《七破论》

Titled “Treatise on Seven Refutations.”

Refuting the Rejection of Debate

Luzi once studied the teachings on nature and life—the inquiry into life’s true nature and the path of cultivation—with a sage teacher. People came from many places to seek his instruction, and he would sit and discuss the teachings with them. When their views differed, he would debate the matter at length.

Someone criticized him, saying, “Laozi said: ‘Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak much; those who speak much may not understand the Dao. Those who are truly good do not argue; those who argue may not be good.’ Yet when you discuss principles with others, you talk on and on and cannot stop. Is this not a waste of words and a harm to De?”

Luzi replied, “I have been at fault; allow me to explain. In the past, the teachings of Yang Zhu and Mo Di flourished and obstructed the way of benevolence and righteousness. So Mencius refuted them with words. Gongsun Chou asked Mencius, ‘People outside say you enjoy debating. May I ask why?’ Mencius replied, ‘Do I enjoy debating? I have no choice.’

“In an age when the Great Dao prevailed, people held no conflicting opinions, and scholars followed no divergent teachings. The sage and the people of the world therefore lived in harmony with one another, as though there were no need to communicate through words. Yet the people of the world could not all grasp the sage’s intent. The sage was concerned about this, and so, having no choice, set down words to transmit the Dao.

“Works such as the Yinfu, the Daode, the Cantong, and the Wuzhen are all texts through which sages confirmed and transmitted their teachings. They can benefit people in the world, for generations to come. But some arrogant and ignorant teachers neither inherit and explain the sages’ classics nor make a serious effort to understand their words. They simply elaborate however they please, according to their own ideas, and use false teachings to mislead the world. What could cause greater harm than corrupting people’s hearts and throwing the correct Dao into disorder?

“This is like a mountain demon or wild fox leading someone into a valley where sunlight cannot reach. Anyone who saw this would shout and chase after them with all their might, afraid that the person might be deluded and ultimately die without realizing it. Faced with such a situation, how could one keep silent out of concern for oneself? If someone calls me self-righteous, competitive, and fond of debate, then there is no need to say more: for a long time, I have refused to debate in my own defense.”

Refuting False Teachings

People are fond of pursuing minor arts, yet they cannot tell profound Daoist methods from shallow ones. As a result, arrogant and ignorant impostors can practice their crooked arts without restraint. The profound principles of the Dao are obscure and difficult to understand. People cannot investigate them fully and lack sound judgment, so they trust others too readily and are easily deceived.

Fraudulent arts in the world include, broadly, the following: preparing the fetuses of pregnant women for use in fasting; taking medicines such as arsenic and sulfur to ward off cold; using a lead sword to open and unblock the body’s passages; keeping a spiritual tortoise and making the body expand and contract; rolling the shoulders and back to produce a series of tiny cracks; striking the skull to make it ring; sitting cross-legged, motionless as a stone; puffing out the belly to make a thunderous sound; hanging upside down like an ape, or sleeping curled up like a dragon; spinning lightly like the wind while holding one’s breath; or darting about like a monkey so swiftly that no one can catch up. Tricks of this sort are too numerous to count. Yet they have nothing to do with the true, supreme Dao. They are merely clumsy displays meant to conceal deceitful intentions, just as the Perfected Sima said: “Hide cunning in your heart to gain profit in the present.”

The furnace-and-fire methods of Waidan (external alchemy), which use a furnace fire to refine medicines, minerals, and other substances, are especially prone to becoming fraudulent arts. Some people attach silver essence to their bodies and use it to pass off silver as gold or stone. So-called methods of attraction and transformation, which claim to draw in and transform metals and stones, are also common in the world. Those who study the Dao and do not know the truth mistake this for transmuting metals and stones. They are badly mistaken! Worse still, some use sleight of hand to steal in plain sight, passing off a deer as a horse without the owner noticing, or replacing a sheep with an ox without bystanders catching on. Lower still are those who refine blindly, wasting firewood, money, and time without ever achieving results. The Dao itself does not mislead people; people simply fail to distinguish profound Daoist methods from shallow ones.

