《无上妙道文始真经》

The Guan Yinzi records that Yin Xi, the commandant of the pass, was a high official of the Zhou dynasty. When Laozi traveled westward, Yin Xi saw purple Qi (vital energy) rising above Hangu Pass and knew that a Perfected Person was about to pass through. He therefore watched the travelers coming and going, waiting for the one who would approach, and indeed encountered Laozi. Laozi likewise perceived that Yin Xi was no ordinary person and so composed a book for him. After receiving Laozi’s writing, Yin Xi himself produced nine chapters and named them the Guan Yinzi.

The Taichu Abbey in present-day Lingbao County of Shanzhou is said to be the place within the ancient Hangu Pass where Yin Xi waited and met Laozi. The Zongsheng Palace in the Zhongnan Mountains was the former residence of Guan Yin Xi. King Mu of Zhou rebuilt his thatched tower, renamed it Louguan, and established a shrine to Laozi. The rise of Daoist palaces and abbeys is said to have begun from this. After transmitting the Jing (scripture), Laozi departed westward through Dasan Pass and later met Yin Xi again at the Qingyang Market in Chengdu, bestowing on him the title Master Wenshi. He is the “vast and great Perfected Person” spoken of in the Zhuangzi.

One Character

“Yu” is the Dao (the Way).

It is not that a Dao first exists which one may then discuss; that which cannot be spoken is the Dao. Nor is it that a Dao first exists which one may then contemplate; that which cannot be conceived is the Dao. Heaven, earth, and the myriad things surge and transform; the affairs of the human world interweave in confusion, as if whirling without rest.

Heaven, earth, and the myriad things surge and transform; the affairs of the human world interweave in confusion, as if whirling without rest, contending with one another, seeming both so and not so. People debate it, divide it, display it, and discuss it; at times they set it aside or reduce it to a conclusion. To speak of the Dao with words is like blowing on a shadow; to probe the Dao with the mind is like carving dust. Even the wisdom of the sages may leave people bewildered, and ghosts and spirits cannot discern it. The Dao cannot be fashioned by human artifice, cannot be seized by force, cannot be measured, and cannot be divided; therefore it is called Heaven, Destiny, Shen (spirit), and Mystery. These names together are the Dao.

There is not a single thing that does not belong to Heaven, not a single thing that is not life, not a single thing that is not wondrous, and not a single thing that is not mysterious. Since all things are thus, humans are of course no exception. Everyone can comprehend the principles of Heaven and experience the wondrous, and everyone can also recognize the root of life and access the mysterious Dao (the Way). One cannot think that that thing belongs to Heaven while this thing does not; that that thing has wondrousness while this one does not; that that thing has life while this one does not; that that thing is mysterious while this one is not.

Therefore, those who truly comprehend my Dao can recognize the principles of Heaven and exhaust the wondrous from any single thing, access the root of life and experience the mysterious. If in studying one clings to differences, one will split identical substance by means of names; after truly comprehending, one can unite with all things in substance and no longer be bound by different names.

Observing the Dao is like observing water. If looking at a pond still seems insufficient, one then looks at rivers, streams, and the ocean, thinking that only there is enough water, yet without knowing that one's own body fluids, saliva, and tears are also water.

The Dao does not belong exclusively to any person, therefore the sage will not determine that one person possesses the Dao while another does not. The Dao also does not belong exclusively to a certain self, therefore the sage will not determine that taking a step forward one attains the Dao, taking a step back one loses the Dao. Precisely because one does not claim the Dao as one's own possession, the Dao is not nonexistent; precisely because one cannot occupy the Dao in one's hand, there is likewise no question of losing the Dao.

Those who do not understand the Dao yet arbitrarily guess are like guessing from outside a vessel what has been placed inside. Those who guess loftily say there is gold and jade within; those who guess nearer say there are animal horns or feathers; those who guess shallowly say there are tiles or stones. Are these guesses right or wrong? Only the person who placed the items knows.

A lump of clay can be formed into ten thousand kinds of vessels, yet not a single vessel can in turn produce clay or damage the clay. The Dao can generate all things, yet not a single thing can produce the Dao or damage the Dao. The Dao is vast and boundless, seeming without fixed awareness; the heart is free and expansive, unbound; all things change in succession, and no change departs from the Dao. They are as swift as lightning, scattering like sand. The sage understands that the heart, all things, and the Dao are each one, and the three together become one. Do not take “one” to frame things that are not one, nor because all things differ from one another, hinder the experience of “one.”

Regarding a basin as a pond and stones as islands, the fish swimming around within them also seem as if they have traveled thousands of miles.

Regard the basin as a pond and the stone as an island; the fish swim around it as if they have traveled tens of millions of miles without ever reaching an end. Why is this so? Because the water has neither source nor destination. The Dao (the Way) of the sage (the principle that accords with nature and penetrates all things) originally has neither beginning nor end, and therefore in responding to affairs there is no exhaustion.

Do not insistently love the Dao, because “love” belongs to Water; do not insistently contemplate the Dao, because “contemplation” belongs to Fire; do not insistently pursue the Dao, because “pursuit” belongs to Wood; do not insistently speak of the Dao, because “speech” belongs to Metal; do not insistently think about the Dao, because “thought” belongs to Earth. These statements use the Five Phases (Water, Fire, Wood, Metal, Earth) to illustrate that once one deliberately clings to a certain method, one will be limited by it. Only the sage does not depart from his authentic nature and thereby penetrates the Great Dao. When thoughts have not yet arisen, the Dao is merely explained by means of this saying.

Thick clouds veil the sky, the rivers, lakes, and marshes grow dim, and the fish are bewildered and at a loss. Suddenly they see the water’s surface brighten and food moving about, take it as a gift from Heaven, and immediately swim over, only to be hooked and killed. If a person cannot understand that the “I” has no fixed and unchanging self, yet single-mindedly pursues the Dao, they too will suffer harm like the fish.

There are many techniques in the world (specific methods of cultivating the Dao or practicing the arts): some honor the obscure, some honor the manifest, some honor strength, some honor weakness. Clinging to these methods, they are all merely concrete affairs; not clinging to them is what accords with the Dao.

The Dao ultimately cannot be possessed. What can be obtained is called De (Virtue/Power), not called Dao; the Dao ultimately cannot be concretely practiced. What can be carried out is called “practice,” not called Dao. The sage employs those things that can be obtained and carried out: sometimes honoring strength, sometimes honoring weakness. Clinging to this, they are merely concrete affairs; not clinging is what accords with the Dao.

The Dao ultimately cannot be possessed. What can be obtained is called De (Virtue/Power), not called Dao; the Dao ultimately cannot be concretely practiced. What can be carried out is called “practice,” not called Dao. The sage uses things that can be obtained and practiced to perfect life, and uses the Dao that cannot be obtained and cannot be practiced to settle death.

After hearing of the Dao, if one still has action and attachment, this is tending toward worldly human affairs; having no action and no attachment is following the Heavenly Dao. Deliberate action inevitably meets with setbacks; clinging to things inevitably involves loss. Therefore, if one hears of the Dao in the morning, even if one dies in the evening, one may be without regret.

Those whose feelings and consciousness are clear and still, returning to mysterious union, are sages; those whose feelings and consciousness are purely good are worthies; those whose feelings and consciousness incline toward evil are petty people. What is called “emotional obscurity” is the return from already existing feelings and consciousness to emptiness, which cannot be brought forth and displayed; the feelings of good and evil, by contrast, arise from nothingness into existence and cannot be hidden. Only animals possess feelings and consciousness that distinguish good from evil; when feelings and consciousness are obscure and still, without distinction, that is unknowing. Nowhere under heaven is without the Dao (the Way).

Do not suppose that sages attain the Dao gradually because they never cease striving in practice; nor suppose that they attain the Dao through clinging because they hold firmly and never change. The sage’s effort is like the shooting of an arrow: the arrow is launched by an external force and does not advance of its own accord. The sage’s holding is like grasping the arrow: it too is maintained by external conditions and does not arise from self-attachment.

If one seeks the Dao through speech, conduct, learning, and knowledge, pursuing it layer upon layer without rest, one will never obtain it. To understand speech is like listening to the sound of a spring; to understand conduct is like watching birds in flight; to understand learning is like trying to pluck a shadow; to understand knowledge is like calculating a dream. Once not a single thought remains, the Dao will come into accord with the person.

To establish things by human artifice is difficult; to follow the Dao and let things go is easy, and this accords with the timing of Heaven. For all things under heaven, coming into being is never easy, yet destruction is very easy.

A single spark of fire can consume all things; once all things are consumed, where then is the fire? In the space of a single breath the Dao can return all things to obscure stillness; once all things have perished, where then is the Dao?

Among people living in the world, some are born and die within a day, some live ten years before dying, some live a hundred years before dying. Those who die in a day are like those who attain the Dao in a single breath; those who live ten or a hundred years before dying are like those who attain the Dao after a long time. Those who have not yet died, though their actions are evident and they display intelligence, can only be called “alive,” not “dead.” Those who have not yet come into accord with the Dao, though their actions are evident and they display intelligence, can only be called “affairs,” not “the Dao.”

Those who do not understand that my Dao (the Way) is without words and without action nevertheless persist in seeking it solely through speech and deeds. When they suddenly encounter some strange occurrence they arbitrarily take it to be the Dao. Little do they realize that by abandoning the source to chase after tributaries one will never find the source, and by abandoning the root to pursue the twigs one will never obtain the root.

Archery, chariot-driving, playing the qin, and playing chess cannot be mastered in a single breath. Only the Dao, being formless and without direction, can be grasped in a single thought.

When two archers meet, the relative excellence of their skill becomes apparent; when two chess players meet, victory and defeat become clear. When two cultivators of the Dao meet, however, there is nothing they can display. With nothing to display there is likewise no question of superior or inferior skill, nor of winning or losing.

My Dao is like the ocean: throw in hundreds of millions of pieces of gold and no increase can be seen; throw in hundreds of millions of stones and no change can be detected; throw in hundreds of millions of filthy things and no contamination can be observed. It can carry tiny fish and it can equally carry great whales. When it gathers the waters of many streams it does not appear excessive; when it disperses those waters it does not appear insufficient.

My Dao is like dwelling in darkness. Those who stand in the light cannot see what lies in the dark, whereas those who stand in the dark can clearly discern every circumstance of those who stand in the light.

The power of the petty person belongs to evil, the power of the gentleman belongs to good, and the power of the sage belongs to possessing nothing. Precisely because it possesses nothing, it accords with the Dao.

My Dao is like a sword: when the blade is used to cut, its sharpness is revealed; when the hand grasps the blade, the hand is injured. Peng grass does not question beans, and beans do not answer peng grass; tiles do not question stones, and stones do not answer tiles—yet the Dao suffers no loss thereby. Question and answer are merely the coming and going of one and the same breath of Qi (vital energy). Where, then, is the Dao?

