《云笈七签》Vol. 35

Cultivation depends on single-minded devotion.

Goodness and virtue must be practiced at all times, without ever being set aside. If they can be abandoned at will, they are not genuine goodness. People cannot be without goodness and virtue, just as the head needs a hat and the feet need shoes. Going bareheaded fails to meet the common rules of propriety; walking without shoes is like behaving as an uncivilized person. To appear upright in public while doing wrong in private is like putting on a hat and shoes in the morning, then going naked and barefoot at night.

Qu Yuan, a high official of the state of Wei during the Spring and Autumn period, did not change his principles when darkness fell. Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, did not neglect his appearance when bathing at night. When Goujian, king of Yue, was confined in a stone chamber, the courtesies between ruler and ministers were still observed. When Ji Que, a high official of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period, worked the fields in the countryside, the respect between husband and wife was no less. These people were careful even in the most hidden and subtle matters, and their hearts remained steadfast in goodness. They did not change their intentions because no one could see them, or their manner because no one could hear them. Thus, even alone in a room, they were as upright as if receiving a guest; even in an empty room, they were as careful as if someone were present.

Nothing done in secret can truly remain hidden, and foolish conduct will eventually be exposed. Some people cultivate their character in public but indulge in wrongdoing in private, believing that no one knows. Even if other people do not know, the spirits and gods do. To claim that no one knows when the spirits and gods already do is like covering one’s ears while stealing a bell: it is self-deception.

A person who consistently does good has no anxieties within and faces the world without fear. When standing alone, they are not ashamed before their own shadow; when sleeping alone, they feel no shame before their bedding. Such a person can reach upward to the divine and sustain human relationships below. Their virtue connects the seen and unseen worlds, and blessings and auspicious signs gather around them.

Benevolence brings people close, and bonds of affection are stronger than metal and stone. Even metal and stone may wear away, but benevolence does not thereby fall apart. It is like the Great King, who lived in Bin and whose people willingly followed him when he migrated.

Water’s nature is suited to cold, yet Huayang has hot springs. We still say that water is cold by nature because cold water is the more common kind. Fire’s nature is suited to…

Even within great heat there are the cold flames of Xiaoqiu, spoken of in legend. Yet people call fire hot in general because, overall, heat is more common. Fierce winds raise waves, making the water’s surface rise and fall; mountain peaks soar while valleys lie low, with great differences between them. Yet seen from afar, people still say the water is calm. This is simply a general description of the whole.

The wise establish laws, while the foolish are bound by them. The discerning adapt ritual to changing times, while those who do not understand cling to old rites. Those who cling to ritual are not fit to discuss the affairs of the world; those who establish laws are not thereby able to grasp the full principles of things. To pass laws suited to one age down to people many generations later is like using a single garment for both cold and heat, or one medicine for every illness. To judge the ever-changing customs of later generations by the rites of a single age is like marking a boat to find a sword that has fallen into the water, or waiting beside a tree stump for a rabbit to run into it.

Thus, establishing laws provides a means for governing, but is not governance itself; observing ritual offers a standard for education, but does not mean that education has been achieved. The foundation of education lies in adapting to the times; the foundation of governance lies in responding to the circumstances of society. Nothing can govern the world well without responding to its circumstances, and nothing can bring education to completion without changing with the times.

Language is used to express principles, and principles are what language is grounded in. Names are used to identify things, and things are what names derive from. If there are principles but no language, those principles cannot be made clear; if there are things but no names, those things cannot be distinguished. Principles are clarified through language, but language itself is not the same as principles. Things are recognized through names, but names themselves are not the same as things. Therefore, the discerning seek principles by discussing language, without clinging to words and losing sight of what they mean; they verify things by examining names, without discarding the actual things and keeping only their names. In this way, they understand both words and principles, and make names accord with reality.

Vital Qi is called Shen (spirit), stagnant Qi is called ghosts, agitated Qi is called worms and insects, mixed Qi is called birds and beasts, and deceitful Qi is called malevolent spirits. People whose Qi is turbid are often dull-witted and obstinate, cruel and violent. Those whose Qi is firm are often solemn and stern, strong and vigorous. Those whose Qi is gentle are often kind and generous. Thus, the noble-minded follow upright Qi, while petty people follow deviant Qi.

The foundation of every good deed lies in accord with the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), in filial devotion and loving kindness, and in building merit. The foundation of every evil deed lies in violating the Dao and De, acting cruelly and treacherously, and harming or killing living beings. If you force yourself to do good, Heaven will still bestow blessings; good deeds that arise from your nature will naturally bring fitting rewards. If you force yourself to do evil, Heaven will still send calamity; evil deeds that arise from your nature will naturally bring fitting misfortune. Do not assume that even a small good deed will bring no blessing, or that even a small evil deed will bring no calamity.

Small acts of goodness accumulate like a nine-tiered terrace built basket by basket, or a thousand-mile journey that begins beneath one’s feet. As good deeds gradually grow from one to ten thousand, each brings its corresponding blessing. When the merit of ten thousand good deeds is complete, one may become a Great Emperor of the Nine Heavens. Evil, too, accumulates from little to much, developing from the subtle to the obvious. As evil deeds grow from one to ten thousand, each brings its corresponding calamity. When evil karma is complete, one will fall into the prison of the Belili and remain a captive, forever without pardon or release.

The human body is formed by the gathering of Qi; when Qi is weak, the body becomes thin and frail. Shen is formed by the consolidation of essence and Qi; when essence and Qi are depleted, Shen becomes listless. The body belongs to the human person and makes humanity the most intelligent of all beings. Shen represents life and is the great De between Heaven and Earth. Humans are the foremost of all beings, and the spirit of life is also the root of all things between Heaven and Earth. All things first need to be nurtured and grow; Heaven...

Heaven and Earth take clarity and stillness as their foundation. A noble person therefore cherishes life, cares for the body, and protects the spirit; they respect themselves and value life. The human body and mind should both follow nature: they should not go against their own nature, overstrain the body, or subject the spirit to needless demands.

The body is the vessel of life; the spirit is its foundation. Without spirit, the body cannot sustain itself; without a body, the spirit cannot fulfill itself on its own. Body and spirit depend on and complete one another. Only when they are in harmony can life endure. The body is where the spirit resides and exercises its mastery: when the body is calm, the spirit settles within it; when the body is restless, the spirit departs. Without a body, the spirit cannot readily become stable on its own; without spirit, the body cannot readily sustain life. When body and spirit are in accord, inner and outer can support and complete one another.

People often know only to care for the body, not to nurture the spirit; they know only to cherish the flesh, not to protect the spirit. In truth, the body is like a vehicle carrying the spirit. When the spirit departs, a person dies. When the vehicle breaks, the horses run off. This is the natural order.

If one can care for the body and protect the spirit, one draws near to the Way of pure simplicity. By shedding desires and calming restlessness, one also accords with the Great Dao. People differ in the condition of body and spirit: some have abundant spirit but an underdeveloped body, while others have a strong body but a weak spirit. Abundant spirit is more precious. A flourishing body without spirit is comparatively lacking. It is like jade hidden in stone, which lends the mountain a radiant beauty, or pearls within the water, which make the river seem lovely. Thus we can see that spirit gives the body its refinement, and a luminous spirit can attain the state of a sage.

Thus the ancient sages, such as Fuxi, Nüwa, Shennong, and the rulers of the Xia, were said to have extraordinary forms—serpent bodies with human faces, ox heads, tiger feet, and the like—yet they possessed the highest sage virtue.

The pure essence of Yin and Yang—the two forces that oppose and depend on one another throughout Heaven and Earth—takes shape as life through gestation and nurture. Life comes into being and grows in this way, and so it has both an innate nature and emotions. Nature therefore belongs to Yang, while emotion belongs to Yin. Nature tends toward stillness; emotion is readily stirred. Nature may be dull or perceptive, while emotion takes the form of seeking gain and craving. Nature is expressed through benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness; emotion appears as joy, anger, sorrow, fear, fondness, dislike, and desire.

Clarity, calm, and equanimity belong to human nature; receiving favor and developing affection or aversion belong to human emotion. Ordinary people are neither good at cherishing their nature nor at restraining their emotions. They do not realize that confusion, agitation, and rivalry harm nature, while grief, sorrow, and the pain of separation harm emotion. Thus the sages say: “When you follow the nature of things, things will follow you; when you go against their nature, they will resist you. To avoid violating the nature and circumstances of things is to follow the Way of Nature.”

When affection and aversion are brought into balance, one will not be led astray by favoritism. When joy and anger are brought into harmony, resentment is less likely to arise. Joy and anger disturb the flow of Qi, while fondness and desire damage nature. People’s natures are originally much alike, but later become different through what they absorb and learn. Water is clear by nature, yet mud and sand make it turbid; human nature is originally calm, yet cravings and desires harm it. Nature and the emotions that damage it cannot coexist: as one rises, the other declines. Therefore, sages lessen desire and follow their nature. Those who share the same nature treat one another kindly; those who share the same emotions help one another flourish. Giving oneself over entirely to emotion harms the spirit, while deliberately pursuing a reputation for virtue constrains one’s nature. A person without the capacity to do this has nothing to seek. Only a sage can truly seek nothing.

The patterns of life and death, and whether they can be followed or extended, ultimately depend on us. Life and death are natural conditions, determined in the end by Heaven. Seen in accordance with nature, the Way of life and death has no absolute right or wrong, nor any fixed rule that always works or never works.

Some are already moving toward death before they are born; others are reborn after death. Some are born when they ought not to be, while others die when they ought not to. Some could die but do not; others could live but never do. Some, though alive, would be better off never having been born. Others cling to life and thereby bring death upon themselves. Thus, reaching a place of death may lead to life, while following a path of life may lead to death. Sometimes the pursuit of knowledge makes it impossible to die lightly; at other times, circumstances make it impossible to seek life. Someone says, “Life wears me down.” Yet life is precious, and should not be despised. Another says, “Death brings me rest.” Yet death is fearful, and should not be desired. People do not fail to cherish life, but they may still be unable to preserve it; they do not fail to loathe death, but they may still be unable to escape it.

Among plants, some unusual kinds grow with hard shells; among birds and beasts, some that are tame meet their end while remaining true to their nature. Grass that survives the winter will not die even when covered over; grain stored in a granary will not sprout, even when piled high. Seedlings watered once often wither sooner, and trees eaten by insects often decline sooner. Animals that hatch from eggs are light and pure, and are born early; those born from the womb are heavy and turbid, and are born late. Grass grows from its flowers and leaves, while trees grow from their hearts. When plants die, their flowers, leaves, and hearts all perish as well. Birds are born of the sky, and beasts of the earth; when they die, they return to the sky and earth.

Tiny flying insects appear in clear skies, brought forth by rain, and die when they see the sun. Fungi grow on decaying soil, emerging in the morning and perishing by night. From this we can see that life is the source of death, and death is also the source of life.

The Dao of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. The sage acts with purpose, yet does not contend with others. Thus, those who act in accord with the times can flourish, while those who struggle against others will fail. Even when they command an army, they do not readily display it to intimidate others, for they understand the value of noncontention.

People do not compete to claim what is inauspicious, nor do they wish to endure humiliation. Those who can accept what others refuse will find contentment; those who gain what others do not fight over will find peace of mind. Heaven governs life and death, while people follow the patterns of human life and destiny. Unless the Dao of Heaven has been violated, one should not kill; unless human feeling has been violated, one should not wage war. Thus, if someone is to be executed under the king’s law, failing to execute them is to let harm run unchecked. If someone should be saved, failing to save them is to injure Heaven’s De. Heaven governs life and death, while people follow the patterns of human life and destiny. Unless the Dao of Heaven has been violated, one should not kill; unless human feeling has been violated, one should not wage war. Thus, if someone is to be executed under the king’s law, failing to execute them is to let harm run unchecked. If someone should be saved, failing to save them is to injure Heaven’s De. When governance is carried out in this way, the state can endure.

In conducting themselves in the world, exemplary people take profound De—virtue that is hidden and unobtrusive—as their father, the divine and luminous as their mother, clarity and Wuwei (non-action) as their teacher, and great harmony as their friend. Their movements and changes are like those of a tiger or a dragon, enabling them to endure alongside Heaven and Earth. Profound and still, they can follow the Dao to its depths. They do not act when the time is not right, and do not speak when harmony does not call for it. They plan for difficult tasks as though they were easy, and govern from the root, dispelling problems before they reach their final stage.

Those who do good naturally receive a reward; those who do evil will in time be punished. Thus, by not contending, there is nothing that can overcome them; by speaking little, there is nothing to which they cannot receive a response.

To exalt contention and prize force, to rely on power and act with abandon, and to spread one’s reputation throughout the world while harming loyalty and trust, destroying moral order, and abandoning reason; to make enemies of the good, incur the enmity of spirits and gods, and keep company with the wicked; to seek rich and sumptuous food and amass great treasures—such a person invites calamity. This is a sure sign of ruin. Though their reputation may rise above the clouds, their body has already sunk as if into the Yellow Springs below.

Grasp the essentials of the Dao and De, and you can hold fast to the turning point between survival and destruction. Make Wuwei the guiding purpose and standard of action, and maintain stillness and freedom from disturbance until you reach the state of non-action. By discerning the beginnings of safety and danger, and understanding when to advance, withdraw, choose, or let go, you can preserve yourself, stay clear of peril and disaster, and never fall into danger.

The mouth is where calamities gather, and the root of danger and ruin. Words affect a person’s life and may bring punishment and disaster. Be so still that it is as if no one were beside you, and you can attain Wuwei (non-action): following nature without acting rashly. If you understand where safety and danger begin, and see clearly the principles of advancing, withdrawing, and choosing, you can preserve yourself, stay far from danger and error, and never fall into peril.

The mouth is where calamities gather, and the root of danger and ruin. Words affect a person’s life and may bring punishment and disaster. Once words are spoken, calamity may follow; a careless remark can even cost someone their life. For this reason, sages speak with caution and reflect before they open their mouths, always taking care as if they stood in danger or walked on thin ice. Though they hold high rank, they are as if in a low place; though wealthy, as if poor. In times of prosperity, they remain humble as if dwelling in a deep valley; even in a position of honor, they seem to walk along the depths of lowliness. They take minute care as their foundation, few words and few actions as their basis, vigilance as their place of safety, and wary reflection as the gateway to conduct.

Good fortune is often a harbinger of calamity; gain may be the source of harm, stability may become the root of disorder, and life may conceal the seeds of ruin. A ruler of lofty De is simple and unadorned, does not indulge in sights and sounds, and holds fast to the mysterious Dao. Without schemes or selfish intent, he is as if not yet born. He keeps to emptiness, stillness, and Wuwei, following nature. He seeks the original meaning of Dao and De and observes the true workings of Heaven and Earth. Nothing is a greater calamity than death, and nothing a greater blessing than life. Thus, the pursuit of fame depletes one’s reserves, while having no desire for fame nourishes the place where one abides. Accumulating possessions may bring harm upon oneself; by not making possessions one’s priority, one nurtures one’s own good fortune.

