《心目论》

A person lives because of Shen (spirit)—here meaning the human spirit—and that spirit lodges within the bodily form. The inch of space within the chest is in fact the “spiritual mansion” (the dwelling place of heart and spirit) in which the spirit is kept. When heart and spirit are quiet, spirit can arise and the body is brought into harmony; when heart and spirit are restless, spirit grows exhausted and the body is harmed. Only when the root is made firm and the mind is at peace can one cultivate one’s own nature and disposition.

What stirs the spirit, however, is the heart, and what disorders the feelings of the heart is the eyes. Nothing is more serious than this in causing a person to lose original authenticity and stray from the root. The author therefore develops the discussion through the heart and the eyes, hoping thereby to remove what obstructs the heart and to clarify the spirit.

The heart then says to the eyes: “I wish for Wuwei (non-action)—to follow what is natural and not to act willfully—yet you are forever coming to disturb me. I wish to forget passion and desire and withdraw from the world in seclusion; to accord with my inborn nature and pursue clarity, stillness, and non-action; to dwell in the realm of Great Harmony (a state of peace and free communion), and to walk roads open in every direction; to pass beyond the boundary of life and death and enter the ultimate realm of spiritual illumination; to ride the Qi (vital energy) of primordial chaos and go far away, merging with a vast domain without limit or edge.

“Why, just as I am about to come to rest, do you still insist on looking? Just as I am about to grow clear and still, are you still scheming and calculating? You throw my right mindfulness into disorder with the profusion of myriad forms, and through beautiful appearances you cause my spirit to sink. You leave me seeing nothing in distant places, and draw me along amid clamor and ceaseless change; you set my heart and spirit swaying amid the outings of spring, and make me sorrowful and desolate in the countryside of autumn. You stir my feelings with the scenery of Yan, and the moment I look upon Haomen I am moved to sigh; gazing toward the land of Chu I cherish it long, and looking down upon the outskirts of Qi I linger, unable to let go.

“That these thoughts give rise to sorrow is entirely because the eyes have been beguiled by external things. Even if the body covets splendid adornment, the mouth craves rich flavors, the ears delight in pleasing sounds, and the nose loves fragrant scents, what disturbs me most is still you. You are my great affliction; every fault arises from you. If you were not so keen in looking, whom else could one blame?”

The eyes replied indignantly: “Have you never heard? When one person rules the world, every region under heaven acts according to law and regulation. Governance is clear and orderly because the ruler is upright; calamity and disorder are not brought about by common people below showing off force. In the time of Yao the people were settled and could be rewarded; in the time of Jie the people were in turmoil and could be driven into rebellion. Even when customs differ and lineages are not the same, all must submit to the sovereign’s laws.

The master that governs the body is the heart, the storehouse of numinous clarity (that is, the heart presides over a person’s Shen (spirit) and consciousness). If the heart departs from the correct Dao (the Way), I leave it; if the heart accords with the correct Dao, I return to its keeping. Good fortune is drawn from this, and regret and disaster likewise gather here. Therefore, one who governs the people must set affairs right before disorder has arisen, and one who cultivates the Dao must hold fast to right mindfulness before thoughts have scattered. How can one wait until the world has fallen apart before suppressing rebellion, and how can one wait until the five emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, delight, and desire—have rushed off in every direction and still expect to remain clear and upright?

Why do you not still the cunning activity of thought and preserve the subtle original authenticity within, but instead distinguish things from the self and view the myriad things through right and wrong? You rejoice in glory and honor and grieve at insult; when there is abundance you feel at ease, and when there is lack you lament. Thoughts change as swiftly as wind rising and clouds scattering, as stars racing and lightning flashing—chaotic and surging, chasing after and feeding every desire. In this way you disturb original authenticity and muddle the spirit, go against the heart of Heaven, and rebel against the master of mind and spirit. How can you avoid sinking into the outward scenes that creative transformation displays, and losing your way at the ford of the natural Dao?

That is why I am driven to act in order to satisfy the wishes of your heart. Once stained by this dust and grime, you instead lay the fault on me. Alas, alas! From where, after all, does this malady come?”

The heart was silent for a long time before it spoke again to the eyes: “Look—between you and me, who after all understands the principle more truly? Why is one hidden within and the other manifest without, seeming different, yet so closely joined?

“The myriad things of the world constantly bring vexation. Now we should choose our own path, together rise above the turmoil of the dusty world, and go to a realm of clarity, stillness, and peace: pluck the dark, mysterious Qi (vital energy), draw in the essence of early morning, chew blossoms like jade, and rinse our mouths with sweet dew like precious jade. In this way we may hope to be transformed and grow wings, pass through the clouds and roseate mists, and fly in freedom; ascend to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing; the threefold heavenly realms of which Daoism speaks), and withdraw far from the eight wildernesses (the most distant reaches of the four quarters under heaven). We shall become friends with Red Pine and Prince Qiao (immortals of legend) and endure together with heaven and earth. When that time comes, how could praise or blame affect us? What gain or loss, what taking or letting go, would still be worth our concern?

