longer lingers in attachment—the Dao will accord with you.”

Guan Yin Zi said: It is difficult to establish things by relying on particular affairs; it is easy to follow the Dao and set things aside. Nothing in the world is difficult to bring about, yet nothing is easy to destroy.

Baoyizi says: Everyone in the world strives to establish achievements through concrete affairs, undaunted by the difficulties involved. This is because the work of deliberate action is visible and tangible. Though its achievements are hard to attain, the work itself is easy to undertake. Everyone in the world fears using the Dao to let go of all things, unaware that this is actually easy. This is because the work of non-action has no object to grasp or rely on. Though its achievements are easy to attain, the work itself is hard to undertake.

From establishing the world, to establishing a state, to building a family and making one’s way in life, all require the accumulation of De and achievements, advanced day by day and month by month. Some take a year, some take many years, and some consume an entire lifetime—or even generations. People do not fear the toil; they only hope to accomplish something in the end. Yet this is truly difficult. By contrast, one ill-judged act, one mistaken thought, one improper move, or even a moment of indulgence can bring the world to ruin, topple a state, destroy a family, or cost a person their life. It can all happen in the blink of an eye. Thus, achievement is difficult, but destruction is easy.

As for letting go at the edge of a precipice, willingly taking everything upon oneself, and attaining the Dao here and now without relying on the work of cultivation: this may seem exceedingly easy. But who could do it, if not the most resolute and steadfast person in the world? “Letting go at the edge of a precipice” here is a metaphor for releasing every attachment and accepting everything without reservation.

Guan Yin says: A tiny spark can burn all things to ashes. Once everything has burned away, where is the fire? The Dao, manifest in a single breath, can bring all things back to dark stillness and extinction. Once all things have vanished, where is the Dao?

Baoyizi says: All things in the world have form, and whatever has form reveals an independent “self.” Of things that have form, only fire has no self-existence. Why? Fire cannot exist independently; it appears only by attaching to other things, and so has no fixed self. If it did not depend on plants, trees, metal, or stone, where would the fire be? In that case, it would seem that the world no longer had any fire.

And yet, strike metal against stone or rub bamboo against wood, and fire appears unexpectedly. Does fire exist, or does it not? The sages use fire as a metaphor for the Dao—what a skillful analogy.

Guan Yinzi said: Some people live in this world for only a day before they die; others live ten or a hundred years before they die. Those who die after a single day are like people who attain the Dao in the space of one breath; those who die after ten or a hundred years are like people who attain it only after a long passage of time. Those who have not yet died may seem clear-minded and intelligent in their actions, speech, and thoughts, but they can only be called “living,” not “dead.” Those who have not yet joined with the Dao may accomplish things, but what they do can only be called “deeds,” not “the Dao.”

Bao Yizi said: The ancients taught that the moment one is born, one begins moving toward death, and the moment one dies, one begins moving toward new life. To say “one dies as soon as one is born” means that this kind of life is not truly life; to say “one is reborn as soon as one dies” means that this kind of death is not truly death. When someone lives for only a day before dying, is that life truly life? Is that death truly death? The same is true of those who live ten or a hundred years. How can we know what it means to be truly dead? Some say that it means to act and think with clarity. But who does not act and think? Those who have not truly died can only be called “living”; those who have not joined with the Dao are merely accomplishing things. Ah, where can we find someone truly dead, with whom to discuss the Dao?

Guan Yinzi said: If people do not understand that the Dao I speak of is originally without words or actions, yet cling to words and actions in their search for the Dao, they may suddenly encounter some strange thing and seize upon it as the Dao. They do not realize that if you leave the source to pursue its tributaries, you will never find the source; if you abandon the root to pursue the branches, you will never attain the root.

Bao Yizi says: Words and actions can strengthen De, but they cannot be used to seek the Great Dao directly. If one seeks the Dao through words and actions, one may not only fail to attain the Dao but also lose one’s De. Why? Those who seek the Dao may pursue De too intensely and apply their minds too strenuously. Thinking that ordinary good words and deeds are not enough, they deliberately pursue strange sayings and extraordinary behavior, believing this will let them go beyond De and enter the Great Dao. They then use bizarre events to match their strange sayings, and unusual things to respond to their abnormal behavior. If students of the Dao do not understand this and instead cling to these things as the Dao, they are bound to fall into a demonic realm. As the Daoist scriptures and Buddhist texts say, the harm this causes goes beyond being unable ever to attain the Dao or grasp its root; it is difficult to describe in full.

Guan Yin Zi says: Practicing archery, driving a carriage, playing the qin or making music (one version reads “playing chess”) cannot be learned in an instant. Only the Great Dao, being formless and without direction or position, can be realized in an instant.

Bao Yizi says: The world’s deliberate activities demand great effort, yet people gladly undertake them. The Great Dao is Wuwei (non-action); even a little effort makes it easy, yet people refuse to pursue it. Why? Activities such as archery, driving a carriage, playing the qin, and playing chess have specific objects and rules. One can learn them from others and practice them repeatedly, so one can gradually master them; yet reaching the finest skill still takes years. The Great Dao has no color, shape, number, or direction. It cannot be learned by imitating a particular teacher, nor attained through repeated practice and gradual accumulation. Some people attain the Dao in a flash, while others fail to attain it even after years; the difference is great. This is because achievement through deliberate action and achievement through non-action are not the same.

Guan Yin Zi says: When two people meet to shoot arrows, their skill or lack of skill becomes apparent; when two people meet to play chess, the winner and loser also become apparent. But when two people meet on the Dao, there is nothing to display: no skill or clumsiness, no victory or defeat.

Baoyizi said: When Confucius met Wen Boxuezi in the state of Lu, the two merely met each other’s gaze and at once understood the meaning of the Dao. There was nothing to display and nothing that needed to be said. When some host and guest meet in the world, they insist on distinguishing right from wrong and comparing the depth and breadth of their learning. In truth, both have lost the essential point. Where can one meet someone whose eyes meet yours, who smiles in return, and whose thoughts naturally come into accord with yours? Such understanding needs no words.

Guan Yinzi said: My Dao is like the ocean. Cast millions upon millions of pieces of gold into it, and the ocean does not thereby become greater; cast millions upon millions of stones into it, and it does not thereby become smaller. Cast millions upon millions of filthy things into it, and it can contain them too. The ocean can bear tiny shrimp and fish, as well as great fish and whales. When many streams converge in it, it does not thereby become more abundant; when their waters disperse, it does not thereby become less.

Baoyizi said: The ocean is an apt metaphor for the Dao. In its underlying nature, the Dao contains gold and stone, filth, shrimp and fish, great fish and whales—all things. In its functioning, it can gather, bear, and disperse; it can nourish all things and hold all things within itself. Nothing lies beyond its capacity to encompass. How vast the ocean is! How vast the Dao is! Yet if the ocean knew that some particular thing remained within it, or knew that a single drop of water had flowed into it or away, it would no longer be the ocean as it originally was. Does the ocean truly know these things? Does the Dao truly distinguish and know them?

Guan Yinzi said: My Dao seems to dwell in darkness. A person in a bright place cannot see an object in the dark, while a person in the dark can clearly see the various forms in the bright place. The contrast between light and darkness here illustrates that what one can see differs according to one’s position.

Bao Yizi said: In darkness, others cannot see me, yet I can see things. When I no longer cling to “I,” I can forget myself, and my body seems to disappear as well. To see things clearly is to have wisdom that is bright and unobscured. To forget oneself while discerning things clearly and without confusion—this is the cultivation of a sage.

In a bright place, one sees oneself. Seeing oneself, one notices the brightness around them and can no longer see what lies in the dark. Such people bustle about in a crowd, like those climbing high on a spring day to take in the view. My outward traces are all revealed, and praise or disgrace stirs my heart, while I remain unaware of how fortune and misfortune depend on each other. What is there to value in this state?

Guan Yinzi said: The petty person’s expedience serves evil; the noble person’s expedience serves good; the sage’s expedience leads to grasping nothing. Precisely because nothing is grasped, it accords with the Dao (the Way).

Bao Yizi said: Everyone has this capacity for expedience; all depends on where it leads. “Expedience” means having no fixed, unchanging rule. Is a petty person destined to do evil? If they turn instead to good, they become a noble person. Nor is a noble person destined to do good: if they do something evil in a moment of haste, they become a petty person. Only the sage’s expedience is like empty space, clinging to nothing. If those who study the Dao can observe where this expedience leads when they neither think of good nor think of evil, they have already come close to the essential point.

Guan Yinzi said: My Dao is like a sword. Used to cut things with its blade, it is sharp; grasped by the blade, it injures the hand.

Bao Yizi said: Those who do not understand the principles of the Dao often meet obstacles at every turn. Those who understand the Dao handle the affairs of the world, easy or difficult, and resolve them smoothly, as a blade cuts through things. This is because their spirit is strong and clear, and their wisdom penetrating and perceptive. When things come, they see them naturally; when matters arise, they judge them naturally. They do not exert themselves deliberately, yet handle everything properly with ease. But if they deliberately scrutinize their own spirit and wisdom, asking whether they are strong, clear, penetrating, and perceptive, it is like grasping a sword by the blade. Few can do so without injuring themselves.

