《修真辩难参证》Vol. 4

Loss and deterioration belong to lower De (Virtue/Power). This is the definitive account. Some people who do not understand the Great Dao say, “Life is more important than nature,” or, “Nature is more important than life.” Both claims are wrong.

Nature and life must be cultivated together, though the work unfolds in two stages. Those of higher De need not cultivate life first; they can cultivate nature directly. Once nature is perfected, life is perfected along with it. Those of lower De must cultivate life first and then nature. After life is perfected, they must still perfect nature. Cultivating life involves deliberate practice: applying methods intentionally. Cultivating nature involves Wuwei (non-action): not striving or acting deliberately. The paths of action and non-action are established for people of higher and lower De as they begin their cultivation. Once the Great Dao is realized, neither deliberate action nor non-action is needed. A still higher level has its own subtle workings and lies beyond the realm of action and non-action.

If students of the Dao do not understand the distinction between higher and lower De, yet immediately pursue the principles of action and non-action, how could they understand what these truly mean? Without understanding true action and non-action, they can neither perfect their nature nor preserve their life. The principles of cultivating nature and life must be discerned through the distinction between higher and lower De. How could students of the Dao fail to examine this carefully?

[Further evidence: The reasoning here is exceptionally subtle, and few people in ancient times discussed it. Without personal practice and decades of painstaking study, it cannot be discerned.

In my view, whether Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) have already been depleted can make cultivation either difficult or easy. When the proper moment arrives, Yang Qi stirs, and practice reaches the stage of sexual union, even decades of personal practice and painstaking study may still not make the matter clear.]

My late teacher, the Venerable Taixu, said: “I heard the sage master Nivana say that the terms ‘higher De’ and ‘lower De’ come from the Laozi. Although the Cantong qi quotes these terms in the same wording found in ancient alchemical texts, it uses them with a different meaning. The ancient texts use them to distinguish ‘nonbeing’ from ‘being,’ corresponding to the higher and lower paths. The Cantong qi, by contrast, uses ‘Wuwei (non-action)’ and ‘action’ to distinguish different stages and functions of alchemical practice.

“On examination, the ancient texts’ usage broadly accords with the meaning of the Qingjing Miaojing. The old commentaries on the Cantong qi explain these terms in different ways: some in terms of a person’s temperament, others in terms of the stages of cultivation. My teacher, the Elder Erwu of Mount Song, held that the Cantong qi discusses the Dao of the Elixir, and that the instructions’ terms ‘higher De,’ ‘lower De,’ ‘upper opening,’ and ‘lower opening’ refer to different parts within the body. Their meaning is therefore different from that of the Daodejing in its original context.”

Xiaogen now examines Wu Yuanzi’s discussion and concludes that he seems to follow the interpretation found in the old commentaries on the Cantong qi. These views are all reasonable. It is more fitting for later students to consult them together, so they are recorded here as a group.

Action and Non-Action

The Wuzhen pian says: “At the beginning of cultivation, when concrete actions are involved, others find it hard to understand. When the stage of Wuwei is reached, people begin to understand its principles. They see only the precious mystery of Wuwei; how could they know that action is the foundation of cultivation?” This describes the methods used at each stage of cultivating the Real, from beginning to completion.

Later generations did not understand what “active practice” really meant. Some said it meant circulating the breath according to the hours of the day; others said it meant turning the River Chariot, the Neidan method of moving Jing and Qi through the body; still others described the union of heart and kidneys, the meeting of the Ren and Du vessels, gathering Qi behind the brain and driving it to the crown of the head, regulating the breath, or refining the Jing and Qi produced during sexual intercourse. Some said it meant using the “flying Golden Essence behind the elbows,” a Neidan practice for circulating Jing and Qi; moving the bones to stir the marrow; absorbing the essence of the sun and moon; ingesting the Qi of clouds and rosy mists; smelting metals and minerals in a furnace; obtaining the so-called “bedchamber elixir” through sexual intercourse, meaning the elixir or vital essence within a woman; refining the Qi of the Celestial Dipper; or gathering the Jing and Qi of the five viscera. Such explanations are too numerous to count. Though their methods differ, they all fixate on concrete, external forms. To regard these as the “Way of deliberate action”—a path that intentionally applies methods and seeks results in cultivation—is to stray far from the Great Dao!

[Commentary] The methods criticized by the author are indeed not the Great Dao. Some are still practicable ancient methods, but they are said to be far from the Great Dao because they all involve deliberate action. As far as I know, only smelting metals and minerals in a furnace, and using sexual intercourse to obtain the bedchamber elixir, count as ancient methods of this kind. Yet people with weak Five Viscera must never take medicines made from metals and minerals. And anyone who has not refined the physical body and reached the state of “a body beyond the body” cannot possibly benefit from obtaining an elixir through sexual intercourse. Apart from these two methods, do not attempt to practice any of the others without receiving the true oral instructions, and never put your body to the test. Such is the teaching left by my former master. Wu Wuzi probably refuted these methods out of caution.

Later generations also failed to understand what “non-action” meant. Some focused on the Yellow Court, a particular place within the body or an object of inner visualization; some visualized the anterior fontanel, the bone junction at the front of the crown; others focused on the tip of the nose, the Bright Hall, a place in Daoist inner visualization, the area below the navel, or the Jiaji point at the middle of the spine. Some contemplated emptiness or the mind, stilled stray thoughts, or forgot the body. Some silently paid homage to the Supreme Emperor; some examined the body and gathered the spirit; others visualized the spirit-consciousness leaving the body. These practices, too, are too numerous to count. Though the ways of directing the mind differ, they are all equally attached to a state of “emptiness.” To regard these as the “Way of non-action”—a path of cultivation that avoids deliberate contrivance and follows what is natural—is also deeply mistaken.

Among the various methods of cultivation, the two practices known as “observing the form” and “contemplating the spirits” cannot be followed as models. The others can be understood by explaining their principles, but one must not cling to them or mistake them for the Great Dao itself. This is a teaching handed down by my late master.

Clinging to emptiness or to outward appearances means working only on the physical body and worrying over a worn-out shell. How could one understand the way of the sages, which neither clings to “emptiness” nor to form, and encompasses a state that falls into neither emptiness nor the realm of appearances?

The principle being expressed is correct. If you understand that using tangible methods is a means of returning to what is real, then you have set out on the proper path of cultivating the true. Those who study the Dao should grasp this point, so as not to disappoint the author’s painstaking effort.

