《中和集》Vol. 4

The circle is named “○.” The sage displayed it to the world and to later generations so that people might follow transmitted principles back to their root and not forget their foundation; therefore he used images and words to explain it, calling it “Wuji er Taiji” (the Ultimateless, and the Supreme Ultimate). “Wuji” (the Ultimateless) speaks of its utmost depth and remoteness, beyond what can be fathomed; this is not something one can grasp through private guesswork. Nor does it mean that before Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) there is another Wuji; rather, Taiji is originally Wuji. Those who penetrate need only reflect on the word “er” (“and”), and they will naturally apprehend the meaning within.

When Buddhism speaks of “knowing the subtle origin before the kalpas,” the sense is the same; when Laozi speaks of “that which precedes the Lord-on-High,” he too points to this. When Chan Master Dadian asked, “Do you still recognize this circle?”—however vast heaven and earth may be, they are not enough to match its breadth; however bright sun and moon may be, they are not enough to match its radiance. Drawn inward, it is so small that it has no inner limit; spread outward, it is so great that it has no outer limit. Is this not the subtlety of Taiji?

Turn back and inquire into oneself: “Wuji er Taiji” is the transformation from emptiness into Shen (spirit). However large formed things may be, they ultimately have boundaries; only Shen is boundlessly vast, flowing without cease, generating heaven and earth—nothing surpasses it. Because it is so subtle that it cannot be measured, it is called Shen; Shen is the true embodiment of Wuji.

When Taiji moves, Yang is produced; when movement reaches its extreme, it turns to stillness, and Yin is produced. When stillness reaches its extreme, it turns again to movement. Movement and stillness are roots for each other, and from this Yin and Yang are distinguished, forming the “liang yi” (the Two Aspects—the two fundamental modalities of Yin and Yang).

The symbol “⊙” represents the state of transformation within Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Before Taiji divides, the principles of movement and stillness are already implicit within it; once Yin-Yang qi begins to differentiate, the pivot by which movement and stillness turn becomes visible.

When Taiji moves, Yang arises; when movement reaches its limit it turns to stillness, and Yang becomes Yin. When stillness reaches its limit, movement begins again, and Yin turns into Yang. Yin and Yang interweave and serve as each other’s root; movement and stillness cycle in the same way. When movement and stillness separate, Yin and Yang each appear on their own. Clear qi rises and turbid qi sinks, and the two qi are thereby distinguished. Rising clear qi becomes Heaven; sinking turbid qi becomes Earth. Heaven moves and Earth is still, the two qi never cease to operate, and the tracks of change cannot be cut apart.

The Laozi says: “The gate of the dark female—this is called the root of Heaven and Earth.” This means that when the dark female (Xuanpin, the source symbolizing the union of Yin and Yang and the birth of the myriad things) opens and closes, Heaven and Earth come into being. Xuanpin is the pivot of Yin-Yang, movement, and stillness. If you turn back and investigate yourself, you will see: emptiness and nothingness give rise to Shen (spirit); Shen produces responsiveness. When Shen responds and stirs, Qi arises—just as movement gives birth to Yang. When Qi gathers, Jing (essence) is produced—this is movement reaching its limit and turning to stillness, stillness giving birth to Yin. When Jing gives rise to form, stillness has reached its limit and turns again to movement. Jing and Qi transform each other; human nature (xing) and life (ming) are thereby established, and body and mind are thereby distinguished.

Qi circulating in the heart is the expression of the Way of Heaven in operation; Jing governing the body is the foundation on which the Way of Earth is established. Thus body and mind are like the two modes (Yin and Yang) of the Taiji. Yin and Yang change and unite, producing the Five Phases—Water, Fire, Wood, Metal, and Earth; the Five Phases run in sequence, and the four seasons alternate in turn.

“Two Modes” (Liangyi) refers to the transformations of yin and yang qi. “Two” here does not mean merely the number two; it means yin and yang working in mutual coordination. When yin and yang unite, responsive interaction arises, and that interaction in turn drives change in things. When yang qi stirs and yin qi joins with it, yin and yang respond and merge, and thus the Five Phases (Wuxing) come into being.

Heaven gives one and water is born; earth gives two and fire is born; heaven gives three and wood is born; earth gives four and metal is born; heaven gives five and earth is born—these are the numbers by which the Five Phases are generated. As the Five Phases ceaselessly move and transform, the four seasons turn in succession, and the myriad things grow accordingly. In the human body, once body and mind are established, jing and qi circulate within; the five viscera take form, and the five spirits are present: water corresponds to the kidneys, with jing stored in the kidneys; fire corresponds to the heart, with shen (spirit) stored in the heart; wood corresponds to the liver, with hun (ethereal soul) stored in the liver; metal corresponds to the lungs, with po (corporeal soul) stored in the lungs; earth corresponds to the spleen, with yi (intention/mind) stored in the spleen. As the Five Phases operate, the manifestations of human emotion and disposition arise from this. To understand this principle is to align with the timely changes and follow the great Dao (the Way).

In the end the Five Phases reduce to one yin-yang; yin-yang reduce to one Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); and the root of Taiji is again Wuji (the Limitless).

Heaven-one, heaven-three, and heaven-five are yang numbers; earth-two and earth-four are yin numbers. Thus it is said that the Five Phases are unified in yin-yang: yang is the stirring of Taiji, yin is the stillness of Taiji. Movement and stillness are originally one body; grasping this one can return to the source. Yin-yang are unified in Taiji; returning to the source merges with yuanxu—the primordial empty stillness—so it is said that Taiji is rooted in Wuji.

The practitioner circulates jing and qi so that they move in cycles without end, while shen remains unchanged. Precisely because shen does not change, it can drive limitless transformation. What gathers and holds the Five Phases is shen; what joins yin and yang is also shen—and the substance of shen is empty stillness. Refining jing into qi, refining qi into shen, and refining shen back to emptiness is called returning to the root and restoring the original; returning to the original is returning to Wuji.

After the Five Phases are generated, each acquires its distinct nature.

Each of the Five Phases has its own nature: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth each embody a Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate—the root substance of all things). What is meant by “return to origin” (huanyuan) is reversion to Wuji (the undifferentiated, formless source before differentiation).

When the Five Phases arise, each forms its own nature.

That each phase has its own nature means that every one of the Five Phases possesses a Taiji. When each phase’s “birth number” (shengshu) is increased by five, one obtains its “completion number” (chengshu): Heaven generates one, Water; add five to get Earth six. Earth generates two, Fire; add five to get Heaven seven. Heaven generates three, Wood; add five to get Earth eight. Earth generates four, Metal; add five to get Heaven nine. Heaven generates five, Earth; add five to get Earth ten. This is what is meant by the Five Phases each “containing” or completing the full cycle of the Five Phases.

The earlier passage said that each phase has Yin and Yang, and that Yin and Yang together return to one Taiji—that is speaking from the perspective of substance (ti). Here, saying each phase has its own nature is speaking from the perspective of function or operation (yong). From substance, the Five Phases all issue from one Taiji; from function, each phase fully embodies a Taiji. On the side of substance, the theme is returning to the root and to origin; on the side of function, the theme is the broad unfolding of efficacy.

Understanding substance proceeds by reversing the numerical order; understanding function proceeds by advancing the numerical order. Reversing the order reveals where things come from; advancing reveals where they develop. To know only the beginning without grasping how function unfolds cannot reach breadth; to know only the end without understanding the beginning cannot exhaust subtlety. Tracing back to the start, the myriad things are one undifferentiated whole, merged with Wuji; projecting forward to the end, the myriad things endlessly generate and transform, their movement without limit. Reverse and forward reasoning work together, so beginning and end are not two separate things; between the manifest and the hidden there is no barrier, and nature and principle (xingli—the inherent character of things and their inner logic) flow through without obstruction. This is called substance and function both complete, in accord with the Dao.

The true substance of Wuji subtly merges with the refined qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases and condenses into form.

“The true aspect of Wuji” is the subtle operation and responsiveness of Yuan Shen—the primordial spirit born before form, with its numinous efficacy. “The essences of Two and Five” are the refined intermingling of Yin-Yang dual qi and the qi of the Five Phases. When Yin-Yang and Five-Phase qi unite and condense, the myriad things of the world come into being.

The true aspect of Wuji is vast to the utmost; it is the root of all things before Heaven and Earth, the foundation of Taiyi (the primordial qi spoken of in Daoism), the matrix of the Three Origins (Heaven, Earth, and Water), and the master of every mysterious transformation. It does not alter with up or down, ancient or modern, but endures always. Heaven relies on it to fix its place firmly; Earth relies on it to take on form. Qian (the trigram symbolizing Heaven) fixes direction so that the myriad things have something to depend on at the beginning; Kun (the trigram symbolizing Earth) gives form so that the myriad things have something to depend on as they grow.

The essences of Two and Five are likewise supremely subtle: they cannot be called existent, nor can they be called nonexistent; neither turbid nor clear—dim and deep, without shape or category. Heaven and Earth are established through them; sun and moon move by them; the One Qi (the unified primordial qi) is generated and melted by them; the myriad things are produced by them.

People only know that life comes from Heaven and Earth, yet do not know that the qi within themselves springs from the true aspect of Wuji; they only know that the body stands between Heaven and Earth, yet do not know that the physical form is condensed from the essences of Two and Five. If the essence of Wuji cannot be kept unchanged, Yuan Shen is insufficient to generate Yuan Qi; if the essences of Two and Five cannot intermingle with refinement, Yuan Qi is insufficient to transform into form. Therefore, to cultivate and nourish Yuan Shen, one must first preserve the true primordial; to consolidate the form, one must first nurture Jing (essence). When the true primordial and Jing do not leak outward, Yuan Qi becomes stable and Yuan Shen grows clear and bright. When form and spirit both reach a refined state and unite with the Dao in truth, the work the cultivator can complete is fulfilled.

The way of Qian (the yang path symbolized by Qian) generates the male; the way of Kun (the yin path symbolized by Kun) generates the female. Yin and Yang qi mutually interact and give birth to the myriad things; the myriad things multiply and change without cease, generating and generating without end.

“○” symbolizes the root extreme of the human being. At birth, receiving the way of Qian one becomes a man; receiving the way of Kun one becomes a woman. In terms of the hexagrams, the first line of Qian and Kun intersect to form Zhen; Zhen represents the eldest son. Yin and Yang qi interact and generate the myriad things; from this the myriad things multiply endlessly, with transformations without limit.

The symbol “○” represents the root and ultimate of human beings. At birth, one who receives the Qian Dao (the yang, creative way of Heaven) becomes male; one who receives the Kun Dao (the yin, receptive way of Earth) becomes female.

Using the hexagrams to illustrate: when the bottom line of Qian interacts with Kun, Zhen is formed—Zhen represents the eldest son. When the bottom line of Kun interacts with Qian, Xun is formed—Xun represents the eldest daughter. When the middle line of Qian interacts with Kun, Kan is formed, representing the middle son; when the middle line of Kun interacts with Qian, Li is formed, representing the middle daughter. When the top line of Qian interacts with Kun, Gen is formed, representing the youngest son; when the top line of Kun interacts with Qian, Dui is formed, representing the youngest daughter. These six trigrams are called the “Six Sons,” produced by the mutual interaction of Qian and Kun. When the Six Sons pair and combine with one another, the sixty-four hexagrams arise. As the sixty-four hexagrams change without end, change is inexhaustible; thus the myriad things are ceaselessly born and continually evolve.

Regarding the human body: Qian corresponds to the head, Kun to the abdomen—matching Heaven and Earth each in their proper place; Li corresponds to the eyes, Kan to the ears—just as Fire and Water each keep their nature and do not harm one another; Zhen corresponds to the feet, Xun to the hands—as thunder and wind stir and respond to each other; Gen corresponds to the nose, Dui to the mouth—as mountain and marsh share their breath. This is the mapping of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) onto the human form.

Regarding human disposition: Qian and Kun correspond to body and mind; Kan and Li to spirit (shen) and vital essence; Zhen and Dui to the hun and po souls; Gen and Xun to intention and qi. Once the Eight Trigrams are arrayed, numinous presence moves within them; being and non-being intermingle, inner and outer respond to each other, and the various causes and thoughts arise from this. Are these not precisely the manifold transformations that occur within a person’s body? The Xici commentary on the Yijing says: “When the qi of Heaven and Earth meet and gather, the myriad things are transformed and nurtured; when male and female unite and essences merge, the myriad things are generated and grow.” This is exactly the principle meant. Heaven and Earth ceaselessly generate, turn, and change, and the myriad things therefore grow and change without limit; “○” is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) of the myriad things—the root of their arising and transformation.

Only humans receive the most refined spiritual qi of Heaven and Earth, and therefore possess the greatest numinous capacity. Once the physical form is born, consciousness gives rise to perception; the five qi interact and stir, good and evil are distinguished, and all affairs in the world follow from this.

Heaven is above, earth below, and humanity together with the myriad things stand between them. Heaven and earth are the parents of the ten thousand things, yet among them human beings are the most spiritually endowed, for they receive the balanced and upright qi; thus spirit and Dao are fused as one and never part. Heaven and earth each keep their place while change runs between them; once a person’s body and mind are established, spirit moves within them as well. At first heaven and human beings are not separated—why then do people feel themselves small? Because they do not know their own root.

Tracing that root: before birth, one is nourished by the primordial beginning (the undifferentiated state before the myriad things split apart), whole and without lack, never for an instant cut off from the source. After birth, qi transforms and forms the body; once the body exists, qi gathers and spirit awakens to awareness. The original numinous awareness is the truth of Wuji (the Limitless). The five qi respond and stir the true mechanism (the inner vital subtlety of life); its wondrous response appears outwardly: essence-qi responds in the ears as hearing, corresponding to “earth six completes water”; spirit responds in the mouth as speech, “heaven seven completes fire”; hun responds in the eyes as sight, “earth eight completes wood”; po responds in the nose as smell, “heaven nine completes gold”; intent responds in the body as movement, “earth ten completes earth.” Here the Five Phases and the generative numbers of heaven and earth explain human senses and the activity of body and mind.

Once the true mechanism moves, the crooked and the straight separate and the ten thousand affairs arise. If someone can gather body and mind, still the disturbances of emotion and cognition, let the five qi converge and the three yuan coalesce, embrace the One and guard unity (hold the root without scattering), withdraw the gaze and turn hearing inward, seal the breath and harmonize respiration, neither letting outer objects enter nor letting inner thoughts leak out, so that one qi returns to emptiness and stillness and spirit sinks into silence—then how could good and evil arise?