Guan Yinzi said: Lian does not answer Dou even when Dou does not ask; tile does not answer stone even when stone does not ask. The Dao neither loses anything nor knows anything. Asking and answering are merely the coming and going of a single breath. Where, then, is the Dao?

Baoyizi said, “The Dao, the fundamental principle of all things in the universe, needs no questions and has no fixed answers. When people come together, Dao meets Dao, as though one asks and the other answers; it is simply the movement of a single Qi (vital energy). Why not look at mugwort, beans, tiles, and stones? Mugwort and beans seem to speak of ritual all day long, but the dim-witted cannot see it. Tiles and stones seem to speak of the Dao all day long, but the deaf cannot hear them. So, between mugwort and beans, tiles and stones, are there truly questions and answers, with a single Qi passing back and forth?”

Guanyinzi said, “Those who look up to the Dao do so in different ways, but those who accord with it are most worthy. They all know things about the Dao, yet may not know the Dao itself. Thus, sages do not feel deficient because they look up to the Dao, nor do they rely on it and consider themselves fulfilled. They do not borrow the Dao from sages, nor do they peddle it to fools.”

Baoyizi said, “The Dao cannot be obtained by seeking; those who pursue it with determination fail to attain it. Words cannot fully express the Dao, and those who chase after it single-mindedly cannot catch up with it. The Dao cannot be relied upon; those who rely on it lose their dignity. It cannot be used for self-display; those who flaunt it make it seem less precious. Scholars in the world have not truly attained the Dao, yet they look up to it and pursue it, feeling inwardly inadequate. They also rely on teachers and treat imitation as a shortcut. All of this is seeking and chasing the Dao. Even those who have drawn close to it will lose their dignity and worth if they rely on it and consider themselves fulfilled, or use it to show off and peddle it to fools. Such people know only various things about the Dao; they do not understand the Dao itself. What does that have to do with the true Dao?

“As for sages, they understand without relying on teachers and attain without pursuing. They possess the Dao naturally, without boasting of relying on it, and are naturally esteemed without putting themselves on display. Before them there is no sage to imitate; after them there is no fool to scorn. They come and go alone, and few understand them. That is why such a person is especially worthy.”

The first volume of The Unspoken Meaning of the True Scripture of Wen Shi is complete.

1. “Bring life to fulfillment and create the mysterious” appears in the Guan Yin Zi, included in the First Collection of Compiled Books, and in the Supreme, Wondrous Dao True Scripture of Wen Shi, included in the “Mu” section of the Daoist Canon.

2. Judging from the surrounding context, this line should read, “There is no gain or loss that can be verified,” meaning that no gain or loss can serve as proof.

3. In both editions cited above, this line reads, “Some who are born die at ten; some who are born die at a hundred.”

4. Judging from the surrounding context, this line should read, “Those who are dying are at that very moment being born anew,” meaning that death and new birth are taking place at the same time.

Written by Chen Xianwei, the Master Who Embraces the One.

“Two Pillars”: The term “pillars” refers to the foundations that support and establish Heaven and Earth. This chapter consists of twelve sections.

Guanyinzi said: Objects such as locust wood, bowls, bottles, pots, jars, and urns can all serve as a basis for understanding Heaven and Earth. One can also determine good and ill fortune by divining with tortoiseshell, counting yarrow stalks, or using broken tiles and the patterns in stones. From this we can know that the principles of Heaven, Earth, and all things are gathered within each thing: each thing contains the principles of the whole, and all things are complete in themselves, borrowing nothing from one another.

When my spirit joins with the spirit of another thing, the Jing of both responds in resonance, and wondrous efficacy appears. The same principle applies to eggs formed through the union of male and female, and to fetuses formed through the union of female and male. Form is the other’s Jing; the principle of a thing is the other’s Shen. Affection is my Jing; contemplation is my Shen. Affection belongs to Water, and contemplation to Fire. By concentrating affection and contemplating it, Wood takes shape; by maintaining contemplation and gathering in affection, Metal takes shape.

First, envision in the mind the original Qi—the fundamental energy from which Heaven and Earth began—gathering into a particular thing. Then join with its form through focused affection, and join with its principle through quiet contemplation. The image of the thing will then appear.

The forms manifested by the movement of original Qi fill the vast expanse: rising from the center, it becomes Heaven; descending from the center, it becomes Earth. Nothing rises without also descending, and nothing descends without also rising. What rises is Fire; what descends is Water. What seeks to rise but cannot is Wood; what seeks to descend but cannot is Metal. Wood can produce Fire when drilled, and yield Water when twisted; Metal can produce Fire when struck, and become Water when melted. Metal and Wood are forms in which Water and Fire meet.

Water represents Jing and Heaven; Fire represents Shen and Earth; Wood represents the hun and humanity; Metal represents the po and things. Time is what moves without ceasing; space is what contains all things and gives them their place. Earth runs through the beginning and end of all things. Its principles can be explained by some and pointed out by others.

Baoyi Zi says: Heaven and Earth are the parents of the myriad things. The myriad things are born from Heaven and Earth, and each subtly embodies their form. Having this form, they also possess the principles that correspond to it. Even bent vessels, basins, bowls, and jars can reveal the principles of Heaven and Earth.

Baoyi Zi also says: Heaven and Earth are the parents of the myriad things. The myriad things are born from Heaven and Earth, and each subtly embodies their form and principles. Even basins, bowls, and jars contain the workings of Heaven and Earth’s Qi (vital energy); tortoise shells and the tiles and stones used for divination can reveal good and ill fortune. If even things without feelings are like this, how much more so are living beings with blood, Qi, and feelings? And how much more so is the human being, called the numinous essence of the myriad things?

Spirit and form respond to one another; form and principle are linked. When feelings incline toward what they love and desire, the gaze settles on what it sees, and the mind holds fast to its thoughts, life gathers from this and continues without end. Who can grasp the principle at work here, if not someone of the highest understanding?

People know only that Shen (spirit) belongs to Heaven and Jing (essence) to Earth. They do not know that Shen is like fire, originally rising from the ground, while Jing is like water, originally descending from Heaven. What longs to rise but cannot becomes Wood and human beings; what longs to descend but cannot becomes Metal and things. Metal and Wood arise from the meeting of Water and Fire, and so each possesses the qualities of both.

The natures of Water and Fire move ceaselessly, giving rise to the four seasons. They encompass the myriad things and assign each its place, thereby establishing the positions of the four directions. Once the four seasons have arisen and the four directions have been established, the Great Center within Heaven and Earth takes shape. When the Great Center takes shape, Earth assumes the honored position. Thus the beginning and end, division and dispersal, and manifestation of the myriad things all depend on Earth at the center.

When the Qi of the Great Center spreads throughout the expanse of space, Heaven rises from the center and Earth descends from it, and the forms of Heaven and Earth separate. Nothing rises without descending, and nothing descends without rising. This reciprocal movement, from above to below and from below to above, is the work of spirit.

Thus, the roots of human hair are on the head and the limbs extend downward, symbolizing the descent of hun and shen from Heaven. Plants have roots and stems beneath the ground, while their branches and trunks grow upward, symbolizing the ascent of jing and po from Earth. Birds and beasts grow horizontally, so their source lies in the tail. Though all things possess blood, Qi, and nature, they also combine differing qualities such as Metal and Wood. The Five Phases intermingle, and the endowments and origins of the various insects and beasts differ from one another. Their transformations are so numerous they cannot be fully traced.

There are more people in the world than can be counted. Each person dreams different dreams, and the dreams change from night to night. In dreams, there are heaven and earth, people, and all kinds of things, formed by thoughts in number beyond counting, like dust. How, then, can we know that the heaven and earth before our eyes are not also formed by some kind of thought?

Baoyi Zi said: What difference is there between the heaven and earth and people seen in dreams and those seen when awake? Are they all formed by thought, or are they not formed by thought? Before infants know how to think, they see heaven and earth and all kinds of things, yet do not know that these are heaven and earth and things. What we call “heaven, earth, and people” is defined by human understanding. Before infants have formed understanding, can they dream of heaven, earth, and people? When they first see these things, they still do not recognize them. Only after some time, when impressions gradually settle in the mind, do dreams become clear. This is like jade, scales, and animal horns, in which images of mountains and rivers, stars and moon, gather into beautiful patterns, bringing forms into view. But do scales and horns have thoughts? Does jade have thoughts? Once you understand how images appear in scales, horns, and jade, you can also understand how heaven and earth manifest their “thoughts.”

Guan Yin Zi said: The heart corresponds to the jujube tree, the liver to the elm; I am connected with heaven and earth. When the weather is about to turn overcast, I dream of water; when it is about to clear, I dream of fire. This is heaven and earth communicating with me. My relationship with heaven and earth seems at times united and at times separate, yet in the end we merge into an undivided whole.

Baoyi Zi said: Heaven and earth are the greatest of all forms.

Guan Yin Zi again said: The heart corresponds to the jujube tree, the liver to the elm; I am connected with heaven and earth. When the weather is about to turn overcast, I dream of water; when it is about to clear, I dream of fire. This is heaven and earth communicating with me. My relationship with heaven and earth seems at times united and at times separate, yet in the end we merge into an undivided whole.