“So-called action” does not mean forcing things or deliberately contriving them. The human being’s innate foundation has long been buried, and the roots of nature and life are unstable. Without methods of grafting and a way of return, how could one prolong life and realize the Great Dao? Cultivation through action seeks to recover what has been lost and return to what one originally possessed. It is a principle of drawing on Yin-Yang, transforming the workings of creation, and mastering the changes of life and death. In accord with the innate, the Way of Heaven is not opposed; in the acquired state, one must follow the timing of Heaven. Spirits and ghosts cannot know it, and neither yarrow stalks nor tortoise shells can divine it. How, then, could people see it? Since ordinary people cannot see it, this is not a matter of clinging to outward appearances.

What has been said above is correct. Yet one must also understand that if the Three Passes and Nine Orifices—the bodily gates and openings spoken of in cultivation—are not clear and unobstructed, blood and Qi will stagnate. If one cannot even attend to healing illness, how can one speak of the more distant practice of grafting? The various methods taught by the ancient sages lay the foundation for cultivating the Great Dao. If they are not used as a foundation for cultivating the Dao, but only as means of tending the physical body, then one is seeking a way to survive within a shell. How could such an approach not be criticized?

“So-called Wuwei” does not mean being lifeless like dead wood and cold ashes.

The “Wuwei (non-action)” discussed here does not mean being lifeless like a dead tree or cold ashes. Since practitioners have not yet obtained the “true seed” (the fundamental element in cultivation), they must use certain methods to draw it back. Once it has been obtained, the foundation is restored, and they must quickly secure and seal it away, nurturing and protecting it while remaining vigilant, so that this root is preserved and not lost again.

[Commentary: This argument makes good sense. Yet one should understand that the true seed is lost because the mind is disturbed. Once it has been drawn back by means of a method, should one not promptly practice methods such as stilling thoughts and contemplating emptiness? Moreover, the ideas of inward contemplation, outward contemplation, and contemplation from afar come from the Qingjing Miaojing (Wondrous Scripture of Clarity and Stillness). Lü Zu (Lü Dongbin) also said, “The Great Dao teaches people first to still their thoughts; if thoughts do not cease, all effort is in vain.” How, then, could instructions for stilling thoughts and contemplating emptiness be rejected? What Wuyuanzi (Liu Yiming, a Qing-dynasty Daoist scholar) rejected was treating lifeless stillness and extinction as the Dao.]

When cultivation has borne fruit, and “a body outside the body” (a Daoist term for transformations of body and mind) appears, along with great spiritual powers and such utter sincerity that one can know the future in advance, who would fail to recognize these signs? At the beginning of cultivation, one seeks “the other family”; in the end, one must preserve “my family.” To understand how to begin with action and conclude with non-action is to grasp the subtle meaning of “know how to begin at the beginning and end at the end.” How could those attached to outward forms, or those wholly absorbed in empty stillness, glimpse its deeper meaning?

If people who study the Dao meet a clear-sighted teacher, they should first seek the Dao of action, then the Dao of non-action, and further seek the principle that transcends both being and nonbeing. Only through such cultivation can they understand fully, without beginning and failing to finish, or giving up halfway. Those who study the Dao should strive earnestly.

The commentator says that, by this point, students should understand why certain practices must first be clarified and set aside. Those who only carry on with the practices they had already followed, without understanding the principles discussed here, are criticized for being “attached” and “stagnant.” Since Wuyuanzi understood the Great Way of the Golden Elixir, how could he have taught it directly from the start? He must first have taught methods such as regulating Qi and opening the passages, and then practices such as gathering and directing it back to its source.

Once the numinous essence has been restored, one should, in principle, stop deluded thoughts, focus on contemplating emptiness, and guide the astral Qi to turn its light inward. In this way, the restored numinous essence will not dissipate. The key to firmly preserving the wondrous principle lies here; it cannot be achieved by clinging to either “being” or “nonbeing.” Without first clarifying and setting aside mistaken approaches, one cannot understand it. This is why the author took such pains to argue and distinguish these points. How could students fail to appreciate his purpose?

Zi, Wu, Mao, and You

An ancient classic says, “There is no need to search at the edge of the sky for Zi and Wu; within the body, the first emergence of Yang will occur naturally.” It also says, “The moment of the winter solstice does not lie in the Zi hour, and Mao and You, too, are merely figurative designations.” It is clear from this that Zi, Wu, Mao, and You have no fixed time or direction. These names, too, were provisionally established in accordance with principle.

When Yang Qi first begins to arise, it is called “Zi”; when Yin Qi first begins to arise, it is called “Wu.” When Yang Qi and Yin Qi unite, this is called “Mao”; when Yin Qi and Yang Qi unite, it is called “You.” In the sequence of time, these terms mark the stages when Yin and Yang emerge and reach their height. In relation to direction, they mark positions at the center. The meanings of Zi, Wu, Mao, and You should therefore be determined by changes in Yin and Yang, rather than by using fixed Zi, Wu, Mao, and You hours to judge Yin and Yang.

When Yang Qi has just begun to arise, it should be promptly strengthened and kept from being depleted. This is called “advancing the Yang fire at Zi.” When Yin Qi has just begun to arise, it should be promptly drawn back and kept from growing unchecked. This is called “withdrawing the Yin tally at Wu.” “Advancing the Yang fire” and “withdrawing the Yin tally” are terms in Neidan (internal alchemy) for regulating Yin and Yang; they do not refer simply to actions performed at particular clock hours.

When Yang Qi has advanced to a state of equilibrium, one should pause for a time and use Yin Qi to balance it, preventing Yang from becoming excessive or rushing ahead. This is called “bathing at Mao.” When Yin Qi has receded to a state of calm, one should also pause and use Yang Qi to balance it, preventing Yin from becoming excessive and leaving it weak and inactive. This is called “bathing at You.” Zhang Sanfeng’s saying, “At Zi and Wu, attend closely to the firing times; at Mao and You, bathe the Golden Elixir,” expresses this very principle. “Firing times” refers to gauging the advance and retreat of Yin and Yang, and the pace at which they proceed, during cultivation. “Bathing” means temporarily suspending their advance and retreat at crucial stages so that they move toward balance.

Some later practitioners of heterodox methods, having failed to receive the true transmission, mistakenly took Zi, Wu, Mao, and You to mean fixed hours in the heavens. Some guarded the kidneys at Zi, steadied the heart at Wu, and sat in meditation at Mao and You. Others cultivated Yang at the winter solstice and suppressed Yin at the summer solstice, believing one should practice Wuwei (non-action) throughout the months of the spring and autumn equinoxes. Alas, these are merely the Zi, Wu, Mao, and You of the workings of Heaven and Earth. What have they to do with my own cultivation?