Those who gaze toward the Great Dao each travel their own road; those who truly accord with the Dao (the Way) are the most precious. People all recognize the things that the Dao manifests, yet they do not comprehend the Dao itself. Therefore the sage does not grow discouraged because the Great Dao remains unmanifested, nor does he depend on the Dao to enrich himself; he does not borrow the Dao from sages, nor does he treat the Dao as a commodity to sell to the ignorant.

The Two Pillars

A “pillar” is the foundation that supports Heaven and Earth.

Huai wood, yu vessels, metal vessels, pots, yang vessels, and ang vessels can all be used to support Heaven and Earth. The tortoise shells and yarrow stalks employed in divination, as well as broken tiles and stones that bear patterns, can likewise reveal signs to human beings.

From this we understand that Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things each possess complete principles of their own: every thing contains the whole within itself, and the myriad things also each contain one another, without any need to borrow from others. When one unites one’s own Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) with the Jing and Qi of external things, the two Jing-Qi intermingle and a marvelous resonance occurs. Living beings arise either through the pairing of male and female that produces eggs, or through the pairing of male and female that produces fetuses.

The bodily form of an external thing is its Jing; the principle of an external thing is its Shen (spirit). One’s own mind of loving and taking is one’s own Jing; one’s own mind of contemplative observation is one’s own Shen. “Love” belongs to Water, “observation” belongs to Fire. When one concentrates on loving and taking while applying observation, Wood is thereby formed; when one maintains observation while gathering in the loving and taking, Metal is thereby formed.

First one visualizes the original unified Qi of the beginning of Heaven and Earth, causing it to become present within a particular thing; then one concentrates on loving and taking so that one’s own form unites with the form of the external thing, and through deep contemplative observation one unites with the principle of the external thing. In this way the image that has been visualized will appear.

The image of a circulating Qi fills the vast space: what rises from the center becomes Heaven, what descends from the center becomes Earth. There is nothing that only rises and never descends, and nothing that only descends and never rises. What rises belongs to Fire, what descends belongs to Water; what wishes to rise yet cannot rise belongs to Wood, what wishes to descend yet cannot descend belongs to Metal. Wood, when drilled, can give birth to fire, and when wrung can give forth water; Metal, when struck, can give birth to fire, and when melted can become water. Metal and Wood are the forms in which Water and Fire intermingle.

Water is Jing and symbolizes Heaven; Fire is Shen and symbolizes Earth; Wood is the hun soul and symbolizes humanity; Metal is the po soul and symbolizes the myriad things. That which constantly circulates is called time; that which encompasses the myriad things and occupies a definite position is called space. Earth runs through them, presiding over beginning and end. As for how they dissolve and how they depart, the original text speaks of these two transformations.

The people of the world are so numerous they cannot be counted even in hundreds of millions. Each person’s dreams are different, and the dreams of each night differ as well. In dreams there is heaven and earth, people and things, all constituted by the thoughts of the mind, so numerous they cannot be counted like motes of dust. This being so, how can we know that the heaven and earth before our eyes are not also constituted by some form of thought?

The heart corresponds with the jujube, the liver with the elm; my heart-spirit (Shen) communicates with heaven and earth. When rain is approaching, one dreams of water; when clear weather is approaching, one dreams of fire. This is the communication between heaven and earth and myself. Between myself and heaven and earth there is both seeming union and seeming separation, and in the end each purely returns to itself. Although heaven and earth are vast, they possess color, form, number, and direction; yet I have an aspect that does not belong to color, form, number, or direction. Even as the myriad things of heaven and earth continually transform, I and heaven and earth still seem united yet seem separate, each returning to its original nature. Although heaven and earth are vast and possess form and image, that which transcends form, image, and direction still exists.

A fetus that dies in the mother’s womb, or a living being that dies in the egg—they may be called human, or they may be called things. Although heaven and earth are vast, they have no means of knowing heaven and earth. Those who calculate and recognize heaven and earth also only discern them by means of their own consciousness. This is like the hand that does not touch the blade of a knife, so the blade does not injure the hand.

Dreamscapes, images in a mirror, and reflections in water each present heaven and earth. If one wishes the heaven and earth in dreams to vanish, one must sleep without dreaming; if one wishes the heaven and earth in the mirror to vanish, the body must not be reflected in the mirror; if one wishes the heaven and earth in the water to vanish, one must not draw water with a vessel. Their presence or absence depends on the observer’s side, not on the side of the image. Therefore the sage does not eliminate heaven and earth, but eliminates the discriminating cognition of heaven and earth.

Heaven does not become heaven of itself, but there is some functioning that makes it heaven; earth is not earth of itself, but there is some functioning that makes it earth. This is like houses, boats, and vehicles, which all rely on human construction to take form and do not arise of themselves. Understanding that the myriad things have that upon which they depend, and also understanding that there is an existence that does not depend on external things, one can reach such a state: looking upward one does not see heaven, looking downward one does not see earth, looking inward one does not see oneself, looking outward one does not see others.

That which undergoes sequential change through time is called Qi (vital energy); the original source that is not Qi has never known the distinction of day and night. That which possesses orientation and physical form is called form; the original source that is not form has never known the distinction of north and south. What is “non-Qi”? It is the root from which Qi arises. It is like shaking a clump of weeds, which can stir up the wind: before it is shaken, that formless wind does not appear; only after it is shaken is it called wind. What is “non-form”? It is the root from which physical form arises. It is like drilling wood to produce fire: before the drilling begins, the image of fire has not yet appeared; only after drilling is it called fire.

The transformations of cold, heat, warmth, and freezing are like tiles or stones: placed over fire they grow hot, immersed in water they grow cold, breathed upon they become warm, and drawn upon they become cool and frozen. These changes occur only because external things come and go, acting upon them, while the tiles or stones themselves have no coming or going. This is like a reflection in water, which appears to come and go, yet the water itself has neither coming nor going.

When clothing is shaken, wind arises in the empty air; when Qi blows against an object, it can condense into water. Water poured into water produces sound; stones striking one another send forth sparks of fire. Those who understand this principle can thereby bring about wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, for these phenomena are all generated through the transformative movement of Qi, and Qi in turn is set in motion by the thoughts of the mind. Just as one who dwells for a long time on the thought of a great fire will gradually feel heat, or one who dwells on the thought of a great flood will gradually feel cold. Those who grasp this principle can attune themselves to the operating patterns of Heaven and Earth.

The transformations of five-colored auspicious clouds can be used to forecast whether the year will bring abundance or famine; the transformations of winds from the eight directions can be used to forecast good or ill fortune at that moment. From this it may be known that good and ill fortune, disaster and auspicious omen, are all transformations produced by the movement of a single Qi. One ought to dissolve the distinction between self and other and become one with Heaven and Earth; yet people insist on relying on their personal cleverness to distinguish and define things.

Heaven and Earth lodge herein, the myriad things lodge herein, I myself lodge herein, and the Dao (the Way) also lodges herein. If one departs from these places of lodging, the Dao has nowhere to establish itself.

The Three Extremes

“Ji” is a designation for the supreme sage.

The sage governs All-under-Heaven without taking himself as the measure of the worthy and the foolish. Thus when others are wise he treats them as wise, and when others are foolish he treats them as foolish. He likewise does not regard his own judgments as the sole standard of right and wrong. Thus when a matter is inherently correct he acknowledges it as correct, and when it is inherently erroneous he acknowledges it as erroneous. The sage understands that antiquity and the present share common principles, and therefore sometimes gives precedence to the ancient and sometimes to the present. He also understands that the inner and the outer share common principles, and therefore sometimes begins from within and sometimes from without.

The myriad things under Heaven cannot encumber him, so he takes humility as his foundation. Nothing among the myriad things can be excluded by him, so he embraces all things with an empty and inclusive mind. Nothing can place him in difficulty, so he acts with simplicity. Nothing can obstruct his actions, so he adapts to circumstances and weighs matters with flexibility. By means of this centrality and correctness one may govern All-under-Heaven and establish the system of rites. By means of this harmony one may govern All-under-Heaven and compose music. By means of this impartiality one may govern All-under-Heaven and conduct the archery rites. By means of this completeness one may govern All-under-Heaven and withstand insult. By following the principles of All-under-Heaven one may establish laws and institutions. By observing the ways of All-under-Heaven one may fashion implements and utensils.

The sage does not govern All-under-Heaven by his own solitary effort, but allows the people of All-under-Heaven to govern it together. The people of All-under-Heaven ascribe the merit to the sage, yet the sage ascribes the merit to All-under-Heaven. Therefore when Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang governed All-under-Heaven, everyone said that it simply came about of itself.

Heaven covers all without exception. The myriad things have birth and death, yet Heaven shows neither preference nor aversion. The sun illuminates all without exception. The world contains both beauty and ugliness, yet the sun favors none and slights none.

The sage’s Dao (the Way) accords with the Mandate of Heaven; it is not that the sage himself produces the Dao. The sage’s De (Virtue/Power) accords with the times; it is not that the sage himself produces De. The deeds performed by the sage are accomplished jointly by others; it is not that the sage completes them by himself alone. Therefore the sage does not claim the Dao, De, or meritorious works as his own possession.

The sage understands that the “I” has no fixed and unchanging self, and therefore relates to others through humaneness. He understands that affairs have no fixed and unchanging master, and therefore weighs and disposes of them according to righteousness. He understands that thoughts have no fixed and unchanging self, and therefore regulates and constrains them through ritual. He understands that knowledge likewise has no fixed and unchanging self, and therefore observes and discerns through wisdom. The sage knows that even when De is present, one does not claim meritorious works as one’s own.

The sage knows that the “I” originally has no fixed and unchanging self, and therefore draws close to the myriad things through humaneness. He knows that affairs likewise have no fixed self, and therefore handles them flexibly according to righteousness. He knows that thoughts have no fixed self, and therefore restrains them with ritual. He knows that knowledge has no fixed self, and therefore contemplates with wisdom. He knows that speech has no fixed self, and therefore upholds it with sincerity.

When the sage practices the Dao (the Way), he sometimes takes humaneness as humaneness, sometimes takes righteousness as humaneness, and at other times takes ritual, wisdom, or sincerity as humaneness. Humaneness, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and sincerity interpenetrate one another, each encompassing the others. The sage unifies them into one yet clings to none of them, and therefore the names and categories of the world cannot confine the sage.

Do not observe the sage by his conduct alone, for the Dao has no fixed traces. Do not observe the sage by his speech alone, for the Dao cannot be exhausted by words. Do not observe the sage by his talents alone, for the Dao does not cling to action. Do not observe the sage by his appearance alone, for the Dao has no fixed form.

However exalted the conduct, it still falls within distinctions of high and low. However subtle the words, they still involve right and wrong. However marvelous the talents, they still remain within skill and clumsiness. However outstanding the appearance, it still has distinctions of beauty and ugliness. The sage employs these external manifestations to reveal the Dao to the world; only when people of the world quietly realize the Dao within them can they perceive the sage.

