《一贯天机直讲》Vol. 3

Metal corresponds to the restraining, “killing” qi (su sha) associated with the You position; outwardly it belongs to Yang, inwardly to Yin. The moonlight within Kan symbolizes the jade rabbit; the rabbit corresponds to the generating, sprouting qi associated with the Mao position—outwardly Yin, inwardly Yang. This shows that Kan and Li (Water and Fire in the Bagua, also standing for paired Yin and Yang) each contain the other’s nature: the “essence of two and five” (er wu zhi jing) hidden in their respective places. The Xici xia (Appended Statements, Part Two) of the Yijing says: “Three and five share one palace but occupy different positions.”

The rooster symbolizes inhaling: when you breathe in, it is as if you were breathing out. The rabbit symbolizes exhaling: when you breathe out, it is as if you were breathing in. The rabbit is described as a creature that “spits” breath; it has no male or female and reproduces by exchanging breath through the mouth, producing offspring from the mouth. The rooster has male and female, and mating is likewise explained as a resonance of qi. The rooster most readily responds to Yang qi; even without a cock, a hen may lay eggs and hatch chicks—attributed to sensing Yang qi. Still, the saying that “a hen alone lays eggs and the chicks are incomplete” means it receives only formless qi, not formed essence (jing). Neidan (internal alchemy) texts borrow these images as analogies, holding that the pairing within them is apt and subtle.

Li symbolizes the human heart-mind (ren xin): outwardly solid, inwardly empty, hollow in the middle—so the seven emotions and six desires easily intrude. When too many thoughts are stored, spirit (shen) tends to scatter outward and run after external things. Kan symbolizes the heavenly heart-mind (tian xin): outwardly empty, inwardly full—the periphery open and the interior replete. From emptiness, fullness can arise, so the heavenly heart-mind appears at “return” (lai fu), when Yang qi newly stirs again. The heavenly heart-mind is not pulled by outer emptiness, so deviant thoughts cannot enter. The nature of Yang fire always seeks to rise—this is what is called “flowing Wu earth to Ji earth” (liu wu jiu ji), also “taking from Kan to fill Li” (qu kan tian li): drawing the qi of Wu earth and sending it to where Ji earth resides, to fill the Li palace.

Ji earth belongs to earth, number ten; Wu earth belongs to heaven, number five. Five sits within ten, and ten contains two and five. Remove the “two” within Ji earth, leaving five; combine it with Wu earth’s five so the two fives resonate, forming “gui”—an ancient jade token, here symbolizing Yin-Yang harmony. When the two earth qi unite, Yin and Yang harmonize, and true intent (zhen yi) becomes master—like refining pure gold from ore. In number symbolism, this is stripping away the generating numbers and keeping the prime numbers; because five is treated as a prime number, it is called Yang earth.

The phrase “using outward as inward” refers to the sun; the phrase “using inward as outward” refers to the moon. The golden rooster governs inhalation; the jade rabbit governs exhalation. Why is the rooster described as “using outward as inward”? To crow, it must first draw in a breath—hence the text also speaks of it as “using inward as outward.” Why is the rabbit described as “using inward as outward”? The scripture holds that when the rabbit exhales in mutual exchange, it also takes in the moon’s refined essence to nurture new life; only through that intake can a fetus come into being, so it is called “using inward as outward.” When the rooster crows at zi hour, when yang qi first stirs, it is because yang has been activated and the rooster, sensing it, calls first; when the moon rises, the rabbit absorbs yin qi and forms the embryo. All of this is understood as resonance through qi transformation.

Why can the rooster sense the earth’s yang qi before others? Because the rooster itself carries yang; like responds to like—the rabbit follows the same principle. Here “inward” means to receive and take in; “outward” means to deploy and exert. The Cantong Qi (a classic of Daoist internal alchemy) uses the roles of rooster and rabbit to illustrate a reversed correspondence: one exhalation and one inhalation, one Kan and one Li—that is, the two functions of Kan and Li. “Using outward as inward” means emitting outward while receiving within; “using inward as outward” means drawing in from without while sending out from within. Though inner and outer are distinguished, what actually operates is inside the body; the difference between them depends on whether one is dealing with the pre-heaven or post-heaven realm.

The opening and closing of pre-heaven true breath (the breathing that runs naturally before ordinary habit) runs opposite to the in-and-out of ordinary post-heaven breathing—a point the Tianxian Zhengli (a Daoist cultivation text) discusses in detail. Outwardly, sun and moon come and go; inwardly, sun and moon are reversed—one inverted relative to the other. The “inner sun and moon” here mean heart and body, with “body” specifically pointing to the life gate (the locus tied to the root of life); the “outer sun and moon” mean human breathing. An infant still has true breath in the belly but is not aware of it; once the body has grown to adulthood, that condition is no longer present. The cultivator must first restore a childlike bodily state and seek natural opening and closing; when opening and closing appear, true breath can be obtained. True breath originally lies below the navel: one opening and one closing—when it opens, yang qi rises, like exhalation connecting with the heaven root; when it closes, yin qi descends, like inhalation connecting with the earth root.

Opening and closing correspond to the rising and falling of qi. The direction of mouth-and-nose breathing is exactly opposite to the rise and fall spoken of here: on exhalation the orifices open, on inhalation they close. When you inhale, qi opens; when you exhale, qi closes. As breath goes out and comes in, the coming and going of mind and spirit change with it.

What is called “mind and breath mutually depending” takes different forms: original spirit (Yuanshen—the innate clear spirit) depending on true breath (the subtle inner breath), and acquired consciousness (Shishen—the postnatal mind) depending on ordinary breath (mouth-and-nose breathing). Joy and anger arise within and show outward: in anger, qi disperses outward; in joy, qi gathers inward. That is exactly acquired consciousness and ordinary breath pulling on each other. Those who cultivate the Dao should aim for original spirit and true breath to depend on each other.

In the postnatal body, both original spirit and true breath are obscured, so one must nourish body and mind until they appear—yet one still starts from the body and consciousness one already has. First, neither being nor non-being should become fixation; place yourself in primordial chaos (an undifferentiated, non-clinging state). Otherwise, clinging to form falls into the mundane, and clinging to emptiness leaves you with nothing—neither is right.

To obtain true breath, one must first enter chaos; to obtain original spirit, one must still the role of acquired consciousness. The Li trigram stands for acquired consciousness: pulled by emotion, it races outward and thoughts scatter without rest. The Cantong qi (Zhouyi cantong qi, a classic of Daoist internal alchemy) says: “The sun’s flowing pearl constantly wants to leave the person; suddenly obtaining the golden flower, it turns and mutually follows.” That means acquired consciousness easily runs outward; to hold it, one must first obtain the “golden flower” (a key “medicine” or refined essence in neidan practice). The golden flower can restrain the “flowing pearl” (here, the outward-racing acquired consciousness), so that heart and breath can depend on each other.

“Nine returns” names the method of obtaining the golden flower; “seven reversals” names the method of restraining the flowing pearl. “Seven reversals” is done within oneself; “nine returns” must return from outside—yet once the method is grasped, it is not hard. The yang qi in Kan (the golden flower) always tends to rise upward; if above there is something of the same kind, the flowing pearl can be drawn back down.

When something above can resonate with it, the two will also unite through that resonance. The principle of true water and true fire is portrayed with great skill in Journey to the West, and explained quite clearly: Red Boy’s fire stands for true fire, so the water of the four dragon kings of the four seas cannot extinguish it—only the water on Guanyin’s willow branch can put it out. The willow is yielding wood; Guanyin dwells in the South Sea. This symbolizes true water descending and true fire being quenched. Withered Pine Ravine stands for Kan, the South Sea for Li; Li above, true water and true fire meet in the central palace, showing Kan and Li mutually containing and interpenetrating each other.

The yang in Kan rises and becomes warm qi; the yin in Li descends and becomes cool fluid. These are the signs of how true water and true fire operate—practitioners of the Way must not overlook them. The genuine yang fire within Kan is the Golden Flower (Jinhua)—also called white gold. “Knowing the white” means recognizing this; “guarding the black” means holding to Kun (symbolizing yin softness and quiet stillness)—that is, guarding the vast, empty mysterious aperture (the hidden gate of quiet depth in inner refinement).

When the heart does not cling to the four forms (every outward appearance) nor to the myriad things, and all things return to empty stillness, that is the image of pure Kun. Only within pure Kun does the void One Qi (the fundamental primordial qi spoken of in the Daoist tradition) arise and flow through upper and lower. It is like a single yang sprouting from beneath heavy yin—as at the winter solstice when the hexagram shifts from Kun to Fu. Once that yang has stirred, it is called “the spirit-light comes of itself.”

If one does not reach this state of empty stillness, from where could genuine yang arise? Therefore, once this is understood, one should hold to Kun. Zhang Sanfeng said: “To know the white, one must guard the black; to guard the black, one must know the white. Only by knowing the white can one guard the black; guarding the black is precisely knowing the white.” These lines are apt and worth pondering—the entire practice of “empty the heart, fill the belly” lies within them.

Heaven and earth’s De (Virtue/Power) harmonize with each other, and the radiance of sun and moon mutually illumine one another.

Once one comprehends and attains the Dao, one can hold fast to it without loss; such a person is called a “Great Person” (dade zhi ren—one who has realized the Dao and embodies De).

All things sprout from earth, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) likewise take their origin from earth. In the Hetu (River Chart), the pair “one–six” means that “one” is Tianyi water—that is, pre-heaven water—while “six” stands for post-heaven water, produced when Di six unites with Tianyi. One plus five makes six, because the number of earth in the central palace is five; when five is added to Tianyi, six comes into being. The arising of the post-heaven Five Phases can all be reasoned out in the same way; the figures below illustrate this.

“Southern Di two” (nán dì èr) denotes the southern Di two of the post-heaven arrangement. Di six joins Tianyi; one plus five becomes six, since the central palace’s earth is numbered five and, when it is included, yields six. The generation of the post-heaven Five Phases may likewise be extended by the same method; the diagrams that follow explain it.

The south belongs to Fire; its earth number is two and its completion number is seven: generating number two plus five makes seven. The east belongs to Wood; its heaven number is three and earth number eight completes it—three plus five makes eight. The west belongs to Metal; its earth number is four and heaven number nine completes it—four plus five makes nine. One, two, three, four, and five are called generating numbers; six, seven, eight, nine, and ten are called completion numbers. Adding five to each generating number yields the corresponding completion number.

Here “five” refers to the emptiness at the center—that is, central Earth (Earth at the hub, coordinating the Five Phases). One, two, three, and four all arise from that emptiness. The Five Phases in their post-heaven arrangement still cannot be separated from emptiness, so the five of the center must be added before the numerology is complete. The emptiness at the center is central Earth; therefore Earth is strong through all four seasons, both initiating and completing the myriad things. The Five Phases ceaselessly generate and transform. They are born from the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji), and the Supreme Ultimate is originally empty; emptiness is Earth. The Five Phases are generated by Earth and completed by Earth. Earth is most pivotal, so it is also called “central yellow,” “spirit chamber,” “the center,” “yellow court,” and the like. These names all point to the root of creation and transformation and the foundation of the ten thousand things—that is, Earth.

The one in the north corresponds to the Kan trigram; the two in the south corresponds to the Li trigram. Kan is paired with yang Earth wu; wu is the Earth within Kan. The water represented by northern one arises from emptiness, so water contains Earth within it. Earth number two belongs to yin and also to the Kun trigram; Kun is yin Earth, heavy and turbid in nature, condensing downward to become earth—thus earth is also Earth. The Li trigram is born from earth number two, so it is paired with yin Earth ji.

Both wu and ji belong to Earth of the central palace and are respectively assigned to Kan and Li. Yang Earth wu means that within “subtle being” there is contained empty stillness; yin Earth ji means that within empty stillness there is contained subtle being. This expresses the principle that yin and yang mutually contain each other. Five is paired with wu Earth, ten with ji Earth; in Daoist usage ji is sometimes called five instead of ten, because two fives joined make ten, showing the two Earths uniting into the “gui” shape. Two numbers joining form the character for “ten”; at the crossing in the center, five is still contained. Before heaven and earth were opened, the vertical stroke “|” stood for yang and the horizontal “—” for yin; one yin and one yang, one vertical and one horizontal, form the “ten” shape. The center of the cross is where yin and yang meet, hence it is called the “central palace,” also “five dwelling in the midst of ten”—this is the logic of “three, five, and one.”

The central palace is empty. The Cantong qi (classic of joining alchemy with the Book of Changes) says “the heart single-minded, not leaning crosswise or lengthwise”—meaning spirit and mind stay unified, not tilting toward the vertical or the horizontal; leaning crosswise or lengthwise would bias toward yin or yang. Later expressions such as “the crossroads,” “the cross,” “ten eyes behold, ten hands point,” and “Buddhas of the ten directions through three times” all relate to the image of the cross formed by vertical and horizontal intersection.

The preceding discussion of shishen (the knowing spirit—the everyday consciousness and its thinking activity) did not fully explain concepts such as nian (flash of thought), si (present thought), and lü (deliberation). Here is a supplement: nian, si, and lü are related but differ in emphasis. Lü looks toward the future; nian looks toward the past. According to ancient commentaries on word meanings, xiang (recollection) and si are also not the same: xiang mostly means looking back on the past; si refers to a thought that has just arisen in the present moment.

When a thought has just appeared and has not yet turned elsewhere, it is called si. The character si has tian (field) above and xin (heart/mind) below; here xintian (the field of the mind) is used as a metaphor for the moment a thought first issues from the heart—hence it is called the “present.” But that moment passes in an instant and becomes what is called a nian (thought-flash). When a thought has just arisen, it is purely si; with the slightest turn, it becomes lü, xiang, or nian. So they can be divided into three types: si, lü, and xiang.