Heaven has its own seasons, and I have mine. Human beings are born by receiving the vital energy of Heaven and Earth; within each person, the workings of Heaven and Earth are already present, along with Yin-Yang. Why seek Yin-Yang in Heaven and Earth? If one seeks only the visible and tangible Yin-Yang between Heaven and Earth, one finds merely the postnatal Yin-Yang, shaped and manifest. How could that restore the innate, utmost Yang energy within oneself and thereby transcend the bounds of postnatal Yin-Yang? Postnatal Yin-Yang follows the workings of creation, with birth and death. If one clings to postnatal methods of cultivation, one remains within the transformations of the Five Phases. When the Four Great Elements—the earth, water, fire, and wind that constitute the human body—disperse, the spirit is difficult to preserve. It can only move elsewhere and seek another place to dwell. As for Zi, Wu, Mao, and You—the four seasons, also used to denote crucial moments in cultivation—they are to be sought neither inside the body nor outside it. In general, only by seeking them in emptiness can one find their true ground.

The arising of Yang energy does not mean that the body, mind, kidneys, or the senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and so on—have stirred. It means that Zhen is conceived within Kun, an image from the Yi that describes Yang arising within Yin: the innate manifesting within the postnatal. The arising of Yin energy does not mean that the spirit has grown dim, the breath turbid, or Jing and Qi stirred into motion; nor does it mean that it has been prompted by external objects such as forms, sounds, scents, tastes, textures, and mental objects. It means that Xun is hidden beneath Qian, an image from the Yi that describes the postnatal suddenly appearing within the innate.

When Yang energy advances and returns to the Middle Way, the innate has been restored by half. When Yin energy recedes and returns to the Middle Way, the postnatal has been diminished by half. Advancing the Yang Fire and withdrawing the Yin Talisman—the Neidan terms for Yang energy advancing and Yin energy withdrawing—brings Yin and Yang into balance, with neither excessive nor deficient, so that both are preserved.

Here lie the principles of Heaven and Earth’s utmost balance and correctness, and the sages’ teaching of single-mindedly holding to the center without leaning to either side. If those who study the Dao can investigate matters to this depth, they will understand the crucial mysteries of cultivating the Dao. Yet people often mistake these four seasons and fail to examine them carefully. Why is this?

What a compassionate instruction! Wuyuanzi has made public and printed for circulation all the profound mysteries he experienced firsthand. Even the sages of antiquity never revealed such things. Later students who read this passage should burn incense, bow in reverence, and give thanks to Heaven and Earth; put their robes in order, salute toward the sky, and offer thanks with sincerity. To be able to read this book is truly a rare opportunity.

Have the alchemical texts of past generations ever revealed so plainly the “living Zi hour” and “living Wu hour” of “Heaven and humanity acting together,” as described in the Scripture of Yin Conjoining? The Celestial Immortal precepts of our tradition were originally passed on only by word of mouth, yet Wuyuanzi has printed them for circulation. The appearance of this book means that Heaven has granted its mandate and the fortunes of the Daoist tradition are rising again. How could one be arrogant and dismissive upon receiving such secrets?

The Heavenly Statutes say: “Arrogance and disregard for the true instructions will diminish one’s spiritual roots and seal the mysterious apertures. To transmit them without admonition, or to receive them without permission, will bring calamity upon nine generations of ancestors.” How could these teachings be treated lightly? My master, Elder Taixu, said: “If your master admonishes you and you refuse to listen, the fault is yours; if your master does not transmit the teachings, there is fault on the master’s part as well. Those who receive them must remain reverent and must never treat them with contempt or disrespect.” For this reason, I have rarely disclosed the secret essentials contained in this book. Only today do I dare share these words with like-minded companions.

Life, Death, Being, and Nonbeing

The Book of Changes says: “In the southwest, one finds companions; in the northeast, one loses companions.” The Scripture of Yin Conjoining says: “Life is the root of death, and death is also the root of life.”

The Yijing says, “In the southwest, one gains companions; in the northeast, one loses companions.” The Yinfu Jing says, “Life is the root of death, and death is also the root of life.” Both sayings point to the basis of life and death, and to the key that opens the mystery of being and nonbeing. If those who study the Dao do not understand this, they will take breathing Qi to mean life and the absence of breathing Qi to mean death. Alas, to understand life and death, being and nonbeing, in this way is far from the truth. One should know that although human life and death cannot be separated from breathing Qi, their root does not lie in breathing Qi itself.

After birth, a person contains innate Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), which nourish the Dharma body—the original body spoken of in cultivation. Outside this body are acquired Jing, Qi, and Shen, which allow the illusory body—the body formed from one’s acquired physical substance—to grow. Around the age of sixteen, acquired Qi begins to take charge, while innate Qi recedes. As people follow the natural course of change, Yang Qi gradually diminishes and Yin Qi gradually grows, and the causes of life and death begin to take shape. Thereafter, day by day and year by year, Yin Qi grows stronger while Yang Qi weakens, until vital Qi can no longer overcome pernicious Qi. Within each day, life and death are in constant flux. When Yang Qi is exhausted and Yin Qi has become complete, who can avoid returning to the transformations through which Heaven and Earth generate life?

As for infants and young children who die before entering the acquired stage, this is because they received too little innate Qi: their Yang Qi cannot arise, and over time it naturally disperses.

Only those who truly cultivate understand the threshold between life and death and the key to being and nonbeing. From the moment they receive life, they reverse the ordinary course of natural change and seize the essential workings of Yin-Yang transformation. They can support Yang Qi so that it gradually grows, restrain Yin Qi so that it gradually recedes, and, further, keep Yang Qi enduring without decline while ensuring that Yin Qi recedes and does not arise again. This is what is meant by “seeking life within death” and “bringing being forth from nonbeing.”

The immortals of antiquity said, “The conscious spirit, which discriminates and deliberates after birth, arises and then vanishes; the original spirit, innate and primordial, vanishes and then is reborn.” The Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality) likewise says, “Take the gate of death as the gate of life; do not cling to the gate of life as though it were the gate of death.”

