《关尹子》

The cosmos refers to the expanse of space; the cosmos itself is the Dao (the Way).

Guan Yin Zi said: The Dao is not unspeakable because there is some principle that cannot be put into words; what cannot be put into words is itself the Dao. Nor is the Dao unthinkable because there is some principle that cannot be grasped by thought; what cannot be grasped by thought is itself the Dao. The myriad things generated by Heaven and Earth surge and change; human affairs are tangled and varied. They seem to go round and round, to contend with one another, and often to be what they are not. People then argue, distinguish, conjecture, discuss, discard, and draw conclusions. Yet describing the Dao in words is like trying to blow away a shadow; investigating it through thought is like carving dust. Even a sage’s wisdom may become confused in this way, and ghosts and spirits cannot discern it. The Dao cannot be fabricated, grasped by force, measured, or divided. Therefore it is called “Heaven,” “destiny,” “spirit,” and “origin”; taken together, these names are called the Dao.

He said: There is nothing that does not belong to Heaven, nothing that is not governed by destiny, nothing that does not embody the mysterious workings of spirit, and nothing that does not contain the origin. This is true of all things—are human beings any different? Everyone may be called Heaven and spirit, and everyone can apprehend Heaven’s mandate and penetrate the origin. We cannot say that some things belong to Heaven while others do not; nor can we say that some things possess spirit, are governed by destiny, and contain the origin, while others do not. Those who understand my Dao can apprehend heavenly principle, exhaust the mysterious workings, penetrate Heaven’s mandate, and investigate the origin through any particular thing. Beginners often pursue different names and split apart principles that are the same in reality. Once they truly understand, they accord with the same substance and no longer cling to different names.

He said: Observing the Dao is like observing water. If you think the water in a pond is not enough, you go to look at rivers, streams, and the sea, and conclude that the sea is the limit of water. Yet you do not realize that your own bodily fluids, saliva, and tears are also water.

He said: The Dao has no fixed “other.” The sage does not decide that this one is the Dao and that one is not. The Dao has no fixed “self,” either. The sage does not think that they are advancing along the Dao or falling back from it. Precisely because the Dao is not possessed, it is not absent; and because it cannot be claimed as one’s own, it cannot be lost.

He said: To divine by subjective guesswork without understanding the Dao is like shooting at a covered vessel and guessing what is inside. If the target is described as something lofty, you guess gold or jade; if it is described as something lowly, you guess horn, feather, tile, or stone. Are these guesses right or wrong? Only the person who placed the vessel knows.

People use clay to make countless kinds of vessels, yet no vessel can in turn create clay or harm it. The Dao gives rise to all things, yet nothing among the myriad things can give rise to the Dao or harm it.

The Dao is vast and profound, seemingly unknowable. The mind moves freely and expansively, without constraint. The myriad things change in countless ways, and none of this is contrary to reason, like lightning racing across the sky or grains of sand swirling in the wind. The sage understands that the mind, the myriad things, and the Dao each have their own distinct existence, yet can also converge as one. The sage does not use “unity” to confine the myriad things, nor deny unity because the myriad things are distinct. The myriad things change in countless ways, and none of this is contrary to reason, like lightning racing across the sky or grains of sand swirling in the wind. The sage understands that the mind, the myriad things, and the Dao each have their own distinct existence, yet can also converge as one. The sage does not use “unity” to confine the myriad things, nor deny unity because the myriad things are distinct.

Treat a basin as a pond and a stone as an island, and fish can swim around within it without feeling that their journey has an end. Why? Because water has no fixed source or destination. The sage’s Dao is the same: it has neither beginning nor end, and so can respond to the myriad things without limit.

Do not become attached to loving the Dao; attachment to love is like Water. Do not become attached to contemplating the Dao; attachment to contemplation is like Fire. Do not become attached to pursuing the Dao; pursuit is like Wood. Do not become attached to speaking about the Dao; speech is like Metal. Do not become attached to thinking about the Dao; thought is like Earth. Here, the Five Phases—Water, Fire, Wood, Metal, and Earth—serve as metaphors for different kinds of attachment. Only the sage neither departs from their true nature nor fails to understand the Great Dao. Before thoughts arise, the Dao already reveals itself through them.

Heavy clouds hide the sky, and rivers and lakes grow dark; fish swim in confusion. Suddenly they see light flickering on the water and food moving, and take it for a gift from Heaven. They hurry toward it, only to be caught and killed by a fishing hook. Those who fail to understand that the “self” has no fixed nature, yet single-mindedly pursue the Dao, meet the same fate.

There are many methods in the world: some esteem obscurity, others clarity; some esteem strength, others gentleness. To cling to these methods is to deal only with particular affairs. Not clinging to them is what accords with the Dao.

In the end, the Dao cannot be possessed. Whatever can be obtained is called “De,” not “Dao.” The Dao cannot be turned into a fixed method of practice. Whatever can be put into practice is called “practice,” not “Dao.” The sage makes use of what can be obtained and practiced to care well for life, while not turning what cannot be exalted or held fast into a fixed method.

It is said: The Dao (the Way) can never ultimately be possessed. Anything that can be possessed may be called “De (Virtue/Power),” but not the Dao. The Dao can never be put into practice as some specific action; anything that can be practiced may be called “conduct,” but not the Dao. The sage tends to life through what can be obtained and put into practice, and tends to death through principles that cannot be obtained or put into practice.

It is said: After hearing the Dao, if the mind still seeks to act or clings to something, it moves toward the artificial; if it neither acts nor clings, it returns to the natural. Deliberate action is bound to meet with frustration, and clinging is bound to end in loss. Thus, if you hear the Dao in the morning, you may die that evening without regret.

It is said: A single thought in accord with the hidden Dao makes one a sage; a single thought tending toward good makes one worthy; a single thought tending toward evil makes one petty. The thought in accord with the Dao is already within oneself, yet it belongs to the formless and cannot be brought out for others to see. Thoughts of good and evil, however, arise from nothing into something and cannot be concealed. Thoughts of good and evil belong to the conscious mind, which only animals possess; the thought in accord with the Dao is without awareness or perception. In all the vastness of the world, the Dao is everywhere.

It is said: Do not suppose that because the sage strives in practice without ever slackening, the Dao is cultivated through diligence. Nor suppose that because the sage holds firm without ever changing, the Dao is attained through attachment. The sage’s striving in practice is like an arrow being shot: it moves forward through an external force, not by its own initiative. The sage’s steadfastness is like an arrow held in the hand: it is held by an external force, not by its own power to hold fast.

It is said: If you pursue the Dao through words, actions, learning, and knowledge, these paths will follow one another endlessly, and you will never truly attain the Dao. Understanding words is like hearing the sound of a spring; understanding action is like seeing a bird in flight; understanding learning is like trying to pick up a shadow; understanding knowledge is like calculating a dream. If, for even a single breath, you cease clinging to these things, the Dao will come into accord with you.

It is said: It is difficult to establish things by means of concrete affairs; it is easy to follow the Dao and let things go. In the world, nothing is difficult to bring into being yet easy to destroy.

It is said: A tiny flame can burn up all things. Once all things have burned away, where is the fire? In a single breath, the Dao can make all things return to the hidden. Once all things have vanished, where is the Dao?

Someone said, “Among people in the world, some live only a day before they die, some live ten years, and some live a hundred years. Those who live only a day before they die are like people who, in a single breath, awaken to the Great Dao and merge inwardly with all things. After all things have perished, where will the Dao be?”

Another said, “Among people in the world, some live a day, ten years, or a hundred years before they die. Those who live only a day before they die attain the Dao in a single breath; those who live ten or a hundred years attain it through long practice. Those who have not yet died, even if they move nimbly and seem clever, can only be called alive; they cannot yet be called truly ‘dead.’ Those who have not yet joined with the Dao, even if they move nimbly and seem clever, can only be said to be doing things; what they do cannot be called the Dao.”

Another said, “They do not understand that my Dao is originally without words or deeds, yet seek it only through speech and action. Whenever they encounter something unusual, they stubbornly take it to be the Dao. They do not know that if you abandon the source and chase after its tributaries, you will never find the source; if you abandon the root and chase after the minor details, you will never find the root.”

Another said, “Practicing archery, driving a chariot, playing the zither, or playing chess—none of these can ultimately be learned in a single breath. Only the Dao, being formless and without direction, can be understood in a single breath.”

Another said, “When two people compete at archery, you can see who is skillful and who is clumsy; when two people play chess, you can tell who wins and who loses. But when two people meet in the Dao, there is nothing to display. Since there is nothing to display, there can be no distinction between skill and clumsiness, no difference between victory and defeat.”

Another said, “My Dao is like the sea. Cast in countless millions of pieces of gold, and no change can be seen; cast in countless millions of stones, and no change can be seen.” Another said, “My Dao is like the sea. Cast into it countless millions of pieces of gold, countless millions of stones, or even countless millions of impurities, and it shows no increase or decrease. It can contain tiny shrimp and fish, yet bear the great Kun and whale. When all waters flow into it, it does not feel overfull; when its waters spread out, it does not feel depleted.”

Another said, “My Dao is like being in darkness. Those who stand in the light cannot see anything in the dark, but those who stand in the dark can see what is in the light.”

Another said, “A petty person uses power to do evil; a gentleman uses power to do good; a sage uses power without seeking to gain anything. Precisely because there is nothing sought, this accords with the Dao.”

The Dao I speak of is like a sword: cut something with its blade, and it proves sharp; grasp the blade with your hand, and your hand will be wounded.

A bian (an ancient bamboo vessel for holding food) does not ask a dou (an ancient tall-stemmed vessel for holding food), and the dou does not answer the bian. Tile does not ask stone, and stone does not answer tile. Yet the Dao is not thereby diminished. Whether asking or answering, it is simply the same current of Qi flowing back and forth. Where, then, is the Dao?

Those who look up to the Dao rise onto their toes; those who strive to pursue it hurry along. These are only appearances associated with the Dao, not true understanding of the Dao itself. Thus the sage does not look up to the Dao, yet does not feel deprived; does not rely on the Dao, yet does not consider themselves replete; does not borrow the Dao from sages, nor hawk it to fools.