Confucius said: “The superior person does not let his thoughts go outside his place” (Lunyu, Xian wen). Here wei (place) is borrowed to mean the scope within the field of the mind where a thought sits. When a thought has just arisen, it is si; once it goes beyond that scope, it turns into xiang or lü.

The Yijing says: “Coming and going in restless haste—companions follow your si” (Yi, Xian). This describes thoughts coming and going in endless profusion. The si here has the same sense as in “the superior person does not let his thoughts go outside his place”—still within si, not yet shifted into xiang or lü. The Yijing also says: “What si? What lü?” (Yi, Xici xia). Speaking here from the angle of shishen and mental activity, si means the state in which a thought has just been born: what has just arisen is si; in the blink of an eye it becomes xiang or lü.

The three hundred pieces of the Shijing can be summed up in one phrase: “The thoughts are without depravity.”

When a thought first stirs, there is originally no evil intent; once the thought turns, it may drift into what is wrong. “Think without evil” also carries the sense of “do not let thought overstep your proper place.” The Analects says: “The junzi has nine kinds of reflection: in looking, he seeks to see clearly; in listening, to hear distinctly; in expression, to be mild; in bearing, to be respectful…” From this, that layer of meaning is easier to grasp.

Why is the character for “think” placed before “clear sight,” “keen hearing,” “mildness,” and “respect”? Because as soon as intention rises from the heart, the eyes can see clearly, the ears can hear distinctly, the expression can be mild, and the bearing respectful. Here there seems to be a master; “thinking” is what governs these nine manifestations. Thus one sees that when the discerning spirit (shén of distinction and cognition toward outer things) first stirs, that is “thinking.”

The junzi can hold these nine upright reflections; the petty person also thinks, but thoughts easily become discriminating ideas that meet external things and form the six consciousnesses of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. Reflection is easy to gather back into the heart and not scatter outward—so Confucian teaching takes “thinking” as upright and speaks of “the junzi’s nine reflections.”

In Journey to the West, the nine-headed lion that Tang Sanzang encounters is the mount of the Great Sage Who Saves from Suffering (Taiyi Jiuku Tianzun), named the Nine-Spirit Primordial Sage. Here the nine-headed lion stands for the junzi’s nine reflections: the lion symbolizes “thinking,” and “spirit” symbolizes the lucidity of reflection. Lucid reflection can become the root of a person’s sainthood; once it turns toward private desire, it can plunge one into wickedness. The Nine-Spirit Primordial Sage originally belonged to the correct path and was transformed into true intent, yet secretly descended into the dust of the world and became a demon. The meaning is: once reflection turns to self-interest, the upright nine reflections become ordinary selfish thoughts; the mind of the Dao fades and wandering thoughts rise in its place.

Without selfishness, one can become a sage or a person of worth. The phrase “the teacher, the lion, receiving and transmitting—all return to the One” means this: what the mind dwells on is the “teacher”; the lion stands for “private” (self-interest); receiving instruction stands for “beast-longevity.” Where selfishness remains, one falls into the condition of a “beast”; if one ceases vain thought and returns to the true intent and the original spirit (Yuanshen—the innate, prenatal spiritual self), one may share heaven’s longevity and become a sage. This teaching is very subtle. When the nine kinds of mental stirring are gathered into one place, that is return to the sage realm and realization as a true person.

Some word choices in Buddhist scriptures do not match older usage. In the saying “do not brood over what is past, do not hanker after what is to come,” the word for “hanker” or “long for” (xiang) normally means to recall or look back—it usually applies to what has already happened, not to the future. Its original sense is remembrance of things gone, yet here it is applied to what lies ahead, so the wording sits awkwardly.

When joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have not yet appeared outwardly, that is called “centeredness” (zhong)—it corresponds to the original spirit; when they appear and are exactly measured, that is called “harmony” (he)—it corresponds to the original feeling (Yuanying, the authentic affect rooted in one’s true nature). If feeling loses harmony and drifts into false thought, it becomes the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, desire). The shift happens in a single turn of mind: “centeredness” is the original spirit; “harmony” is the original feeling; when there is no harmony, there is deluded feeling. Deluded feeling is also what happens when the original feeling is expressed at the wrong time, and it then shows up as the seven emotions.

As the proverb says, “Filial piety, brotherly respect, loyalty, and trust are rooted in natural disposition.” Here “nature” (xing) is originally empty in meaning; what is called “natural disposition” in practice refers to postnatal nature—that is, the original feeling. Hence it is called “feeling” (qing): it arises from original nature and from that mutual relating is formed. The author will explain this further with a diagram; the matter of “integrity and shame” can be folded into the character for “integrity” (jie), and need not be repeated here.

What is called “refining the self and building the foundation” (lianji zhuji) takes “self” (ji) from Ji among the Heavenly Stems Wu and Ji—that is, Ji earth. In the Li trigram, Ji earth stands for the posterior consciousness (shishen, acquired mind). Once that consciousness stirs, it tends to chase outward. Wu earth also has a rising, dispersing quality, but its movement is light and upward; it is not a scattering outward.

“Refining the self” (lianji) means refining the posterior consciousness, like firing raw material in a furnace until it becomes a vessel. Yet to refine Ji earth you must employ Wu earth: adding Wu to Ji, using hardness to restrain softness, so Yin and Yang join and can settle without shifting. Wu earth symbolizes the original spirit (yuanshen, innate nature), which lies trapped within the Kan trigram, where original nature has turned into emotion. One must draw Wu earth out of Kan and add it to Ji earth so that Ji earth stabilizes—then one reaches the state of “the two earths forming a gui.” The “self” in “oneself” also borrows the stem Ji, meaning “I,” so “refining the self” can also be read as cultivating one’s own person.

Ji earth belongs to the acquired realm; thus “refining the self and building the foundation” means using Wu earth to refine Ji earth and lay the foundation of practice—what is called “directing flowing Wu toward Ji” (liu wu jiu ji). Only Wu earth can establish a foundation for Ji earth, hence the name “refining the self and building the foundation.”

Wu is prior-acquired, Ji is posterior-acquired. Wu earth within Kan is treated as a line of the Qian trigram. Qian symbolizes Heaven; before Heaven and Earth opened, Yin and Yang existed first, and only then were Heaven and Earth distinguished. Wu earth can generate Qian metal and is the root of Qian, so it arises before Qian. Ji earth symbolizes Kun earth: only after Heaven comes Earth; the earth within the earth belongs to the posterior realm and is generated by Kun. The text also explains Ji earth by “Li generates earth” and Wu earth by “Kan generates metal.” What generates me belongs to the prior-acquired; what I generate belongs to the posterior-acquired. In terms of the Five Phases (wuxing), what generates me is nature (xing), and what I generate is the posterior consciousness. Wu earth is what generates me; Ji earth is what I generate—the two are distinguished on that basis.

Within Li and Kan are also the fire frame of Yin-Wu-Xu and the water frame of Shen-Zi-Chen; their generating and overcoming relations are shown in the diagram. The wood frame of Hai-Mao-Wei and the metal frame of Si-You-Chou belong to Qian and Kun respectively.

The phrase “taking Wu within Kan and refining Ji within Li” means drawing the Wu Earth situated in the Kan trigram and refining the Ji Earth situated in the Li trigram, so that Wu Earth circulates and merges with Ji Earth. “Use” here means the operative function. “Taking Kan to fill Li” treats the Kan and Li trigrams as symbols of cultivation: supplementing Li from Kan so that both revert to their original nature. The text also mentions that Hai, Mao, and Wei form the Wood combination, and Si, You, and Chou form the Metal combination, and assigns these respectively to Qian and Kun.

“Returning essence to replenish the brain” is stated in a symbolic sense: it refers to transforming essence into qi and moving it upward from below. “Accumulating and refining essence” and “refining essence into qi” are spoken from the standpoint of actual practice. Here “essence” (jing) carries more than one meaning: one is post-heaven essence, the other pre-heaven essence.

Post-heaven essence is further divided into yin essence and licentious essence (yinjing). Yin essence is the refined product of grain and food after digestion in the stomach and intestines; it nourishes the body and harmonizes the protective and nutritive aspects of qi (weiqi and yingqi), so that the face has luster and the skin is moist—without it the body appears withered. Yin essence moves with the blood, and blood is propelled by qi, so it can nourish the four limbs and sustain the body.

Licentious essence is essence formed from qi transformation; originally it has no fixed form. Yin essence comes from tangible food and becomes tangible essence. Both belong to post-heaven essence and differ from pre-heaven formless essence. The “refining essence” spoken of here is not the refining of licentious essence or yin essence, but the refining of pre-heaven formless essential qi so that it becomes qi (in Daoist usage, the primordial, origin-level qi).

The author notes that people are already in a “broken-body” condition—that is, the original wholeness of the pre-heaven state has been disrupted—so to practice “refining essence into qi” one must proceed in graded stages. At the outset one should first cultivate “returning to emptiness” (huanxu), and only then enter refining essence into qi. Refining essence into qi belongs to the practice of the “nine returns and seven reversals” (jiu huan qi fan), while returning to emptiness is the preparation that must precede it.

Before undertaking cultivation, one must first practice “returning to emptiness” (huanxu)—the method of suddenly awakening to one’s original nature. If a person’s spiritual capacity is deep, practicing only huanxu may suffice, with no need for further methods. Whether one can follow this path depends entirely on the cultivator’s virtue and capacity. At the end of cultivation, one still returns to huanxu. From beginning to end, the Way of cultivation never leaves huanxu; it is both the opening and the final attainment. Whoever grasps this is close to the Great Dao.

Confucius said: “Investigate things to the utmost, fully know one’s nature, and thereby understand Heaven’s mandate.” (See the “Shuogua” commentary in the Book of Changes.) This speaks of “investigating principle to the utmost” (qiongli). Only by exhausting principle can one fully know original nature. “Principle” here means the pattern by which creation operates: how Heaven and Earth generate human beings and the myriad things, how the cosmos unfolds, how a person receives a body in the womb, how the ten thousand things ceaselessly come into being—all follow one continuous pattern from start to finish.

The same holds for people and for all things: one must first exhaust this pattern before one can know Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) and see that the myriad things all arise from the single Qi of Taiji—that primordial vital energy. Taiji in turn arises from Wuji (the Limitless); that is, Qi emerges from emptiness, and from Qi the myriad things are generated. By exhausting this pattern, one can fully know original nature. The “nature” spoken of here is empty nature. The ceaseless creating and transforming of Heaven and Earth spring from emptiness; from emptiness the ten thousand things appear, from void solid forms take shape. By investigating principle to the utmost, one understands this empty, still nature and the process by which the myriad things are born.

After death, original nature returns to the great void. Confucius said: “Not yet understanding life, how could one understand death?” (See Analects, “Xianjin”.) To understand life is also to understand death: before birth, nature dwells in the great void; after death, nature again returns to emptiness—hence the phrase “complete reception, complete return” (quanshou quangui), meaning a full return to the source. “Intermediate state” (zhongyin) refers to the phase between death and rebirth; that intermediate being too must be transformed and united with original nature and return to the heavenly realm before it can be called “complete return.” If the body carries karmic roots from wrongdoing, one cannot return to Heaven and may enter the cycle of rebirth or fall into the six paths (six destinies of samsara) to receive retribution. Only by merging with original nature can one wholly return to emptiness.

The intermediate state (zhongyin—the transitional phase between death and rebirth) also undergoes change, until it finally merges with original nature and returns to the Way of Heaven; only then can one speak of “complete return.” If roots of karmic obstruction remain, one cannot return to the Way of Heaven and may enter the cycle of rebirth or fall into the six destinies (heaven, human, asura, animal, hungry ghost, hell) to receive karmic retribution. Those obstructions must be transformed and united with original nature before one can return to the Way of Heaven—only that counts as “fully receiving and fully returning.” This line is really stating the ultimate aim that Daoist cultivators must reach.

Only by exhaustively investigating principle and thoroughly knowing original nature can one understand what one’s nature was in life and what it becomes after death. That which neither arises nor perishes is “emptiness.” When original nature and the spirit of consciousness (the mind’s awareness and mental activity) become one and return to a single point, arising and ceasing cease, and both merge into emptiness.

“Extending to ming (life-mandate)” means exhausting original nature until one penetrates heavenly mandate, with mandate fully included therein. Innate nature and mandate originally unite; only after entering the postnatal realm do they separate. Once the wholeness of the newborn state is broken, original nature turns into emotion. “Extending to” means nature and mandate become one and together return to emptiness; when nature is exhausted to the limit, ming reaches its fulfillment as well.

The sudden teaching in Buddhism begins from “returning to emptiness” (the practice of settling into empty stillness in cultivation). Carried to the utmost, one can generate being from non-being and regenerate nature and life, becoming one body with Heaven. Thus those of the highest capacity can suddenly transcend, reach complete awakening, link the spirit with Heaven and Earth, and extend life through that unity. This is the method of “gaining once, possessing forever.”

Yet this path requires the highest capacity; otherwise forcing speed may backfire, and gradual step-by-step cultivation may be better. Most people must pass through golden elixir (jindan), great elixir (dadan), and further stages of spirit departure and return to emptiness. Sudden cultivation is like the Buddhist saying “awakening in a single morning, penetrating earth and heaven”—also “transcending in one leap,” in the same spirit as “hear the Dao in the morning, die content in the evening” in the Analects (Liren). Such work is not easy; long sustained practice is needed before it is achieved. When “one emptiness” is reached, every aspect of cultivation is complete—matching what the Wuzhen Pian (Understanding Reality) says: “Within one double-hour the elixir is complete.”