Going further, one nourishes yin-yang qi and the essence of the Five Phases, holds the fluid of great harmony (the harmonized, pure life essence), and returns to the truth of Wuji, reaching the realm of emptiness—this is called returning to the root, restoring the origin, and recovering the mandate. Bai Yuchan said: “Before my parents had yet begotten me, there was already boundless vitality; after body and mind are settled and unmoved, the true mechanism of Wuji appears again.” That is exactly the point.

The sage settles himself in centrality, rectitude, and humaneness.

The sage probes the deepest principles and sees through affairs that stretch far into the future, and in everything he does he keeps to principle. Nothing under heaven outranks principle; therefore, to raise virtue and bring work to completion, one must first exhaust the logic of things—and the heart of that inquiry is to take centrality, correctness, benevolence, and righteousness as one’s ground. On that basis the sage fixes these as the standard, sets up norms, and carries out teaching.

Centrality and correctness belong to human nature; benevolence and righteousness are the way heavenly nature shows itself. They run through heaven and earth and form the pivot on which the ten thousand things turn. When the mind is still and does not act rashly, and one observes things without going against their inherent pattern, that is centrality (zhong). When one is open, upright, gentle, and smooth, rests in the constant Way and takes stillness as the lead, and meets the myriad affairs of life without being used up, that is correctness (zheng). When one checks selfish desire, returns to ritual propriety, widely relieves and gives, helps others to completion, and treats people without private ends, that is benevolence (ren). When in advance or retreat, in speech or silence, one always follows what is reasonable, gains both oneself and others, and lives among the ten thousand things without strife, that is righteousness (yi).

Centrality is the root of all affairs under heaven; correctness is heaven’s steady measure; benevolence is the most equitable virtue under heaven; righteousness is the most harmonious norm under heaven. The Wenyan commentary says: “Benefit is the outcome of harmonizing through what is right.” It also says: “When the ten thousand things receive benefit, that is enough to bring righteousness into harmony.” From this we see that benevolence and righteousness are a main road for advancing virtue and finishing great work, while centrality and correctness are the key to exhausting principle and fully revealing one’s nature.

Centrality, correctness, benevolence, and righteousness fill heaven and earth; they can be used to weigh and order the ten thousand things. Apply them to self-cultivation and the person is complete; apply them to governing the state and the state is secure. Whether one travels the four quarters, rules the realm, or handles the minute and the vast, nothing escapes these principles. If the noble person day and night turns them over in mind and keeps attention undivided, I do not think completing the great Way is hard.

The root of practice lies in holding to stillness (zhu jing) and, on that basis, establishing the highest standard for human conduct.

What is called “stillness” does not mean being utterly motionless. If motionlessness alone counted as stillness, then clods of earth and stones would qualify as sages. The Tongshu says: “Only moving without stillness—that is what a mere thing is.” True stillness is remaining settled while one is still within activity. After the Beginning of Winter, the myriad things store themselves away; winter takes shape from this—one may call that stillness. Yet sun, moon, and stars never cease their course—can one say they do not move at all? On the winter solstice, orders were given to close the passes and gates, so as to teach the people to wait quietly for yang qi to stir. Thus within movement there is stillness, and within stillness there is movement—this is precisely where transformation hinges.

When stillness reaches its utmost, the heart-mind of the Way of Heaven reveals itself. Confucius said: “Does not the Fu hexagram display the heart-mind of Heaven and Earth?” From this one knows that among the roots of the myriad things, nothing is more important than stillness. Stillness upon stillness, and spirit can be properly regulated; only then can one investigate nature, fully bring forth one’s endowment, reach the mandate of Heaven, transcend the ordinary, and even attain sagehood. What Laozi meant by “clarity and stillness are the correct way under Heaven,” and what the Great Learning means by “when the mind is fixed, one can be still”—both speak to this. Human beings originally possess a nature inclined toward stillness.

If someone takes stillness as the foundation of cultivation, gathers the restless mind in daily conduct, removes vain emotions, settles upright Qi (the body’s proper vital energy), and nourishes primordial Jing (essence), then naturally, in silent stability, one can resonate with the myriad things. Then in stillness one is still, and in action one can still remain still; though one moves and responds to things, the inner root stays settled—this is true stillness.

Long sustained true stillness gives rise to clear wisdom; when wisdom is clear, the heart-mind becomes more penetrating; when penetrating, spirit becomes responsive and unobstructed with the myriad things—in the ten directions and all realms there is no barrier. This is supreme clarity and stillness. When the heart-mind is clear and still, the body too is clear and still; one body clear and still leads to many bodies clear and still; when many bodies are clear and still, mountains, rivers, the great earth, and all things are clear and still. Once the myriad things are clear and still, the world naturally aligns. The Scripture says: “If a person can constantly preserve clarity and stillness, Heaven and Earth will all turn toward him.” This is the meaning.

The ancient sages said that taking stillness as primary establishes the root norm for how one lives and acts. This is the sages’ method of teaching people. Without contemplating the principle of return (fu) and understanding the Way of change, who could reach such a state?

The sage—one whose virtue and wisdom have reached a very high level—aligns with the virtue of Heaven and Earth, shares in the radiance of the sun and moon, keeps step with the order of the four seasons, and can also respond to the fortune and misfortune governed by ghosts and spirits.

Toward the myriad things under Heaven, the sage is like Heaven toward the myriad things. Thus the sage’s virtue matches Heaven and Earth, his discernment is clear as the sun and moon, his conduct accords with the order of the four seasons, and he can also harmonize with creation and transformation—the changes by which Heaven and Earth generate the myriad things. He observes the patterns by which yin and yang operate and understands the principles of things.

What is called “prior to Heaven” (xiantian) is acting before external temporal conditions; the junzi (noble person) follows the sage’s law in conduct and accords with the season of Heaven—this is what is meant by “posterior to Heaven” (houtian). Acting before the season of Heaven is because one follows natural heavenly principle, so Heaven does not go against him; acting after the season of Heaven is because one dares not violate the Way of Heaven. The Wenyan says: “When one acts before the season of Heaven, Heaven does not go against him; when one acts after the season of Heaven, he follows the season of Heaven.” If even Heaven does not go against such a person, how much more so people, ghosts, and spirits?

The junzi cultivates himself and follows heavenly principle, and therefore meets with good fortune; the petty person violates heavenly principle and therefore meets with misfortune. The junzi follows the season of Heaven, straightens the mind and makes intention sincere, and then cultivates on that basis—therefore he often obtains good fortune. The petty person turns away from principle and the Way of rightness, indulges desire and chases what is empty and false—therefore he often encounters misfortune.

The key to cultivation lies in accord with the right moment; the key to accord with the right moment is nothing better than stillness and clarity (qingjing). When the mind is still, nothing is hard to overcome; when nothing is hard to overcome, the limit of that state is hard to fathom. Only when one reaches this level can one unite with the sage; after uniting with the sage, one understands the Way of the prior-to-Heaven, and in the end returns to the true root.

Guangchengzi said: “Do not look outward, do not listen outward; guard the spirit and keep the mind quiet. When the mind is quiet, it naturally becomes upright. Be sure to remain clear and still; do not weary the body, do not stir the refined essence (jing). Keep your spirit guarded within the bodily form, and the form can long endure.” From this we know that clarity and stillness are the foundation for entering the sage’s realm. Zhou Dunyi summed the gist of cultivation in the phrase “taking stillness as fundamental”—truly enough to serve as teacher for later generations in the human realm and beyond.

Therefore it is said: to establish the Way of Heaven, take yin and yang as the fundamental law; to establish the Way of Earth, take softness and firmness as the fundamental law; to establish the Way of Humanity, take benevolence and righteousness as the basic standard.

The Way of Heaven takes yin and yang as its guiding principle—this is the qian and kun of Heaven. The Way of Earth takes softness and firmness as its guiding principle—this is the qian and kun of Earth. The Way of Humanity takes benevolence and righteousness as its guiding principle—this is the qian and kun of Humanity. From this the three powers (sancai) begin to appear: each possesses a small heaven-and-earth of its own, each possesses a Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) of its own, and each has the transformations embodied in yin and yang, softness and firmness, benevolence and righteousness. Traced to the root, all three originally issue from one Taiji; turned back to examine oneself, the Way of the three powers is also fully present in one’s person.

In terms of inner cultivation, the yin and yang of the Way of Heaven correspond in the heart to shen and qi (spirit and vital breath in the life process); the softness and firmness of the Way of Earth correspond in the body to jing and po (essence and the spirit of form); the benevolence and righteousness of the Way of Humanity correspond in intention to feeling and xing (emotion and original nature). When body, heart, and intention are settled, the three flowers gather at the crown (sānhuā jùdǐng—the cultivation state in which jing, qi, and shen unite), and the sage’s work is complete.

Trace things from their beginning and examine them to their end, and you will understand the principle of birth and death.

Tracing the origin of the myriad things, they all issue from one and the same Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); probing where they end, they all return again to Taiji. Turn inward from yourself to seek the root: Yuan Qi—the primordial Qi that constitutes life—is where the body begins. Yuan Qi is prior to the postnatal and keeps postnatal life going; it moves through the four quarters of heaven and earth, fills the eight directions, runs through heaven and earth, and pierces metal and stone. Heaven, earth, and humanity—the three powers—thereby each hold their place; the sage embodies and accords with Yuan Qi, returns to the root, and recovers life’s true nature.

Returning to the first stirrings of nature, in a dim realm beyond words, the ten thousand harmonies naturally complete what is real. Whatever has form: gain this and it lives, lose it and it dies. Drawn inward, it can hide in the utmost small; spread out, it fills the Great Void and reaches beyond it, holding the myriad things in a vastness that cannot be measured. Trace its source: before heaven and earth took on the shapes that cover the myriad things, it was already there, blended into one, making the real—the root of the body. Because it is the beginning of the myriad things, it is called, for want of a better name, “Yuan Qi”; the body too comes from it.

The body takes shape through Yuan Qi; shape changes and there is life; life changes and there is death. Life is Yuan Qi gathering—the myriad things thus appear from the hub of becoming; death is Yuan Qi scattering—the myriad things thus re-enter the hub of becoming and change. Birth and death, one gathering and one scattering: these are the pivot of movement and stillness in Taiji. Movement must return to stillness, manifestation must return to the source, life must move toward death. Therefore, pursue the beginning and return to the end, and the principle of life and death becomes clear.

Only Shen—the depth no one can fathom—has a beginning and end no one can measure. It endures through innumerable ages unchanged, bound neither by antiquity nor by the present, neither born nor destroyed. Because it is ever constant, it can keep transforming the myriad things and sustaining unceasing generation. What is called Shen is what even the sage can barely know to the full. Those who grasp this will nourish Shen through quiet sitting and Yuan Qi through restful sleep, sinking intention into silence and hiding mind-spirit in the utmost depth; in this way they may attain the way of long life and clear vision.

The Yijing is indeed great: its principle reaches the utmost limit.

What the Classic of Changes (Yi Jing) calls change is ceaseless transformation in heaven and earth that never pauses. All things continually arise and transform without end; that is the subtlety of Yi (Change). Spirit (Shen) has no fixed place; Yi has no fixed form. What can thread through every transformation under heaven is Yi; what can exhaust every transformation under heaven is Shen.

The “Appended Statements” (Xici) of the Yi Jing says: “In Yi there is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); from the Taiji arise the Two Modes (liang yi); from the Two Modes arise the Four Images (si xiang); from the Four Images arise the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). The Bagua determine fortune and misfortune, and fortune and misfortune propel the accomplishment of great undertakings.” The Taiji is the starting point of change; the Two Modes are the change of the Taiji, the Four Images are the change of the Two Modes, the Bagua are the change of the Four Images, and fortune and misfortune are the change of the Bagua. The sixty-four hexagrams encompass the principles of all affairs in the world; the conditions of all sentient beings can likewise be seen as the unfolding of change through the Bagua.

What runs through from beginning to end yet itself does not change is Yi. Precisely because it does not change, change can be inexhaustible. Tracing things to their origin, one Qi (the fundamental breath that constitutes the myriad things) gives rise to the ten thousand things; returning to the end, the ten thousand things revert to one nothingness. What runs through from beginning to end without changing is also Shen. Precisely because it does not change, it enables change to operate without ceasing. What disperses one nothingness into the ten thousand things is Shen; what gathers the ten thousand things back into one nothingness is also Shen. Shen and Yi are truly supreme and vast.

Qing’an Yingchanzi Yulu (Recorded Sayings of Master Yingchan of Qing’an): Preface

When writers discuss principle and question one another, they speak at once the truth in their hearts as soon as they open their mouths—is this not speech within the Dao? (Here “huaba” refers to the topic of discussion and exchange in dialogue.)

The Commentary on the Heart Sutra by Master Dàdiān records the following exchange. A monk asked Master Cén: “Two mice are gnawing at a vine—how should a person escape the predicament?” Master Cén replied: “People today must know how to ‘hide themselves.’” The monk asked: “What does ‘hide oneself’ mean?” Master Cén said: “Why wait until the vine is about to break before realizing that everything ultimately returns to emptiness? Right here and now, hold to nothing in any affair and let nothing stick to you anywhere. I do not set up a separate stance toward outer things, and outer things cannot bind me—that is what ‘hiding oneself’ means.”

The monk asked again: “‘Wanting to speak yet unable to say it all—east of the mountains and north of the river there is still room to discuss.’ What does that mean?” Master Cén answered: “If this matter were put into words, it would never be finished. That last line is vast and boundless; it already embraces everything—what more could be said? The very phrase ‘unable to say it all’ has already been spoken.”

The monk asked: “Do you want to recognize this sūtra?” The reply was: “West of Qūyé, north of Yùdānyuè.” The monk pressed: “Why mention those two places in particular?” Master Cén said: “I would not answer that way. If someone asked me what this sūtra is, I would only say: ten thousand lǐ east and west, eight thousand lǐ north and south.” He used extreme directions and distances to show that the sūtra’s meaning is vast and without limit.

The monk asked again: “The four phrases ‘it is the great spell, the bright spell, the supreme spell, the spell equal to the unequaled’—what in Daoist and Confucian classics might they correspond to?” Master Cén said: “In Daoist books, one might liken them to ‘wondrous within wondrous, mystery upon mystery, nothing higher to ascend, not-so yet so’; in Confucian books, to ‘true contemplation, true clarity, true surpassing unity.’ Still, the most ultimate state remains beyond words.”