Nothing is a greater offense than indulging desire, a greater calamity than falling into poverty, or a greater transgression than overstepping one’s proper place. These three are like a cart laden with misfortune: at the least they endanger oneself, and at the worst they destroy one’s household.

There are three kinds of wealth and honor in the world: the highest honor is to be free of wrongdoing, the greatest joy is to be free of worry, and the greatest wealth is to know contentment.

Nothing is a greater offense than indulging desire, a greater calamity than falling into poverty, or a greater transgression than overstepping one’s proper place. These three are like a cart laden with misfortune: at the least they endanger oneself, and at the worst they destroy one’s household.

There are three kinds of wealth and honor in the world: the highest honor is to be free of wrongdoing, the greatest joy is to be free of worry, and the greatest wealth is to know contentment. To know contentment is true fulfillment, a blessing gained by following the Dao of Heaven. If one is never content and keeps striving for more, calamity will come upon oneself.

When the stimulation of the five colors becomes too intense, it dazzles the eyes of all under Heaven. When pearls and jade are prized, people throughout the world grow weary from chasing after them. When money and cloth circulate in trade, the world may fall into strife. Thus the five colors are like awls that pierce the eyes, the five notes like awls that block the ears, and the five flavors like axes that wound the tongue.

Speech is the key to communicating among all things and conveying what is in the heart. Without speech, one cannot describe forms, express sounds, explain truths, or teach others. Speech enables people to point out and understand mysterious images; without it, how could these be explained to others? Speech and sound depend on one another, just as form and sound always accompany each other.

A person of great De (Virtue/Power) bears the world’s weightiest gateways and responsibilities. Without speech, one cannot describe forms, express sounds, explain truths, or teach others. Speech enables people to point out and understand mysterious images; without it, how could these be explained to others? Speech and sound depend on one another, just as form and sound always accompany each other.

A person of great De can bear the world’s greatest disgrace; a person of great benevolence can bear the world’s deepest humiliation. Only by bearing what people despise can one enjoy the world’s highest honors and emoluments; only by bearing what people regard as shameful can one become the world’s peerless and most honored person.

Desires dart about, racing like birds. The mind and spirit grow disordered, restless, and rigid, as if being twisted tight between two ropes. Attachment and estrangement become tangled together, yet dispelling them should be as effortless as flowing water. Desires arrive as swiftly as the wind, and passions flare as fiercely as fire. Once desire stirs, it is as ferocious as a tiger, its violent force difficult to resist. But if one can regulate the Qi of desire so that it does not disturb one’s inherent nature, one will not fall under desire’s control. Scattered and unrestrained desires make people enamored of, and immersed in, the things they see. Even when every desire is accumulated to its utmost depth, there is still no sense of satisfaction.

Fish without bait; use a net without setting a fishing trap; wield a halberd without attaching a cord; take up a battle-axe without killing. Though holding sharp implements, one has no intention of inflicting harm. Those who follow the Dao dwell in this way, and those who possess De abide in it. Tigers and rhinoceroses withdraw their claws and horns, leaving no cause for concern; spirits and humans dwell together without fear. Great birds, parrots, and doves do not fear one another, and wildcats, dogs, rabbits, and mice neither flee from nor clash with one another.

Therefore, the noble person remains true to themself, forms no cliques for private gain, does not show off or act rashly, seeks no profit by contrivance, and intends no harm. Always holding fast to stillness without wavering, the noble person becomes a noble person.

Qi (vital energy) fills the vast, boundless cosmos. Following its prior movement, it descends and responds to the myriad things. What exists manifests as “existence”; what does not exist manifests as “nonexistence.” The Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) are integrated and unobstructed, limited by nothing. Living beings see things by means of light and hear sounds by means of sound. This does not mean that the faculties of hearing and sight can independently bring things into being; things appear when conditions converge. Thus, those who cultivate the Dao cultivate the clarity that sees by means of light and the hearing that listens by means of sound. Though they can see and hear, they do not display these abilities outwardly. They understand principles that have not been spoken and know sounds that have not yet been uttered. Their words may fully express what they intend, yet their meaning can still be traced to what lies beyond the limits of speech. Therefore, the actions of a Realized Person (one who has attained the Dao) differ from those of others, yet whatever they do returns to the root. Why? Because they know that Heaven’s Dao shows no partiality; it helps only the good.

In raising silkworms, tending the mulberry leaves is essential for the silkworms to thrive. In nurturing the spirit, following the Dao is essential for reaching the realm of truth. By valuing the root while also attending to the branches, one brings above and below into accord. By honoring the root and cherishing the leaves, one follows Heaven’s Dao. Hold fast to the root, and you can grasp the things that arise from it, preserving wholeness from beginning to end. Cherish the Dao and preserve yourself, and you can follow its course. Remain still and silent, without wavering, and you can bear much. Hold to what is upright without bending, and the Way will endure. The root takes “nonbeing” as its model; its nature is pure, though it may seem to undergo change. Embrace the One—the fundamental state of the Dao—and it gives rise to the myriad things. Preserve original Qi, and you can understand the principles that run through them. Hold to the root, and you can attain the fruits that grow from it. Thus, those who are skilled in following the Dao are fortunate; those who examine themselves become clear-sighted; those who recognize their faults are at peace. Knowing their own shortcomings, they seek to emulate the worthy. Though they aspire to great heights and strive to advance, they do not depart from the right path, and so their Way endures. The Realized Person constantly keeps to the One, making up for shortcomings with humility. In acting, they do not force their way; in doing what must be done, they remain steady. Though they occupy a high position, they do not consider themselves exalted, and so they can preserve their honor for a long time.

Decorating weapons is an inauspicious act; adopting a show of might allows desire to grow without limit. Even if one wins a battle, what benefit does that bring to life? Therefore, those who have the Dao value restraint, while those without it value greed. When a state is greedy, its people suffer; when it delights in warfare, its people are harmed. The people’s suffering is the ultimate sign that the Dao has been abandoned.

Only by setting aside forms of cultivation that depart from the Dao can one endure. Only by letting go of the skills of those who presume themselves wise can one reach the boundless. Only by clearing away knowledge forcibly sought from the outside can one open the way to deeper and broader wisdom. When greed is indulged, the people suffer; when a state delights in warfare, its people are harmed. The people’s suffering is the ultimate sign that the Dao has been abandoned.

Only by abandoning ways of cultivation that go against nature can one attain longevity; only by relying on no power one imagines to be superior can one reach the boundless realm. Only by setting aside knowledge acquired from the outside can one open up a deeper and broader wisdom; only by letting natural De (Virtue/Power) unfold can one accord with the greatest De. Thus, advance what can naturally be advanced, and let go of what obstructs growth. Only by cultivating in this way can one achieve something.

Simplicity and truthfulness are De; when De is made manifest, it is sincerity. Only by continually accumulating good deeds can one attain understanding; when one’s breath is calm and even, one may be called a sage. To know without deliberate action, and to understand without seeing with one’s own eyes, is called “mind-to-mind power”—the ability to perceive the thoughts of others. Thus, those who cultivate the Dao willingly take a place of insufficiency, and thereby find abundance; they remain in lowly places without contention, and thereby accomplish what is lofty. To achieve a great undertaking as immense as Mount Tai, one must have a broad foundation to reach its heights. To cultivate the way of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), one must accumulate De widely in order to reach the Great Dao. Thus, the True Person, one who has attained the Dao, places themselves low and begins with what is small, in order to reach a lofty state.

Gold lies buried among ore and rubble. Its outward appearance may be the same, yet its inner nature is different. Even when two people share the same designation, their bodies, temperaments, and thoughts each differ. Though wolves and pigs both seek companions, what they pursue is not the same. So people differ in how they regard security and danger, and in the categories to which they belong. Water has no taste of its own, yet it is used throughout the world of things; earth has no breath of its own, yet it bears and nurtures all things on a vast scale. Thus, tastelessness can become the root of all flavors, and breathlessness the root of Qi, giving rise to every kind of taste and breath. By dwelling in lowly places and holding to De, one can achieve without losing what one has gained.

Only by gathering thread strand by strand can one weave a bolt of cloth; only by piling up handful after handful of earth can one raise a mountain; only by accumulating achievements little by little can one reach the state of a sage; only by cultivating spiritual awareness bit by bit can one become a True Person. A journey of ten thousand li can be completed only by taking one step at a time. Drifting through a sea of clouds, advancing with clear understanding, one can find joy in oneself. Sincere and plain, without deliberate embellishment, one can become full and radiant; humble and never self-satisfied, one can remain harmonious and inexhaustible. The right way is easy to take up, yet people often turn away from it.

When Qi fills the body, radiance appears outwardly, circulating within and without, while fluids moisten every part of the body. The Six Jia—cycles of days and vital forces formed from the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches—interweave in their movements, and Qi flows into the Danyuan, the central place of inner cultivation. The Dao’s function unfolds widely, and life thereby reaches boundless peace and well-being. One may remain young without growing old; even when consciousness is clouded, one need not decline into old age. Those who cultivate the Dao sometimes walk ahead of ordinary people, and sometimes roam in the realm of Taiji. Though without form or color, they can surpass their ordinary kind and bring benefit. Having accomplished something, they do not claim it as their own; and so they are able to accomplish even greater things.

By living among pigs and keeping them as companions, one can roam freely throughout the world. By associating with lambs and forming a group with them, one can attain immortality; even if one’s mind grows dull, one will not become old and confused. At times one is ahead of others; at times one wanders through Taiji (the Daoist realm of supreme transcendence). It has no shape or color and belongs to no category, yet it benefits all things. It accomplishes its work without claiming ownership, and thus can achieve great things.

By living among pigs and keeping them as companions, one can roam freely throughout the world. By associating with lambs and forming a group with them, one can also travel with them along paths in the wilderness. One is attached neither to staying nor to leaving, and does not brood over life or death. Even when traveling with the foolish and the unvirtuous, one can reach the Dao of Heaven and the realm of the sages. Nothing is concealed or hidden; all one does can attain the realm of the divine. Thus, the perfected person cultivates the self, avoids indulgence and the wasting of body and mind, and keeps away from places of chaos and idleness. They refine and nourish the spirit, concentrate on guarding the One (a Daoist practice of focusing the spirit and abiding by the Dao), and preserve the innocent simplicity and calm of a child. In this way, they safeguard the enduring principles of the state.

Among crops, foreign and unwanted plants may grow among them. Though they come from different seeds, they flourish together; the young shoots grow intermingled and are hard to distinguish. Silver, brass (an alloy resembling copper), solder, and tin may be stored together. Those who do not know how to tell them apart handle them indiscriminately and cannot distinguish one from another; only the watchful can identify them. Thus, the perfected person carefully chooses teachers and friends and entrusts them with their body and mind, avoiding mistakes. They also examine those who seek to learn before treating them as students. Why? Without careful discernment, ice and hot soup would be put into the same pot, and nothing could be preserved. By examining oneself and choosing one’s companions carefully, one can avoid oversights and ruin.

Even at dusk, the sun remains bright for a long time and does not fade; even when the moon is waning, it continues to rise and shine. Yet when the era of calamity arrives—the cycles of disaster and the transformations of the age—the sun and moon will eventually fall and perish. Thus, those who cultivate the Dao lodge in the world without staying for long; they accomplish their work without claiming credit, accept what has been allotted to them, and keep their vital integrity intact.

Once the Dao is attained, one can bring forth and nurture the four kinds of beings (those born from wombs, eggs, moisture, and transformation) and nourish all things far and wide. One’s nature merges with the myriad kinds, follows their transformations, and in the end disappears. Thus, those who cultivate the Dao lodge in the world without staying for long; they accomplish their work without claiming credit, accept what has been allotted to them, and keep their vital integrity intact.

When the Dao reaches completion, it transforms into four kinds of life and gives rise to all things. The nature of the Dao enters into the myriad things, and through human actions, each thing is enabled to fulfill its purpose. Those who understand and practice the Dao can become useful vessels; those who crave the pleasures of food and drink cut off the possibility of cultivating the Dao. Thus, the Dao gives rise to “One,” De gives rise to “Two,” and humanity gives rise to “Three.” Heaven and Earth bring forth the myriad things, with humanity held most precious. Those who understand the value of life can become useful vessels; those who fail to cherish life let their Jing and Qi scatter and waste away. Those who understand this principle can reach the infinite.

The True Person—the one who has attained the Dao—does not act deliberately, yet achievements arise of their own accord; does not seize by force, yet De naturally accumulates. Hearing sounds, they do not respond; in motion, their spirit and mind remain undisturbed. The five colors enter their eyes without dazzling them; the five flavors enter their mouths without stimulating their sense of taste. The mind’s thoughts race faster than lightning, and its fancies gallop more swiftly than wind and clouds. Therefore, gathering the mind does not require harsh discipline, and abstaining from craving flavors does not require rejecting the five flavors. To let go of attachment and refrain from acting recklessly is to step onto the ladder leading to the Way of Heaven.

Every path to the myriad realms requires a road by which to arrive; a robe woven with pearls, too, must be sewn with needle and thread. Thus, although Dao practitioners follow different paths, their aspirations can be shared; though they dwell in different places, their intentions can be one. Those whose Dao differs cannot make plans or work together. This difference does not refer merely to the roads they travel, but to the views they hold in their hearts. “Sameness within difference” means that outward paths may diverge while inner aspirations accord.

A sharp stone tool can wound the waist, and a sharp iron tool can wound the body. The benefits brought by treasures can damage life, while an overly sharp mind can harm one’s nature. People often compete for things that may cause harm, and even intensify the danger. One should therefore cut away sharp objects and remove what causes injury; then the Dao will follow. Abandon base desires and take the balanced as one’s model, and the breath will become full and well nourished. There is no need to arrange the timing deliberately: if a great vow is sustained, it will eventually be fulfilled. Store the original Qi, the fundamental energy of life, and let it circulate throughout the body; then harmony, ease, and well-being will follow. Lord Wuying, a Daoist immortal, was skilled at directing the Vermilion Field, a specific region or movement of Qi in Daoist inner cultivation. In this way, he dispelled entanglements of distress and became a bridge through which the mind and spirit could reach the Great Dao. Meeting the boundless Dao brings freedom from harm.

The True Person disperses Jade Florescence, the refined Qi spoken of in Daoism, to drive away impurity. The Golden Immortal, an immortal who has attained the Dao, disperses solar essence to brush away dust and grime. The Eightfold Purity, the clear and numinous Qi spoken of in Daoism, shines with empty brightness to aid the divine spirit. The Three Primordials, the three fundamental Qi or system of spirits spoken of in Daoism, set the immortal’s life-force in motion within the unseen depths. Bright Qi circulates nine times, and the spirit and essence coil through eight layers. If, while lying quietly in one’s room, one stills far-reaching distractions, visualizes the natural realm, and draws in its deep numinous radiance and essence, an aging body can regain its vitality and endure for a long time.