The “gate of life” and “door of death” spoken of here are not found in the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or mind; nor in the mind and spirit, the hun and po souls, or Qi and blood; nor in the five viscera, six bowels, hundreds of channels, or three Dantians. They lie where the Four Great Elements—earth, water, fire, and wind that make up the human body—are held to by nothing, within the vast emptiness and open valley, clear, bright, and fully manifest. Yet people refuse to commit themselves to cultivation. They are disturbed by worldly affairs, entangled in affection and desire, and deluded by wealth and craving. So even when the treasure is right before them, they fail to recognize it and let the opportunity pass in vain. If someone truly understands this principle, recognizes this gateway, and stands firm—returning to the source where life is gained, and returning to the root where death occurs; letting white arise from black and the feminine reside within the masculine—what would be difficult about attaining long life and deathlessness?

“Life” means bringing the true body, formed through cultivation, into being; “death” means causing the illusory body, the acquired physical form, to vanish. If the illusory body cannot die, the true body can hardly emerge; if the true body cannot be born, the illusory body cannot vanish. Life and death cannot stand together, and the true and the illusory do not follow the same path. This differs from heterodox paths, which treat the life and death of the illusory body as real and those of the true body as false; they also call the innate Qi of emptiness false, while treating the acquired breath as real.

Those who cultivate the Dao and wish to transcend life and death completely must first understand their principles. Once they understand them, they can attain long life without death, or reach the state of neither birth nor death. Only by cultivating the Dao to reach this state of neither birth nor death can one truly resolve the problem of life and death. This is the meaning of Zhuangzi’s saying that gathering the spirit can bring long life, while forgetting the spirit can bring one to the state of no birth. When one understands the principles of life and death to this degree, life and death can be seen as equal. One clings neither to existence nor to nonexistence, and the Great Dao can then be realized.

A Commentary on the Text says: “How many people in the world can discuss these principles to such a depth? It is not that they do not understand; they are simply unwilling to speak of it. My master, the Venerable Taixu, might have stayed silent, but once he began to speak, he would explain things thoroughly. Fearing that he might mislead later students, he dared not remain silent.”

The Earlier-Heaven and Later-Heaven Kan and Li

The scripture says: “There is another wondrous and subtle principle: the heart and kidneys are not, in themselves, Kan and Li.” This secret can be explained only to those who truly understand; it is difficult to convey to those who do not. The transformations of Earlier Heaven have neither form nor image. They do not cling to “existence” or fall into “nonexistence.” Though formless, they can give rise to form; though imageless, they can manifest the myriad images. How, then, can the heart and kidneys be taken as Kan and Li?

The heart and kidneys are formed Later-Heaven things, with form and image. They are not only different from Earlier-Heaven Kan and Li; they are not Later-Heaven Kan and Li themselves either. They are merely the material forms left by Later-Heaven Kan and Li.

True Kan and Li are understood through water and fire: Kan belongs to water, and Li belongs to fire. Yet water contains true Yang, while fire contains true Yin. True Yin and true Yang are the active, firm and the yielding, receptive, balanced Qi of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth). Thus it is said: “Kan and Li are the forms inherited from Qian and Kun.”

Originally, Yin and Yang were one Qi. Only after the primordial Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) divided did Yin and Yang come into being. Once Yin and Yang had formed, the Qian and Kun trigrams crossed: the Yang within Qian entered Kun’s palace, while the Yin within Kun entered Qian’s palace. Qian thereby became empty and transformed into Li; Kun became full and transformed into Kan. Thus the primordial Qian and Kun became the later-heaven Kan and Li.

In Li, Yang has left its original position; in Kan, true Yang is trapped within. Li is Yang on the outside and Yin within. The Yang inside it has lost its substance, so its outward Yang is only an illusory appearance. Kan is Yin on the outside and Yang within. True Yang is concealed inside it, so its outward Yin is also an illusory appearance. The Yin and Yang formed in this way are both impure: this is the later-heaven Kan and Li.

Although the outward Yin and Yang of later-heaven Kan and Li are not genuine, true Yin is concealed within false Yang, and true Yang within false Yin. True Yin hidden within false Yang, and true Yang hidden within false Yin, are the primordial Kan and Li concealed within the later heaven.

Neither the primordial nor the later heaven can simply be equated with the heart and kidneys. Later generations of Dao practitioners understand neither the primordial nor the later heaven; they take the heart and kidneys as the actual locations of Kan and Li, or identify Kan and Li with men and women. These are serious errors. The Kan and Li within a person are like the sun and moon in the sky: as they move, they drive the changes of the four seasons and nourish the myriad things. Within the human body, the movement and stillness of Kan and Li harmonize Shen and Qi and safeguard nature and life. The sun and moon in the sky have no fixed positions, so how could a person’s Kan and Li have a fixed location?

Once people enter the later heaven, they follow the course of natural change: false Yin and Yang take effect, while true Yin and Yang lie concealed. The primordial is obscured by the later heaven and cannot appear. This is why people are born and die, unable to live forever.

Those who truly succeed in cultivation understand both the precelestial Kan and Li—the terms used in Daoist Neidan for the relationship between Yin and Yang—and the postcelestial Kan and Li. They can return from the postcelestial to the precelestial and follow the path to immortality through daily practice. They take the innate true Yang Qi from within Li and replenish it there; they also take the innate true Yin Qi from within Li and return it to Kan. In this way, Yin and Yang within postcelestial Kan and Li merge and transform, returning to their original nature. It is like Qian and Kun joining, with Yin and Yang returning to a single Qi, forming the undivided, complete state of Taiji. The saying, “Precelestial Qi, postcelestial Qi; one who obtains it is always as if drunk,” describes the state of those who obtain this Qi, often seeming intoxicated and entranced.

An ancient immortal said, “A single point of Yang essence is secretly stored within the mountain of the body. It is neither in the heart nor the kidneys, but in the one aperture of the Mysterious Pass.” This also shows that if Yang essence is described merely as something in the heart and kidneys, that is not the true meaning of Kan and Li.

Within the great precelestial Dao, there is another kind of transformation of Kan and Li: using Yin to conceal Yang, and using Yang to diminish Yin. This has its own mysteries and does not fall within the usual categories of precelestial and postcelestial. Ah, whether one can grasp and apply its subtle principles depends on the cultivator. How can the principle of Kan and Li be easy to understand?

[Corroboration] This discussion is exceptionally precise. Those who can grasp the formulas and instructions within it will find themselves suddenly understanding and deeply appreciating the subtlety of the transmission passed down by the ancients. Is it merely a matter of making the deaf hear and the blind see?