The sage learns the order of ruler and minister within a community from the bees, learns to weave a web and hunt from the spider, establishes ritual from the gongshu (the rodent that sits with paws clasped as if in greeting), and formulates military methods from animals in combat. Ordinary people take the worthy as their teacher, the worthy take the sage as their teacher, and the sage takes the myriad things as teacher. Only the sage can communicate with the myriad things without opposing them, and therefore has no fixed self.

The sage says: “In the view of the Dao, Heaven and Earth, human beings and things all embody my Dao. The Dao causes the myriad things to respond to one another, to have beginnings and endings, to display colors such as green and yellow, and enables the myriad things to receive nourishment. It neither favors the Dao nor abandons the myriad things; it neither honors the gentleman nor despises the petty person.” The worthy, however, say: “The myriad things each have their distinctions.” Only the sage can communicate with the myriad things, and therefore has no fixed self.

The sage says: “In the view of the Dao, Heaven and Earth, human beings and things all embody my Dao. The Dao causes the myriad things to respond to one another, to have beginnings and endings, to display colors such as green and yellow, and enables the myriad things to receive nourishment. It neither favors the Dao nor abandons the myriad things; it neither honors the gentleman nor despises the petty person.” The worthy regard the myriad things as different from one another, and therefore sometimes abandon them and sometimes bestow upon them, or make them long or short, straight or square. This practice is to alter the myriad things. The worthy do not understand that when the sage regards the myriad things mixed and placed side by side, he distinguishes them and assigns them their places; yet this is done in order to complete human affairs, and he does not take these arrangements as his own inherent nature.

The sage and ordinary people are no different in food and drink, clothing, houses, boats and carriages, or in high and low station, wealth and poverty. Ordinary people are often the same as sages, and sages are often the same as ordinary people. People elevate the sage, regarding him as exceptionally noble and grand—is this view really correct?

If a fish wished to differ from other fish by leaving the water and leaping onto the shore, it would die; if a tiger wished to differ from other tigers by leaving the mountain forests and entering a town, it would be captured. The sage does not deliberately set himself apart from the multitude; it is simply that external things cannot bind him. People regard the sage as exceptionally noble and grand—is this view really correct?

Dao (the Way)—the fundamental principle by which the myriad things operate—does not act with deliberate artifice. If someone uses “Dao” to deal with worldly affairs, what is done is merely particular matters, not Dao itself. Dao has no fixed form; if someone lodges “Dao” in some particular thing, that thing cannot be equated with Dao. In the end the sage cannot take Dao out and display it to others.

The sage’s words are like the sound of a bell, possessing the quality of a bell’s ringing; they are also like carts and boats, each having its own use. The sage’s actions are likewise. He cannot be named, and thus can cause the world’s tangled discourses to recede; he cannot be fully known, and thus can dissolve the self-assumed cleverness of people throughout the world.

The jiqu (a small aquatic creature) eats snakes, snakes eat frogs, and frogs in turn eat jiqu, devouring one another in a cycle. The sage’s words are like this: first pointing out the drawbacks of clinging to “being” or “non-being,” then pointing out the drawbacks of clinging to “neither being nor non-being,” and further pointing out that even “neither-being-nor-non-being” should be abandoned. The discourse advances layer by layer, like the motion of a saw. Only those who truly excel at realizing the sage’s Dao will not linger on any single statement.

The dragon can freely transform into the forms of the jiao, snake, tortoise, fish, clam and so forth; yet the jiao can only remain a jiao, unable to become a dragon, nor a snake, tortoise, fish or clam. The sage is like the dragon, able to penetrate and transform; the worthy person is like the jiao, limited in capacity.

The sage’s mind does not cling to a fixed self or standpoint, so the forms of the myriad things naturally appear. When he acts he flows with the current like water; when still he reflects the myriad things like a mirror; when responding he answers in accordance like an echo. His realm is subtle and hard to grasp, as if nonexistent; yet quiet and clear, like pure water. Uniting with the myriad things, he can bring them into harmony; if he thinks he has obtained something, he will instead lose it. He never rushes ahead of others, yet always accords with them.

All things are undifferentiated and vast, as if roaming within the primordial beginning: at times becoming gold, at times becoming jade, at times becoming dung, at times becoming soil; at times like things that fly, at times like things that pursue, at times still as mountains, at times profound as abysses. It is both upright and flexible, at times unrestrained, at times rustic and simple.

A person skilled at playing the qin: when the heart is sorrowful, the sound of the qin is desolate and clear; when the heart is longing, the sound is delayed and lingering; when there is resentment in the heart, the sound circles without end; when there is admiration in the heart, the sound is bright and flowing. These sentiments of sorrow, longing, resentment, and admiration are not possessed by the fingers, the bamboo body of the qin, the strings, or the paulownia wood themselves; rather, they arise first from the heart, are then expressed through the fingers, and are conveyed by means of the qin. If a person truly attains the Dao (the Way), everything they do will likewise accord with the Dao.

The sage sometimes speaks, acts, and thinks in order to be the same as ordinary people; at other times does not speak, does not act, and does not think, in order to appear different from ordinary people.

The more distinctly one calculates advantage and disadvantage, the more easily relatives fall into discord; the more distinctly one distinguishes the worthy from the foolish, the more difficult it becomes for friends to associate; the more distinctly one judges right and wrong, the harder it is for affairs to succeed; the more distinctly one regards beauty and ugliness, the more difficult it is for people and things to come together. Therefore the sage views these distinctions as blended into one.

People of dull mind often excuse themselves by invoking the sage’s rustic simplicity, yet they do not realize that the sage at times appears rustic and simple, at times perceptive; at times skillful, at times clumsy.

Those who take the sage as their teacher and imitate the sage can only be counted as worthies; those who take the worthy as their teacher and thereby comprehend the Dao of the sage are themselves sages. This is because directly imitating the sage’s external traces easily leads one to follow only the surface appearance and forget the Dao; by relying on the traces of the worthy to grasp the sage, one can go beyond appearances and accord with the Dao.

Worthies tend only toward the high places and thus cannot see the low; ordinary people tend only toward the low places and thus cannot see the high. The sage, however, can penetrate both above and below, choosing only what is fitting according to the circumstances. Is the sage then some other kind of person, existing apart from worthies and ordinary people?

The constant principle under heaven is this: the husband leads the song and the wife follows; the male beast runs and the female pursues; the male bird calls and the female responds. Therefore the sage establishes the standards for speech and conduct, while the worthies act in accordance with those standards.

When the sage practices the Dao (the Way), although its transformations are unfathomable, he handles affairs with composure and steadiness; although the changes of the Dao are subtle and profound, he can apply them freely when conducting matters.

How could the so-called Dao of the sage be merely isolated and helpless, clearly manifest, or hidden without revelation? It is able to accord with the ten thousand things, yet no single thing can completely accord with it, and therefore it is able to honor the ten thousand things.

Clouds gather, disperse, stretch, and roll in the sky; birds fly through the sky. Both can transform without limit because they dwell in emptiness. The Dao of the sage is just like this.

The Four Fu

“Fu” refers to jing, shen, hun, and po.

Water can divide and also come together; Jing (essence, the vital energy that constitutes the life activities of the human body) has no fixed self. Fire depends on oil and firewood to burn; Shen (spirit, the spiritual qi that governs mental activity) likewise has no fixed self. Therefore, when the ears are unobstructed, sounds from front, back, left, and right can all be heard; this hearing does not belong exclusively to any particular “person.” When wisdom attains a high place, it also has no fixed self. Odd numbers have no fixed self. Winter’s withering of the ten thousand things and autumn’s ripening of them likewise have no fixed self. Black cannot be altered and has no fixed self. The north symbolizes longevity and has no fixed self—all these belong to Jing.

The tongue and teeth work together to produce speech; ritual occupies a humble and lowly position; even numbers form pairs; summer continues the growth of the ten thousand things begun in spring; red is capable of transformation; the south symbolizes the sky—all these have no fixed self and belong to Shen. Jing has no fixed “person,” just as after rice has had its husk removed the essence still remains. Shen has no fixed “I,” and therefore ghosts and spirits manifest by relying on external things. Those who preserve Jing forget right and wrong, gain and loss: while located here, the mind does not cling to there. Those who hold and embrace Shen can at any moment dwell in darkness or brightness, strength or weakness: while located there, they likewise do not cling to here.

Jing and Shen are like water and fire, circulating amid the mutual generation and waxing-and-waning transformations of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), without beginning and without end. Therefore my Jing is merely like a single drop of water, without birth or extinction; my Shen is merely like a momentary flash of manifestation, without arising or ceasing. Only by achieving no-self and no clinging to others, and also not clinging to starting point and ending point, can one accord with the movements of heaven and earth.

Jing belongs to Water, Po (the soul related to the physical form) belongs to Metal, Shen belongs to Fire, Hun (the soul related to mental activity) belongs to Wood. Jing governs Water, Po governs Metal; Metal can generate Water, therefore Jing is gathered in and nurtured by Po. My Shen is merely a momentary manifestation, without arising or ceasing. Only by not clinging to self and others, and also not clinging to starting point and ending point, can one accord with heaven and earth.

Jing (essence) corresponds to Water, the Po (corporeal soul) corresponds to Metal, Shen (spirit) corresponds to Fire, and the Hun (ethereal soul) corresponds to Wood. Jing takes Water as its governing aspect and the Po takes Metal as its governing aspect; Metal generates Water, and therefore Jing is stored and contained by the Po. Shen takes Fire as its governing aspect and the Hun takes Wood as its governing aspect; Wood generates Fire, and therefore Shen is stored and contained by the Hun.

The force of Fire is able to melt Metal and burn Wood, and thus it can also cause the Hun and Po to become dim and confused. Jing manifests in heaven as cold Qi (vital energy), on earth as Water, and in the human body as Jing. Shen manifests in heaven as hot Qi, on earth as Fire, and in the human body as Shen. The Po manifests in heaven as dry Qi, on earth as Metal, and in the human body as the Po. The Hun manifests in heaven as Wind, on earth as Wood, and in the human body as the Hun.

If one unites one’s own Jing with the Jing of heaven, earth, and the myriad things so that they become one, it is like many waters gathering together into a single expanse of water. If one unites one’s own Shen with the Shen of heaven, earth, and the myriad things so that they become one, it is like many fires combining into a single blaze. If one unites one’s own Po with the Po of heaven, earth, and the myriad things so that they become one, it is like different metals melting and becoming one and the same metal. If one unites one’s own Hun with the Hun of heaven, earth, and the myriad things so that they become one, it is like different trees joining and growing together. In this way heaven, earth, and the myriad things all become one’s Jing, Shen, Hun, and Po—what true death or true life could there then be?

The circulating cycle of the Five Phases (wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) proceeds from Jing (essence) generating hun (the ethereal soul), from hun generating Shen (spirit), from Shen generating yi (intention), from yi generating po (the corporeal soul), and from po generating Jing once more. These five cycle continuously without interruption, so that this illusory mind of mine is carried along with the transformations of creation, passing through hundreds of millions of years without ever reaching an end.

