《宗玄先生玄纲论》

Your servant, the Daoist priest Sima Chengzhen, respectfully submits: I have heard that the Dao (the Way) can be accorded with only through a mind of emptiness and stillness, and that its principles likewise become clear only through words. When I formerly lived in seclusion in a mountain cave, I composed writings on cultivation.

The Way of Twofold Mystery (Chongxuan)—realizing the Great Dao by transcending distinctions such as being and non-being—is profound and hard to fathom, and the Three Caverns (Sandong), the system by which Daoist scriptures are classified, are hidden and difficult to penetrate. Those who aspire to the Great Dao are left bewildered, with nothing to rely on. I have therefore gathered the essential points and called the work the Mysterious Guideline (Xuangang), hoping that readers may follow the thread back to the source and that the deep and subtle principles may be clarified, without divulging their inner purport.

As for the signs of the Great Dao—lofty and remote, alone transforming and giving birth to the myriad things—and the reasons why perfected persons cultivate the Dao and attain immortality, some were never discussed by the worthies of earlier ages, nor fully explained in the Daoist scriptures. These I have set down in the chapters according to my own shallow understanding. With reverence I reflect that Your Majesty—the Kaiyuan-Tianbao Emperor of Sagely Culture and Divine Martial Power, Who Attests the Dao and Embodies Filial Virtue—is a sovereign who honors the Supreme Dao and promotes a teaching that accords with the natural course of things, so that the myriad beings flourish within the work of nurture and transformation, and the people dwell at ease in a realm of benevolent virtue and long life. This writing is like a speck of dust that cannot add to a high mountain, or a small flame that cannot assist the sun. I only hope Your Majesty will not reject this crude text, but will allow me to presume to present it, awaiting the illumination of your sagely discernment. I now submit the former writing together with this memorial. In offending the imperial majesty, your servant is filled with fear and unease.

Your servant Sima Chengzhen, in sincere dread and trepidation, knocks his head upon the ground and bows twice. Respectfully submitted.

On the eleventh day of the sixth month of the thirteenth year of Tianbao, your servant Sima Chengzhen, Daoist priest of Songyang Abbey on the Central Marchmount, submits this memorial.

Upper Section, Illuminating Dao and De (Virtue/Power), in nine chapters.

Chapter One: On Dao and De.

What is the Dao (the Way)? It is the support of the void, the root of the creative transformation of the myriad things, the source of gods and spirits, and the origin of Heaven and Earth. It is so vast that it has no outside, and so subtle that it has no inside; boundless in extent, it is so profound that nothing exists to stand over against it. Hidden and faint, it is hard to perceive, and yet it manifests as brightness. Utterly still and without intention, it nevertheless gives each of the myriad things its own arrangement. Undifferentiated and formless, silent and without sound, the myriad phenomena arise because of it, and the five tones are formed through it. All life comes to an end, and once a thing has taken form it must decline; yet generation continues without cease, bringing the myriad things to completion. From antiquity to the present it has always been so. This is what is called the Dao.

What is De (Virtue/Power)? Heaven and Earth receive their endowment from it, and Yin-Yang operates by means of it. The Five Phases turn in accordance with it, and the four seasons succeed one another through it. The ruler governs the people by it, and the teacher instructs the student by it. Whether hidden or manifest, animal or plant, each finds its proper place and grows without hindrance. Its bounty spreads without end, yet grasses and trees grow without knowing to thank it for its merit. Its kindness is boundless, yet the people do not know that they rely upon its power. This is what is called De.

To pervade the myriad things and bring them forth is called the Dao; the Dao has never had a fixed name. To nourish the myriad things and give them form is called De; De likewise has never required a name. Let us try to speak of the principle involved. Among Heaven and Earth, the myriad things, numinous immortals, ghosts, and spirits, nothing can arise without the Dao, and nothing can grow and reach completion without De. When life begins, its starting point is not known; when a thing is completed, its end is not seen. Search the profound and the hidden, and still their root cannot be glimpsed; trace the furthest reach of what has form and seek the beginning of the formless realm, and still the signs of their appearing cannot be discerned. This is what is called ziran (the spontaneous, “so of itself”). Ziran is the constant condition in which the Dao and De operate, and it is the guiding order of Heaven and Earth.

Primordial Qi, Chapter Two

Before the Great Void (Taixu, the vast and empty origin), all was still and vacant; there was nothing at all. An extremely subtle power responded and was stirred, and thus the True One (Zhenyi, the primordial and purely unitary substance) came into being. The True One set its wondrous function in motion, and Primordial Qi (Yuanqi, vital energy) was thereupon spontaneously generated and transformed. Primordial Qi is being within non-being and non-being within being. It is so vast that it cannot be measured, and so minute that it cannot……

Before Heaven and Earth had yet taken form, there was only empty stillness and vacant nothingness; nothing at all existed. The most subtle forces resonated with one another, and thus the “True One” (Zhenyi), the earliest origin of the myriad things, came into being. The True One set a subtly marvelous power in motion, and primordial Qi (Yuanqi, vital energy) was spontaneously generated and transformed. Primordial Qi is being that arises from non-being, and it is also the non-being concealed within being. It is too vast to be measured and too minute to be perceived. Gradually it suffuses and becomes manifest, a boundless chaos, and from it the first threads and portents of the myriad things all begin to sprout.

Thereupon, Qi that is clear, bright, and penetrating rises to become Heaven; Qi that is turbid and stagnant accumulates to become Earth; Qi that is peaceful and yielding condenses into human ethical relations; and Qi that is disordered, harsh, and violent scatters and transforms into the various miscellaneous kinds. Primordial Qi nurtures a single current of Qi, which then differentiates and spreads, becoming thousands upon thousands of different kinds. Once they enter creative transformation, their shifts and alterations are without end.

Therefore, what forms the bodies of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things is primordial Qi, while what bestows spiritual nature upon Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things is the numinous spirit (Shenming; Shen, spirit). Qian and Kun, the trigrams of Heaven and Earth, govern Heaven and Earth, and the essence-souls (Jinghun; Jing, essence) preside over the myriad things. Qi changes with the alternation of Yin-Yang, yet Shen is unaffected by the changes of cold and heat. Although the myriad things move in teeming profusion and change in tangled complexity, so that they can hardly be recorded one by one, they continually perish and are reborn, come to an end and begin again. The fundamental substance of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), together with the mind of the numinous spirit, can respond in resonance without limit, and has never grown weary from the exercise of transformation.

True Jing, Chapter Three (the third chapter, titled “True Jing”).

Heaven and Earth cannot exist of themselves; what creates Heaven and Earth is the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). The Supreme Ultimate cannot turn of its own accord either; what sets the Supreme Ultimate in motion is “true essence” (Jing)—the pure, subtle, primordial vital energy (Qi). True essence is spontaneous of itself, and is nothing other than the marvelous and the luminously clear. The highest is called the “Void Sovereign” (Xuhuang, the supreme deity venerated in Daoism). Dwelling in the Nine Pure Heavens, he presides over the dark and mysterious work of generation and nurture and holds overall command of the myriad spirits. Qian (Heaven) moves because of him, and Kun (Earth) is made steady because of him. He is silent and abides in non-action (Wuwei), yet the myriad things are thereby able to grow.

Before the hollow void had yet divided, the realm was empty and still beyond all measure, and the primal harmonious Qi was clear, limpid, and pure. From this the myriad things were brought forth by transformation, and the divine perfected each manifested themselves. Though the divine perfected number more than hundreds of millions, all look up to and rely upon the supreme, and each has an office and a duty. They wander and rest amid the Cinnabar Terrace and the Jasper Forest (the realm of the immortals), and they take cloud-broth and roseate nectar (the sweet dew and fine wine drunk by the immortals) as their food and drink. They move without being driven by the thoughts of the mind, and they fly without depending on wings. They do not hear by means of the ears, yet they can hear matters without end; they do not see by means of the eyes, yet they can perceive the realm without limit.

These divine perfected have no ancestors and no clan, and they are not constrained by beginning or end. They cherish centered harmony and compassionate love, pity the people of the ordinary world, and lament the benightedness of living beings. Their bodily nature differs from that of ordinary mortals; the clear and numinous is not the same as the turbid and vulgar. They send down their breath and portion out their spiritual light, and so are born as people of the human world. Among them, those who are worthy, enlightened, and penetrating take the succor of all living beings as their achievement, become rulers or elders, and enable each of the myriad things to attain free and full development. Passing through the generations, their mysterious merits reach fullness, and their Virtue/Power (De) is sufficient to transform Heaven and Earth; their names are entered in the official registers of the Celestial Emperor.