Two pillars uphold Heaven and Earth.

Guan Yin Zi said: Bowls, basins, bottles, jars, urns, and ang (earthenware vessels for holding things) can all uphold Heaven and Earth. In divination, one may use tortoise shells and milfoil stalks, or examine cracked tiles and unusually patterned stones, to determine good or ill fortune. From this we know that among all things between Heaven and Earth… two pillars uphold Heaven and Earth.

Guan Yinzi said: Bowls, basins, bottles, jars, urns, and other vessels can all serve as symbols of how Heaven and Earth come into being. Tortoise-shell divination and yarrow divination, two ancient methods of divination, as well as broken tiles and unusually patterned stones, can all reveal good or ill fortune. From this we can know that the coming into being and transformation of all things in Heaven and Earth follow their own order: each thing contains the principles of Heaven, Earth, and all things, and all things in turn each contain these principles. They do not borrow them from one another.

When my Jing (essence) and the other’s Jing combine, their interaction brings forth wondrous workings. When female and male are paired, some produce eggs and others bear offspring. Form comes from the other’s Jing; principle comes from the other’s wondrous workings. Affection is my Jing, while observation is my wondrous workings. Affection belongs to Water, and observation to Fire. Clinging to affection and thereby stirring observation belongs to Wood; keeping observation steady and undispersed, while gathering in affection, belongs to Metal.

First imagine that primordial Qi (the source energy from which all things in Heaven and Earth arise) is present in a particular thing. Then let affection unite with its form, and let quiet contemplation unite with its principle: in this way, the thing’s image will appear. An image in ceaseless motion and circulation pervades space: rising from the center, it becomes Heaven; descending from the center, it becomes Earth. Nothing rises without also descending, and nothing descends without also rising. What rises belongs to Fire; what descends belongs to Water. Wanting to rise but being unable to belongs to Wood; wanting to descend but being unable to belongs to Metal.

Wood can produce Fire when drilled, and yield Water when twisted. Metal can produce Fire when struck, and become liquid when melted. Metal and Wood are states in which Water and Fire mingle. Water represents Jing and Heaven; Fire represents wondrous workings and Earth; Wood represents the hun (soul) and humanity; Metal represents the po (soul) and all things. What keeps moving is time; what contains all things and gives them their place is space. Earth runs through all things from beginning to end. Some people can explain these principles, and others can demonstrate them.

Guan Yinzi also said: The people under Heaven are too numerous to count, even in the hundreds of millions. Everyone dreams different dreams, and the dreams of each night are different too. In dreams there are Heaven and Earth, people and all things, all formed by the mind in numbers too great to count, even in grains of dust. How do we know that the Heaven and Earth before our eyes are not, in turn, imagined by some being endowed with thought?

The heart responds to jujube trees; the liver responds to elm trees. I am connected with Heaven and Earth: when overcast weather is coming, I dream of water; when clear weather is coming, I dream of fire. Heaven and Earth are also connected with me. I and Heaven and Earth are at once joined together and seem to be separate from one another; in the end, each returns to pure oneness.

Though vast, Heaven and Earth have colors, forms, numbers, and directions. What I possess is a reality without color, form, number, or direction. It is what makes Heaven Heaven and Earth Earth, and it exists always.

A fetus that dies in the womb and a bird or beast that dies in the egg are at once like people and like things. Though Heaven and Earth are vast, such beings cannot understand that reality without color, form, number, or direction which makes Heaven and Earth what they are.

A fetus that dies in the womb and a bird or beast that dies in the egg are at once like people and like things. Though Heaven and Earth are vast, they ultimately cannot understand this. What we call Heaven and Earth are all distinguished and recognized through my awareness. It is like a hand that does not touch a blade: the blade cannot then cut it.

In dreams, mirrors, and water, Heaven and Earth each appear in their own way. To make the Heaven and Earth in a dream disappear, one must stop sleeping; to make the Heaven and Earth in a mirror disappear, one must keep one’s form from being reflected in it; to make the Heaven and Earth in water disappear, one must stop drawing water with a basin or jar. Whether they appear or not depends on the conditions on this side, not on Heaven and Earth over there. Thus, the sage does not try to do away with Heaven and Earth, but with the distinctions through which Heaven and Earth are perceived.

Heaven does not become Heaven by itself; some action makes it appear as Heaven. Earth does not become Earth by itself; some action makes it appear as Earth. It is like houses, boats, and carts: people must build them; they do not take shape on their own. Understand that external things depend on something else, and also understand that there is a reality that depends on nothing external. Then one can see neither Heaven above nor Earth below, neither oneself within nor others without.

What has a sequence in time is Qi (vital energy); what does not belong to Qi has never had a distinction between day and night. What has a direction is form; what does not belong to form has never had a distinction between north and south. What does it mean not to belong to Qi? The arising of Qi is like wind produced by waving a fan: before it is waved, there is no wind; once it is waved, we call it wind. What does it mean not to belong to form? The arising of form is like making fire by drilling wood: before the wood is drilled, there is no form of fire; once it is drilled, fire appears.

The changes between cold and heat, warmth and coolness, are like those in things such as tiles and stones: placed over a fire, they become hot; put in water, they become cold; breathe on them, and they grow warm; draw in a breath, and they feel cool. These changes arise only because something external comes and goes. The tiles and stones themselves do not, in fact, come or go. It is like reflections in water, which seem to appear and disappear, while the water itself does not come or go.

When clothes are waved through the air, they can stir up wind. Breathe on something, and moisture can condense upon it. Pour water into water, and it makes a sound; strike stones together, and sparks fly. Those who understand how this works can bring forth wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. Wind, rain, thunder, and lightning all arise through conditions coming together. What we call water, in itself, does not come or go.

When clothes are waved through the air, they can stir up wind; breathe on something, and moisture can condense upon it; pour water into water, and it makes a sound; strike stones together, and sparks fly. Those who understand how this works can bring forth wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. This is because wind, rain, thunder, and lightning all arise from Qi (vital energy), and Qi in turn arises from the mind. If someone dwells for a long time on the thought of a great fire, they will eventually feel hot; if they dwell on the thought of a great flood, they will feel cold. Those who understand this principle can act in accord with the workings of Heaven and Earth.

Changes in the five kinds of cloud Qi can be used to predict whether the year’s harvest will be abundant or poor. The morning movements of the winds from the eight directions can be used to predict whether circumstances will be auspicious or inauspicious. From this we can see that good fortune, calamity, disaster, and auspicious omens are all movements of the same Qi. A person may dissolve the distinctions between self and others, along with private desires, into Heaven and Earth, yet still cling to the belief that things belong to them, based on their own private judgments.

Heaven and Earth have something in which they abide; the myriad things have something in which they abide; “I” have something in which I abide; and the Dao has something in which it abides. Without such a ground of abiding, the Dao could not be established.

The “extreme” in “Three Extremes” means honoring the sage.

Guan Yin said: In governing the world, the sage does not regard himself as wise and others as foolish, but instead responds to each person’s particular abilities. Yet some still judge by their own private understanding and claim that things belong to them.

Heaven and Earth have something in which they abide; the myriad things have something in which they abide; “I” have something in which I abide; and the Dao has something in which it abides. Without such a ground of abiding, the Dao could not be established.

The “extreme” in “Three Extremes” means honoring the sage.

Guan Yin Zi said: When a sage governs the world, he does not judge who is worthy and who is foolish by his own standards. He responds to people according to how they conduct themselves: where someone shows worthiness, he treats them as worthy; where someone shows dullness, he treats them as dull. Nor does he decide right and wrong according to his own likes and dislikes. He follows the principles inherent in each matter, affirming what should be affirmed and rejecting what should be rejected.

The sage knows that ancient times and the present are connected in their fundamental principles, so at times he gives precedence to the past and at times to the present. He also knows that the inner and outer are inherently connected, so at times he begins with the inner and at times with the outer. Nothing in the world entangles him, so he takes humility as his foundation. He excludes nothing, so with an open mind he embraces all things. Nothing is difficult for him to address, so he handles matters simply. Nothing obstructs him, so he adapts to the moment and responds with flexibility.

Through these principles, the sage brings the world into accord with the Middle Way and establishes rites accordingly; he brings harmony to the world and composes music accordingly. He ensures fair governance, regulates the distribution of goods, provides for all sides, and repels outside incursions. He formulates laws in response to the conditions of the world and makes implements with its needs in view. The sage does not govern the world by his own efforts alone; he enables the people of the world to govern it together. The world credits the sage with the accomplishments, but the sage gives the credit back to the world. Thus, when Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang governed the world, people said that everything seemed to happen of itself.

It also says: Heaven covers all things. In the world, some are born and some die, yet Heaven neither favors nor despises them. The sun shines on all things. In the world, some are beautiful and some are ugly, yet sunlight is neither more nor less generous to them.

It also says: The Dao of the sage comes from the Mandate of Heaven; the sage does not devise a set of principles on his own. The sage’s De accords with the times; the sage does not achieve virtue by himself alone. The sage’s actions are brought about with the help of many; the sage does not accomplish them alone. Therefore, the sage does not claim the Dao, De, or achievements as his own.

It also says: The sage knows that “I” has no fixed, unchanging self, so he uses benevolence to bring people close to one another. He knows that things, too, have no fixed, unchanging nature, so he uses righteousness to weigh and settle matters. He knows that thoughts have no fixed, unchanging self, so he uses rites to regulate and guide them. He knows that understanding has no fixed, unchanging self, so he uses wisdom to observe and discern clearly. He knows that speech, too, has no absolutely fixed right and wrong……

The sage understands that what is called “I” has no fixed, unchanging substance, and so draws close to all things through benevolence. Understanding that affairs have no independent nature of their own, the sage responds flexibly in accordance with what is right. Understanding that thoughts have no fixed nature, the sage regulates them through ritual. Understanding that knowledge has no fixed nature, the sage illuminates it with wisdom. Understanding that words have no fixed nature, the sage holds fast to them through sincerity.