Master Zhu’s “in an instant” is what Daoist scriptures call “immediate ascension in an instant,” termed the Divine Elixir (shen dan). Here “spirit” (shen) means one’s own Yuan Shen (original spirit—the person’s root spiritual nature); when the yuan shen becomes agile and rises, that is called the elixir complete. Chen Niwang said: “In only a moment’s work, one can forever enjoy boundless ease and joy.” He was speaking of this.

“Returning to emptiness” (huan xu) means returning to emptiness—that is, returning to Kun (the Kun hexagram in the Yijing, which symbolizes earth and quiet emptiness). Kun is the root of empty, formless being, yet can circulate through the six voids (the four directions plus heaven and earth). Kun lies in the southwest; the Kun hexagram says “in the southwest one gains companions” (xinan de peng)—here the sense is generating being from non-being: true emptiness does not obstruct subtle existence; within emptiness all things can still arise.

“Companions” (peng) means kindred of the same sort. The Commentary on the Qian Hexagram (Qian wenyan) says: “Same tone responds mutually; same qi seeks each other. Water flows toward low, damp places; fire tends toward dry ones. Clouds rise with dragons; wind follows tigers. When a sage appears, the myriad things manifest.” This shows that kindred things mutually resonate. “In the southwest one gains companions” symbolizes precisely this mutual influence.

When stillness and emptiness reach the extreme, that is Kun’s function; when stillness reaches the extreme and movement arises, light appears in the empty silent chamber—that is Kun’s response after being stimulated. The Gen hexagram is opposite to Kun, so the Kun hexagram says “in the northeast one loses companions” (dongbei sang peng). Gen symbolizes the mountain—solid earth with form—hence it is called “form mountain” (xing shan); Daoist texts use it as a metaphor for the “physical body” (se shen, the flesh body). This differs from the formless earth that Kun symbolizes. Gen occupies the northeast and cannot embrace the myriad things like empty space, hence “losing companions.”

The southwest symbolizes empty space; only empty space can embrace and generate the myriad things, and through it they receive nurture. Therefore the Wuzhen pian (Awakening to Reality) says: “The medicine produced in the southwest is one’s native place.” Kun lies in the southwest; as a whole it presents pure yin imagery and also symbolizes the great void. Cultivators begin from here; the six lines of the Kun hexagram are all empty—precisely the emblem of “returning to emptiness.”

From this, step by step, the yang lines gradually increase until one returns to Qian: the first single yang is Fu (Earth over Thunder); two yang lines give Lin (Earth over Lake); three yang lines give Tai (Heaven over Earth); four yang lines give Da Zhuang (Thunder over Heaven); five yang lines give Guai (Lake over Heaven); when all six yang lines are present, one has Qian. The Kun hexagram is purely yin, an image of emptiness and void. From that void a single yang arises, then two yang lines, then three, until with six yang lines one completes Qian and restores the original state of pure yang.

The work of cultivating the Dao begins with the Lu hexagram. Lu means to tread, to walk the path in practice—hence the saying “De is the root.” Guai (Lake over Heaven) symbolizes “treading in virtue” and also symbolizes the qi that makes all things grow. Here “De” carries the sense of receiving and bestowing: when the ten thousand things receive the qi of growth, that is called De—the qi of “Kun yuan zi sheng” (Kun’s primal virtue giving birth). This differs from “Qian yuan zi shi” (Qian’s primal virtue initiating): the latter is the congenital authentic yang qi, the single qi of the pre-heaven Taiji. Its substance is empty, still, and nameless; one can only provisionally call it Dao.

What is ordinarily called De is the qi by which the ten thousand things grow—belonging to post-heaven qi. Mingde (bright virtue) refers to the congenital authentic yang qi. Mingde is the single qi formed when yin and yang unite and firmness and yielding balance each other. The De spoken of here is relative to Dao.

“Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao”: the true Dao is nameless, formless, and imageless; its substance is true emptiness. Calling it Dao is borrowing a name. Dao also means to guide—to lead the ten thousand things each according to its principle, so that life may be fully generated and return to completion. This is the Dao of “the nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth”—the root before Heaven and Earth had differentiated. De has a name; it is “the named is the mother of the ten thousand things.” Mingde encompasses both Dao and De. What follows explains in detail.

The Daxue says: “The way of great learning lies in making bright virtue manifest.” The first “ming” (bright) is a verb meaning to make it shine forth; the second “ming” is an adjective referring to bright virtue. The “bright virtue” (mingde) spoken of here means first to recognize innate primordial Qi—the Taiyi-contained true Qi, the primordial ancestor Qi (the fundamental vital energy from which the cosmos generates the myriad things).

“Great learning” is the learning of the “great person.” Daoists call such a person a zhenren (true person); Buddhists call them a bodhisattva; Confucians call them a daren (great person). The Yijing, Qian wenyan, says that the great person’s virtue accords with Heaven and Earth and their brightness accords with sun and moon; it also says their ordering accords with the four seasons and their fortune and misfortune accord with what spirits reveal—they act before Heaven’s seasons yet Heaven’s way does not oppose them, and they follow Heaven’s seasons yet uphold Heaven’s way. The text holds that the “bright virtue” of the Daxue connects directly with these sayings.

Heaven and Earth and sun and moon all embody Yin-Yang. Yin and Yang unite as Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); Taiji is originally empty—that is “the One”—and this one body also has wondrous efficacy. Yin and Yang are called the Two Modes (liangyi); when the Two Modes unite as one, the one Qi shared by all things in Heaven and Earth is produced. When Liu Zhitang annotated the Daxue, he called this Qi “the principle-Qi within Taiji”; the text holds that it is the primordial ancestor Qi that generates and transforms the myriad things. Taiji is originally still and empty; in movement it gives rise to yang Qi, the ancestor Qi arises from this, and Heaven and Earth thereby gain their foundation.

Therefore the sage takes the ceaselessly generating Qi as De (Virtue/Power), and names the root ancestor Qi of this generating Qi “bright virtue.” The so-called great person is one who possesses this “bright virtue.” “Acting before Heaven yet Heaven does not oppose; following Heaven yet upholding Heaven’s seasons”—the text explains: this Qi exists before Heaven and Earth; after Heaven and Earth separate, it again generates the myriad things, issuing forth as the right moment arrives and responding to what things need—hence Heaven’s way does not oppose it and it follows Heaven’s seasons.

The text holds that these two lines already make the meaning of “bright virtue” clear; Song Neo-Confucians explained only from the literal surface and did not recognize that it has a real foundational basis, and so the meaning of the great Dao gradually grew obscure.

The path of cultivating oneself to become a “great person” (one of lofty virtue and attainment) begins with understanding how Yin and Yang transform and how the myriad things come to be. This root principle has no form or image, no sound or taste, yet it is vast and firm—empty yet real, holding marvelous efficacy within true emptiness. It generates the myriad things without dividing itself in two; its power to nurture all life is unfathomable. The scripture names this fundamental clear awareness “Mingde” (the bright, virtuous nature within), and says it is the sovereign of all things in the cosmos.

Once this is understood, one can gather the many changes back to the root, return from the broad to the simple, and revert to one’s own empty, still, and luminous nature. That emptiness and luminosity is the substance of Mingde. This is what it means to exhaust principle and know one’s true nature.

“Illuminating inherent virtue” (ming ming de) concerns zhi (knowing): recognizing and making manifest the bright moral nature one already possesses. “Being close to the people” (qin min) concerns neng (ability): carrying that recognition into practice. “Resting in the highest good” (zhi yu zhi shan) is the unity of knowing and doing—the first step in cultivating the Great Dao. These three phrases alone already encompass the highest method of Daoist cultivation. What the Confucian school transmitted is no more than this; it is the “doctrine of the single thread.”

Here, in “being close to the people,” the word qin means to draw near and to be in affinity; it need not be read as xin (“renew”). The ancients held that self-cultivation and governing the state follow one principle. “When poor, keep to oneself in integrity” is the way of refining the person and practicing the path of the great person; “when prosperous, benefit all” is the way of aiding the multitude and becoming a sage-king. Therefore sages of the Three Teachings all liken the heart-mind to the ruler and the body to the people. The Daodejing and the Susshu (here understood as Confucius’s book, i.e., the Analects) express the same idea. What “being close to the people” means is that the heart-mind, as ruler, draws close to the qi of the people within the body.

“Ruler” refers to sovereign fire—that is, the heart-spirit (shen); “people” refers to popular fire—that is, the body’s qi. There is also “minister fire,” also called “subject fire,” meaning the fire of the Triple Burner. The cultivator pairs spirit with the Li trigram (symbolizing fire), which belongs to Qian: lofty, great, above, and also symbolizing ruler, husband, sun, crow, and dragon. One pairs qi with the Kan trigram (symbolizing water), which belongs to Kun: lowly, below, and also symbolizing the people, wife, moon, rabbit, and tiger. “Being close to the people” (zai qin min) means the noble draws near to the lowly, the upper joins with the lower—sun and moon unite, dragon and tiger meet, crow and rabbit respond, man and woman come together; in practice it means spirit and qi unite. Spirit is the master of the body and is by nature the most exalted in rank.

When Qi sinks into the Kan position (Kan in the Bagua is often linked with kidney water and the lower region), it naturally occupies a lower place; hence the word “qin” (intimacy/closeness) here—the crux of practice is Shen and Qi merging, heart and breath relying on each other. The “xin min” (renewing the people) mentioned later means that original Qi is nourished until it grows daily fuller, as if the body of childhood were reviving; that sense differs from what is meant here. Zhu Xi, because the later passage has the character “xin” (new), suspected this line should also read “xin”—a misunderstanding.

This line is a mnemonic of the Way: “Originally the Great Dao has few intricate matters; it all lies in concentrating the heart-mind so that it enters the Qixue (the locus where inner essence is refined).” Day by day nurturing through concentrating Shen and uniting Qi, one naturally becomes a person of Mingde (bright virtue).

“Minhuo” (the people’s fire) refers to the fire of true yang in the Mingmen (Gate of Life—the locus tied to the root of life in traditional medicine and Daoism). It originally belongs to innate nature and is one with Shen; in the postnatal state it turns into emotion, and is therefore called “minhuo.” Daoist texts say: “They issue from the same source under different names—few know this.” The Laozi says: “They issue from the same source yet have different names; both are called xuan (mystery). Xuan upon xuan is the gateway of all wonders.” Junhuo (sovereign fire) is one “xuan,” minhuo another “xuan”; when the two unite, myriad subtle functions arise—hence “the gateway of all wonders.”

The ancients took the Dao as that which embraces all under heaven; when those who possessed the Dao were honored, they were called “jun” (ruler). Junhuo and minhuo share one source; only after postnatal form appears do distinctions of ruler and people, above and below, arise. For the physical body, minhuo is the root that sustains life; the people are the root of the state—when the root is firm, the state is at peace. Sayings such as “the ruler is light, the people are weighty” (Mencius, “Jinxin xia”) all carry the sense of drawing close to the people; they also speak of moving from cultivation of the Way to recognizing the root of life.

The phrase “resting in the highest good” (zhi yu zhi shan) concerns the initial effort in cultivating the Dao. “Rest” (zhi) is the “rest” in “rest and contemplation” (zhiguan)—the practice of settling and focusing the mind—and is most crucial; “the highest good” corresponds to what Daoists call “subtle wonder” (miao). When mind and breath are mutually attuned, that is the “highest good” meant here. Ordinary “good” is defined in contrast to evil; at the level of the highest good, there is no division of good and evil, no oppositional thinking. Such a state cannot be put into words: Daoists call it “subtle wonder,” Confucians “the highest good,” and Buddhists “the ineffable.” In other words, the seven emotions do not arise, the six consciousnesses are empty and still, until one reaches a mind without mind and intention without intention. The book Methods of Planting Plum (Zhong Mei Xinfa) describes this ineffable realm by analogy in a way that fits very well.

“Resting in the highest good” means letting mind, breath, spirit (Shen), and Qi (vital energy) accord with the realm of the highest good and there rest thoughts and nourish spirit. Where is this realm? What is “the highest good”? The Doctrine of the Mean says: “Yan Hui, as a person, grasped one good and kept it firmly in his heart, never letting it go.” Here “one good” also carries the sense of “the highest good”; once grasped, one must hold it without loss. “Wear it on the breast” (fu ying) is more flexible than the word “guard.” “Ying” refers to the mysterious breast (xuan ying)—the subtle place in the body spoken of in Daoism; what the heart remembers with full devotion is the place of the highest good, namely the gate of the mysterious female (xuan pin)—the portal of life’s origin in Daoist teaching.

Therefore one must make the mind as still as calm water. Buddhists call the related method “rest and contemplation” or “dual practice”; Confucians call it “knowing where to rest”; Daoists speak of “contemplating the subtle,” “contemplating the aperture,” or “contemplating the subtle aperture”—all close in meaning to “knowing where to rest.” The work of “dual rest and contemplation” connects with the work of “returning to emptiness” (huan xu), bringing spirit back to quiet void. The Great Learning explains: “Knowing where to rest, the mind can be settled; once settled it can be quiet; once quiet it can be at peace; once at peace one can reflect; through reflection one gains.” All of this describes the firing process (huohou)—the art of adjusting the pace and measure of practice.

The “place of supreme goodness” is the “gate of the mysterious female” (xuanpin zhi men—the pass in Daoist practice through which vital life arises and flows), also called the “gate of Dao and righteousness.” “Dao” here means the primordial origin when emptiness and stillness had no name and heaven, earth, and the myriad things had not yet appeared. “Righteousness” (yi) refers to qi—the haoran qi (vast, upright breath) accumulated through righteous conduct, that is, supreme Yang qi. Thus the supreme Yang qi meant by the “gate of Dao and righteousness” connects with what Daoist texts call “gold within water.”