Refining the Self and Establishing the Foundation

The Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said, “To return the Elixir through seven cycles, one must first refine the self and await the right moment.” Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) said, “If you wish to complete the ninefold turning, you must first refine the self and guard the mind.” The Cantong qi says, “Set things right at the beginning, and only then can cultivation be completed; if the foundation has not been laid, do not forcefully hold to the practice.” Therefore, anyone who wishes to cultivate the great Dao of the Golden Elixir must first refine the self and establish the foundation. Here, “refining the self” means cultivating oneself and gathering in one’s thoughts; “establishing the foundation” means laying a firm basis for cultivation.

Refining the Self—cultivating one’s nature and restraining selfish desires—and Building the Foundation—stabilizing the roots of cultivation—are spoken of as two separate tasks, but in essence they are one. Building the Foundation does not lie outside Refining the Self, and Refining the Self is also part of Building the Foundation. One does not first refine the self and then build the foundation as a separate undertaking, nor does one begin refining the self only after the foundation has been completed.

Refining the Self refers to applying oneself to cultivation; Building the Foundation refers to stabilizing the roots of Qi. Only when Refining the Self has become mature can one hope to form the Returning Elixir, the goal of Neidan (internal alchemy). Only when the foundation is stable can the spirit chamber—the term used in Neidan for the foundations of body and mind—be at peace. How could Refining the Self and Building the Foundation be trivial matters? Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) formed the Returning Elixir three times and still had to continue refining himself. Refining the Self means applying oneself to cultivation; Building the Foundation means stabilizing the roots of Qi. Only when Refining the Self is mature can one hope to form the Returning Elixir; only when the foundation is stable can the spirit chamber be at peace. How could these be trivial matters? Patriarch Lü formed the Returning Elixir three times because his self-cultivation was still not mature enough. Ziyang (Zhang Boduan), meanwhile, encountered a storm of wind and thunder in the middle of the night because his foundation was not stable enough. Both were outstanding immortals and leaders of the Daoist tradition, yet their work was still incomplete because their efforts had not gone far enough. How much more so for everyone else?

What does it mean to Refine the Self and Build the Foundation? “Self” refers to selfish desires and attachment to the ego; “foundation” refers to a solid basis and root. People fail to attain the Dao because they cling to the self and put themselves at the center. Once selfishness fills the heart, they cannot act with steadiness. All kinds of demonic obstacles cloud the mind, leaving people blocked at every turn and confused in every matter. The Six Thieves—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, which disturb the spirit in Buddhist and Daoist texts—multiply; the Seven Emotions form alliances with one another, harming the original heart and true nature, shaking the roots of life, and leaving the spirit confused and Qi turbid. When the heart is filled with deluded thoughts and crooked intentions, how can anyone hope to cultivate De (Virtue/Power) and practice the Dao in order to attain the Great Dao?

The patriarchs taught people to Refine the Self and Build the Foundation first so they would work from solid ground, rise step by step from low to high, and cultivate gradually, moving from the shallow to the profound.

From birth onward, a person’s illusory body carries the Qi of the parents’ Jing and blood, harbors the discerning spirit—the negative aspect of mental activity that distinguishes, deliberates, and clings without cease—accumulated over many lifetimes, and is influenced by the Qi of the acquired Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). For this reason, pure and upright cultivation is needed both within and without.

From birth onward, the body carries Qi left by the essence and blood of one’s parents, harbors the conscious spirit accumulated over many lifetimes—the mind governed by acquired awareness and habitual tendencies—and is influenced by the acquired Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). As a result, Yin Qi fills both the inner and outer aspects of body and mind, while only a trace of Yang essence, the inner Yang energy, remains hidden and unable to emerge. When upright Qi cannot overcome deviant Qi, the deviant Qi obscures the upright Qi. Unless the Yin Qi within and without is refined and diminished, how can the Yang essence return and appear? This is the work of refining the self and laying the foundation; neither can be left out.

Let us explain the essentials of refining the self and laying the foundation. Restraining anger and curbing desire is refining the self. Keeping one’s aims unworldly and one’s thoughts calm is refining the self. Forgetting emotional attachments and dispelling distracting thoughts is refining the self. Remaining unindulgent in wealth and status, and keeping one’s principles amid poverty and low station, is refining the self. Not coveting fame and profit or becoming absorbed in sensual pleasures is refining the self. Setting oneself aside to help others and humbly seeking instruction is refining the self. Practicing every kind of good and doing no evil is refining the self. Holding firmly to one’s aspirations, refusing to retreat, and advancing with courage and diligence is refining the self. Once the guiding mind is settled, never changing it, even unto death, is refining the self.

Protecting Yin essence and avoiding the waste of spirit and original Qi is laying the foundation. Setting aside the burdens of body and mind until self and things are both forgotten is laying the foundation. Holding the world in one’s heart and seeing all things as one is laying the foundation. Being alone in a dark room without deception or a guilty conscience is laying the foundation. Remaining unafraid when confronted by a roaring tiger or its curses, and refusing to yield before displays of power, is laying the foundation. Fearing neither life nor death and worrying neither over illness is also laying the foundation. Here, “laying the foundation” means the foundational work of cultivation: protecting and stabilizing body and mind, and nurturing essence and Qi.

Refining the self and laying the foundation cannot be separated. To refine the self is to lay the foundation; to lay the foundation is also to refine the self. Ultimately, they are one and the same. If one can refine the self and lay the foundation, then when the practice matures, one can condense the Returned Elixir—the formation of the Elixir in internal alchemy—and go on to cultivate the Great Elixir. Ah, in laying the foundation one must use the bellows, a method of cultivation that regulates the breath and stirs the flow of Qi; in refining the self one must also use true lead, an internal alchemy term for the essential essence and Qi required in cultivation. How could refining the self and laying the foundation be easy?

The “inner companion” refers to an inward power that protects the Dao. It is likened to an immortal being who comes from Kun, the southwest direction in the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). It upholds a fierce and resolute Qi, embodies uprightness and decisiveness, and governs life, death, and the taking of life. It can banish evil and support the good, reward virtue and punish wrongdoing, turning misfortune into blessing and danger into good fortune. Thus, inner demons cannot arise and outer demons cannot intrude; it can protect a person’s life and the workings of their fate. In the system of deities, this power is called the Divine Official; among the stars, it is called Tiangang (the Celestial Dipper); and in directional symbolism, it is represented by Venus.