The Nine Practices of Preservation (Jiushou) consists of nine chapters. The first, “Preserving Harmony,” says that before Heaven and Earth took shape, the universe was dark and chaotic. Later, it blended into a single whole and gradually became clear. The dense, turbid parts formed the earth, while the clear, light, subtle parts formed the sky. The changes of Heaven and Earth gave rise to the four seasons and divided Yin and Yang. Jing and Qi gathered to form human beings, while disordered Qi formed insects. Yin and Yang, hardness and softness, work together, and all things grow as a result.

A person’s spirit comes from Heaven, and the foundation of the bones comes from Earth. If the spirit enters the body and the bones depend on the earth, where, then, is the thing called “I”? Thus, sages model themselves on Heaven and follow the earth. They are not bound by worldly conventions or led astray by others. They take Heaven as father and Earth as mother, use Yin and Yang as their governing principles, and take the four seasons as their measure. Heaven is still and clear; the earth is settled and quiet. All things decline and perish when they go against the patterns of nature, and grow when they follow them. Stillness and quietude are where the spirit dwells; emptiness and Wuwei (non-action) are where the Dao (the Way) resides. A person’s spirit is received from Heaven, and the bones are endowed by Earth. The text also uses the saying “One gives rise to Two, Two gives rise to Three, and Three gives rise to the myriad things” to explain how all things gradually transform and arise from the Dao. The myriad things turn their backs to Yin and face Yang; the Qi of Yin and Yang mingle to form harmony. For this reason, the essential principle of cultivation is to preserve the balance of Yin and Yang.

The second chapter is titled “Preserving the Spirit.” The text says that human beings are born through the transformations of Heaven and Earth. It then describes how the fetus develops month by month: in the first month it forms as a paste; in the second, the fetal membrane takes shape; in the third, it becomes an embryo; in the fourth, a fetus; in the fifth, the sinews and vessels form; in the sixth, the bones form; in the seventh, the body takes shape; in the eighth, movement begins; in the ninth, movement becomes evident; and in the tenth, birth occurs. Once the body has formed, the Five Viscera are also complete. The lungs are associated with the nose.

The kidneys correspond to the ears, the heart to the tongue, and the liver to the eyes. The body’s exterior is its outer layer, and its interior is its inner layer. The head is round, symbolizing Heaven; the feet are square, symbolizing Earth. Heaven has four seasons, five phases, nine stars, and 360 days. Human beings have four limbs, five internal organs, nine orifices, and 360 joints. Heaven undergoes changes in wind and rain, cold and heat; people undergo changes in their daily routines, joy, and anger. The gallbladder is like clouds, the lungs like Qi, the spleen like wind, the kidneys like lightning, and the liver like thunder. These are all analogies between the human body and the things of Heaven and Earth, while the human heart holds the leading role. The ears and eyes are like the sun and moon; blood and Qi are like wind and rain. When the sun and moon stray from their courses, eclipses occur and their light is lost. When wind and rain come out of season, they destroy plants and bring disaster. When the five planets stray from their proper courses, the regions they pass through also suffer calamity.

Heaven and Earth are vast and boundless, yet they still restrain their radiance and cherish their Shen (spirit). How, then, can a person’s ears and eyes be wearied without rest for long? How can a person’s spirit keep rushing about without growing tired? Therefore, the sage carefully guards the spirit within and does not let it scatter.

Third Treatise: Guarding Qi (vital energy)

A person’s Blood and Qi are the outward signs of vitality; the Five Zang organs are where the vital essence gathers. When Blood and Qi remain focused within and are not dissipated outward, the chest and abdomen become full, and cravings diminish. As cravings lessen, the ears and eyes remain keen: one hears clearly and sees distinctly.

When the Five Zang organs follow the heart’s direction and do not oppose it, Qi and intention can take the lead, and conduct will not stray into wrongdoing. The spirit is replete, and Qi does not become scattered. Then one can hear whatever is heard and see whatever is seen, and tasks are more likely to succeed. Misfortune has no way to enter, and harmful Qi cannot invade. Thus, the more one seeks, the less one truly gains; the more one’s gaze covets, the less one actually understands.

The ears, eyes, and other openings of the body are gateways through which the spirit enters and leaves. Qi and intention are like messengers serving the Five Zang organs. When the ears and eyes become absorbed in sounds and sights, the Five Zang organs are shaken and unsettled. Blood and Qi surge without rest, and the spirit races outward, unable to remain within. Even when good or ill fortune as great as a mountain stands before someone, they may fail to notice it.

Therefore, the sage cherishes the ears and eyes and does not let them chase external things excessively. The sage keeps them clear and perceptive, free from temptation and enticement; lets Qi and intention remain empty, still, and balanced, with fewer cravings; keeps the Five Zang organs in harmony; and keeps the spirit within while preventing the body from indulging beyond its proper bounds. In this way, one can discern events of the distant past and changes yet to come. What is there in good or ill fortune that deserves to be grasped and pursued? The farther the spirit races outward, the less one knows. This means that the spirit must not be allowed to be drawn out and dissipated by external things.

The mingled tangle of the five colors confuses the eyes and dulls sight; the jumble of the five tones confuses the ears and dulls hearing; the mixture of the five flavors confuses the mouth and throws taste out of order. Indecision and a wavering mind also make one’s temperament restless and unsettled. Cravings weaken a person’s Qi, while likes and dislikes wear down the heart. When illness arrives, a person’s resolve is depleted day by day.

People cannot live out their full natural lifespan because they are always trying to pursue, preserve, and augment life. Only by not treating “seeking life” as an obsession can one preserve life for the long term. Heaven and Earth move in mutual connection, and all…

All things together form a single whole. If you can grasp the principle of “oneness,” there is nothing you cannot understand; if you cannot grasp it, there is nothing you can truly understand. I live in the world, yet I am only one thing among the myriad things; other things, too, are each things in their own right. Why must things reject and compete with one another? There is no need to cling to the desire to live, nor to flee death out of loathing for it. There is no need to scorn things, nor to rejoice in what is held precious. Be content with what you have, and do not dare pursue things to the extreme. Pursuing them to their utmost will make you lose the greatest joy.

Laojun said: A sage is one who settles in the place suited to the times, and who lives in the present age content with their own work. Grief and joy disturb De (Virtue/Power); likes and dislikes burden the heart; delight and anger lead one away from the Dao (the Way). Therefore, while alive, the sage follows the natural course of things; at death, the sage changes along with the myriad things. In stillness, the sage accords with the De of Yin; in action, the sage responds to the movement of Yang.

The heart governs the body, and the spirit is the heart’s treasure. If the body labors without rest, it will decline; if the spirit is continually expended, it will be exhausted. Therefore, the sage cherishes body and heart and dares not wear them down excessively. Respond to external things with an empty, still heart, and you can investigate their principles; receive what is real with a clear, open heart, and you can discern the proper measure of things. Keep to calmness, contentment, and stillness, and pass through life at ease. Deliberately distance yourself from no one, and favor no one. Cultivate De and preserve equanimity; follow nature, accord with the Dao, and keep company with De. Do not deliberately summon good fortune, and do not rush to invite misfortune. Neither life nor death can unsettle you; this is why such a person is called a “Perfected Person” (one whose cultivation has reached the highest level). With the spirit as your means, nothing you seek is beyond reach; with the spirit as your means, nothing you undertake is beyond accomplishment.

○ Preserving Benevolence, Chapter Four

Laojun said: If you regard the things of the world as insignificant, your spirit will not be burdened by them. If you regard the myriad things as ordinary, your mind will not be confused. If you regard life and death as equal, your will will not be shaken by fear. If you follow the transformations of the myriad things, your understanding will not be thrown into confusion.

The Perfected Person, whose cultivation has reached a profound level, leans upon a pillar without form or trace and walks a path without obstacles. They receive the impartial source and learn from a teacher who is not bound by life and death. Wherever they go, their actions proceed smoothly; wherever they arrive, the Way is accessible. They bend and straighten, rise and bow according to their circumstances, while holding fast to the Way of life. As fortune and misfortune intermingle and change, neither benefit nor harm can disturb their heart.

Those who practice benevolence and righteousness can be guided by benevolence and righteousness, but cannot be coerced by military force. They can be stopped by the Way of righteousness, but cannot be tempted by profit. A noble person would rather die for righteousness than alter their resolve for wealth and status. If even one who practices benevolence and righteousness is not frightened by death, how much less would one who has reached the state of Wuwei (non-action) be? Wuwei means not being burdened by anything. One who is unburdened can encompass the whole world. If we take the words of the Perfected Person as our standard, trace the original meaning of Dao and De, and then examine worldly conduct, we see that worldly standards of behavior are indeed shallow.

○Keeping to Simplicity, Chapter Five

Laojun said: Honored power and abundant wealth are things people crave, but compared with one’s own person, they are of little worth. Therefore, the sage eats only enough to satisfy hunger and sustain the breath, and wears only enough to cover the body and ward off cold. They are content with needs that are reasonable, cast aside what is extra, and do not greedily accumulate.

The sage keeps the eyes clear and does not look at distracting things; keeps the ears quiet and does not listen to sounds that disturb the heart; speaks cautiously and does not talk recklessly; and lets go of deliberation, so the mind is not drawn along by distracting thoughts. They abandon cleverness and return to the Great One (the undivided source in which all things are still a whole), nourish the spirit, cast off preconceptions, and neither favor nor hate. This is called “Great Pervasion”: understanding that reaches everywhere without obstruction.

To cleanse what is impure and escape entanglement, nothing is better than returning to the source. What, then, could not be accomplished? Those who know how to nourish life and preserve harmony of body and mind are not tempted by profit; those who understand the foundations of inner and outer things are not enticed by power and status. To transcend external things is to reach the utmost breadth; to penetrate inward is to attain the highest worth. If one understands what is greatest and most precious, what could one do that would not go smoothly?

○Keeping to the Simple, Chapter Six

The Old Master said: In ancient times, those who cultivated the Dao (the Way) were skilled at regulating their emotions and nature, and at cultivating their thoughts. They nurtured the body through peace and held to moderation. They took joy in the Dao and were not troubled by low status; they rested in De (Virtue/Power) and were not distressed by poverty. Even when something went against their nature, they did not let it bind them; even when something displeased them, they did not cling to it. They did not let what brought no benefit to their emotions and nature deplete their De, nor let what opposed their nature disturb the peace of their hearts.

They did not indulge the body or act as they pleased. Instead, they kept to proper measure, so that their conduct could serve as a model for all under Heaven. They ate according to their appetite and dressed according to their build, choosing places to live and ways of acting that suited them, and following their own nature. Though they possessed all under Heaven, they did not claim it as their own; though they encountered the myriad things, they sought no private gain. How could rank or wealth, low status or poverty, cause them to lose their nature and life? One who achieves this may be said to have realized the Dao.

Guarding Clarity, Chapter Seven

The Old Master said: People receive their form from Heaven. Their responses to sounds and colors through the ears and eyes, to fragrances and odors through the mouth and nose, and to cold and warmth through the skin are essentially alike. Yet some are led to death by these things, while others preserve their lives; some become exemplary people, while others become petty. The difference lies in how each person regulates and disciplines body and mind.

Shen (spirit) is the source of understanding: when the spirit is clear, perception becomes lucid. Knowledge resides in the heart: when understanding is impartial, the heart can be at peace. People do not use flowing water as a mirror, but they do use still, clear water to see their reflections, because it is pure and calm. In the same way, only with a clear spirit and a peaceful heart can one govern the emotions stirred by external things. To be effective, one must rely on a state of not acting recklessly and not clinging.

A bright mirror is not obscured by dust. Likewise, a person whose spirit is clear is not held fast by likes and desires. When an attachment arises in the heart, the spirit comes to approve of it. If the heart is then brought back to emptiness and stillness, the attachment will gradually fade. This is the state in which sages move freely along the Dao. Therefore, those who govern all under Heaven must understand human nature and the principles of life if they are to be fit for the task.

The Old Master said: A sage is simply one who follows the emotions and nature, bringing them into proper measure. They eat according to their appetite and dress according to their build, …

When people can restrain themselves, greedy and impure thoughts have no chance to arise. Thus, those who can truly possess all under Heaven do not pursue possession of all under Heaven; those who can truly attain renown do not deliberately strive to seek a name.

If benevolence and righteousness run counter to human nature and the original condition of life, then they can only be handed out in vain. As for the Real Person—the one who has attained the Dao—the spirit is unobscured, the heart carries no burdens, and he can communicate with all things. His cultivation is complete and open, his manner calm and unassuming, and no distracting concerns disturb his mind. Power and profit cannot tempt him; beauty and music cannot enthrall him. The eloquent cannot persuade him, the clever cannot sway him, and the brave cannot make him afraid. This is the way of cultivating the Real Person.

The root that sustains the growth of life does not perish; the root that transforms all things does not itself change. Without understanding this, even someone who can govern Heaven and Earth, discern the sun and moon, speak as skillfully as one who unravels tangled knots, and bestow kindness enough to nourish metal and stone will bring no benefit to the world. Thus, the sage never loses sight of the root to which he holds fast.

Lao Jun says: Tranquility and equanimity are ways to nourish and protect life; harmony, ease, and openness are ways to settle one’s Virtue. When external things do not disturb the mind, one’s natural disposition can be properly at rest. When the mind is calm and still, free from agitation, one can remain in one’s proper place. To nourish life by bringing peace to the world, and to preserve Virtue throughout one’s life—this may be called understanding and realizing the Great Dao.

Such a person’s blood and Qi do not stagnate, and the Five Viscera do not accumulate malign influences. Neither fortune nor misfortune can disturb them, and neither blame nor praise can hold their attention. Without a fitting age, who could attain this state? Even if such a person existed, if the time were not right, they could not protect themselves—how much less could one without the Great Dao?

One whose eyes are fixed on examining the tip of a fine hair will not hear the thunder’s mighty roar. One whose ears are fixed on distinguishing music as pure as the tones of jade will not see the lofty height of Mount Tai. Thus, those whose minds are confined to small things are bound to overlook what is greater.

Today, external things ceaselessly disturb and tug at people’s natural dispositions, wearing down their emotions and exhausting their spirits like a spring that never stops flowing. Even if one wishes to keep the spirit from being depleted, how could one manage it? Leave a basin of water undisturbed all day, and it is still difficult to see the finest specks of dust within it. Stir it once, and the water turns cloudy, making it impossible to discern square or round shapes. The human spirit is difficult to clarify, yet easily muddied, just like the water in this basin.