Alas! People fail to distinguish profound methods from shallow ones, yet claim to love the Dao. They fail to recognize a false master, yet claim to have met an enlightened teacher. So arrogant impostors take the lead, while their followers bow and kneel before them. What could be more shameful? I have therefore written this essay to urge all those who share my aspirations and seek the Dao to value themselves, put an end to delusions in good time, and seek the true principles without delay. Otherwise, by the time I raise my whip to urge you on, it will already be too late.

The Treatise on Breaking Attachments urges fellow practitioners to value and preserve themselves, put an end to deluded thoughts as soon as possible, and seek the truth without delay. The author says that even if he were to spur them on, he would have no way to begin.

Once fruit has been cut open or a jar of wine or vinegar unsealed, it spoils easily and cannot be kept for long. The human body is the same. The sages understood this, so they sought what is called “precelestial True Yi”—the original, authentic Qi—to nourish the body. Today, most people who speak of the precelestial merely try to shore up a body that has already been damaged, then gather the Jing, Qi, and Shen within it, hoping in this way to generate True Yi Qi and make it a path to longevity.

Yet they have not considered that once the body’s original nature is damaged, the Jing, Qi, and Shen within it change over time and become postcelestial. How, then, can True Yi Qi remain whole? It is like hiding fruit that has already spoiled, or resealing a jar of wine or vinegar that has already been opened, while still hoping to keep its contents from going bad. This is very difficult. The principle is plain; a simple comparison makes it clear.

The Way of Returning the Elixir, the practice of returning to the root and restoring the origin in Daoist internal alchemy, is recorded in the alchemical scriptures. Yet those who study the Dao refuse to read them carefully and examine them closely. They pass around a phrase or two they have heard, then imagine they have received the true transmission and mastered the essentials of actual practice. As a result, they remain deluded all their lives, cultivating only one aspect without understanding its principles. This is truly lamentable. I pity such people, and so I have written this treatise. An ancient immortal said, “The body is preserved through the Dao; nature and life are prolonged through technique.” Many speak of the Dao today, but where are the concrete methods of cultivation? Think this over carefully.

People who discuss similar methods of cultivation today do not agree, so I have set out their various claims here. The so-called “Nine-One technique” is a deluded and heretical teaching, and needs no discussion. Some speak of the “Primordial Plum,” claiming that it resembles the influence and appearance of the Dao. This may sound plausible, but it refers, in the end, to things with form and substance. In practice, it differs from what the world calls “red lead”—the claim that menstrual blood and other female bodily substances can be used in cultivation—only in name, while its method is much the same. It is hardly appropriate to regard such things as the Great Dao.

As for claims such as “joining forms and exchanging Qi,” “the two apertures of the necessary field,” “opening the pass and forging the sword,” and “advancing above and below”: some say that by reversing the natural order one can form a “coiled peach”; others speak of holding a date in the mouth and drinking sweet dew, or refining broken porcelain into iron and then brewing it into wine. Some take the lustful fluids produced through sexual intercourse and mix them with wine starter; others combine them with “autumn stone”—a pill made by refining urine—and call the result “human origin.” Such methods come in all shapes and forms, and most arise from crooked teachers and mistaken doctrines. They lead the blind while blind themselves, wasting their lives until their hair turns white without ever succeeding. In the end they corrupt their Virtue, bring calamity upon themselves, and invite the ridicule of the world. It is truly pitiful.

Primordial Qi, as understood in Daoist cultivation, is the fundamental Qi that exists before form. It cannot be seen or heard, nor touched by hand. Methods like those described above only take one farther from it: the more one speculates, tries to obtain it, and searches for it in every possible place, the farther away it becomes. And where, these days, are the so-called “floating and sinking, ounces and grains”—the measures of cultivated substances in terms of weight and ascent or descent? As I understand it, the true Dao and these practices are like fragrant herbs and foul-smelling weeds: their qualities are wholly different, and they cannot be placed in the same vessel.

Laozi said, “It is precisely because I lack worldly cleverness that no one truly understands me.” If there were people in the world who truly understood the principle, my Dao would not stand alone.