Later, their allotted course comes to an end in the Northern Capital, and their registers of destiny are recorded in the Southern Bureau. The primal perfected then descends and becomes the master of bodily form. After Yin Qi has dispersed, the dust and stain of the mundane world are naturally cut off. Through the refining of the embryo and the transformation of one’s substance, filth and corruption are removed; when spirit (Shen) and form unite, one is able to ascend in broad daylight. This is what is called returning to my homeland and reverting to my constant Way (Dao), abiding with the Dao and without end. And who can know the path that lies within?

Chapter Four: The Heavenly Endowment

The Dao (the Way) itself admits no division into movement and stillness, yet Yin-Yang arises from it; Qi (vital energy) itself admits no distinction between the clear and the turbid, yet Heaven and Earth take form from it. The Qi of pure Yang is bright and resplendent and dwells above; above the Nine Heavens there is no Yin Qi. The Qi of pure Yin is dark and deep and dwells below; beneath the Nine Earths there is no Yang Qi. The Qi of Yin and Yang blend, steam, and transform, giving rise to the myriad things, and the myriad things grow between Heaven and Earth.

The manifestations of Qi continually change, and brightness and darkness each have their corresponding qualities. Yang Qi is bright and upright, and where it is purest it becomes true spirits; Yin Qi is dark and wayward, and where its quintessence concentrates it becomes demons and specters. Those born endowed with Yang spirits are intelligent and clear-sighted; those nourished by Yin specters are obstinate and violent. The intelligent and clear-sighted are generous and kindly—this is the expression of Yang Qi’s fondness for generating and nurturing; the obstinate and violent are perverse and cruel—this is the expression of Yin Qi’s fondness for killing and destruction. As for those who combine both tendencies, the good and the not-good, they are born from a joint endowment of the two Qi of Yin and Yang.

These three kinds of people are endowed with different Qi; upon whom, then, should instruction be brought to bear? Instruction is applied chiefly to people of the middle. Why? The intelligent and clear-sighted come to know of themselves without being taught, while the obstinate and violent are difficult to change even when taught; both have received the pure Qi of one side of Yin-Yang alone. This is like fire, which may be put out but cannot be made cold, and ice, which may be melted but cannot be made hot: the principle is simply so.

When people of the middle do good, harmonious Qi responds; when they do what is not good, harmful Qi gathers. Thus the accumulation of good brings a surplus of blessing, and the accumulation of evil invites a surplus of calamity. Since there are blessings as recompense and calamities as misfortune, instruction is established from this.

The root of my coming into being is the Dao (the Way), and the root of what endows me with spiritual nature is Shen (spirit). Yet the length of life, and whether one stays or departs in birth and death, cannot be decided by oneself. Why is this? Because as soon as human nature stirs into activity, passions and desires arise; when passions and desires turn away from the Dao, a person is drawn along by the transformations of creation and can no longer act independently.

How, then, can one transcend the bonds of life and death and let the mind abide in a state of freedom and self-contentment? One ought to take the Dao as teacher and Shen as friend. When the Dao and Shen do not act with deliberate intent, the Qi (vital energy) of the myriad things transforms of itself; when they do not expend thought on schemes, the myriad things come into being of themselves. They enter into the midst of the myriad things, and yet they also pass beyond life and death.

Therefore, the noble person ought to cast aside cravings and desires, draw in the acuity of the ears and eyes, neither greedily gazing upon sights and sounds nor chasing after noises, so that the mind becomes tranquil and plain, pure and unmixed, body and mind in harmony and the spirit clear and lucid—empty, still, and at peace, forgetting the self. Only then can one unite with the Dao of utmost Jing (essence). This is to return to the root of oneself and once more become the same as the Dao. The same as the Dao, the transformations of creation cannot alter him, nor can ghosts and spirits fathom him—how much less, then, can ordinary people of the world?

Chapter Six: Transcending Movement and Stillness.

The Dao (the Way) reaches the realm of emptiness, and yet it is from this that heaven and earth come into being. Heaven seems to revolve without cease, yet the Beichen, the North Star, appears fixed and unmoving, and the primordial Qi (vital energy) between heaven and earth is not diminished on that account. Earth seems to be still, yet the rivers flow on without pause and cloud-vapors rise continually. Thus stillness is the root of heaven and earth, and movement is the circulation of heaven and earth’s primordial Qi. When the root remains quiet and Qi circulates without end, heaven and earth can cover and uphold the myriad things without exhaustion.

One who comprehends the great Dao, even while roaming beyond the cosmos, keeps the mind ever at peace within; even while dwelling in the most minute of spaces, primordial Qi circulates of itself. If the mind is not at peace, one cannot unite with the Dao; if Qi does not circulate, the bodily form cannot be sustained. When the form is preserved and the mind is united with the Dao, this is the De (Virtue/Power) of heaven and earth.

Therefore, in acting one does not cling to the fact that one is acting, and thereby transcends action; in stillness one does not cling to the fact that one is still, and thereby transcends stillness. Transcending action, the force of Yang cannot set one in motion; transcending stillness, the force of Yin cannot alter one. If Yin-Yang cannot bring about any change, how much less can all the other things?

Not to be drawn by external things is called utmost stillness. Only by attaining utmost stillness can one unite with the deepest emptiness. When emptiness reaches its extreme, it becomes lucid; when lucidity reaches its extreme, it becomes crystalline and transparent; when transparency reaches its extreme, one can discern all things. Such a person, even when facing the vastness of heaven and earth and the multitude of things, can see them all clearly within the space of a square inch.

Chapter Seven: The Identity of Being and Non-being

The Dao (the Way) embraces numbers in the hundreds of millions, yet does not on that account appear vast; it reaches through to tips as fine as an autumn hair, yet does not on that account appear narrow and slight. It precedes the void, yet one cannot say that it has a beginning; it comes after Heaven and Earth, yet one cannot say that it has an end. It rises amid the gathering of Yang Qi (vital energy), yet does not on that account appear bright; it sinks into places where Yin Qi lies deep and heavy, yet does not on that account appear dark.

The Dao originally has no divine form, yet when emptiness and stillness reach their utmost, Shen (spirit) arises of itself. The Dao originally has no Qi; once Shen is set in motion, Qi is generated of itself through transformation. Qi originally has no form or substance; only after it condenses and accumulates does a body take shape. The body originally has no passions or desires; once it moves and is put to use, it wears away original nature. When the body has been formed and feelings and nature are stirred into action, a person grows ever farther from the Dao. One thus becomes mired in the changes of birth and death, shifting along with Yin-Yang, unable to be one’s own master. This is not the Dao abandoning the person, but the person leaving the Dao.

If the Dao can bring being forth from nonbeing, how could it not also return being once more into unity with nonbeing? Should being return into unity with nonbeing, it will not truly perish. What enables me to live, therefore, is the Dao, and what leads me toward extinction is passion and desire. If one can forget passion and desire, original nature can be preserved; when original nature is preserved, the body is intact; when the body is intact, Qi is abundant; when Qi is abundant, Shen is complete; when Shen is complete, the Dao too is fulfilled. When the Dao is fulfilled, Shen grows strong; when Shen is strong, Qi becomes lively and numinous; when Qi is lively and numinous, the body can transcend; when the body transcends, original nature can penetrate through without obstruction. At this point, the person and the Dao circulate back and forth and merge into one, so that being can be returned to nonbeing, and the void can likewise be transformed into substantial being. I shall keep company with the power that fashions and transforms the myriad things; how, then, could life and death still be a burden?

Chapter Eight: Transforming the Customs of the Age

Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) are the root of Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth are the parents of the myriad things; and the sovereign is the master of the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Since the fundamental principles of Dao and De, of Heaven and Earth, and of the sovereign are one and the same, why do the customs of ancient and modern times differ between the sincere and the shallow, and why was the age of Yao peaceful while the age of Jie was chaotic?

Dao and De themselves neither flourish nor decline, yet the order of human relations may be open or blocked; the fundamental principle of past and present has not changed, yet people’s dispositions do shift. Thus, when the fortune of the times is about to turn peaceful and secure, pure, upright, and firm Yang Qi (vital energy) descends and becomes the sovereign, the worthy and good assist in court affairs, and the treacherous and wicked are held in check. When the fortune of the times is about to decay, soft and yielding Yin Qi rises and becomes the sovereign, the treacherous and wicked assist in court affairs, and the worthy and good withdraw into retirement. The movements of Heaven and Earth follow the way of Yin-Yang, and the cycles of Qi likewise have their flourishing and decline; therefore the way of the world knows a distinction between order and disorder.