A great practitioner regards this inward power as a companion and becomes of one heart and mind with it. Entrust your life to it, and your life can be preserved; entrust your fate to it, and your destiny may be transformed. The scripture describes guarding the righteous path and blocking the evil one as “opening Heaven’s gate, closing Earth’s door, leaving the human gate open, and sealing the road of ghosts.” It also speaks of seeking the “impulse to live” through the “impulse to kill,” reversing Yin-Yang to achieve the aims of cultivation. An outer cultivation companion may be dispensed with, but the inner companion is indispensable. If a person loses this inner companion, their nature and mind fall into disorder, the foundations of life are shaken, and their heart and spirit become confused and clouded. Their innate nature is lost and acquired desires take hold; they then drift through life and death, beset by all kinds of demonic obstacles. Therefore, the first step in cultivating the Dao is to unite with this inner companion of one heart and mind.

Yet this companion is exceedingly difficult to recognize. Its essence is without form or image, sound or color, and it has no fixed appearance. When it acts evilly, it becomes a yaksha, a fierce demon spirit; when it acts virtuously, it becomes bodhi, a symbol of awakening and wisdom. It changes without ceasing, appearing at times and vanishing at others. People often meet it face to face but refuse to observe it carefully, and so gradually grow distant from it and become cut off. If you meet someone who truly understands you, you should join with them as companions of one heart and mind, supporting one another in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, and never abandoning each other. With outer cultivation companions also encouraging one another, inner and outer support together may lead to the attainments of Neidan (internal alchemy), such as Returning Elixir and Great Elixir.

Inner companions—partners or aids in internal cultivation—are certainly rare, and outer companions—external partners or aids—are not easy to find either. Without great merit in practice, good fortune, and karmic affinity, it is difficult to obtain both kinds of support. Those who cultivate the Dao would rather lose an outer companion than be without an inner one. An inner companion can help bring the Dharma Body to completion, while an outer companion serves to protect the illusory body, the temporary physical body. The Dharma Body is of great importance; the illusory body is comparatively secondary. Perfected Changchun said, “Let the sick be sick, and the dying die. Even at the final crossing into death, one must die embracing the Dao.” Perhaps this means that the Dharma Body is valued and the illusory body held lightly. How could those who study and practice fail to understand this?

The Commentary on Verification explains that this passage concerns extremely secret matters in Daoist cultivation. It analyzes two kinds of inner companion, both intended to obtain the “Heavenly Treasure.” One account says the Heavenly Treasure comes from the Kun direction, which symbolizes the earth and the receptive, Yin aspect; another says it comes from a kindred spirit. The Heavenly Treasure that comes from the Kun direction originates in emptiness. But without a medium and a seed, how could it be drawn into response? This medium, therefore, may also be called an inner companion.

Yet, according to what I have heard, an outer companion is a kindred-spirit partner, originally someone bound to the practitioner as a family member. Ancient cultivators used such people as intermediaries to draw forth the formless, imageless supreme treasure, making it the master of the Great Elixir and using it to conceive the True Origin. This is why they were also called outer companions. People such as Ding, Xu, and Pei could also serve as outer companions.

As I understand it, “external companion” refers to a kindred companion, a partner or consort. Ancient practitioners treated this relationship as a medium for bringing forth the formless, imageless supreme treasure. They made it the master of the Great Elixir—the goal of Neidan cultivation—and used it to nurture and transform the true original Qi. This is why it was also called an “external companion.” By contrast, the companions gathered by the four ancient immortals Ding, Xu, Pei, and Li were called “internal companions.” An external companion must therefore also be appointed to protect and support the internal companions.

This has three functions. First, it provides material wealth in the world. Second, it disciplines the self so that one is without deficiency. Third, it seeks protection from outside. A stone chime and a fish-shaped ritual instrument are used to discern and regulate Yin-Yang and their relation to one another: the chime is used to examine Yang, and the fish to examine Yin. As the two join and transform, the striking must neither come too early nor too late; the rhythm must be neither too fast nor too slow. The key is to bring them into the utmost harmony and steadiness. This principle can be grasped through experience, but it is difficult to convey in words.

In my view, Wu Yuanzi’s account may seem precise and exhaustive, yet it remains confused in places and leaves much unexplained. Perhaps he knew only the name “external companion” and had not truly heard the teachings about it. A close reading of his explanation shows that he understood the method of “entering the Kun direction to seek the treasure”—seeking the treasure of cultivation at the Kun position—from the perspective of a “kindred companion.” That is why he said things such as, “It would be better to have no external companion.” As for the key to seeking the treasure in the Kun direction, the method is to plant the seed and establish the medium. The timing and measure of the fire phase in cultivation depend entirely on the external companion’s discernment and accurate report.

Our teacher, Venerable Taixu, said: “The things ordinary people attract through resonance fall into two categories, ‘yuan’ and ‘yi.’ Yuan may be clear or turbid; yi may come earlier or later. When primordial Qi is clear and harmonious, it becomes still; when primordial Qi is turbid, it becomes unsettled. If we trace their respective origins, the clear and harmonious comes first, and the turbid comes later. Distinguishing what comes first from what comes later depends entirely on oneself; an external companion cannot do it in one’s place. The key lies in one’s own learning and cultivation. Only with ample resources and learning brought to maturity can one discern what comes first and what comes later. Ample resources also make it possible to receive it directly without obstruction. As for whether the timing and measure of the fire are right, one may indeed control them oneself. Yet the sages of antiquity still feared that mistakes might occur, so they established a method of external protection, because this concerns success or failure, even life or death.”

That is what the ancient sage transmitted orally. Yet Wuyuanzi did not give this passage due attention. It is therefore doubtful that he had heard all the specific practices within the cultivation method that takes resonance with the void and the things it brings forth as its central teaching.

Finding someone in the world who truly understands you and can verify your understanding through mutual exchange is exceedingly difficult. Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Wu of Han, though emperors with all the realm under heaven at their command, never found such a person. The Venerable Bodhidharma was a prince of a kingdom in central India, a land of no small size, yet he traveled far to Zhen Dan (China) to find the person he sought. The monk Qianzhang lived for twelve hundred years, yet passed away without meeting a kindred spirit. Unless a special bond for mutual understanding and support in cultivation was formed in a previous life, and the timing happens to be right, these conditions are exceedingly hard to bring together. Is this not like crossing the ocean in search of a pearl? If one gives up the Kun direction (the southwest, here referring to a particular direction for seeking the Dao), there is no way to seek it; yet some people still hope to chance upon it amid the vastness of the world. I have neither Qianzhang’s long life nor Bodhidharma’s blessings and virtue. So I have recorded this method of “kindred companions amid the world’s dust,” waiting for someone in the world with deep karmic ties from past lives to carry on its cultivation. I dare neither prevent anyone from doing so nor urge anyone to undertake it.