The monk asked: “When the bodhisattva Wǎngmíng first left home, why could he bring a woman out of deep meditative absorption (dhyāna), while Mañjuśrī—honored as teacher of the seven buddhas—could not?” The master said: “Xiùān put it well: ‘A dog welcomes a guest who once stayed the night; a crow guards a fledgling that fell from the nest.’ That is clear enough; no need to doubt further.”

The master then asked me: “Wǎngmíng could bring the woman out of absorption, but Mañjuśrī could not. So Mañjuśrī asked Wǎngmíng to investigate the gate of non-duality (bù èr fǎmén), and said, ‘Do not move—if you move, thirty blows with the staff.’ How should we understand this?” Just as I was about to answer, Dìng’ān happened to bump into me as he was leaving. The master said: “Well said and clearly put—no need to doubt further.”

The Master asked me: “How should one understand the lines ‘because one cannot emerge’ and ‘the woman in samadhi,’ Manjushri Bodhisattva’s sending Wuming Bodhisattva to investigate the Dharma Gate of Non-duality, and Manjushri’s saying ‘You must not move—if you move, I’ll give you thirty blows with the staff’?”

Just as I was about to reply, Ding’an happened to shift his body, which at once touched off the turning point in the exchange. The Master then held up this incident for me to see and approved of that response that had arisen in accord with the moment.

The Master asked again: “How should one understand ‘the mud snake at the bottom of the well writhing, the branch by the window shining bright, moonlight on plum and pear’?”

I reflected for a long while and said: “From the aperture within, blow one strain of melody; it shines through and shatters the empty flowers before the eyes.”

The Master said: “No.”

I said again: “The skull splits open and only I remain; the eyes bulge out and there is nothing else.”

The Master said: “That is somewhat closer.”

I asked: “In the old gong’an of the two monks rolling up the blind, one spoke rightly and one wrongly—how is one to tell them apart?”

The Master answered: “The benevolent, looking from the standpoint of benevolence, call it benevolence; the wise, looking from the standpoint of wisdom, call it wisdom.”

Someone asked Jiashan, “What is the dharmakaya—the body of suchness that the Buddha realizes?” Jiashan replied, “The dharmakaya has no fixed form.” The questioner asked again, “What is the dharma eye—the wisdom that sees truth?” Jiashan replied, “The dharma eye is without blemish.” When Daowu heard this, he did not accept the answer and stopped having later trainees press the same questions.

When Boat Master (Chuanzi) came back, he told the exchange again and answered just as before. Daowu said, “This time there is a lion”—meaning the reply showed real strength of insight. Someone asked, “The question was the same and the answer was the same—why reject it once and approve it the next?” The master said, “Cloud and moon may look alike, but stream and mountain are not the same.” In other words, the words can match while the situation and the person’s understanding differ.

The master also said, “Dongshan’s Precious Mirror Samadhi has five rank phrases: zheng zhong pian, pian zhong zheng, zheng zhong lai, pian zhong zhi, and jian zhong dao. How should these five be understood?” The trainee answered, “If the ‘correct’ side cannot turn into the center, the ‘biased’ side cannot appear; if the biased side cannot turn into the center, the correct side cannot appear either. The correct side returns to the center, the biased side also arrives at the center; when biased and correct merge, that is jian zhong dao. There, biased and correct are both forgotten, and only the center remains.” The master said, “Still a little short. You must grasp it in movement and stillness—then it is truly complete.”

One day the master sat with four others. He asked, “Old Chuan said, ‘This mind is not mind—not mind.’ How do you explain that?” None of the answers fit. The trainee said, “Calling it mind is wrong; saying it is not mind is wrong too.” The master asked, “Then what is right?” The trainee gave a shout. The master said, “Keep that firmly in mind.”

The master asked again, “What is the Dao?” The trainee struck the platform by his seat. The master asked, “What is one who is in the Dao?” The trainee struck again. The master asked, “How is that right?” The trainee shouted. The master said, “Keep that firmly in mind.”

He asked once more, “What is the Dao?” The trainee struck the platform; asked again, “What is one who is in the Dao?” the trainee struck again. The master said, “Still a little short.” The trainee immediately shouted. The master said, “Eight quarters too early”—the moment of response was wrong; the move came too soon.

“The wheel is made of thirty spokes gathered around the hub”—how should we understand this? The master said: Spokes and hub are only parts of the cart; when the spokes converge on the hub, the cart can carry loads and roll. This can be compared to thirty days making one month, so the moon can shine; or to the ten thousand things returning to emptiness, so their true nature can function. The principle is the same.

Someone asked: How should we read “Those who live are thirteen in ten; those who die are thirteen in ten”? There are many explanations—please give the correct one. The master said: The living kind is water and fire in mutual aid; the dying kind is water and fire at odds. Water’s completion number is six, fire’s is seven; six and seven together make thirteen. The ancients said “Seven and six make thirteen—spring colors in the moon palace”—that is the idea. Some take thirteen as the seven emotions and six desires—that can work; some use the Eight Trigrams and Five Phases to explain six and seven as thirteen—that is wrong. Have you not heard in the lower part of the Dao De Jing: “The rigid belong to the company of death; the soft and weak belong to the company of life”? Here “rigid” means anger and blazing desire; “soft and weak” means restraining anger and curbing desire. When anger and desire rise, the upper body burns like fire above, the lower is damp like water below—water and fire oppose each other. When anger and desire are cleared, yang descends and yin ascends—water and fire aid each other. What doubt remains?

Someone asked: “Between heaven and earth—is it not like a bellows? Empty, yet never exhausted; the more it is worked, the more breath comes forth.” Is the bellows used here to explain the mystery of heaven-and-earth’s creating and transforming? Please explain. The master said: Tuo is a bag without a bottom; yue is a flute with three holes—together they mean the leather bag used to blow air. Here it stands for heaven and earth: empty and formless, yet holding inexhaustible subtle principle; it also stands for the human mind: empty, still, and clear. “Not bent” means it opens and flows freely; “moved, more comes out” means its efficacy is endless as change goes on.

Question: The scripture says “morning Tun, evening Meng”—how should we understand that?

The master’s answer: Qian (Heaven) and Kun (Earth), Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) form the basic framework of alchemical theory. The sixty hexagrams (the sixty figures used to symbolize yin–yang change) turn and shift within this framework: they begin with the Tun and Meng hexagrams and end with Jijing (Already Fulfilled) and Weiji (Not Yet Fulfilled). These hexagrams explain the law of change in huo-hou (fire phases and timing) during practice. Alchemical texts treat Qian and Kun as the dingqi (cauldron and vessel—the alchemical container) and Kan and Li as the “medicines”; the remaining hexagrams express the mechanism of transformation.

The sixty hexagrams have three hundred sixty line-images (yao), corresponding to the three hundred sixty days of a year. After the winter solstice, Tun and Meng mark the opening of change; when the Great Snow solar term ends the cycle, Jijing and Weiji mark its close. By the month, the first day is the start of Tun and Meng, and the month’s end is Jijing and Weiji; by the day, the zi hour begins Tun and Meng, and the hai hour is Jijing and Weiji.

If we speak from the level of cultivation, the work of a single moment can gather the pattern of a whole year’s seasonal change. The moment you first xiashou (begin the work) is Tun and Meng; when you shougong guizheng (gather the work and settle it) is Jijing and Weiji. So “morning Tun, evening Meng” is only a shorthand for that process.

Who grasps this can, in one flash, complete the numerology of the zhou tian (microcosmic circuit) in motion, with every hexagram implicit in it. What the patriarch meant by “without hexagrams, within, Qian and Kun are fixed”—wu gua nei ding qian kun—is exactly this.

Someone asked how to understand the phrase “raising a golden goose inside a precious vase.” The master replied: From the perspective of Wuwei (non-action), this refers to two Chan gong’an (public cases); from the perspective of deliberate cultivation, it explains a stretch of practice.

Begin with Wuwei. A monk asked Chan master Zhaozhou, “Does a dog have Buddha-nature?” Zhaozhou answered, “It does.” The monk asked, “Why do you say it does?” Zhaozhou answered, “It does not.” The monk asked again, “Why do you say it does not?” Zhaozhou said, “Because it is utterly free of discrimination.” Another old gong’an runs: A goose grew to full size inside a bottle—how can it get out? Many people cannot penetrate these two cases; if someone can break open the hinge with a single phrase, their study is complete.

Turn to deliberate cultivation. “Dog” points to something arising from nothing, yin holding yang within. A dog also guards—like the watchdog at the minister of justice’s gate, warding off thieves within. “Raising a golden goose inside a precious vase” refers to metal in water—that is, the Neidan (internal elixir) refined in the furnace. Raising the golden goose is nurturing the sacred embryo (the inner elixir that gradually condenses in practice); when the sacred embryo matures, it is like the goose grown full inside the bottle. Ordinarily the bottle must break before the goose can emerge; when the goose comes out yet the bottle stays whole, that symbolizes the subtle realm of shedding the shell and passing beyond. Hence the patriarch said: “A jade dog hidden in a brocade canopy; a golden goose raised inside a precious vase.” This speaks precisely to the subtlety of Golden Elixir cultivation.

Someone asked: “What does it mean to say that ‘abandoning one’s wife’ is merely a misguided way of cutting off yin and yang?”

The master replied: “Ziyang Zhenren said: ‘Without obtaining true lead, do not withdraw into the mountains.’ That saying is quite close to what is meant here. Nowadays, people who study the Way are misled by false teachers. Having learned one method of cultivation, they think they have already attained the Dao. They abandon wife and children and go into the mountains to live in seclusion; when cultivation yields no results, regret arises. Some return to lay life, some marry again—such cases are many.

There are also shallow, unlearned people who do not grasp the sages’ teaching and say that abandoning one’s wife is not part of cultivating the Dao, yet they treat the wife as the ‘cauldron vessel’ (dingqi, the vessel used in alchemy), or say that medicine lies within the woman’s body, or even call the birth gate the root of life. All of this is the way of great disorder.

They do not know that when the patriarchs first pointed this out to the world, they meant: if desire cannot be cut off, then merely abandoning one’s wife is in vain. And because they saw students of the Way misunderstand this, the patriarchs added: ‘Naturally there is a cauldron to refine dragon and tiger—why cling to household and yearn for wife and children?’ Here ‘cauldron,’ ‘dragon,’ and ‘tiger’ are terms of Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, symbols used within practice. Today those without learning seize only the first sentence and never reflect on the second—truly they are at fault.”

Someone else asked: “My teacher said that in cultivating Neidan one must not fixate on year, month, day, and hour—so why does it say here that gathering medicine requires knowing dusk and dawn?”

The master replied: “This teaching expresses the same idea as ‘Tun and Meng’ (hexagram names in the Book of Changes, also phases of yin-yang transformation)—only the application differs slightly. Beginning of spring and beginning of autumn are the ‘dusk and dawn’ within a year; first quarter and last quarter of the moon are the ‘dusk and dawn’ within a month; the yin and shen hours are the ‘dusk and dawn’ within a day; the moment when yin and yang meet is the ‘dusk and dawn’ within body and mind. Understand the principle of day and night’s change, and you will grasp how yin and yang advance and turn; investigate the causes of hidden and manifest change, and you will grasp the principle of life and death. The great essential meaning that Buddhas, immortals, and sages value lies largely here.”

Someone asked: “The Daodejing says that the Dao cannot be seen and is called ‘xi’ (rare/obscure); cannot be heard and is called ‘yi’ (elusive); cannot be touched and is called ‘wei’ (subtle). Is this the same as or different from saying that one ‘does not see oneself, does not hear sound, and departs from all margins and limits’ and thereby calls it the profound Dao?”

The master replied: “In broad outline they are similar, but the actual meaning differs. The former speaks of the substance of the Dao; the latter speaks of its function. The Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean) says: ‘Be cautious where others do not see; be vigilant where others do not hear. The more hidden, the less anything can be exposed; the more subtle, the less anything can appear.’ Therefore the noble person constantly guards words and deeds in solitude. Only when one does not see oneself, does not hear sound, and departs from all distinctions and limits can it be called the profound Dao. If one merely says there is something that cannot be seen, heard, or touched and calls it xi, yi, and wei, what margins and limits would still need to be left behind?”

Yinyu Le asked: “In the twelve months of the year there is the Zi month; in the twelve double-hours of the day there is the Zi hour. In the human body, where is the Zi hour?”

The master said: “The Daodejing says: ‘Attain the utmost of emptiness; hold firmly to deep stillness. The ten thousand things arise together; thereby I observe their return.’ Does this not mean exactly that?”

The answer was: “At the time when Gui qi arises.”

He asked again: “When qi stirs, it disperses and collapses—what do you say to that?” The master said: “So it is.”

Yin asked again: “Yuanshi (Primordial Beginning) suspends a precious pearl five zhang above the ground—how should this be understood?”

The master asked: “What is your view?”

Yin replied: “‘Five’ is a yang number.”

The master said: “That is not so. ‘Five zhang above the ground’ means to be far from the five turbidities (wuzhuo—the five defilements that confuse the mind in Buddhist–Daoist usage); ‘dwelling in emptiness and mystery’ means to concentrate the spirit, settle the mind, and enter the realm of mystery.”

He asked again: “Above the five turbidities—is that the Gate of the Mysterious Female (xuanpin zhi men, the symbolic root from which the myriad things are generated)?”

The master said: “Even if that is so, if you do not truly apply yourself in cultivation and have not personally realized it, merely saying that such a scene exists there—what problem can that solve?”

Someone asked: “The Daodejing says, ‘Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs for sacrifice. The sage is not benevolent; he treats the people as straw dogs.’ Why use something so humble as a metaphor?”

The teacher answered: “Heaven and Earth and the sage do not treat ren (benevolence) as a favor deliberately bestowed, so they regard the ten thousand things and the people as utterly small—hence the straw dog. Things grow on their own and perish on their own; yet after birth and death they ultimately return to the root and recover their mandate. The saying ‘Benevolence is displayed, use is concealed; it stirs the ten thousand things yet does not share the sage’s cares’ means that Heaven and Earth show the work of nurturing the ten thousand things yet do not, like a human being, carry worry—that is the sense of ‘Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs.’ The Yijing says that the way of Qian (Heaven) nourishes all under heaven through beauty and benefit yet does not claim to have bestowed any benefit—that is the sense of ‘The sage is not benevolent; he treats the people as straw dogs.’”