Lao Jun says: The highest sage models himself on the Way of Heaven; those next in rank honor the worthy; those lower still rely on their ministers. Relying on ministers leads toward ruin; honoring the worthy can readily become a source of doubt. Modeling oneself on the Way of Heaven is the principle for governing Heaven and Earth, and emptiness and stillness are its foundation. Emptiness can contain all things, and stillness can await the changes of all things. Only by understanding the Way of emptiness and stillness can one uphold it from beginning to end without losing it. Thus, the sage governs the world through stillness, while reckless action brings disorder. As the saying goes: Do not bewilder or disturb things, and all things will naturally become clear. Do not startle or alarm them, and all things will naturally find their proper order. This is the Way of Heaven.

Chapter Eight: Preserving Abundance

Lao Jun says: The Son of Heaven and the feudal lords treat the whole world or their own state as their household, and all things as their possessions. When they believe that everything in the world and the multitude of things belong to them, their bearing grows imposing and their ambitions arrogant. On a large scale, they deploy troops to invade and conquer; on a small scale, they assume an air of superiority.

When a commanding presence is imposed on others and the mind becomes extravagant and unrestrained, it is like a violent wind and rainstorm: it cannot last. So when things flourish and their vitality surges, people’s ambitions are easily swept into arrogance. The powerful launch military campaigns and invasions; the less powerful, too, assume an arrogant air.

The sage therefore follows the Dao (the Way) to diminish what has grown excessive, preserves unity and follows what is natural, and does not damage the vital energy that sustains inner calm. The sage perceives what is subtle, holds to gentleness and weakness, yields without acting recklessly, and takes the rivers and seas as a model. The rivers and seas make no demands, yet all streams flow into them of their own accord, and so they become vast. The sage does not strive to dominate, and the people naturally turn to them; thus the sage becomes ruler of all under Heaven. By dwelling in gentleness and humility, the sage is able to endure.

Only by cherishing oneself can one fulfill one’s own dignity. One who occupies a position of command over ten thousand chariots must take all things as a personal responsibility and shoulder weighty duties; one must not treat one’s obligations lightly. Neglecting those duties makes it impossible to achieve lasting merit and renown.

The pattern of Heaven is that great things are accomplished from small beginnings, and many things grow out of what is few. The sage therefore governs the world through the Dao. Gentleness and subtlety show skill in perceiving what is small; restraint and moderation, diminishing what is in excess, show an understanding of how to begin with little. Only by perceiving what is small can one accomplish what is great; only by beginning with little can one bring about what is good and beautiful.

The Dao of Heaven restrains what is high and supports what is low; it diminishes what is in excess and replenishes what is insufficient. The rivers and seas lie in low places, so the world’s waters flow toward them and gather there. The sage is humble, quiet, and yielding, because the sage values a low position. By remaining openhearted and practicing Wuwei (non-action), the sage recognizes what is lacking in the self. By dwelling below, one can reach the heights; by recognizing one’s shortcomings, one can cultivate virtue.

Those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm; those who praise themselves cannot endure. Striving to overpower others invites defeat and ruin; excessive fullness leads to decline. A violent wind and rainstorm cannot last all day, and a small valley cannot remain filled even for a moment. The storm carries a forceful, overbearing energy, so it cannot endure and will eventually disperse. The valley lies low, so water cannot remain there for long and will ultimately recede. The sage therefore holds to gentleness and humility, casts aside extravagance and indulgence, and does not flaunt strength or power. By holding to gentleness, one can achieve strength; by avoiding extravagance and indulgence, one can endure.

Laojun says: When the Dao of Heaven reaches its height, it becomes full. After becoming full, it begins to diminish. This is how the sun and moon move. Thus the sage maintains an attitude of emptiness, stillness, and humility, and does not dare to become complacent. In daily conduct, the sage takes gentleness and modest withdrawal as guiding principles. In this way, merit and virtue do not decline. This is the natural pattern of following the Dao of Heaven.

Most people prefer high positions and dislike low ones, prefer gaining and dislike losing, prefer benefit and dislike illness, and prefer honor and dislike low status. People act according to these desires, and so find it difficult to accomplish anything. Clinging to these desires also makes it difficult to truly gain anything. The sage therefore models the Dao of Heaven: without deliberate action, the sage still accomplishes things; by not clinging, the sage is able to attain things. The sage shares the feelings of ordinary people but acts by a different way, and so can endure.

For this reason, the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors all kept a vessel to serve as a warning to themselves, called a “youchan”—a vessel that reminded its keeper to remain humble and receptive. When it held little water, the vessel stood upright; when it was full, it tipped over. Once something reaches its height, it is difficult for it to remain there for long. The sage therefore models the Dao of Heaven: without deliberate action, the sage accomplishes things; by not clinging, the sage attains things. The sage shares the feelings of ordinary people but follows a different way of acting, and so can endure.

When things flourish to their utmost, they decline: once the sun reaches noon, it begins to move west; after the moon is full, it begins to wane; and when joy ends, it may turn to sorrow. Thus, the clever and quick-witted should preserve themselves through simplicity; those with broad knowledge and eloquence should preserve themselves through restraint; the brave and strong should preserve themselves through reverence; those of high rank, great wealth, and considerable influence should preserve themselves through modest reserve; and those whose benevolence extends throughout the world should preserve themselves through humility. These five practices are the principles by which the former kings safeguarded the world.

Those who follow this Dao do not seek fullness. Because they do not seek fullness, even when they have already suffered some loss, they can continually renew themselves and accomplish things.

Laozi said: The sage contracts and conceals himself along with the Yin energy, and opens and unfolds along with the Yang energy. In this way, he can reach a state in which he does not deliberately pursue pleasure. At that point, nothing can keep him from being at ease, and he attains the highest joy. His heart is at peace without relying on external things for pleasure. Because his joy comes from within, he is content in himself and reaches the most precious state under Heaven. This is so because he conducts himself in accord with the principles of all things under Heaven.

The most essential principles under Heaven are not found in other people, but in oneself; not in others, but within. Once one has properly mastered oneself, the principles of all things are present as well. One who understands how to regulate one’s nature will not be constrained by appetites, desires, likes, or dislikes. Nothing is especially worthy of joy or anger, pleasure or sorrow. All things are linked through profound principle, with no absolute distinctions between right and wrong. Thus, a man of resolve holds firm to his convictions, and a woman keeps her constancy. Neither is led about by appetites, desires, likes, or dislikes.

One can be respected without relying on power, be prosperous without depending on wealth, and be strong without resorting to brute force. One does not covet money or cling to power and fame; one feels secure neither because one holds a high position nor endangered because one is lowly. Body, spirit, vital energy, and will each rest in its proper place.

The body is the dwelling place of life; Qi is its root; and Shen, the spirit that governs life’s activities, is its master. If even one of these three is displaced from its proper place, the others will suffer too. Therefore, when Shen is the master, the body benefits; when bodily desires are allowed to rule, the spirit is harmed.

Those who are greedy, arrogant, and excessive in their desires become absorbed in power and profit, pursue fame and status, and exhaust themselves trying to outdo others with their cleverness and appear superior. Their spirit is gradually depleted. If they remain immersed in this for a long time and cannot turn back, the body becomes obstructed and the senses seem blocked. The principles of the external world can no longer enter, making them prone to reckless and deluded conduct.

When spirit, vital energy, and will are still, they gradually become full and strong; when agitated, they are steadily depleted and weakened. Therefore, the sage nourishes the spirit, keeps the breath calm and gentle, steadies and straightens the body, and follows the Great Dao as it transforms. In this way, he can respond to the transformations of all things, and meet the changes in every affair appropriately.

Laojun said: A so-called perfected person is one who has realized and accorded with the Dao. Their nature is in harmony with the Dao. Though they seem to possess things, they are as if they possess nothing; though inwardly full, they do not display it. They cultivate themselves without deliberately managing their outward affairs. They understand the world and then return to simplicity. They do not act recklessly, but restore their original nature. Following their nature and guarding their spirit, they roam freely between Heaven and Earth, as if wandering beyond the world of dust. They are at ease and untroubled by affairs. They give no place in their hearts to clever schemes; they see through illusion and do not change with external things. They perceive the transformations of things while holding fast to the root. Their thoughts are focused inward; they are deeply perceptive and far-reaching, returning to oneness. At rest, they do not deliberately plan what to do; in action, they are not attached to where they are going.

They understand without relying on learning, perceive without relying on sight, accomplish things without deliberate effort, and bring matters into order without governing by human contrivance. When moved, they respond; when circumstances demand, they act; they use force only when there is no other choice. They are like light that does not dazzle, like a shadow that does not burn. Taking the Dao as their guide, they act in accord with the conditions of things. Their mind is open and still, tranquil and Wuwei (non-action).

They regard life and death as a single transformation, and the differences among the myriad things as arising from one principle. Though they possess Jing and Qi, they do not use them recklessly; though they possess spirit, they do not deploy it at will. They hold to their undivided original nature and abide in the utmost subtlety. They sleep without dreams, perceive without deluded thoughts, act without leaving traces, and remain still without clinging to form. They seem to exist and yet not exist, to be alive and yet dead. They come and go freely, without obstruction, and so can act through the power of the Dao.

They make their spirit abundant and clear, yet do not let it be depleted. Day and night they keep their hearts bright, and meet all things with a gentle, warm disposition. In this way, their hearts accord with the right moment and with change. The body may decline, but the spirit does not change with it. Responding to the myriad transformations with what does not change, they face changes without end. Transforming things ultimately return to the formless; the unchanging root endures as long as Heaven and Earth. Thus, what is called life does not mean clinging to one fixed form of life, and what is called change has no unchanging form. This is the perfected person’s freedom and ease, the way of pure simplicity.

Laojun said that there are thirteen ways to cultivate life: emptiness, nonbeing, clarity, stillness, subtlety, fewness, softness, weakness, lowliness, reduction, timeliness, harmony, and conservation.

First, forget the burdens of the body and keep the mind calm and untroubled, as if attached to nothing. This is called “emptiness.”

Second, lessen selfish thoughts and distractions, cast off pretence, and remove desires. This is called “nonbeing.”

Third, focus on nourishing the spirit and keep the mind and spirit from being disturbed by external things. This is called “clarity.”

Fourth, settle the spirit and regulate the breath, remaining steady and free from reckless movement. This is called “stillness.”

Fifth, live in a quiet and peaceful place and make no display of your achievements or reputation. This is called “subtlety.”

Sixth, keep away from wife and children and live alone in the company of the Dao (the Way). This is called “fewness.”

Seventh, regulate the breath so that it flows smoothly and gently. This is called “softness.”

Eighth, relax the body and follow its condition, responding in this way to the many affairs of life. This is called “weakness.”

Ninth, do not cling to rank or honor. Be content with poverty and face humiliation without distress. This is called “lowliness.”

Tenth, avoid fullness and self-satisfaction, and keep food and clothing plain and simple. This is called “reduction.”

Eleventh, let both movement and stillness follow the changes of Yang Qi, adapting to circumstances and avoiding harmful influences. This is called “timeliness.”

Twelfth, do not be thrown off balance by hunger or thirst, cold or heat, and do not be ruled by joy, anger, sorrow, or delight. Move neither too quickly nor too slowly. This is called “harmony.”

Thirteenth, be cautious in seeing and hearing, speaking and thinking. Guard the spirit and do not let Jing and Qi be readily depleted. This is called “conservation.” Here, “conservation” means cherishing and nourishing the spirit.

The Perfected One said: Every person embodies Yin-Yang, and each person’s circumstances and conditions differ. The consequences of departing from death and attaining new life also vary. Good deeds bring good rewards, and evil deeds bring evil consequences; retribution follows like a shadow, without the slightest error. Deeds of good and evil are many, and blessings are too numerous to describe in full. Broadly speaking, they can be divided into seven kinds:

First, in a previous life, a person widely bestowed kindness, accumulated De (Virtue), and helped living beings; in this life, that person acts in the same way. Such a person will surely be reborn in a realm of blessing and virtue, pass beyond the “Eight Difficulties” (the eight obstacles to cultivating and hearing the Dao), enjoy the blessings and celebrations of the community, and naturally receive Heaven’s reward.

The second kind of person loved learning in a former life and resolved to pursue the way of the immortals. They honored the Mysterious Precepts (the Daoist rules and disciplines of profound mystery), revered the sacred scriptures, and often sought to do good, correct their faults, and practice diligently in hopes of attaining the Dao. Their conduct in this life is the same as in their former life. They are therefore able to draw near the emperors, have their names entered in the Purple Register of Immortals, and ascend to the Jade Dawn, the clear and radiant realm of the immortals.

The third kind of person delighted in cultivating the Dao in a former life. They did not fear cold or hardship, followed their master’s instructions, and always took the hardest work upon themselves. Even when hungry or thirsty, they did their best to serve and never complained. Their conduct in this life is the same as in their former life. They are therefore able to ride flying conveyances described in Daoist texts, feast and wander among the Five Sacred Peaks, and travel between the open sky and rosy clouds.

The fourth kind of person maintained pure conduct in a former life: they were neither sexually licentious nor deceitful, neither greedy nor indulgent. They remained unmoved by beauty, with a resolve as still as cold ashes, and firmly guarded the foundation of the Great Dao. Their conduct in this life is the same as in their former life. They can therefore receive guidance from spiritual beings, escape the Three Paths of Suffering, and no longer undergo the Five Afflictions.

The fifth kind of person delighted in giving and doing good in a former life, hoping Heaven would spread its benevolence widely so that everyone might be delivered and freed from the Eight Difficulties, the eight obstacles to cultivation. Even when their own life was unsettled, they were willing to give up their clothing to aid the poor; they scattered grain for the birds and left provisions in the empty mountains. Their conduct in this life is the same as in their former life. They are therefore praised by the Four Offices, resonate with the Jade Emperor, have their names entered in the Purple Register, and are honored and ranked among the high immortals.

The sixth kind of person was loyal and filial in a former life. They respectfully served their parents and elders, honored those who surpassed them, and revered their teachers and the Dao, showing respect to their mentors and rulers. Their hearts were in harmony, as though they were one; they felt no jealousy and spoke no hurtful words lightly. Their inner thoughts and outward conduct were in accord, and their behavior followed the Great Dao. Their conduct in this life is the same as in their former life. They can therefore receive guidance from spiritual beings, avoid the Three Paths of Suffering, and overcome the Eight Difficulties. Their good deeds strengthen one another, and their blessings and Virtue support one another.

Born with vicious character and a treacherous heart, such a person attacks their teachers and elders, slanders the scriptures of the sages, refuses to honor sacred scriptures, and doubts the two Celestial Worthies. Outwardly, they appear dignified and refined, pretending to seek a good reputation and worldly glory. Their words sound agreeable, but their hearts are dishonest; their conduct violates the foundations of the Great Dao, and they even steal scriptures. Without taking vows or forming an oath-bound covenant, they spread scriptures on their own, disclose secret teachings, and pass off falsehoods as truth. What they do in this life is no different from what they did before. By breaking precepts and prohibitions, they set themselves on the path of transgression. Their seven generations of ancestors are drawn into the consequences, and punishment may even reach the souls of the dead in the underworld. After death, they will suffer tortures such as plundering, being made to swallow fire, and climbing mountains. Through the Three Paths and Five Sufferings, they will endure countless kalpas without hope of pardon; in the darkness of the long night, beatings will leave both body and mind in unbearable pain.