“Since this is what I intend, let me tell you the good and the bad, the gains and the losses, that lie within it.”

Mu (here referring to the discussant) says: “This has already come close, yet it has not reached the ultimate. If the mind seeks stillness, agitation follows in its wake; if one wishes to renounce the dust of the world, defilement presses in once more. One then remains some distance from the practice of returning to the root. Only by standing transcendent and independent has one truly arrived.

“The substance of the Dao (the Way) is subtle, hidden, and without form. Gathered in, it has no inner boundary; opened out, it has no outer boundary. Vast and remote, it has no end; deep and obscure, nothing can stand opposite it. If one merely abandons this to seize that, one loses the great for the sake of the small. If one forgets such superficial practices as stilling Yin Qi (vital energy) and dispelling form and shadow, how can one escape benefit and harm, gain and loss? Only when radiance is born within a mind of emptiness and stillness is there the state that bears the Dao and De (Virtue/Power). Before the calculations of human effort have even begun to sprout, cut them off, and let the principle of Heaven come together of itself.

“Thus Xuanyuan (Laozi) draws in his sharp edge in order to observe the subtlety of the Dao, and Wenxuan (Confucius) sets aside the workings of the mind and accords with the body. The Yellow Emperor obtained it amid the indistinct and the formless, and Guangchengzi united with it in the realm of profound darkness and silence. Yan Hui, by ‘sitting in forgetfulness’ (zuowang: forgetting the body and the discriminating mind in quiet sitting), reached the Great Thoroughfare, and Zhuangzi followed his inborn nature and attained the subtle. Examining the virtuous conduct of the sages through the ages, one sees that what they did was not clever scheming. When wind and waves upon the water cease, the water grows clear; when dust no longer flies, the mirror grows bright. There is no need to leave the world and rise aloof above it; the mind grows peaceful of itself.

“Therefore one can dwell content in plain simplicity, and when affairs stir a response, meet them naturally. One does not strive to display brilliance, yet light is there of itself; one does not strive to remain hidden, yet one is unfathomably deep. One sees through beginning and end without regarding them as different, and becomes one body with the myriad things. Accord with what is natural, and there is nothing gained and nothing lost. Treading the level and correct path in this way, one can preserve good fortune for a long time. If one abandons the central path and attends only to outward display, one gradually strays from the proper course and cannot reach through.

“Why is this so? Where water gathers deep, the dragon lies hidden; where the woods grow thick, the beasts make their home. The authority of spiritual illumination lodges in emptiness, and the Dao gathers in the realm of the mysterious void. If one does not strip away the attachments one already holds, how can one accord with the formless Dao? If one cannot forget the body and return to stillness, wash clean the flaws and dust of the mind, so that the mysterious pass (the aperture that opens onto the subtle Dao) grows clear of itself and the deep gate is opened, how can one reach the state of being free from all entanglement?

“If one cannot do this, how could one harness the eight scenes (images in the immortal way that symbolize the realm of the immortals), ascend the Nine Heavens, behold the resplendent palaces of the Golden Portal, stroll through the remote and silent Purple Court, abide together with endless kalpas, and regard ten thousand years as a single morning?”

The mind is thereby released from every kind of worry, and toward hesitation it gradually grows calm and detached. Once the mind is clarified and settled, it slowly becomes lucid; and when one puts it to use, one is not impatient.

“I neither attach myself to the crowd nor dwell apart in isolation. How could this be reckoned as stillness, and how could I be bound by words? I unite with the supreme joy of constant ease, and, embracing true Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), I endure. To set it down is not to have set anything down; to inquire into it is only to find it ever more profound. It penetrates to the root of creative transformation and discerns the original mind of heaven and earth.

“Let me be without craving in the realm where form and color cannot be seen, and let the sights about to appear come to rest in the forest of xuanhuang (the chaotic state before heaven and earth were divided). Even if something seems to be seen, it is as though one were seeing emptiness; hearing the Shao (traditionally said to be the music of Shun’s time) is like hearing an echo in an empty valley. I sing in response to nature, taking freedom from desire as my companion, no longer driven by sovereigns and lords, and no longer chasing worldly power.

“I keep to the capacities acquired after birth, stilling desire before it has yet appeared and dissolving disorder before it has yet arisen. I no longer feel heaven and earth to be vast, nor do I take the fineness of an autumn hair to heart. Dwelling in stillness, I can still hear harmony; entering the realm of undifferentiated fusion, I can also see what is clear. I respond as things cycle and change, drawing in the light and storing away the mind and Shen (spirit).

“Even if fierce winds shake the sea and thunderbolts split the mountains, even if floods cover the sky and raging fire burns the marshes, I remain at ease. As for moving or stopping, speaking or keeping silent—why should one deliberately expend thought upon them?”