In the Way followed by the sage, benevolence is sometimes expressed as benevolence, and at other times through righteousness, ritual, sincerity, and the like. Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and sincerity each also perform the functions of the other four. The sage brings them together as one without clinging to any single one of them; therefore, the names used throughout the world cannot confine the sage.

Do not judge the sage solely by actions, for the Dao leaves no trace. Do not judge the sage solely by words, for the Dao cannot be exhausted by language. Do not judge the sage solely by ability, for the Dao does not act deliberately. Do not judge the sage solely by appearance, for the Dao has no fixed form.

Even outstanding actions still fall within distinctions of high and low. Even impartial speech still involves distinctions between right and wrong. Even wondrous ability still touches on skill and clumsiness. Even appearances that differ from one another still fall within distinctions of beauty and ugliness. The sage uses these distinctions to appear to the people of the world. Only when they grasp the Dao behind them can they see the sage.

The sage observes a swarm of bees and learns the division of duties between ruler and subject; observes a spider and learns to weave a net for catching prey; observes rats huddling together and establishes ritual forms; observes ants fighting and organizes an army. Ordinary people take worthy people as their teachers; worthy people take sages as their teachers; sages take all things as their teachers. Only the sage can connect with all things and does not make the self the center, and so is able to be without self.

The sage calls it the Dao. Observing Heaven and Earth, people and things, the sage sees them all as manifestations of the Dao and lets them respond to one another, joined through from beginning to end. Worthy people take sages as their teachers, while sages take all things as their teachers. Only the sage can connect with all things, and so is able to be without self.

The sage calls it the Dao. Observing Heaven and Earth, people and things, the sage sees them all as embodying the Dao, and thus brings them into mutual response and connects them from beginning to end, treating them as one tends the myriad things in their green and yellow hues, or nurtures and protects living creatures. The sage does not abandon all things out of love for the Dao, nor specially honor the noble while despising the lowly.

Worthy people, however, regard all things as separate objects. Day after day, they select and reject, give and take, increase and diminish, correct and adjust them, trying to change them. This is to treat all things as objects that may be arbitrarily reshaped. The worthy person does not realize that in sorting what is confused and arranging distinctions, they are handling all things from the standpoint of “the human,” rather than taking the Dao as their own foundation.

Someone asked: “In matters such as food, clothing, housing, boats and carts, and being rich or poor, high or low in status, sages often seem no different from ordinary people. Ordinary people are often like sages, and sages are often like ordinary people. Can those who admire the lofty and boast of the grand really make themselves different in this way?”

The reply was: “If a fish wanted to be different from other fish, it would leave the water. Sages and ordinary people are often alike in their food, clothing, homes, and circumstances. Sometimes ordinary people are like sages, and sometimes sages are like ordinary people. Can those who admire the lofty and boast of the grand really make themselves different in this way?”

Another reply was: “If a fish wanted to differ from its kind, it would leap out of the water and die on the shore. If a tiger wanted to differ from its kind, it would leave the forest and enter the marketplace, where it would be captured. A sage does not deliberately set himself apart from others; external things simply cannot bind him.

“The Dao has no fixed way of acting. So if some particular way of responding to worldly affairs is called the Dao, it is only a specific action, not the Dao itself. The Dao has no fixed form. So if the Dao is placed in some particular thing, it is only that thing, not the Dao itself. In the end, a sage cannot bring the Dao out and display it to others.

“A bell is what a bell is, and bells and drums are what bells and drums are; the words of a sage are like this too. A cart is what a cart is, and carts and boats are what carts and boats are; the actions of a sage are like this too. The Dao cannot be fully expressed in names, and so it can bring all the world’s talk to a halt. The Dao cannot be fully grasped by ordinary understanding, and so it can dissolve people’s clever distinctions.

“A centipede, said to feed on snakes, eats a snake; a snake eats a frog; and a frog eats the centipede. They devour one another. The words of a sage are like this too: first they point out the error of clinging to ‘being’ or ‘nonbeing’; then they point out the error of clinging to ‘neither being nor nonbeing’; and then they point out the error of clinging to the rejection of ‘neither being nor nonbeing.’ The words turn back and forth in layer upon layer, like a saw being drawn back and forth. Those who truly understand the sage’s Dao are not entangled in these words and do not linger on any one statement.

“A dragon can take the forms of a jiao, a snake, a tortoise, a fish, a clam, and other creatures. But a jiao remains only a jiao: it cannot become a dragon, a snake, a tortoise, a fish, or a clam. The sage is like a dragon, able to move freely through transformations; the worthy person is like a jiao, whose attainments are limited.”

(Guanyinzi uses these words to describe the sage’s state of responding to all things without clinging in the mind.)

“When the mind does not hold fast to any fixed state, things in the world appear of their own accord. In motion, it flows like water; at rest, it is clear as a mirror; in responding to things, it answers like an echo. The mind is so open it seems empty, yet it is still and lucid. By being like other people, one can live in harmony with them. Thinking one has already gained something only leads to its loss. One never pushes ahead of others, yet always knows how to follow them.

“The mind is vast and undivided, as if wandering in the Great Beginning, the primal state before Heaven and Earth were separated. At times one sees oneself as gold, at times as jade, at times as dung, at times as earth. At times one roams with flying creatures, at times follows the myriad things; at times one is as steady as a mountain, at times as deep as an abyss. Dignified, adaptable, uninhibited, or foolish—one can take each manner as the moment calls for it.

“When a skilled musician feels sorrow, the sound of the zither is mournful; when the mind is occupied with thoughts, its sound is slow; when resentment fills the heart, its sound turns and lingers; when admiration arises, its sound is gentle and far-reaching. These feelings of sorrow, thought, resentment, and admiration do not come from the hands, bamboo, silk, or paulownia wood themselves. They arise in the heart and are expressed through the hands; what the hands feel is then conveyed through the strings and body of the instrument. One who has attained the Dao is like this: thoughts and actions alike accord with the Dao.

“Sometimes the sage speaks, acts, and thinks in order to connect with ordinary people; at other times, he does not speak, act, or think because he differs from them.

“The more sharply one calculates gain and loss, the harder it is for relatives to live in harmony. The more insistently one distinguishes the worthy from the foolish, the harder it is for friends to get along. Clinging to right and wrong makes things harder to accomplish; clinging to good and bad makes it harder to be at one with the myriad things. So the sage lets these distinctions dissolve into wholeness and does not allow them to bind him.

“Ordinary people are dull and slow, often making presumptuous claims to things. The sage may at times seem foolish, but does so to free himself. People do not understand that the sage may seem dull at one moment and perceptive at another, clumsy at one moment and skillful at another.

“One who takes the sage as a teacher and learns only his display of sagacity is a worthy person. One who takes a worthy person as a teacher and, through that person, comes to understand the sage’s Dao is a sage. For learning only the sage’s outward conduct can lead one to chase appearances and forget the Dao. Learning from a worthy person’s example, however, can prompt one to reflect on those appearances and thereby accord with the Dao.

“The worthy person looks only upward and cannot see below; ordinary people look only downward and cannot see above. The sage can see both above and below, choosing what is appropriate to the circumstances. Does this mean the sage stands apart from the worthy and ordinary people, possessing some other, special status?”

Some say: The Way of the world is for the worthy to take the sages as their teachers, then to examine the sages’ conduct in turn, thereby bringing themselves into accord with the Great Dao.

Some say: The worthy tend to gravitate toward what is high, and so cannot see what is low; ordinary people tend to gravitate toward what is low, and so cannot see what is high. Sages can move freely between above and below, acting only as circumstances require. Does this mean that sages stand apart from both the worthy and ordinary people, possessing a separate kind of status?

Some say: The Way of the world is for husbands to lead and wives to follow; for male animals to run ahead and females to pursue; for male birds to call and females to answer. Thus, sages establish standards for speech and conduct, while the worthy are bound by those standards.

Some say: The transformations of the sages’ Way are as swift and varied as a tiger changing its markings. Yet when it comes to carrying out affairs, it is as steady and unhurried as a turtle crawling. The order of the sages’ Way is fine as silk threads, but when put into practice, it is as clear and orderly as pieces arranged on a board.

Some say: How can the so-called Way of the sages appear so singular and outstanding, so penetrating and lucid, so broad and resplendent, so good and complete? It is because it corresponds to all things one by one, yet no single thing can fully match it. In this way, it enables all things to realize their own worth.

Some say: Clouds gather and disperse, unfurl and curl across the sky, while birds fly through it. It is because they move within empty space that their transformations are boundless. The Way of the sages is like this as well.

In the “Four Tokens” chapter, the “tokens” refer to a person’s spirit, hun, and po.

Guan Yin Zi says: Water can divide and it can join together. Jing, the subtle root of spirit, does not depend on any particular person, and so its transformations are boundless. The Way of the sages is the same.

In the “Four Tokens” chapter, the “tokens” refer to a person’s spirit, hun, and po.

Guan Yin Zi says: Water can divide and it can join together. Jing does not belong to any particular person; fire depends on oil or wood to burn, and Shen, the activity of spirit, does not make the self its ruler. Thus, even when the ears are obstructed, sounds may be heard from before or behind; this is not determined by any fixed “person.” Lofty wisdom is not possessed exclusively by any fixed “person,” and the odd number, one, does not belong to any particular person either. Plants and trees that wither in winter after autumn are not under the control of any “person.” Black cannot be changed at will, nor is it determined by any particular person. The north, which symbolizes longevity, does not belong to any particular person either. All these belong to the sphere of Jing.

The tongue and teeth must meet for speech to form; this is not determined by a fixed self. Courtesy and humility do not center on the self; the even number, two, does not belong to the self. The growth of all things in spring continues into summer, without being ruled by the self. Red can be changed, and is not centered on the self. The south, which symbolizes Heaven, does not center on the self either. All these belong to the sphere of Shen.