That the customs of antiquity were sincere and substantial, while the customs of later ages are shallow and frivolous, is like a person passing from childhood to maturity. An infant who cannot yet smile or speak is like the people of high antiquity, who preserved their plain and simple nature; gradually coming to distinguish affairs and principles is like middle antiquity, which honored humaneness and righteousness; growing to the age when one can study is like later antiquity, which valued ritual propriety and wisdom; and reaching the prime of life, when desires multiply, is like the people of a degenerate age, who compete in chasing after show and falsehood. These changes accord with the trend of the times and with worldly custom, and so customs differ between the sincere and the shallow. If we inquire into the cause, it is that people alter their inborn nature through learning, and also lose their simplicity as they change with the times.

Even so, a father still cannot fail to instruct his son, nor can a ruler fail to govern the people. In teaching a son, one takes what is fitting and proper as the standard; in governing the people, one follows Dao and De. If instruction goes astray, even teachers and friends will find it hard to admonish; if Dao and De are lost, the institutions of ritual and music cannot be properly carried out. Even if punishments and whipping are applied, it remains difficult to restrain treacherous ministers and unfilial sons. Therefore one must teach the unenlightened child not to lie, so as to preserve loyalty and good faith, and guide worldly custom back toward simplicity, so that people may rest content in natural harmony. From this it can be seen that only by holding to Dao and De in governing and bringing peace to the people can one grasp the fundamental principle of ordering the world.

Chapter Nine: Clarifying the Root and the Branches

The chapter begins by saying that if the young and untaught—those still ignorant—are to understand how things stand, they must first be taught not to deceive or mislead, so that they may preserve loyalty and good faith. Only when worldly custom is instructed and social ways return to simplicity and purity can people rest content in the peace of what is natural. If one does not rely on the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) to settle human hearts, the fundamental principle within is hard to grasp.

Benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom are major guiding principles by which rulers govern the state. Why, then, do Daoists speak of setting aside benevolence and righteousness and treating ritual and wisdom lightly? Because what Daoists value is the root. The highest benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom accord respectively with the virtue of Heaven and Earth, with what is fitting, with order, and with the power of discernment. All of these are endowments that human beings receive by according with nature; they cannot be reached by deliberate admiration or strenuous imitation. Forced imitation becomes hypocrisy. Once hypocrisy arises, every kind of deceit appears with it, and laws and decrees can scarcely bring order.

Daoists therefore esteem the plain manners of antiquity and look lightly on the ever thinner, more superficial customs of later ages. They take inner Dao and De as the root, and regard benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom as outward expressions. They attend first to purity and simplicity, and only afterward speak of ritual and wisdom. The aim is to secure the root so that the branches may stand firm as well. Just as deep roots make branches and leaves flourish, and a distant, deep source makes a river run long, this is not a call to abandon benevolence and righteousness or to despise ritual and wisdom.

After the Dao declines, De still remains; after De declines, benevolence still remains; after benevolence is impaired, righteousness still remains; after righteousness falls short, ritual still remains. When ritual collapses, disorder follows, and clever artifice is often turned instead to oppressing the world. Ritual and wisdom are thus important barriers against disorder, while Dao and De are the fundamental principles for calming it. In other words, Dao and De are the root of ritual, and ritual and wisdom are the outer twigs of the Dao. Hold the root, and governing is easier and more secure; seize only the twigs, and it is difficult and perilous.

A ruler should therefore take the Dao as the inner standard of the heart, De as the foundation on which to stand, benevolence and righteousness as the means of ordering the world, and ritual and wisdom as the norms of conduct. Then, even without toiling over every affair, the world will be moved and transformed. If one only exalts ritual and wisdom and forgets Dao and De, the exterior may be scrupulous about rites and statutes while the interior has no root. Even with diligence and vigilance day and night, the world will still decline.

The Three Sovereigns transformed the people by the Dao; the Five Emperors pacified them by De; the Three Kings governed the world by benevolence and righteousness; and the Five Hegemons led the feudal lords by ritual and wisdom. The rule of the Three Sovereigns was therefore the most ideal, while the age of the Five Hegemons already approached disorder. To set aside Dao and De and govern solely by ritual and wisdom is not the fundamental method by which a ruler orders the world. One should first make Dao and De clear and manifest. Once they are manifest, the work of ritual and wisdom need not be pushed into undue prominence.

Laozi said: “Ritual is the mark of loyalty and good faith grown thin, and the beginning of disaster and disorder.” “To govern a state by clever artifice is the state’s calamity; not to govern it by clever artifice is the state’s blessing.” This means that when ritual loses its root it leads to disorder, and when cleverness goes astray it breeds deceit. One ought to stop up the source of disaster and cut off the root of deceit.

Yang Xiong, Ban Gu, and others all held that Daoists slight benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom, and attend only to purity, stillness, and emptiness. That is because conventional Confucian scholars never grasped the deeper meaning of the Mysterious Sage—the sage who deeply understands the subtlety of the Dao.

In the earliest realm of the Nine Mysteries—the profound and remote realm of the primordial source—the two atmospheric aspects of Yin-Yang had not yet taken form. Numinous and wondrous Qi (vital energy) gathered, and within the hollow void Jing (essence) condensed. A precious body of scripture took shape while chaos was still undivided, and characters of jade appeared of themselves amid solitary transformation. It stands between being and non-being, its light manifesting before Heaven and Earth had parted. By it the sun and moon illuminate the myriad things, and upon it Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth) rely to cover and uphold the myriad things.

Thereupon the Unsurpassed Void Sovereign commanded the Celestial King of the Primordial Beginning to record these scriptures upon golden slips and jade tablets. At first the scriptures were kept secret in the upper realms; later they were transmitted to the human world. Heaven, discerning those who possess the Dao (the Way), bestowed these classics upon them. Thus Fuxi received the River Chart, the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan received the auspicious omens, Gaoxin received the celestial scripture, and Yu the Great received the Luo Writing. In these events lies the beginning of Daoism’s establishment of its teaching through the way of the gods and spirits.

Later, the Mysterious Origin (Xuan Yuan, Daoism’s honorific for Laozi), seeking to teach and transform the secular world, many times served as teacher to emperors and kings. As human relations and customs grew daily more shallow, he expounded the Daodejing, the classic of the Dao and of De (Virtue/Power), instructing the world by the Dao of plain simplicity. When ghosts and spirits rose up in disorder, he set forth the Method of Mengwei—the Daoist practice of forming covenants and driving off malign spirits—so as to sweep evil away. Thereafter Su, Mao, Zhou, Wang, Pei, Wei, Yang, Xu, and others all received in person the instruction of the Mysterious Sage and themselves transmitted the precious scriptures. Thus the Western Terrace, a sacred site associated with Daoist transmission, did not conceal the numinous writings and leave them untransmitted, nor did Shuhua, a sacred site associated with the transmission of Daoism’s true instructions, keep them secret and unspoken. Dragon script and cloud seal-characters—the mysterious and solemn writing of the Daoist scriptures—gradually reached the human world. Passed from master to disciple, the classics and the methods grew ever more widespread.

These classics, however, may be widely read, yet they are difficult to put into practice in their entirety. If the mental strength of a single person must take in all the methods of the Dao handed down by the sages of successive ages, the spirit grows exhausted and the body weary, and their subtlety can hardly be fathomed to the full. One should therefore read broadly in order to dispel doubts, and then select what is essential for cultivation in order to comprehend the mysterious wonder. In this way practice is not hindered, nor are ease and calm lost. In cultivating the Dao, what is prized is concentrated mastery; there is no need to pursue breadth for its own sake.

Chapter Ten, “Learning Has Its Proper Order”—

Although the Dao (the Way) has no fixed gateway, learning and cultivation do follow a sequence. One begins with Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity), one of the schools of Daoism; next one cultivates Dongshen; then one comes to abide in Lingbao; and finally one returns to Dongzhen (the scriptural and cultivation systems of Daoism). All these methods take utmost stillness as their root, single-minded and refined contemplation as the way of applying effort, fasting and abstinence as daily practice, and compassion and the benefiting of others as what comes first. Thus, if the mind is not still enough, Shen (spirit) cannot gather and settle; if thought is not concentrated enough, resonance cannot be fully realized; if one does not observe fasting and abstinence, the true spirits will not respond; and if one does not hold a heart of kindness and generosity, cultivation is hard to bring to completion. When the mind is settled, resonance is thorough, the true spirits respond, and practice is fulfilled, one has mounted the first step of the way of the immortals.