The “gate of manifold wonders” is the “realm of supreme goodness.” “Realm” here means the state of mind, unlike “place,” which refers to the bodily pass. “Resting in supreme goodness” means settling the heart in that supreme mental realm—resting the mind in emptiness and stillness. Such “emptiness” is not dead, blank void, but true emptiness that holds subtle being. The Buddhist saying “true emptiness does not obstruct subtle being, and subtle being does not obstruct true emptiness” aptly describes this state.

When intention is unified and undistracted, a cloud of condensed qi gathers within and does not disperse, and no stray thoughts arise—this is the realm of supreme goodness, the condition in which true emptiness and subtle being coexist without hindering each other. When the cultivator’s heart reaches this point, one has entered the “gate of manifold wonders.” This is not achievable at the very start of practice; one must first pass through “returning to emptiness” (huanxu—bringing spirit and heart back to empty stillness) until true intention appears, and only then can one arrive.

To have no rising thought yet keep intention from scattering seems hard to combine. The scripture explains: when the “living zi hour” (huo zi shi—the moment in neidan when Yang qi stirs) reaches the pass in front, upright qi condenses and does not disperse, the heart still holds no clutter, and one dwells in muddy dimness between being and non-being. Then only pure, unified true intention remains, able to discern the firing process (huohou); everything else is unknown. When the “living wu hour” (huo wu shi—the phase when Yang qi runs further in practice) arrives, awareness comes naturally. As for “the four greats are all empty,” that easily leads one into dead void with nothing at all.

The moment a thought stirs, it shows that in daily life one is still attached to outer appearances. Only when one neither clings to appearances nor falls into empty nihilism can one reach the state where thoughts do not arise and the mind does not scatter; that is the gateway to every subtle mystery and the highest good.

The highest good is the “Gate of the Mysterious Female” (Xuanpin zhi men). “Mysterious” (xuan) means unfathomably subtle; “female” (pin) means vast and boundless emptiness. The mysterious belongs to yang and stands for subtle being; the female belongs to yin and stands for genuine void. Subtle being arises from true void; when yang reaches its extreme it returns to void, and when yin reaches its extreme subtle being appears again. Thus “subtle being” and “true void” transform into each other—both are meanings of xuanpin. It is precisely because the void is vast and without limit that unfathomable change can be born from it.

Bai Yuchan said: “Boundless empty void is the mysterious aperture; knowing it yet not clinging to it is the work.” That is, the mysterious aperture is like boundless void; though the cultivator can be aware of it, they do not insist on “holding” it. This is the work that lets the “medicinal ingredients” (jing, qi, and other foundations of internal alchemy) arise within the mysterious aperture.

The Great Void (taixu) is vast and without shore, yet it must not be grasped and held. The Laozi says: “The valley spirit does not die; this is called the mysterious female. The gate of the mysterious female is called the root of heaven and earth.” Only the wondrous functioning contained in empty, still, and luminous void is what never perishes; “valley spirit” (gu shen) is the subtle function within emptiness. Between heaven and earth there seems to be a gate through which one can connect with the void. Every kind of portal sits at a central pass—hence “gate of the valley spirit.” This gate can gather the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind), so it is also called the “root of heaven and earth.”

Exhaling connects with the heavenly root; inhaling connects with the earthly root. Breath enters and leaves through mouth and nose; ordinarily it is hard to see, but in cold winter one can see the exhaled breath. Mouth and nose breathe in and out like heaven and earth issuing and receiving; where exhalation and inhalation meet is like a crossroads—that is the root of heaven and earth. The natural gate of the mysterious female is right here. When spirit and breath rely on each other, breath naturally converges at this point.

The Qi (Treatise on Accord) says: “Square and round, large and small, are as one inch; they merge as one whole and link to one another.” This speaks of the two meeting within the space of a single inch. Nourishing the heart with the utmost goodness, and placing the heart in the “Mysterious Female Gate” (the Daoist locus of generation and transformation, and in practice the inner pivotal point of cultivation), means settling the heart in utmost goodness.

This can be understood on two levels: first let the heart return to emptiness and stillness, then settle it in the place of utmost goodness. What is called “knowing” is the realm with which the heart accords; what is called “stopping” is the place where it rests. Empty the heart and let it rest in utmost goodness; only then can one reach “concentration” (ding). “Concentration” is stability in “the One”; “the One” is “one goodness.” Once obtained, if one does not lose it, one will naturally pass through the stages of cultivation: stillness, peace, reflection, and attainment. The whole process should follow what is natural; there is no need for deliberate contrivance.

Lecture Eight: The practice of the Great Learning and the nature-and-principle teaching of the Doctrine of the Mean.

After cultivation reaches “concentration,” the timing and inner progress of stillness, peace, reflection, and attainment will naturally appear. All of this should be utterly natural, without intentional effort.

Lecture Eight: The practice of the Great Learning and the nature-and-principle teaching of the Doctrine of the Mean.

The firing phases explained in detail: reflection, peace, stillness, and stopping.

Previously the doctrine of the Five Phases was explained: the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches are each classified under the Five Phases; the phases cycle in succession, alternate with one another, and when finished begin again. The pre-heaven Five Phases belong to qi-transformation, each with its own distinct nature; the post-heaven Five Phases belong to form-transformation—when form takes shape, the qi of the Five Phases is already complete, and thus the various bodily forms arise. In this way, within each single phase the action of all five phases is contained; the elixir path also adopts this principle.

Viewed from the method of stem-and-branch najia (assigning the Heavenly Stems to the eight trigrams, branches, and related systems), the Five Phases are in reality one phase, and one phase also contains all five. The related diagram is as follows:

Wood is gestated at you, and at the water position hai it first enters “long life.” The inner and outer trigrams of Zhen (☳) both belong to wood; wood takes metal as its womb, so Zhen is paired with geng metal and Xun (☴) with xin metal. Although metal overcomes wood, wood also takes metal as its womb—this shows that mutual overcoming can likewise become a condition for generation and transformation. Metal generates water, and water is where wood’s “long life” lies; what is called “long life” is the stage at which wood first conceives and forms its fetal qi.

Metal (here, Metal as one of the Five Phases) receives its embryo at the mao position and reaches long life at si; hence the phrase “golden lotus in fire”—the idea that Metal is formed and nurtured within Fire. Ding Fire combines with Ji Earth to produce Metal, and the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month is when Metal qi is at its peak.

Metal reaches extinction at yin and begins to receive its embryo again at mao, which shows how the Five Phases interpenetrate: Metal holds Wood, Fire, and Earth, and Wood in turn holds Metal, Water, and Earth. Qian and Dui are names among the Eight Trigrams (Bagua). In the Najia method (assigning the Heavenly Stems to the trigrams), Qian is Metal and takes Jia and Ren—Jia being associated with mao Wood—while Dui is Metal and takes Ding. Metal’s long life at si is because si contains Ding Fire and Ji Earth.

Earth has the four branches Chen, Xu, Chou, and Wei, each standing for the earth phase at the turn of a season. Earth corresponds to the Kun and Gen trigrams and can nourish the ten thousand things. The Guizang Yi takes the Kun trigram as its first hexagram; the Lianshan Yi takes Gen. Gen carries the sense of knowing when to stop and of settling; Kun carries the sense of bearing the ten thousand things and of both beginning and completing them. Thus Guizang begins with Kun, in the same spirit as the Zhou Yi taking Qian and Kun as its framework.

Chen and Chou represent beginnings; Xu and Wei represent endings. The earth phase flows without ceasing, embracing and carrying the Five Phases, so it is never cut off. The Kun trigram receives the two stems Yi and Gui: Yi belongs to Wood and symbolizes the generative qi of endless growth; Gui is the last of the ten stems and symbolizes storage and gathering. Kun’s receiving of Yi and Gui takes exactly the meaning of generation and storage. This shows that the Five Phases turn in cycles without interruption.

Below, Kan and Li illustrate the point. Li belongs to Fire: fire is conceived in the zi month, grows in the yin position, flourishes in the wu position, and enters storage in the xu position. Both yin and xu hide ji earth within them, so the Li trigram receives ji. Kan belongs to Water: water is conceived in the wu month, grows in the shen position, flourishes in the zi position, and enters storage in the chen position. Chen is wu earth, and shen also hides wu earth within it, so the Kan trigram receives wu. Li receiving ji and Kan receiving wu follow from this.

The ji within Li symbolizes the light of the sun. The ancients said that in the sun there is the golden crow (jīnwū), corresponding to the metal of you. You metal is conceived in mao wood; mao is the “bathing” position of fire. Metal is hidden within wood, and metal is in turn regarded as the source of fire, so the golden crow is said to dwell within the sun, while mao corresponds to the bathing phase.

The wu within Kan symbolizes the refined essence in the moon. The ancients said that in the moon there is the jade rabbit, corresponding to mao wood. Mao wood is conceived in you metal; you is the “bathing” position of water. Wood is hidden within metal, and wood is in turn regarded as the source of water, so the jade rabbit is said to dwell within the moon, while you corresponds to the bathing phase.

Looking at water, fire, wood, and metal, each has a place where it is conceived and a place where it dies away: wood is conceived at you and dies at shen; water at wu and dies at si; metal at mao and dies at yin; fire at zi and dies at hai. Each of the Five Phases begins to generate in one position and also declines in the corresponding phase of its cycle—from this one can see the principle of cyclical change. Earth has no “death” position; what is meant here by “earth emptiness” is that earth can return to empty stillness, and is therefore held to be neither born nor destroyed.

From this one can also see that the heavenly stems and earthly branches are linked to one another: zi hides gui water, wu hides bing fire, si hides ding fire, and hai hides ren water and wu earth. The phases of the branches hide the phases of the stems within them; only by grasping this can one see how the two correspond. If one does not examine stems and branches together, the rationale of na jia is not easy to understand.

Among the Five Phases (Water, Fire, Wood, Metal, and Earth), Water is the beginning and Metal is the end; yet Metal can also give rise to Water, so the cycle closes and begins again—this is called the forward course. Earth occupies the center: “five” collapses into “one,” so Water holds Metal within it, Metal holds Fire, Fire holds Wood, and Wood holds Water—this describes the reverse transformation.

The forward course is the shift from pre-heaven to post-heaven; the reverse course is the return from post-heaven to pre-heaven. Speaking in terms of forward and reverse, pre-heaven belongs to Yang and post-heaven to Yin; speaking in terms of differentiation, each of the Five Phases has its own Yin and Yang, and within each phase Yin and Yang are again distinguished—as in the Hetu (River Chart) tradition, where even numbers are Yin and odd numbers Yang.

Although Neidan (internal alchemy) uses the Five Phases to explain change, the Five Phases are only a symbolic language; what is actually applied is Yin and Yang. The Xici Shang (Great Treatise, upper section) of the Yijing (Book of Changes) says: “One Yin and one Yang—this is called the Dao.” In truth, Yin and Yang are also symbols for explaining principle; in the end they point to emptiness—that is, the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). The “three, five, and one” mentioned earlier mean the same thing.

The term “mysterious female” (xuannu): xuan stands for Heaven, yang, and being; pin stands for Earth, yin, and non-being. The nature of qian metal that receives Heaven’s mandate is called “xuan”; the nature of kun earth that rests in the post-heaven realm and serves as the root of the pre-heaven is called “pin.” When they separate, they are Heaven and Earth, qian and kun; when they unite, they become primordial chaos. The gate of the mysterious female is the gate of chaos: qian and kun meet here, yin and yang intersect here, and chaos is formed. This place of chaos is also called the “supreme good.”

The first step in practice lies in “knowing where to stop.” Here “knowing” means clear awareness; “knowing where to stop” means settling the mind in that place with a pure, tranquil heart. One must also grasp huohou—the measure and timing of cultivation. This “stopping” is only a faint, subtle knowing; one must not fixate on thoughts of being or non-being.

Zhuangzi says: “Let the mind wander in simplicity, unite the qi with the vast emptiness.” That is, let the spirit-mind roam in a state of plainness and freedom from craving, and merge the qi with the boundless, silent void. “Simplicity” (dan) symbolizes the place where water and fire meet—the inner small void joining the great void; both “simplicity” and “vast emptiness” (mo) refer to a realm without limit. One should let the spirit-mind wander there and unite the qi with it. The author holds that this line explains the principle of “returning to emptiness,” which is the meaning of “knowing where to stop.” “Supreme good” and “plainness and freedom from desire” point to the same realm.

What Great Learning says—“When you know where to stop, then there is stability; with stability comes stillness; with stillness comes ease; with ease comes deliberation; with deliberation comes attainment”—describes precisely the stages of practice that stop at supreme good, that is, the method of grasping huohou. The author considers that these sentences already summarize the work of the Way from beginning to completion. “Knowing where to stop” means relying on the luminous clarity of innate knowing to settle the mind in the realm of supreme good.

The alchemical work between innate moral awareness (liangzhi—the moral discernment people are born with) and supreme goodness is precisely what the sage’s school transmits as the essentials of mind-dharma. This section lays out the stages of cultivation in detail; from beginning to completion, the work is contained in these few lines.

“Knowing where to stop” (zhizhi) means relying on the spirit-perception of liangzhi to rest in supreme goodness. Liangzhi originally arises from awareness. In ordinary people after birth, when awareness stirs, it becomes liangzhi—but that awareness is often only ordinary perception, not yet spirit-perception.