Because Jing does not belong to any particular person, when rice is hulled, its essence remains. Because Shen does not make the self its ruler, spirits and deities rely on external things, through which their spiritual efficacy becomes manifest. Those whose Qi and Jing are complete can forget right and wrong, gain and loss: though they are here, their minds are not constrained by what is there. Those who embrace Shen can abide at any time in darkness or brightness, strength or weakness: though they are there, they are not constrained by what is here.

Someone asked: A person’s spirit is like water and fire, flowing through the mutual generation and destruction of the Five Phases—Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth. Where it comes from has no beginning; where it goes has no end. Seen this way, my Jing (essence, or vital energy) is like a drop of water, with no true existence or extinction; my Shen (spirit, or consciousness) is like a flash of fire, with no true arising or disappearance. Only by clinging neither to “self” nor to “others,” and neither to beginnings nor to endings, can one be in harmony with Heaven and Earth.

Another asked: Jing belongs to Water, Po (the spirit connected with the physical body) belongs to Metal, Shen belongs to Fire, and Hun (the aspect connected with mental activity) belongs to Wood. Jing is governed by Water, and Po by Metal. Metal generates Water, so Jing is stored and contained by Po. The arising and disappearance of Shen work in the same way. Only by clinging neither to “self” nor to “others,” and neither to beginnings nor to endings, can one be in harmony with Heaven and Earth.

Another asked: Jing belongs to Water, Po to Metal, Shen to Fire, and Hun to Wood. Jing is governed by Water, and Po by Metal. Metal generates Water, so Jing is stored and contained by Po. Shen is governed by Fire, and Hun by Wood. Wood generates Fire, so Shen is stored and contained by Hun. Water, as a substance, can envelop Metal and quiet it, and can nourish Wood and help it grow; thus Water can separate Hun and Po. Fire, as a substance, can melt Metal and burn Wood; thus Fire can bring Hun and Po into union.

In Heaven, Jing appears as cold; on Earth, as water; in the human body, as Jing. In Heaven, Shen appears as heat; on Earth, as fire; in the human body, as Shen. In Heaven, Po appears as dryness; on Earth, as Metal; in the human body, as Po. In Heaven, Hun appears as wind; on Earth, as Wood; in the human body, as Hun.

If I bring my Jing together with the Jing of all things between Heaven and Earth, it is like many rivers joining to form a single body of water. If I bring my Shen together with the Shen of all things between Heaven and Earth, it is like many flames joining to become one fire. If I bring my Po together with the Po of all things between Heaven and Earth, it is like different metals being smelted into one metal. If I bring my Hun together with the Hun of all things between Heaven and Earth, it is like different trees being grafted together to grow as one tree. In this way, all things between Heaven and Earth are my Jing, Shen, Po, and Hun. What, then, is truly death, and what is truly life?

The movements and transformations of the Five Phases allow different trees to be joined and grow as one. Since all things between Heaven and Earth are my Jing, Shen, Po, and Hun, what, then, is truly death, and what is truly life?

He said: The movement of the Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—gives rise to hun through Jing, to Shen through hun, to thought through Shen, to po through thought, and then back to Jing through po. This cycle repeats without end. Thus my deluded, insubstantial thoughts continue to flow with the transformations of creation; even after hundreds of millions of years, they will not be exhausted.

A seed produces a sprout, and the sprout in turn bears seeds. They give rise to one another, and who can know how many tens of thousands of plants will result? Though Heaven and Earth are vast, they cannot make seeds floating in the air sprout from nothing. A female bird lays eggs, and the eggs hatch into birds. They give rise to one another, and who can know how many tens of thousands of birds will result? Though the transformations of Yin-Yang are wondrous, they cannot make a female bird lay eggs without mating with a male.

Only by gathering everything that arises from me into a single breath—here meaning one breath that concentrates the mind and governs body and mind—can I make the myriad things become me, so that nothing among them lies outside me. As for the so-called Five Phases, who could alter them?

Most people have the Po (the aspect of the spirit associated with the body and perception) govern the Hun (the aspect associated with spiritual clarity and activity). This is like having an excess of Metal and a deficiency of Wood among the Five Phases. Others have the Hun govern the Po, like having an excess of Wood and a deficiency of Metal. When the Po has a place to dwell, the Hun remains there with it; when the Hun wanders, the Po follows it.

By day, the Hun resides in the eyes, enabling people to see. At night, the Po dwells in the lungs, and people dream. When seeing, the Hun itself does not distinguish or analyze what is perceived. Dividing what is seen into Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things is the result of the Hun being shaped by habit. When dreaming, the Po itself does not distinguish or analyze. Dividing the dream into one thing and another, self and others, is the result of the Po being shaped by habit.

Fire generates Earth, so Shen (the spirit’s faculty of clarity) gives rise to Yi (thought). Earth generates Metal, so Yi gives rise to the Po. When Shen becomes active, it is no longer called Shen but Yi; when Yi becomes active, it is no longer called Yi but the Po.

Only the sage understands that what we call “I” has no fixed self, and what we call “things” have no fixed, unchanging substance. They appear through thought, discrimination, and calculation. So when the myriad things come before me, I respond from my nature, not with a mind that thinks and deliberates. Nature here means the state before thoughts arise. Without thoughts, there is no Yi, just as without Fire there is no Earth. Without Yi, there is no Po, just as without Earth there is no Metal. Once the original One is absent, all the Five Phases cease to function.

If I can make the myriad things of Heaven and Earth my Hun, I can also make them my Po. All the subtle transformations in creation are my Hun; all that is materially real in creation is my Po. In this way, nothing can make me its servant.

“Abandoning the liver” should read “abandoning the lungs.”

It is also said that in the word “ghost,” the component “cloud” represents the Hun, and the component “white” represents the Po. Judging from the way the characters are formed, all the subtle transformations in creation are my Hun, and all that is materially real in creation is my Po. In this way, nothing can make me its servant. “Abandoning the liver” should read “abandoning the lungs.”

The scripture says, “The ‘cloud’ beneath the character for ghost is the hun-soul; the ‘white’ beneath it is the po-soul.” This is indeed what the character’s form suggests. A ghost is what a person becomes after death. “Cloud” represents wind, and wind belongs to Wood; “white” represents Qi, and Qi belongs to Metal. Wind disperses, light and clear, so light, clear Qi rises to Heaven. Metal is hard and heavy, turbid, so heavy, turbid Qi descends into Earth. On the light, clear side, the po-soul rises along with the hun-soul; on the heavy, turbid side, the hun-soul descends along with the po-soul.

Some people rise through benevolence and become attendants of Jupiter; they rise through righteousness and become attendants of Venus; through propriety, attendants of Mars; through wisdom, attendants of Mercury; and through trustworthiness, attendants of Saturn. Those who sink because they lack benevolence are harmed by Wood; those who sink because they lack righteousness are harmed by Metal; those who sink because they lack propriety are harmed by Fire; those who sink for want of wisdom are harmed by Water; and those who sink because they lack trustworthiness are harmed by Earth. People in whom hun and po are equally balanced remain among the living. The hun-soul rises to distinction, while the po-soul descends to lowliness.

The hun-soul is wise and discerning; the fierce po-soul is foolish. The light, rising hun-soul is perceptive; the heavy po-soul is dull. The hun-soul, which rises aloft, is like a feathered creature; the sluggish po-soul is like a furred creature. The bright hun-soul becomes a spirit; the dark po-soul becomes a ghost. A person’s body, dwelling, understanding, and preferences can all be matched to the Five Phases. Their combinations and transformations do not follow a uniform, fixed pattern. That is why the myriad things between Heaven and Earth are so varied and continue to come into being even now. When five kinds of things are assigned to the Five Phases, and five kinds of creatures are then derived from those phases, the transformations become too numerous to recount.

This is like divining with a tortoise shell or casting with milfoil stalks: when one’s intent is perfectly sincere, it resonates with the matter being divined, and the Five Phases respond as well. Without sufficient sincerity, divination and calculation produce no response. The sages act in the world by drawing on the myriad things; in this way, the correspondences of the Five Phases arise naturally.

Some say, “The eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and heart each possess a Hun. The Hun is awareness. The eyes are associated with Jing, while colors manifest Shen; it is the Hun that sees external things. The bodily organs—the eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and heart—belong to this life. Desire is Jing, the fatherly source of a life to come; contemplation is Shen, its motherly source. Although desire and contemplation differ, both arise from awareness. The root of a life to come lies within that future life itself: Jing is like the father, so Qi is received from the father, and Qi belongs to Water; Shen is like the mother, so blood is received from the mother, and blood belongs to Fire. When father and mother are both present, a life to come takes shape.

“Yet desire itself has no awareness, just as links in a chain join one another. Contemplation itself has no awareness either, just as lamplight illuminates objects. If my awareness never arose, where would my life come from?”

Another says, “It is like striking a drum with a mallet. The drum’s body is like my Jing; the sound it makes is like my Shen. The mallet has already moved away, yet the sound lingers; at last, it too fades. The drum’s body is like my Jing, its sound like my Shen, and the lingering sound like the Hun and Po. If we understand that all these things come and go suddenly, what have the Qi of the Five Phases—the five basic forms of Qi that make up all things—to do with me?”

Another says, “For a fruit to contain a kernel, it must have Water, Fire, and Earth; only then can generation proceed without end. If any one of the three is missing, as in a severe drought, a flood, or soil out of balance, it cannot bring forth the myriad things. Jing belongs to Water, Shen to Fire, and intention to Earth. These three do not naturally meet; only when a person brings them together do all manner of things appear within them. It is like a practitioner of ritual arts making many things appear out of the utter void.”

Another says, “The Hun belongs to Wood. Wood takes root in the Water Qi of winter and blossoms amid the Fire Qi of summer. Thus a person’s Hun is stored in the Jing of night and appears in the Shen of day. The Hun joins with Jing, so what one sees seems to be a single ‘I.’ In truth, Jing contains no fixed person, just as a practitioner of ritual arts can make many things appear out of the utter void.”

Guan Yin Zi said: The Hun belongs to Wood. In winter, Wood relies on Water to take root; in summer, it draws on the Qi of Fire to blossom. So a person’s Hun lies hidden in the essence and Qi at night, then appears as Shen by day. When it joins with essence and Qi, what it sees is only itself, because essence and Qi make no distinction between “self” and “other.” When it joins with Shen, what it sees is the same for everyone, because Shen makes no distinction of “self.”