A seed, however, can produce a sprout, and the sprout can in turn form a seed, proliferating who knows how many tens of thousands of plants. Although heaven and earth are vast, they cannot cause a seed hanging in empty space to sprout from nothing. A female produces eggs, and those eggs in turn proliferate into birds, who knows how many tens of thousands. Although the workings of Yin-Yang are subtle and marvelous, they cannot cause a female bird to produce eggs without the participation of a male.

Whatever things come into my presence I absorb with a single breath of Qi (vital energy), transforming the external into myself. At that point there is neither any external thing nor an independent “I.” What power, then, do the so-called Five Phases still possess that could change this?

Ordinary people are dominated by the Po (the spiritual activity connected to the physical form) over the Hun (the spiritual activity more oriented toward consciousness and spirituality). This is a sign of surplus Metal Qi (vital energy) and insufficient Wood Qi. Sages, by contrast, have the Hun governing the Po, which is a sign of surplus Wood Qi and insufficient Metal Qi. When the Po rests in concealment, the Hun is present along with it; when the Hun wanders, the Po follows it. During the day the Hun lodges in the eyes, enabling a person to see; at night the Po resides in the liver, causing a person to dream.

When one sees, the Hun originally does not discriminate or judge; once analysis is applied, the discriminating mind arises. Distinguishing what is seen into heaven and earth is a discrimination produced when the Hun is influenced by habit. When one dreams, the Po originally does not discriminate or judge; once analysis is applied, the discriminating mind likewise arises. Distinguishing the dream into this and that, you and I, is a discrimination produced when the Po is influenced by habit.

The generative cycle of the Five Phases (Wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) holds that Fire generates Earth, and therefore Shen (spirit, the luminous functioning of the mind) generates Yi (intention or thought); Earth generates Metal, and therefore Yi generates Po. Once Shen becomes active, it is no longer called Shen but Yi; once Yi becomes active, it is no longer called Yi but Po.

Only the sage understands that the so-called “I” has no fixed, unchanging self, and the so-called “thing” has no independent, unchanging substance; both I and things become manifest only after thought and calculation. Therefore, when the myriad things present themselves, one responds with original nature rather than with the calculating mind. Original nature is the state before any thought has arisen.

Without the discriminating mind there is no Yi; without Fire there is no Earth. Without Yi there is no Po; without Earth there is no Metal. If the fundamental One does not exist, the Five Phases all lose their function. If one can fuse heaven, earth, and the myriad things into one and regard them as one’s own Hun, and likewise fuse heaven, earth, and the myriad things into one and regard them as one’s own Po—so that all the subtle marvels of heaven and earth’s creative transformations are one’s Hun, and all existing things of heaven and earth’s creative transformations are one’s Po—then nothing can stand opposite one or give rise to attachment.

The ancients explained the character hun as deriving from “cloud” and the character po as deriving from “white.” They held that hun and po arise from the transformations after death: clouds communicate with wind and Wood, while white communicates with Qi (vital energy) and Metal. Wind disperses and is light and clear, so the light and clear Qi rises to Heaven; Metal is firm and heavy by nature, so the heavy and turbid Qi sinks into the earth. Thus the light and clear portion ascends with the hun, while the heavy and turbid portion descends with the po.

Those who ascend through the virtue of humaneness become attendants of Jupiter, the Wood planet; those who ascend through the virtue of righteousness become attendants of Venus, the Metal planet; those who ascend through the virtue of ritual propriety become attendants of Mars, the Fire planet; those who ascend through the virtue of wisdom become attendants of Mercury, the Water planet; and those who ascend through the virtue of trustworthiness become attendants of Saturn, the Earth planet. Those who sink for lack of humaneness, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are respectively harmed by Wood, Metal, Fire, Water, and Earth. The Five Phases (wuxing) are Wood, Metal, Fire, Water, and Earth; the ancients used them to explain the transformations of all things and the relationship between moral virtue and the destinations of hun and po.

When hun and po each occupy one half, a person remains in the human world. Ascent of the hun brings honor; descent of the po brings lowliness. A refined hun produces wisdom and enlightenment; a fierce and violent po produces ignorance. A light and soaring hun produces clarity and penetration; a heavy and sinking po produces dullness and obscurity. When the hun soars it becomes a feathered creature; when the po is sharp it becomes a hairy creature. A luminous hun becomes Shen (spirit); a dark po becomes a ghost. Bodily form, dwelling, cognition, and preferences can all be correlated and explained by means of the Five Phases.

The categories and numbers of the Five Phases interweave with one another and are not uniform, which is why the myriad things are so abundant, filling Heaven and Earth without exhaustion. Classifying five kinds of things under the Five Phases and then using the Five Phases to distinguish five classes of insects and creatures—how could one ever finish enumerating them? It is like burning a tortoise shell for divination or calculating with yarrow stalks: when the mind is perfectly sincere, the omens accord with the Five Phases; when sincerity is insufficient, the tortoise cracks and yarrow numbers fail to correspond to the Five Phases. The sages act in the world by means of the myriad things, and therefore there is nothing to which the Five Phases do not correspond.

The hun arises from consciousness. “Consciousness” can be described as the function of cognition and discrimination; the forms and colors seen by the eyes, however, are related to Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit). The perceptual activities of the eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and heart-mind all belong to the functioning of the hun. In this present life, love and desire become Jing, serving as the paternal basis of the next life; contemplative observation becomes Shen, serving as the maternal basis of the next life. Although love and observation differ, both arise from consciousness.

The root of the next life lies in the next life itself: on one hand it is the father, and therefore receives the father’s Qi (vital energy), which belongs to Water; on the other hand it is the mother, and therefore receives the mother’s blood, which belongs to Fire. Only when both father and mother are present can the next life take form. Yet if love and desire lack the discriminating function of consciousness, they are like molten substances blending into one another; if contemplative observation lacks consciousness, it is like lamplight shining. If my consciousness does not arise, from where would I myself come into being?

It is like striking a drum with a wooden pestle: the physical form of the drum resembles my Jing, while the sound produced by the drum resembles my Shen. After the pestle is withdrawn, a lingering tone remains, yet it too will eventually disappear. This lingering tone is like the hun and po: they come and go suddenly, brief and unstable. Once this is understood, one knows that the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) has no fixed and unchanging relationship with oneself.

For a fruit to produce a seed, it must possess the three conditions of Water, Fire, and Earth, after which it can continually grow and transform. If the three are incomplete, it is like encountering a great drought, a great flood, or the collapse of earth and stone—none of which suffices to make the myriad things grow. Jing belongs to Water, Shen belongs to Fire, and intention belongs to Earth; originally the three do not interact. A person, relying on their own root, unites them, and is therefore able to manifest various activities within them. This resembles how magical techniques can cause many things to appear from the utmost emptiness.

The hun belongs to Water. Trees take the watery Qi of winter as their root and blossom when Fire is vigorous in summer. Therefore a person’s hun is stored in the Jing-Qi of the night and manifests during the day in the activities of Shen. When united with Jing, what is seen is a solitary “I,” because Jing itself contains no others; when united with Shen, what is seen is a shared “I,” because Shen itself has no fixed self.

When one knows that the human body is like a body in a dream, appearing in accordance with thoughts and feelings, one can transform the Shen (spirit) into oneself and wander at ease in Taiqing, the clear and empty heavenly realm of which Daoism speaks. When one knows that the ten thousand things are likewise like objects in a dream, appearing according to thoughts and feelings, one can concentrate Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), transform them into things, and ride forth to the distant wildernesses of the eight directions.

The path of cultivating the Dao may either prolong life by bringing forth the Shen or transcend life and death by forgetting the Shen. Drawing in the breath to nourish the Jing is analogous to Metal generating Water; drawing in the wind-Qi to nourish the Shen is analogous to Wood generating Fire. This is employing external things to perpetuate the spirit. Rinsing with water to nourish the Jing so that the Jing-Qi never runs dry; generating fire by friction to nourish the Shen so that the spirit never runs dry. This is employing inner cultivation to perpetuate the spirit.

As for the method of forgetting the Shen and transcending life and death, I have spoken of it previously: a person diligent in ritual and propriety does not allow the Shen to scatter outward, and is thus able to concentrate the Shen; a person diligent in the exercise of wisdom does not allow the Jing to shift outward, and is thus able to gather in the Jing. Benevolence belongs to Yang and is luminous, enabling the Hun to become light and numinous; righteousness belongs to Yin and is dark and still, enabling one to master the Po. Hun and Po are different designations within the Daoist tradition for the spiritual aspects of the human being.

Tui Niang rolled the medicinal pills into pellets. After the pellets were completed, she concentrated her visualization upon them and beheld a small white insect within a pellet; presently the insect shed its husk and became a cicada. The cicada itself had no intention of shedding its husk, so how could the little insect have known in advance that it was going to become a cicada?

When a cook boiled crabs, one crab leg was left lying on the table. The crab had already been cooked into a broth, yet the leftover leg continued to move. This demonstrates that so-called life and death are merely the gathering and dispersing of a single stream of Qi; originally there is no life or death, yet people insist upon distinguishing them.

Some die while standing, some while sitting, some while lying down, some from illness, and some from taking medicine. In the end it is all death, without any ranking of higher or lower. One who understands the Dao does not cling to “life,” and therefore does not cling to “death.”

If people loathe life and death or wish to transcend life and death, these thoughts themselves are a great source of trouble. For instance, if an illusory person likewise gives rise to a mind that loathes life and death and seeks to transcend them, it can only be called a “demon,” not the Dao (the Way).

Regarding life and death, people have all sorts of calculations: some believe that after death one still exists, some that after death there is nothing whatsoever, and some that after death one both exists and does not exist; others regard life and death as something to celebrate, some as something to fear, some advocate following the natural course of things, and some advocate transcending life and death. These views constantly change, causing the mind-consciousness to race after them without cease. Yet they do not realize that my life and death are like a horse growing hands or a cow growing wings—they originally do not exist; but one also cannot say they are absolutely “nonexistent.” It is like being in the midst of water and fire yet remaining unburned by fire and undrowned by water.

“The Five Mirrors”: “Mirror” is the mind.

When the mind is clouded by thoughts of auspicious and inauspicious fortune and misfortune, it will be seized by spirit-ghosts; when clouded by thoughts of sexual desire between men and women, it will be seized by lust-ghosts; when clouded by thoughts of gloom and melancholy, it will be seized by sinking-ghosts; when clouded by thoughts of unrestrained chasing, it will be seized by mad-ghosts; when clouded by thoughts of oaths and curses, it will be seized by strange-ghosts.