Thereafter, one must also refine and nourish the viscera through tuna, the regulation of the breath, and harmonize the body through daoyin, practices of adjusting the body and circulating Qi (vital energy). One nourishes mind and spirit by means of Jing (scripture/classic), and moistens the sinews and bones with qiongli, the sweet dew or immortal wine of which the immortals speak. All of this should follow the oral formulas transmitted by one’s teacher, and one should carefully realize the true meaning within them. In this way, breath and the bodily fluids can flow freely, and form and spirit can unite. Without relying on immortal medicines such as the Golden Elixir or jade mushrooms, one may still hope to ride the clouds and travel upon feathered wings.

If one takes breath regulation alone as the wondrous method, the bending and stretching of daoyin alone as the essential secret, the taking of medicines and tonics alone as cultivation, and seeks only the advantages of various miscellaneous arts, then one merely knows how to preserve the physical form and does not know how to treasure and nourish the spirit. Even if life should grow as long as that of the tortoise and the crane, there is in the end no hope of becoming an immortal.

Chapter Twelve: When Yang Prevails, One Becomes an Immortal

To seek benefit by Yang arts alone is only to know how to preserve the physical form, and not to know how to treasure and nourish the spirit. One who does not know how to treasure and nourish the spirit, even if living as long as the tortoise and the crane, has ultimately no hope of becoming an immortal.

A human being can be born only when Yin-Yang unite. The hun soul belongs to Yang and is a person’s yang spirit; the po soul belongs to Yin and is a person’s yin numen. The Qi of Yin and Yang congeals to form the embryo, circulates the breath, nourishes the body, and constitutes the physical form. Yet the configuration of Yin and Yang cannot remain intact forever; when each reaches the height of its flourishing, it returns to its own source. Therefore, when Yin Qi gains the upper hand, Yang Qi is exhausted and the person dies; when Yang Qi gains the upper hand, Yin Qi disperses and the person can become an immortal.

Gentleness, kindness, uprightness, and purity belong to Yang; harshness and cruelty, jealousy, evildoing, and turbidity belong to Yin. When the heart within is detached, empty, and still, harmonious Yang Qi enters the mind; when the heart is restless and desires are many, Yin Qi clouds the spirit. Both of these states can be regulated by oneself. When Yang Qi prevails and Yin Qi is subdued, this is the beginning of a gradual attainment of long life. What is called “gradual” is the starting point of the way of the immortals, and also the stairway that leads toward deathlessness.

Chapter Thirteen: Empty Luminosity Uniting with the Origin

When one cultivates the Dao (the Way), the mind should not cling with deliberate intent. Once an attachment arises, true Qi (vital energy) is hard to gather. Yet one also cannot force oneself to forget thoughts: the more one deliberately suppresses them, the more easily external deviant Qi can seize the opening and enter. One ought to remain peaceful and detached, so that the mind and Shen (spirit) are clear and quiet, fine and single-minded, empty and luminous, and united with the original source. In this way there can be resonance, and a response is sure to come. After the response, do not grasp it; the true and the false will then be distinguished of themselves.

Therefore, so long as one’s own mind is not slanted, it is not easy to lose correctness in viewing things. Once a thought arises with a bias, what is seen also readily becomes incorrect. Where the deviant and the correct come from depends above all on oneself. Even if one esteems emptiness and stillness, sets aside the entanglements of the body, and can quiet the mind in reflection, if spiritual resonance is not deep, far-reaching, and penetrating, one still cannot communicate with the mysterious principle or attain the true realm.

Thus, if a cultivator of the Dao often comes to a halt and is always intent on keeping thoughts unmoving, stagnant Yin Qi has gained the upper hand. If the mind and Shen are diligent and keen, the harmonious Yang Shen has gained the upper hand. Halting at one moment and exerting oneself at another means that Yin-Yang are still contending. To reach a decision, one must restrain oneself and temper one’s integrity, striving to remove slackness and distraction so that the spirit is wholly devoted to cultivation. Persist in this for a long time, and stagnant Yin Qi will recede while the Yang Shen grows strong. This is called the prevailing of Yang. One whose Yang Qi is abundant draws near to the Dao.

Chapter Fourteen, “Refining Yin with Yang”

Yang belongs to fire and Yin to water; ice and charcoal cannot be placed in the same vessel, for each has that which restrains the other. Ordinary people and those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) follow exactly opposite paths, each with a method of its own: ordinary people use Yin Qi (vital energy) to wear down Yang Qi, while cultivators use Yang Qi to refine and transform Yin Qi.

Those who use Yin Qi to wear down Yang Qi pass from the prime of life into aging, from aging into frailty, from frailty into advanced age, from advanced age into illness, and at last into death. Those who use Yang Qi to refine and transform Yin Qi can return from aging to a state like that of an infant, from turbidity to clarity, from frailty to vigor, from dull coarseness to refined purity, from illness to peace and balance, and from a short life toward longevity, gradually according with the true Dao and becoming immortals.

Therefore, so long as even a little Yang Qi still remains in the body, the time of death has not yet come; and so long as even the slightest Yin Qi has not been eliminated, one has not yet reached the realm of immortality. Immortals transcend the utmost Yang and unite with the true Dao; the dead sink into the Great Yin and become ghosts. This is each returning to its own kind.

Thus, nurturing the Qi of primordial harmony (the peaceful and pure original Qi) and holding fast to pure oneness (maintaining simplicity and single-mindedness), breathing out the old and breathing in the new, bending and stretching the limbs and practicing the art of Daoyin, concentrating one’s thoughts, remaining quiet and silent, and being carefree and free of desire—all of these serve to use numinous Yang Qi to refine and cast off stagnant Yin Qi, so that within and without one becomes clear, empty, and pure, and unites with the Dao of ultimate truth. If one can persist in these practices for a long time, how could immortality still be far away?

Chapter Fifteen: The Body Moves While the Heart Remains Still. This chapter speaks of the body being active while the mind within stays tranquil.

When the body is active yet the mind and spirit remain settled, and when the spirit is concentrated while outward conduct continues to change, this is called Wuwei (non-action)—according with what is natural and adding no arbitrary contrivance. When one is at ease and alone yet the spirit is in turmoil, outwardly respectful and silent while the thoughts gallop in every direction, this is called contrived action—the mind and spirit stirred and dragged about by desire. Wuwei accords with the pattern of affairs; contrived action readily gives rise to disorder. Wuwei seems easy to achieve, yet without a mind of superior discernment it is difficult truly to attain.

Heaven and earth proceed of themselves both by day and by night, and both appear equally to be Wuwei. Why, then, does the order they display differ? Day is bright, so, within Yin-Yang, what is yang comes forth while the yin portion of grasses and trees lies hidden; night is dark, so the yin activity of grasses and trees is revealed while what is yang comes to rest.

Thus, when the ruler is clear-sighted and able to practice Wuwei, the loyal and worthy are given office, the treacherous and wicked withdraw into hiding, and the world is at peace. When the ruler is benighted and merely inactive, the loyal and worthy are buried in obscurity, the treacherous and wicked instead gain the upper hand, and the world falls into disorder. Therefore the penetrating person practices Wuwei through wisdom, while the obscured person only appears to practice Wuwei out of dullness. The former understands the Dao (the Way); the latter merely goes along with external things. Although both the Dao and the myriad things may be called Wuwei, their inner conditions are not the same. Hence, although the perfected person values Wuwei, one cannot do without clear discernment. Only Wuwei that remains after clear discernment is true Wuwei.

Chapter Sixteen: Clarity of Shen (Spirit) and Evenness of Intention

One who cultivates the Dao at a higher level may at times feel aspiration soaring and the mind and Shen transcendent, quietly content, as if true immortals stood before the eyes and one might oneself ascend into the clouds. This is the manifestation of a vigorous spirit. Yet even when the spirit is vigorous, one must still worry that the harmonious yang Qi (vital energy)—the mild, generative yang Qi—will dissipate outward, and that one will suffer the invasion of yin-deviant Qi, Qi that is cold and harmfully stagnant.

Those who cultivate the supreme Dao (the Way) sometimes find their spirits lifted high and their minds at ease, absorbed in a state of self-contentment, as if they might draw near the true immortals and ascend in flight into the cloudy heavens. This is a sign that the spirit (Shen) is flourishing and that the mind-spirit holds the leading place. Yet even when the Shen is vigorous, one must still guard against the dissipation of harmonious Yang Qi (vital energy), lest malign Yin Qi seize the opening and enter.