Baoyizi said, “Heaven and Earth are the greatest forms, while the human body is a smaller form. Judged only by form, they naturally differ in size. From the perspective of Shen (spirit), however, there is no difference between them in separation or union. The changing brightness and darkness of the sun and moon above are like the waxing and waning of the human spirit. Is it really only that on cloudy days people dream of water, and on clear days they dream of fire? The Five Flavors and medicinal plants and foods on Earth, too, are like the five human organs, each with its own likes and dislikes. Is it really only that the heart corresponds to dates and the liver to something else? Am I, in the end, one with Heaven and Earth, or are we two? Do we return to the same place, or does each return to its own place?”

Guan Yinzi said, “Though Heaven and Earth are vast, they have color, form, number, and direction. Here I have an existence that belongs to none of these, yet can make Heaven Heaven and Earth Earth.”

Baoyizi said, “The source that causes all things to grow without end has itself never been born; the source that causes all things to die has itself never died. Thus, what makes Heaven Heaven is not the Heaven people ordinarily speak of, and what makes Earth Earth is not the Earth they ordinarily speak of. People see only things with form, color, number, and direction and call them Heaven, without knowing that an existence without form, color, number, or direction can make Heaven Heaven and Earth Earth, and can also cause all things to grow and pass away. Only when those who study the Way recognize the real and experience it directly will they understand that it cannot be named in words or compared to any image. The ancients called it ‘neither mind nor thing, apart from nature and appearance’; Hanshanzi called it ‘the Heaven within Heaven.’ These, too, are merely names imposed out of necessity. How could they truly explain it?”

Guan Yinzi said, “Those who die in the womb or in the egg may be called either people or creatures. Even though Heaven and Earth are vast, they originally know nothing of Heaven and Earth. All that people know about Heaven and Earth is only their own distinctions and perceptions. It is like a hand that does not touch a blade: the blade then cannot wound the hand.”

Baoyizi said, “It is easy to know things, but difficult to remove knowledge once it has taken shape. What one saw once as a child, one cannot forget even in old age. How deeply knowledge binds people—it is truly frightening! When the hand does not touch the blade, the blade cannot wound it.”

Baoyizi says: “It is easy to know things, but difficult to forget what one knows about them. Scenes seen in childhood are still not forgotten in old age, even when one’s hair has turned white. The hold that knowing has over people is so deep that it should truly make us wary! Beings that die in the womb or in the egg have, of course, never seen Heaven and Earth. Yet while still in the womb or the egg, do they have awareness? If they have no awareness, how can they be in the womb or the egg at all? So, within the womb or the egg, is there Heaven and Earth or not? Buddhism says that ‘consciousness’ is the most subtle of the Five Aggregates, because it is the hardest to forget. Without consciousness, life would not arise; without life, one would not enter the classes of beings born from womb, egg, transformation, or moisture. What we now take to be Heaven and Earth is merely what consciousness in the mind has worked out for itself. When has Heaven and Earth ever waited for people to know them? Thus it is said: ‘If I do not touch the blade, the blade cannot harm me.’

“Guan Yinzi says: In dreams, mirrors, and water, there are scenes of Heaven and Earth. To make the Heaven and Earth of dreams disappear, do not fall asleep; to make the Heaven and Earth in a mirror disappear, do not let your form be reflected; to make the Heaven and Earth in water disappear, do not draw water. Whether scenes of Heaven and Earth exist depends on oneself, not on external things. Therefore, the sage does not eliminate Heaven and Earth, but eliminates the knowledge of Heaven and Earth.

“Baoyizi says: Heaven and Earth confer great kindness on people, yet can also become their great robber. If you understand how they rob the heart and spirit, you will not be robbed by them. Heaven and Earth do not rob people in themselves; people rob themselves. Why? The myriad things of Heaven and Earth in the mind first appear like what is seen in a dream, then like images reflected in a mirror, and finally gather in the heart and spirit, where they cannot be forgotten until death. The way one’s heart and spirit are stolen is truly hard to describe fully. Yet dreams arise from sleep, images in a mirror arise from reflection, and images in water arise from drawing water. To draw something is to take it; dreams arise from seeing, seeing arises from apprehending, and apprehending arises from consciousness. So it is said: there is no need to eliminate Heaven and Earth; simply eliminate the knowledge of Heaven and Earth. And Heaven and Earth, of course, include all things.”

Guan Yinzi said: Heaven does not become heaven of its own accord; some activity makes it appear as heaven. Earth does not become earth of its own accord either; some activity makes it appear as earth. The myriad things arise from discriminating awareness. Thus, the teaching to “leave” does not mean leaving heaven and earth, but leaving the mind that discriminates between them. When heaven and earth are spoken of, the myriad things are included as well.

Guan Yinzi said: Heaven does not make itself heaven; an activity makes it so. Earth does not make itself earth either; an activity makes it so. It is like houses, boats, and vehicles: they must rely on people to be made; they do not form by themselves. Understand that these things depend on something else, and you can also grasp that there is an existence that depends on nothing outside itself. At this point, looking up, you see no heaven; looking down, you see no earth. In your heart, you cling neither to “I,” and beyond your eyes, you cling neither to “others.”

Bao Yizi said: Heaven does not cling to being heaven, and so it can endure; earth does not cling to being earth, and so it can last. If people do not cling to being people, and I do not cling to being I, then I can endure together with heaven and earth. Do heaven and earth really depend on people in order to take shape? What takes shape by depending on people is the heaven and earth within the human mind. External things may indeed be out there, but whether they take shape in the mind depends on me. Therefore, one who does not cling to heaven and earth clings neither to heaven above nor to earth below; inwardly, they do not cling to “I,” and beyond their eyes, they do not cling to “others.”

Guan Yinzi said: What has duration is Qi (vital energy); that which is not Qi has never had any distinction between day and night. What has direction and shape is form; that which is not form has never had any distinction between north and south. What does it mean to say “that which is not Qi”? Qi arises from some activity, like shaking a tuft of reeds to bring forth wind. Before the shaking, the wind-Qi has not yet appeared; only after the shaking is it called Qi. What does it mean to say “that which is not form”? Form arises from some activity, like drilling wood to make fire. Before the drilling, the fire’s form has not yet appeared; only after the drilling is it called form.

Baoyizi says: Qi does not generate Qi by itself; whatever can generate Qi is not Qi in the ordinary sense. Form does not generate form by itself either; whatever can generate form is not form in the ordinary sense. Someone asks, “I dare not question the claim that Qi cannot generate Qi. But can form not generate form? People and the myriad things plainly arise from form producing form. Is that not an example?” Baoyizi replies, “Withered wood and dead bodies are also forms. Can they produce forms? People and the myriad things may seem to arise from form producing form, but in fact an invisible something within them is at work. This is true even of metal and stone, plants and trees. That is why the sages use fire as an analogy: if even the subtlest forms work this way, how much more so the coarser, more visible forms?”

“Non-Qi” means what sets Qi in motion and brings about change; “non-form” means what enables forms to come into being. Qi corresponds to Heaven, with its changes through time and between day and night; form corresponds to Earth, with its directions and the distinction between north and south. People in the world choose dates and directions in the hope of generating Qi and bringing forms into being, unaware that the sequence of time already existed before Heaven and Earth were divided, and that directions are simply the natural orientation of north and south.

Guan Yin says: Changes between cold, heat, warmth, and frost are like what happens to tiles and stones: set them over a fire and they grow hot; place them in water and they grow cold. Breathe on them and they warm; draw in breath and they freeze. These changes occur only because external things come and go; the tiles and stones themselves do not come or go. It is like reflections in water, which seem to come and go while the water itself does neither.

Baoyizi says: In my earlier explanation of the Cantong qi (a Daoist Neidan classic), I said that Heaven and Earth do not themselves alternate between day and night. Day and night appear because the sun and moon come and go. Heaven and Earth do not themselves change between cold and heat either; cold and heat arise because the sun and moon are at varying distances. This describes the usual pattern of cold and heat. But when a cold wind blows in midsummer or oppressive warmth suddenly arrives in the depth of winter, these are out-of-season conditions: abnormal winds that come and go suddenly. They are not deliberate acts of Heaven and Earth, but merely the passage of external breaths. It is just like reflections in water, which seem to come and go while the water itself does neither.

Guan Yinzi said: When clothing flutters in the air, it can stir up wind. When breath blows onto an object, it can condense into water. When water flows, its surface makes a sound. When stones strike one another, they give off sparks. Those who understand these principles can bring about wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. Wind, rain, thunder, and lightning all arise from Qi, and Qi in turn arises from the mind. If you think about fire for a long time, you will feel hot; if you think about water for a long time, you will feel cold. Those who understand these principles can connect with the workings of Heaven and Earth.