Guan Yin Zi said: If you know that the body is like a body in a dream, appearing in response to thoughts and feelings, you can make Shen soar, taking yourself as its support and roaming through the Great Clarity, the lofty realm of empty purity. If you know that external things are also like images in a dream, appearing in response to thoughts and feelings, you can gather Jing and Qi and transform them into forms, traveling to remote regions in the eight directions. This is the Dao. Those who can perceive and use spirit can prolong life; those who can forget distinctions and attachments concerning spirit can transcend life and death. Inhaling Qi to nourish Jing is like Metal generating Water; inhaling wind to nourish Shen is like Wood generating Fire. In this way, external things help sustain the spirit. Rinsing the mouth with water can nourish Jing and keep its Qi from running dry; rubbing to kindle a fire can nourish Shen and keep its Qi from running dry. This sustains the spirit by means of what is within oneself. As for the way to forget spirit and transcend life and death, I have already spoken of it.

Guan Yin Zi said: When people are diligent in performing rites, Shen does not scatter outward, and they can gather their spirit. When they are diligent in applying wisdom, Jing and Qi do not migrate outward, and they can gather their essence and Qi. Benevolence belongs to Yang: it is clear and luminous, and can lift the Hun lightly upward. Righteousness belongs to Yin: it is still and profound, and can command the Po, the spirit bound to the body.

Guan Yin Zi said: After a dung beetle rolls a ball of dung, it concentrates its thoughts on it, and a white, wriggling worm appears inside the ball. Before long, the worm sheds its shell and becomes a cicada. If the beetle did not concentrate its thoughts, how could the worm turn white? It is also said that a cook was boiling crabs to make soup and left one crab leg on the table. The crab was already cooked, yet the leg left behind was still moving. This shows that life and death are simply the gathering and dispersal of the same Qi. In truth, there is no absolute life or death; people merely make distinctions of their own and call them life and death.

Guan Yin Zi said: Some people die standing, some sitting, some lying down; some die of illness, while others die after taking medicine. Death is the same in every case, with no difference between one kind and another. Those who understand the Dao do not regard life as something fixed and real, and therefore do not regard death as something fixed and real either.

Some people are repelled by life and death and wish to transcend them. These thoughts themselves are a great source of distress. If an illusory being were to develop thoughts of rejecting or transcending life and death, it could only be called a “demon,” not the Dao.

Those who discuss life and death offer many views. Some say that “I” still exists after death; others say that “I” no longer exists. Some say that after death “I” both exists and does not exist, while others say that “I” is neither existent nor nonexistent. Some believe we should rejoice, others that we should be afraid; some advocate letting things follow their natural course, while others urge transcending life and death. These shifting claims set the mind’s discriminations racing without end. Yet they fail to see that “my” life and death are as unreal as a horse growing hands or an ox sprouting wings. They never existed in the first place, so there is no “nothingness” left to speak of either. It is like water and fire meeting: neither can burn nor drown it.

Of what are called the “Five Mirrors,” the one that can discern all things is the mind.

Guan Yinzi said: When the heart is clouded by good and ill fortune, it is drawn in by numinous ghosts. When it is clouded by sexual desire, it is drawn in by lustful ghosts. When it is clouded by gloom and sorrow, it is drawn in by brooding ghosts. When it is clouded by indulgence and pleasure, it is drawn in by frenzied ghosts. When it is clouded by oaths and curses, it is drawn in by uncanny ghosts. When it is clouded by medicines and alchemical elixirs, it is drawn in by ghosts of material things.

Some of these ghosts take Yin Qi as their form, some take darkness as their form, some take wind as their form, and some take Qi as their form. Others appear by means of clay figures, painted images, old beasts, or worn-out objects. Ghosts rely on their own Jing and Qi, just as people rely on theirs. When the two kinds of Jing and Qi interact, the spirits respond. Those drawn in by ghosts can sometimes speak of strange, uncanny, or auspicious events. They then become smug and self-satisfied: rather than say a ghost has possessed them, they claim that the Dao has descended upon them. Over time, some die beneath dead trees, some beside metal objects, some beneath ropes, and some in wells.

Only a sage can make spirits heed him without being ruled by them. He can put the myriad things to work and grasp their pivotal mechanisms. Thus he can bring the myriad things together or disperse them, and can command them. Each day he responds to all matters and things, yet his heart remains utterly still.

He also said: There is no fixed, unchanging heart. The five senses are always active at once, so the heart cannot be fixed in a single state. Nor is there a heart that is entirely empty: the Five Phases are all present within it, so it cannot be wholly vacant. Nor is there a heart that remains still forever: the myriad things change ceaselessly in secret, so the heart cannot be absolutely still. Even if one forces oneself to be single-minded, opposing things divide that mind in two; even if one forces oneself to be empty, substantial things fill it; even if one forces oneself to be still, change sets it in motion.

Only a sage can gather the myriad things into a single breath, so that nothing can command his clarity; he can also spread that single breath throughout the myriad things, so that nothing can obstruct his action.

He also said: A fire that has burned for a thousand years may go out in an instant; a consciousness that has endured for a thousand years may vanish in an instant.

He also said: It is the boat that moves, but what makes it move is the water, not the boat. It is the cart that travels, but what drives it is the ox, not the cart. It is the heart that thinks, but what makes it think is intention, not the heart. A consciousness that has endured for a thousand years may vanish in an instant.

Water flows and carries the boat, but it is the water, not the boat, that propels it forward. The cart moves, but it is the ox, not the cart, that drives it. The mind thinks, but it is thought, not the mind itself, that makes it think. We do not know why things are as they are; we only see that they are so naturally. Precisely because we do not know why they are so, we cannot trace where they came from or find where they are going. Thus they can accord with the source of Heaven and Earth, free from the limits of past and present.

If you know that there is no fixed, unchanging entity within the mind, you will understand that no thing has a fixed, unchanging entity. Once you understand that no thing has such an entity, you will know that the Dao, too, is not a tangible entity. When you understand this, you will not deliberately pursue extraordinary conduct, nor be stirred by mysterious and peculiar claims.

When external things meet the self, thoughts arise; when two pieces of wood rub together, fire appears. You cannot say the fire is only on my side, or only on the other side. You cannot say it is not on my side, or not on the other side. To insist on dividing it into “me” and “the other” is foolish.

Do not rely on what you take to be benefit and harm, right and wrong. Can your claims about benefit and harm, right and wrong, really determine what is beneficial or harmful, right or wrong? Even sages do not deliberately seek knowledge or cling to fixed opinions, so how much less should you?

A dream at night can sometimes seem to last longer than a whole night. If the mind is not confined by time or place, what it sees may be the state of Qi. Later, when one arrives in Song, Chu, Jin, or Liang, the scenes presented in the mind are different again. The mind has no fixed location.

A skilled archer takes the bow as his teacher, not Yi, the legendary archer of ancient times. A skilled boatman takes the boat as his teacher, not. One skilled at cultivating the mind takes their own mind as their teacher, not the sages.

Right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, success and failure, gain and loss—all arise from the transformations set in motion by the Creator. People cling to distinctions between them because of their own fixed opinions. Even if you use “nonbeing” to dissolve these distinctions, they remain. If you use “neither being nor nonbeing” to dissolve them, they still remain. Even if you say that everything has fallen silent, or has become an undifferentiated chaos, these distinctions still linger in the mind. It is like returning to a place you once visited: the memories remain vivid. Such impressions cannot be erased by deliberately trying to forget or reject them. Those skilled at dispelling fixed opinions transform discriminating knowledge into wisdom. Do you understand what it means to “transform knowledge into wisdom”?

Some say: Thinking of something is like imagining that there is a ghost; feeling afraid is like suspecting there is a thief. This fear and judgment in the mind is called “recognition”—distinguishing and identifying things. It is like mistaking millet for panicled millet, or jade for stone. Such thoughts and judgments are unsettled and have no fixed ground. For example, when we see something strange, strange thoughts and judgments about it arise. Their source lies not in the thing itself, but in our own mind. Just as today can only be today, we cannot know in advance what thoughts and judgments tomorrow will bring. When tomorrow comes, all kinds of thoughts and judgments arise one after another, following things and experiences. This is what is meant by “thought” and “recognition.”

Others say: When a rhinoceros gazes at the moon, the moon’s image seems to appear in its horn. Yet this image of the moon is produced by recognition. Only because there is awareness does an image of the moon appear in the mind; the real moon was never inside the rhinoceros’s horn. The same is true of the myriad things of Heaven and Earth as they appear within us. Those who understand this do not cling outwardly to the things they see, nor inwardly to their own emotions and feelings.

Others say: All things grow from soil and eventually return to soil; events arise from the mind’s intentions and ultimately change along with them. Once we understand that everything depends on the mind’s intentions, we see that in an instant they may judge something right or wrong, good or evil. Intentions change, but the mind itself does not. Intentions perceive things, but the mind itself is not disturbed by these perceptions. If we can hold fast to the one unchanging original mind, then intentions are merely like dust, coming and going; events merely arise and disappear without warning, while the mind’s constant nature of the Great Dao remains.

Others say: Emotions arise from the mind, and the mind arises from one’s original nature. Emotions are like waves on water, the mind is like a current, and original nature is like the water itself. When external things stir us, it is like a spark struck from a stone: it flashes and is gone. If we receive these disturbances through our original nature, confused thoughts and emotions will not arise in the mind.

Others say: What are called the worthy and the foolish, the true and the false, are, from the perspective of original nature, merely fluctuations of emotion, movements of thought, and disturbances of the water of original nature. These disturbances, too, are brief as sparks struck from stone. If they are received through original nature, the mind will not give rise to confused thoughts because of them.

Others say: Some people can distinguish the worthy from the foolish, and the true from the false; others cannot. Even if people really do differ in worthiness or foolishness, truth or falsehood, calling them “worthy” or “foolish,” “true” or “false” still depends on one’s own recognition. Once we understand that such judgments are formed by recognition, we see that even when faced with what is real, we may take it to be false.