Someone asked: “Is the state of an infant before it understands things the same as what Mencius meant by ‘A true great person does not lose the heart of a newborn child’?”

The teacher answered: “It refers to the same state: one’s plain original nature has not yet been scattered, and the path of returning to authenticity is not far.”

Someone asked: “Laozi says that this existence called the Dao is so dim that it cannot be clearly seen; in the dimness there is something; in the indistinct there is an image; in the deep and dark there is jing (essence). This essence is real and not empty; within it there is trustworthy evidence. Why does he say only that the essence is real and that within it there is trust, without saying the same of the other two?”

The teacher answered: “The sage speaks of a kind of undifferentiated generative presence that exists before Heaven and Earth. This pre-heaven-and-earth presence is the image by which the Dao appears. The image appears through Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth come into being because of that undifferentiated presence. The ten thousand things are formed by the subtle blending and condensation of the qi of Yin-Yang and the essences of the Five Phases, so the subtle qi of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases is the substance of the Dao, while image and the ten thousand things are the function and manifestation of the Dao.”

Question: The scripture says one must be cautious even in places where others cannot see or hear, and it uses four lines as a metaphor in a very apt way. If one used only Confucian language for the metaphor, it would fit even better—could the teacher explain this once more?

The teacher’s reply: The first two lines mean that one is as if in a place with no one else present, yet always maintains sincerity (cheng). The last two lines mean that one is as if face to face with another person, yet still guards against unexpected thoughts and situations. For example, “Heaven’s operation is silent and without sound,” yet sincerity in the end cannot be hidden. Does this not embody the principle of being cautious and discerning in what is most subtle and hidden? Heaven is not literally in some “place where no one is,” yet it always maintains sincerity; it has no sound or scent for people to hear or smell, yet the principle of Heaven (tianli) is clear and evident, and sincerity in the end cannot be concealed.

Question: The scripture says that worry, regret, and faults all arise at the very beginning, in what is most fine and subtle. How should this be understood?

The teacher’s reply: “Jie” refers to firmness of mind—one’s resolve does not easily waver. Whenever a thought first stirs, one must first hold fast to this firmness; if the mind is clear and single-minded, then even the slightest movement can be detected in advance as a sign, and how could there be regret or fault? The key lies in noticing early.

Someone asked: “Are ‘three days before jia and three days after jia’ the same as ‘three days before geng and three days after geng’?”

The master replied: “The meaning is not the same. ‘Gu’ refers to disorder in things. If one can notice it and guard against it before disorder arises, one will not fall into disorder; if one only notices after disorder has already occurred and then sets things right, though trouble has appeared, recovery is still possible; if one never notices, the disorder grows worse.

‘Jia’ means a beginning. Noticing three days before something happens is called ‘before jia’; noticing only three days after it has happened is called ‘after jia.’ If one delays longer than that, it no longer counts as timely notice.

‘Before geng’ and ‘after geng’ relate to the hexagram Xun. The fifth line (nine in the fifth place) belongs to Xun; Xun symbolizes wind and also symbolizes the command of Heaven. When government orders are changed, the people may lose trust as a result. To win their trust again, one should explain the benefits and harms three days before the change, and only then carry out the reform, so that the people will believe; three days after the reform, one should warn them again so that they gladly accept and follow it. What is called ‘geng’ means to change or to reform.

From jia through wu belongs to the middle stage; once the midpoint is passed, things shift, which is why ‘geng’ is used to signify change and reform.”

The master said: “Is it not the Dao that cannot be put into words that we call the Dao? If that is so, how should one speak of it? Speak quickly, speak quickly!” I repeated this to the master, and he agreed it was well put.

The master said again: “The Dao cannot be spoken of, nor can it be named. How do you intend to speak of it?” I replied: “Though one may speak of it, I fear what is said will seem shallow. Please, Master, speak.”

The master said: “The Dao that appears from the natural origin cannot be spoken of as Dao; from the outset it has no name to call it by—this is the name that cannot be named. What manifests from the Dao is the Dao as it presents itself; once it can be spoken of, it may be called ‘Dao’—this is the name that can be named.

“What cannot be spoken of and cannot be named is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; what can be spoken of and can be named is the root of the ten thousand things. To fathom the beginning of Heaven and Earth, one should often be without desire and thereby observe its mystery; to fathom the root of the ten thousand things, one should often have desire and thereby observe its boundaries. ‘Mystery’ (miao) is profound and subtle, beginning from no beginning; ‘boundary’ (jiao) is the margin, the edge that appears in what can be seen. These two arise from one source yet have different names; both may be called mysterious.”

The master said: “When I once sat in attendance before Master Shi’an, he asked me to supply a matching line. He said: ‘The pass of jing, the pass of shen, the pass of qi—the three passes gather as one.’ I matched with: ‘The sounds of Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the myriad sounds all resound.’ The master changed the character ‘resound’ (ming) to ‘clear’ (cheng). What line would you match?”

I replied: “Gentle fire, vigorous fire, and discerning fire—all fires unite as one, the work complete and full.” The master also said: “I have an opening line: ‘Using the one who awakens first to awaken those who awaken later’—what is your match?” I replied: “From outer contemplation to inner contemplation.” The master said: “Changing ‘from’ (you) to ‘turn back’ (fan) would be better.”

On the night of the winter solstice, the master said: “Yang qi begins to return; the ancient sage-kings on this day closed their doors and rested in stillness.” What line would match this? I replied: “The six lines are drawn, the Kun hexagram is complete; the noble person therefore timely cultivates his own work.” The master thought this answer fitting. One day the master said to the assembly: “Changing the character to … would be better.”

On the night of the winter solstice, the master said: “At the winter solstice yang qi begins to return and grow. Why did the ancient sage-kings on this day close the passes and halt travel?” The disciple replied: “When all six lines of the Kun hexagram are complete, the superior person therefore seizes the moment to cultivate merit and practice.” The master approved this answer.

One day the master said to the assembly: “The Yi (Changes) of the former sages is precisely the principle of transformation in the minds of later people. Each of you, please offer one line in response.” Someone answered: “The shen (spirit) and qi (vital energy) within my body are originally primordial qi (yuan shi zhi qi).” Shen Zhanzai said: “The true nature of the Grand Beginning—is it not precisely today’s original nature?” The true master said: “I also have one line; please listen carefully.” He said: “The scriptures this junior has read were originally the same as Laozi’s canon.” No one in the assembly could reply.

The master asked again: “The lung belongs to metal (jin); metal’s nature is to sink—why does the lung float? The liver belongs to wood (mu); wood’s nature is to rise—why does the liver sink?” No one could answer. The master explained: “Because the lung receives qi, it contains wood within metal (yi mu), so it shows a rising, floating nature; because the liver receives qi, it contains metal within wood (geng jin), so it shows a sinking, settling nature.”

“Speaking in hexagram terms: the Dui hexagram belongs to metal; metal’s nature is to sink. Metal generates the single yang of water in the north, which corresponds to the Kan hexagram. The true fire within Kan rises upward, so it shows a rising, floating nature; it also contains metal within, hence it has a sinking, settling nature as well. The Zhen hexagram belongs to wood; wood’s nature is to rise. The bottom line of Zhen is solid yang. Wood generates fire in the second position of the south, which corresponds to the Li hexagram; the true water within Li descends downward, so it shows a sinking, settling nature.”

“Speaking in terms of medicinal substances: lead belongs to metal and is by nature sinking; when it meets fire it rises, so it shows a floating nature. Mercury belongs to wood and is by nature rising; when it meets water it falls, so it shows a sinking nature. Using celestial images as analogy: the moon corresponds to Kan and is originally sinking; after applying fire it rises. The sun corresponds to Li and is originally floating; after withdrawing the tally (tui fu) it descends. The ancients said: ‘At the bottom of the pool the sun is red—the yin demon perishes; on the mountaintop the moon is white—the medicinal sprout is new.’ The first line speaks of sinking because of water; the second speaks of floating because of qi. In sum, when metal is empty and insubstantial it floats; when wood is full and solid it sinks—that is the principle.”

The master asked again: “How are we to understand ‘host within host,’ ‘guest within guest,’ ‘guest within host,’ and ‘host within guest’?” No one could answer. The scripture then repeats the line “In sum, when metal is empty and insubstantial it floats; when wood is full and solid it sinks.”

The teacher asked, “How do you understand the phrases ‘the host within the host,’ ‘the guest within the guest,’ ‘the host within the guest,’ and ‘the guest within the host’?” No one grasped the subtle point. Zhan Zai replied, “The body beyond the body is ‘the host within the host’; the dream within the dream is ‘the guest within the guest’; nature within feeling is ‘the guest within the host’; feeling within nature is ‘the host within the guest.’” The teacher said, “That is getting close.” Zhan Zai added, “I have only one self, yet he speaks of another self; he comes to command me, and I also put him to use—that is what this means.” The teacher said, “You have not yet fully understood.” Zhan Zai continued, “There is no mind outside the mind—this is ‘the host within the host’; within one thought another thought arises—this is ‘the guest within the guest’; to notice a thought before it stirs is ‘the guest within the host’; to notice it only after it has stirred is ‘the host within the guest.’” The teacher said, “To explain it through movement and stillness fits best. Reaching the utmost stillness within stillness is ‘the host within the host’; moving and moving again is ‘the guest within the guest’; keeping steadiness amid movement is ‘the guest within the host’; drifting and scattering within stillness is ‘the host within the guest.’”

The teacher asked, “Qian has four virtues—how many does Kun have?” Zhan Zai answered, “Kun also has four.” The teacher said, “That is still not complete enough. Kun’s Yuan, Heng, Li, and Zhen match Qian’s, but Zhen differs in meaning: Kun must follow and submit before it can hold to the correct, hence it is called ‘the mare’s Zhen.’ The mare is yielding yet can run strongly—that is the idea.”

The teacher asked, “How many virtues does Zhun have?” Zhan Zai answered, “Zhun’s Yuan, Heng, Li, and Zhen are the same as Qian’s, but the hexagram statement and the moral meaning are not the same.” The teacher asked, “Where do they differ? I have not yet seen it clearly.” Zhan Zai replied, “If the virtues were exactly the same, it could not be called Zhun (the Zhun hexagram in the Yijing, which stands for the hardship of things at their first arising). ‘Yuan Heng’ means that at the outset there is a great principle of flourishing; ‘Li Zhen’ means the benefit lies in holding firm to the correct. Without firm correctness, one cannot escape Zhun’s hardship—how then speak of flourishing? Only by steadfastly guarding the flourishing that was there from the start can one pass through Zhun’s difficulty.”

The master said: “When joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have not yet appeared, that is called zhong (equilibrium); when they have appeared and all accord with measure, that is called he (harmony). I ask you: when emotion is about to arise but has not yet arisen, how should one comprehend it?” After a while, someone answered. The master said: “That is already having arisen.” I remained silent. The master said again: “This is not yet having arisen.” Another person answered, and the master approved, saying: “Keep this for your own realization; speaking it out might blind later students’ eyes. Only when one realizes it oneself is it truly usable.”

Record of Master Qing’an’s Questions and Answers, Volume Two

Compiled by the gate disciple Ding’an Zhao Daoke.

Essentials of the Moral Heart (Daode Xinyao)

When Master Qing’an expounded the Daode Jing, Yuan Zi Daoke was present, and the assembly of disciples likewise received instruction, grasping the text’s intent beyond words. What follows gathers the disciples’ questions and answers into one piece, for those of shared aspiration to study together and awaken the mind; the meaning must be felt and realized in the heart, hence the title Xinyao (Heart Essentials).

The master said: “This word Dao, it belongs neither to that which has verbal expression nor to that which has none; it belongs neither to that which has form nor to that which is formless. How do you comprehend it?” Ding’an said: “Tuo!” Hei’an gave a shout. The master said: “This word De, it belongs neither to cultivation nor to non-cultivation—what then counts as it?” Hei’an answered: “Act through wuwei (non-action).” Ding’an repeated this to the master. The master said: “All you dharma kin (fellow practitioners on the path), free yourselves from the bonds of language and text, and produce your own jing (scripture).” Hei’an wrote in the air; Chengan raised his fist.

The master said: “At the end of Chapter One of the Daode Jing it says: ‘Mystery upon mystery, the gate of all wonders.’ I consider that the thirty-six exalted jing all flow from this jing. Tell me—where does this jing flow from? Apart from the mouth your parents gave you, say it in one phrase.” Hei’an made the gesture of opening a book; Ding’an gave a shout.

The master said: “Chapter Two of the Daode Jing speaks of ‘you and wu mutually arising.’ Then, in one phrase that does not cling to you or wu, what should be said? If you can say it, it is like an arrow straight into hell; if you cannot say it, it is also like an arrow straight into hell.” The assembly repeated their various understandings; none hit the mark. Chengan asked: “What would be right?” The master said: “Just this, just this.”

The master said: “Chapter Three ends with ‘Act through non-action (wei wuwei), and nothing will be left ungoverned.’ If the teaching is wuwei (non-action), why use the word wei (action)? If those in high position take action, how can that be called wuwei, and how is it realized in those below?”

Ding’an replied: “Both substance and function must be held together.” Wei’an replied: “Within this very functioning, one must also release fixation on that functioning.”

The master said: “In Chapter Four, the line ‘existing before the Lord (xiang di zhi xian)’—if you try to speak it, your tongue would wear out; if you try to see it, your eyes would pop from staring. Simply gather in your light and keep silent—that is exactly when you deserve a blow from the staff.” The text after this passage is garbled and cannot be read.

The master said: “Chapter Five says, ‘Heaven and earth are like a bellows (tuoyue).’” The master composed a verse: “Bottomless.” He explained: “Tuo means the bellows; yue means a wind instrument with three holes. In the middle is one hole—no one can grasp it. For the sovereign it plays a tune without sound. Tell me, what would count as this hole?” Hei’an replied: “Watch over the nostrils.” Bao’an replied: “Hum (hong).” The master asked again: “What would count as a tune without sound?” Another replied on their behalf: “The Blue Emptiness Descending Song (biluo kongge).”

The master said: “Chapter Six treats ‘the gate of the mysterious female (xuan pin zhi men).’ When you exhale, do not get tangled in the ten thousand outer concerns; when you inhale, do not linger in the realm of yin. Neither going out nor coming in—how is that to be understood?” Hei’an replied: “Utterly unmoving.” The master said: “The ten thousand sounds all become clear.”