Those who wish to cultivate the Dao and study its teachings should examine this passage carefully, correct their evil conduct, accumulate De (Virtue/Power) and do good, and set out as soon as possible on the path to becoming an immortal.

Seven Harms

The Perfected One said: “The path of cultivation and learning depends on being in harmony with six things, including Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang. Therefore, one must carefully avoid seven kinds of harm.

“The first harm: dwelling in the Daoist tradition while behaving falsely; indulging in sexual desire and depleting one’s spirit, so that the soul-fluid—the vital essence on which the hun and po souls depend—leaks away and one’s vital essence is exhausted. Qi (vital energy) disperses, the po soul grows weak, the bones become hollow, and the body trembles. The spirit and souls weep in the depths of the underworld, their cries rising to the celestial realm. The True Immortals therefore draw away, and the person instead forms ties with the dust and concerns of the ordinary world. After death, they return to the Earthly Office, the underworld, and meet the same fate described above. When soul-fluid leaks away and vital essence is exhausted, when Qi disperses, the po soul weakens, and the bones grow hollow, the spirit and souls weep, their cries reaching the Celestial Pass. Once the True Immortals have departed, the person is bound to the mortal world; after death, they return to the Earthly Office. How, then, could they still become an immortal?

“The second harm: appearing to cultivate the Dao and seeming to cherish the pursuit of truth, while harboring malice and steadily nurturing cruelty and wickedness. They hope others will fail and envy those who are worthy and able. Their words sound pleasant, but their hearts are disobedient and unkind; they smile outwardly while inwardly bearing resentment. They concern themselves only with gains and losses, recklessly piling up offenses; they slander and belittle fellow cultivators and attack their teachers and friends. These deeds are recorded by the Three Officials, the deities who govern Heaven, Earth, and Water, and the person is entered among the ranks of the wicked. The Immortals and Perfected Ones withdraw, and evil spirits then invade their body. Their form becomes abnormal and their consciousness scatters; they suffer calamity, and the evil consequences grow to their fullest extent. When the period for assessing their offenses is complete, their body turns to ashes and their souls sink and vanish in the Nine Springs. Even if their name is written in the registers as belonging to the Mysterious Gate, how could they preserve themselves?

“The third harm: drinking excessively and becoming dazed with intoxication, thereby depleting one’s breath and losing one’s spiritual nature. The Five Storehouses—the five organs within the body and their vital spirits—are harmed, and the spirits within are disturbed…”

The third kind of harm: Drinking too much and becoming unconscious from intoxication damages one’s original Qi and causes one to lose spiritual awareness. The divine dwellings of the Five Viscera—the organs within the body and their resident spirits—are disturbed, and the spirits are terrified. The hun and po souls scatter, while both body and mind, within and without, gradually fall into decline. The inner true nature becomes empty, and the Child (a symbol of pure spiritual awareness within the body) grieves and wails. The true immortals depart far away, and evil forces seize the chance to enter the body. Practicing the Dao in this way only needlessly damages one’s Jing, Qi, and sincerity. Even if one obtains wondrous sacred texts, one will lose one’s name in the registers of the immortals. The conscious spirit ascends to the heavenly palace, while the physical body turns to ashes and returns to the netherworld. If one vaguely prays for a longer life, how could one remain in the world for long?

The fourth kind of harm: Acting without regard for others, yet blaming them and presenting oneself as a great master; neglecting one’s inner self, speaking and acting without restraint, and often hurling insults. One’s joy and anger have no bounds, and one’s temperament is fickle. Qi surges wildly, the conscious spirit scatters, and the true spirits within the body fly away. The hun and po souls separate and wander, the nine orifices—the openings of the body, including the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—become clouded, and the divine dwellings of the Five Viscera seem to suffer the chaos of bereavement. All this comes from an impure disposition and inauspicious conduct. The true immortals withdraw, and illnesses and malign influences from outside invade the body. What could one hope to gain by practicing the Dao in this way? Even if one possesses wondrous charts and registers, one cannot escape this calamity. The hoped-for day of attaining immortality grows ever more distant, while the time of returning beneath the earth draws ever nearer.

The fifth kind of harm: Some, through a fortunate encounter, obtain precious scriptures; others meet a numinous master—a skilled teacher who transmits methods of cultivation—and receive wondrous texts, yet fail to honor the covenants governing ritual practice and reveal secrets of Heaven. Before the prescribed nine-year period has run its course, they submit their name cards at a famous mountain, reporting their names to its divine offices in hopes of entering the registers of the immortals. The Green Palace, which oversees those registers, and the Golden Gate have already recorded them, yet they immediately pass the scriptures on to others, allowing them to spread through the world. Disrespecting the true Dao and divulging its treasures brings calamity upon oneself. Though one’s name appears in the charts and registers of immortals, this instead brings misfortune upon seven generations of ancestors. The immortal Dao recedes; after death, one sinks into the dark springs below and endures the punishments of the ghost realm for a long time, never to be pardoned, even after ten thousand kalpas.

The sixth kind of harm: Contact with impure things causes the numinous gate—the opening through which spiritual power enters and leaves the body—to lose its light. The spirits of the Five Viscera scatter, and the Child, too, rises high and departs far away. Evil forces seize the chance to attack, harming both the inner and outer self. Practicing the Dao in this way, one hopes for success but instead invites harm. The true immortals depart, leaving only an empty form to sink into filth. How could one still speak of attaining immortality?

The seventh form of harm: craving the flesh of the six domestic animals and taking life to satisfy one’s appetite. The foul, bloody odor fills the five viscera and six bowels, damaging a life-form that was never truly one’s own. True Qi is disturbed at the numinous gate, where body and mind connect with spirit and Qi, and the wandering spirit—the awareness moving within the body—is startled in the Red Child, a name for the inner Original Spirit. The hun and po wander through the palace dwellings, the abodes of spirits within the body, while turbid, stagnant Qi clings to the mouth and teeth. The Immortals and perfected beings ascend to Jade Clarity, the Daoist realm of the highest heavens, while one’s own self sinks below the earth. Even if one’s name is listed among the Mysterious Names and entered in the Emperor’s Register, one cannot escape death.

The High Sage Emperor Lord said: “The foundation of cultivation is to place the putting aside of the Seven Harms above all else. Even if you have already been permitted to gaze upon the Cavern Gate and read the Jade Texts, the scriptures concealed in Daoist grotto-heavens, if you do not violate the prohibitions against the Seven Harms, you may sit in peace and await the spirits’ arrival, then ascend in broad daylight. But if you diligently practice visualization outwardly while inwardly failing to abstain from the conduct described in the ‘Seven Harms,’ then what you hope to achieve will instead come to nothing; your wish for long life will instead lead to death; your hope for good fortune will instead bring calamity; and your pursuit of ascent will instead end in a fall. The numinous Immortals roam the high heavens, while the Five Spirits are scattered across the wastelands of the eight directions. The Red Child cries out in the inner dwelling, and wandering souls mourn in the Mysterious Palace, the abode of spirits within the body.

“Thus, the signs of an Immortal’s attainment may lead to success or failure, and those who practice the highest Dao must understand the ‘Seven Harms.’ Those with firm resolve who honor the Dao should carefully grasp its true meaning. Whoever possesses an outstanding spirit, accords with the registers of the Immortals, has the substance of a Jade Embryo and Purple Void, and has a name inscribed in the Eastern Florescence register of Immortals, will, upon seeing the admonitions of the ‘Seven Harms,’ be spared from mourning in the Mysterious Palace. This is a wondrous and numinous text that those of outstanding spirit should read; it must not be opened carelessly, and this precious scripture must not be viewed casually. Those who are able to see this text are all endowed with a profound and mysterious nature and possess the qualities needed to become Immortals. After nine years of cultivation, they will be able to fly through the Mysterious Void and ascend to Jade Clarity.”

Consort An said, “No matter how fiercely the winds keep blowing, they cannot harm your upright nature. How could a violent gale change your clear and simple heart? You need only chant alone in stillness, humbly await a response from the divine, gather your spirit, and let scattered thoughts settle into silence. Rest in a state of clarity and utmost truth. Do not let sorrow and vexation disturb the depths of your heart, and do not let thoughts of grief unsettle your spirit.”

The Supreme One said, “People of exceptional talent are often sunk in drink. The aroma of wine brewed from grain intoxicates and confuses the spirit, turning one’s temperament upside down. In this way, it destroys the Ten Virtues—the ten kinds of good conduct taught in Buddhism and Daoism—and encourages the Ten Evils, the ten kinds of wrongdoing. It lays waste to the mind’s openness in all directions and blocks the six supernatural powers.”

The Celestial Worthy said, “Living beings have long been accustomed to confusion and inversion. Their thoughts are scattered, and they chase after all manner of things in the world around them. They abandon one thing only to seize another, never pausing for an instant. They are like monkeys leaping and scampering through forests and marshes, impossible to restrain. The minds of ordinary people are just the same: they roam through the forest of the five desires—desires for sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and touch—and bound recklessly through the marsh of the six faculties—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind—hard to control.”

He also said, “Human feelings are difficult to control, like a banner raised in the wind, fluttering without cease. At times, people even contemplate doing false things to win fame and praise.”

The Scripture on Settling the Will says, “Once people have a physical form, they are affected by the six passions, the six senses and their desires. When these six passions become tainted, the mind grows unsettled and deteriorates. People become attached to what they already possess and cannot see what they have never had. Then, through all kinds of affairs and circumstances, thoughts arise, bringing sins and defilement that accumulate over lifetimes. Living beings drift through the Three Realms—the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm—forgetting to return. They pass through the Five Destinies, the five places of rebirth, sinking into them for ages without awakening. Their bodies suffer pain and injury, yet they cannot recognize it; their spirits are seized by fear and unrest, and their actions invariably lead to wrongdoing.”

The Supreme One said, “The Way of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. The sage acts without contending with others. Thus, those who follow the moment without contention flourish, while those who struggle against everyone invite danger. So even when they possess weapons, they do not use them to wage war, because they do not contend.”

People do not wish to contend for inauspicious things, nor to endure filth and disgrace. If one can bear what others are unwilling to bear, that is enough; if one can obtain what others are unwilling to fight over, the heart can be at peace.

The Scripture of Subtle Truth says: Looking too much clouds the eyes; listening too much dissipates Jing and Qi; excessive attachment scatters the spirit. Once stirred by gain, one easily becomes fearful and unsettled. Forming factions and relying on allies for support are not the true Dao.

It also says: The greatest offense is sexual excess, the greatest calamity is greed, and the greatest fault is overstepping one’s proper place. These three are like a carriage that brings disaster: at its least, it costs a person their life; at its worst, it brings ruin upon an entire family.

The Dao says: Good fortune and misfortune, calamity and blessing, come from hidden and unfathomable depths. The wealthy and honored cannot simply ask calamity to leave and thereby escape it; nor can the poor and lowly obtain glory and prosperity merely by wishing for them. Accumulating blessings and virtue brings a good response; doing evil brings calamity.

The Celestial Worthy says: Qi and destiny have no end, and the span of one’s life is difficult to fathom. After death, one may be born again; after darkness, brightness may return. The workings of Heaven and Earth are like a turning wheel, and human life continues like a shadow following its form. Thus change is difficult to bring to an end.

In the Scripture of the Subtle Forest, the Celestial Worthy says: Living beings fall into birth and death through their acts, drifting and turning within them like clouds in empty space, illusory colors in the sky, echoes in a mountain valley, the moon’s reflection in water, an image in a mirror, or flames in rising heat; like a deaf person hearing sounds, a blind person seeing sights, a mute person speaking, a crane with two heads, a chicken with three legs, hair on a tortoise, or horns on a rabbit. None of these things can truly exist. The ignorance, craving, and mistaken views of living beings, along with the roots of birth and death that arise from them, are just as illusory. In the end, all is empty and cannot be expressed in words. Just as, once a lamp is extinguished, there is nowhere left to seek its light, so too the roots of birth and death are originally empty. They are also like a raging fire and four poisonous snakes: neither can be approached. The way of birth and death is the same.

The Celestial Worthy told the true adept of sacred practice: If someone thinks that there is something to pursue among the various teachings, they should understand that the root of birth and death is empty from the outset, and there is likewise nothing to grasp. Birth and death are like a raging fire, and like four venomous snakes; neither can be approached. The teachings on birth and death are the same.

The Celestial Worthy also told the true adept of sacred practice: If someone clings to views about the various teachings, abandons the impure realm—the world regarded as defiled—and single-mindedly pursues the bliss of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest celestial realm in Daoism; if they abandon the physical bodies of sentient beings and pursue the supposed form of the True Dao; if they wish to cut off afflictions and enter the state of Wuwei (non-action), yet remain attached to various views, believing they can thereby attain quiescence, then I say that this person holds profoundly erroneous views.

This is like a foolish person who fears the earth and tries to flee from it, yet cannot escape the earth no matter where they go. Sentient beings are the same: fearing the suffering of the body subject to birth and death, they seek to abandon existence in the Three Realms—the realms of desire, form, and formlessness—and grow weary of the bodies they have received, yet they still have not escaped birth and death. Such beings have not truly seen the Dao, yet they pursue its supposed form. How lamentable.

The True Dao does not create or act; it neither arises nor perishes. It is neither existent nor nonexistent; it is neither eternally unchanging nor utterly extinguished. It is neither great nor small, and cannot be sought through forms, colors, or thoughts. To understand this is what it means to cultivate the True Dao and practice the right path.

He also told those who cultivate the Great Dao: “Living beings in the world are deeply obscured by ignorance, a delusion that conceals the truth. The true Dao is within them, yet they cannot see it.

“This is like a foolish person who runs east and west, searching for emptiness and form without knowing that form itself is emptiness. People in the world are just the same: their minds chase after things outside themselves in search of the true Dao, without realizing that their own body and mind are the true Dao.

“It is also like a foolish person who sees only bamboo and wood, unaware that fire can be kindled from wood. They abandon the wood and search everywhere for fire. People in the world are likewise: they leave themselves behind to seek the Dao, without knowing that the Dao is within them.

“It is also like someone who abandons the body to search for its shadow, or keeps silent while seeking an echo, not knowing that a shadow depends on the body and an echo has sound as its source. From this, you should understand that the false views and afflictions of the world are rampant, like thickets of brambles and patches of thorny shrubs. They are best avoided.

“I explain these things to you now so that you may understand: the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), spoken of in what is to come, are not apart from afflictions, and the Great Dao is nowhere else. By simply observing body and mind and cultivating the true path, you can naturally attain liberation.”