Someone asked doubtfully, “A verse says, ‘A single phrase or half a sentence can reveal the mysteries; why read ten thousand chapters on the Elixir?’ This suggests that the words of those who came before are not worth much attention. Yet the Master teaches people to read widely in the Elixir classics, so they may understand Yin-Yang and penetrate the workings of creation. Wouldn’t that waste their time and let what they see and hear obscure their original nature? If I grasp my teacher’s intent, a single phrase or half a sentence is enough to guide me into the Dao. Why read more?”

The reply was, “What you say sounds reasonable, but you do not understand that Daoist arts may be orthodox or deviant, and teachers may be genuine or false. You have never had the discernment to tell the true from the false. How, then, will you distinguish between them? Consider this: to test gold, one needs a touchstone. The Elixir classics are the touchstone for testing teachers in the world today. If you do not reflect deeply on them and read them thoroughly, but instead seek a teacher and the Dao on the strength of a single phrase or half a sentence, few will avoid falling into deviant schools or being misled by heretical teachings.

“Once, a man set out for the capital and asked people along the way for directions. Their accounts all differed, and afraid of taking the wrong road, he dared not continue. One day, he saw a guidebook at the market and set off with it. The places named for lodging and trade, and the sequence of passes, ferries, and relay stations, all matched exactly. Only then did he understand how vast the difference was between a written record and hearsay. The Elixir classics are a guidebook for entering the Dao. To set them aside and ask teachers of the present day for a few words is like throwing away the guidebook and asking passersby for directions. How could you hope to reach the capital without losing your way?

“Besides, the formula of a single phrase or half a sentence truly does come from a genuine teacher. But if you wish to seek out a teacher, where exactly is that teacher?”

Treatise on Breaking Delusion

Today, most people who take an interest in Daoist arts invite in fangshi—practitioners skilled in techniques such as alchemy—to fire furnaces and tend the flames. They hope to transform ordinary substances into treasures, then refine elixirs to take. This is what is called Waidan (external alchemy), the method of refining medicines in a furnace. They do not realize that such practices often arise from deluded thoughts. Deluded thoughts attract followers who are just as insubstantial. Opportunists then exploit the opening: passing a horse off as an ox, they deceive people to their faces, while those taken in often fail to notice. The frauds of this kind are too numerous to count; even if one exposed them in turn without stopping, one could not enumerate them all. At first, I did not understand my master’s intent and nearly fell under these people’s spell. Fortunately, Heaven protected me, and I suffered no harm. I have therefore written this discussion for those who come after me.

It cannot be said that furnace alchemy has no basis at all; it can also serve as a point of comparison for understanding the Golden Elixir, the elixir sought through Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation. The Cantong qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three), a classic that discusses alchemical methods and Yin-Yang transformations, says: “Furnace alchemy does indeed have a basis. Only those who see deeply into Yin-Yang and thoroughly understand the transformations of creation can discern its subtle workings.” Furnace refining and refining oneself share principles of coordination, timing, nurturing, and emergence from the womb. The key is to understand the rising and sinking of the ingredients and whether the firing process is at its early or mature stage. With these in hand, one may hope to enter the Dao of the Elixir.

Those who discuss furnace alchemy today, however, do not know what lead and mercury refer to, nor do they understand what the so-called measures and true earth—the crucial elements in alchemical practice—actually are. They simply combine ordinary cinnabar, mercury, and other substances as they please, then boil and refine them with the Eight Mineral Substances, minerals commonly used in alchemy, and various herbs. Some use lead carbonate to make what they call “water gold”; some extract what they call “yellow sulfur” from cinnabar; some remove the outer shell of cinnabar to make what they call “heavenly sulfur”; and some take the “Heavenly Gui,” a term associated with menstruation, to wrap around cinnabar and mercury. Others gather tin and extract ore, repeatedly observing the dates and hours, and imagine they have obtained true lead, true mercury, and true earth. These practices go by many names and are little understood by most people. Their myriad variations, in the end, amount to no more than methods of this kind.