Some of these ghosts take Yin Qi as their form, some take darkness as their form, some take wind as their form, and some take Qi (vital energy) as their form; they may also manifest by borrowing clay idols, colorful paintings, aged livestock, or dilapidated objects. Ghosts rely on their own Jing (essence) Qi, and humans rely on their own Jing Qi; the two Jing Qi mutually interact and resonate, whereupon the Shen (spirit) consciousness responds. Those seized by ghosts can at times speak of extraordinary or auspicious matters, their expression arrogant; they do not say that a ghost has attached itself to them, but rather that the Dao (the Way) has descended upon them. After a prolonged time, some die beside trees, metal implements, ropes, or wells.

Only the sage is able to employ the spirits without being dominated by them, to command the host of spirits and to grasp the crucial point among them. He can cause the spirits to gather, or to disperse and be ridden; he responds to the myriad things each day, yet his inner mind remains constantly silent.

The mind cannot be unified because the five sense organs are always rushing about together; the mind cannot be empty because the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) are all present within the body; the mind cannot be still because the transformations of the myriad things are quietly taking place. Even if one forcibly unifies it, one will be pulled by relative thoughts; even if one forcibly empties it, one will be filled by substantial things; even if one forcibly stills it, one will be disturbed by agitation. Only the sage can gather the myriad existences into the space of a single breath, so that nothing whatsoever can enslave his luminous clarity; he can also disperse this single breath into the myriad existences, so that nothing whatsoever can inquire into his actions.

A fire that has burned for a thousand years can likewise be extinguished in an instant; thought-consciousness that has continued for a thousand years can likewise dissipate in an instant.

When water flows it is like a boat under way; what truly propels the boat forward is the water, not the boat. When a cart advances, what truly draws the cart is the ox, not the cart. When a person engages in thought and deliberation, what truly takes effect is intention, not the heart-mind. People often do not know why affairs unfold as they do, yet they undergo them spontaneously. Thus there is no tracing the origin from which things arise, nor any seeking the destination to which they proceed. Their coming and going lack a fixed root and a fixed end, and so they can unite with the original source of heaven and earth, surpassing both antiquity and the present.

Once one understands that there is no fixed, unchanging entity in the heart-mind, one will understand that the myriad things likewise have no fixed, unchanging entities. Understanding the myriad things to be thus, one then knows that the Dao (the Way) has no fixed form. Therefore there is no need to promote deliberately exceptional conduct, nor to be astonished by recondite and subtle discourse. The myriad things interact with the self, and thoughts arise from this, just as fire is generated by the rubbing of two pieces of wood. One cannot say this thought resides only in me, nor that it resides only in the other party; one cannot say it is entirely not of me, nor that it is entirely not of the other. To cling obstinately to dividing it into “I” or “the other” is stupidity.

Do not depend upon what you have established as profit and loss, right and wrong. Does what you call profit and loss, right and wrong, truly capture the actuality of profit and loss, right and wrong? Even the sages do not deliberately discriminate or presume to know, still less should you.

Nighttime dreams sometimes persist longer than the night itself; the heart-mind has no fixed time. Those born in the state of Qi typically behold in their heart-mind the landscapes of Qi; later, having gone to the states of Song, Chu, Jin, and Liang, the images retained in the heart-mind differ accordingly. The heart-mind has no fixed place.

One who is adept at archery takes the bow as teacher, not Yi (the legendary master archer of antiquity) as teacher; one who is adept at steering a boat takes the boat as teacher, not Bi as teacher; one who is adept at cultivating the heart-mind and nature takes one’s own heart-mind as teacher, not the sages as teacher.

Right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, success and failure, gain and loss are all circumstances that arise in the course of the workings of Creation. We feel they truly exist because of our selfish mind and clinging to distinctions. Even if we try to dismiss them with “non-being,” they still remain in the heart; using “neither being nor non-being” to dismiss them is the same. Even if we say “there is nothing at all,” or that everything is in an undifferentiated chaos, they still persist. It is like a place once visited in the past appearing once more before the eyes, the memory remaining vivid. These thoughts cannot be forgotten, nor can they be excluded.

Those skilled at understanding me can transform “cognition” into “wisdom.” Do you know how to turn cognition into wisdom? Recalling ghosts and monsters, the heart shudders; thinking of thieves, the heart feels fear—these are “thoughts.” Mistaking millet for sorghum, or jade for stone—these are “cognition.” Thoughts and cognition are like drifting, unstable images with no fixed resting place. For example, seeing something strange, one generates strange thoughts and cognitions about it; the root of these thoughts and cognitions does not lie in the true self.

Take today as an example: the thoughts and cognitions of today belong only to today; what thoughts one will have tomorrow, or what cognitions will form, cannot be determined in advance. When tomorrow arrives, various thoughts and cognitions arise one after another, all generated according to the causes and conditions of that moment. A person’s daily thoughts and cognitions are likewise. It is also like the rhinoceros gazing at the moon: the moon’s reflection appears on the rhinoceros horn, and only because of human cognition does one feel there is a moon on the horn; the true moon is not on the horn. The heaven, earth, and myriad things seen within the breast follow the same principle. One who understands this does not cling outwardly to the things that are seen, nor inwardly to one’s own emotions.

Things arise from the earth and ultimately transform and return to the earth; affairs arise from thoughts and ultimately also change according to thoughts. Once one understands that everything depends on thought, one will know: with a single turn of thought, what was just considered right is in an instant felt to be wrong; what was just considered good may in an instant be felt to be evil. Thoughts change, yet the original substance of the mind does not change along with them; thoughts discriminate and distinguish, yet the original substance of the mind does not therefore give rise to distinctions. By holding fast to the one original mind, thoughts come and go like dust, affairs arise and vanish like the gathering and dispersing of dust, while the constant Great Dao (the Way) within my mind always exists.

Emotions arise from the mind, and the mind is rooted in nature. Emotions are like waves on water, the mind like the flowing water, and nature like the water itself. External things touch the self only in an extremely brief instant; if one receives them with original nature, the mind will not give rise to fluctuations along with them, and the external things will merely float by.

The worthy and the foolish, the true and the false—some people can distinguish them, some cannot; yet the constant Great Dao always exists.

Emotions arise from the mind, and the mind arises from nature (a person’s original nature). Emotions are like ripples on water, the mind like the flowing current, and nature like the water itself. When external things come to stir me, they are merely as fleeting as the spark that flashes when stones collide. If one receives external things by means of original nature, the mind will not give rise to distinctions in response, and the myriad things will simply float past.

Some people can discern the worthy from the foolish, the true from the false, while others cannot. Although those people possess distinctions of worthiness and foolishness, truth and falsehood, what judges them as worthy or foolish, true or false is my shi (the capacity to discriminate and recognize things). Once one understands that these judgments are all formed by shi, one knows that even so-called reality may merely be a “true” that has been discriminated, and thus still carries an element of falsehood.

When the mind responds to external things, it does not thereby produce a new “mind,” but rather gives rise to emotions; when external things interact with the mind, they do not thereby produce a new “thing,” but rather give rise to shi. External things are not even constantly real, still less is shi. Shi is not real, still less are the various emotions it evokes.

Yet deluded people (those attached to delusive discriminations) cling to being within ultimate non-being, and cling to constancy within ultimate change. When a single emotion is affirmed and accumulated, it becomes ten thousand emotions; as the ten thousand emotions continually accumulate, they in turn form the myriad things. External things arrive inexhaustibly, yet the capacity of my mind to receive them is limited. Thus my originally clear and bright mind is constrained by emotions, and original emotions are in turn constrained by external things. Emotions seem able to cause it to come and go, yet how it actually comes and goes is not initially under my own control, but is driven by the creative transformation (zaohua, the generative and transformative power of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things), without pause.

People, however, do not realize that although Heaven and Earth are vast, they can drive things that have form but cannot drive things that have no form; although the transformations of Yin-Yang are subtle and marvelous, they can drive things that possess Qi (vital energy) but cannot drive things that possess no Qi. Where the mind-intent tends, Qi follows it; where Qi tends, the physical form responds. Just as the Great Void (Tai Xu, the vast and empty cosmos) transforms from ultimate non-being into a single Qi, and that single Qi then transforms into the myriad things, yet that single Qi is not identical with the Great Void. In the same way, my single mind is able to transform into Qi and physical form, yet the mind itself has neither Qi nor form. If one can recognize that the mind has neither Qi nor form, then Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang cannot drive it.

When a person is in ordinary circumstances and the eyes suddenly perceive strange things, these are invariably produced by the condensation of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). When a person is ill and the eyes suddenly perceive strange things, these are invariably produced by deficiencies and imbalances within the mind. Once one understands that the mind is capable of bringing formed things forth from emptiness, one likewise understands that the mind can render formed things as though they did not exist. People simply do not believe this, and so the function cannot naturally display its marvelous efficacy.

Someone objects: “Since a person’s consciousness is already confused, who could fail to believe in these appearances?” I reply that a snake-catcher harbors no fear of snakes in the mind; even if snakes appear in dreams, they provoke no fright. Thus the Yellow Emperor said: “The Dao (the Way) admits no distinction of ghosts and spirits; it proceeds alone, coming and going at will.”

My thoughts alter from day to day, driven by a force behind them; that force is not myself but Ming (the power laid down by destiny and endowment). Once one knows that everything is impelled by Ming, one ceases to cling to an “I” outwardly and ceases to cling inwardly to correspondence with external things.

Just as the two eyes can behold all things of heaven and earth, yet if the gaze is withdrawn for even a moment, nothing is seen at all.

When the eyes fix intently upon intricately carved objects, vision is impaired; when the ears listen at length to orchestral tones, hearing is impaired; when the mind occupies itself exclusively with mysterious subtleties, the Shen (spirit) is likewise impaired.

Do not take one’s own mind as the measure of another’s; rather, understand the other according to that person’s own mind. Grasping this, one can manage affairs comprehensively, practice De (Virtue/Power), penetrate the great Dao, associate with others, and also forget the self.

In the principles of affairs under heaven, small matters left unrestrained grow into large matters; large matters left unrestrained grow beyond control. Hence the capacity to restrain a single emotion can accomplish De; the capacity to forget a single emotion can bring one into accord with the Dao.

“Six Bi.”

“Bi” denotes food, and food sustains the human form.

People of the world treat “my thoughts” and “another’s thoughts” as different and thereby divide self from other. Hence the capacity to restrain a single emotion can accomplish De; the capacity to forget a single emotion can bring one into accord with the Dao.

“Six Bi.”

“Bi” denotes food, and food sustains the human form.

People of the world distinguish themselves from others because their own thoughts differ from those of others, yet they do not realize that the people who appear in dreams also have their own thoughts and likewise feel that others’ thoughts differ from their own. Then who, after all, is the self and who is the other?

People of the world distinguish themselves from others because the pain they themselves feel differs from the pain felt by others, yet they do not realize that the people who appear in dreams also feel that their own pain differs from that of others. Then who, after all, is the self and who is the other? Nails and hair feel no pain, and the hands and feet have no thoughts, yet they remain parts of oneself. Can they be set apart merely because they lack thoughts and feel no pain?