The master said: “Chapter Seven says, ‘Is it not because he is selfless that his self is fulfilled?’ (fei yi qi wusi ye, gu neng cheng qi si). If cultivators act only for themselves, that is private; if they save all beings universally, that seems driven by sentiment and is not private. How should one put it correctly?” Ding’an replied: “Others first, oneself last.”

The master said: “Chapter Eight speaks of ‘the highest good is like water (shang shan ruo shui).’ Set that aside. How many times has the Yellow River run clear? Tell me, where should this ‘point’ be placed?” Ding’an and Hei’an both answered by making the same gesture in demonstration.

The master said: “Chapter Nine says that when merit is complete and fame is established, one should withdraw—that is the way of Heaven (tian dao). But withdraw to where?” Ding’an said: “With one shout in the void, leave no trace.” Hei’an said: “There is nowhere to go.” The master said: “None of that is right yet.” Someone asked: “Then what is it?” The master said: “With both feet hanging loose and relaxed, hidden within the Northern Dipper (Beidou).” This line uses a startling image to point—not that one literally hides the feet in the Dipper, but to break fixation on “retreating to some place.”

The master said: “Chapter Ten speaks of ‘bearing and lodging the po (corporeal soul).’” He added: “The po loves to run wild and stir; it also favors force and boldness. By what method do you regulate it? If you regulate with intent, you fall into discriminating consciousness; if you regulate without mind, you cannot regulate at all. How then should it be done?” Hei’an snapped his fingers, answering with a gesture.

The master said: “Chapter Eleven says thirty spokes gather at the hub; the empty space at the center of the hub is what lets the wheel function. If the spokes did not converge on the hub, where would the cart be?” Hei’an said: “Turn the windlass.” Ding’an mimed pushing a cart.

The master said: “Chapter Twelve says the five colors make the eyes dazzle. If one says one must leave color and form behind, would that not blind the eyes? How do you understand this?” Hei’an said: “See as if not seeing.”

The master said: “Chapter Thirteen says to prize the body is like carrying a great affliction. With a body come worries; without a body, by what could one behold the Dao? Which way is correct?” Ding’an said: “Let go.” Hei’an said: “Is it understood this way?” Then he added again: “See as if not seeing.”

The master said: “Chapter Thirteen says to prize the body is like carrying a great affliction. With a body come worries; without a body, by what could one behold the Dao? Which way is correct?” Ding’an said: “Let go.” Hei’an said: “Nourish its formlessness”—meaning to cultivate the realm that has no shape and no image.

The master said: “Chapter Fourteen says one wishes to look yet cannot see.” He asked again: “A seamless jar—how do you understand it?” Shi’an said: “Round and whole like an egg.” The master said: “Still not it.” Someone asked: “What would the master say?” The master said: “Face to face, yet not knowing one another.”

The master said: “Chapter Fifteen says subtle, mysterious, and penetrating—depth beyond fathoming. Water is probed with a staff; a person is probed with words—then with what should the Dao (the Way) be probed?” Ding’an and Hei’an both raised their fists. The master said: “Fifty blows each.” Here raising the fist responds to the question; calling it “taking punishment” shows neither answer hit the mark.

The teacher said: “Chapter 16 of the Daodejing says: ‘Reach the utmost of emptiness; hold fast to stillness. The ten thousand things arise together, and I watch how they return.’ In a word, the point is to see the Heart of Heaven—the root vitality of nature—in that return. So where is the Heart of Heaven?” He added: “You must not stir a single thought; if you do, you get thirty blows of the staff.” Ding’an snatched the staff from the teacher.

The teacher said: “Chapter 17 of the Daodejing says: ‘The Supreme One—those below know that he is there.’” He went on: “Do not fix on what has form and appearance, and do not fix on what has no form and no appearance either; you must see your own Supreme One—your own utmost height.” He raised the staff and said: “Everyone—thirty blows.” Ding’an took the staff again.

The teacher said again: “Chapter 17 of the Daodejing: ‘The Supreme One—those below know that he is there.’ Neither in the marked nor in the unmarked—you must see your own Supreme One.” No one in the assembly could reply. The teacher said: “Right here, right now—the one who is teaching the Dharma—is it.”

The teacher said: “Chapter 18 of the Daodejing says: ‘When cleverness appears, great hypocrisy follows.’ Cleverness makes people lose their root; craft makes them lose their natural simplicity. How do you all understand this?” Zhian said: “Return to wuwei (non-action).” Sunan said: “Craft is not as good as plainness.”

The teacher said: “Chapter 19 of the Daodejing says: ‘Abandon sageliness and discard wisdom.’ How do you all understand this?” Ding’an said: “Forget where you yourself came from.”

The teacher said: “Chapter 20 of the Daodejing says: ‘Cut off learning, and there is no worry.’ What do you call ‘cutting off learning’?” Heiyan said: “Like trying to grab the wind or catch a shadow.” The teacher said: “To take not striving for learning as learning can shield the faults that most people fall into.”

The teacher said: “Chapter 21 of the Daodejing speaks of the Dao. The Dao has a body, has an image, has a shape and feeling—do these really exist? If you say they exist, investigate ‘the learner’s eye’; if you say they do not exist, investigate ‘the learner’s eye’ just the same. In the end, what should be said?” Heiyan said: “Neither being nor non-being is involved; there is only one real aspect.” Sunan drew a circle—a round figure for what cannot be put into words.

The teacher said: “Chapter 22 of the Daodejing says: ‘To yield is to be preserved whole; to bend is to be straightened.’ Trees too gnarled for timber live long; geese are killed because they are useful—what counts as fitting?” No one answered. The teacher said: “Whether useful or useless, both must follow the times.”

The teacher said: “Chapter 23 of the Daodejing says: ‘Speak little; follow what is natural.’ Keeping silent may still mean you have only fallen into a shallow layer of sharp exchange. Trees too gnarled for timber live long; geese are killed because they are useful—what counts as fitting?” Again no one answered. The teacher said: “Whether useful or useless, both must follow the times.”

The master said: “Chapter twenty-three speaks of xiyan ziran—rare speech that accords with nature. ‘Silent muttering without words’ only reaches the second level of attainment. What, then, is the first?” No one’s answer hit the mark. The master said: “When the mouth opens to speak, it is not on the tongue.”

The master said: “Chapter twenty-four says, ‘One who tiptoes cannot stand; one who strides cannot walk.’ How do you understand this?” Ding’an said: “Taking a step is not on the heel.”

The master said: “Chapter twenty-five speaks of ‘something undifferentiated and complete.’ What is that thing?” Ding’an gave a demonstration. The master asked again: “Within heaven and earth there are the Four Greats—Dao, Heaven, Earth, and Humanity. Is there anything greater than they?” Hey’an let out a shout.

The master said: “Chapter twenty-six says, ‘The light-minded lose their root; the restless lose their lord.’ When one is neither light-minded nor restless, what is that like?” Ding’an said: “The great Dao pervades; the world is clear and bright.” Hey’an said: “Let innate nature be settled and preserved.”

The master said: “Chapter twenty-seven says, ‘A good walker leaves no tracks or wheel-ruts.’ Do you understand?” Hey’an said: “One of great power cannot even lift a foot.”

The master said: “Chapter twenty-eight teaches that holding to darkness, softness, and humility is function; maintaining Wuji (the undifferentiated origin), supreme simplicity (taipu, the uncarved authenticity), and the state of an infant is the root. When simplicity scatters and becomes vessels—when authenticity differentiates into the myriad concrete things—how do you understand that?” Ding’an said: “The ten thousand things ceaselessly grow and change.”

The master said: “Chapter twenty-nine says that those who wish to take hold of the world and act upon it—I see that they never succeed in the end. I think this passage is mistaken; where is the mistake?” Ding’an said: “The mistake lies in ‘acting’ (wei).”

The master said: “Chapter thirty says that one who assists a ruler in accord with Dao does not rely on military force to dominate the world. If an enemy should come, how do you resist?” Hey’an said: “Transform them through De (Virtue/Power).” The master said: “Better still to guard with compassion (ci).”

The master said: “Chapter thirty-one says that fine weapons are inauspicious things. If you use no weapons at all, you cannot repel the enemy; yet if you use weapons, that goes against Dao. What is to be done?” Ding’an said: “Take reversal as your way of proceeding, and accord with change through compliance.”

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-two says that the Dao always accords with spontaneity and naturalness and does nothing contrived.” He then turned to Chapter Thirty-one: “Weapons are inauspicious things.” The master asked: “If we do not use arms, we cannot repel the enemy; if we use them, we fall out of step with the Dao. What should one do?” Ding’an replied: “Go against ordinary habit, yet follow the changes of circumstance.” The point is that when facing external enemies one may have no choice but to use force, but one should adapt to the situation, exercise restraint, and not treat aggression as the normal way.

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-two also says that the Dao always accords with spontaneity and naturalness. Though the Uncarved Block (pu)—the undivided, uncarved state of genuineness—is small, nothing under heaven dares treat it as a subordinate.” The master asked: “How should we understand the line ‘though the Uncarved Block is small’?” Ding’an answered: “Mount Sumeru fits inside a mustard seed.” That is a metaphor for the very small containing the very large. Hei’an said: “Though it stays in a low place, nothing goes beyond it.”

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-three says that when the body dies yet one’s inherent nature is not destroyed, that is true longevity.” The master asked: “What is it that is not destroyed?” Hei’an answered: “What is within non-being.” Mi’an said: “Vacuous clarity and numinous awareness, without obscuration.” The meaning is that although the physical form perishes, the inner luminous nature is not dimmed.

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-four says that the sage does not take himself to be great, and thereby becomes great.” The master asked: “What counts as not taking oneself to be great?” Hei’an answered: “Surging in through the pearl’s mouth.” The master added: “The highest good is like water.” That is, the highest goodness is like water— humble and able to nourish the myriad things.

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-five speaks of holding fast to the great image.” The master asked: “If we say it has a shape, it cannot be called vast; if we say it has no shape, how can one hold fast to it?” Hei’an answered: “In a pearl the size of a millet grain there is also the whole world.” The master said: “It seems not to resemble anything, and that is why it is vast.” Here the image of a tiny thing embracing the world shows that the Great Dao cannot be pinned down by ordinary forms.

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-six says, ‘If you wish to shrink something, you must first expand it.’” The master asked: “Eyebrows grow above the eyelashes—you have already missed it; say, where did you go wrong?” Ding’an answered: “Right here, in this very moment.” Hei’an said: “A hawk flies past Silla.” Shi’an said: “Do not run about at random.” The master said: “You have all received the same verdict.” These answers use sharp, turning phrases to show that the principle is not far away but right before you; to chase after it everywhere is precisely to miss what is present.

The master said: “Chapter Thirty-seven says that the Dao always accords with spontaneity and naturalness, yet there is nothing it cannot accomplish.” I composed this verse: “To act with purpose ends up like illusion; not to act at all falls into empty stillness. If you walk neither of these two roads, I invite each of you to add a line.” Hei’an replied: “Face to face, yet never meeting.” Zhi’an said: “Surely guard what is within.” Mi’an said: “Naturally endowed with great spiritual power.” The master said: “Right here, proclaim the Dao-wind of our school.” All of this explains that the Dao neither clings to purposeful action nor to empty nothingness, but is to be tasted and lived in the present moment.

The master said: “Chapter 38: One who truly possesses De (Virtue/Power) does not wear De on the tongue; only then can one be said to have De.” The master asked: “What is meant by De?” Heyan replied: “Not treating everything one has as one’s private possession.” The master said: “That is to say, not boasting of oneself.”

The master said: “Chapter 39: In ancient times, those who obtained the One—when Heaven obtained the One, it became clear.” The master asked: “Tell me, where exactly is ‘obtaining the One’?” Heyan answered: “That is having De.” The master asked again: “What is meant by De?” Heyan said: “Not treating everything one has as one’s private possession.” The master said: “That is to say, not boasting of oneself.”

The master asked again: “Where exactly is ‘obtaining the One’?” Heyan answered: “In the place of Wuwei (non-action)—that is, in the state of following what is natural and not deliberately contriving.” The master said: “In what is utterly useless, it is even better.”

The master said: “The final line of Chapter 40 says: The myriad things under Heaven are born from You (‘being’); You is born from Wu (‘non-being’).” The master asked: “Apart from Wu and You, what else is there?” Heyan answered: “There is ‘this’”—and then indicated something concrete as an illustration.

The master said: “Chapter 41: When men of the lowest grade hear the Dao (the Way), they laugh out loud.” The master asked: “What are they laughing at?” Heyan quoted the line and said: “They laugh at precisely this.” Mian’an said: “They laugh at Wuwei.”

The master said: “Chapter 42: Sometimes to diminish brings benefit; sometimes to increase brings loss.” The master asked: “When there is neither diminishing nor increasing, what is it like?” Heyan answered: “Neither lacking nor in surplus.” The master said: “Pry apart the undivided whole.”

The master said: “Chapter 43: The softest things under Heaven can ride the hardest things under Heaven.” The master said: “When circumstances arrive, do not wrestle with them; when the matter has passed, the heart is cool and at ease. What is the state of cool clarity?” Heyan answered: “Without affliction.” The master said: “And also without ignorance (the obscured state of not understanding principle).”

The master said: “Chapter 3: The softest things under Heaven can ride the hardest things under Heaven.” The master said: “When circumstances arrive, do not wrestle with them; when the matter has passed, the heart is cool and at ease. What is the state of cool clarity?” Heyan answered: “Without affliction.” The master said: “And also without ignorance (the obscured state of not understanding principle).”

The master said: “Chapter forty-four asks which is closer—reputation or life? Which counts for more—wealth or goods?” Chuanlao said: “If you can put to use the treasure that is originally your own, then birds calling and mountain blossoms opening all appear equally fresh.” What is that home treasure? He’an answered: “Li-li-luo.” Ding’an gave a shout. The master said: “One day of compassion.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-five. The previous chapter spoke of ‘knowing sufficiency brings no disgrace, knowing when to stop brings no danger’—that is speaking of always being content. This chapter speaks of ‘great completion seems incomplete, great fullness seems empty’—that is speaking of how things still look as if they were not enough. What is ‘enough’? What is ‘not enough’?” Sun’an and Zhi’an answered: “Self-satisfaction invites loss; humility brings benefit.” The master said: “One who has surplus in virtue yet keeps to a place of insufficiency can long endure; one who has surplus in goods yet keeps to a place of insufficiency appears unassuming. That is why it is put that way.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-six: there is no fault greater than covetous desire.” The master also said: “If you do not look at what stirs covetous desire, the heart will not be disturbed. If you hurry back, you only save half. Tell me—what is the other half?” Ding’an answered: “It is right here, in this very place.”