The Celestial Worthy (a revered Daoist deity) said to the adept Bian Tong, “The changing thoughts of all living beings are like the arising and passing away of life. Why do we say that thoughts are like arising and passing away? Were all living beings originally born? If so, where did birth come from? Or were they originally unborn? If they were unborn, then here before your eyes there is plainly a body. Do you think the body exists, or does not exist?”

Bian Tong replied, “The body we see now is actually nonexistent. Why? The previous form has already vanished, and a later form has arisen.”

The Celestial Worthy said, “Thoughts are the same. We can say neither that they truly exist nor that they are wholly nonexistent; each thought simply arises and passes away. The previous thought, when it vanishes, does not become the source of the next thought. Nor is the next thought, when it arises, the result of the previous one. That is why I say the thoughts of all living beings are like arising and passing away.”

Bian Tong asked again, “If the thoughts of living beings are like arising and passing away, can the process of arising and passing away be seen? And if that process is like thought, can thought be seen?”

The Celestial Worthy replied, “Thought can be seen. To observe thought, you can observe it as you would arising and passing away. Arising and passing away have no fixed location, and thought has no fixed location either.”

Bian Tong asked again, “If thoughts are like arising and passing away, and neither has a fixed location, how can they be settled so that people may find peace and happiness?”

The Celestial Worthy asked, “Can the body be settled?”

Bian Tong replied, “The body changes from moment to moment, so it cannot truly be settled.”

The Celestial Worthy said, “Thoughts are the same. They cannot be made to remain still forever and never change.”

Bian Tong asked again, “If they cannot be settled, why did you earlier say that the mind should be comforted so that people may find happiness?”

The Celestial Worthy replied, “People need comfort because they believe the body truly exists. Once comforted, they understand that the mind is neither truly existent nor wholly nonexistent. This is called recognizing the true mind, and through this they can find peace and happiness.”

The Baosheng Zuanyao says: Emotion is what drives the Hun, while nature is what governs the Po. Emotion arises from Yin and is responsible for initiating and creating; nature arises from Yang and is responsible for governing and regulating. Yang nature is benevolent and generous, while Yin nature is grasping and desirous. Thus emotion readily gives rise to self-interest and desire, whereas nature has a benevolent and peaceful aspect. When Jing and Qi are abundant, the Hun and Po are strong; when Qi is deficient, emotion and nature grow weak. When emotion and nature are disturbed by cravings and desires, it is like plain white silk being dyed many colors.

It also says: A person’s emotion and nature can be harmed by self-interest and desire, just as ice and snow melt beneath the blazing sun, or plants and trees wither when touched by frost. It takes little time for them to dissolve or perish. Ice and snow would ordinarily remain unmelted, but the intense heat of summer changes their nature; plants and trees would ordinarily remain free of decay, but severe cold robs them of their vitality. People are endowed with a destiny for long life, yet cravings and desires can shorten their years. If one follows the Way of nourishing life and cultivation, and fully cares for body and mind, one can attain life without end.

It also says: Shen is the Hun, descending from Heaven; Gui is the Po, passing through and returning to Earth. Shen can therefore make use of Qi, while the body depends on food for nourishment. When Qi is clear and calm, Shen is refreshed; when the body is weary, the Po grows clouded. Those who practice ingesting Qi—a method of nourishing life through regulated breathing and drawing in pure Qi—breathe without interruption and are said to be able to ascend to Heaven. Those who eat greedily become heavy and confused; in the end they die, and their bodies return to Earth. This is the natural order.

The Xianjing says: Things with form arise from the formless, and the body depends on Shen in order to exist. The formed body is therefore the dwelling place of formless Shen; the body is Shen’s abode. People should preserve this abode so that its master may dwell in peace. Cultivating the body is a way of nourishing Shen. When Qi disperses and returns to emptiness, the wandering Hun undergoes transformation. Fire depends on a candle to burn; when the candle is spent, the fire has nowhere to remain. Water is held back by a bank; when the bank is destroyed, the water cannot be contained. When the Hun and Shen are depleted, Shen and Qi disperse, and the breath is exhausted, life comes to an end.

It is also said: People often lose the Dao (the Way) through their own actions; it is not the Dao that leaves them. They often abandon life themselves; it is not life that leaves them. Those who nourish and care for the spirit should be cautious not to lose the Dao. Those who cultivate the Dao should be cautious not to harm life. When the Dao and life protect one another, and the spirit and original Qi (vital energy) preserve one another, body and spirit can endure for a long time.

The Primordial Mother Sovereign said: Among the methods of cultivation, the most secret essentials are only the talisman, the elixir, and Qi. The talisman is the numinous script of the sun, moon, and stars—the Three Luminaries—and a token through which the gods of primordial truth convey their intent. The elixir is the gathered essence of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), and the seminal fluid produced in the Flower Pool, a common term in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy). Qi is the power formed through the harmony of Yin-Yang, as well as the numinous vitality and life force of all things. These three are the keys to the Dao and treasured essentials for those who seek immortality.

It also says: If a person accumulates one thousand evil deeds, their descendants will be rebellious and unfilial; if they accumulate two thousand, they will fall into servitude; if they accumulate three thousand, they will suffer from many illnesses and live in loneliness and poverty; if they accumulate four thousand, they will contract a grave disease and be forced into exile; if they accumulate five thousand, they will become ghosts of the Five Prisons; if they accumulate six thousand, they will become prisoners in the Twenty-Eight Prisons; if they accumulate seven thousand, they will become sinners in the hells of the various directions; if they accumulate eight thousand, they will fall into the Ice Prison; if they accumulate nine thousand, they will enter the boundless lowest hell; and if they accumulate ten thousand, they will fall into the Xueli Prison, the underworld hell of Daoist legend.

The sequence linking accumulated evil deeds to the punishments they incur is repeated later in the passage. The root of ten thousand evils lies in the three karmic actions of body, speech, and mind: deeds, words, and thoughts. Evil acts accumulate one by one, eventually forming numerous karmic offenses. Those who fall into the Xueli Prison have no hope of release, ever; no one can save them, even at the end of all things. How could this not be heartbreaking? When people realize they have committed an evil deed, they should correct it at once and never repeat it. Then they will be close to the Dao. If assailed by evil spirits, they should also cleanse their thoughts, examine and reproach themselves, repent, and mend their conduct; in this way, they can turn evil into good.

When a person does one good deed, their heart becomes settled and their spirit peaceful; when they do ten good deeds, their vital energy becomes strong; when they do a hundred, auspicious signs will appear; when they do a thousand, their descendants will become divine immortals who have attained the Dao. With two thousand good deeds, they can become holy immortals and officials in the immortal realm; with three thousand, they can become subordinate officials of the holy immortals in the immortal realm; with four thousand, they can become teachers under Heaven and holy immortals.

Accumulating five thousand good deeds makes one a leader among the holy, perfected immortals; accumulating six thousand makes one a high minister among them; seven thousand, a duke or king; eight thousand, an emperor; nine thousand, one of the Five Original Emperors of the Primordial Beginning; and ten thousand, the Supreme Jade Emperor. The Primordial Lord said, “The foundation of ten thousand good deeds lies in the three forms of action: body, speech, and mind—that is, conduct, words, and thoughts. By continually increasing the Ten Good Deeds, one can accumulate millions upon millions of good deeds. Good deeds can lengthen one’s life; evil deeds can shorten it. Spirits are appointed to reward goodness and punish evil, and the workings of cause and effect never miss their mark. The foundation of long life rests solely on doing good.”

He also said, “Devote yourself to nourishing the spirit, and do not let external things disturb it: this is called ‘purity.’ Gather the spirit and regulate the breath, remaining settled and free from rash movement: this is called ‘stillness.’ Restrain scattered thoughts to steady the mind, quiet the body to nourish the spirit, and cherish the breath to preserve vital essence. Set aside every kind of preoccupation, quiet the mind, contemplate, and turn inward. Then body and spirit can become one. When body and spirit are united, one is near the state of a perfected person.”

The Dao says, “If ordinary people bring misfortune upon me, I should respond with blessings and goodness. Thus the qi of blessing and goodness will often come to me, while the qi of misfortune will return many times over to those who sent it. This is how those who study the Dao should conduct themselves.”

Xu Laile asked, “What is meant by ‘forgetting both’?” The Perfected One Gaoxuan replied, “Ordinary people arise from the chaotic transformations of qi and fall into delusion, coveting and clinging to all kinds of material things. Even when they accumulate merit and practice diligently, they cannot avoid becoming attached to something. They should therefore cultivate meditation to remove attachment to things. Yet even after such attachment is gone, they may still cling to ‘emptiness.’ Letting go of attachment to both ‘existence’ and ‘emptiness’ is called ‘forgetting both.’ This is the first step toward right contemplation.”

The Scripture of Alliance and Authority says, “The Dao is everywhere. Where it is found in a teacher, take the teacher as teacher; where it is found in the scriptures, take the scriptures as scripture. The Dao is never apart from them.”

The Scripture of the Profound Treasure says, “Set right what is biased and deviant, bringing everything back to the correct center. One can proceed from the source to the ends of things, and also return from those ends to the source.”

The Baoxuan Jing says: Correct views that have strayed from the right path, and bring all things back to what is centered and upright. Trace things back to their roots and set their details in order, ultimately returning to the source. This source is the Dao. The Dao has no shape, so words and images can serve only as guides that help people understand it. Though we can speak of the Dao’s movement and function, the Dao itself is in fact formless and immaterial.

The Sanhuang Jing says: Nothing under Heaven remains constant forever. What, then, could remain firm for all time? Therefore, one should promptly loosen and leave behind attachments to worldly things, and seek the natural Dao, thereby freeing oneself.

The scripture also says: Nothing is eternal. Anything that takes shape cannot remain whole for long. The sun, moon, and stars—the “Three Luminaries”—are sometimes bright and sometimes dim; the light between Heaven and Earth is always changing.

The Huanglao Xuan Shi Jing says: “The Dao cannot be transmitted through words alone. Books were written and teachings passed from one person to another so that those who study would have something to rely on; in this way, people had the chance to hear of the Dao. One who speaks well about a matter must understand the words associated with it; one who uses words well must grasp their meaning. If one grasps their meaning, one may come to realize the Dao.

“At the beginning of Heaven and Earth, one knows that the myriad things were originally unconnected. Only on entering the realm of emptiness does one recognize the truth within it. Thus, the scriptures speak of attaining the Dao and its methods, which run through the course of things from beginning to end. When sages see a book, they know that the root of the Dao is not in books; when they hear words, they know that the root of the Dao is not in words. Through written characters, one understands words; through words, one grasps meaning. Once meaning is grasped, one comes close to knowing the Dao. Those who know the Dao understand that it can be spoken aloud, but cannot be transmitted through books alone.

“Thus, the Perfected use the spirit to discern principle, and this understanding is worthy of respect; sages take themselves as examples, and this teaching is worthy of esteem.”

The Most High said to the Queen Mother: Human beings are born by receiving the Qi of Heaven and Earth. When Qi gathers and condenses, it is called “essence” (Jing). When essence joins with essence and gives rise to spiritual awareness, this is called “numinousness.” When spiritual awareness changes, it is called “spirit” (Shen). When the activity of spirit changes further, it is called “soul.” The awareness that accompanies the soul’s movements is called “consciousness”; the mental activity that accompanies the soul’s entering and leaving is called “corporeal soul.” What governs essence and the corporeal soul is the “heart.” When the heart follows something, “emotion” arises; when emotion settles on something, “intention” takes shape; when intention points toward something, “resolve” takes shape; when resolve holds something in memory, “thought” takes shape. When thought reaches toward what is distant and the heart has a direction, this is called “consideration.” When consideration enables one to deal with affairs, this is called “wisdom.” Wisdom means seeing clearly all these activities of heart and spirit.

A person’s nature lies in stillness and clarity, while Qi is expressed through movement. When movement and stillness join as one, inner life and outward conduct are both harmonious and smooth. Who, unless deeply cultivated, can bring the heart to rest in such a state? Art is hidden within and responds as circumstances change; methods are put into practice outwardly to govern the people in accordance with the times. When the people use the principles involved without knowing the specific strategies, this is called “art.” When teachings and laws are openly established to guide the people, this is called “method.” Qi transforms the myriad things, yet its form cannot be seen; art is used to transform and guide the people, yet its traces cannot be seen. Thus Heaven takes Qi as its numinous power, and the ruler takes art as his spirit.

The Scripture on Contemplating the Body through the Four Kinds of Wisdom says: The essentials of cultivating the Dao lie in acting in accord with subtle principles and accumulating good deeds within. Only then can one begin to enter the realm of the Great Dao. Without this, one will ultimately only toil in the dusty world, gaining no benefit in the length of one’s life. The Dao is within oneself and does not depend on others. One must be compassionate, humane, benevolent, and patient. Only by practicing these four qualities can one be said to draw near to the Dao.

The Jing of Lord Lao on Precepts says that evil people are born from shallow, wayward essence and Qi. Their bodies are like straw dogs used in sacrifice. Their Hun Qi is weak, while their Po Qi is strong, and their bodies seem filled with the poison of corpses. They look human on the outside, but inside they are like worms and insects, with the savage nature of wolves. They are intensely jealous and often harbor secret thoughts of harming others. They ruin what has already been accomplished and make things fall apart; whenever they speak, their words carry resentment and anger. They regard themselves as precious as jade and others as worthless as mud. They feign yielding in public but act deceitfully and maliciously in private, heedless of the disasters this brings upon them.

Long ago, a man refused to earn an honest living and did nothing but steal. One night he broke into a minister’s home, where the minister was performing acts of great merit. The scripture says that Lord Lao saw the thief take the shape of a dog. He rebuked him, condemned him to remain a dog, and ordered him to keep carrying huge stones to the minister’s home, piling them up until they formed a mountain.

The Jing of Bright Authority says that sexual misconduct transgresses the ethical boundaries between inner and outer, and that people coerce or abduct those who are not suitable partners, overturning the proper order of Yin-Yang. Whether among people connected publicly or privately, or among relatives, they commit adultery with one another and act deceitfully; some even mate with alien and evil beings.

The Jing of Original Conduct says that long ago there was a king named Yuanqing who indulged himself in sensual desire. When the cosmic cycle came to an end, he was conceived in the womb of a woman of the Hong family. Because he had been lustful in his previous life, Heaven caused him to be reborn as a woman, allowing him to continue the desires he had cultivated before.

The Jing of Great Peace asks what counts as excessive speech. To bring great disaster with a single utterance is the highest degree of excessive speech; to bring disgrace with one utterance is the middle degree; and to fall into hardship with one utterance is the lowest degree. Sages of past and present left behind many words, spreading them throughout Heaven and Earth, yet still felt that some truths had not been fully expressed. Thus disasters continued. Later sages repeated these teachings, and people took them as standards, never daring to complain that there were too many. Therefore, good words that can dispel disasters always seem insufficient; good words are never too many, while bad words are never too few. Before speaking, the sages of antiquity always reflected carefully. Words arising from their enlightened hearts became scriptures and were established as standards for the world. The foolish speak carelessly, and the disasters they invite harm themselves.