Spirit-perception is “awareness without deliberate awareness”: natural and spontaneous, without the slightest subjective intent, elusive and hard to pin down, without clear, discriminating thoughts. It is still and unmoving, yet responsive as things arise; empty, quiet, and luminous, round and clear—without knowing how, it is simply so. Ordinary perception is when awareness stirs and there is definite knowing. In ordinary people, the spirit of consciousness (shishen—the aspect of mind ruled by knowledge and mental activity) holds sway; the heart discriminates and calculates, so awareness is not sharp enough—once it moves, it easily falls into intentional perception. Compared, spirit-perception is subtler; ordinary perception is heavier. Spirit-perception is wholly natural; ordinary perception is mixed with intellectual knowing.

At the start of cultivation, the heart is not yet clear and nature is not yet manifest. If one can nurture and apply well, keeping the subtle awareness of liangzhi from flowing into intellectual discrimination, that counts as sincerity (cheng). If the mind is still as chaotic as on ordinary days—awareness barely stirs and conscious thought already intervenes—even the lightest perception is hard to hold, let alone guarding liangzhi. Hence one must approach this through repeated practice. “Refining the self” (lianji) means cultivating one’s own heart-nature; it is crucial. When practice is mature, interference from conscious thought naturally weakens and liangzhi is restored. The work of knowing where to stop lies here.

To “know where to stop” (zhī zhǐ) is to let the mind abide in innate knowing—that original clear awareness and power of discernment—and, through that innate knowing, to let the mind rest in the utmost good. “Stopping” means the mind no longer chases after every thought, and knowing no longer falls into discriminating consciousness. Only this innate knowing, free of stray thoughts and free of discrimination, is the pure mind: it does not cling to the four marks (self, others, sentient beings, and lifespan), nor is it pulled by the six sense objects—form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects. This is also what it means to “let the mind wander in plainness”—to let the heart dwell in a state of quiet simplicity without grasping.

With such innate knowing, one “unites qi with the vast emptiness.” “Vast emptiness” refers to voidness itself—the realm of utmost good and the Gate of the Mysterious Female (xuán pìn zhī mén), the root of generation in Daoist teaching, the realm of quiet and stillness. To abide here is for spirit and qi to merge and for heart and breath to rely on each other—in other words, to hold the center and embrace unity (shǒu zhōng bào yī), to refine the self and return to emptiness (liàn jǐ huán xū). This is the entry-level work of cultivation.

The “Appended Remarks” to the Book of Changes says: “To complete one’s nature and keep it ever present—this is the gate that leads to Dao and righteousness.” When the mind wanders in plainness, that is Dao; when qi merges with quiet emptiness, that is righteousness (yì). Mencius says in “Gongsun Chou” (Part One): “When righteousness is accumulated, the flood-like qi is born; it is utmost in greatness and firmness, filling heaven and earth.” Is not “heaven and earth” here Dao itself? Is not “born from accumulating righteousness” righteousness itself? Thus the gate of Dao and righteousness is none other than the Gate of the Mysterious Female.

“Nature” (xìng) here means the nature as it has already come forth into manifestation. To keep that nature ever present, it must be made to abide in the “gate of Dao and righteousness.” That is also to rely on innate knowing and return to the state of spirit and clear awareness.

“Knowing where to stop at supreme goodness” means understanding where the mind-spirit should dwell at rest, thereby receiving the heart-method transmitted in the sage’s lineage; yet this still does not spell out in detail the subtle shifts in the firing process (huohou) of cultivation. After that, one follows the heart-method and applies effort to “refining the self and returning to emptiness” (lianji huanxu)—tempering body and mind until they settle into empty stillness. When spirit (Shen) and qi (vital energy) depend on each other, that state is called “fixity” (ding).

“Fixity” means settling in “the One.” “The One” is the root of supreme goodness; it is also called the “Gate of the Mysterious Female” (Xuanpin zhi men)—the generative source in Daoist teaching. It is the origin from which the myriad things return to non-duality and life’s transformations cannot be fathomed: Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the center, and true emptiness. The very first effort in practice is to settle in that true emptiness. Daoism calls this “cultivating fixity” (xiu ding); Buddhism calls it “entering absorption” (ru ding)—both refer to the same thing. Hence it is said: “Only after knowing where to dwell can the heart-mind become settled.”

One who can settle the mind—even if only for a moment—may be said to have achieved ding (concentration or stabilization); even a single instant counts as ding. Yet ding can be held only briefly and is hard to sustain; it reaches a temporary calm but not depth or breadth, so one still cannot grasp the natural law of change in body and mind. One must go further from ding into jing (tranquility or stillness).

Jing means that body and mind are both clear and pure; it is the state one first seeks in practice of huanxu (returning to emptiness and stillness). Compared with ding, jing can last longer and reach a wider scope, opening and enlarging one’s capacity. Sitting upright without reckless action is called jing; inner stability and peace are also called jing. Forgetting self, others, the body, and external things is jing; not guessing at what is not there, not forcing, not clinging, not centering on the ego—these too are jing.

When the four great elements of the body (earth, water, fire, and wind) do not stir, the body is still; when the six gates (the pathways of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) do not open outward, the heart-mind is still; when the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire) do not arise, intention is still; when the heart-mind does not move, shen (spirit) is still; when the body does not move, qi (vital energy) is still; when intention does not move, jing (essence) is still. Jing is like water at rest without ripples, or a mirror set in place, naturally bright.

A cultivation verse says: body and mind are pure, spirit and qi harmonize and unite, and consciousness is dim, deep, and quiet—so much so that one no longer feels heaven above or earth below, nor that one has a body or that the Dao is within the body. This is called xuji jingdu (emptiness pushed to the utmost, stillness to the depths). At this stage in practice, the “first yang” (the sign in neidan internal alchemy when yang qi first stirs) is about to transform.

But when beginners move from ding into jing, they must at first rely on effort and cannot yet attain natural, luminous awareness. Therefore the four words xuji jingdu are not easy to fulfill in truth. One only holds still longer than at the first entry into ding, and wandering thoughts can be stilled for a time—for example, in ding one might go a quarter of an hour without a thought, and in jing perhaps an hour. In ding, body and mind cannot yet be fully forgotten; in the state of jing one can cultivate until thoughts no longer arise. Hence it is said: “After ding, one can reach jing.”

What is meant by “only after stillness can one be at peace” is that one must first bring body and mind to quiet clarity before the natural spiritual awareness can arise—that is, the complete, luminous spiritual knowing inherent in human beings. The spiritual awareness spoken of here stems from the Yuanshen (Original Spirit) that manifests from one’s ancestral nature: outwardly it seems formless and traceless, yet inwardly it is empty, bright, and clear; first there is true emptiness, and then a subtle presence appears.

Buddhists call it “right awakening buddha-nature” or the “wondrous mind of complete awakening”; Confucians call it the “Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) mind of the Way” or the “heart of Heaven and Earth”; Daoists call it “spiritual-awareness Yuanshen” or “spiritually luminous true nature.” Sages of all three traditions describe it with “centrality” (zhong) and “unity” (yi). When Daoist texts speak of “within centrality there is unity, and within unity there is centrality,” they mean precisely this.

Zisi named this “attaining centrality and harmony” (the cultivated state in the Doctrine of the Mean from the Book of Rites): when “ utterly unmoved,” that is “centrality”; when “responsive and penetrating,” that is “harmony.” Before thoughts stir, one can hold the central; once they stir, one can accord with harmony. Lose this “centrality,” and when thoughts arise they will hardly harmonize.

This happens naturally—it does not require deliberate control by ordinary mind; instead the spiritual awareness presides invisibly on its own. In practice, the timing of the work (the grasp of advance, retreat, stillness, and activity in cultivation) is entirely regulated by the spiritual awareness: when it is time to proceed, one proceeds; when it is time to stop, one stops. Nor is that all: the movement and stillness of original Qi (vital energy) follow the spiritual awareness, and the generation and transformation of original Jing (essence) are also governed by it. Original Qi and original Jing naturally depend on each other, harmonize, gather, and are gathered—without needing human effort to sustain them. Hence Laozi says “the Dao follows nature,” and the Wuzhen (Awakening to Reality) says “there is a natural true fire-phase of its own—no need for charcoal or bellows.”

Then how does spiritual awareness arise? One must first cleanse the human mind thoroughly; yet…

Spirit awareness (the clear, awakened perception that naturally arises in cultivation)—how does it come about? One must first fully shed the mundane human mind, dispel outward desires and distracting thoughts, so that the heart holds no stray ideas and reaches utmost sincerity, single-minded focus, and quiet stillness—pure emptiness and clarity, no longer clinging to self, others, the myriad things, or bodily form. Only then does spirit awareness arise on its own. Daoist texts also call it “true intent (Zhenyi)”—mind intent that is focused and unwavering.

When true intent stirs, that is “subtle being (miaoyou)”; when true intent is still, that is “true emptiness (zhenkong).” It is one with the Great Void (taixu), and when it acts, it connects with Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate); hence it is called “prior to Heaven (xiantian).”

When spirit awareness first begins to stir, it belongs to the atmosphere of the prior-to-Heaven—undifferentiated and whole, with nothing impure within; it is also called “primordial spirit in chaos,” “right equal enlightenment,” and “prior to Heaven, Heaven does not go against it” (xian tian er tian fu wei—acting in accord with the prior-to-Heaven Way so that Heaven itself does not oppose you). Once spirit awareness has stirred, it governs Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), adjusts the fire phases (the pacing and rhythm of practice), lets one forget bodily form, and naturally merges with the Dao—with no post-Heaven discriminative thoughts; it is also called “wondrous mind of perfect enlightenment,” “luminous spirit,” and “after Heaven, honoring Heaven’s timing” (hou tian er feng tian shi— in post-Heaven cultivation, following the seasons and timing of the Way). Reaching this state is called “tranquility (an).”

“At ease” means being secure and at ease in oneself, as Emperor Yao meant by “at ease, at ease.” Confucius said that some people practice because it comes naturally to them, some because they see it as beneficial, and some only by forcing themselves; he also said that some understand from birth, some through learning, and some only after encountering things and then studying.

When one first sets out to cultivate, one should let go of various attachments, put aside the “discriminating mind” (the everyday mind of distinction and deliberation), and let the heart rest in stillness and clarity, so that the innate knowing of one’s own nature may appear; then, with that knowing, keep the heart steadfast in the way and its integrity. Yet at the beginning, resting in this way mostly depends on forced effort. Forcing the heart to stay in empty stillness and quiet lasts only briefly; in no time the discriminating mind rises again, the heart is no longer clear, and innate knowing likewise sinks from view; the body grows stiff and constrained, the breath cannot settle, and the state of empty openness is lost. Therefore this kind of stillness can be reached only for a while and is hard to sustain.

One must practice every day without stopping even when it is difficult, so that the work gradually deepens. At first one may hold stillness for only a minute; after a few days, two minutes; then slowly five minutes, ten minutes. Day by day, when body and heart both reach quiet, this is “practicing because one sees it as beneficial,” also “understanding through learning,” and it matches the sequence of “first settle the heart, then one can be clear and still.”

Even so, at this stage the body is quiet but not yet deeply so; the inner mind is empty and still but not yet at the utmost. Even if one can be still for a stretch, that stillness still relies on deliberately stopping stray thoughts—it is only gathering the discriminating mind into one point and turning wayward intent into sincerity, not yet reaching utmost sincerity, and the spontaneous illumination of spirit has not yet been restored. One must go on refining the heart in this way at every moment and in every situation—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—bringing body and heart into deep, great stillness, forgetting inner and outer distinction, until heart and form both return to the realm of transformation. When things come, one responds in accord; when they pass, one does not dwell on them. Spirit is not pulled by knowledge and thought, breath is not driven by desire, and intent is not bound by rules and formulas.

After cultivating in this way for a long time, one reaches a state of mastery. Innate moral knowing and innate moral capacity—the moral discernment and power to act that people have from birth—then show themselves naturally: when something is over, thought stops with it; spirit is no longer led by clever knowing, qi is no longer pushed by desire, and intention is no longer tied to methods and rules.

With still more long practice, that knowing and capacity are present at every moment. This is “shedding again and again”: repeatedly letting go of acquired, discriminating consciousness so that Yuanshen (the spirit of innate authenticity) governs body and mind. When Yuanshen has only just been restored, however, the heart is as innocent as an infant’s and enters an undifferentiated, chaotic state; it has not yet become fully clear and complete. Native simplicity is back, but one cannot yet use it freely. So one can speak only of “moving along smoothly,” not yet of “being at ease.”

Mencius says, “The great person is one who does not lose the heart of a newborn child.” The Kang Gao says, “With sincere inward intent, seek as you would protect an infant.” The point is that what has been attained must not be lost again: guard it all day and do not leave it for an instant. Confucius said of Yan Hui, “When he grasped one good thing, he held it fast in his heart and would not let it go.” Here “one good thing” means the state of “one—and thereby numinous”: unity that becomes spirit-like.

Keep stillness with clear awareness at all times, lucid and bright. After long accumulation and thorough practice, Yuanshen grows vast and luminous, turning from chaos to clarity. It naturally presides over the firing process (in neidan, the timing and measure of qi’s circulation) and brings about transformation of body and mind. Then there is no need to deliberately refine the heart—the heart is trained of itself; no need to deliberately fix spirit—spirit settles of itself; no need to deliberately adjust breath—breathing evens of itself and qi moves on its own. Advance and retreat stay within measure. When the moment comes, spirit knows by itself: as the living zi (when yang qi first stirs) approaches, spirit is already settled outward; when the living wu (when yang qi is full) arrives, qi has already gathered inward.

Body and mind do not force anything, yet spirit and qi run naturally. As the Laozi puts it, “Within Wuwei (non-action), nothing is left undone.” Lü Chunyang also said, “Simply settle spirit and breath and leave them natural.” This is “acting while at ease”: without deliberate control, spirit-awareness invisibly adjusts the firing process, as if one had known how from birth.