At such a time one may enter a quiet chamber, calm the mind, press down the thoughts that rise in confusion, and remain silent and single-minded. In this way the mind-spirit is not easily scattered, and the numinous Yang Qi can be kept intact. One must never give free rein to moods of ease and pleasure, lest Yin malignity be invited in. The ancients said that when joy reaches its limit, sorrow arrives, and that when Yang Qi weakens, Yin Qi gains the upper hand.

At other times, if one feels restless and ill at ease, eager to contend, and disordered in mind, this is because the various po (the spiritual parts bound to the physical form) are being refined by numinous Yang Qi, and the accumulated turbid Qi of Yin character is about to disperse, thereby disturbing the true Qi of the Crimson Palace (the place where the heart-spirit resides). One may then enter the quiet chamber, still one’s thoughts, contemplate the one Qi, and practice wogu (the cultivation posture of clenching both hands so as to gather in the mind and spirit), stirring up and expelling the turbid, stagnant Qi within the body. When the Shen is clear and the Qi is calm, one examines oneself, repents of past faults and makes a fresh start, striving to set oneself right. In this way one can gradually return to the Dao of emptiness and stillness. This, too, is a method of cleansing the mind and spirit.

Chapter 17: Pure in Conduct, Steadfast in Heart

Conduct should be pure and upright, and the inner heart firm and true. One’s words must not go beyond one’s actions, and one’s actions ought to give the heart no cause for shame. When this is achieved, one can set foot upon the great road open in all four directions. The “thoroughfare open in four directions” is the broad road that leads to the Great Dao. If one continues to cultivate in this way, Heaven and Earth will cherish and protect him, and the bright divinities will bless him; dangers and calamities will have no means to harm him, and ghosts and spirits will be unable to disturb him.

If the mouth speaks of purity while the conduct is foul, and if one’s reputation is proclaimed as spotless while the actual course of action is unclean, then even though the exterior may be somewhat disguised, the heart will for a time be unsettled. One whose heart is unsettled is loathed by Heaven and Earth, and the bright divinities will send punishment down upon him. Even if for a time he cultivates the Dao by sheer force, he cannot reach the true realm. Therefore it is better to endure the censure of other people than to invite the punishment of Heaven. Human censure can still be removed, but punishment sent down by Heaven is hard to undo.

Chapter 18: The True Person as One’s Companion

In cultivating the Dao (the Way), what one should most guard against is deceiving and harming one another and doing evil in secret. Such things are indeed easy to give up. As for the subtle stirrings of joy and anger, judgments of right and wrong, and decisions about what to take or leave, these all belong to ordinary human feeling, yet they are very hard to treat with due care. If the mind within allows not the slightest matter to disturb it, so that reflection is quiet and Shen (spirit) rests at ease, then deviant Qi (vital energy) cannot intrude; when mind and will are not thrown into disorder, one can keep company with the Zhenren (Perfected Persons).

To delight in praise and to dislike slander are feelings that even the worthy and accomplished find hard to avoid. Yet if, on examining oneself, one finds no good deeds and still receives praise, that is not auspicious; if, on inspecting oneself, one finds no fault and yet meets with slander, what harm is there? Seen in this light, gain and loss lie with oneself and have nothing to do with others. Therefore, only one who can forget emotion with calm composure, and who does not let beauty and ugliness or liking and disliking shake the inner heart, is truly the Ultimate Person (zhiren).

Chapter Nineteen: Benevolence, Lucidity, Steadfastness, and Stillness

Those who are kindly and perspicacious, steadfast and deeply still, broadly learned and outstanding in ability are all born by receiving the Qi of Heaven and Earth, and come into the world to aid the fortunes of the age and to benefit the myriad things. When the merit and cultivation accumulated over successive lives reach completion, their names are entered on the Cinnabar Terrace (in Daoist legend, the place where the name-registers of immortals and perfected beings are kept). The Qi of primordial purity courses in the Upper Mystery (the lofty, remote, and profound celestial realm), and upright Qi gathers densely in the passes and repositories (the important vital gateways and visceral storehouses within the body). Then, of itself, one can refine and transform the bodily form and the po-soul, dispel the turbidity of the corpse, settle and concentrate Shen, and render the body pure. Once the Qi of yin turbidity has wholly dispersed, form and Shen become one, and one can lighten the body and ascend in flight.

Thus, of those who became immortals in ancient times, there was none who was not a celestial person (one born in response to Heaven’s mandate and endowed with extraordinary gifts). If ordinary people were simply set to pursue directly the realm that such persons cherish, would that not be very difficult? Some accumulate practice and widely do good, yet do not ascend as immortals—why is this? Because the merit of the past has not yet become fully manifest and complete. Others become immortals of themselves without cultivation in this life—why is that? Because their conduct in former lives has already accumulated sufficiently. Merit is not obtained from nothing, nor are good deeds ever spent in vain. One must not, merely because no result is yet visible for a time, suppose that all one has done is meaningless; nor, on seeing someone become an immortal of themselves through feathered transformation, suppose on that account that merit has nothing to do with personal cultivation. Such thoughts miss the mark by a very great distance.

Chapter Twenty: Establishing Merit and Correcting Faults

Merit is to be accumulated in secret, while faults should be corrected in the open. Only when merit is stored away and not displayed can it be preserved; only when faults are brought to light can they be removed. If merit cannot be preserved and faults cannot be eliminated, how could the register of immortals—the rolls that record the names of the immortals—ever include you? Long life would then be beyond hope.

Yet accumulating merit does not depend on doing great deeds. Whenever you meet someone in difficulty, simply reach out and help. Faults, likewise, are not a matter of size: to know that one is wrong and correct it promptly is wisdom. There is no need to rush about everywhere seeking to establish merit, nor to busy oneself in a flurry of nothing but amending faults. What matters is not to repeat a fault once it has been corrected, and not to grow slack once merit has been established. This is called renewing one’s own De (Virtue/Power) each day, and of itself it brings the protection of Heaven. If you can do this, why must you wait for the eight nodes—the turning points at which the eight seasonal divisions of the four seasons succeed one another—or the Three Yuan—the appointed days of purification, such as the Upper Yuan, the Middle Yuan, and the Lower Yuan—before proclaiming your merit and repenting your faults? The divinities already discern human conduct with perfect clarity.

In acknowledging faults and praying for blessings, what matters is concentrated sincerity of mind: petition the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest deities revered in Daoism, with focused earnestness, as though you were personally attending the divinities before the Golden Portal, the palace towers of the celestial court. It is not necessary to bend the body in kneeling obeisance or to set the plea forth aloud. If one merely knocks the head in continual prostration and recites the routine scriptures (Jing) in the usual way, that is only performing a small good for others to see; it never attains the great sincerity that truly communes with the divinities.

Chapter Twenty-One: Restraining Evil and Fostering Good

The hun and Shen (spirit) are the quintessence of Yang Qi (vital energy); the shi and the po are the quintessence of Yin Qi. Here “shi” refers to the yin forces which, in Daoist teaching, influence human beings. When the Qi of spirit-illumination prevails, a person does good; when the Qi of the shi grows strong, a person does evil. Restrain evil thoughts and give rise to good conduct, and life returns to right principle; forget good conduct and indulge evil thoughts, and life falls into disorder.

One who long walks in the proper Dao (the Way) sees the Qi of the shi recede and the po refined and transformed; Shen unites with the bodily form, and one becomes an immortal. One who remains long in confusion sees Shen scatter and the hun perish, then unites with shi and po, and becomes a ghost. This is the natural principle of things.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Emptying the Will into Radiant Whiteness

The divine soul (shenhun, a person’s clear and lucid spirit) delights in purity, while the corpse-po (shipo, the spirit bound to the body and to desire) delights in filth. If one constantly keeps the mind empty, still, and lucid, and cleanses both body and mind, the divine soul will be at ease and in good health, and the corpse-po will gradually be refined away and dispersed. A person whose divine soul is healthy and whose corpse-po has dispersed grows clearer and brighter day by day; even if he has not yet ascended and become an immortal, I would certainly call him an immortal.