Bao Yizi said: A person’s spirit, hun, and po are like the wind, rain, thunder, and lightning in the sky. These arise from Heaven, yet people can also bring them about. So can we not give rise to, nourish, preserve, and cultivate our own spirit, hun, and po? Understand that making clothing flutter can stir up wind, and you can stir your own Qi. Understand that breath blown onto an object can condense into water, and you can transform the Qi within your body into Jing. Understand that flowing water makes a sound, and you can refine and nourish Jing to restrain the po. Understand that striking stones together produces light, and you can temper the po to strengthen the Shen. By observing the Dao of Heaven and putting it into practice, we come to see that, as the Yinfu Jing—a classic on the workings of Heaven and their correspondence with human affairs—says, the key to transformation and control lies in Qi, while the mind governs Qi. Thinking of fire makes you feel hot; thinking of water makes you feel cold. Focus your mind on Heaven, and you will correspond with Heaven; focus it on Earth, and you will correspond with Earth. In this way, you can respond to the myriad changes, and nothing is beyond your ability. Virtue truly connects with Heaven and Earth.

Guan Yinzi said: Changes in the clouds of the five colors can be used to predict whether the year’s harvest will be abundant or poor; the condition of the winds blowing from the eight directions at dawn can be used to predict good or ill fortune at that time. From this we can see that good and ill fortune, calamity and blessing, disaster and auspicious sign are all outcomes of the movement of a single Qi. If you can dissolve the distinction between self and others and merge completely with Heaven and Earth, yet cling to your private cleverness and regard things as separate, self-contained entities, you will lose this understanding.

Baoyizi says: The portents of disaster and auspiciousness shown by the Five Clouds—the clouds of five colors—and the Eight Winds, blowing from the eight directions, are all the result of the movement of a single Qi. From these signs, people can foresee good and ill fortune in the world between Heaven and Earth. The transformations of Qi are truly wondrous and numinous! Only the unenlightened fail to understand this.

Yizi also says: The portents of disaster and auspiciousness shown by the Five Clouds and the Eight Winds are all the result of the movement of a single Qi. From these signs, people can foresee good and ill fortune in the world between Heaven and Earth. The transformations of Qi are truly wondrous and numinous! Only the unenlightened fail to understand this. When a person responds to changes in Qi, the Five Clouds change accordingly, and the Eight Winds shift in turn. This is because something supremely subtle and wondrous exists within them. From this we can see that the things we call “people” and “myself,” “Heaven” and “Earth,” day after day, are all mutually responsive. If we claim this power as our own through private cleverness and intelligence, how could we understand the Dao of empty, unobstructed numinosity, in which all things merge as one?

Guanyinzi says: Heaven and Earth are lodgings; the myriad things are lodgings; I am a lodging; and the Dao, too, is a lodging. Apart from lodging, the Dao cannot be established.

Baoyizi says: “Lodging” means having no fixed abode. The ancients said that a person’s life between Heaven and Earth is like a white horse flashing past an opening in a wall: in an instant, it is gone. Is this not lodging? Since I am a lodging, Heaven and Earth are lodgings as well. Heaven and Earth do not take shape on their own; they become the Heaven and Earth I know only when I recognize them as Heaven and Earth. Thus, I am a lodging, and Heaven and Earth are lodgings too; Heaven and Earth are lodgings, and the myriad things are lodgings as well. If I, Heaven and Earth, and the myriad things are all within lodging, yet the Dao alone is not a lodging and endures forever, then the Dao and I would be two separate things. How, then, could the Dao be established? While a person exists, the Dao exists; when the person vanishes, the Dao also ceases. Therefore, apart from lodging, the Dao cannot be established.

The Master Yin said: When a sage governs the world, he does not assume in advance who is wise and who is foolish. Instead, he responds to each person as they are, honoring the strengths of the wise and accommodating the circumstances of the foolish. Nor does he decide in advance what is right or wrong. He judges each matter on its own terms, affirming what is right and rejecting what is wrong.

The sage understands that the principles of past and present are broadly connected, so at times he gives priority to the past and at times to the present. He also understands that the principles of inner and outer are connected, so at times he first considers what is internal and at times first attends to what is external. Nothing in the world can entangle him, so he makes humility his foundation. He excludes nothing from the world, so he embraces all things with an open mind. Nothing in the world can confound him, so he acts simply. Nothing in the world can block his way, so he knows how to adapt to changing circumstances.

Governing the world by this principle of balance makes it possible to establish rites; by this principle of harmony, to compose music; by this principle of fairness, to manage resources; and by this principle of thoroughness, to resist outside aggression. By following the world’s actual circumstances, one can establish laws and institutions; by observing its needs, one can make useful implements.

The sage does not govern the world by his own efforts alone, but relies on the world to govern itself together. The people of the world credit the sage with the achievements, and the sage returns the credit to the people. Thus, when Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang governed the world, everyone felt that it had all happened of its own accord.

Bao Yizi said: Heaven follows its natural course. It does not deliberately act, yet it brings all things to change and grow. The sage follows nature and does not deliberately govern, yet the world can be at peace. What, then, is the sage thinking? People see only that the sage establishes rites, promotes music, manages resources, repels external threats, sets up laws, makes tools, and is able to help and bring all things to completion, leaving no one out. So they assume the sage worries over and plans for everything, using personal wisdom and strength to handle all matters under Heaven. They do not understand that the sage takes humility as the foundation, and with emptiness and stillness embraces all things. The sage acts naturally, simply, and calmly, adapting flexibly to the times: when people are capable, the sage follows their abilities and appoints them; when they are limited, the sage responds to their circumstances and assigns them accordingly. What is judged right is affirmed in accordance with the moment; what is judged wrong is corrected in accordance with the moment. The sage does not decide in advance the importance of matters based on whether they belong to the past or present, nor treat them differently based on whether they are internal or external. Instead, the sage lets the people of the world govern the world according to its own principles and circumstances. The people credit the sage with the achievement, but the sage does not claim it as personal property; the achievement is shared by all under Heaven. Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang understood this principle, and so their governance was called “natural.”

Guan Yin Zi said: Heaven covers everything. All things are born and all things perish, yet Heaven neither favors nor dislikes them. The sun shines on everything. Some things are beautiful, others ugly, yet the sun does not treat one more generously or harshly than another.

Bao Yizi said: The sage is like Heaven: all things are born and perish, yet Heaven neither favors nor dislikes them. The sage is also like the sun: all things have their own beauty and ugliness, yet the sun treats them all alike. This is what it means for the sage to govern the world through Wuwei (non-action) and without self-interest.

Guan Yin Zi said: The sage’s Dao (the Way) comes from Heaven’s mandate; the sage did not create the Dao. The sage’s De (Virtue/Power) accords with the times; the sage does not possess De as a personal attribute. The sage’s undertakings are accomplished collectively by the people; the sage does not achieve them alone. Therefore, the sage does not claim the Dao, De, or these undertakings as personal possessions.

Bao Yizi said: The sage has no attachment to self. The Dao follows Heaven’s mandate, and the sage does not claim to possess it. De accords with the times, and the sage does not claim to possess it. The people accomplish the sage’s undertakings together, and the sage does not claim them as personal achievements. Those who insist on claiming to have the Dao, De, and achievements are merely mediocre people. How could they forget themselves?

Guan Yinzi says: The sage understands that the “self” has no fixed nature, and so sees all people under Heaven as connected with himself and treats them with benevolence. He also understands that no fixed “self” governs events, and so responds flexibly according to the circumstances. The sage’s virtue appears in keeping with the times, yet he does not regard it as a virtue belonging uniquely to him. He acts to bring things to fruition for others, yet does not regard the results as his own. Those who cling to the claims “I possess the Dao,” “I possess virtue,” or “I have accomplished this” are merely ordinary people. How could they have forgotten the self?

Guan Yinzi also says: The sage understands that the self is not truly existent, and so uses benevolence to connect people with one another. He understands that no fixed self governs events, and so weighs and handles them according to what is fitting. He understands that thoughts have no fixed self, and so uses ritual propriety to discipline them. He understands that knowledge has no fixed self, and so uses wisdom to illuminate it. He understands that words have no fixed self, and so upholds them through sincerity.

Bao Yizi says: Are the Five Constant Virtues practiced by sages—benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness, as they are commonly named in Confucianism—really different in themselves from those practiced by ordinary people? The difference is this: when ordinary people practice the Five Constant Virtues, they have not yet forgotten the self; the sage’s practice of them is rooted in selflessness. When benevolence arises from selflessness, the selves of all people under Heaven are seen as connected with one’s own, and benevolence is thereby put into practice. When righteousness arises from selflessness, one can weigh the affairs of all under Heaven and act righteously in a fitting way. When ritual propriety arises from selflessness, one can discipline the thoughts of all under Heaven. When wisdom arises from selflessness, one can illuminate the understanding of all under Heaven. When trustworthiness arises from selflessness, one can safeguard the words of all under Heaven. This is why the sage’s attainment is so difficult to reach.

Guan Yinzi says: In the sage’s way, sometimes benevolence is practiced as benevolence; at other times, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are also practiced as benevolence. The five—benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—are mutually connected, each containing the other four. The sage brings them together as one, yet does not cling to that unity. For this reason, the people under Heaven cannot define the sage’s way by any fixed name.

Bao Yizi says: If one takes transforming all things and nurturing the people as benevolence, people under Heaven can understand it and put it into practice. But the state in which righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are also benevolence, and in which benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are brought together without clinging to any fixed form, is difficult to define with a single name.