Practitioners should understand that, according to Daoist teaching, the Kun direction, associated with Earth and humanity, is the “Palace of the Great Crimson Heaven.” In Buddhist terms, it is “Shenzhou Chixian,” the region where human beings dwell. A popular tale claims that Shenzhou Chixian is Bianliang, but this is an unfounded embellishment and cannot be taken as a basis. My true teacher, the Perfected Huang of Jizu, said that the Kun direction belongs to the Wuji within Taiji: the fundamental state without form, direction, or boundaries.

Wuji has no fixed direction, yet it has definite names: the Celestial Origin, the Earthly Origin, and the Human Origin. We exist among the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity. When the physical body perishes, it returns to Earth; the spirit rises and attaches itself to Heaven. This is because human beings have bodies and forms, and describes the condition after Heaven. The source of human life is not the body and spirit acquired after Heaven. When the primordial unity before Heaven—the innate source of life—is exhausted, each returns to its own kind. Hence the sayings about returning to Earth and attaching oneself to Heaven.

Given this, when the primordial unity before Heaven has been depleted, one should seek restoration from the Human Origin. The Human Origin is humanity’s innate source, residing within Wuji. The sages of antiquity called this unity the “human being of the Kun direction,” because humanity depends upon the Kun direction to stand. On closer examination, the Human Origin can be said both to exist and not to exist; the same is true of movement and stillness, emptiness and fullness, life and death. If a person can have without clinging to having, and lack without clinging to lacking, and remain consistent in movement and stillness, in speech and in silence, then they have already joined with the innate original nature. Next, they should focus their mind and seek restoration and replenishment. Once these are complete, the response will come swiftly, and vitality will naturally pour in and fill them like spring water. This is the wondrous method of fulfilling the human way and bringing one’s aspirations to completion. Such, too, was the teaching transmitted orally by my true teacher.

The Book of Changes says: “By tracing things back to their beginnings and looking ahead to their ends, one can understand the principles of life and death.”

The Book of Changes says, “By tracing things back to their beginnings and examining how they end, one can understand the principles of life and death.” Mencius says, “Being able to follow the threads of things from the beginning is a mark of wisdom; being able to grasp their principles all the way to the end is the attainment of a sage.” The great Way of the sages has beginnings and endings, roots and branches. Only by understanding where it begins, making clear how it ends, tracing its roots, and examining its branches can one grasp it completely, from start to finish, and act effectively and to good purpose. If there is something one does not understand, one will be confused about it; if one’s understanding is not clear, practice cannot proceed smoothly. Those who study and cultivate must first investigate the principles thoroughly, then put them into practice. Understanding and diligent application are both essential.

What principles are to be investigated? The laws by which Heaven and Earth come into being and change. The Way of creation has substance and function, beginning and end. Yin-Yang alternates and moves, waxing and waning, changing without limit; yet its essential point ultimately returns to “one Qi,” and this Qi, at its root, is inseparable from “emptiness.” This pivot is neither void nor form, neither being nor nonbeing. One cannot pursue it with a clinging mind, yet neither should one make no effort to comprehend it. It is difficult to describe and difficult to grasp through thought and discussion. By following it, human beings and all things come into being; by cultivating in opposition to it, it is said, one can become an immortal or a Buddha. Human nature and life are entrusted to it, and life and death arise from it. Those who realize it can quickly attain the state of a sage; those who lose their way in it sink into delusion for a long time.

To investigate principles to their utmost is to examine this principle thoroughly. Only by penetrating it can one truly put it into practice. Yet this system of principles includes the regulation of the fire phases—the timing and degree of cultivation—as well as stages of practice and flexible adaptation. It also involves such applications as speed and slowness, urgency and ease, contraction and expansion, concealment and disclosure, squareness and roundness, fullness and depletion, and knowing when to stop. First one must understand the Way of cultivation, then learn its specific methods. Putting principle and method to work together, and cultivating nature and life as one, is the path of the highest vehicle—and the path of practical cultivation. This path must be followed step by step, in the proper order; one cannot skip ahead in pursuit of quick attainment.

What does it mean to cultivate step by step in the proper order? The first step is to accumulate Virtue. The second is to refine oneself and lay the foundation: cultivate body and mind, and establish a solid base. The third is to use lead to control mercury. The fourth is to unite lead and mercury. The fifth is to warm and nourish the restored Elixir. The sixth is for the great medicine to arise. The seventh is to ingest the Golden Elixir. The eighth is to form the sacred embryo. The ninth is to use mercury to invest lead. The tenth is to draw out lead and replenish mercury. The eleventh is to guard against danger and remain alert to risks. The twelfth is to let the embryo mature and stop the fire. Next, the thirteenth step is to face the wall for nine years; the fourteenth is to shed the embryo and emerge in spirit; the fifteenth is to nurse the infant; the sixteenth is to establish another furnace and cauldron; the seventeenth is to attain spiritual transformation beyond measure; and the eighteenth is to shatter the void. These are all essential stages of cultivating the Dao, and together they embody the complete achievement of the sages.

If you can recognize these stages clearly, understand them thoroughly, remain steadfast, and practice diligently without slackening, you can bring the great work of nature and life to completion. Yet people in the world who study the Dao often mistake the false for the true. They refuse to investigate its principles wholeheartedly and make light of cultivating nature and life. Before entering the gate, they want to reach the inner hall; before fulfilling their duties as human beings, they rush to seek immortality. They will not exert themselves, yet hope to obtain another person’s true transmission and secret treasures. At the first disappointment or slightest hardship, they retreat and give up, abandoning their efforts halfway and blaming their failure on a lack of affinity. How could such conduct bring them near the path of the sages?

What the sages and worthies study is the way things work: they seek to understand things fully, know human nature completely, and then investigate the roots of life. Its principles are subtle and its meaning profound. Even the yarrow stalks and tortoise shells used in divination cannot fathom it, and the spirits cannot grasp it. It cannot be understood in a sentence or two. Without decades of study and hard work, one cannot even begin to find a way into this learning. And without accumulating De, advancing with courage and diligence, and remaining steadfast, one cannot move a true teacher.

If a person of purpose takes the great matter of nature and life to heart and studies it relentlessly, day and night, probing hidden principles and discerning the changes in things, then, when years of effort bear fruit and the right moment suddenly arrives, a chance insight may dissolve all the doubts that once seemed impossible to explain or untangle, like melting ice and snow. Only then does one understand that a lifetime of reflection has not been in vain.