Those given to grief, worry, and wounded feeling readily unite with Yin Qi (vital energy); those who are joyful, at peace, and healthy in body and mind readily unite with Yang Qi. Thus, when the heart is sorrowful, Yin Qi gathers; when the mind is joyful, Yang Qi disperses. One who is neither grieved nor glad, tranquil and unattached, and who follows the natural course of things is called “Yuanhe” (the state in which Yin-Yang is harmonized, peaceful and spontaneous). If one cannot attain Yuanhe, one cannot reach the Great Dao (the Way).

Chapter 23: Entrusting the Mind and Yielding to the Course of Things

The eyes take what is dazzling as beautiful, and the heart takes reputation as noble; the body likes adornment that is light and bright, the mouth craves rare delicacies, the ears love pleasing sounds, and the nose likes fragrant scents. These six desires all corrupt De (Virtue/Power) and injure innate nature, and are held to damage the root of a person’s spiritual nature. Therefore, when such desires are present one should keep away from them; when they are absent one need not deliberately seek them.

Clothing and food are necessities of human life, yet for one who cultivates the Dao, to care about them to excess is also a fault. Still, if one only lets the mind go and accords with natural change, what is needed will not go unobtained. Heaven and Earth nurture birds and beasts, and even cover them with feathers and supply them with insects and grain—how much more so human beings? What matters is to forget the pursuit of material desire and leave things to nature.

Chapter 24: Empty Concentration and Quiet Repose

Waking unites one with Yang; sleep unites one with Yin. When waking hours are many, the hun grows strong; when hours of sleep are long, the po grows robust. One whose hun is strong tends toward life; one whose po is robust tends toward death. If one can draw in Yuanhe, cut off desire for rich flavors, make the spirit clear and the breath fresh, and go on to a state of not sleeping by day or by night, with the inner mind empty, still, and firmly settled and the breath at peace, nothing could be better.

The lower part, “Analyzing Congelation and Stagnation,” comprises nine chapters in all.

Chapter 25: According with the Principle of Heaven

Someone asked: “If a person’s mind and intentions are indulged for a long time, they grow confused and scatter, forgetting how to return. If one suddenly settles the mind, it is like leaping all at once into a boundless realm. Indulging the mind injures one’s original nature, while forcing it to settle wearies the spirit. By what method, then, should one who pursues the Great Dao (the Way) quiet the mind?”

I replied: “Human nature is originally clear, still, and firmly settled; thoughts arise only when it is stirred by external things. Once the habit of stirring thoughts has accumulated over a long time, how could one become calm all at once? Since habitual agitation can send one wandering in every direction, practice of stillness and concentration can also bring one to peaceful ease. One who practices well remains composed and unhurried even amid silence; one who practices poorly only grows restless, and in the end gains nothing.

“Therefore, use tranquility to restrain restlessness, uprightness to prevent deviant thoughts, relinquishment to press down craving, and clarity to clear away partiality. Be leisurely and at ease, neither craving nor deliberately contriving. Then take Mysterious Emptiness—the profound, empty, and luminous realm—as one’s dwelling, Tranquil Detachment—contentment with few desires—as one’s city walls, Great Harmony—a harmonious and peaceful state—as one’s palace, and Silent Illumination—clear discernment within stillness—as one’s sun and moon. Guard this with fine and subtle care, neither neglecting it nor going beyond it: so in movement and in rest, so in moments of haste, and so in times of leisure.

“Practiced over a long time, external things no longer disturb the inner mind, and the spirit can discern inwardly as well. Without deliberately thinking of stillness, the mind grows still of itself; without deliberately seeking peace and ease, one becomes all the more at peace. Then neither movement nor stillness remains an attachment, and the principle of Heaven naturally accords with the mind. Treading on frost is the beginning from which solid ice will form; practicing stillness and concentration is the stairway to accord with the Great Dao. When the ancients said, ‘Accumulated practice gives rise to what is constant,’ this is surely what they meant.”

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Way of Standing in Awe of the Spirits

Someone asked: “People do good and also do evil. Do the spirits and divinities between Heaven and Earth all know of it?”

I replied: “How could this be a question?”

Someone asked, “People do both good and evil—do the spirits of Heaven and Earth really know it all?” I replied, “How can one say such a thing! The human heart is the dwelling place of the spirit; Shen (spirit) abides within it. Whenever something has been plotted in the mind, Shen knows it; and once Shen knows it, the spirits of Heaven and Earth naturally know it as well. In doing good or doing evil, there is no one who does not first lay plans in the heart; once such a thought has arisen, it cannot escape the fine and subtle scrutiny of the divine spirits. Therefore, the principle that doing good brings blessing and doing evil invites calamity admits of no error.”

Someone asked further, “Why did Yan Hui die young and Ran Geng fall ill, while Robber Zhi and the thieves of the state of Wei lived long, Zhuang Qiao grew wealthy, King Mu of Chu became hegemon, and Tian Dan flourished?” I replied, “The Dao (the Way) of Heaven is profound and far-reaching, while the way of the human world lies close at hand, and whether retribution appears early or late is hard to gauge. Thus a gentleman may also meet with misfortune, and a petty person may prosper for a time; yet good and ill fortune come intertwined, and their effects are hardly confined to a single respect. The classic says, ‘Heaven’s net is vast; though its mesh is wide, nothing is lost.’ It also says, ‘What has been sown will in the end return upon oneself.’ The principle of retribution can be seen from this—why insist that everything be verified at once before one’s eyes?”

Conforming to Innate Nature and Concentrating the Spirit

Someone asked, “Shen takes quiet stillness as its basis—why, then, do desires still arise in the mind?” I replied, “Shen is a formless yet supremely numinous presence, endowed by the Dao; when still, it accords with innate nature. A person relies on Shen to know things, and when it stirs into activity it accords with emotion. Therefore, when one conforms to innate nature, Shen becomes concentrated and settled; when drawn by emotion, Shen is disturbed. When concentration has lasted long, Shen comes to rest and abide; when disturbance reaches its extreme, Shen returns once more. When Shen abides, there is the vitality of life; when Shen shifts away, one tends toward death. All of this is brought about by the changes of emotion; it is not something that Shen itself actively governs.”

Someone else asked, “Then who, after all, is it that turns innate nature into emotion?” The reply was, “The inner mind is thereby disturbed…” (At this point the original text goes on to repeat the earlier account of concentration, disturbance, Shen coming to rest, and Shen returning, and after the words “inwardly, then, there is disturbance” the sense is left unfinished.)

Someone asked, “Why, then, does a person’s inborn nature turn into all manner of passions and desires? Who causes it to become so?” I replied, “Within, it is yin-corpse Qi (vital energy)—a Daoist term for the turbid yin Qi that obstructs the clarity and stillness of body and mind—that disturbs one’s nature; without, the temptations of sound, sight, and the like draw a person on. Habits of every kind accumulate day after day, tangled and hard to settle, so that one cannot find peace. This is not what Shen (spirit) originally intended to set in motion.”

Chapter 28: The Dao (the Way) Runs Counter to Custom

Someone asked, “Why are the very things people love most precisely those that Daoists most shun?” I replied, “Good fortune and long life are what people love; calamity and an early death are what they loathe. Yet they do not realize that to pursue what one loves to excess instead brings on calamity and shortens life, while to be without desire and to seek little is what secures good fortune and preserves long life. That this is plainly so, and that people still pursue things without measure and injure themselves, is truly the height of confusion.

“The beautiful women of Yan and Zhao impair one’s nature; the licentious music of Zheng and Wei disturbs the heart and spirit; choice delicacies and strong wine leave the inner mind heavy and dull; official robes and caps, and a life in government service, weary the body. As for these four kinds of things, to give them up is to become clear and still, while to crave them is to be troubled and disturbed; to grow indifferent to them helps one live long, while to sink into them makes it easy to cut one’s life short. For this reason they are what Daoists especially avoid.”

Chapter 29: Concentrated Devotion Attains the Dao

Someone asked, “In ancient times many studied to become immortals, yet those who truly attained the Dao were few. Why is this?” I replied, “Among ordinary people, of every thousand who study the Dao, only one truly understands it; of every thousand who understand it, only one resolves to seek it; of every thousand who resolve to seek it, only one can apply himself with single-minded diligence; of every thousand who apply themselves with single-minded diligence, only one can keep up diligent practice for a long time. Thus, though those who study the Dao are many, those who in the end achieve something are few.

“If those who understand the Dao can cut off worldly entanglements, if those who have cut off entanglements can make their resolve firm, if those whose resolve is firm can apply themselves with single-minded diligence, and if those who apply themselves with single-minded diligence can cultivate diligently over a long time, then there will be none who study the Dao who cannot achieve something.”