Bao Yizi says: To take “transformation”—responding to the changes of things and allowing all beings to find their proper place—as benevolence is something everyone in the world can understand and put into practice. But to incorporate righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness into benevolence as well—who besides the utmost sage could do that? Why is this so? Because when one constant Way is taken as the root, all Five Constant Virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—are present. They transform into one another in an endless cycle, and each of the five also contains the other four. Look at those who are wise and worthy: some prize propriety but slight righteousness; others have wisdom in abundance but lack trustworthiness. They are far from the state in which all Five Virtues are perfectly integrated. The Book of Changes says, “The benevolent see it and call it benevolence; the wise see it and call it wisdom.” This shows that the sage’s Way is vast and all-embracing, deep and without limit. How could names or forms describe it? Thus the sage takes the Way as a whole and does not cling to any one aspect, so the world cannot define him by any fixed label.

Guan Yinzi says: Do not judge the sage by his actions, for the Way leaves no fixed traces. Do not judge him by his words, for the Way cannot be exhausted by speech. Do not judge him by his abilities, for the Way is inherently without action. Do not judge him by his appearance, for the Way has no fixed form.

Bao Yizi says: The Way has no body, traces, words, or deeds. Where, then, should those who study and cultivate it seek it? If they must seek, they may look to the sage. The sage embodies the Way, but can the Way truly be found in the sage? Seeking it there, one can see only his words, appearance, actions, and abilities. The more one clings to these, the farther one moves from the Way. If one sets aside his words, appearance, actions, and abilities, where can one look to observe the sage? Those skilled at observing the sage look to his heart, not his outward display. But can the sage’s heart truly be observed? Is it different from our own, or the same? The earlier statement, “Do not borrow the Way from the sage,” means precisely this: the Way must be realized through one’s own experience; imitating the sage alone is not enough.

Guan Yinzi says: Actions, however noble and extraordinary, still fall within distinctions of high and low. Words, however subtle, still fall within distinctions of right and wrong. Abilities, however miraculous, still admit distinctions between skill and clumsiness. Appearance, however unusual, still falls within distinctions of beauty and ugliness. The sage uses these outward manifestations to appear before the world. Only when people can grasp their meaning through them and inwardly accord with the Way do they truly see the sage.

Baoyizi says: Sages originally had no fixed way of speaking, appearance, conduct, or abilities. Only when necessity arose did they make use of these things to reveal the Dao to the world. People see only that a sage’s words are subtle, appearance distinctive, conduct outstanding, and abilities wondrous. They then assume the Dao lies in these four things and argue over right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, higher and lower, skill and clumsiness. In this way, they become even less able to understand the sage. Those who study should quiet their minds and reflect, observing beyond these four things; only then are they truly good students.

Guan Yin says: Sages learned the order between ruler and subject from bees, how to weave nets from spiders, how to establish ritual from mice, and how to arrange troops from praying mantises. Some versions read “organize the military” instead of “arrange troops.” Ordinary people take worthy people as their teachers, and worthy people take sages as their teachers. Sages, too, must be good at learning.

Guan Yin also says: Sages learned the order between ruler and subject from bees, nets from spiders, ritual from mice, and the arrangement of troops from praying mantises. Some versions read “organize the military” instead of “arrange troops.” Ordinary people take worthy people as their teachers, and worthy people take sages as their teachers; sages take all things as their teachers. Only sages can communicate with all things, and so they have no sense of a private self.

Baoyizi says: It certainly makes sense that ordinary people take worthy people as their teachers, worthy people take sages as their teachers, and sages take all things as their teachers. But do sages truly establish the order between ruler and subject by imitating bees, and devise nets, ritual, and armies by imitating spiders, mice, and praying mantises? To say that sages communicate with all things and have no sense of a private self means that everything under Heaven can become a teacher to them. All things grow naturally according to their own natures; what sages emulate is simply the principle by which all things are naturally as they are. Sages have no deliberate intention.

Guan Yin says: Sages and ordinary people are alike in what they eat and wear, in their houses, boats, and carts, and in their status, wealth, and poverty. Ordinary people are often like sages, and sages are often like ordinary people. Are those who admire the lofty distance of sages and exaggerate their extraordinary qualities right in their view?

Baoyizi says: Sages live among people, concealing their radiance and blending into the common world, fearing only that they might seem different from everyone else. Are they also like everyone else in their daily routines, food, clothing, and other such matters?

Baoyi Zi says: The sage lives in the world with his radiance subdued and mingles with ordinary people, fearing that he might appear different from them. In his daily life—his home and habits, clothing and food, poverty or wealth, rank or low status—how could he deliberately set himself apart? The sage worries precisely about making others admire his wisdom and praise his greatness.

When Shicheng Qi went to see Laozi, he said, “You don’t look like a sage to me. There are leftover vegetables beside the rat hole, and raw and cooked food piled up in front of you. There is so much that I can’t see where it ends.” Laozi remained unmoved and did not reply. From this we can see: how could the sage, living in the world, allow people to admire and praise him?

Guan Yin Zi says: When sages speak of the Dao, they regard all things under Heaven and Earth as parts of the Dao. They answer the many sounds, bring all things to their beginnings and endings, let blue appear as blue and yellow as yellow, and allow things to hatch and grow in their own way. The sage neither favors the Dao nor rejects particular things; he neither honors the gentleman nor looks down on the petty person. The worthy person, by contrast, treats all things as separate objects. Every day he rejects some and takes up others, measuring what is long or short and correcting what is crooked, straight, square, or round. This is being changed by things without knowing it.

Baoyi Zi says: The Dao as the sage experiences it is like threads interwoven in a profusion of strands; when he deals with particular affairs, they are ordered like cloth woven in Qin. The expressions “answering and responding,” “beginning and ending,” “blue and blue, yellow and yellow,” and “hatching and nurturing” refer to following and answering the sounds and changes of things, allowing each thing to begin and be completed, to show its natural colors, and to be nurtured as it grows. The sage neither favors the Dao nor rejects the myriad things; he neither honors the gentleman nor despises the petty person. This is the Dao embracing all things like a mass of tangled threads.

As for excluding mixed things and sorting them one by one, measuring what is long or short and what is crooked, straight, square, or round, and making choices each day while arranging everything in orderly fashion: this is handling affairs with the precision of Qin weaving. The sage devotes himself to the Dao, without private interests or attachment to the self, and so does not let things change his innermost nature. The worthy person devotes himself to particular things, clings to preferences, and is concerned with the self; he therefore cannot help being led and changed by things.

Guan Yinzi says: If a fish wants to set itself apart from the shoal, it will die if it leaves the water and leaps onto the bank. If a tiger wants to set itself apart from other tigers, it will be captured if it leaves the forest and runs into the marketplace. The sage does not deliberately set himself apart from other people; external things simply cannot bind him.

Baoyizi says: The Zhuangzi records, “Long ago, I heard a person of great attainment”—someone whose cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) had reached perfection—say: “Those who praise themselves achieve no merit. When an undertaking is complete, it may bring harm; when a reputation is established, it may also suffer loss. Who can cast aside merit and fame, return to their true nature, and live among others in plain simplicity, without showing off their writings or relying on power, without blaming others and without being blamed in return?” This is precisely what is meant by “the sage does not differ from other people.”

As for Zhuangzi, while visiting the garden at Diaoling, he forgot his own safety. He saw an unusual magpie and, wishing to hunt it, forgot to preserve his true nature. As a result, an official in charge of parks and forests pursued him, mistaking him for game. After escaping home, he stayed indoors for three months. This was like a fish leaving the water to leap onto the bank, or a tiger leaving the forest to enter the marketplace. Even so, when the sage lives among other people, though he does not deliberately make himself seem different, how could external things bind him?

Guan Yinzi says: The Dao (the Way) does not act by design. If one uses “the Dao” to deal with worldly affairs, that is merely a particular matter, not the Dao itself. The Dao has no fixed form; if one entrusts the Dao to some thing, that is merely that thing, not the Dao. In the end, the sage cannot separate the Dao from the myriad things and display it to others.

Bao Yizi said: The nature of the Dao is Wuwei (non-action), but when the Dao is applied to the affairs of the world, it takes the form of particular tasks. The Dao has no fixed shape, yet when it dwells within the myriad things, it becomes a particular thing. In the end, sages cannot separate the Dao from these tasks and things and display it to others. So where can those who aspire to seek the Dao find it?

The ancients said: If the Dao could be presented as a gift, there would be no one who would not offer it to a ruler; if it could be presented for approval, there would be no one who would not present it to their parents; if it could be taught, there would be no one who would not pass it on to their descendants. It is precisely because the Dao cannot be displayed to others that so few truly attain it. Does this mean sages never pass the Dao on to anyone? Did Confucius not say, “I have nothing to conceal from you”? Those who are skilled at observing sages should discern the Dao beyond particular tasks and things.

Guan Yin said: In a sage’s words, sometimes a bell is simply a bell, and sometimes bells and drums are linked. In a sage’s actions, sometimes a cart is simply a cart, and sometimes carts and boats are linked. Because no one can assign them a name, the words of people throughout the world have no way to take effect; because no one can see through them, the ingenuity of people throughout the world has no way to be exercised.