When the mind encounters things outside itself, feelings arise; when external things act upon the mind, understanding arises. External things are not truly fixed or unchanging, so how much less so is understanding? Understanding is not truly fixed or unchanging, so how much less so are feelings? Yet those who are deluded take what is utterly insubstantial to be real, and what is constantly changing to be enduring. When one feeling is taken as real, it accumulates into many feelings; when many feelings are taken as real, they accumulate into all the things of the world. External things are boundless, while my mind has its limits. Thus my original mind is governed by feelings, and my original feelings are governed by external things. Feelings and external things seem to come and go, but their comings and goings were never initially under my control. They are driven by the transformations of creation and continue without end.

People do not know that, though Heaven and Earth are vast and can govern things with form, they cannot govern what is formless; though Yin-Yang is wondrous, it can govern things with Qi, but cannot govern what has no Qi. Wherever the mind’s intention goes, Qi follows; wherever Qi goes, the body follows. This is like the vast Great Void—the immense empty space described in Daoist thought—appearing as all things within a bowl, while the bowl itself is not therefore called the Great Void. My mind can transform into Qi and can also transform into bodily form, yet my mind itself has neither Qi nor form. Once I understand that my mind has neither Qi nor form, Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang can no longer govern it.

In ordinary circumstances, strange visions that suddenly appear before one’s eyes are caused by the condensation of Jing-Qi. When one is ill, strange visions that suddenly appear before one’s eyes are caused by some deficiency within the mind. If one understands that one’s mind can make being appear out of nothingness, one also understands that one’s mind can return being to nothingness. But if people do not believe this, the wondrous workings of the mind naturally cannot manifest.

Someone asked, “If a person’s consciousness is already confused, who could still believe these principles?” I replied, “A snake catcher is not afraid of snakes in his heart; even if he dreams of a snake, he will not be frightened.” The Yellow Emperor said, “The Dao has no ghosts or spirits; it comes and goes alone.”

Some say, “My thoughts change every day, as though some force were driving them. It is like a snake catcher who is not afraid of snakes. Even if he dreams of snakes, he feels no fear.” The Yellow Emperor said, “The Dao has no ghosts or spirits. It simply moves on its own, coming and going without hindrance.”

Some say, “My thoughts change every day, as though a force were driving me, but that force is not myself; it is fate. If I can understand that everything is determined by fate, I will no longer cling to ‘self’ in external things or cling to ‘mind’ within.”

This is like having two eyes that can see all things between Heaven and Earth. If, for a moment, one turns one’s gaze back toward oneself, there will be a moment when nothing can be seen.

Eyes fixed constantly on finely crafted things will grow ever more damaged; ears that continually hear tangled, complex sounds will grow ever more damaged; and if the mind keeps pondering profound and mysterious principles, the spirit will likewise suffer increasing harm.

Do not use your own mind to guess at another’s thoughts. Instead, put yourself in the other person’s place and understand them from their own heart. Only by grasping this can you handle affairs with care, put De (Virtue/Power) into practice, penetrate the Great Dao, associate with others, and forget the self.

In the affairs of the world, if things are not restrained at the outset, small problems grow into large ones. If large problems remain unchecked, they become impossible to control. Thus, to restrain an emotion is to cultivate De; to forget an emotion is to be in harmony with the Dao.

“The six ‘bi’ together make ‘shi’; ‘shi’ is related to the body.” The general meaning is that six instances of “bi” combine to form “shi,” and food and drink are connected to the body.

Guan Yin Zi said, “People in the world regard their own thoughts as different from the thoughts of others, and so they distinguish between self and other. Yet they do not realize that people in dreams, too, distinguish in this way: ‘My thoughts differ from another’s, and another’s thoughts differ from mine.’ So who is myself, and who is another? People in the world also regard their own pain as different from the pain of others, and so they distinguish between self and other. Yet they do not realize that people in dreams, too, make this distinction: ‘My pain differs from another’s, and another’s pain differs from mine.’ So who is myself, and who is another? Fingernails and hair feel no pain, and hands and feet do not think, yet they still belong to me. How, then, can thought and the feeling of pain alone distinguish me from others? People in the world call what only they themselves see a dream, and what everyone sees together the reality of waking life. Yet they do not realize that when Jing and Qi gather, someone may see a vision alone in broad daylight; and when Shen consciousnesses unite, two…”

When people have the same dream at night, the two people in the dream are both manifestations of my spirit. So which is the dream, and which is waking life? People call what they see briefly a dream and what they see for a long time waking life, but they do not realize that brief visions are simply one expression of Yin-Yang—the two fundamental forces that make up all things—in transformation. What they see for a long time is likewise an expression of Yin-Yang in transformation. Since both arise from my Yin-Yang, which is the dream, and which is waking life?

Those who cherish benevolence often dream of pines and cypresses, peaches and plums. Those who cherish righteousness often dream of weapons, swords, and metal. Those who cherish ritual often dream of fu and gui, bian and dou—ceremonial vessels used in ancient sacrifices and banquets. Those who cherish wisdom often dream of rivers, lakes, and marshes. Those who cherish trustworthiness often dream of mountains and open country. All these things arise from transformations of Yin-Yang. So which is the dream, and which is waking life?

Those who cherish benevolence often dream of pines and cypresses, peaches and plums. Those who cherish righteousness often dream of weapons, swords, and metal. Those who cherish ritual often dream of fu and gui, bian and dou. Those who cherish wisdom often dream of rivers, lakes, and marshes. Those who cherish trustworthiness often dream of mountains and open country. This is because people are influenced by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), and no one is entirely exempt. Yet at times, something heard or thought of in a dream will alter the dream itself, so it cannot be rigidly confined by the Five Phases. The sage uses the mind to govern external things and nature to guide the inner mind. When mind and transformation of the universe are in accord, the Five Phases can no longer constrain him.

If you see someone with a snake’s head and a human body, arms like an ox’s, or fish scales covering the body, or someone with a demon’s appearance or the wings of a bird, there is no need to be astonished. Such strange beings are less extraordinary than the marvels of dreams; and the marvels of dreams are less extraordinary than everything we see while awake. People have ears, eyes, and arms, and these seem ordinary, yet they are just as strange. The greatest words cannot be expressed in words, and the greatest wisdom cannot be grasped by thought.

Someone asked me, “What kind of people do you belong to? What is your surname, your given name, your courtesy name? What do you eat and wear? What friends and servants do you have? What instrument do you play, what books do you read? What do you know of ancient times? And what do you know of the present?”

I remained silent and said not a word. The person kept pressing me, and at last I had no choice but to reply: “You have not even seen me yet. How can you say that these things belong to ‘me’?”

“Form” can be divided or joined together; it can be made to last longer or concealed. For example, one man and one woman can have two children, so the body is divided; they can also have one child together, so the body is united as one. Eating giant-seed (sesame) can prolong life, extending the life of the body; at night, without moonlight or fire, people cannot see me, so the body is concealed.

Using a bowl to give birth to the myriad things is like trading away hair to obtain what one needs, and thus the body can be divided. Using a bowl to contain the myriad things is like closing a split lip, and thus the body can be joined together. Let Shen (spirit and consciousness) reside in the bowl, then let the body reside in the bowl, and the body’s existence can be prolonged. Unite the body with Shen, then unite Shen with “nonbeing,” and the body can be concealed. Do you want to understand these principles? Do you want to put them into practice yourself?

If nothing is invisible, then all things lie within my field of vision; if nothing is inaudible, then I can hear every sound. The five kinds of material substance can nourish the body, so all things can become my body. The five flavors can nourish Qi, so all things can become my Qi. Therefore, my body and Qi are connected with all things between Heaven and Earth.

Those who farm often live alongside oxen and become rugged; hunters who know tigers become brave; fishers who know the water become skilled at diving; soldiers familiar with horses become strong. All things can become me. Within my own body are pinworms and roundworms; on its outside are lice and fleas. Someone with an abdominal mass may become like a turtle or fish; may become like a mouse or ant. I, too, can become all things.

The way I become “me” is like finding gold hidden in ashes, though this is not as good as gold in ore. Break open the ore and you can obtain gold; wash sand and you can obtain gold. But if you spend your whole life tossing up ashes, you will never find gold.

Even a tiny bee can travel and explore between Heaven and Earth; even a tiny shrimp can move freely in the great sea.

People make human figures out of clay. Some resemble nobles, others people of humble means; some resemble men, others women. Yet they are all made of clay. When they are destroyed, they return to clay. Where, then, is any real distinction between noble and humble, male and female?

If the eyes look only at themselves, they cannot see color; if the ears listen only to themselves, they cannot hear sound; if the tongue tastes only itself, it cannot taste flavor; if the mind examines only itself, it finds no particular things. Ordinary people pursue external things, the worthy hold fast to the mind within, while sages understand that none of these distinctions between inner and outer are real or unchanging.

My body is like a vessel made up of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Though the Five Phases take different forms, their nature is one, like a single spring from which one may draw water, draw fire, make wood grow, condense into metal, or transform into earth. Its nature embraces all things, and originally there are no distinctions. Thus, when birds flourish, furry creatures struggle to multiply; when furry creatures flourish, scaled creatures likewise struggle to multiply. Understand that the Five Phases transform into and act upon one another, and you can let go of your attachment to the “self.”

A dried tortoise shell, which the ancients used for divination, has no awareness of itself, yet can reveal profound signs. A lodestone has no awareness of itself, yet displays a powerful attraction. A bell and drum have no awareness of themselves, yet can produce resonant sounds. A boat and cart have no awareness of themselves, yet can carry people far away. So although my body has intelligence, strength, movement, and speech, it may not contain an independent, unchanging “self.”

The yugu, a legendary creature said to harm people through their shadows, can injure them and even cause their death. Once you understand that things without sensation or consciousness can also become part of the “self,” you will know that everything under Heaven is connected with you.