Someone asked: If that is so, should those who govern worldly affairs cut off all hope of becoming immortals?

The reply was: Not so. If a person is innately endowed with true Qi (vital energy) and can also broadly shelter all living beings, then governing worldly affairs does not hinder his cultivation of the Dao (the Way). Ordinary people who delight in the arts of the Dao and long to ascend in flight must lodge themselves in pure, quiet places of secluded leisure in order to practice.

Taihao (Fuxi) received the Dao of the Mother of Qi; Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor) mounted the clouds and ascended to heaven; Zhuanxu dwelt in the Mysterious Palace; and Wenming (Yu the Great) roamed the Purple Prefecture (the abode of immortals). These were all people who attained the Dao while governing secular affairs. As for the Mysterious Origin (Laozi), who once served as Archivist beneath the Pillar; Nanhua (Zhuangzi), who once served as an official of the Lacquer Garden; Wang Qiao, who revealed traces of immortality in Ye County; and Fang Shuo, who rose to the Golden Gate—these too were people who attained the Dao while assisting in worldly affairs.

The Dao of immortality values concealment, and the Dao prizes not seeking fame. Some reveal their traces, and some hide their tracks. One cannot judge from a single case alone, nor infer from a single principle alone. If one examines the Zhengao and the Yuanshi Shangxian Ji written by Baopuzi, both say that, from ancient times, those of utmost loyalty, utmost filial piety, and pure and incorruptible conduct, or those who have performed great merit for living beings, have all been able to achieve something and stand apart from ordinary people. The ancient sages Yao, Shun, the Duke of Zhou, Confucius, Yi Yin, Lü Shang, and others were all raised to immortal office. This is what is meant by the body dying while essence and spirit (Jing and Shen) do not perish, and longevity thereby being attained.

There was also Bai Hua, who of his own accord accommodated himself to ordinary worldly life and sought immortality because he feared death. After death he became a numinous official (a divine post in the celestial realm), and his remains did not decay. When his merit was complete, soul and flesh attached themselves to the remains; he returned to life and recovered his form, and soon ascended in flight. This being so, even a little good is not done in vain—how much more so for one who concentrates wholly on the goal of attaining immortality.

Chapter Thirty: The Preciousness of Longevity

Someone asked: Of the principal tenets of the Dao, nothing is more important than Laozi and Zhuangzi. The words of Laozi and Zhuangzi do not exalt the Dao of immortality. Why, sir, do you alone set such store by becoming an immortal?

I replied: How could it be that they do not exalt the Dao of immortality?

Laozi said, “Only when the body has died while the spirit (Shen) does not perish can one be called long-lived.” He also said, “Descendants never cease to sacrifice to the ancestors.” Zhuangzi said, “Who can regard life and death as one and the same?” He also said, “The sage regards the body as an inn in which one temporarily lodges.” Can these sayings be taken as evidence?

I reply: The Mysterious Sages—that is, Daoist sages such as Laozi and Zhuangzi—set down their words in order to instruct ordinary people. When ordinary people cultivate the Dao (the Way), not all of them can necessarily become immortals, so they are taught first to regulate their innate nature. To regulate innate nature, the inner heart must first be made peaceful; only when the heart is calm and the spirit is harmonious is there hope of realizing the Great Dao.

For human beings, life and death are the greatest threshold. Who can be without feeling? Once feeling is stirred, innate nature is damaged, and the only result is to hasten death. If one does not cling to life while alive, and does not fear when facing death, but remains at ease and content, forgetting sorrow and joy alike, then feeling subsides and innate nature is preserved. Although the body perishes, the spirit still remains. This is always better than having body and innate nature perish together. Thus arose the teaching that regards life and death as equal, and this is already a very high attainment. How can it be said that they do not esteem becoming an immortal?

The reason a person dies is that the body perishes; what truly does not perish is innate nature. It is not that the sage attaches no importance to the body: the body is the dwelling of the spirit and the support of innate nature. What the sage truly cherishes is the spirit and innate nature. If one regards death as something to be feared and takes the body as a real and unchanging existence, then what is practiced is only a method of preserving the body, and not yet the subtlety of cultivating true nature.

Laozi said, “Deeply secure the foundation and firmly guard the root—this is the Dao of long life and enduring vision.” He also said, “The valley spirit does not die.” Zhuangzi said, “Living to a thousand years, one wearies of the dusty world, leaves the human realm and ascends as an immortal, riding white clouds toward the Imperial Homeland.” He also said, “I cultivated the body for one thousand two hundred years, and the body never grew old.” He also said, “Harnessing cloud Qi (vital energy) and flying dragons, one roams beyond the four seas.” He also said, “Everyone goes toward death; I alone endure.” He also said, “Only when the spirit guards the body can the body survive for long.” From this it can be seen that Laozi and Zhuangzi both spoke plainly of deathlessness and the Dao of the immortals. How can one say that they denied these things?

The Daodejing and the Nanhua Lun (that is, the Zhuangzi) mostly set forth the Great Dao in order to transform worldly people, stressing the consolidation of the root so that the branches come to rest. As for the mysteries of the Dao of the immortals, they are merely preserved and not openly discussed. Those profound chapters, hidden scriptures (Jing), and wondrous ways of refining the true are all kept secret within the Three Caverns (Dongzhen, Dongxuan, and Dongshen)—the system by which Daoist scriptures are classified—and are not transmitted to the unqualified. Thus, one who divulges them rashly offends the celestial officials, while one who reverently believes and upholds them is entered in the Mysterious Register, the Daoist roll recording the names of cultivators. Calamity and blessing extend to the nine ancestors—remote forebears together with later lineages of the clan—while rising as an immortal or sinking into ruin concerns oneself. How could those who are no more than walking corpses all be allowed to hear and see these secret methods?

Someone asked, “All things are born of the Dao (the Way), and the Dao abandons nothing. Why, then, can those who attain the Dao endure in lasting spiritual clarity, while those who lose the Dao perish?”

I replied, “Dragons and fish both live in water, and brightness and darkness alike arise from the Dao. A dragon can raise clouds and send rain, coming and going without fixed form; a fish, by contrast, takes its ease among the water plants, yet once it leaves the springs it withers and dies. The dragon has grasped the subtle working of water, and so can transform within water; the fish has not grasped the subtle working of water, and so cannot transform by means of water. The superior adept—one who has succeeded in cultivating the Dao—settles the mind and spirit (Shen) and refines primordial Qi (vital energy), dwelling transcendent in a lofty and distant realm; the inferior adept—one who has not yet succeeded in cultivation—injures innate nature and shortens life, sinking into a dark and obscure place. The superior adept has grasped the subtle working of the Dao, and so can transform within the Dao; the inferior adept has not grasped the subtle working of the Dao, and so cannot transform by means of the Dao.

The fish does not know that water has nourished it, and instead leaves the water; it is not that the water has abandoned the fish. People do not know that the Dao has nourished them, and instead turn away from the Dao; neither is it that the Dao has abandoned them.”

Someone asked further, “Dragons and fish differ in essence, and brightness and darkness receive different endowments. How, then, can a fish be made to transform by means of water, or an ordinary person to transform by means of the Dao?”

I replied, “If a fish can dive into the deep abyss and hide in a secluded hollow, without craving the bait, then once it has grown it can raise its scales and dorsal fin, cross the Lüliang—the perilous waterway of legend, which a dragon-fish, having leapt, can become a dragon—and be transformed into a dragon. If a person can let the mind roam upon Kongtong, the immortal mountain of legend, rest content in plainness, cut off cravings and desires, and carry cultivation to its utmost, then one can hold and guard what is hidden and subtle, accord with emptiness and stillness, enter the realm of the real, and become an immortal. The pity is that people cannot keep themselves closely concealed and firmly protect the spirit; how, then, could water and the Dao ever fail the fish and humankind?”

Chapter 32: Clarifying What to Take and What to Leave

The original text opens by raising a question: “That an immortal is something a human being can attain…”

Someone asked, “Becoming an immortal is the highest state a person can reach, while death is the outcome people most detest. Worthy scholar-officials through the ages have not been unaware of this, yet most still live according to common custom, and very few truly cultivate the way of immortality. Why is this?”