Bao Yizi explained: Saying that a bell is a bell is something everyone can understand. Saying that a drum is also a bell leaves people unable to grasp what is meant; this is what gives the words of people throughout the world no way to take effect. Saying that a cart travels as a cart does is something everyone can understand. Saying that a boat, too, travels as a cart does leaves people unable to fathom its manner of travel; this is what gives the ingenuity of people throughout the world no way to be exercised. This is like calling a dog a sheep, or saying that a cart wheel does not roll along the ground. Can such claims be accurately named in words? Can they be understood through ordinary intelligence?

Guan Yinzi said: Maggots that live in crucian carp eat snails, snails eat ants, and turtles eat the maggots; they devour one another. The words of sages are like this too. First they speak of the drawbacks of “being” and “nonbeing,” then of the drawbacks of “neither being nor nonbeing,” and then say that “neither being nor nonbeing” should also be let go. Words are like a saw being pulled back and forth. Only those who truly know how to realize the sages’ Way are not bound by any single statement.

Bao Yizi said: The Great Way cannot be explained in words, and sages who have truly realized it do not cling to speech. This is not because there is nothing to say about the Great Way, but because it cannot be made clear; trying to express it in words leads to distortion. Why? Speech never escapes the bounds of “being” and “nonbeing.” To say “being” excludes “nonbeing”; to say “nonbeing” denies “being.” To say “not being” is to fall back into “not nonbeing,” while to say “not nonbeing” is to fall back into “not being.” Being and nonbeing consume one another and create distortions, like snails, ants, and maggots devouring one another, or a saw being pulled back and forth. So saying nothing is better than speaking.

Does this mean sages leave behind not a single word? The words of sages are found throughout the world. If scholars treat those words as fixed and unchanging, they will not only fail to understand speech, but will also lose the original intent of the sages’ words.

Guan Yinzi said: A dragon can transform into a jiao, a snake, a turtle, a fish, or a clam, among other forms. A jiao, however, remains only a jiao; it cannot transform into a dragon, a snake, a turtle, a fish, or a clam. Sages are like dragons: they can adapt to changing circumstances. Worthies are like jiao: the scope of what they can do is more limited.

Baoyi Zi says: A sage can become great, and can also become small; can appear wise, and can also appear foolish; can appear sullied, and can also appear pure; can be honored, and can also be humble; can live long, and can also die young. They undergo countless transformations. Nothing is beyond their ability, and nothing is something they must refuse to do. The worthy are different: if they can become great, they cannot become small; if they appear wise, they cannot appear foolish.

In ancient times, Confucius met Laozi. On his return, he said to his disciples, “Today, at last, I have seen a dragon. When a dragon gathers itself, it takes shape; when it disperses, its patterned brilliance appears. It rides the clouds and vital energy, and tends Yin-Yang. My mouth fell open, but I could not speak. How, then, could I presume to offer Lao Dan any counsel?”

Zigong said, “So there truly is someone who can dwell in stillness like a corpse, yet reveal the transformations of a dragon; whose voice resounds like thunder, yet is as still as a deep pool; who, once in motion, moves like the turning of Heaven and Earth; who tends Yin-Yang and leaves our master speechless. How could I presume to offer such a Lao Dan any counsel? Could I, then, see such a person with my own eyes?”

The sage is like a dragon, the worthy like a serpent-dragon. Perhaps this is what the saying means.

Guan Yin Zi says: Inwardly, he does not settle into any fixed state; outwardly, his form does not deliberately display itself. In motion, he follows the current like water; at rest, he reflects all things like a mirror; in response, he answers each sound like an echo. He is indistinct and empty, as though there were nothing there; still and clear, like pure water. Those who share the Dao harmonize with him, while those who think they have gained something have instead lost it. He never places himself ahead of others, yet always follows in their wake.

Bao Yizi said: Within yourself, do not regard yourself as a fixed subject. The moment you define yourself, a distinction called “I” arises. When you can be without a self, the forms of all things appear naturally. They do not take shape because I make distinctions and thereby cause external things to show their forms. This is stillness. At its utmost, stillness gives rise to movement, yet movement unfolds as naturally as flowing water. After moving, things return to stillness, clear as a bright mirror. So although there is movement and stillness, why cling to either?

When responding to the myriad things, be as natural as an echo answering a sound; make yourself like empty space, like a valley. Let your mind be open and spacious, as if stillness had never existed; clear and transparent, pure and without admixture. Join with the myriad things without deliberately proclaiming your difference, and you can live in harmony with them without contending. Even when delighted by what you have gained, do not claim it as your own. In this way, you can forget yourself in the Dao without losing the Dao.

Never vie to stand before others. Remain behind them, never daring to lead the world. Always accord with others, harmonizing without taking the initiative to advocate a course. Act only when there is no other choice. Both substance and function are complete; flexibility in response and steadfastness to the constant Dao are fully present. Surely this is why the sage is skilled at being a sage.

Guan Yinzi said: The mind is vast and undivided, wandering freely in the Great Beginning, the primal state before Heaven and Earth had divided. At times you become gold, at times jade, at times dung, at times earth. At times you are like a creature in flight, at times you pursue the myriad things; at times you are settled like a mountain, at times secluded and still like an abyss. When upright, you can adapt with flexibility; when unrestrained, you seem foolish.

Bao Yizi said: Laozi said, “I wander at the beginning of all things.” Confucius, in turn, asked, “What does this mean? My mind is perplexed and cannot understand; my mouth opens, yet I cannot speak.” The beginning and end of things oppose one another, yet have no clear starting point; no one knows when they reach their end. This state may be called undifferentiated and boundless, like wandering in the Great Beginning—the primordial state before Heaven and Earth took shape. Is that not so?

At times, the Dao is like the metal within a bell; at others, like jade hidden in stone. The Dao is also present in rubble, even in dung and urine. Thus, sometimes the Dao appears as gold and jade, and sometimes as filth. No one knows where its transformations end. This state may be called undifferentiated and boundless, like wandering in the Great Beginning.

The quail roosts, and the wheel hub searches for food; the crow walks without a shadow. Thus, sometimes one is like a flying creature. If others call me a horse, then I am called a horse; if they call me an ox, then I am called an ox. Thus, sometimes one adapts to things and changes with them. One is still as a stone and withered as a tree, so sometimes one is like something in the mountains; one hides like a scaled creature and swims like a fish, so sometimes one is like a creature in the depths. Are these actions the ordinary way of a sage, and also how a sage responds to changing circumstances? A great sage may seem mad, and a person of great wisdom may seem foolish. Are they truly mad or foolish?

Guan Yin Zi said: When a skilled musician feels sorrow, the sound of the qin becomes mournful; when the musician feels longing, its sound becomes slow; when resentment stirs, its sound turns and lingers low; when admiration arises, its sound lifts and flows freely (“peipei” is written as “yiyi” in another version). Sorrow, longing, resentment, and admiration do not arise from the hands, the qin’s bamboo frame, its silk strings, or its paulownia wood. They are first apprehended in the heart, then expressed through the hands; once the hands have apprehended them, they are conveyed through the qin. Those who have attained the Dao invariably accord with its principles.

Bao Yizi said: A skilled musician first apprehends things in the heart, then expresses them through the hands and the qin. Sorrow, longing, resentment, and admiration do not arise from the hands, the qin’s bamboo frame, its silk strings, or its paulownia wood. They are first apprehended in the heart, then expressed through the hands; once the hands have apprehended them, they are conveyed through the qin. Those who have attained the Dao invariably accord with its principles.

A skilled lute player first understands a melody in the heart, then lets the fingers play according to that intention. The fingers respond to the instrument, and the sorrow, longing, resentment, and admiration within the heart can even move the strings, changing the sound in turn. How much more, then, can one who has attained the Dao move Heaven and Earth through every action and gesture, every word and deed, all of which accord with the Dao, bringing peace to the age and abundance to all things? In the past, Gengsang Chu grasped Laozi’s Dao and lived on Mount Weilei. Three years later, the crops throughout the Weilei region yielded a great harvest. Surely this is the kind of thing meant here.

Guan Yin Zi said: “At times, the sage speaks, acts, and thinks in order to be like ordinary people. At other times, the sage does not speak, act, or think in order to be unlike them.”

Baoyizi said: “The sage speaks all day without clinging to ‘speaking,’ acts all day without clinging to ‘acting,’ and thinks all day without clinging to ‘thinking.’ It is only that ordinary people cannot see through this or understand it. How could the sage truly be different from ordinary people?”

Guan Yin Zi said: “The stronger the concern with gain and loss, the harder it is for relatives to live in harmony. The stronger the impulse to distinguish the worthy from the foolish, the harder it is for friends to get along. The stronger the concern with right and wrong, the harder it is to bring things to completion. The stronger the concern with good and bad, the harder it is for people and things to accord with one another. Therefore, the sage dissolves all these distinctions.”