This is what is meant by “those who understand the Way from birth are the highest kind of person.” Where in the world is there truly anyone who understands the Way from birth? Confucius, though a sage, still went to Laozi to inquire about the Dao; Śākyamuni, though possessed of great wisdom, also received instruction from Dīpaṃkara Buddha.

Even if someone could speak and write from the moment of birth, once they entered the Saha world—the world of ordinary existence as Buddhism describes it—their wisdom and insight would gradually open, while their innate primordial spirit (the original spiritual endowment) might be obscured; worldly desires would intrude, and innate knowing would fade. How then could one cultivate and practice the Great Dao without learning?

One must first learn to stop wandering thoughts, settle the mind, and reach a state of quiet stability and ease. Only when the mind is clear and one sees one’s true nature does spiritual awareness take charge of self-cultivation. Then, without relying on the strength of the physical body or on knowledge acquired afterward, one can suddenly penetrate and connect everything; such a person alone deserves to be called a “sage who knows from birth.”

Methods of self-cultivation are also the work of the great practitioner’s path: one moves from earnest striving toward stability, then penetrates the subtle, until the practice matures of its own accord.

What is meant by “an” (stability) is that inner shen-awareness can hold sway over body and mind. Steps such as gathering the medicine (cai yao), sealing (feng gu), refining (peng lian), and working the fire phases (huo hou) should all follow what is natural: settle when it is time to settle, release thought when it is time to release. In a state of primordial chaos and emptiness, endless transformation arises. This stage of “an” is the concrete fruit of refining the self (lian ji).

Until the original spirit (yuan shen)—the clear nature untroubled by stray thoughts—is restored, true stability is impossible. Once stability is achieved, whether in sleep or wakefulness the spirit-intent stays present; advances and retreats in practice can be felt continuously. The work runs on without break, the foundation grows firm, and inner spontaneous change is set in motion. When emptiness and stillness reach their depth, being emerges from non-being; when stillness and settling are profound, yang qi begins to return.

When the outer world stirs, the inner responds; when the medicine forms, spirit-intent knows it. “Gathering” (cai) means taking it naturally without forced seeking—neither forcing growth nor deliberately forgetting. “Obtaining” (qu) means receiving naturally without clinging—inner restraint and increase happen by themselves. In that blend of unawareness and non-purposive action, lead and mercury (qian and gong—the paired essences of yin and yang) are already harmonized, the great elixir (da yao) enters the elixir furnace (dan lu); yang fire (yang huo) advances on its own, and the yin tally (yin fu—the seal of hidden, converging phases) takes shape naturally.

After the work reaches a stable footing, the practitioner must still observe closely and practice steadfastly, without slackening. Hence it is said: “Only after stilling can one become stable.”

In “being settled and then able to deliberate,” the word “deliberate” (lü) means guarding against danger and reflecting on possible deviations. From ancient times until now, few people have truly grasped this term. That Song-dynasty Confucians failed to understand it is hardly worth mentioning; Daoists, too, have rarely offered a fitting explanation of this line.

After cultivation reaches the stage of “acting from settledness,” the natural spiritual awareness that arises is already sharp: the light of nature appears, the mind of the Way (daoxin) emerges, and the great medicine (dayao) can be generated, gathered, sealed, and refined. At that point it might seem that there should no longer be any “deliberation.” Moreover, deliberation is a thought turned toward the future—it belongs to the activity of acquired consciousness (shishen), the postnatal mind of calculation. When one has already entered the realm where Primordial Spirit (yuanshen)—the innate clarity one originally possesses—holds sway and the mind of the Way is manifest, how could there still be thoughts aimed at what is to come? Yet whether a person can truly attain the Way and whether the elixir can be completed hinge precisely on this word “deliberation.”

The Book of Odes says of King Wen: “Only this King Wen—careful and cautious.” The Analects says: “As if standing beside a deep abyss, as if treading on thin ice.” The Awakening to Reality (Wuzhen pian) also says: “In drawing out and adding, use it—but guard against danger,” and again: “A hair’s breadth of difference, and no elixir forms.” All these lines show that in cultivation one must be cautious and ward off peril.

When stillness and fixation reach stability, true medicine arises in the heart and the body undergoes change. This is the firing process that forms naturally, not something forced by human effort; the four limbs feel at ease and the body becomes soft as cotton. Those who encounter this state for the first time are often overjoyed. But that very joy may allow acquired consciousness to slip in and stir things up, so private desires rise again and the natural spiritual awareness, having just appeared, vanishes once more. This is the first kind of danger one must guard against.

If spiritual awareness is restored and the great medicine appears again, and beautiful visions arise before one’s eyes, sudden fear may arise—and acquired consciousness may again take the opportunity to intervene, so that the primordial condition relapses into the postnatal one. This is the second danger.

There is also this case: Primordial Spirit is already clear and the medicine has been gathered, and one thinks oneself satisfied; then one indulges body and mind, cannot forget feelings when facing the outer world, or after a few days of practice assumes one has achieved something and slackens. Any of these can invite acquired consciousness and the activity of arbitrary thoughts. Once acquired consciousness and wandering intent stir, true intent (zhenyi) and Primordial Spirit are lost; change follows at once, and with a turn of thought one goes off course. This is what the ancients called “lead flies and mercury runs,” “the cauldron breaks and the furnace collapses.” The above are dangers that can arise in the process of gathering the medicine; they are still relatively easy to correct.

When the spiritual awareness within one’s original nature is restored, one can steadily apply huohou (fire timing) in stillness and concentration—gathering the “medicine,” sealing it, obtaining the medicine, forming the elixir, completing the full count of circuit turns, condensing the inner elixir, and enabling the taixian (embryo immortal, the image of the Yuan Shen in Neidan practice) to become active. At this stage of the Way, the work of refining the self (lianji) is already mature and the foundation (zhuji) is firm. One must still continue the practices of wenyang (nurturing and warming) and muyu (bathing), and pay special attention to guarding against danger; otherwise earlier effort may be lost, and conditions such as mania may even arise—so one must especially apply oneself to the word lü (consideration, vigilance).

Why such caution? During wenyang, harmony of water and fire alone can achieve the effect of jiji (Already Accomplished—Yin and Yang in balance, practice coordinated). In the morning take the hexagram Zhun as the image; at night take Meng; each day grasp huohou according to the meaning of these two hexagrams. The scripture says: “In the morning guard against fire that is too dry, and use water to augment lead; at night guard against fire that is too cold, and use fire to augment mercury. By day, gather in the light and keep silent stillness, as if present and yet not present—like a dragon nurturing its pearl, like a hen brooding an egg—until body and mind fully return to the body of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). The slightest deviation invites regret and peril.” What the third line of Qian in the Book of Changes calls “diligent all day, ever returning to the correct path” describes this state. Only through such careful and sincere cultivation can one reach the realm of “the flying dragon in heaven—benefit in seeing the great person.” The elixir classic says “one year of muyu—guard against danger”; the Ruyaojing (Mirror for Compounding the Medicine) says “with utmost sincerity, follow nature”—the same principle.

During wenyang, even one day of insufficient naturalness, or one moment of insufficient sincerity, can harm the elixir work. How much more so when outer objects of desire or inner clinging give rise to stray thoughts and become demonic obstructions. Though the shishen (discriminating, calculating consciousness) has stilled, its roots are not yet fully uprooted; without having passed through the seven-day great circuit cultivation, desires for food and sex, acquired temperament, and the pull of the six consciousnesses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind) and the seven emotions cannot be entirely cut off.

In wenyang, karmic roots accumulated through lifetimes and ordinary desires surge against the spirit-mind like a rising tide. The crux is to concentrate the spirit and fix the will, forget outer things and self, watch the mind when alone with care, purify the heart through xinzai (fasting of the mind), hold to natural spiritual awareness and innate huohou, and cultivate with caution—only then can one be secure. In practice, at every step images may appear and at every moment one may feel responses; one must face appearances without stirring the mind, see forms without clinging to forms—only then can water and fire be balanced. Thus lü here is not brooding thought, but a key point within huohou: first guard thoroughly, then one can be stable; the more fully one considers, the more settled the cultivation.

Some wonder whether the character for “deliberation” (lü) ought to come before that for “ease” (an); others hold that lü names the key to fire-timing (huohou)—the subtle regulation of the alchemical process—from the first step of practice to the last. In fact, cultivation does not take “attaining ease” as its goal, and there is originally nothing to worry about. The “lü” spoken of here means staying alert: alert lest one grow so comfortable that danger is forgotten; lest utmost sincerity (zhicheng) fail to be reached; lest the spirit not be settled and the breath not regulated in accord with nature; and lest, the moment wisdom first appears, one rush to apply it and so fail to nourish breadth and depth.

All of this can only be discussed once Yuan Shen—the clear, presiding spirit in practice—has begun to function and can master the fire-timing. While Shi Shen (the consciousness pulled by habit-energy and discriminating mind) has not yet been transformed, there is neither talk of cultivating the Dao and nurturing the elixir, nor any birth of genuine wisdom, still less any following of nature. One must first recover the heart of the newborn (chizi zhi xin); only then does Shen Jue—the numinous awareness that arises naturally—take shape. With Shen Jue, natural fire-timing appears. Following that naturalness is called utmost sincerity; only then can one reach the state where thought and breath are uninterrupted, and fully restore one’s original face from before one’s parents gave birth. This is the supreme method within the pre-heaven (xiantian) Great Dao, presenting a purely pre-heaven scene; only thus can the mind-ground be at ease, the light of wisdom (huiguang) manifest, and the wisdom of the sage be fulfilled.

The line between pre-heaven and post-heaven (houtian) turns on the gap between “being” and “non-being.” When the heart does not posit the distinction between being and non-being, that is pre-heaven; otherwise one falls into post-heaven. With the slightest movement of thought, the slightest clinging to bodily form, the pre-heaven true yang just restored instantly turns into post-heaven turbid yin and loses its efficacy. Without Shen Jue, there is no such pre-heaven realm, and the corresponding fire-timing cannot be practiced; until Shi Shen is fully transformed, the light of wisdom will not appear.

When practice reaches a state of ease and self-so-ness, the numinous clarity within one’s nature gradually unfolds. Various divine faculties—spirit-realm penetration, mind-reading, knowledge of past lives, celestial eye, celestial ear, and the rest—may all begin to appear in the stages of warm nurturing and “suckling.” If one applies wisdom the instant it sprouts, wisdom turns back into discriminating thought; only when there is wisdom yet no insistence on using it can consciousness be transformed into wisdom (zhuan shi cheng zhi).

Moreover, the first appearance of Shen Jue is inherently natural. Follow nature, and the marvelous function of awareness grows ever more subtle; go against nature, and Shen Jue vanishes. Hence it is called “natural Shen Jue.” The pivot here is extremely fine; a slight deviation makes a great difference. The Yi says: “Who knows its subtlety? It is spirit!” It also says: “Spirit is that which marvelously informs the ten thousand things.” The subtle pivot that moves naturally is Heavenly Mechanism (tianji)—it is also creation-and-transformation (zaohua). What is called “lü” is perceiving this pivot and following it; hence: “Only after ease can one deliberate.”

The phrase “only after deliberation can one obtain” means that those who cultivate the Way should, as the Book of Changes, Qian hexagram, says, remain diligent all day without slackening, and at night stay alert as if facing danger—only then can they attain the elixir and realize the Way.

The “obtaining” spoken of here is permanent possession that is never lost. If what is gained cannot last, it cannot be called true “obtaining.” This corresponds to what Buddhism calls the samadhi of total extinction (the meditative state in which afflictions and discursive thought are stilled) and nirvana without remainder (liberation from no longer being bound to the cycle of birth and death). Only when the shishen (the mind of discriminating thought) is fully extinguished, when hun and po dissolve, when the fashen (the life-root beyond physical form) fills the three realms and one’s true nature pervades empty space—from then on one is no longer reborn and shares longevity with Heaven; even if heaven and earth perish, this nature does not perish. Only then does it count as true “obtaining.” Buddhism calls this “complete realization” (liao); Daoism calls it “accomplishment” (cheng). It is not accidentally getting some thing, nor is it merely restoring the yuanshen (original spirit); still less is it a temporary state gained in the course of practices such as quiet sitting, entering samadhi, or settling the spirit.

The cultivator must be vigilant against danger and guard carefully against loss, exhaust the principles of things and fully manifest true nature, until the Way of xing (inner nature) and ming (life-destiny) is complete. At that point there is no danger left to guard against and no fear of losing what has been gained. The Yuhuang Xinyin Jing says: “Once obtained, one possesses it forever; naturally the body becomes light and strong; the breath of Taihe (supreme harmony) fills body and mind, and the bones are clear and cool as jade in winter.” The Qingjing Jing says: “This is called attaining the Way.” Chen Nidan also said: “In but a moment’s work, one may enjoy endless peace forever.” These all serve as evidence for the meaning of “obtaining.”

The Buddhist scripture’s “turn the mind in this very moment, and it is no different from what was originally obtained” refers to the state of sudden awakening and complete penetration; it matches the sense of “hear the Way in the morning, and die without regret in the evening.”

Here, “mingde” (bright virtue, the manifestation of luminous moral character) is likened to the Dao, the elixir (dan), and the “medicine” of Neidan (internal alchemy); “qinmin” (bringing the people close) is likened to the work of cultivation; and “zhishan” (ultimate goodness) is likened to the subtle pivotal gate and essential knack. In practice, one proceeds in order through “ding” (settling), “jing” (stillness), “an” (peace), and “lü” (contemplation), and thereby gradually attains the Dao.