The master said: “At the end of chapter forty-seven we read ‘without being seen, yet renowned; through wuwei (non-action), yet accomplished.’ Then what is meant by ‘renown’? What is meant by ‘accomplishment’?” Ding’an and He’an both answered: “To accomplish virtue is what is called ‘giving the Dao (the Way) its due name.’”

The master said: “Chapter forty-eight speaks of ‘in pursuing learning, daily increase; in pursuing the Dao, daily decrease.’ What is it that increases? What is it that decreases?” Ding’an answered: “Decrease the self and accomplish others.” He’an answered: “Decrease emotional desires and increase the original nature.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-nine.”

The master said: “Chapter Fifty: Of those who seek life, three in ten; of those who move toward death, also three in ten.” He went on: “The nirvana mind—the state of transcending birth and death, still and free of clinging—is easy to grasp in words, but the wisdom that discriminates among things is hard to fathom. What is discriminating wisdom?” No one replied. The master said: “The benevolent take it for benevolence; the wise take it for wisdom.” He asked again: “What is the nirvana mind?” Again no one answered. The master said: “In the past there is no antiquity more remote; in the future there is no present moment right before our eyes.”

The master said: “Chapter Fifty-One: The Dao gives rise to the ten thousand things; De (Virtue/Power) rears and completes them.” He asked: “What is given rise to? What is reared and completed?” Shi’an replied: “Giving rise and rearing— that is what the words mean.” The master said: “Still not quite there.”

The master said: “Chapter Fifty-Two: All things under heaven have a beginning; that beginning is the root of the ten thousand things. The first chapter says, ‘The named is the mother of the ten thousand things’—what is this ‘name’ called?” No one could answer. Chengan asked: “What is it called?” The master called out: “Chengan!” Chengan answered. The master said: “The name is now in place.”

The master said: “Chapter Fifty-Three: If I had even a little insight and walked the great Dao, I would fear only straying onto a crooked path.” He asked: “What do you fear?” Heian said: “Fear of Heaven’s mandate (Tianming).” The master called: “Chengan!” Chengan answered. The master said: “The name is now in place.”

The master said again: “Chapter Fifty-Three: If I had even a little insight and walked the great Dao, I would fear only straying onto a crooked path.” He asked: “What do you fear?” Heian replied: “Fear of Heaven’s mandate.”

The master said: “Chapter Fifty-Four: Use the way you observe a state to observe a state.” He also said: “Observing a state is not easy; observing one’s own mind is more profound still. When the sea dries up, one can still see the seabed; when a person dies, no one knows that person’s heart. Is there anyone who truly knows their own heart?” No one gave an answer that fit the question. Chengan asked the master: “Is there anyone who truly knows their own heart?” The master replied: “Who is it that asks?”

The master said: “Chapter fifty-five says that one whose virtue is deep is like a newborn infant.” The master asked again: “Is this what Mencius meant by the great person not losing the heart of the child? Is the ‘heart of the child’ spoken of here a mind that has already stirred into activity?” Heyan answered: “Pure unity.” Ding’an answered: “Still and unmoving.” The master said: “You have not yet hit the point. You do not understand that only when one can return to the root does the Dao’s function appear.”

The master said: “Chapter fifty-six says that one who truly understands does not speak much, and one who speaks much does not truly understand.” The master asked: “What counts as ‘speaking’? What counts as ‘not speaking’?” Everyone’s answers missed the mark. The master said: “The mouth my parents gave me will not, in the end, speak the answer clearly for you.”

The master said: “Chapter fifty-seven says: govern the state with correctness, deploy troops with stratagem, and win the world through wuwei (non-action).” The master asked: “How can winning the world be called ‘having no affairs’? And how can ‘having no affairs’ win the world?” No one could answer. The master said: “Lead the people with de (Virtue).”

The master said: “Chapter fifty-eight says: bright yet not dazzling—how should we understand that last line?” Everyone was silent. The master said: “Wearing coarse cloth while hiding jade in the breast”—meaning outward plainness and inward virtue.

The master said: “Chapter fifty-nine says: in governing the people and serving the Way of Heaven, nothing is better than moderation.” The master asked: “What does this mean?” Zhian answered: “Frugality.” The master said: “Begin from frugality.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty says: when the Dao governs the world, ghosts and spirits cannot display their power or cause harm—how should we explain this?” Heyan answered: “They have no chance to show their skill.” Ding’an answered: “The deviant cannot invade the upright.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-one says a great state should be like the lower reaches of a river.” The master added: “Casually wield the hand of wuwei, and without moving weapons one can bring peace to the world. What is the ‘hand of wuwei’?” Heyan answered: “Overturn the Three Teachings.” Chengan answered: “Break through empty void.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-two: ‘When one has faults, can one thereby be spared?’” He asked again: “Where is the fault?” Ding’an replied: “One seeks the fault yet cannot find it.” The master threw down the scripture and said: “Do not turn the doubt over and over in your mind any longer.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-three: ‘Plan for what is hard while it is still easy.’” He added: “To call it easy is not truly easy; to call it hard is not necessarily hard either. There is wonder in this—each of you, say a further word.” Hei’an replied: “It was always in the middle.” Shi’an replied: “It never departs from the Mysterious Pass (xuanguan, the inner gate of cultivation).” The master said: “Face south and behold the Northern Dipper.” The point was that the key does not lie in ordinary directions and distinctions.

The master said: “Chapter sixty-four: ‘What is at rest is easy to hold.’” He asked: “How do you understand this?” Hei’an replied: “Guard against the slight and curb the nascent—take precautions while things are still subtle.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-five: ‘Those of old who were good at practicing the Dao did not use it to sharpen the people’s wit; they used it to keep them simple.’” He asked: “Does this accord with ‘all conditioned dharmas’?” Hei’an replied: “Guard against the slight and curb the nascent.”

The master continued: “Chapter sixty-five: Those of old who were good at practicing the Dao did not use it to sharpen the people’s wit; they used it to keep them simple. All conditioned dharmas have three thousand six hundred gates; from beginning to end one may see through them all, yet in the end one is only exhausting the spirit. I alone hold fast to nameless simplicity, and the many demons topple their crimson banners. Do you understand?” Ding’an replied: “As soon as you fix on any one thing, you are wrong.” Hei’an threw down the scripture in response by his action.

The master said: “Chapter sixty-six: ‘Rivers and seas can be kings of the hundred valleys because they are good at staying below.’” He asked: “Is it that rivers and seas stay below the hundred valleys, or that the hundred valleys stay below rivers and seas?” Hei’an replied: “Gathering and dispersing, in the end both return to one.” Ding’an replied: “Those above are humble; those below are compliant.” The master repeated: “Below, below, below.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-seven: ‘Abandon compassion yet be brave, abandon frugality yet be expansive, abandon yielding yet take the lead—and you are dead.’” He added: “Do not drink the water of non-enlightenment. And what is the water of non-enlightenment?” Non-enlightenment (wuming) means a state of delusion, not knowing how things truly are. Ding’an replied: “Dry land sinks flat.” Hei’an replied: “Waves rise without wind.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-eight: ‘One who is good at being a commander does not rely on force.’” He added: “Neither adorn with culture nor flaunt martial prowess; if one insists on grasping gain and rushing ahead, one heads toward ruin. Do not drink the water of non-enlightenment. And what is the water of non-enlightenment?” Ding’an replied: “Dry land sinks flat.” Hei’an replied: “Waves rise without wind.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 68 of the Daodejing: “One who excels as a general does not flaunt martial prowess.” The teacher said: “Neither flaunt literary polish nor flaunt brute force; there is nothing to gain and nothing to lose.” Touch your nostrils—sweat breaks out all over the body. Then ask again: Before your parents had given birth to you, where were your nostrils? Ding’an replied: “Where exhalation and inhalation occur.” Hei’an replied: “In the space between opening and closing.” Shi’an replied: “Right below the eyebrows.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 69: “There is a saying among those who use armies: I dare not take the initiative to attack, but take the defensive; I dare not advance an inch, but would rather withdraw a foot.” So what is the distinction between taking the initiative and holding to defense? No one could answer. The teacher said: “Who are you? And who am I?” He added: “Two eyes facing each other.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 70: “My Dao is very easy to understand and very easy to practice, yet why is it said that no one can understand it or practice it? If you can speak one penetrating sentence here, your study is finished; if not, keep investigating.” Ding’an replied: “The common people use it every day without knowing it.” Hei’an continued: “The crux is ‘can understand’—does that mean ‘cannot practice’? If you can speak one penetrating sentence here, your study is finished; if not, keep investigating.” Ding’an answered again: “The common people use it every day without knowing it.” Hei’an said: “It is right before the eyes, yet people fail to recognize it.” The teacher said: “It is only because it is stated too plainly.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 71: “To know that you do not know is lofty; not to know yet think you know is an ailment.” How is this ailment cured? Hei’an replied: “The mind is not dimmed.” The other disciples’ answers were all off the mark. The teacher said: “I would use the nameless uncarved block to settle it.” He added: “Otherwise, swallow a red-hot iron ball whole.” He added again: “Those with shallow roots must first take medicine to purge mistaken views.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 72: “When the people no longer fear coercion, a greater coercion will descend.” What is this “great coercion”? Hei’an replied: “Birth and death are the great matter.” The teacher said: “Impermanence arrives swiftly.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 73: “Courage in daring may lead to death; courage in not daring can preserve life.” The teacher asked: “What is the functioning that can kill and can give life?” No one could answer. The teacher said: “It is like the king holding the sword.”

The teacher lectured on Chapter 74: “He who substitutes for the master carpenter in hewing wood rarely escapes injuring his own hand.” The teacher asked: “How should this line be understood?” Ding’an replied: “He is not a master of that trade.”

The teacher said: “At the end of Chapter 75 it says: ‘Only those who do not treat nourishing life as paramount surpass those who overly cling to life.’”

The teacher also said: “Chapter 74 says: ‘If you take the place of the master carpenter in hewing wood, few escape hurting their own hands.’ How should we read this?” Ding’an replied: “It is not a craft one knows well.” The point is that doing what you are not adept at easily leads to error.

The teacher asked: “How should we understand ‘only those who do not treat nourishing life as paramount surpass those who overly cling to life’?” Ding’an answered: “Because they are not afraid of death.”

The teacher asked: “Chapter 76 says: ‘The living are soft; the dead are stiff’—how should we understand this?” Ding’an answered: “Softness and yielding are signs of life.”

The teacher said: “Chapter 77 says: ‘The Way of Heaven reduces what is in surplus and supplements what is lacking; the way of humans often reduces what is lacking to supply those in surplus.’ When there is neither reduction nor increase, what is that like?” No one spoke. The teacher said: “Neither more nor less—take what you need as you go, and it is just right.”

The teacher asked: “Chapter 78 says: ‘Only one who can bear the nation’s disasters is fit to be king under heaven’—how should we understand this?” No one answered. The teacher said: “Without taboo or reservation.”

The teacher asked: “Chapter 79 says: ‘Even when deep resentment has been settled, some resentment must remain—how can that be called good?’ How should we explain this?” Wei’an said: “Restraining oneself is good.” Ding’an said: “Restraining oneself so that words and conduct accord with ritual propriety.” Heian said: “Compassion with forbearance is good.” The teacher said: “You all sound as if you have confessed to the same fault.” When someone asked the teacher for his reading, he said: “Forget both kindness and injury.”

The teacher asked: “How should we explain the end of Chapter 80: ‘The people live out their lives without traveling back and forth to one another’?” Heian said: “Let each household be secure in its own place.” Ding’an said: “There is no contention.” The teacher said: “The inner realm does not show outward, and the outer realm does not enter the inner.”

The master said: “This is Chapter Eighty-one. The sage follows the Way and acts without contending. What counts as non-contention?” No one hit the point. The master said: “Put it on the flagpole in front of the gate.” This borrowed a Chan-style turning phrase to awaken the assembly—so they might grasp it directly, not keep arguing.

The master also said: “Each of you compose a couplet to reflect on the two words ‘Dao’ and ‘De.’” Hei’an said: “Dao holds the functions of the ten thousand things; De appears as the various forms of humaneness.” Ding’an said: “Dao is not in deliberate cultivation; De is not in deliberate pursuit.” Wei’an missed the point; the master again said: “Put it on the flagpole in front of the gate.”

The master had everyone compose couplets on Dao and De again. Hei’an said: “Dao holds the functions of the ten thousand things; De appears as the various forms of humaneness.” Ding’an said: “Dao is not in deliberate cultivation; De is not in deliberate pursuit.” Wei’an said: “Dao is not absent in emptiness; De is not absent in purposeful action and form.” Shi’an said: “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the highest De does not call itself De.” The master said: “Dao is still and unmoving; De responds to the ten thousand things and flows through them.” He also said: “Dao is pure, quiet, and luminous; De is humble, soft, and yielding in compliance.”

The master said: “Each compose a couplet to verify the Dao and De of Wuwei (non-action).” No one answered. The master said: “Dao raises a fist; De performs the bow.” Here qishou refers to the ancient kneeling bow with forehead to the ground—a metaphor for reverent humility.

The master pointed at a candle and said: “Each compose a couplet that shows this candle’s substance and function.” Hei’an said: “Its substance fills empty space; its function is to pierce darkness.” Shi’an said: “Substance round and full; function a blazing radiance.” The master said: “Substance abides as such without moving; function is perfectly round and shining.” He also said: “Substance upholds heaven and earth; function illuminates heaven and earth.” The master had everyone compose silently on the candle’s substance and function; no one got it. The master repeated: “Substance abides as such without moving; function is perfectly round and shining; substance upholds heaven and earth; function illuminates heaven and earth.” The master taught with this example; the assembly gained some insight.

Qing’anzi Wenda Yulu, fascicle three

Compiled by Zhitang Shi’an Miao Shanshi

Upon entering Zhonghe Hermitage, a place of Daoist cultivation, one saw the gate of the hermitage like a wall of silver mountains and iron ramparts. Who established this gate? If one can pass through this barrier, there is no longer any distinction between open and closed. How exactly is one to pass? The master struck the ground with his staff and said, “Yi!”—and from that point one entered the sacred hall.

No sooner had he spoken of “manifestation through the golden gate” than the celestial secret was already disclosed; to add further outward splendor was yet another lapse. What was to be done? The master shouted, “Duo!” To behold the truth like a full golden moon, everyone was to go further inside and investigate together.