It is lamentable that those in the world who study the Dao do not consider what the matter of nature and life really is, or investigate what the Dao of nature and life truly means. They muddle through learning and cultivating the Dao, yet imagine they can leap straight to Heaven and become sages at once. Misled by teachers who are blind and ignorant or poorly learned, they remain trapped in darkness and delusion. Consider any craft in the world: it takes sustained effort to master. How much more so this great matter, which concerns life and death and is among the rarest forms of learning in the world—how could it possibly be understood with ease?

Long ago, my teacher Xianliu, his Daoist name, traveled through Shu in search of teachers and learning. For more than ten years he went back and forth around Baishi and Guiqing, yet still could not fathom the Great Dao. Later, he went to Hannan and became a disciple of the Daoist Honggou. His resolve to seek the Dao grew firmer, and he practiced with even greater diligence, but through eight or nine years he never truly understood it. Later still, he traveled to Agan Town in Gaolan, Gansu, where he met the elder Yu, a respectful title for a cultivator. Only when their circumstances came together did he begin to understand the Great Dao.

Teacher Xianliu sought the Dao with sincerity and practiced beyond the measure of ordinary people. He wandered among the rivers and lakes for more than thirty years before at last sensing the “fragrant breeze” of the Great Dao—that is, beginning to approach its realm. How foolish are those who study in confusion for a morning and expect to attain the Dao by evening, or who begin learning yesterday and look for success today!

I urge fellow cultivators to establish an enduring aspiration and cultivate the heart to persevere over the long term. Cast aside delusions and give weight to the cultivation of nature and life. Fathom the principles behind the transformations of Heaven and Earth, and practice with unwavering resolve. Deepen your cultivation step by step, continually stripping away superficial obstructions until you reach the root of the Great Dao. Then you will see that every thing in the world contains precious principles. Follow your heart, and wherever you go you can accord with the Great Dao. Once you have fully understood it, you will connect what came before with what comes after, and bring beginning and end together. As long as you press forward with courage, why worry that the cultivation of nature and life cannot be completed, or that the Great Dao cannot be realized?

“Investigation and verification” means exploring the principles of things through study and reflection, while striving to restrain oneself, trace things back to their source, and examine their final destination. This is a practice in which understanding and action advance together: understanding in the mind is “knowing,” and putting it into practice is “acting.” Only when knowing and acting come together, with body and mind undivided, is one truly grounded.

From the very first step, sincerely practice returning to the origin and restoring the source, and the Mysterious Pass (the crucial point where the Dao is realized in inner cultivation) will open of its own accord. Once it opens, the Great Way of the Golden Elixir (the fundamental path of Neidan cultivation) can truly be restored, without falling into illusion. The key to opening the Mysterious Pass begins with self-restraint; the work of self-restraint begins with purifying the mind and clearing away delusion. Persist firmly in this practice, peeling away deluded thoughts layer by layer until you reach the essence of the Great Way. Then you will understand that the true and the deluded have no fixed form: when the mind inclines toward delusion, what it sees is deluded; when the mind returns to truth, what it sees is true. How truth and delusion appear depends on the moment a thought arises. For this reason, ancient Daoist practitioners called the place where thoughts arise the “Mysterious Female” (the source from which Yin and Yang transform and bring forth life).

“Mysterious” refers to Yang, and “Female” to Yin. The Way of the Golden Elixir concerns cultivation that returns one to pure Yang. Yet when Yang reaches its utmost, Yin will arise; it is impossible for Yin to be entirely absent. The ancient Daoist practitioners sought only to bring everything back to truth. Thus, after arising, things continually return, until at last they merge back into the One. The One is difficult to name, so it is provisionally called the “aperture.” To say that learning the Dao means entering the Pass is to say that one learns to return to the One, so that Yang Qi does not scatter and Yin Qi does not overflow.

Things arise day after day and return day after day. How could cultivation and study ever come to an end? Thus the ancient immortals said, “Since the beginning of heaven and earth, the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun), one of Daoism’s highest deities, has been gathering without pause and refining without pause.” From this we know that the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning is constantly carrying out the work of return; therefore, he is free from the sufferings of birth, old age, illness, and death.

After careful examination, I believe that Debates on the Discernment of True Cultivation explains many principles that ancient sages wished to express but could not fully articulate, and makes a significant contribution to Daoist metaphysics. Only in its discussion of the “one aperture of the Mysterious Pass”—the crucial inner gateway to perception and change in cultivation—would the book be more complete if a passage of personal reflection were removed.

Cultivators should understand that every aperture in the human body has two kinds of Qi: the real and the illusory. This is what the Classic of Changes means by “one Yin and one Yang—this is called the Dao.” Daoists place great importance on resonance: a real resonance brings about a real response, while an illusory resonance brings about an illusory response. Resonance and response follow the principle that like things correspond. The other school and our own each have both real and illusory Qi. The ancient sages devoted themselves to emptiness and stillness in order to restrain selfish desires and preserve their true nature. The true source of the Great Dao does not lie in the phenomena by which the movement of Qi becomes manifest or concealed, but in its unfathomable transformations between manifestation and concealment. Only when the mind remains undisturbed and thoughts do not stir into delusion is true nature preserved. The Mysterious Pass opens only when the true mind resonates with real Qi; when it opens through the real, whatever manifests or remains concealed is also real. When both manifestation and concealment are real, gathering, refining, and returning to the original true state will not fall into illusion, and the results of cultivation will be genuine.

The one aperture of the Mysterious Pass encompasses past and future. Within it, the real and the illusory each resonate according to their kind: wherever there is a stimulus, there is a response, and even the spirits cannot interrupt this resonance for a moment. The ancient sages valued this subtle principle. For that reason, when studying Daoist metaphysics, they first made restraining the self and eliminating selfish desires the foundation of their practice.

Wuyuanzi chose this chapter as a summary of the entire book, thereby grasping the purpose behind the ancients’ writings. Cultivators should not put the whole book aside because of a single mistake in it. Wuyuanzi’s mistake was like the oversight that even a clever person may make after thinking something through again and again; my contribution in providing evidence and commentary for this book is like the occasional insight of a foolish person after repeated reflection. Compared with Wuyuanzi, how could my learning be anything but vastly inferior, like a village sorcerer before a great master? These are my sincere words, written down for those who share my purpose.