Baoyizi said: “Everyone else is clear-sighted; I alone seem dim. Everyone else is sharp and exacting; I alone seem dull. The more people are clear-sighted and exacting, the stronger their impulse to weigh gain against loss, the worthy against the foolish, right against wrong, and good against bad. The stronger these distinctions, the harder it is to live in harmony with relatives, get along with friends, bring things to completion, and make people and things accord with one another. The sage alone views everything without preconceptions, allowing these distinctions to merge into wholeness: gain is gain, loss is loss; the worthy are worthy, the foolish are foolish; what is right is right, what is wrong is wrong; what is good is good, what is bad is bad. In this way, there are no relatives who cannot live in harmony, no friends who cannot get along, no task that cannot be completed, and no people or things that cannot accord with one another. At the outset, the sage did not deliberately set out to arrange any of this.”

Guan Yin Zi said: “The foolish and slow-witted in the world often use the sage’s ‘foolishness’ and ‘clumsiness’ to excuse themselves, not realizing that the sage sometimes seems foolish and at other times discerning; sometimes seems clumsy and at other times skillful.”

Baoyizi says: The sage has exceptional skill, yet seems clumsy; profound wisdom, yet seems dull. Fools and clumsy people in the world casually invoke the sage’s appearance to excuse themselves. As a result, fools seem even more foolish, and the clumsy even more clumsy. How could this excuse them?

Guan Yinzi says: Those who take the sage as their teacher and learn by following the sage’s example are worthy people. Those who take worthy people as their teachers and, through them, learn the Way of the sage are sages. For if one simply imitates the sage’s outward conduct, it is easy to become fixated on appearances and forget the Dao, ultimately displaying one’s own foolishness and clumsiness. Learning through the guidance of worthy people, by contrast, allows one to return to the Dao behind appearances.

Baoyizi says: The distinction between sages and worthy people exists in their outward conduct; from the perspective of the Dao, there is no distinction between them. If you see the sage only as a lofty sage, you will find it hard to catch up with him. This is to become fixated on appearances and forget the Dao. Only by not clinging to the identity of “sage,” and instead learning from him as a worthy teacher, can your wisdom draw near to your teacher’s. Perhaps then you can forget outward appearances and grasp the Dao within them. The ancients also said that if a student’s wisdom equals the teacher’s, the student has learned only half the teacher’s ability. To approach true understanding, a learner must surpass the teacher in wisdom.

Guan Yinzi says: Worthy people incline toward what is higher, but do not see what is lower; ordinary people incline toward what is lower, but do not see what is higher. Sages, however, understand both the upper and the lower, and respond appropriately to the circumstances of each thing. Are sages really a separate kind of person, apart from worthy people and ordinary people?

Baoyizi says: People of above-average ability can discuss more profound principles, so worthy people incline toward what is higher. People of below-average ability are not suited to hearing profound principles, so ordinary people do not see what is higher. Both ways of seeing are one-sided. Sages understand both the higher and the lower. Wherever they go and whatever they observe, they can make sense of it. They are not a separate kind of person apart from worthy people and ordinary people.

Baoyizi adds: People of above-average ability can discuss more profound principles, so worthy people incline toward what is higher. People of below-average ability are not suited to hearing profound principles, so ordinary people do not see what is higher. These views each favor only one side. Sages understand both the upper and the lower; whatever they turn toward or observe, they can make sense of it. They know what suits worthy people and what suits ordinary people alike. They “blend their light with the dust” (restraining their brilliance and mingling with the common world), and so differ greatly from worthy people who favor only what is higher.

Guan Yin Zi said, “The principles of things in the world are like a husband singing first and his wife following, a stallion running ahead and a mare pursuing, or a male bird calling and a female answering. The sage follows these principles in speech and action, while the worthy person is constrained by them.”

Bao Yizi explained, “The sage’s words reach throughout the world, yet none are inappropriate; the sage’s actions reach throughout the world, yet bring no resentment. How is this possible? Because the sage accords with the natural principles of things. Rulers and ministers, those above and below, fathers and sons, brothers, and people of high and low rank all respond to one another and are connected. These principles are expressed in speech and put into practice, just as a husband sings and his wife follows, a stallion runs and a mare pursues, or a male bird calls and a female answers. Each follows the natural order; none is deliberately arranged by the sage.

“The worthy person, by contrast, establishes rites and laws to restrain people’s hearts, and so must be bound by rules. Speech and action are the keys to fortune and misfortune, honor and disgrace. The difference between good and evil may lead people to sharply different outcomes, so students must be careful in what they say and do.

“Guan Yin Zi also said, ‘The sage’s principles are as striking as a tiger’s transformation, yet the sage’s conduct is as steady as a giant turtle’s gait. The principles are as intricate as threads of silk, yet their application is as orderly as scattered plants.’”

Bao Yizi explained, “Earlier, the sage was compared to a dragon, drawing on the image in the Qian hexagram of the Book of Changes, where the great person is like a flying dragon. This illustrated how the sage’s nature transforms without limit and is difficult to fathom. Here, the sage is compared to a tiger, drawing on the image in the Ge hexagram of the Book of Changes, where the great person undergoes a tiger-like transformation. This illustrates how the sage’s Way is splendid and worthy of admiration, and how its imposing presence inspires awe.

“As for putting the sage’s work into practice, even ordinary people can do it. It is not some lofty, difficult undertaking; rather, it is steady and accessible, like a giant turtle’s gait. ‘The Way is like threads of silk; its work is like scattered plants’ means that the principles appear unified, intricate, and difficult to untangle, while in concrete affairs they are orderly and free from confusion.”

Guanyinzi said: Why is the Way of the sage so solitary and unmatched, so open and transparent, so vast and abundant, yet so deep that it cannot be seen or heard? Precisely because it can respond to all things, while nothing can match it, it can serve as the revered foundation of all things.

Baoyizi said: The Way of the sage is like the Great Void (Taixu), the boundless expanse of emptiness: solitary and unmatched, with nothing able to contend with it; open and transparent, with nothing it cannot pervade; vast and abundant, filling Heaven and Earth; deep and hidden, beyond the grasp of sight and hearing. It responds everywhere to all things, yet nothing can match it; therefore, all things revere it. The Laozi says, “There is a being, whole and undivided, that came into being before Heaven and Earth.” Its lofty majesty, surely, refers to this state that fills Heaven and Earth and is too deep to fathom.

Guanyinzi said: Clouds gather and scatter, billow and unfold; birds fly—all within the Void. Thus their transformations are inexhaustible. The Way of the sage is the same.

Baoyizi said: The Way of the sage is like clouds endlessly billowing and unfolding in the Great Void, and birds flying without end through the sky. Without the Void to contain them, the clouds’ transformations and the birds’ flight would be obstructed. Likewise, if the Way of the sage could not operate through its wondrous nature, which has no direction or form, and its mysterious substance, which has no shape or body, its transformations too would come to an end.

The End of Volume Three of The Hidden Meaning Beyond the Words of the True Classic of Wen Shi.

1. This sentence may perhaps be read as, “Act in accordance with a person’s foolishness because of his foolishness.”

2. This sentence should read, “Do they truly differ from what I have in mind?”

3. Both editions of the Guan Yin Zi and the True Classic of Wen Shi on the Supreme and Unfathomable Way place the passage from “The sage, in relation to ordinary people” through “Is it not so?” after the later passage from “The sage speaks of the One” through “does not regard this as his own affair.”

4. Both editions cited above read, “Thus one becomes human.”

5. Both editions cited above read, “Forms and things appear naturally.”

6. Both editions cited earlier read, “The sage takes people who speak, act, and think…”

7. Both editions read, “Those who have never spoken, acted, or thought…”

8. The Guan Yin Zi reads, “The foolish and dull-witted people of the world.”

The Hidden Meaning Beyond the Words of the True Classic of Wen Shi, Volume Four

Written by Chen Xianwei, the One Who Embraces the One.

Chapter Four: Signs

“Signs” refers to the spirit and the hun and po souls. This chapter has seventeen sections.

Guan Yin Zi said: Water can be divided and brought together; Jing has no fixed human agent. Fire depends on oil or wood to burn; Shen has no fixed self. Thus, even when both sides of the ears are blocked, they can still hear sounds; in this there is no fixed “person.” Knowledge may be exalted, yet there is no fixed “person.” Odd numbers belong to Yang, yet there is no fixed “person.” Winter brings the autumnal world of things to decay, yet there is no fixed “person.” Black cannot be changed, yet there is no fixed “person.” The north symbolizes longevity, yet there is no fixed “person.” All these belong to Jing.

The tongue and teeth work together for speech; in this there is no fixed “self.” Ritual makes people humble, yet there is no fixed “self.” Even numbers belong to Yin, yet there is no fixed “self.” Summer receives the world of things from spring, yet there is no fixed “self.” Red can be changed, yet there is no fixed “self.” The south symbolizes an untimely death, yet there is no fixed “self.” All these belong to Shen.

Because Jing has no fixed human agent, when the husk is removed from grain, its essence remains. Because Shen has no fixed self, spirits appear when ghosts and gods make use of external things. Those who preserve Jing forget right and wrong, gain and loss; being here, they are not there. Those who keep to Shen change with the times, appearing or disappearing, bright or obscure, strong or weak; being there, they are not here.

Baoyizi says: This passage discusses methods for preserving Jing and Qi and gathering the mind and spirit. Jing is not something produced by personal will, so one should let go of attachment to right and wrong, gain and loss, in order to preserve Jing and Qi. Shen, too, is not governed by a fixed “self.” One should therefore follow its changes as it shifts between obscurity and clarity, strength and weakness, and use this to gather the spirit.