I answered, “There are two reasons. First, some people are endowed with a nature that is not lofty enough, so the aims they pursue can hardly be broad. They therefore sink into the affairs before them and forget longer pursuits; held back by reputation and blinded by desire, they end trapped in the net of the mundane world and never enter the realm of cultivating the Dao (the Way). Second, although some are by nature clear, expansive, and lofty, with outstanding intelligence of mind and spirit, the meritorious work of aiding the world and helping others is not yet complete, and the path to immortality is still far off. They therefore remain attached to worldly rank and have not yet released their concern for the honors and emoluments of rulers. If merit accumulated in the past has already become conspicuous, and one’s name is entered on the Dantai—the immortal register of Daoist legend that records the names and titles of immortals and perfected ones—one can transcend the dusty world and no longer be entangled by external things.”

Someone asked again, “To become an immortal one must have immortal bones; without immortal bones, one cannot study the Dao and attain immortality. How is this to be understood?”

I answered, “A craftsman must apply his skill according to the nature of the material, and one who seeks learning must likewise have a fitting endowment before setting his resolve upon the Dao. Ice cannot be carved, and a dull person can hardly become an immortal; this is a natural principle. Those whose Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) are not clear and bright, and whose bone structure is not lofty and imposing, have not been endowed with the Qi of yang numinosity. One who has not received the Qi of yang numinosity certainly lacks a heart that yearns for immortality. If such a yearning is truly present, immortal bones have often already shown themselves.”

They asked further, “Then, if one has immortal bones but does not cultivate, can one still become an immortal?”

The reply was, “To have immortal bones yet not study and cultivate is like having fine material but no craftsman. Gold hidden in the ore, if not smelted, remains only ore; the Dao present in a person, if not cultivated, remains only that of an ordinary mortal. Without immortal bones it is indeed difficult to become an immortal; yet one also cannot rely on having immortal bones and simply wait to ascend with ease.”

Chapter Thirty-Three, “According with the Formless by Means of the Manifest.” This is the title of the present chapter. “According with the formless by means of the manifest” means relying on tangible things, or on concrete cultivation, so as to accord with the formless Great Dao.

Someone asked, “The Dao (the Way) originally has no form or image, yet what is prized in becoming an immortal is the preservation of bodily form. To bring a body that has form into accord with the formless Dao can hardly, one fears, endure for long. How could this compare with the subtle mystery of cultivating one’s original nature and abandoning the body? Nor can one simply rely on the flesh and wait for it to ascend.”

I replied, “When the Dao reaches the extreme of emptiness and void, it nonetheless holds spiritual wonder within it and sets the workings of Qi (vital energy) in motion, so that being arises out of non-being. Thus the empty and profoundly secluded realm is the formless form of the Great Dao, while heaven and earth, the sun and the moon, are its form that has form. The formless and the formed are bound together, and what has form can also unite with the formless. For this reason heaven and earth endure, and immortals and sages likewise do not perish.

“Life is the great De (Virtue/Power) of heaven and earth. We can behold the vastness of heaven, earth, and the four quarters, and the brightness of the sun, moon, and stars, precisely because we possess bodily form. If one simply sinks into extinction, heaven, earth, and the myriad things no longer belong to oneself—and this is exactly the cruel harm that death inflicts upon the human world. Cultivation must therefore advance from ordinary person to immortal, and from immortal to Zhenren (Perfected Person). The Zhenren unites with the mysterious Dao; the mysterious communicates with divine illumination; at last Shen (spirit) unites with the Dao, and the Dao becomes one’s very self. One may then ascend to Yujing (the celestial capital of the immortal realm) and roam the Jinque (the immortal palaces), able both to appear and to return to the formless, unbound by ending or by death. How could a principle such as this be hard to sustain?

“If one holds that only the cultivation of original nature is mysterious and subtle, and does not know that refining and nourishing the body is equally essential, then one is merely a clear and numinous ghost. How could such a being be set beside immortals of high rank?”

Someone asked further, “Since immortals truly existed in ancient times, why, after they withdrew into concealment, did they never appear again?”

I replied, “The clear and the turbid belong to different realms, and Zhenren and ordinary people dwell in different worlds—how easily could they be seen? Yet Lingwei, after the passage of a thousand years, briefly returned to Xuanyuan (the origin of the Dao, the realm of mystery), and even down to the present day has descended again and again. How, then, can one say that immortals appear no more?”

Someone asked, “Who, then, are the immortals of today?”

The reply was: “From the time of our Great Tang onward, let me briefly cite a few examples. Liu Qingyun manifested traces of immortality in the land of Shu, and Wei Junlong soared into the void and departed in the region of Mount Song. Daohe shed his form like a cicada and ascended as an immortal on Mount Taiyi, while Dongxuan left his remains in the region of Jizhou and rose in flight. The rest—those who lived in seclusion, withdrew from the world, attained the Dao (Dao, the Way), and were raised aloft—are too numerous to record. All these matters are bound up with what people have heard with their own ears and seen with their own eyes; how can they be casually denied or concealed? It is only that those who understand the Great Dao are few, and so those who attain the Dao and become immortals are also few. Music of lofty subtlety, heard by coarse ears, is not found pleasing—truly a cause for lament.”

The Treatise on the Mysterious Guidelines (Xuangang lun) of Master Zongxuan ends here.

The collation note states that the circulating edition of the Complete Prose of the Tang (Quan Tang wen) reads ji (藉) at this point, whereas the base text reads xie (谢). The piece that follows is titled Biography of Venerable Master Wu (Wu Zunshi zhuan).

Wu Yun, courtesy name Zhenjie, was a Confucian scholar from the region of Lu. In his youth he was already well versed in the Confucian Jing (scriptures and classics) and skilled at writing, yet when he sat for the jinshi examination he did not pass. Lofty and pure by temperament, and unwilling to go along with the ways of the world, he entered Mount Song and, following Master Tixuan, Pan Shizheng, left household life to become a priest of the Dao (the Way), studying the methods of the Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) tradition. He applied himself with single-minded devotion and mastered the arts of the Dao that he had learned.

During the Kaiyuan era, Wu Yun traveled south to Jinling, then visited Mount Mao in search of the Dao, and later went on to Mount Tiantai. He was especially gifted as a writer. While in Yuezhong he often gathered with local men of letters to drink and compose verse, and the songs he wrote reached the capital. Emperor Xuanzong, hearing of his reputation, sent an envoy to summon him to court. After Wu Yun arrived in the capital, the emperor conversed with him with great pleasure and placed him in the Hanlin Academy to await imperial command.

Xuanzong asked him about the methods of the Dao. Wu Yun replied, “Nothing essential in the methods of the Dao surpasses the five thousand characters of the Daode Jing (the Classic of the Dao and of De [Virtue/Power]). Those elaborate, branching doctrines merely waste paper.” The emperor then asked about the cultivation of immortality. Wu Yun answered, “That is a practice for people of the mountains and wilds. It must be sought through long years of sustained cultivation and through merit and virtue; it is not something a sovereign may pursue at will.”

Wu Yun often sat together with Buddhist monks and Daoist priests. When court ministers presented memorials, he spoke only of the mingjiao—the ethical norms of Confucianism—and of worldly affairs of government; when Xuanzong asked him about the chanting of poetry, he used the occasion to express what was in his own mind. The emperor therefore held him in high regard.

During the Tianbao era, Li Linfu and Yang Guozhong held power, and the order and discipline of the court decayed day by day. Wu Yun foresaw that the realm was about to fall into turmoil and firmly requested to return to Mount Song, but though he submitted memorials many times, permission was not granted. Xuanzong then issued an edict that a separate Daoist cloister be built for him at the Yueguan (Temple of the Sacred Peak). When An Lushan was about to raise troops in rebellion, Wu Yun asked to return to Mount Mao, and the court assented.

Before long the Central Plain sank into great chaos, and bandits rose on every side throughout the Jiang-Huai region. Wu Yun therefore went east to the area of Kuaiji, often traveling back and forth between Mount Tiantai and Yuezhong. He exchanged poems with the poets Li Bai and Kong Chaofu, wandering at ease among mountains and waters, springs and rocks, and many people followed him. In the end he died in Yuezhong.

Wu Yun’s collected writings comprise twenty juan. Among them, the three essays of the Xuangang (Outline of the Mysterious) and the Shenxian Kexue Lun (Treatise on the Learnability of Immortality) were especially praised by those of broad and penetrating insight. In his writing, both diction and principle were expansive and lucid, and his literary brilliance was vivid; whenever he completed a piece, people vied to copy and circulate it. Critics held that he combined the bold freedom of Li Bai with the vigorous splendor of Du Fu, and that probably only Wu Yun was able to achieve this.

This biography was written by Quan Deyu, Minister of Rites of the Tang dynasty.