The Zhengao says: When all kinds of thoughts wind around the heart, they damage the spirit and disturb the mind. Handling government affairs, rushing between worldly concerns, speaking of good and bad fortune, and acting in ways that entangle one in gain and loss, benefit and harm—all this brings an abundance of worry and thought. Even with a sincere wish to seek the Dao, it is difficult to be truly focused and steadfast. To hold the Dao without practicing it is like holding a treasure but never using it, while simply expecting one’s hair not to turn white. Such a thing is rarely heard of.

A person who holds office yet is not burdened by its affairs, who keeps a peaceful heart and cultivates their true nature, does not let a profusion of duties stain the spirit or allow cleverness and the urge to outdo others to unsettle the heart. This is the state a Daoist should maintain while serving in office.

The Zhongjing of Great Clarity says: Do not sell the Dao teachings I have passed down in exchange for rare treasures, and do not transmit them to those who are unworthy. But neither should you lock the teachings away and end their transmission. Those who pass on the Dao teachings will prosper; those who deliberately cut off their transmission will surely suffer calamities sent by Heaven, even if they act alone. In transmitting the Dao, one should take Heaven and Earth, rivers, and the Huai and the seas as models. To follow Heaven and Earth is to leave nothing unable to grow or come to completion; to follow rivers and the Huai and the seas is to let no current go unflowing and no river go unnavigated. The image of Heaven and Earth nurturing all things, and of rivers receiving and carrying waters onward, shows that the Dao should be shared widely rather than kept to oneself.

The Xisheng Jing says: Desire is the root from which danger and calamity arise; “nonbeing” is the source of Heaven and Earth. People do not know the root of desire or recognize the source of “nonbeing.” Therefore, sages cast off desire and return to “nonbeing,” using this to nourish and protect themselves.

The “Essay on Guarding the Body and Preserving Life” from the Dongshen Cavern says: The Yellow Emperor believed that the most important thing for sages who protect life is to nourish body and mind. Nothing affects the body and mind for better or worse more profoundly than good and evil, and both arise in the heart.

Thoughts have no fixed place of their own, but move in response to things outside us. The objects the mind encounters and clings to are called “states of perception”; the mind is what perceives and clings to them. Thus, the arising of all things and faults is connected with the mind. When a thought takes shape in the mind, it becomes a person’s action, and that action expresses good or evil. Indulging desire is therefore evil, while putting an end to greed is good. Good deeds can support life in the world and help one transcend worldly concerns; evil deeds damage De (Virtue/Power) and leave one tainted.

Sages understand that although the mind has no form, it can act, while the body has form but cannot operate on its own. If the mind has no body in which to dwell, it cannot manifest or function; if the body has no mind to rely on, it will decay and become incapable of action. Thus, though body and mind differ in form, their principles are connected. Their workings take shape in many kinds of good deeds, yet ultimately lead to the same end. Body and mind are each other’s inner and outer aspects, and movement and stillness sustain one another. The body does not act independently but is directed by the mind; when the mind cannot be still, it keeps reaching for external things. The body can contain all kinds of actions and continually bears their effects.

The mind is the foundation on which ordinary people and sages are formed; the body is where suffering and pleasure gather. Sages know that calamity arises in the mind and that faults must come from oneself. They therefore purify their thoughts to dispel calamity and set their intentions straight to eliminate faults. Worldly people often do the opposite: they indulge their desires without realizing that desire comes from the mind; they are arrogant, self-important, and extravagant, without realizing that arrogance comes from themselves. They care only to assert their will and do as they please, taking no care for themselves. In the end, they set out on the path to disaster without knowing danger is near. They go on living day after day without understanding where calamity comes from. For this reason, enlightened sages take pity on the ignorant and leave teachings to guide them.

The “Discourse on Whether Immortality Can Be Learned” says: The “Great Plan” in the Book of Documents speaks of five blessings, the first of which is longevity. If people can prolong their lives and live to a hundred, even the Celestial Emperor regards this as the greatest blessing. How much more so for immortals, who can transcend the world and attain an immeasurable lifespan? …

Among the Five Blessings listed in the Hongfan—the five kinds of good fortune—the first is longevity. To live to a hundred is already, in Heaven’s eyes, the greatest blessing. How much more, then, for immortals, who transcend the mundane world and endure without end? No blessing can compare with the good fortune of long life, yet people today disregard it and think little of it. Why is that?

Let us consider the matter. Those of middling intelligence or less, down to ordinary people, are no different from birds and beasts, insects and snakes. They leave themselves to life and death and cannot understand what lies beyond their experience; when they hear of cultivating the Dao and becoming immortal, they mock one another. Those of above-average intelligence are bound by the teachings of reputation and ritual, occupied with the Three Bonds and Five Constant Virtues, and have no leisure. When they hear of cultivating the Dao, they remain unsure whether to believe it. Among countless people, perhaps only one will stand apart, refuse to be submerged in ordinary worldly concerns, and devote themselves to cultivation. Moreover, those who cultivate the Dao often keep it secret, and those who succeed do not show themselves. Thus, few in the world put this path into practice. It is truly regrettable!

Long ago, Sang Jiao asked Juanzi, “Since ancient times, people have all died, yet some say that one can become immortal. How can both be true?” Juanzi replied, “Both are possible.” To say that “both are possible” means that no principle is absent from the world. Since this principle exists, the way of the immortals can also be learned. Ji Kang once said, “Immortals are born endowed with an exceptional Qi. How could one attain this through learning?” Juanzi’s answer remains: “Both are possible.”

Ji Kang believed that becoming immortal depended only on being born with a nature different from that of ordinary people: it came about naturally and could not be attained through accumulated study. This account may not fully explain the matter. Some achieve it without practice because they were born endowed with exceptional Qi. Others must learn and cultivate, succeeding only when their work is complete. Still others practice but fail because they begin diligently, then grow lax and cannot persevere to the end. These three cases each have their own cause; they cannot all be explained by a single rule.

People living between Heaven and Earth are plainly different from other kinds of beings: when something touches the heart, there is a response; when the feelings and intentions are stirred, they can communicate with things outside themselves. Geng Gong raised his sword in prayer, and a spring burst forth on level ground. Li Guang shot with all his strength, and the arrowhead pierced a stone. These events took place in an instant. When a person’s sincerity reaches its fullest, even earth and stone respond, as swiftly as an echo or a shadow. How much more, then, would the Perfect True One—the highest divine being in Daoism—secretly work through the world and help someone achieve success when they maintain a sincere heart over a long time? With this hidden assistance, the ladder leading to immortality can appear at once.

Who is the Perfect True One? It is the Most High, Taishang, the supreme deity revered in Daoism. The Most High is the head of the gods and spirits and the most exalted of all. Alone, at the foremost edge of the deep and mysterious realm, he dwells high in the Purple Tenuity, the abode of the Celestial Emperor and center of the heavens.

Heaven protects all living beings. The Book of Odes says, “The Lord on High is watching you,” and the Book of Documents says, “Heaven sees all with clarity.” Heaven rewards good and punishes evil without the slightest error. Yet who among the deluded or the awakened can fathom the source of this? People experience these principles every day but often do not understand them. They turn away from the root and pursue the branches. Thus there are seven reasons to distance oneself from the Way of the Immortals, and seven reasons to draw near to it.

People today have not glimpsed the gateway to the mysteries or seen through the profound and hidden principles. They echo what others say, taking the complete extinction of body and spirit as real and the generation of life as illusory. They cherish only life and destiny, yet concern themselves only with the body; they willingly head toward death and take this to be the natural order. They do not know that Heaven and Earth are the ground on which the Book of Changes rests: when Heaven and Earth are destroyed, the principles of the Changes can no longer appear. The body and Qi are where life and destiny reside; when the body and Qi decay, life and destiny have nowhere to remain. What meaning is there for me if life and destiny have nowhere to remain? This is the first reason to distance oneself from the Way of the Immortals.

Second, some believe that becoming an immortal must have a limit, and that in the end one still falls into ruin. Lacking the wisdom to discern clearly, they believe false claims. How could they know that existence with form and substance originates in the still, formless Void? The Void gathers and gives rise to spirit; the activity of spirit brings forth Qi; Qi condenses and gradually becomes manifest, accumulating layer upon layer until form takes shape. Once form is established and spirit dwells within it, the human being comes into being.

Thus, if life is left to flow onward and dissipate, it will eventually lead to death; return to life’s source, and one can become an immortal. Therefore, use the Way of preserving the true to refine the body, purifying it until it joins with Qi. Then use the method of holding to the Dao to refine Qi, purifying it until it joins with spirit. When body and mind unite seamlessly with the Dao, this is called attaining the Dao. The Dao is inherently without end; how, then, could the Way of the Immortals have a limit? People everywhere remain deluded and never awaken. This is the second reason to distance oneself from the Way of the Immortals.

Second, some people insist that life and death are one and the same, mistaking their earlier opinions for an awakening to the true Dao. They believe that the body must eventually decay and disperse, while the soul can use this to be reborn. So they reject their present body and think only of the body they might have in a future life. How can they know that after death a person enters the great furnace of transformation, where Yin-Yang Qi forges them anew? The wandering soul then changes and moves on, attaching itself to another body. When consciousness is born into a different kind of being, it becomes clouded and no longer remembers its former body. It is like a bird becoming a fish or a fish becoming a bird: each adapts to its new body, and they cannot understand one another. If they cannot even perceive their own transformation of form, how much less can they know what happens when they die and are born again? Such people are truly to be pitied, yet others do not pity them. This is the third way of departing from the Way of the Immortals.

Second, some people take high office and noble rank as grounds for pride, and fame and achievement as a means to lasting life. They indulge in beauty and music, and pursue fine clothes and rich food. They imagine that accumulating a family fortune is a long-term plan, and that passing property down to their descendants is far-sighted. How can they know that prosperity must give way to decline, that high office brings danger, that what is gained will eventually be lost, and that what is brought to completion will also suffer loss? They cling to these things as though they could never be broken, and set aside the quiet emptiness of the Dao. How could they be willing to nourish body and mind together through calmness and wisdom, preserve balance and harmony, and make it their aim to follow their nature and understand the true Dao? This is the fourth way of departing from the Way of the Immortals.

Second, some people are held in thrall by romantic attachment in the prime of life, and only in old age, when their hair has turned gray, do they seek long life. Though they have only just begun to think of cultivating the Dao and pursuing learning, their bodies are already damaged and difficult to restore. They refuse to cast off habits formed over many years and concern themselves only with outward benefits. In private they admire the reputation of Daoist cultivation, but in practice they act against what is required to accord with the true Dao. Their names have not been removed from the Register of the Dead, nor entered into the Mysterious Register of Immortals and Perfected Ones. Time passes swiftly, and the end of their allotted life soon arrives. Only when they are close to death do they resent and blame the spirits. This is the fifth way of departing from the Way of the Immortals.

Next, some people hear that refining the Great Elixir can enable one to ascend to immortality, and that taking medicines can prolong life. In haste, they set about refining elixirs and devote themselves to searching for medicinal herbs and plants, repeatedly exhausting their wealth on mineral elixirs. Yet the medicines never prove effective in the crucial stages of refining and ingestion. They do not know that the Golden Liquid—the immortal elixir in Daoist cultivation—requires oral instructions passed down by someone who has attained the Dao, and that Zhi Ying, a miraculous herb like the lingzhi mushroom, must also rely on the Qi of the Dao. They pursue only the details and fail to investigate the root. In the end, they achieve nothing and say that the ancients deceived them. This is the sixth way of turning away from the immortal Dao.

Next, some people live among Dao cultivators, yet their hearts are captivated by the mundane world. In their conduct they break the precepts, and in stillness they do not cultivate. They seek a reputation for pure practice on the surface, while concealing improper designs within. People may be deceived, but the spirits cannot be misled. This is the seventh way of turning away from the immortal Dao.

If someone naturally delights in mystery and stillness and has few desires; does not consider wealth and glory worth cherishing, yet does not force himself to appear noble; sees nothing desirable in licentiousness and perversity, yet does not rely on suppressing improper thoughts to make himself upright; takes benevolence as his foundation, keeps his heart tranquil, stays far from the world’s defilements, and dwells in a pure and genuine realm beyond the mundane; directs his heart toward the Great Dao and takes Wuwei (non-action) as his principle of conduct—such a person approaches the first rank of the immortal Dao.

Next, some people admire what is lofty, believe deeply in the ancient Dao, and devote themselves to putting it into practice. Knowing that wealth and glory are only temporary lodgings, they pay them no heed. Knowing that sensual pleasures harm their innate nature, they abandon them and do not crave them. They cut away malicious thoughts that secretly harm others and cultivate good deeds without seeking reward. They restrain anger and desire, remain unmoved by slander or praise, dwell in the mountains and forests, and cultivate purity and stillness. Such a person approaches the second rank of the immortal Dao.

Next, some people hold official rank and receive a stipend, yet their hearts long for Dao and De. They serve their superiors loyally and treat their subordinates with righteousness. They ask little for themselves and show generosity toward others. They are benevolent, respectful, and gentle, extending kindness widely and caring for all. Outwardly, they engage with the noisy, worldly life; inwardly, they preserve clarity and purity. They practice quietly and cultivate in stillness, cherishing life and abhorring death. Such a person approaches the third rank of the immortal Dao.

Next, some people live in a humble hut with a simple brushwood gate, content with poverty and low status. Though they have the talent to govern the country and benefit the world, they appear to rely on nothing. Though learned in the affairs of past and present, their hearts remain open and humble, as if they possessed nothing. They refuse titles and decline stipends. Firmly committed to transcending the mundane world, they remain calm and detached, cherishing life and abhorring death. Such a person approaches the third rank of the immortal Dao.

Next, there are those who live in humble dwellings, content with poverty and unashamed of their low station. They possess the ability to govern worldly affairs, yet conceal their talents as though they had none. They understand the past and present, yet keep their minds open, as if attached to nothing. Even when granted a noble title, they refuse it; even when offered a stipend, they will not accept it. They steadfastly esteem a life beyond the world, and calmly make the nurturing of life their chief concern. This is the fourth way of drawing near to the path of the immortals.

Next, there are those who are exceptionally gifted and outstanding in character. They devote themselves to endeavors free of cunning. When they meet formidable opponents skilled in strategy, they prevail in every engagement and achieve victory within a year. Afterward, they settle themselves in stillness, nurture their Shen (spirit) through calmness, and use pure Jing (essence) to attain the true state. This is the fifth way of drawing near to the path of the immortals.