When the mind is occupied with something, one may forget hunger; when the heart is angry, one may forget the cold; when the spirit is focused on nurturing the body, one may forget illness; when emotions run high, one may forget pain. If you can harmonize your breathing and nourish body and mind, who could make you feel hungry? If you can gather the spirit, nurture Qi, and build warmth in the body, who could make you feel cold? If you nourish the Five Organs (heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys) according to the principles of the Five Phases, they will be less easily harmed. Who could make you ill? If you bring the Five Organs into the workings of the Five Phases, and keep the mind from clinging to perception, who could make you feel pain?

Some say, “A person cannot be regarded as having no self simply because they lack knowledge or do nothing. Even with knowledge and action, they can still attain selflessness. Consider a flame: it flickers without cease, yet never has a fixed ‘self.’”

“Of the seven cauldrons, the cauldron represents transformation” means that among the seven cauldrons, the cauldron stands for change.

Guan Yin said: “The foundation of the Dao is utter emptiness. To trace particular affairs back to the Dao yields no more than a single breath. The foundation of affairs, by contrast, is utter fullness. Apply the Dao to affairs, and you can deal with all manner of things, reaching everywhere. Those who attain the Dao and benefit the world can assist in worldly affairs; those who attain the Dao and stand apart in self-possession can establish themselves.

“Those who understand that the Dao is not bound by time can regard a day as a hundred years, and a hundred years as a day. Those who understand that the Dao is not constrained by space can regard one li as a hundred li, and a hundred li as one li. Those who understand that the Dao, formless and without Qi, can set tangible Qi in motion can summon wind and rain. Those who understand that the formless Dao can transform tangible things can change the forms of birds and beasts.

“Those who attain the Dao in clarity are not entangled by external things. Their bodies seem to grow light, and they can ride phoenixes and cranes. Those who attain the Dao in all-embracing wholeness are not submerged by external things. Their bodies seem to merge with the netherworld, and they can use flood dragons and giant whales as mats.

“Being is nonbeing; nonbeing is being. Those who understand this can command ghosts and spirits. The substantial is the empty; the empty is the substantial. Those who understand this can enter metal and stone. Above is below; below is above. Those who understand this can attend upon the stars. The past is the present; the present is the past. Those who understand this can divine with tortoise shells and milfoil stalks. Other people are oneself; oneself is other people. Those who understand this can see into another person’s heart. The myriad things are oneself; oneself is the myriad things. Those who understand this can cultivate the dragon and tiger within the abdomen—the dragon and tiger symbolizing Yin-Yang essence and Qi in Neidan practice.

“Those who understand that all appearances change through the mind, and use this insight to contemplate the mind, can cultivate the infant girl, a symbol in Daoist Neidan of a pure, nascent state. Those who understand that a bowl is born of the mind can use it to draw in spiritual Qi and refine it into a furnace, the inner vessel in which essence and Qi are refined. By this principle, one can overcome external things and tame tigers and leopards; one can also unite with the myriad things and enter and leave water and fire. Only those who have attained the Dao can do these things. Even when they have the ability, they may choose not to.”

Some say that human abilities include altering the transformations of Heaven and Earth: making thunder sound in winter, bringing things into being in summer, making corpses walk and dead trees blossom. One can also summon spirits from beans, fish in a cup, open a painted door, or make demons beneath the earth speak. All of these arise from “wan” (a term in the original referring to a certain art or power for bringing about transformations), and so can change the myriad things.

People’s feelings today are constantly changing, and this too arises from “wan.” Yet the action of “wan” includes both gathering and dispersing. The basis from which I use “wan” has never gathered or dispersed. What gathers comes to life; what disperses dies. That which has never gathered or dispersed has neither life nor death. It is like a lodging station: guests come and go, while the station remains as it has always been.

Some recite incantations, some serve spirits, some write Fulu (talismans and registers), and some form hand signs by pinching and bending their fingers. These methods can all command spirits and wield “wan,” bringing transformations to the myriad things. Those who lack sincerity find it difficult to trust themselves, yet readily trust external things, so they use these methods to bring about change. If one understands that sincerity alone is enough, there is no need to rely on such external means to achieve the same effect.

Some say that with each breath a person takes, the sun travels four hundred thousand li; change can be called exceedingly rapid. Only the sage does not fix himself in any one state or allow himself to be bound by change.

Some say that Qingluan Zi lived for a thousand years, then underwent a transformation after another thousand; Taozi entered office five times, and his inner self also changed five times. The sage treats external affairs as guests and sets the myriad things aside. Does this mean he has no wish to accomplish anything in the world? It is simply that those with physical form, constrained by their allotted fate, fear the unpredictable consequences that change may bring.

Some say that the myriad things are constantly shifting. Though they alternately appear and disappear in relation to one another, in essence they are all one and the same Qi. Only the sage understands this “One,” and therefore does not change along with external transformations.

Some say that fingernails grow, hair lengthens, and the Qi of Rong and Wei circulates without stopping for a moment. Ordinary people see only obvious changes and miss the subtle ones. The worthy can see subtle changes, but still cannot follow change freely. The sage follows change freely; from his perspective, there is therefore no change to which one need cling.

Some say that when people stay indoors, what they see and hear is always limited. Once they go outside—to neighboring households, through the village, and then to the outskirts, mountains, and rivers—what they see and hear differs at every step. Their likes and dislikes shift accordingly, as do harmony and contention, and from these arise gain and loss. For this reason, the sage is cautious and circumspect in every action.

The sage says: It is like the ocean, which can transform into countless dragons and fish, while water remains one and the same. I and all things exist in profusion amid the Great Transformation, the changes of the universe and all things. People see and hear different things, and so develop different likes and dislikes. They then draw close to one another or compete, giving rise to gain and loss. For this reason, the sage is cautious in both action and stillness.

The sage also says: It is like the ocean, which can transform into countless dragons and fish, while water remains one and the same. I and all things exist in profusion amid the Great Transformation, yet our nature is also one and the same. Those who understand the unity of nature no longer cling to distinctions between others and themselves, or between death and birth.

The principle of the world is this: what is right may at times become wrong, and what is wrong may at times become right; affection may turn into enmity, and enmity may turn into affection. Thus, even in ordinary times, the sage considers how things might change.

In youth, people should keep their fathers’ and elder brothers’ teachings in mind. In their prime, they should heed their friends’ advice. In old age, they should be alert to the words of the young. Though all things are constantly changing, they cannot bring me to ruin.

The principle of things in the world is this: what is light and shallow changes easily; what is deep and substantial is difficult to change. The wind and clouds, for example, shift and disperse in an instant, while the nature of gold and jade remains unchanged over time. Those who are light in spirit and clear-minded can change along with the transformations of creation without becoming fixed in place. Yet within these changes, something may remain that has never changed.

Two children may be close to one another, yet when they meet again as adults, they may not recognize each other. Two people in their prime may be close, yet when they meet again in old age, they too may not recognize each other. This is like the transformations among sparrows, pigeons, hawks, and doves: there is no fixed past or present.

In the chapter “Eight Counters,” “counters” refers to all things.

“Remaining through the pass” probably means that within change, something exists that has not changed.

Two children may be close to one another, yet when they meet again as adults, they do not recognize each other; two people in their prime may be close, yet when they meet again in old age, they do not recognize each other. This is like the transformations among sparrows, pigeons, hawks, and doves: there is no fixed past or present.

In the chapter “Eight Counters,” “counters” refers to all things.

Guan Yinzi said: In ancient times, those skilled at manipulating yarrow stalks for divination and scorching tortoise shells for divination could reveal the past through the present, and the present through the past; the low through the high, and the high through the low; the great through the small, and the small through the great; the many through the one, and the one through the many; all things through human beings, and human beings through all things; another through oneself, and oneself through another. This is the Dao (the Way).

The Dao’s arrival has no so-called present, and its passing has no so-called past. It is so high that nothing can cover it, and so low that nothing can bear it. It is so vast that it has no boundaries, and so small that it has no interior. There is nothing outside it, and no independent person within it; nearby, there is no “I,” and far away, no “other.” It cannot be divided or joined, compared or contemplated. It is called the Dao precisely because it is whole and indistinguishable, beyond division.

Water lies hidden, and so contains the five vital energies; fire rises, and so conveys the five odors; wood grows lushly, and so displays the five colors; metal is hard, and so gives rise to the five tones; earth harmonizes all things, and so nourishes the five flavors. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) have five characteristic properties, but their transformations cannot be counted; things can be grouped into five categories, but the ways they intermingle are beyond number. Thus, the myriad things between Heaven and Earth cannot be insisted upon as “ten thousand,” nor as “five” or “one.” By the same token, one cannot insist that they are not ten thousand, not five, or not one. People sometimes combine them and sometimes divide them, then use this to determine the forms, numbers, and vital energies of things. This is merely a waste of effort. The myriad things do not understand me, and I do not understand the myriad things.

It is also said: within my mind, all kinds of images of the myriad things can arise. When the mind turns toward something, affection follows; when affection arises, Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) gather along with it. When the mind is attached to something, it first congeals into water: longing for something makes the mouth water; sorrow brings tears; shame brings sweat. Nothing remains for even a moment without continuing, and nothing can remain unchanged for long. Water generates wood, wood generates fire, fire generates earth, earth generates metal, and metal generates water. The Five Phases generate and overcome one another, transforming in numberless ways.

The infant, the Maiden, the Golden Tower, the Vermilion Palace, the Azure Dragon, the White Tiger, the treasured cauldron, and the red furnace all refer to the same kind of thing. Yet there are also beings that transcend these symbols and are not these things themselves.

Guan Yin said: Birds and beasts suddenly begin calling, then gather and move about, and then suddenly scatter. Plants and trees suddenly sprout and grow, then stop, and later wither. Even Heaven and Earth cannot hold these changes back. All things undergo such cycles of arising and perishing, yet it seems that something remains which does not vanish with them.

Guan Yin said: Birds and beasts call, gather, and scatter; plants and trees sprout, cease growing, and wither. Heaven and Earth cannot hold them back, and even sages cannot keep them fixed. The movement of all things depends on some force at work. That force is there, while what appears through it is here. A drum will not sound without a drumstick, the tool used to strike it. In striking a drum, too, the stick is there and the act of striking is here; without the stick in one’s hand, one cannot strike.