That most sacred, most compassionate, most benevolent and numinous holy one holds the pivot of life and death, issuing commands of slaying and reviving, cleansing the foul and revealing the pure, driving out evil and upholding the right way; yet the wicked are not punished and the good are not rewarded. Even when displaying the greatest spiritual powers, one must still seek one’s life from the hand of Master Qing’an. Given that, what further bowing is needed? The master shouted again, “Yi! Because of me you receive reverence—who dares not revere?”

On the winter solstice, the master ascended the hall to expound the scriptures.

After Master Qing'an took his seat, he finished burning incense and offering prayers, then raised his staff and said: "The Dao is originally without words, and I will not say much either. Let me speak through this staff: sometimes in my hand it manifests as 'substance' (ti), sometimes as 'function' (yong)." He held the staff horizontally and asked: "Is this substance, or function?" After a silence, he continued: "As for its use—it can prop up heaven and support earth. This staff's spiritual power is unfathomable, its subtle applications endless. The moment I raised it just now, the flying spirit-kings of the ten directions in the boundless realm, the great deities of long life, and all the gods respectfully stepped aside; even the Supreme Old Lord (Taishang Laojun) came to beg mercy beneath the staff's tip. Why? Once authority is in hand, one can issue commands." He raised the staff and said: "Everyone, look." Then he struck once and said: "This blow made even empty space leap up." He stirred with the staff and said: "Stir once—stir until chaos and the primordial blend into one." He drew a line and said: "Draw once—draw open the fence between the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism)." He tapped once and said: "Tap once—tap through everyone's nostrils." Yet despite such great spiritual power, throughout the whole land not one person was struck. Why? Qing'an's staff does not strike the dull and obtuse." He gave a shout and said: "Anyone who wants the stick? Step forward."

Shi'an came forward, bowed, and asked: "Snow at the winter solstice—what does it mean?" The master said: "This question—like a drop of water falling and instantly turning to ice—cannot be understood only as auspicious clouds and portents, yet cannot fail to be seen as auspicious clouds and portents either. Those without the eye of practice should not take it as an omen of good fortune; then what are those without the eye of practice to do? Ah! The thunder of earth shakes, and the one yang is born (the saying that at the winter solstice yang qi begins to rise); the plain girl and the green youth meet in the crimson palace (Daoist imagery of yin-yang union). The song ends, the wine's warmth fades, the clouds and rain disperse—as if scattered jade were flung through the sky. Could this be the snow of the winter-solstice month? Ah! Do not grasp it only as the scene before your eyes. Why?"

To guard this “city” of oneself, one need not go looking for the winter solstice on the calendar—within the body, the one yang qi naturally arises on its own. Each year has a mid-year winter solstice, each month a mid-month winter solstice, each day a daily winter solstice, and each double-hour an hourly winter solstice. The seasonal node when one yang first stirs is the year’s winter solstice; the first day of each month is the month’s winter solstice; the hour of zi (midnight) each day is the day’s winter solstice.

Then what is the winter solstice within the body? Shi’an asked his master for instruction. The master said: “When the moon stands at the zenith of the sky and a clear breeze skims the water’s surface—that flavor of stillness is something few truly grasp. Do you understand?” Shi’an replied: “I understand.” The master said: “I still fear you have not fully taken it in. Do you remember the chapter ‘Attaining the Utmost Emptiness’?” Shi’an said: “I remember.” The master had him recite the opening four lines. Shi’an answered: “Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness, hold fast to stillness with firmness; the ten thousand things all rise and change together—I observe how each returns to its root.”

The master then quoted Confucius: “Thunder is stored within the earth—this is the image of the Fu hexagram (symbolizing the return of yang). In antiquity the king on the day of the winter solstice closed the passes—merchants and travelers did not pass, and he did not go out on inspection tours.” This means that in high antiquity, at the winter solstice the king had people settle into quiet and single-mindedly guard stillness, waiting for fresh yang qi to be reborn. After yang was reborn, the four seasons ran smoothly and the five grains flourished. Human beings too should keep quiet at the moment one yang first stirs: neither letting inner thoughts scatter outward nor letting outer affairs disturb the inner heart—waiting for yang to be reborn. After yang is reborn, the four limbs are harmonized and the hundred bones are regulated—this is the path of cultivation for long life and clear vision.

For example, if it snows on the winter solstice today, merchants and travelers naturally will not come and go—is that not auspicious? Yet every kind of auspicious sign is inferior to “there is no you”—that is, not clinging to auspiciousness. Then recite four more lines: “The ten thousand things flourish and grow, yet each in the end returns to its root; returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is returning to life’s original nature.”

The teacher said that the first four lines speak of observing the changes of the ten thousand things and discerning the principle of return. For example, the change symbolized by the Hexagram Return (Fu): the transition from the Hexagram Kun to the Hexagram Fu. Kun stands for stillness; yang stands for movement. When stillness reaches its extreme, movement begins to stir anew, and at that point the Heart of Heaven (the ever-renewing root of nature itself) appears.

Then the text reads: “Returning to one’s original nature is called constancy; knowing the constant Way is called clarity. Not knowing the constant Way yet acting willfully brings misfortune.” The teacher said that if people can grasp these principles, they can reach directly the realm of true constancy, hence it is called “clarity.” If the sign of yang’s first stirring and return has already appeared, yet one remains dull and unaware and still acts willfully, one will surely invite ruin of body and life—hence “misfortune.”

Then: “Knowing the constant Way, one can be inclusive; being inclusive, one can be impartial; being impartial, one can become a ruler; becoming a ruler, one aligns with Heaven.” The teacher said that “inclusive” means broadly receiving and embracing; “impartial” means extending equally to all. When one achieves utmost impartiality and universality, one can become ruler and teacher, because Heaven and humanity follow the same principle.

Finally: “Aligned with Heaven, one aligns with the Dao; aligned with the Dao, one can endure long, with no danger throughout life.” The teacher said that discerning Heaven’s way and uniting with the Dao completes the teaching on long life and far-reaching vision. One must go further still before one can realize the subtlety of “forbearance in the dharma of non-arising” (anugata-dharma-ksanti—the abiding in the principle of neither birth nor extinction, with an unmoved mind).

If someone truly grasps and immediately takes responsibility for this principle, they should cultivate stillness and concentration until the mind reaches a state of utmost emptiness, stillness, and single-minded quiet. Then the Heart of Heaven will appear. Once the Heart of Heaven appears, it at once radiates vast light, illuminating the three thousand great thousand worlds (in the Buddhist cosmology, the vast range of worlds). In each world there are again three thousand great thousand lands; in each land, three thousand great thousand dharma gates; in each gate, three thousand great thousand good knowing advisors; each advisor has three thousand great thousand followers; and each follower has eyes that can see this Heart of Heaven.

Each individually radiates such a light, pervading the entire three thousand great thousand-fold worlds. In this way, the people upon the earth are interconnected, as if breathing from the same nostril. Reaching this step, one finally realizes that every month and every day is the Winter Solstice, and every moment is also the Winter Solstice; the Winter Solstice day before one's eyes is simply an ordinary day. The ancient masters said, "Broadly speaking, it is all just ordinary days." Yet they still busily stir up a commotion for sentient beings.

Since it is said to be just ordinary days, why hold a dharma ceremony today? Is it not superfluous? However, since one is in the village, one must simply follow local customs and conventionally offer an explanatory comment. Does anyone understand this comment? Shi'an said, "I do not understand." The Master said, "Then ask me." Shi'an asked, "What is the explanatory comment for the Winter Solstice?" The Master replied, "Today is the middle of winter, joyfully met with auspicious snow. I respectfully wish you good health and smooth sailing in all your affairs." Do you understand? Shi'an answered, "I understand." The Master said, "Since you understand, why do you not bow?" Shi'an then bowed. The Master said, "Wait, there is a higher layer of meaning still." Shi'an asked, "What else is there?" The Master said, "Qing'an presents this greeting for the auspicious snow falling at the proper time and the auspicious Winter Solstice festival, wishing that everyone may receive the blessings granted by Heaven. Take care, take care." Having finished, he descended from the seat and dismissed the assembly.

The Master raised the fly whisk to signal to the assembly, saying, "The essential body of the Dao (the Way) has no form, and the Dao has no name; therefore, there is nothing to say, and what is said can never be fully exhausted. Now that I have ascended the seat to preach the Dharma, I will borrow this fly whisk to speak the Dharma for me. This fly whisk is not merely a fly whisk; it will stir up trouble. Why is this? The moment it is raised, it is like stirring up the ball of doubt left by the ancestral masters, bewildering the eyes of the assembly and leading people to seek arguments. This fly whisk is entirely mouth, entirely hand, entirely eye; its miraculous powers are beyond measure, and its transformations are boundless."

The master raised his fly-whisk and asked, “Can you see it? Do you have eyes?” He tapped the whisk again and asked, “Can you hear it? Do you have ears?” Then he threw the whisk down and said, “Well—do any of you have spiritual powers?” An attendant picked it up and handed it back to the master. The master said, “Right in the working of this whisk, one can also leave that working behind.” After a pause he asked again, “Are the mountains, rivers, and the great earth all on this whisk?” Saying that, he threw the whisk down once more and asked, “Well—do any of you have spiritual powers?” The attendant picked it up and handed it back again. The master repeated, “Right in the working of this whisk, one can also leave that working behind.”

A little later the master said, “The mountains, rivers, and the great earth are all on this whisk; the ten thousand things are all on this whisk; the three sages and ten saints of the Buddhist path are all on this whisk; everyone on this whole earth is on this whisk.” He shook the whisk and asked, “Among you all, who is not on this whisk? If there is someone, step forward and show yourself.” Layman Huang came forward and said, “Thunder crashes like a bolt; the stars in the sky turn cold.”

Layman Huang then asked respectfully, “Master, what is the ‘message of the one yang’—the stir of yang when it first returns at the winter solstice?” The master drew a circle in the air and asked, “Do you understand?” Layman Huang said, “I understand.” The master asked, “Then what is the one yang within the body?” The master raised the fly-whisk and gave a great shout. Layman Huang said, “I grasp it right now.” The master said, “Just keep going like this.” Layman Huang bowed in thanks and said, “If the master had not broken it open for me in person, I would almost have missed the moment when yang first arises.”

Dai Jia’an asked, “Most days are nothing but ordinary days, yet sentient beings bustle and fuss until it becomes a whole uproar. Why call it the winter solstice and speak of the first birth of the one yang—yet snow falls on top of that? How are we to understand this?” The master said, “The land is level; heaven and earth are one white. Do you understand?” Dai Jia’an said, “I do not.” The master said, “Come closer; I will tell you.” Dai Jia’an stepped up before the master. The master said, “Even when a thousand mountains are buried in white snow, that lone peak still stands high—always apart.” Dai Jia’an bowed in thanks and withdrew.

The master said, “I have a hidden phrase for you to investigate. The Dao De Jing says: ‘In blur and confusion there is an image; in blur and confusion there is a substance.’ Tell me—what thing is this, after all?”

If someone truly penetrates it, they may drag Li Qing'an down from the dharma seat, beat him to death, dig a deep pit, and bury him under heavy earth without leaving a trace—and that would not be going too far. If they do not penetrate it, Li Qing'an will bury them instead. If you still do not understand, I will add a footnote in verse:

I have one thing that can be small or great;

Its substance is the same as the Great Void, its function fills the Dharma realm.

Lift it up and even heaven cannot hold it;

Put it down and the great earth cannot bear it.

Those who see it start from their eyes;

Those who hear it split their skulls.

A Daoist who grasps it can shake the three immortal isles of Peng;

A monk who grasps it can hold the Caoxi lineage of Chan.

Use it to govern a state and the realm is secure, the people rich;

Use it to aid cultivation and the age is peaceful, the Way flourishes.

Ask its price—it is worth ten thousand taels of gold;

Meet a true friend and it is given for not one cash coin.

Why no payment? Not for profit—only for the joy of it.

Now I hold it up for you to see. Do you understand?

Shi'an said: "I do not understand."

The master said: "Do not speak of understanding or not understanding. Right now I am selling what I myself have bought." With that he joined his palms in a circular mudra and said: "Look—when the two hands come together, what is taken from between them is naturally fragrant." Shi'an said: "I do not understand."

The master said: "Do not speak of understanding or not understanding. Right now I am selling what I myself have bought." With that he joined his palms in a circular mudra and said: "Look—when the two hands come together, what is taken from between them is naturally fragrant."

On the birthday of the Supreme Venerable Sovereign (Laozi), ascending the hall to teach.

The master ascended the dharma seat and said: “The Supreme Dao (Taishang) has no fixed form from the outset, yet it is present at every moment in daily life. Pity those who have not truly studied the Way—they only talk of passing through the Youguan (the profound, obscure barrier that means transcending delusion).”

The master then asked: “Tell me, where is the Supreme Dao?” He said: “It is right here, as I speak the Dharma. Do you all understand? Even if you grasp it in this moment, you are still a hair’s breadth short of true clarity—as if separated from Qing’an by a single thread. Why? If you say that what is before your eyes is the Supreme Dao, then what are you yourself? You must turn back into yourself and investigate thoroughly before you can feel it intimately. The Supreme Dao says: ‘The path of true constancy—those who awaken find it in themselves.’ That is exactly what is meant.”

The scripture also says: “Living beings cannot obtain the true Dao because delusive thoughts arise in their minds.” When delusion stirs, all kinds of distinctions and conditioned links appear; those links bind people and make them lose the root of the Dao. Seeing that beings have lost their true nature, sages set up various skillful means to guide the world away from defilement and out of confusion. This scripture was composed for that reason.

What is called a jing (scripture) is a path that leads people back to the Dao. In reading this jing, you should understand: “Jing” is only a provisional label—originally there is nothing that can be said. The Dao cannot be spoken of, grasped, or cast away; it cannot be added to or reduced, cannot be depicted, and still less can it be preached to others. It does not belong to talk and debate, to intellectual discrimination, to what the ears hear or the eyes see, and it does not fall into being or non-being. Do not take it as some solid form, and do not take it as empty nothingness; do not understand it only through words and doctrines, and do not treat it as annihilation or as something eternal.