Next, there are those who regret the past, cleanse their hearts, and begin anew. Though they made mistakes in their youth, they still hope to set themselves right in old age. They make amends through good deeds, gradually erasing their faults and bringing their merit to completion; they correct wrongdoing by following the right path, gradually forgetting deviant thoughts and restoring the right path. However difficult their circumstances, they do not abandon their principles; however noisy their surroundings, their minds remain undisturbed. They devote themselves to diligent practice and discern what is subtle and hidden. As the days accumulate, their sincerity gradually comes to light. This is the sixth way of drawing near to the path of the immortals.

Next, there are those who are supremely loyal, filial, chaste, and upright. The Zhengao (Declarations of the Perfected), a Daoist text, says that people of this kind need not deliberately undertake religious study; they can naturally attain realization of the Dao. Bi Gan had his heart cut out and did not die; Hui Feng drowned and then came back to life. Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Zeng Shen, Xiao Ji, and others seemed dead to those around them, yet the Dao enabled them to endure. People like these are counted among those who embody the qualities of immortals, and are said to “withdraw from sight and transform in secret.” Even after death, they will not be forgotten; such things come about naturally. This is the seventh way of drawing near to the path of the immortals.

Turn away from the seven things that distance one from the Great Dao and draw near to the seven things that bring one close to it. This is called escaping the place of downfall, leaving the path of delusion, smashing the cart that carries calamity, and boarding the carriage that leads to blessing and goodness. Only after reaching this point can one begin to set out on the road to the realm of the immortals.

Then one can recognize where the source of life lies and understand where upright Qi (pure and beneficial vital energy) comes from. Let the mind and spirit become empty, still, settled, and free from craving, and let one’s nature and temperament grow calm. Through breathing out the old and drawing in the new, harmonize the spirit. Then use a lofty, still, and empty Way to preserve stability, and support cultivation with good medicine, bringing both the inner and outer aspects into balance so that body and spirit ascend together. Even if one has not yet truly risen into the heavens, I would say that one already seems to be flying with outstretched wings above the crimson clouds of the immortals.

The Dao is neither made by human effort nor fixed in form, yet it has feeling and principle. Thus it is said that people can yearn for the Great Dao, and the Great Dao can respond to them. The Dao does not fail people; people are the ones who fail the Dao. How profound this saying is!

People in the world think that the Dao’s essence is obscure and empty, so they prize “nonbeing” and scorn “being.” Yet people depend on their bodies and endowments to live, and so they take only “being” and forget “nonbeing.” How could they know that “being” arises from “nonbeing,” while “nonbeing” is made manifest through “being”? Only when being and nonbeing communicate and unite do they reach the Dao’s highest state. Thus, stillness and profound emptiness are the image of the formless Great Dao; Heaven and Earth, the sun, moon, and stars are its manifest, formed images.

If one takes ultimate emptiness alone to be the wondrous Dao, one cannot explain breathing out and drawing in primordial Qi, the circulation of Yin-Yang, the formation of Heaven and Earth, or the movements of the sun and moon. Therefore, “being” takes “nonbeing” as the root of its activity, while “nonbeing” relies on “being” as its support. It is for this reason that Heaven and Earth can endure in their courses and true sages can remain undying. The ceaseless generation of life is Heaven and Earth’s greatest De. The vastness of the cosmos and the flourishing of the myriad things exist precisely so that life may continue. If life vanished like smoke or ended like ashes, how would that differ from Heaven collapsing and Earth splitting apart?

Those who pursue only illustrious fame are not in accord with what I affirm. Thus it is said that death is a calamity suffered by both Heaven and humanity. Who can escape this calamity, brush off his robes and leave the world behind, and alone draw near to the Dao? Is the Dao really far away? By accomplishing these things, one can draw close to the Great Dao.

The Great Dao abides in a state of utmost emptiness, holding within it what is mysterious and subtle. Only when stirred by external things does its wondrous efficacy become manifest. It is like the sound contained in metal and stone: they ring only when struck. A person should therefore open the heart and mind and attune to emptiness and stillness. When the mind is empty, it can become calm. Through the utmost stillness, one gathers responses, and these responses can then communicate with one another. Once they do, the universe of Heaven and Earth becomes settled and harmonious, and the light of Heaven appears. The physical body and one’s nature depend on and nourish each other, and their transformations have no end.

The human body is formed in imitation of Heaven and Earth. The five viscera and six bowels, the joints throughout the body, and the four limbs are all places where divine spirits reside, each with its own presiding power. If they are properly nurtured and preserved, they function; if allowed to languish, they cease to function. Their functioning sustains life; their failure brings death. One should therefore abandon practices that lead to death and choose the way that preserves life.

If one recites the Golden Book of the Great Thearch, a Daoist classic, studies the Jade Chapters of the Dongzhen Cavern, Daoist scriptures of the Dongzhen Cavern section, preserves Thearch One in the Crimson Palace, the dwelling of the heart spirit, arrays the Three Primes in the Purple Chamber, the abode of divine beings within the body, absorbs the refined luminous Qi of the sun and moon, the Two Luminaries, and ascends to the wondrous realm of the Seven Primes, powers represented by the stars, including the Dipper’s seven stars, then, once cultivation of the Great Dao is complete and its merit perfected, one can ascend to immortality even without taking the Great Reversion Elixir of Langgan, a method of ingesting and cultivating in Daoist practice. These practices can lead a person from the ordinary to the immortal, and from the immortal to the perfected. When the perfected one joins with the Dao, that being is called a spirit person.

A spirit person can appear or vanish, conceal their presence or shine forth. They transcend the processes of creation and transformation, yet can also enter the vast, boundless realm of the Great Desert. Without deliberate thought, they discern all things; without wings, they fly freely. They wander in the palaces and halls of Bright Rosy Clouds and feast in the immortal halls of Feathered Radiance. Their joy lasts as long as unending kalpas, and their lifespan is beyond measure, like the Great Void.

These principles are recorded on golden slips. How could their secrets be divulged lightly? Scholars who delight in seeking the Dao should open the jade casket that seals the scriptures and investigate the hidden meanings within.

What Confucians and Mohists esteem is loyalty, filial devotion, and compassion. What the Immortals esteem is blessing rulers and nobles, shielding ancestors through accumulated merit, and extending grace to descendants for generations. Which of these three is truly the greatest? Alas, the circumstances of remote antiquity can no longer be known in detail. Yet from the time of Fuxi and Xuanyuan onward, in every age there have been Immortals such as Guangcheng, Chisong, Lingwei, and Anqi. Their deeds are recorded in ancient texts and, in more recent times, passed down through people’s own accounts and what they have heard. Throughout the ages, those who cultivated the Dao and attained its fulfillment have indeed been plainly visible. The Dao of the Immortals can be learned, and the evidence is so clear. Gentlemen, why not strive to cultivate it?

◎ On the Nature of the Dao: A discussion of the Dao’s essential nature.

The Venerable Celestial One, a revered deity in Daoism, said to Shancai, “Good man, the foundation of the practice I have described through the image of ‘sea and emptiness’ is precisely Dao-nature, the innate capacity for the Way that all beings possess. Dao-nature neither arises nor perishes, and is therefore like the sea and emptiness. The ‘emptiness’ of the sea and emptiness has neither cause nor effect. To say it has no cause or effect is intended to dispel afflictions. For this reason, it is called practice.”

Shancai asked again, “According to what you have said, Dao-nature neither arises nor perishes. Do all beings possess it in common, or does each possess it individually? If Dao-nature is empty and without cause or effect, and this is meant to dispel afflictions and is therefore called practice, then what, exactly, is the Dao-nature of beings?”

Shancai continued, “If beings possess Dao-nature in common, then when one person enters the Sea-and-Emptiness Treasury—the realm of wisdom likened to the sea and emptiness—all beings should enter it at the same time. Suppose there are many enemies: if one of them makes peace with everyone, then everyone should make peace with that person as well. Dao-nature is like this: when one person brings Dao-nature into harmony, it does not mean that the Dao-nature of all beings is thereby brought into harmony. The Dao-nature of beings is neither one nor different; it is ultimately equal, like empty space, which all beings share.”

The Celestial One said, “Good man, deep in the mountains there is a treasure called Supreme Excellence. Whoever obtains it becomes wealthy. The Dao-nature of beings is like this.”

Shancai asked again, “Is the Supreme Excellence treasure you mentioned one, or are there many? If there is only one, once one person takes it, it should be used up, and the mountain should be empty. Then why say that all beings can cultivate pure precepts and enter the One Vehicle Treasury of Sea-and-Emptiness Wisdom—the One Vehicle being the path to the ultimate Way, and the Treasury of Sea-and-Emptiness Wisdom referring to wisdom as vast and profound as the sea and emptiness? If there are many treasures, why say that the sea and emptiness are not all phenomena, and that the Dao-nature of beings is likewise not all phenomena?”

The Celestial One replied, “Good man, suppose there is a road with some wide stretches and some narrow stretches. All beings can walk along it…”

Because there are no obstacles, this is also true of the Dao-nature—the inherent capacity for attaining the Dao that all beings possess.

Good man, consider a precious jewel with only one entrance and exit. Though many people pass through it, they do not cause a crowd, and no one can damage the jewel and carry it away. The Dao-nature of beings is the same.

Consider, too, a bridge. However many people cross it, some carrying heavy loads and others traveling light, the bridge itself is neither increased nor diminished. The Dao-nature of beings is the same.

Or consider the taste of salt. Added to all kinds of things, even to water, it makes them salty. Those things are not called salt, and salt is not called those things; the same is true of water. Though the names change, the nature of saltiness is not lost or altered. Saltiness can be found in all five flavors. When people drink the water, they clearly taste its saltiness, yet cannot see the salt in it. The Dao-nature of beings is the same: it is present throughout the Five Destinies, the five realms into which beings are reborn. Beings differ in the length and shape of their bodies, but the Dao-nature remains one and the same, without distinction.

◎ On the Three Characteristics

The Scripture on the Ocean of Empty Space and the Treasury of Wisdom says that the “three aspects” are the aspect of being, the aspect of nonbeing, and the aspect of neither being nor nonbeing. By contemplating these three aspects, one can enter the source of wisdom.

The methods of contemplating the three aspects differ. Some beings begin with the aspect of being and proceed to reach nonbeing; some begin with nonbeing and proceed to reach being. Still others keep their minds and spirits settled, attached to neither of the first two aspects, and so can perceive a realm in which neither being nor nonbeing can be grasped. Some also begin with nonbeing and proceed to reach being; still others keep their minds and spirits settled, attached to neither of the first two aspects, and so can perceive the aspects of being and nonbeing.

Good man, if someone always reasons from “being” to “nonbeing” and concludes, “I see that all things now appear as being, but in the end they must return to nonbeing. Therefore everything is empty and nothing truly exists,” that person has neither clear wisdom, wisdom of contemplating emptiness, nor the wisdom to respond appropriately to things and act. You should understand that this is the “view of annihilation”—the belief that everything is ultimately destroyed and returns to nothingness. Such a person may seem wise, but in fact goes against the fundamental principle.

If someone else always reasons from “nonbeing” to “being” and concludes, “All things in the world arise from nonbeing. They did not exist originally, yet now they do. Therefore being must arise from nonbeing,” that person then claims that being is already contained in nonbeing. Since being exists, all nonbeing is therefore no longer nonbeing. You should understand that this is a “narrow view,” confined to a one-sided understanding. Though that person considers themself wise, they have strayed from the fundamental principle.

If someone else always contemplates being and nonbeing from the standpoint of “neither being nor nonbeing,” and concludes, “All beings in the world are neither being nor nonbeing. Why do I say this? If we call them being, they will ultimately return to nonbeing; if we call them nonbeing, we can see that they exist now. Since that is so…” This leads to an uncertain view; because the karma one creates is also uncertain, …♀♀♀♀♀♀

(Continuing from the previous passage) Those who believe that things cannot arise from “nothing” attribute the consequences of human and heavenly actions to the cycle of rebirth in the Six Realms. They believe that whatever has a form exists, and that when its form perishes, nothing remains. To view things this way is to fall into rigid preconceptions; it cannot be called wisdom. All three of these views cause people to lose the root of wisdom.

Good man, suppose someone considers these three claims and thinks: “I believe everything is nothing. ‘Nothing’ means stillness and emptiness; it cannot give rise to anything. It is entirely unmoving and cannot resonate with anything.” In response, the scripture uses a great mountain raising clouds and bringing rain as an analogy: the mountain raises clouds and produces rain, so something with form gives rise to a phenomenon with form. From this, we can see that it is impossible to conclude that “nothing” can never give rise to anything.

Someone else claims that only things with form and substance count as “something,” and that nothing outside of physical form can be called “something.” The scripture then gives the sound of the wind as an example: the sound of the wind carries far, yet the wind’s form and substance cannot be seen or touched. If we say that it truly exists, it still has no fixed form and cannot create an obstruction. An echo is the same. We should therefore understand that such things cannot simply be called either “something” or “nothing.”

If students cling to these ways of viewing things, they too will lose the root of wisdom.

Good man, one may also contemplate the three characteristics and come to understand them in four ways: subtle nonbeing, subtle being, coarse nonbeing, and coarse being. Once these four meanings are understood, the truth of “neither being nor nonbeing” naturally becomes clear.

What is subtle nonbeing? It is the nature of the Dao. Why is the nature of the Dao called subtle nonbeing? Because it is profound and still, yet also responds in accordance with conditions. When we view all things from the perspective of its depth and stillness, we see them as without characteristics. When we view them from the perspective of its responsiveness and change, we see them as having characteristics.

The nature of the Dao may be said to manifest responsiveness within “nonbeing”; it may also be said that, though it appears as “being,” its essence is still and without action. Thus, the “being” of the Dao’s nature is unlike the being of things in the world, and its “nonbeing” is subtle nonbeing.

What is subtle being? It is responsiveness appearing as manifestation. When the Dharma Body—the Dao’s true body—first begins to emerge, it manifests responsiveness within “nonbeing” and transcends the Three Realms of Existence: the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm. Though it appears in some way, it is unlike ordinary things; hence it is called subtle being.

What is coarse nonbeing? It is “nonbeing” in the ordinary sense: without responsiveness or response, empty and still, nothing more than open emptiness.

What is coarse being? It is something with form and substance that creates obstruction. Because it has form and substance and leads people to cling to it, it is called coarse being.

Good man, if you fully understand these four meanings and distinguish their essence from their appearance, you will understand “neither being nor nonbeing.” This understanding comes from investigating the principles of the nature of the Dao.

Those who cultivate the Way, if they often contemplate the three characteristics and understand these four meanings, are like those who enter a city of wisdom, wander through its chambers, sit upon its bed, and partake of its food. In the end, they grasp the heart and foundation of wisdom.

Perfected Yao Ming, a perfected being in Daoist legend, bowed to the Celestial Worthy and asked, “Is there ultimately only one truth among the things people speak of in the world?” The Celestial Worthy replied, “Yao Ming…”