Jing belongs to the One: water can divide and come together, yet remains the same water; the ears correspond to the kidneys, and hearing continues to function even when the front and back are blocked; water symbolizes wisdom, and the wiser a person becomes, the more able they are to govern themselves; in winter, all things return to their roots, and black is not easily changed; the north governs longevity, and what is called “having a self” also belongs to the One; when rice is husked, what remains is polished rice. All these belong to the One. The One is an odd number, solitary and indivisible, and so it is said to be “without a person.”

Shen belongs to the Two: fire needs oil, paste, or kindling in order to burn; the tongue corresponds to the heart, and speech depends on the lips and teeth; fire symbolizes ritual propriety, which enables people to be modest and respectful toward others; in summer, all things flourish, and red changes easily; the south governs premature death, and what is called “having no self” also belongs to the Two; spirits manifest by relying on external things, and so they, too, belong to the Two. The Two is an even number, paired and divisible, and so it is said to be “without a self.”

To say “without a person” means that what is here is not what is there; to say “without a self” means that what is there is not what is here. Once this is understood, one can see why attachment to right and wrong, gain and loss should be relinquished, and how to follow the spirit as it changes from obscurity to clarity and from weakness to strength.

Guanyinzi says: Spirit and vital energy are like water and fire. The Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—generate and overcome one another, continually bringing them into change. Their coming has no beginning, and their going has no end. Seen this way, my Jing and Qi are merely a drop of water, with no true arising or passing away; my mind and spirit are merely a flame, with no true birth or extinction. Only by letting go of attachment to “self” and “other,” and to beginning and end, can one unite with Heaven and Earth.

Bao Yizi says: Spirit and essence shift and circulate like water and fire. Following the order in which the Five Phases generate one another, Water generates Wood, Wood generates Fire, Fire generates Earth, Earth generates Metal, and Metal generates Water; in this way, they generate one another. Following the order in which the Five Phases overcome one another, Fire overcomes Metal, Metal overcomes Wood, Wood overcomes Earth, Earth overcomes Water, and Water overcomes Fire; in this way, they overcome one another. The transformations of all things have no definite beginning or end. What is destroyed comes into being again, and what comes into being is destroyed again. Thus, not a single drop of Jing truly remains or disappears, and Shen neither truly arises nor perishes for even an instant. Only by letting go of attachment to self and others, and of fixation on beginnings and endings, can one unite with Heaven and Earth and allow spirit and essence to endure.

Guan Yinzi says: Jing belongs to Water, po to Metal, Shen to Fire, and hun to Wood. Jing is governed by Water, and po by Metal; among the Five Phases, Metal generates Water. When people unite with Heaven and Earth, their spirit and essence can endure.

Guan Yin Zi says: Jing corresponds to Water, Po to Metal, Shen to Fire, and Hun to Wood. Jing is governed by Water, and Po by Metal. Metal generates Water, so Jing is gathered in and nurtured by Po. Shen is governed by Fire, and Hun by Wood. Wood generates Fire, so Shen is gathered in and nurtured by Hun. Here, “Jing, Po, Shen, and Hun” are Daoist concepts used to explain the constituents of life and spirit; they do not refer simply to the everyday notions of vitality and the soul.

Fire can melt Metal and burn Wood, and thus can cause Hun and Po to return to the hidden realm and disperse into formlessness. In Heaven, Jing appears as cold Qi; on Earth, as Water; in the human body, as Jing. In Heaven, Shen appears as hot Qi; on Earth, as Fire; in the human body, as Shen. In Heaven, Po appears as dry Qi; on Earth, as Metal; in the human body, as Po. In Heaven, Hun appears as wind; on Earth, as Wood; in the human body, as Hun.

If we unite our own Jing with the Jing of all things in Heaven and Earth, it is like many rivers and lakes merging into one. If we unite our own Shen with the Shen of all things in Heaven and Earth, it is like many flames joining to form one fire. If we unite our own Po with the Po of all things in Heaven and Earth, it is like different metals melting together to become a single piece of metal. If we unite our own Hun with the Hun of all things in Heaven and Earth, it is like different branches of wood joining and growing into one tree.

Seen this way, all things in Heaven and Earth are our Jing, Shen, Po, and Hun. How, then, could we distinguish death from life?

Bao Yizi says: Jing belongs to Water, and the Po belongs to Metal; together they make five. Shen belongs to Fire, and the Hun belongs to Wood; together they also make five. Jing gathers and governs the Po, while Shen gathers and governs the Hun. Thus, although the four are located in two separate places, each pair can still combine into a “five” that governs them. Yet the Hun belongs to Wood and is like a dragon; the Po belongs to Metal and is like a tiger. If the Hun is made to depend on Shen and the Po on Jing, the two pairs remain in different places and ultimately cannot regulate one another.

Only Fire can melt Metal and burn Wood, so Shen can regulate the Hun and Po. But people often do not understand that Shen dwells within the Hun, just as Fire depends on Wood. The “five” formed by two parts Fire and three parts Wood moves in the northwest, subduing Jing and refining the Po, until the Four Symbols and Five Phases—all four symbols and the Qi of the Five Phases—return to Earth. This is in fact the work of the divine Fire. For this reason, the art of alchemy depends throughout on the firing process: the control of heat, timing, and stages of refinement. Fire’s role is truly crucial.

Likewise, bringing the Water, Fire, Metal, and Wood of all things in Heaven and Earth into the refining of the Po, so that the Four Symbols and Five Phases all return to Earth, also depends in fact on the work of the divine Fire. Thus the art of alchemy always relies on the firing process, and Fire’s role is truly crucial. The Water, Fire, Metal, and Wood found throughout Heaven and Earth can all be regarded as my Jing, Shen, Hun, and Po. For example, countless streams can join to form a single river, countless flames can merge into one fire, different metals can be smelted into the same kind of metal, and different kinds of wood can be joined into one whole. Seen in this way, mountains, rivers, and the earth are all wondrous workings of my Dharma body—the vast true body realized by a practitioner. What, then, could birth and death mean?

Guan Yinzi says: The Five Phases move in an endless cycle: Jing gives rise to the Hun, the Hun gives rise to Shen, Shen gives rise to intent, intent gives rise to the Po, and the Po gives rise to Jing. This cycle repeats without end. Thus my deluded mind flows along with the transformations of creation, continuing for millions upon millions of years without end.

Yet a seed produces a sprout, and the sprout in turn bears seeds; who knows how many tens of thousands of plants may multiply from them? Though Heaven and Earth are vast, they cannot make a seed sprout in midair. A female bird lays eggs and produces offspring; who knows how many tens of thousands there may be? Though the transformations of Yin and Yang are subtle, they cannot make a female bird hatch an egg without mating with a male. Whatever comes to me and stirs me, I take in with a single breath—the activity of mind and spirit represented by one breath—and so external things are transformed into me; nothing is not me. In that case, who could change what is called the Five Phases?

Bao Yizi says: Spirit, hun, po, and intention—these five circulate and generate one another without end. In this way, a person’s deluded mind continues without cease, and they cycle through the four forms of birth and the six paths of existence. Even after hundreds of millions of years, there is no end. Why is this so? Deluded mind gives rise to deluded intention; once there is intention, there is po; once there is po, there is Jing; once there is Jing, there is hun; once there is hun, it gives rise to spirit; and when spirit becomes active, it produces intention again.

Why can a kernel suspended in the air, or a female bird without a male, neither sprout nor lay eggs? Because they lack Jing. All things move from clarity to turbidity, so they begin with Jing and end by taking form as po. Spirit, by contrast, enters the mysterious from what is subtle: it begins with intention and ultimately appears as spirit. Intention belongs to Earth and is numbered five among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). A person possesses the number five from birth, which is why the head, the limbs, and the fingers and toes are also counted in fives.

If cultivation can ultimately reach the state of spirit, without giving rise to intention again, then when encountering external things or facing circumstances, one need only gather the mind and spirit with a single breath to transform those things into oneself. Nothing in the world lies outside the self. The Five Phases then all become functions at the self’s command, with no further cycle of generation and destruction. Who could alter them? This is the wondrous working of never again entering the cycle of transmigration or undergoing rebirth. Would those who study and practice like to understand its principle?

Guan Yinzi says: Ordinary people use po to hold hun in check, as though Metal Qi were abundant and Wood Qi insufficient. Sages, by contrast, use hun to direct po, as though Wood Qi were abundant and Metal Qi insufficient. Po is stored within, and hun resides there along with it; when hun wanders outside, po follows. By day, hun dwells in the eyes; at night, po dwells in the liver. When hun dwells in the eyes, one can see; when po dwells in the liver, one dreams.

When seeing, hun itself makes no distinctions. Once one analyzes and discriminates, distinctions arise. Calling what has been distinguished “heaven and earth” is the result of long habituation of hun. When dreaming, po itself makes no distinctions. Once one analyzes and discriminates, distinctions arise. Calling what has been distinguished “other and self,” “you and I,” is the result of long habituation of po. Earth generates Metal, so intention can give rise to po. When spirit is set in motion, it is not called “spirit” but “intention”; intention’s…