People of the world regard what only a single person sees as a dream and what many people see at the same time as waking reality; yet they do not realize that when Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) concentrate, even in the daytime a single person may alone perceive a certain scene, and that when Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit) combine, two people may share the same dream at night. Both of these arise from a person’s Jing and Shen, so which then is the dream and which is waking?

People of the world regard what is seen only briefly as a dream and what is seen for a long time as waking reality; yet they do not realize that scenes seen briefly arise from Yin-Yang Qi and that scenes seen for a long time likewise arise from Yin-Yang Qi. Both are phenomena presented by one’s own Yin-Yang Qi, so which then is the dream and which is waking?

Those who delight in humaneness and De (Virtue) often dream of pines, cypresses, peaches and plums; those who delight in righteousness and principle often dream of weapons and metal; those who delight in rites and etiquette often dream of \ldots These visions too are phenomena presented by Yin-Yang Qi, and Yin-Yang Qi belongs entirely to oneself. So which then is the dream and which is waking?

People who love benevolence and De (Virtue/Power) often dream of pines, cypresses, peaches, and plums. Those who honor righteousness often dream of weapons and metal objects. Those who observe ritual propriety often dream of baskets, wicker hampers, and beans. Those who are fond of learning and possess abundant wisdom often dream of rivers, lakes, and marshes. Those who prize sincerity and trustworthiness often dream of mountains, hills, and open plains. These dreams are influenced by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and are generally of this nature. However, if one hears or thinks of something in a dream, the dreamscape will change accordingly, so one cannot explain all dreams uniformly by means of the Five Phases.

The sage uses the mind to master external things and uses original nature to gather in the mind, enabling the mind to communicate with the transformations of creation, and therefore is not bound by the Five Phases. If you see images such as a human body with a snake’s head, ox arms covered in fish scales, or ghostly figures with avian wings, do not find them odd: such wonders still fall short of those in dreams, and the wonders of dreams fall short of the various conditions experienced while awake. That a person has ears and eyes, hands and arms is already extremely marvelous in itself. The greatest speech cannot be put into words, and the highest wisdom cannot be exhausted by thought.

Someone asked me, “What is your surname, your given name, your courtesy name? What do you wear and what do you eat? What friends and servants do you have? What zither do you play and what books do you read? Do you belong to antiquity or to the present day?” I remained silent at the time and did not utter a single word in reply. The person persisted in questioning me, so I was compelled to say, “You have not even seen me yet; how then can you know what is mine?”

The physical form can be divided and can also be united; it can be prolonged and can also be concealed. A husband and wife producing two children is an example of the form dividing. A husband and wife, two persons combining to form one child, is an example of the form uniting. Consuming jusheng (sesame) can extend one’s lifespan; this is an example of prolonging the form. When there is no moonlight or lamplight at night and others cannot see me, this is an example of concealing the form.

The myriad things are generated from the one Qi (vital energy), the fundamental qi that constitutes all things, just as hair can be cut off and then grow again, and thus the form can be divided. The myriad things also come together through the one Qi, just as a split lip can grow back together, and thus the form can be united. By using Shen (spirit) to guard the Qi and using Qi to sustain the form, the form can be prolonged. By uniting the form with Shen and then returning Shen to nothingness, one can conceal the form. Do you wish to understand these principles? Do you wish to put them into practice?

There is nothing in the world that I cannot see, and thus nothing that does not belong to “my seeing”; there is nothing that I cannot hear, and thus nothing that does not belong to “my hearing.” The five kinds of substances can nourish the physical form, yet none of them fails to belong to my physical form; all manner of flavors can nourish the Qi (vital energy), yet none of them fails to belong to my Qi. Therefore my physical form and Qi interpenetrate with all things between heaven and earth.

A trapper who knows the habits of oxen becomes coarse and rugged; a hunter who knows the habits of tigers becomes brave and fierce; a fisherman who knows the nature of water can dive and swim; a warrior who knows horses becomes strong and robust. All things can become part of me. Inside my body, pinworms and roundworms may arise; outside it, lice and fleas may breed. When the body is scarred it resembles turtles or fish; when emaciated it resembles rodents. I too may become like all things.

That which makes me myself is like gold within ashes, but not like gold within ore. Splitting open ore yields gold; washing sand also yields gold; yet if one spends a lifetime merely scattering ashes, one will never obtain gold.

A bee, though extremely minute, can still roam and observe throughout heaven and earth; a shrimp, though extremely minute, can still swim freely in the vast ocean.

Idols molded from clay may be shaped into noble forms or humble forms, some resembling men and some resembling women; their essence is all clay—could it be that the clay itself produced human beings?

The eyes serve for seeing, yet they themselves do not perceive colors; the ears serve for hearing, yet they themselves do not hear sounds; the tongue serves for tasting, yet it itself has no flavor; the heart-mind serves for weighing thoughts, yet it itself has no fixed objects. Ordinary people chase after external things; the worthy grasp what is inner; the sage sees that both are artificial distinctions and does not cling to them.

My body is constituted of the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the original nature of this Qi of the Five Phases is fundamentally one. For example, from one and the same source one may draw water or fire, cause wood to grow or metal to congeal, or transform it into earth; although their properties and functions differ, there is no difference at the root. Thus when feathered creatures flourish, furred creatures cannot thrive; when furred creatures flourish, scaled creatures cannot thrive. One who understands the principle of the mutual interaction and transformation of the Five Phases can forget the self.

A withered tortoise itself has no consciousness, yet it can display profound omens; a lodestone itself has no will, yet it can exhibit mighty power; bells and drums themselves have no intention, yet they can produce resonant sounds; boats and carriages themselves have no mind, yet they can carry people on distant journeys. Therefore, although this body of mine possesses wisdom and strength and is capable of action and of making sounds, there is no fixed and unchanging “self” that governs it.

Even the shadow projected by an ant can cause my death; from this we know that things without consciousness are also related to the “self.” Viewed in this way, the “self” is present everywhere under Heaven.

When the mind concentrates on what it is thinking about, a person temporarily forgets hunger; when the heart is filled with indignation, one temporarily forgets the cold; when one is devoted to nourishing body and mind, one temporarily forgets illness; when the emotions surge, one also temporarily forgets pain. If the Qi (vital energy) is regulated through breathing, who then can make me feel hunger? If the Shen (spirit) is preserved and nourished so as to generate warmth, who then can make me feel cold? By nourishing the five viscera—that is, by harmonizing the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water)—the “self” is present everywhere under Heaven.

When the mind concentrates on what it is thinking about, a person temporarily forgets hunger; when the heart is filled with indignation, one temporarily forgets the cold; when one is devoted to nourishing body and mind, one temporarily forgets illness; when the emotions surge, one also temporarily forgets pain. If the breath is used to regulate the Qi, who then can make me feel hunger? If the Shen is stored and nourished to increase warmth, who then can make me feel cold? Using the Five Phases to nourish the five viscera, the body suffers no harm, so who then can make me ill? When the five viscera return to the cyclical transformations of the Five Phases, a person no longer perceives, so who then can make me feel pain?

Do not conclude that a person has no “self” merely because they lack consciousness and action; even possessing consciousness and action does not prevent them from having no fixed and unchanging “self.” It is like fire, which is always restless and burning yet has never possessed a fixed “self.”

Seven Cauldrons

The word “cauldron” (fu) signifies change and transformation.

The Dao (the Way) is originally empty and void. Those who return to the Great Dao by engaging in affairs can reduce a thousand and a hundred kinds of matters to a single thought. Affairs are originally numerous and substantial; those who apply the Great Dao in employing affairs can comprehensively handle all manner of things. Those who attain the Dao and can undertake great matters can assist the people of the world; those who attain the Dao and are independently self-sufficient can establish themselves.

Those who understand that the Great Dao is not bound by time can regard one day as a hundred years and a hundred years as one day. Those who understand that the Great Dao is not obstructed by space can regard one li as a hundred li and a hundred li as one li. Those who understand that the Great Dao originally has neither form nor Qi (vital energy), yet can circulate Qi that has form, can summon wind and rain. Those who understand that the Great Dao originally has no form, yet can transform things that have form, can cause birds and beasts to change their forms.

Those who attain the Dao in clarity and brightness are not encumbered by external things; their bodies become light and agile, and they can ride phoenixes and immortal cranes. Those who attain the Dao in blending and fusion are not overwhelmed by external things; their bodies mysteriously unite with the myriad things, and they can take flood dragons and great whales as their seats.

Being is non-being, and non-being is being; those who understand this principle can command ghosts and spirits. The substantial is the empty, and the empty is the substantial; those who understand this principle can enter into metal and stone. Above is below, and below is above; those who understand this principle can serve the stars. The ancient is the present, and the present is the ancient; those who understand this principle can divine with tortoise shells and yarrow stalks. Other people are myself, and I am other people; those who understand this principle can perceive the inner hearts of others. The myriad things are myself, and I am the myriad things; those who understand this principle can accomplish the dragon and tiger within the abdomen (a term in Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation symbolizing Yin-Yang and the circulation of Jing (essence) and Qi).

Those who understand that the myriad phenomena transform according to the mind can thereby contemplate the inner mind and accomplish the female infant (a symbolic state or product of cultivation in Neidan). Those who understand that Qi arises from the mind can thereby absorb Shen (spirit) and Qi and accomplish the cold furnace (a term related to the furnace and cauldron in Neidan cultivation). By relying on the Great Dao to overcome external things, one can subdue tigers and leopards; by merging into one with the myriad things, one can enter water and fire. Only those who possess the Dao can accomplish these things; even if capable of doing so, one may choose not to do them.

Human power can at times seize the creative work of Heaven and Earth: making thunder sound in winter, producing ice in summer, causing a corpse to walk, making a withered tree blossom, hiding a ghost inside a bean, fishing from a cup, causing a painted door to open, or making a ghost in the earth speak. All of this is what pure Qi (vital energy)—the refined Jing (essence) Qi—can accomplish, and so it is able to transform the myriad things. The ceaseless shifting of human emotions today is likewise the working of Qi. Yet Qi itself gathers and disperses; the original source by which I circulate Qi has never gathered and never dispersed. When Qi gathers there is life; when Qi disperses there is death. That source which has never gathered and never dispersed has neither birth nor death. Guests come and go, yet the inn remains as it always was.

Some recite incantations, some serve spirits, some employ the written characters of Fulu (talismans and registers), some change their hand seals; all of these can command spirits and harness Qi, thereby transforming the myriad things. Only those whose hearts are insincere find it hard to trust themselves yet easy to trust external things, and so they rely on such methods. If one understands the power of a sincere heart, certain things can come about of themselves even without these aids.

With every human breath the sun travels four hundred thousand li; change is thus extremely swift. Only the sage clings neither to existence nor to change.