Then where do those who cultivate the Way begin? Only by holding to the Daxiang (the great image, the fundamental form of the Dao) can one reach the Dao. The Supreme Dao says: “Hold fast to the Dao, and all under heaven will come to you; coming and not being harmed, they find peace and stability. Music and fine food may detain a passing guest, but the Dao, when spoken, seems flavorless. If you seek the Dao through sound and appearance, that is merely impermanent dharma and will in the end be exhausted. The Dao, when spoken, seems flavorless; look—it cannot be seen; listen—it cannot be heard; yet in use it is never exhausted. How vast the great Dao is!”

What the sages teach, if someone truly believes and grasps it, can free them from attachment to all outward forms, penetrate every principle, and at once fully release distinction and constraint so that body and mind become clear and empty. Then one can hear the great sound in silence and perceive the great image without form, until body and spirit both reach a wondrous state and merge with the Dao as one.

Sadly, seekers today do not pursue the essence their teachers transmit; they guess from private opinion alone. Some cling to the meaning of the text; others fix on the surface of the words. Thus the sages’ original intent in writing the scriptures is obscured. Where this classic leaves passages without commentary, interpretations have always differed—and the reason lies here.

They do not see that once we open the mouth to discuss, we have already left the original realm; once we say “the Dao can be spoken,” what is spoken is not the constant Dao; once we say “the Dao can be named,” what is named is not the constant Name. Yet if the constant Dao cannot be spoken, are not the more than five thousand words of the Daodejing the Dao? If the constant Name cannot be named, is the title Daodejing not a name?

Ah—“the Dao cannot be spoken” means precisely that what cannot be spoken is the Dao; “the Name cannot be named” means precisely that what cannot be named is the Name. Whoever truly sees this here has finished inquiry and study. Whoever still does not understand will inevitably follow others’ views: the benevolent see from benevolence, the wise from wisdom; the common people use the Dao every day yet do not know they are using it. Therefore few truly recognize the way of the sages.

Qing’an (the author) does not spare words to open this one scroll of scripture for you. It is like wiping soiled old paper: since the paper is already soiled, why use five thousand more words to explain the unspoken Dao? This is like a great physician matching medicine to the illness: when the illness is cured, the medicine is no longer needed. Once you have attained the constant Dao, the five thousand words can likewise be set aside. Those who understand thus will know that whatever can be spoken or named is only the margin of the Dao.

Dao cannot be exhausted in speech, nor can it be accurately fixed by a name—this is the depth and mystery of Dao. What can be named and made manifest is the margin and function of Dao; what cannot be named and is hard to put into words is the substance of Dao itself. The nameless is the root from which Heaven and Earth begin; the named is the root from which the myriad things arise. These two issue from the same Dao yet bear different names; both may be called “mysterious” (xuan); mystery upon mystery is the gateway through which all wonder opens.

If one can start from what has name and form and thereby awaken to the subtle principle that is without name and without form, one will grasp the constant, unchanging Dao. Unless one reaches an utterly empty and still state, who could do this?

Qing’an (the speaker’s self-designation) has said so much—does this count as speaking? Or does it not? You who have listened this far—have you heard? Or have you not? Good spiritual friends who can hear within not-hearing will understand this wordless teaching of Qing’an. Then the intent of the sage in writing this classic becomes clear: the opening line already exhausts the principle; there is no need for doubt.

Someone asked: “Since Dao cannot be spoken and its name cannot be uttered, is it not superfluous to hold this grand ritual today?” The answer: “It is not so. The Supreme Venerable Sovereign (Taishang Laojun) is said to have been born on the fifteenth day of the second month—not merely to assert that he truly had a day of birth, but to reveal thereby the principle of unceasing generation and renewal. I celebrate his birth today precisely to clarify that opening line—what is superfluous about it? What is doubtful?”

“Friends, since the opening line has already been spoken, how then should the final line be put?” Qing’an sighed: “This mouth born of my parents can never finish speaking for me.” He then left the seat and dismissed the assembly. The master also said: “What cannot be seen is called ‘rare’ (xi); what cannot be heard is called ‘subtle’ (yi); what cannot be grasped is called ‘infinitesimal’ (wei). These three cannot be traced to an ultimate end. I say—what is called ‘rare’ because it has no shape or color? What is called ‘subtle’ because it cannot be heard…”

Is the body of the Dao without sound? When you try to grasp it, you cannot grasp it—hence it is called “subtle.” Is it without form? The master raised his whisk and asked, “Do you see it?” Then he struck once and asked, “Do you hear it?” If you take it as seeing or hearing, you have not yet gained the eye of true study; if you do not take it as seeing or hearing, you likewise have not gained the eye of true study. How, then, should you all understand it?

Hei’an came forward and said, “Seeing form and color, one is not bound by form and color; hearing sound, one does not treat sound as something real. Where the form body has no obstruction, one can personally reach the citadel of the Dharma King.” The master said, “Leave words behind.” Hei’an raised his fist and said, “Watch me throw a punch.” Then he said, “Listen to this punch.” Is this still seeing and hearing? The master said, “Strike empty space and it makes a sound.” Hei’an asked, “Is there another way to put it?” The master said, “Come back when you can hide the great elephant in what has no form and hide the vast sound in what is fine and silent.” Hei’an answered, “Yes,” bowed, and withdrew.

The master raised his staff and said, “A clay ox pants at the moon; a wooden horse neighs into the wind—it looks as if something is really there, yet when you search, there is no trace. Qing’an’s staff can paint the wondrous high peak upside down.” He added, “The moment you open your mouth, you are already wrong—what need is there for examples? Ah! If you think you can grasp the intent of Xu Huang (the honorific for the supreme deity in Daoism) from beneath the staff, you have not even dreamed such a dream. Why? One who walks well leaves no wheel tracks; one who speaks well has no flaw; one who plans well needs no counting rods; one who shuts well needs no bolt yet none can open; one who binds well needs no rope yet none can undo.”

The verse says: “Stepping without feet, taking things without hands; when you touch the tip of the nose, the whole body is mouth. If you can investigate here in detail, seven times seven was originally forty-nine.” If you can understand from here, you will know that when Taishang (the Supreme Lord) spoke this scripture, he never opened his mouth. When Qing’an raised his staff, he never moved his hand. If you still cannot understand in this way, for now apply yourself within form and sound. Is there anyone who understands? If you cannot investigate thus, seven times seven is originally forty-nine; if you can understand from here, you will know that when Taishang spoke this scripture, he never opened his mouth.

Qing’an raised his staff but did not strike. Then he said: “If you still do not understand, first apply yourself within shengse (sound and form—that is, ordinary sensory experience). Who else has grasped it? You may neither speak nor act; leave sound and form behind and come out to meet me. Speak correctly and you still get the stick; speak wrongly and you still get the stick.”

Layman Huang stepped forward and was about to speak when an attendant said, “You may not speak.” After a long while, Layman Huang stamped his foot once. Qing’an said, “Still not there.” Layman Huang cleared his throat. Qing’an said, “Eight ke too early.” Here “eight ke” is a way of saying the timing is off—too soon.

Ding’an came forward, bowed, and said, “Master, please raise [the staff] again.” Qing’an said, “You may not speak.” Ding’an raised his fist. Qing’an said again, “You may not act.” Ding’an gave a shout. Qing’an said, “One level higher—there is still something to realize.” Ding’an asked, “What else?” Qing’an said, “Everyone present might go to a quiet place and reflect carefully.”

Qing’an left the seat; Ding’an followed behind. Qing’an took hold of him and asked, “Where are you going?” Ding’an answered, “Nowhere to go.” Qing’an said, “Going like this still has some point.” Ding’an asked again, “What else?” Qing’an again said, “Everyone present might go to a quiet place and reflect carefully.”

Qing’an left the seat; Ding’an followed again. Qing’an took hold of him and asked, “Where are you going?” Ding’an answered, “Nowhere to go.” Qing’an said, “Going like this, for now you are spared the stick.” Ding’an bowed in thanks.

Qing’anzi Wendui Yulu (Recorded Sayings of Master Qing’an: Questions and Answers), fascicle 4

Compiled by disciple Ning’an Deng Decheng

In Weiyang (the area of present-day Yangzhou), the master composed a quatrain and asked his disciples each to add one line, saying: “Only if your line fits may you go further in understanding.”

The master began: “It has no shape, no shadow, and no name, yet from ancient times to the present it has upheld heaven and earth.” Qing’an continued: “It has just been lifted open by Qing’an.” Ding’an continued: “The whole great thousand worlds have turned into gold.” Wu’an continued: “Its trace is lost—there is nowhere to seek it.” Fu’an continued: “To know where to begin, seek it in entering stillness.” Hei’an continued: “It transforms into the great earth—everywhere is yellow gold.” Yue’an continued: “Emptiness and nothingness are shattered; no trace remains.”

The master said: “Apart from Wu’an, everyone else’s answers are unsatisfactory.” Here “he zhe” (matching the track) means the continuation must connect aptly; the master used this question-and-answer to test the disciples’ grasp of the cultivation realm.

The master said again: “The qian cauldron and golden furnace refine sun and moon; the handle of the Heavenly Gang turns the pivot of the stars; cleave chaos apart, and the Golden Elixir is refined.” Here “qian cauldron and golden furnace” is an inner alchemy (Neidan) metaphor for the body’s furnace for refining essence and qi; “Golden Elixir” is the inner elixir achieved in practice. Ding’an continued: “Bursting forth with perfect radiance, illuminating the whole world.” Wu’an continued: “Embracing the infant, bowing before Ziwei (the pole star deity, also a high celestial lord).” Xi’an continued: “Straight up to the cinnabar heavens—no need to climb a ladder.” Fu’an continued: “Having taken the Golden Elixir, one rides the phoenix bird to ascend to Taiwei (a celestial palace).” Hei’an continued: “Recognizing that one point of light within the heart.” Su’an continued: “Releasing light, returning to Taishi (the primordial state before heaven and earth were divided).”

The master said: “Look closely at everyone’s answers—they all fall short; only Hei’an is somewhat better.”

The master said again: “Step forward and overturn the formless realm (the formless heaven of Buddhist cosmology); raise your head and knock down Daluo Heaven (the highest heaven in Daoist cosmology). Someone asks me where my place of rest is.” Ding’an continued: “Penetrating the vajra-like, unobstructed realm.” Wu’an continued: “A single pearl contains the whole great thousand worlds.” Fu’an continued: “Hidden in the primordial chaos before heaven and earth were distinguished.” Hei’an continued: “Originally thus—neither increased nor diminished.” Yue’an continued: “Right before the eyebrows and eyelashes.”

The master said: “Ding’an answered best; Fu’an second.” The master continued: “Through countless kalpas, it has always been a single pearl, containing the whole great thousand worlds.” Fu’an continued: “Hidden in the primordial chaos before heaven and earth were distinguished.” Hei’an continued: “Originally thus—neither increased nor diminished.” Yue’an continued: “Right before the eyebrows and eyelashes.” The master judged again: “Ding’an answered best; Fu’an second.”

The master said again: “Through countless kalpas, this precious pearl has been hard as living iron, soft as butter.”

In the countless vast worlds of the great cosmos, there is no place that is truly secure and settled. Ding'an said: "It embraces heaven and earth, the myriad things, and the principles by which creation operates." Wu'an said: "If you call it a void outside the Dao, it cannot encompass everything." Fu'an said: "Illuminating the empty void, in the end there is nothing at all." Pu'an said: "Seeing with perfect clarity, yet searching to the end and finding nothing." Hei'an said: "It fills the empty void; everywhere is it." Aishan said: "Boundless light of clarity shines upon the Great Void." The master said: "None of these statements has said it fully. Among them, only Ding'an and Hei'an come slightly closer."

The master said: "Clinging to nothingness or clinging to being is not yet genuine practice; discarding both the sides of being and non-being lands you in empty stillness. Trying to hold being and non-being together is still not the same thing in the end." Ding'an said: "From within nothingness, true being appears—only then can one begin to connect in secret." Hei'an said: "It is neither nothingness nor being—only then can one be fully complete and penetrating." Wu'an said: "Being neither nothingness nor being, its wondrous function can manifest." Fu'an said: "Becoming one with the Great Void, the Dao can then be fully realized." The master said: "These statements still fall a little short. I think it is better to silently guard the middle."

The master said: "Round and full, like a circle; it arises before heaven and earth were yet divided—without root or stem, nothing to grasp." Ding'an said: "Understanding this moment is truly grasping the essential point." Hei'an said: "Every function before your eyes is complete and fully present." Wu'an said: "You should know: when the moon sets, it does not leave the sky." Fu'an said: "Within stillness without movement, realize the true principle." The master said: "Hei'an's remark is worth adopting."

The master said: "It supports heaven above and bears earth below; in the middle is a single aperture, yet no breath passes through it. You cannot see it; you cannot hear its sound." Ding'an said: "When eating and putting on clothes, it remains clear and undimmed throughout." Hei'an said: "Every ordinary daily function never leaves it." Wu'an said: "It fills the void; even spirits and ghosts hold it in awe." Sun'an said: "Then how is it any different from empty void?" The master said: "Ding'an's statement is worth adopting."

The master also said: "Raise the elixir cauldron—as if drying up the four great seas; set the elixir furnace—as if crushing five Mount Sumerus. After the Golden Elixir is refined, its form is vast, embracing the three realms." Here "cauldron," "furnace," and "Golden Elixir" are Neidan (internal alchemy) metaphors describing the practice and its attainment. Ding'an said: "This is when a man truly shows he has realized his aim." Wu'an said: "The Dao is originally Wuwei (non-action); these are only borrowed images of deliberate action." Hei'an said: "This is the moment that exists before heaven and earth."

Qing’an said: “This is precisely the moment to transcend the mundane and enter the realm of the sage.” He also took the “Three Realms” (desire realm, form realm, formless realm) as his model for practice. Ding’an said: “This is precisely when a man can unfold his ambition and realize his aspirations.” Wu’an said: “The substance of the Dao is originally Wuwei (non-action), yet it borrows affairs of deliberate action to speak by analogy.” Hei’an said: “This is the moment that precedes Heaven and precedes Earth.” Qing’an said again: “This is precisely the moment to transcend the mundane and enter the realm of the sage.” The Master said: “Ding’an’s remark is the most wonderfully apt of all.”

The Master, together with the assembly of disciples, practiced refining wisdom at the Zhaoyang Four Sages Daoist Academy; this passage is appended here for the record. The Master said: “When the brush tip is dipped once, the rivers and lakes seem to run dry; when the ink stick is just ground, the great earth seems pierced through. With a single stroke of the brush, it is as if the whole empty void is filled.” Hei’an said: “From antiquity to the present, heaven and earth have been suffused with this cloud-and-mist-like atmosphere.”