Those who rely entirely on their own subjective judgment and presume themselves clever keep precious secret methods for themselves, hiding their key instructions and then bringing them out for profit. Yet people in the world do not understand what is true and what is false. If they mistakenly trust and follow such people, the resulting losses and misfortunes may be beyond measure.

The Way of the Golden Elixir—that is, the Daoist method of refining elixirs—is treasured by Heaven. Once you have obtained this Way, seek support from outside so that both the method and the resources have a firm foundation; that is enough. What sense is there in selling the method and demanding gifts and fees in return? To trust someone without distinguishing fraud from truth, and to follow a technique without examining its principles—what is that if not folly? To be deceived once and then fall into the same trap again—what is that if not folly? To neglect the cultivation of Virtue and devote yourself to seeking blessings you have no right to expect—what is that if not folly?

The result is that one spends all one’s family’s wealth, leaving one’s wife and children hungry and impoverished. In the end, one still fails to encounter the right opportunity and rarely achieves anything. Sadly, nine out of ten people are doomed to fall into the trap laid by an immortal master.

Alas, how dangerous! Whether the Way of Waidan (external alchemy)—a method of cultivation that uses a furnace fire and medicinal substances to refine elixirs—can be put into practice depends on the person; whether it succeeds depends on Heaven. Whether one can grasp it depends on intelligence; whether one can bring the results together depends on good fortune. The key instructions must be received from a teacher, while recognizing them clearly depends on one’s own discernment. None of this can be entrusted to someone else. If one cultivates Virtue in secret, quietly befriends like-minded people, moves Heaven and Earth through Virtue, and reaches the spirits and ghosts through sincerity, then when it comes time to work at the furnace, one is naturally more likely to avoid mistakes. Otherwise, even if one has learned the correct method and sees things clearly, how can one withstand the trials of demonic obstacles?

I have tested all these matters myself and confirmed them repeatedly, so I dare no longer conceal them. I worry that people will fail to understand, act rashly, and ultimately accomplish nothing, becoming discouraged and giving up. This is not the Dao letting people down; it is people who have failed to understand the Dao. It would be better still if, having understood these principles, one could know without acting recklessly, be capable of acting without abusing that ability, and make use of it without pursuing private gain.

On Dispelling Delusion

The Way of cultivating the Golden Elixir (Daoist Neidan, or internal alchemy) depends on truly understanding its principles, and on beginning early. Master Chunyang (Lü Dongbin) once said, “Even if you begin cultivating right away, it is still too late.”

People in the world do not understand this. They cling to the claim in the Taishang that “a person can still achieve return even at the age of one hundred and twenty.” In the prime of life, they lose themselves in romantic attachment and remain bound by worldly entanglements, unwilling to free themselves in time. They keep busy day and night, draining their energy until almost none remains. Only when old age has weakened them and they are at a dead end do they begin to cultivate the Dao, treating cultivation as their final refuge and support.

They do not realize that time waits for no one. Once the right circumstances and conditions for cultivation have passed, the ingredients—the essential physical and mental energies required for Neidan cultivation—are already depleted, and there is no foundation left to build. Even if they meet a teacher and learn how to refine the medicine, the necessary timing and conditions for cultivation may long since have passed. In the end, their hair turns white and they have achieved nothing; they can only lament in vain that all is empty. What a pity.

For this reason, in the opening of the Wuzhen pian, Master Ziyang uses a flash of lightning to evoke the brevity of time and a floating bubble to evoke the fleetingness of life, urging people to wake up. His warning is truly profound and urgent.

Someone asked about the principle behind the Huangting jing’s claim that a person can still succeed in cultivation at the age of one hundred and twenty. The reply was: “In ancient times, people’s hearts were simple, their affairs few, and they married relatively late. They were like fertile fields whose strength had not yet been exhausted, so even if they sowed later, they could still reap a harvest. People today are already weakened in their natural endowment, and they begin cultivation late. They are like crops that sprout but do not flower, or flower but bear no fruit. This is hardly surprising. The difference between people of ancient and modern times comes from the prevailing customs of each age. How, then, can we judge people today by the standards of antiquity?”