Bai Yuchan said: “Since I received my master’s oral formulas, I have known that this elixir can surely be refined and this Dao can surely be cultivated. The various fire phases appear numerous and intricate, yet in actual practice they are extremely simple.” The whole course of cultivation follows nature as it is, with the single word “cheng” (sincerity) running through it from start to finish. When sincerity is unbroken, one gradually gains numinous efficacy (lingtong); hence it is said: “Only after contemplation can one truly attain.”

I believe the Dao spoken of at the opening of the Great Learning (Daxue) is essentially Confucius’s teaching, while the section that elaborates the practice in detail should be Zengzi’s words. These two passages alone already explain the great path of the Golden Elixir (the Daoist way of cultivation centered on internal refinement) and the supreme one-vehicle Chan method with considerable completeness. Song-dynasty Confucians did not grasp this meaning and only glossed the text line by line, so their understanding strayed far from the original intent.

The next four lines—“Things have their root and branch; affairs have their beginning and end”—are especially apt and rich in implication. Anyone cultivating the Dao who can grasp root and branch, beginning and end, and what comes first and what comes after is already close to the Dao. In all things the root comes first and the branch comes after; the Dao is the root. Once one understands the root that is pre-heaven primordial Qi (yuanqi, the source-energy before heaven and earth were differentiated), one naturally understands why the Dao is the Dao.

“Cultivating the person” means seeking the starting point from the end point—this is “reverse” (ni); “ordering the world” means extending from root to branch—this is “direct” (shun). Approaching the Dao by the reverse path, knowing that after death one returns to nothingness, one can infer that before birth one likewise rested in emptiness; by reverse cultivation returning to the source, the Dao is right there. Placing “end” before “beginning” carries deep meaning. “Knowing what comes first and what comes after” means knowing the roots of pre-heaven and post-heaven. The Book of Changes says: “Heaven acts first, and heaven is not opposed; man acts afterward and follows heaven’s seasons.” Pre-heaven is the source of the Dao; post-heaven is where change begins. Ordinary people in daily life do not see this and simply follow the natural changes of the post-heaven body; the sage, through investigating things and exhausting principles (gewu qiongli), traces back to the original root of pre-heaven.

“Knowing what comes first and what comes after” is also understanding the principles of “illuminating bright virtue” (ming mingde) and “stopping at utmost goodness” (zhi yu zhishan). The way of the “great person” (daren) begins with returning to emptiness (huanxu, settling spirit-mind in emptiness) and ends with returning to emptiness as well; so-called end and beginning ultimately both mean returning to the source. Knowing that beginning and end alike consist in returning to emptiness is knowing the Dao. The Dao spoken of in the Great Learning is the way of the great person; “great person” here refers to the “great person” of the Book of Changes. Later readers failed to see this and misread the text, so neither Confucian nor Daoist teaching was fully clarified.

The ancients said, “To manifest bright and upright virtue, one must first govern one’s own state.” Here “state” (guo) is a metaphor for the human body. The ancients often compared the body to a country: to govern the state, one must first put the household in order; the household is itself a small state. To order the household, one must first cultivate the person; the key to self-cultivation lies in guarding the one mind.

The spirit of the Original Spirit (yuanshen—the innate, clear spirit that governs body and mind) must be made master, so that the heart-mind can be upright. To set the mind right, one must first make one’s intention sincere; what is called sincerity of intention is true intention (zhenyi). With true intention, one can apply its subtle power so that inner spiritual awareness naturally appears and gradually grows sharper. Only through this spiritual awareness can one discern the “living zi and living wu” moments of firing (huohou—the timing grasped as body and mind change in internal alchemy practice), and then apply “nine returns and seven reversals” (jiu huan qi fan—internal alchemy terms for the work of yin-yang cycling and essence-qi transformation in refinement and nourishment).

Therefore, on the path of cultivation, one must first restore true intention. To restore true intention, one must first draw genuine perception from the acquired consciousness (shishen—the mind that moves under knowledge, discrimination, and external influence) and remove stray thoughts pulled along by knowledge; hence it is said: “To make one’s intention sincere, one must first extend one’s knowing.” The word “extend” (zhi) here is very deep in meaning: it includes reaching, applying, and single-mindedness. To reach the proper state is called “extending”; to concentrate the mind in one direction is also “extending.” Wholehearted concentration is the beginning of sincerity of intention; reaching utmost sincerity that is unified and finely sustained is the completion of sincerity of intention. “Sincerity” is also called “one sincerity”; sincerity of intention is utmost sincerity. When the mind is undivided and one never forgets what one holds to, only after long practice can intention become sincere. Sincerity is the genuine, undivided thought that arises naturally in the heart-mind.

People’s original intent is inherently sincere; it is only because knowledge and discrimination disturb the spirit and desires of things intrude that one moves and chases wrongly, producing false and deviant thoughts. All of these are the work of the acquired shishen: external provocations enter through the six gates of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, stirring the six roots and six consciousnesses, further fanning deviant fire and triggering the seven emotions of joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire, so that dust-like thoughts never cease and thought follows thought, leaving the settled sovereign of the heart (a metaphor for the mind’s true master) without peace and keeping the originally unified, clear yuanshen hidden from view.

This is like clouds filling the sky so that one cannot see the sun and moon, though sun and moon are still there. When shishen makes trouble, it obscures yuanshen; when wayward intention is in turmoil, true intention stays concealed. That does not mean yuanshen and true intention have vanished. “Extending one’s knowing” means returning to the innate knowing-goodness within yuanshen; “making intention sincere” means opening the true intention within the heart-nature. What “extending” and “sincerity” refer to are things people already possess; one need only refine them repeatedly and part the clouds so they can appear.

“Extension of knowledge resides in the will’s sincerity” means that to know and bring into play our inherent capacity for awareness, we must work on the mind and intention. Both “sincerity” and “extension” refer to what human beings already possess; one need only train and clarify it repeatedly, as when clouds part and sun and moon appear.

“Extension of knowledge lies in the investigation of things” goes further: for innate moral knowing (liangzhi)—the discerning capacity we already have—to show itself, the key is the word ge (investigation/rectification). Here ge means to gechu—to remove or rectify what is not upright in the mind. Mencius said: “Only a person of high virtue can correct what is not upright in the ruler’s mind.” “Things” (wu) here means things that have form and appearance. When one releases attachment to various appearances, what is not upright in the mind can naturally be rectified; this is not merely curbing material desire. The sense is broadly the same as what the Analects calls “subdue the self and return to ritual propriety” and “all under Heaven returns to humaneness.”

The mind of the Way is subtle and hard to discern; the human mind easily leans toward danger and partiality. The human mind is the mind that clings to appearances and is pulled by the six sensory consciousnesses, always trying to use what one already has to pursue more. The mind of the Way is the mind’s original state: empty, clear, spiritually aware, and not dimmed—manifest in form and color yet not bound by form and color.

When people are pulled by emotions and mental activity, wayward thoughts arise; wayward thoughts give rise to craving, and then things outside the body become obstacles in the mind. People do not see that the physical body is only a temporary burden, yet day after day they scheme how to sustain it. In this way, acquired habits of food, sexual desire, and temperament displace the position of the innate original spirit (yuan shen)—the inherent spiritual master of body and mind—and become masters of body and mind. Innate knowing is thereby submerged and hard to recover; even when formless awareness is active, it is mixed with the roots of acquired consciousness and quickly falls into the realm of intellectual discrimination. This situation did not form in a day; it accumulated gradually.

Self-cultivation must begin with earnest work here, practiced step by step, rectifying the obscuration caused by acquired knowledge and restoring the mind’s originally active awareness. Let this awareness accumulate until it becomes innate knowing—that can be achieved—hence “extension of knowledge lies in the investigation of things.”

The word “lies in” (zai) carries great weight: it shows that investigating things is a stage every learner must pass through. The meaning of “investigating things” is also broad: it includes probing the principles of yin and yang and the roots of nature’s creative transformation. Why the myriad things of the universe arise and perish should each be examined according to its own natural nature. When one understands that the birth and transformation of the ten thousand things each have their principle, and that these principles never depart from natural law, the meaning of bright virtue (ming de) can shine forth throughout the world.

The ancients took the Way as their guiding thread; the heart-method transmitted from Yao and Shun also belongs to this same lineage of the Way, meant for all under Heaven to follow together. Therefore, to make bright virtue manifest throughout the world, one must start from investigating things, restoring and reaching innate knowing. Only when innate knowing returns to its proper place is there a possibility of sudden comprehensive penetration; it can extend to the four quarters of Heaven and Earth and also gather inward into the formless. What together with Heaven and Earth transforms and nourishes the ten thousand things is innate knowing, which is of one body with bright virtue.

When “things are fully investigated, knowledge becomes thorough and penetrating,” this means that only after returning (in cultivation, reverting to one’s original authenticity) can one hope to achieve sudden, comprehensive enlightenment on some future day. Then the mind can extend to the six directions (all heaven and earth), yet also withdraw and hide in the formless; only innate knowing that is one with “bright virtue” (Mingde) can stand alongside heaven and earth and nurture the ten thousand things.

What follows on “things are fully investigated, knowledge becomes thorough and penetrating” repeats and clarifies the previous section. The Great Learning says: “From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, all alike must take self-cultivation as the root.” Here “self-cultivation” is the learning of becoming a great person (daren). One must complete this learning before one can govern affairs; that the ancients valued the transmission of the Way (daotong) is evident from this.

“When the root is disordered, the branches cannot be well governed” means that learning must begin from the root. Though the branches are endlessly varied, the root is one. Once one understands the function of “bright virtue,” one knows that the ten thousand things all issue from it; grasp the essential point and one can comprehend vast affairs and govern the realm with ease. If one abandons the root and chases the branches, busying oneself all day with tangible things, one only stirs up the acquired spirit (shishen—the postnatal mind of thought and discrimination); that not only brings no benefit but does harm.

Here “thick” and “thin” are spoken from the angle of “investigating things” (gewu—examining affairs and clearing away selfish desires): the heavier one’s attachment to material desire, the weaker the original spirit (yuanshen—the authentic, prenatal spirit) becomes, until it may vanish altogether. “Thin” means light or diluted. “Let the mind roam in simplicity” (you xin yu dan) says the same thing. When heavy desire can gradually be lightened and finally removed, the work of investigating things is truly accomplished.

“Renewed day by day, and again day by day” means constantly renewing one’s virtue. When a person has long relied on the acquired spirit, if one can set aside the acquired spirit and use the original spirit instead, that can be called removing the old and bringing in the new. What the Book of Changes calls “reforming the old and renewing the cauldron” (ge gu ding xin) (see the “Miscellaneous Hexagrams” appendix) is here explained as removing the old matter and opening a new furnace; the cauldron (ding) refers to the original spirit. Only by removing material desire and always maintaining single-minded sincerity can this cauldron be perfected and the original spirit restored. “Day” indicates layer upon layer of renewal.

In “able to manifest bright virtue,” “ lofty” (jun) carries the sense of stern rectitude and depth, describing a dignified and far-reaching virtue. This is close to what Daoists call “supremely great and supremely deep,” “profound, subtle, and beyond measure”—also “supremely great and supremely firm”—hence it is called “lofty” (jun).

The word jun suggests what is high and upright, and also what is noble and unfathomably deep—close to Daoist phrases for the Way as “utterly vast and utterly deep” and as so profound and subtle that it cannot be measured. It can also be read as “ultimately great and ultimately firm,” which is why jun is used to name this quality.

“The junzi in nothing fails to take things to the utmost” means that in every matter the exemplary person carries practice to the extreme. Only when things are pursued to their limit does liangzhi (innate moral knowing) fully appear; only when understanding is complete and rounded does yuanshen (Original Spirit—the clear spirit one already has) come forward. When activity reaches its peak it turns to stillness; when stillness reaches its peak it turns to movement. Change happens only at that pivot, like the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) alternation of movement and rest. Both good and hard turns in life stay within Taiji; cultivation, however, goes against the usual direction of change in order to return to Taiji.

Benevolence, reverence, filial piety, kindness, and trustworthiness match the Five Phases and express human nature: benevolence with Wood, reverence with Fire, filial piety with Metal, kindness with Water, trustworthiness with Earth. Students of the Way must “reduce and reduce again” (sun zhi you sun): something must first be stripped away before anything can be gained. Hence self-cultivation is like cutting and grinding stone as one would jade—the shi-shen (ordinary discriminating, thinking consciousness) must be watched and gradually released; as shi-shen falls back, yuanshen can appear. Then one must carve and polish with patience, step by step, like working jade, until the work matures.

Xun and “dignified bearing” refer to solemn deportment outwardly. The junzi on the path must refine outer bearing and inwardly keep alert caution. A humble junzi is always wary and self-restrained until De (Virtue/Power) is complete and goodness is brought to its height. The people honor such a person and do not forget him. “Abundant De” is “illustrious De”; both “abundant” and “illustrious” mean what is excellent and bright. Everyone should cultivate the Way; everyone already has the root Metal nature in themselves—through long effort one returns to true nature, so even when life ends, one is not forgotten.

“Making the intentions sincere” means making one’s intentions genuinely sincere and not self-deceiving. The seven emotions and six desires can lead people to deceive themselves: the heart-mind is originally still and unmoving, yet it is often drawn by outer desires; the spirit-mind then races outward after things—this is called “self-deception.” To make intentions sincere, one must stop deceiving one’s own heart and remove interference from material desires.

To “not deceive oneself,” one must first “be cautious in solitude” (shen du—being upright even when alone). Here “solitude” (du) also means undivided focus: the spirit-mind concentrates on “the One,” that is, the original spirit and true intent (the root-nature, authentic spirit-mind). Only then can an unfathomable efficacy arise; if the discerning consciousness (shi shen—the discriminating mind shaped by what one sees, hears, and by desires) takes charge, thoughts become scattered and no longer one.