Qingluanzi, a legendary immortal, lived a thousand years and therefore passed through a thousand years of transformation; Taozi took office five times, and his inner heart changed five times in turn. The sage treats worldly affairs as passing guests and sets external things aside—does this mean he wishes to accomplish nothing in the world? It is only that those bound by bodily form and predetermined fate fear that change is unpredictable.

The myriad things continually shift; though they appear and recede, they are in the end one and the same Qi. Only the sage understands that the myriad things are originally one, and is therefore not trapped by change.

Nails grow and hair lengthens; the circulation of Rong Qi and Wei Qi (the Qi that moves within and without the body, nourishing and protecting it) never pauses for an instant. Ordinary people see only obvious change and miss the subtle; the worthy see subtle change yet cannot accord with it; the sage accords with change and so is unmoved by it.

Inside a room what is seen and heard remains fixed. Later one steps outside the door, to a neighbor’s house, the village, then the countryside, mountains and rivers; what is seen and heard differs at each stage. Likes and dislikes shift accordingly, harmony and contention follow, and gain and loss take shape from this.

When a person remains indoors, the things ordinarily encountered are fixed. Once one steps beyond the door, proceeds to neighboring places and the village, and further to the countryside, mountains, and streams, what is seen and heard varies from place to place. Preferences and aversions shift in consequence, harmony or rivalry arise accordingly, and gain and loss thereby come into being. Hence the sage is cautious and watchful in every gesture and action.

It is like the great sea, which can generate hundreds of millions of mosquitoes and fishes, yet the seawater itself was originally but one and the same water. I and the myriad things flourish and thrive amid the transformations of heaven and earth, yet the nature we possess is identical. Those who understand that this nature is the same no longer cling to the distinctions between self and other, or between death and life.

The principles of the world are such that what is right may at times turn into what is wrong, and what is wrong may likewise turn into what is right; a kindness may sometimes become a calamity, and a calamity may turn into a kindness. Therefore the sage abides in constancy while at the same time contemplating the possible transformations of things.

In youth, a person ought to keep firmly in mind the instructions of father and elder brothers; upon reaching adulthood, one should heed the admonitions of friends; in old age, one should take warning from the speech of the young. Though the myriad things continually transform, they cannot thereby entrap me.

The principle of the world is this: things that are light and shallow change easily, while those that are deep and substantial are difficult to change. It is like wind and clouds, which in a mere moment transform and vanish; the quality of gold and jade, however, remains unaltered through the ages. One whose mind is light, nimble, and lucid can transform along with the changes of heaven and earth without becoming stuck in them; yet perhaps there still remains something that has never changed.

Two children who are close to one another, upon meeting again after they have grown up, may fail to recognize each other; two men in the prime of life who are close, when they meet again in old age, have both already transformed along with heaven and earth and no longer retain their original appearance. Yet perhaps there still remains something that has never changed.

Two children who are close to one another, upon meeting again after growing up, may already fail to recognize each other; two men in the prime of life who are close, upon meeting again in old age, may likewise fail to recognize each other. This is like the sparrow transforming into a clam, or the hawk transforming into a dove: amid transformation there is no fixed past, nor any fixed present.

Eight Chou

“Chou” refers to things.

Those of ancient times skilled in interpreting and divining tortoise shells could manifest the conditions of antiquity in the present and the conditions of the present in antiquity; they could manifest the low from high places and the high from low places; the great within the small and the small within the great; the many within the one and the one within the many; things within persons and persons within things; the other within oneself and oneself within the other.

The Dao (the Way) has no starting point that can be called “the present” and no ending point that can be called “the past.” It is so high that nothing can cover it, so low that nothing can support it; so vast that it has no boundary, so minute that it has no interior. Its origin cannot be said to be only one, nor its extremities many. Outside there is nothing else; inside there is no person. Nearby there is no “I”; far away there is no “other.” The Dao cannot be divided or assembled, cannot be explained by analogy, and cannot be grasped by thought. Precisely because it is an undifferentiated whole admitting of no distinction, it is called the Dao.

Water flows downward and thus contains the five kinds of Jing (essence) Qi (vital energy); fire rises upward and thus communicates the five odors; wood grows luxuriantly and thus produces the five colors; metal is hard and solid and thus emits the five sounds; earth is even and harmonious and thus nourishes the five flavors. The five categories are constant, yet their transformations cannot be calculated; things may be classified into five categories, but the ways they intermingle cannot be calculated.

Therefore, of the myriad things between heaven and earth one cannot insist that they number “ten thousand” kinds, nor insist that they are only “five” categories or reduce to “one”; equally, one cannot insist that they are not ten thousand, not five, not one. Some combine things and others separate them; to conclude from this that they possess form, number, and Qi is merely to exhaust the spirit in vain. The myriad things do not know me, and I cannot truly know the myriad things.

The thoughts of the human mind can create all things. Wherever the mind’s thoughts tend, affection follows; when affection follows, Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) also move with them. When something is pent up in the heart, it first condenses into water: when the heart admires something, saliva flows; when the heart grieves, tears flow; when the heart feels shame, sweat appears. Transient things will not remain forever transient, nor will lasting things remain forever unchanged. Water generates Wood, Wood generates Fire, Fire generates Earth, Earth generates Metal, and Metal in turn generates Water. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cyclically generate one another and also attack and restrain one another, their transformations too numerous to count. The so-called infant, medicine maiden, golden tower, crimson palace, azure flood-dragon, white tiger, precious cauldron, and red furnace are all metaphors for this kind of body-mind transformation; beyond these there also exist principles that do not belong to such metaphors.

Birds and beasts suddenly cry out, suddenly gather, suddenly scatter; plants and trees suddenly sprout and grow, suddenly stand tall and flourish, suddenly wither and fall. Heaven and Earth cannot prevent these changes, nor can the sage cause them to cease; there is a power of operation within them. Sound seems to arise over there, yet must be heard over here; if the drum is not struck, it will not sound. Even numbers are over there, odd numbers over here; if the hand does not strike, the drum will not sound. (Here the sound of the drum illustrates that the manifestation of things requires corresponding conditions.)

In reality they are all just one and the same thing. Ordinary people are deluded by names, seeing things but not seeing the Dao (the Way); the worthy analyze the principles within, seeing the Dao without clinging to particular things; the sage accords with nature, clinging neither to the name of the Dao nor to the forms of things. All returns to the one and the same Dao. If one does not cling to it, it is the Dao; once one clings, one takes it as a particular thing.

Understanding the illusory nature of things does not necessarily mean one must discard things. It is like seeing a clay ox or a wooden horse: although the mind still uses the names “ox” and “horse,” one does not take them to be genuine oxen and horses.

Nine Medicines

“Medicine” refers to various methods of regulation and treatment.

Do not despise small matters: a tiny crack may also sink a boat. Do not despise small things: a small insect may also harm the body. Do not despise small people: a person of little account may also damage fundamental interests.

Nine Medicines

“Medicine” refers to various methods of regulation and treatment.

Do not despise small matters: even a tiny crack may sink a ship. Do not despise small things: even a little insect may harm the body. Do not despise those of humble station: even a petty person may endanger the state. Only by handling small affairs with thoroughness can one accomplish great undertakings; only by gradually accumulating small things can one achieve a great enterprise; only by treating petty people properly can one come into accord with the great.

The Dao (the Way) of Heaven is not something humans can determine in advance, nor can people guarantee beforehand that events will necessarily unfold in any particular way. Only by letting go of attachments to affairs and to others can one dwell at ease in oneself. Do what can be done; simplify when simplification is called for, refrain when restraint is called for, endure when endurance is called for, be diligent when diligence is called for, and rest when rest is called for.

Those whose wisdom has reached its utmost know that wisdom alone is finally insufficient to comprehend all things, and so they appear foolish. Those whose eloquence has reached its utmost know that speech alone is finally insufficient to explain all things, and so they appear inarticulate. Those whose courage has reached its utmost know that brute force alone is finally insufficient to overcome all things, and so they appear timid.

Nothing among Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things truly belongs to “me.” The myriad things are not myself, yet one cannot help but respond to them; I am not a fixed and unchanging “I,” yet one cannot help but nourish and care for this person. Although one responds to the myriad things, one does not cling to them as one’s own; although one cares for oneself, one does not cling to a fixed self. Do not suppose that one must first exclude external things before one can exclude the self; nor suppose that one must first exclude the self before one can exclude the inner mind. The Dao is one; it cannot be cultivated in successive steps.

Those who scrutinize the tiniest details cannot see the vastness of Heaven and Earth; those who concentrate on distinguishing the faintest sounds cannot hear the thunder. One who sees only the large cannot see the small; one who sees only the near cannot see the far; one who hears only loud sounds cannot hear the faint; one who hears only nearby sounds cannot hear the distant. The sage is attached to no particular seeing, and therefore there is nothing unseen; attached to no particular hearing, and therefore there is nothing unheard.

The things the eyes can behold are beyond counting. Some prefer gold, others prefer jade—this is like regarding only one color as worth seeing. The sounds the ears can hear are likewise beyond counting. Some prefer the tone of bells, others the beat of drums—this is like regarding only one sound as worth hearing. Only the sage neither covets nor rejects, nor clings to any one extreme.

One who truly understands the present can put into practice the principles of the ancients; one who truly understands the details can also establish the root.

One who can overcome a cunning thief has the ability to capture thieves; one who can subdue a fierce tiger has the ability to catch tigers. Only by restraining oneself can one accomplish oneself; only by mastering external things can one make them yield benefits; only by forgetting attachment to the Dao (the Way) can one truly possess the Dao.

If a vessel is excessively solid, external things will instead destroy it; if too rigid, it will snap. If a blade is too sharp, external things will instead damage it; if too pointed, it will be blunted. The majestic phoenix appears marvelous because it is rarely seen; therefore the sage takes profundity and inner reserve as the foundation. The musk deer is easily captured because it leaves its fragrance; therefore the sage takes simplicity as the standard.

If a bottle has two holes and water is poured in, the water will flow out from below; if one hole is blocked, the water cannot flow down. This is because Qi (vital energy) cannot rise, and thus water cannot descend. Although a well is deep, water can still be drawn up to the mouth of the well; this is because the descent of water elicits the power of ascent. Therefore the sage does not act ahead of the myriad things.

When a person commits a fault, even after the harm caused by that fault has already been punished, people will still, long afterward, pursue the errors that preceded the transgression. One who understands this does not rely on one's own intelligence alone but also draws upon the intelligence of others; one does not cling only to the self but can also perceive the standpoint of all under heaven. Acting in this way throughout life, one can avoid faults.

Customs of ancient and modern times differ from one another, and customs of east, west, south, and north likewise differ; even within a single family or in a single person, what is appropriate will vary. How could I cling to a fixed set of standards and use them in advance to measure later generations? So long as one accords with the times and customs, grasps the opportune moment before taking action, discards anger, restrains desires, simplifies affairs, treats others with forbearance, and weighs matters of greater and lesser importance in order to handle them properly, one will naturally accord with the wondrous principle and conform to the all-pervading Dao.