The “gentleman” (junzi) in the scripture is the person who cultivates the Way; only when cultivation succeeds does one deserve to be called a “great person and gentleman.”

Guarding solitude means guarding the “One” in “unity and spirit”; “One” here means empty stillness. The point of cautious solitude is to nourish the original spirit and strictly guard against material desires entering. Hence Zengzi said: “As if ten eyes were watching and ten hands were pointing”—meaning one should rigorously watch one’s thoughts as if always under everyone’s gaze and finger-pointing. The scripture also splits “ten” between “eyes watching” and “hands pointing”: seeing is stillness, pointing is movement; in both movement and stillness, one never leaves guarding this “One.”

Then the breast can open wide. “Wide” here suggests empty clarity and stillness; when the breast is open, the body too becomes relaxed and at ease—this is “a well-nourished body” (ti pang). What the Yijing (I Ching) calls “beauty within” means inner fullness and goodness; “reaching the four limbs” means that state shows in the body and the four limbs feel comfortable. When the inner mind is sincere, it naturally appears outward—this is a natural outcome. The scripture holds that by clearing the discerning mind’s turmoil and cautiously guarding solitude, one avoids harm from material desires and lets inner sincerity show outside.

However, to what extent must one remove material desires? Mencius said: “The great person is one who does not lose the heart of a child.” Here, chizi refers to a child not yet three years old; after three one is called a child (haitong), and before one year one is an infant (ying’er). When the heart is like that of a child, not pulled by material desires, clear and empty and bright, that is the great person. One who can preserve the heart of a child, with a heart like a child’s, will also have sincere intention.

The Kang Gao says: “Protect the people as you would protect an infant, and earnestly seek the right course.” The heart of a child is single-minded, without stray thoughts; seek with sincerity and you will gain something. The power of “sincerity” (cheng) is great—whether becoming a Buddha or an immortal, none can do without sincerity. The Doctrine of the Mean also speaks often of sincerity, saying: “With sincerity comes clarity; with clarity comes sincerity.” “From sincerity to clarity is called one’s nature; from clarity to reaching sincerity is called cultivation.”

“Cultivation with the child’s constitution” (tongti xiuzhen) means practice by someone whose body and mind have not yet been worn down by acquired desires. Such a person moves from sincerity to clarity; this “clarity” is illuminating the mind and seeing one’s true nature. “From clarity to reaching sincerity” is the path of cultivated teaching: one must first extend knowledge and investigate things, exhaustively probe principle and fully manifest one’s nature, first removing the acquired mind (shishen—the mind shaped by later consciousness and distracting thoughts) and returning to the original spirit (yuanshen—the naturally clear and bright spirit). Hence it is called “teaching.” One with a child’s constitution has a pure and sincere heart; as long as one gathers sincerity inward and does not let it scatter outward, clarity can be attained; clarity gives rise to wisdom and can bring the “six penetrations” (liutong—a term in Daoist practice for six kinds of extraordinary perception). Those who have already lost their childlike purity must first investigate things to the full before they can reach sincerity and then clarity—hence it is said to be “from clarity to reaching sincerity.”

The Doctrine of the Mean also says: “Sincerity is the Way of Heaven; striving to be sincere is the Way of Humankind.” The Way of Heaven is the Way of one’s original nature; original nature shares virtue with Heaven. The nature Heaven bestows—if one can guard and keep it—that is the Way, which is also supreme De (virtue/power).

“Those who become sincere” (cheng zhe zhe) refers to people cultivating in later life. Having already been affected by worldly desires, they must work on the word cheng (sincerity)—this is gewu zhizhi (investigating things and extending knowledge). Hence the text continues: “Only the most sincere person under Heaven can fully realize their own nature.” The daren (great person) restores the chizi zhi xin (heart of the child—pure and undivided like an infant’s), and from that wisdom arises; only then can they fully realize and know their own nature. Here “nature” (xing) means one’s own inherent nature.

Knowing one’s own nature, one can know others’ natures—this corresponds to suming tong (knowing past causes and conditions) and taxin tong (perceiving others’ thoughts). Going further, “being able to fully realize human nature, one can fully realize the nature of all things”—this matches shenjing tong among the liutong (six penetrations—the power to transform freely and traverse all realms). At this stage, nothing between Heaven and Earth remains blocked.

The stages of practice run from cheng to zhicheng (utmost sincerity), then through suming tong, taxin tong, shenjing tong, and the rest; after attaining the liutong, one becomes what is called a liutong shenxian (immortal of the six penetrations), able to assist Heaven and Earth in nurturing and transforming the myriad things. Because nature returns to emptiness and becomes one with Heaven and Earth, one can support their transforming and nourishing work and share with them in giving life to the ten thousand things.

Can carries the sense of “three.” Can tiandi means that human beings together with Heaven and Earth form the sancai (Three Powers). Can tian liang di borrows the language of yin–yang numerology: aligning with the qi of Heaven and Earth and embodying the wuxing (Five Phases). Heaven and Earth have the power to initiate and nurture the myriad things; the daren, sharing their empty and subtle embodiment, also possesses the virtue of creating and nurturing, and so can assist Heaven and Earth in transformation and nurture, joining them as the Three Powers. Dong Zhongshu said that to “penetrate Heaven, Earth, and the human” is what makes a ru (Confucian)—one who understands the human being in relation to Heaven and Earth.

From chengyi (making the will sincere) to zhicheng, a tongti body (one that has not lost virginity) is easier to cultivate; for one who has “broken the body” (poti), it is harder. Hence there is another path of reverent striving toward the goal—what The Doctrine of the Mean calls “next, refine what is bent” (qici zhi qu). Those of “lower virtue” (xiade) who cannot yet reach sincerity begin with zhi qu (refining the bent). Qu means leaning to one side—fixing on a single direction: single-minded knowing, gewu (investigating things), wholeheartedly restoring sincerity, persisting without mixture or distraction. This is what the text means by zi cheng (sincerity from oneself).

Those whose cultivation is still shallow cannot yet attain genuine Cheng (perfect sincerity); they must therefore begin with “zhiqu” (devoting oneself to single-pointed concentration). “Qu” means leaning entirely in one direction—that is, giving undivided attention. Diligently seeking knowledge and investigating things to their limit, gathering the mind into one place, gradually restoring Cheng and keeping it pure and unbroken—this is “self-Cheng.” The “zhuanmi” (single-minded depth) in the phrase “zhicheng zhuanmi” is precisely zhiqu: when desires weigh heavily, unless one first clears distracting thoughts and makes the mind one-pointed, and also reins in a scattered mind and lets it settle, one cannot reach utmost Cheng. In the “learning of the great person,” investigating things to the utmost leads to Cheng; hence it is said that “through qu one can have Cheng.”

“Cheng then takes form; taking form, it becomes conspicuous; being conspicuous, it becomes luminous; being luminous, it moves” means: when the inner mind is fully sincere, it shows outwardly; once it shows, it becomes clearer still; when it is thus clear, the heart-nature becomes penetrating; when the heart-nature is penetrating, responsive change arises. “Form” is the inner Cheng appearing outwardly. When practice reaches the state of hundun (primordial undifferentiation), the Yuanshen (original spirit) naturally returns, and a dense mass of Qi (vital energy) gathers back into the ding (the cauldron where the inner elixir is nurtured)—this is “form becoming conspicuous.” Here “form” also refers to the three marks of the Dharmakaya (the body of realized nature in cultivation), which can serve as evidence of one’s gongfu (cultivational accomplishment). “Conspicuous then luminous” goes beyond mere outward signs: bodily yin (the yin-stagnant qi that veils true nature) gradually fades, one sees one’s true nature (mingxin jianxing), and one can obtain the liutong (six spiritual penetrations). Once the liutong are complete, the realm broadens and transforms further, and one can manifest countless transformation bodies—hence “luminous then moves.”

The passage that begins “the way of utmost Cheng can…” continues the same line—from outward manifestation to clarity of heart-nature: bodily yin recedes, the true nature is seen, the liutong are obtained; when the liutong are fully present, the realm is vast and changing, and countless transformation bodies can appear. That is the meaning of “luminous then moves.”

The saying that "the Way of utmost sincerity enables foreknowledge" means that when one reaches the realm of utmost sincerity, one can perceive things in advance. This is the great efficacy spoken of by immortals and buddhas. "Sincerity is sincerity in oneself," and "the Dao also manifests from oneself"—it is not obtained from outside but arises from one's own heart-mind. Through investigating things and clearing away desires, sincerity naturally appears. The Dao is one's own Dao; there is no need to seek it outward. Rectifying the mind and making the will sincere all lie within oneself, so the Dao is also within oneself. Daoist scriptures say that "the original true heart-mind is fully possessed by every person, each complete and perfect," and what the Heart Sutra calls "neither arising nor ceasing, neither defiled nor pure, neither increasing nor decreasing" expresses the same meaning.

" Sincerity is the beginning and end of things" means that sincerity runs through a thing from start to finish. When people are obscured by external things, they cannot be sincere; when desire for things is fully removed, sincerity will naturally appear. Consider before life has yet been born: originally there is no insincerity; when the heart-mind is settled and not a single thing remains in the mind, there is likewise no insincerity. Before one's parents had yet begotten one, where was nature (xing)? After a person dies, where does nature go? From this one can realize that nature is empty. Hence it is said: "Sincerity is the beginning and end of things; without sincerity there are no things." When external things are exhausted, the person returns to emptiness; emptiness is the beginning, sincerity the end. Emptiness connects with the heart-mind; without sincerity there is no true heart-mind and no myriad things, and even true emptiness cannot appear.

Today, reaching sincerity can not only complete oneself but also complete the myriad things—benefiting oneself and universally saving sentient beings. "Completing oneself is benevolence (ren); completing things is wisdom (zhi). These are the de (virtue/power) of nature" means that completing oneself embodies ren and completing things embodies zhi; all are de inherent in original nature. "Combining the Way of inner and outer" means making inner and outer one; it can also refer to inner and outer union in the Dao of Neidan (internal alchemy). When one can unite inner and outer, large and small, with empty space, that is the Dao and also sincerity.

The key to inner-outer union lies in "acting appropriately according to the time"—taking fitting measures as circumstances require. Here "time" refers to the active zi and active wu (terms in Neidan for moments when yin-yang qi runs). Confucius was called a "sage of timeliness" because he could respond to the moment and handle matters well. In cultivation, whether advancing the fire or withdrawing the tally (regulating the firing process and advancing or gathering qi in Neidan), or continuing practice in accord with the season until finally returning to emptiness (gui xu, settling in vacuity stillness), one avoids excess or deficiency—hence the title "sage of timeliness."

"Time" also bears on guarding against danger and anticipating peril. Daoist texts say: "If the firing times miss by a hair's breadth, no elixir forms," and "The subtlety of the hour of zi lies in heart-to-heart transmission; the fullness of the moon rests in oral formulas"—showing that the measure of firing in practice must be grasped with extreme fineness, and that oral instructions and transmission matter. The classic therefore holds that Confucius also attended to firing times, and so could "act appropriately according to the time." If one goes too far or not far enough, one departs from the Mean; hence also: "The noble person hits the mean in timely fashion."

The phrase “complete sincerity without ceasing” (zhicheng wuxi) is explained here as the complete stopping of breath through the mouth and nose. The scripture holds that only when breath through the mouth and nose has ceased can one attain the Dao; if even a trace of yin qi remains within the body, one cannot become an immortal. Buddhism names this state “cessation samadhi” (miejin ding)—a meditative absorption in which thoughts and sensations cease—while Daoism speaks of the six pulses stopping and qi returning to the root, calling it “true breath” (zhenxi), comparable to an infant’s state in the womb.

This practice belongs to the stage of “refining Qi to transform Shen” (lianqi huashen). The Correct Theory of Celestial Immortals (Tianxian Zhenglun) offers a test: place a goose feather between mouth and nose; if it does not stir at all, one has truly reached breathlessness. The scripture takes breathlessness as complete sincerity and as the condition for not dying, hence: “Without ceasing, one endures; enduring long, signs appear.” “Signs” (zheng) mean outward, verifiable manifestations—in this case the visible emergence of the spirit (chushen).

Awakening to Truth (Wuzhen Pian) says: “At first there is deliberate work that others rarely see; when non-action (wuwei) is reached, everyone begins to know.” Early cultivation is hidden from others; when the spirit emerges, all can see. “When signs appear, one reaches remoteness; remoteness brings breadth and depth; breadth and depth bring loftiness.” Once signs show, one may attain lasting depth, thick breadth, and high clarity. The scripture takes emptiness as the most enduring: one who aligns with the virtue of Heaven and Earth is as broad and deep as earth, as lofty as heaven, as lasting as emptiness—able to generate the ten thousand things without dying, enduring for countless ages; all of this comes from “complete sincerity.”

Next comes “relying on number”—inferring through numerical pattern. The scripture uses “the Dao gives birth to one, one to two, two to three” to show that Daoist cultivation can also be read numerically; “three, five, one” is likewise a numerical expression. By gathering the Five Phases (wuxing) so that five returns to three, then bringing the “three families to meet” so that three returns to one, and finally one returns to emptiness, one reaches endless duration.

“Relying on number” also relates to “participating in Heaven and counting Earth” (cantian liangdi)—the idea of three symbolizing Heaven and two symbolizing Earth. The scripture cites “earnest in benevolence, deep as an abyss, vast as Heaven,” describing the great person’s thorough kindness, depth like a chasm, and expanse like the sky. “Deep as an abyss” means profoundly still, hidden and not displayed; the scripture uses this to say the cultivator can connect with the qi of Heaven and Earth, with force broad, firm, and filling heaven and earth.