Interactions among people are of three kinds: association through the Dao, association through De (Virtue/Power), and association through affairs. Association through the Dao is like the affection between father and son, transcending distinctions of right and wrong or of the worthy and the foolish, and thus can last long. Association through De still retains distinctions of right and wrong or of the worthy and the foolish, and so is sometimes close and sometimes distant. Association through benefit or affairs: once the matter is concluded, the relationship likewise disperses.

Do not, because of your own clumsiness and coarseness, conclude that the essence of the Dao (the Way) is likewise clumsy; rather, appreciate agility and brightness. Do not, because of your own ignorance and dimness, conclude that the Dao is profound and obscure; rather, appreciate clarity and understanding. Do not, because of your own arrogance and rashness, conclude that the Dao is unattainably lofty; rather, appreciate peacefulness and sociability. Do not, because of your own dissipation and lack of restraint, conclude that the Dao is boundlessly vast; rather, appreciate simplicity and tranquility. Do not, because of your own resentment and melancholy, conclude that the Dao is silent and dull; rather, appreciate joy and contentment. When the ancients discussed learning, they often fell into many errors that must be corrected.

Do not criticize the people of the world in order to elevate yourself; do not belittle others in order to honor yourself; do not slight the Dao in order to elevate yourself; do not mock others in order to advertise your own De (Virtue/Power); do not despise others’ talents in order to boast of your own abilities.

To perplex the cleverest person under heaven, the key does not lie in being even cleverer, but in appearing simple and unadorned; to leave the most eloquent person under heaven speechless, the key does not lie in debating even better, but in holding to clumsiness and speaking little; to make the bravest person under heaven submit, the key does not lie in being even braver, but in knowing how to yield.

Heaven cannot make lotus flowers bloom in spring or chrysanthemums flourish in winter, so the sage does not go against the seasons. The earth cannot make the Luo River region suitable for growing oranges or the Wen River region suitable for raising he (a kind of beast), so the sage does not go against local customs. The sage cannot make the hands walk or the feet grasp, so he does not go against his own strengths; nor can he make fish fly or birds and beasts run, so he does not go against the strengths of others. If one is able to do this, one can act and also rest; one can remain hidden and also become manifest, yet without being bound by either state—this is the Dao. Speak little and you will not easily incur others’ envy; do little and you will not easily be blamed; display little cleverness and you will not vainly increase your toil; reveal little of your abilities and you will not easily be driven by others.

Hold fast with sincerity, act with simplicity, treat others with generosity, and respond with silence, and the Dao I practice will never be exhausted.

In planning affairs, rely on actual circumstances; in making decisions, rely on principle. Let people carry them out, and leave success or failure to the timing of Heaven. In handling matters, take the present as the standard; in judging principles, take antiquity as the mirror. In doing things, communicate with the multitude; as for the Dao one holds, realize it through one’s own understanding.

Gold and jade are precious and hard to relinquish, while earth and stones are humble and easy to set aside. Those who study the Dao (the Way), when they encounter subtle discourses and mysterious methods of cultivation, must be cautious not to cling to them. These can be used for practice, yet they should not be grasped as something fixed and unchanging. Clinging without release will turn them into a deep-seated root of illness in the heart, incurable by any medicine.

Some people cannot distinguish the most urgent matters right before their eyes, yet busy themselves with many trivial, extraneous, and peculiar affairs, ultimately falling into hardship and encountering disaster. They especially fail to understand that the Dao is present everywhere; one cannot abandon this very place before one's eyes to pursue it elsewhere.

Among the principles of the world, abandoning what is close to pursue what is distant, forsaking the root to chase the branches, discarding the wise to choose the foolish, leaving the near to seek the far—all these can be done only temporarily. If persisted in for long, they will give rise to harm.

Those who discussed the Dao in former times described it variously as still and silent, as profound and remote, as clear and transparent, as an undifferentiated whole, or as dark and obscure. When encountering these characterizations, do not become fearful or withdraw. The most fundamental principle under heaven ultimately cannot be fully expressed through words and thought. If one understands that the Dao transcends speech and deliberation, even surpassing those subtle phrases and mysterious meanings, then one has grasped the Dao of which I speak.

When sages speak of the great Dao, they may use precious things such as gold and jade as metaphors; when speaking of the subtle Dao, they also employ ordinary plants like platycodon and plantain. Plants used appropriately can benefit people; precious gold and jade used improperly can instead cause harm. What is emphasized here is whether the metaphor and the speech are fitting, not whether they sound precious.

Concerning any matter, one person may say it is beneficial, another that it is harmful, a third that it may be either beneficial or harmful, and a fourth that it is both beneficial and harmful—these exhaust the possible statements. Yet those who truly understand and articulate the Dao do not confine it within such judgments.

Things have their particular circumstances, and words convey certain principles; but the Dao itself has no fixed form, and discourse about the Dao has no unchanging principles. Understanding that words themselves have no fixed principles allows one to realize the Dao through all manner of speech; failing to understand this, even attachment to the most incisive words will turn language into an obstruction, like a covering over the eyes that impedes comprehension.

It is easy not to believe the foolish, but difficult not to believe the worthy; easy not to believe the worthy, but difficult not to believe the sages; easy not to believe a single sage, but still more difficult not to believe a thousand sages. Those who refuse even the words of a thousand sages see no others outwardly, see no self inwardly, see no Dao (the Way, the fundamental principle by which all things operate) above, and see no concrete things below.

The words of the sages are profound and subtle, as if they render one unable to hear; they are obscure and hard to discern, as if they render one unable to see; they are still and deep, as if they render one unable to speak. The deaf cannot hear sounds, the blind cannot see colors, and those afflicted with injury or illness find it hard to speak. Unable to hear sounds, one cannot hear the Dao, things, or oneself; unable to see colors, one cannot see the Dao, things, or oneself; unable to speak, one cannot discuss the Dao, things, or oneself.

People know only that false gains may contain true losses, yet they do not know that true gains may likewise contain true losses; they know only that apparently correct matters may hide true errors, yet they do not know that truly correct matters may likewise contain true errors.

To speak of the Dao is like speaking of a dream. The one who recounts the dream describes the gold and jade, the vessels, and the beasts within it, yet cannot produce them and hand them over to another; the listener hears the descriptions but cannot thereby truly obtain what was in the dream. Only those skilled in listening neither cling to the literal words nor rush to argue.

Make your Dao complete, round, and all-encompassing; make your De (Virtue/Power) upright and square; make your conduct even and steady; make your actions decisive.

The Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing (True Scripture of Wenshi on the Unsurpassed Marvelous Dao) ends here.

What follows is a collation record explaining the similarities and differences between the wording of this scripture and versions such as the Guanyinzi and the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing.

1. “Walled capital” should be emended to “Chengdu.”

2. “Creating the mysterious” appears in the Guanyinzi and the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing as “penetrating the mysterious.”

3. “And not exhausted, is it?” appears in both comparison editions as “and not exhausted.”

4. This sentence in the Guanyinzi reads “and those who then have words and have actions seek the Dao (the Way)”; in the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing it reads “and then having words and having actions, they seek the Dao.”

5. “The two Jing (essences) contend broadly” appears in both comparison editions as “the two Jing wrestle with each other.”

6. “There are those who remove it” appears in both comparison editions as “there are those who reveal it.”

7. “The blade does not injure the hand” appears in both comparison editions as “the blade does not injure a person.”

8. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “it can be used to manage wealth.”

9. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “its sound is richly patterned.”

10. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “the foolish and inept of the world.”

11. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “in affairs, then Lai-cloth”; the character “to burn” is superfluous.

12. After “how then so thoroughly thus,” both comparison editions have an additional sentence: “how then so imposingly thus.”

13. After “therefore Shen (spirit) is that which the hun-soul stores,” the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing has a further sentence: “Only water among things can store Metal and cause it to rest, and nourish Wood and cause it to flourish; therefore hun and po can be distinguished.”

14. This sentence in the Guanyinzi reads “then there is not a single thing that can enslave me”; in the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing it reads “then there is not a single thing that can be cast upon me.”

15. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “the dull po-soul becomes hair.”

16. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “like the interlocking of a lock.”

17. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “it simply does not exist, and that is all.” Both comparison editions also give the preceding words as “like the interlocking of a lock.”

18. This sentence in the Guanyinzi reads “the hun-soul is Wood.”

19. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “therefore the people who are seen are the same.”

20. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “those among people who weary of life and death and who transcend life and death.”

21. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “some say they ought all to be ones who rejoice.”

22. After “strange ghosts seize them,” both comparison editions have an additional sentence: “Those whose minds are beclouded by medicinal elixirs will be seized by ghosts of things.”

23. After “some explain strange affairs,” both comparison editions also have “some explain unusual affairs.”

24. After “not knowing that by which it is so, yet it is so,” both comparison editions have an additional sentence: “only not knowing that by which it is so, yet it is so.”

25. After “then one knows the Dao is without things,” both comparison editions also repeat the phrase “knowing the Dao is without things.”

26. “Therefore things and self interact and mind arises” appears in both comparison editions as “things and self interact and mind arises.”

27. “What you call benefit and harm, right and wrong” appears in both comparison editions as “what you call benefit and harm, right and wrong” with a nominalizing particle.

28. “One who is good at my consciousness” appears in both comparison editions as “one who is good at discarding consciousness.”

29. “Like a rhinoceros gazing at the moon, the moon’s shadow enters the horn” appears in both comparison editions as “for example, when a rhinoceros gazes at the moon, the moon’s form enters the horn.”

30. “How much more so that which is without feeling” appears in both comparison editions as “how much more so with regard to feeling.”

31. “And does not put the absence of Qi (vital energy) to use” appears in both comparison editions as “and cannot put the absence of Qi to use.”

32. “All are what is lacking within the mind” appears in both comparison editions as “all are that the mind has some lack.”

33. Below this sentence, both comparison editions have an additional line: “their pain differs from my pain.”

34. These two sentences in the Guanyinzi read: “People of the world call what is seen briefly a dream, and what is seen for a long time waking.” The Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing reads: “People of the world call brief seeing a dream, and prolonged seeing waking.”

35. “Your clan, what surname” appears in both comparison editions as “you, of what clan and what surname.”

36. “Jade flavors” appears in both comparison editions as “the five flavors.”

37. “The postal station remains as it is” appears in both comparison editions as “the postal station always remains as it is.”

38. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “cannot perceive it in the subtle.”

39. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “that by which there is no transformation.”

40. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “that by which it is the Dao.”

41. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “do not say that after the outer form then the outer mind.”

42. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “this is clinging to a single sound as being the ear.”

43. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “when there is joy, one must attend to what is urgent.”

44. This sentence in the Guanyinzi and the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing reads “Heaven cannot make lotuses in winter or chrysanthemums in spring.”

45. This sentence in both comparison editions reads “to become an obstruction and a film over the eyes.”