Guan Yin said: All things originally come from one source, but people are confused by the many names and see only particular things, not the Dao (the Way), the underlying principle shared by all things. The wise examine the principles of things and see the Dao, then cease clinging to particular things. Sages follow nature and cling neither to the name Dao nor to the forms of things. Everything may be called the Dao. When one does not cling to the Dao, it is the Dao; once one clings to it, one has turned it into a particular thing.

Guan Yin said: Understanding that the forms of things are not real or unchanging does not mean one must discard them. For example, on seeing a clay ox or a wooden horse, one still knows that they are called an ox and a horse, but does not mistake them for real oxen or horses.

The “medicine” in the chapter “Nine Remedies” refers to different ways of treating various problems.

Guan Yin said: Do not dismiss small things: even a tiny crack can sink a boat. Do not dismiss tiny creatures: even a small insect can harm a person. Do not dismiss people of little standing: even they can ruin great undertakings, just as a clay ox or wooden horse bears the name of an ox or horse but lacks its actual usefulness.

The “medicine” in the chapter “Nine Remedies” refers to different ways of treating various problems.

Guan Yin-zi said: Do not dismiss small matters. Even a tiny crack can sink a boat; even a small insect can harm the body; even a person of humble status can endanger a state. Only by handling small matters with care can you accomplish great things; only by accumulating small things can you achieve great undertakings; only by treating people of low status well can you accord with those who have virtue and standing.

Between Heaven and Earth, no one can guarantee how things will turn out; nor can people ensure that events will go as they wish. Only by avoiding entanglement in affairs and constraint by others can you preserve your original self. Sometimes a situation calls for simplicity, sometimes for complexity; sometimes one should be cautious and patient, sometimes diligent and active. There is no single rule for every case.

Guan Yin-zi said: Those whose wisdom reaches its utmost know that wisdom alone is ultimately insufficient to respond fully to the myriad things, and so they seem foolish. Those whose discernment reaches its utmost know that analysis alone is ultimately insufficient to explain the myriad things, and so they seem inarticulate. Those whose courage reaches its utmost know that force alone is ultimately insufficient to overcome the myriad things, and so they seem timid.

He also said: Among the myriad things between Heaven and Earth, not one belongs to “me.” Though the myriad things are not me, I cannot help but respond to them; though I am not a fixed “self,” I cannot help but care for myself. Though I respond to the myriad things, my mind clings to none of them; though I care for myself, I do not cling to a fixed self. Do not first regard external things as unrelated to you before speaking of letting go of attachment to the self; nor first regard the body as something external before speaking of letting go of attachment to the mind. The Dao is one; it cannot be attained step by step in a fixed sequence.

He also said: Focus on discerning the minute, and you will not see the vastness of Heaven and Earth; listen closely for faint sounds, and you will not hear a thunderous roar. Those who see only what is great may easily miss what is small; those who attend only to what is near may easily overlook what is far. Listening for loud sounds, one may fail to hear quiet ones; listening for nearby sounds, one may fail to hear distant ones. The sage clings to no particular way of seeing, and so there is nothing unseen; clings to no particular way of hearing, and so there is nothing unheard.

He also said: The things the eyes can see are beyond counting. Some people favor gold, others jade; this is to confine the eyes to one color or one kind of thing. The sounds the ears can hear are likewise beyond counting. Some people favor bells, others drums; favoring just one kind means being limited by it. The sage has no fixed attachment, and so can see and hear without limit.

The things seen by the eyes are countless. Some people love gold; others love jade. This is to fix on one particular color as what the eyes love. The sounds heard by the ears are also countless. Some people love the sound of bells; others love the sound of drums. This is to fix on one particular sound as what the ears love. The sage neither covets these things nor rejects them, and does not become attached to them.

Those who are good at grasping the present can also put the principles of the ancients to use. Those who are good at dealing with details can also establish what is fundamental.

The quick-witted are better than thieves, and so can catch them; the brave are stronger than fierce tigers, and so can catch them. By restraining yourself, you can fulfill yourself; by overcoming external things, you can put them to good use. Only by letting go of your attachment to the Dao (the Way) can you truly possess the Dao.

Things that are too hard are easily destroyed; things that are too rigid are broken. A blade that is too sharp is easily blunted by external forces; what is too keen is easily thwarted. The auspicious phoenix, a legendary divine bird, is regarded as wondrous because it is rarely seen. The sage, too, takes keeping a low profile as the foundation of how to live. The musk deer leaves its scent as it runs, making it harder to catch. The sage, too, takes simplicity as the rule for conduct.

Things that are too rigid are broken; a blade that is too sharp is easily blunted and thwarted. The auspicious phoenix, a legendary divine bird, is regarded as wondrous because it is rarely seen. The sage takes keeping a low profile as the foundation of how to live. The musk deer leaves its scent as it runs, making it harder to catch; therefore, the sage takes simplicity as the rule for conduct.

A bottle has two openings. After filling it with water, turn it upside down and block one opening, and the water will not flow out. This is because Qi (vital energy) does not rise, and so the water does not descend. A well may be a thousand fathoms deep, yet water can still be drawn up to the surface. This is because water cannot rise unless it first descends. Therefore, the sage does not act ahead of the myriad things.

When someone makes a mistake, the harm it causes may not become apparent until later, but people often begin gossiping and criticizing in secret even before the mistake occurs. The sage does not rely on personal cleverness, but draws on the wisdom of others; does not cling to the self, but understands the perspectives of all under Heaven. By acting this way throughout life, one can avoid mistakes.

Customs differ across eras, and customs also differ from east to west and north to south. Even members of the same family, or the same person in different circumstances, may hold different things to be good. How can I cling to a set of standards fixed in advance and use them to judge later generations?

Simply adapt to the times and customs: perceive the moment before things change, then act; set anger aside and curb desire; simplify affairs and forgive others; weigh what matters, and act by following what comes naturally. Then you can accord with the wondrous principle, remain unpredictable in change, and be in harmony with the Dao without being confined to fixed methods.

It is said: Human relationships generally take three forms: people associate through the Dao, through De, or through practical affairs. Those who associate through the Dao are close like father and son. They rise above distinctions between right and wrong, wise and foolish, and so their bond can endure. Those who associate through De still make judgments about right and wrong, wisdom and folly, so their relationship may at times be close and at times distant. Those who associate through practical affairs go their separate ways once the business is finished.

It is said: Do not assume that the Dao itself must be clumsy and shallow just because you are. The Dao is inherently a source of joy; by holding to it, one can endure. Those who associate through De still make judgments about right and wrong, wisdom and folly, so their relationship may at times be close and at times distant. Those who associate through practical affairs go their separate ways when the business is finished.

It is said: Do not assume that the Dao must be dull just because you are clumsy and shallow. Though the Dao is profound and hard to fathom, it should be clear and nimble; though it is lofty and far-reaching, it should be calm and sociable; though it is vast, it should be concise and swift; though it is hidden and still, it should bring people ease and joy. Even studying the words of the ancients too extensively can lead to all sorts of ills, so they must be corrected.

It is said: Do not condemn the world and exalt yourself; do not belittle others and honor yourself. Do not slight the Dao while imagining that you have attained it. Do not mock De while imagining yourself virtuous. Do not scorn others’ abilities or boast of your own.

It is said: To confound the wisest person in the world, the key is not wisdom but dullness. To leave the world’s most eloquent speaker at a loss, the key is not eloquence but few words. To make the world’s bravest person yield, the key is not ferocity but timidity.

It is said: Heaven cannot make lotus blossoms bloom in winter or chrysanthemums bloom in spring, so the sage does not go against the seasons. Earth cannot make oranges grow around the Luo River or raccoon dogs live around the Wen River, so the sage does not go against the conditions of the world. The sage cannot make the hands walk or the feet grasp things, so does not go against their own strengths; nor can they make fish fly or birds run, so they do not go against the strengths of others. Those who can do this may act or be still, remain obscure or become manifest, and alone are free from constraint. This is the Dao.

Some say: If you speak little, people are less likely to resent you; if you act little, they are less likely to find fault with you; if you show less cleverness, you are less likely to cause trouble for others; if you display fewer abilities, people are less likely to make use of you. Be sincere in your work, straightforward in your conduct, generous toward others, and silent when responding. In this way, what I call the Dao will never be exhausted.

Some say: When planning a task, judge by its underlying principles. People carry it out, but its success or failure is left to Heaven. To handle practical affairs, learn from the people and circumstances of the present; to understand the principles, take the ancients as your teachers. In your work, you may follow others, but the Dao must be understood for yourself.

Some say: Gold and jade are hard to give up, while earth and stone are easy to discard. When seekers of the Dao encounter subtle words and mysterious practices for cultivating the Dao, they must take care not to become attached to them. These may be put into practice, but one must not cling to them. Clinging to them becomes a disease buried deep in the heart, beyond cure.

Some say: If people do not understand what matters most before them, but busy themselves with many other things—irrelevant, trivial, or strange—their hardship and disaster will follow. They fail to realize that the Dao is everywhere: one should not abandon what is at hand and seek elsewhere.

A disease of the heart, beyond cure.

Some say: If people do not understand what matters most before them, but busy themselves with many other things—irrelevant, trivial, or strange—their hardship and disaster will follow. They fail to realize that the Dao is everywhere: one should not abandon what is at hand and seek elsewhere.

Some say: In the affairs of the world, to abandon what is near in pursuit of what is distant, to abandon the root in pursuit of the branches, to turn from the wise and choose the foolish, or to leave what is close for what is far can be done only for a time. If continued, it will bring harm.

Some say: The ancients spoke of the Dao in different ways. Some called it settled and still, some deep and remote, some clear and pure, some empty and formless, and some dark and unfathomable. When you encounter such descriptions, do not be frightened or retreat. In the end, the highest truths in the world cannot be expressed in words or captured by thought. If you can understand that the Dao lies beyond subtle words and mysterious meanings, then you have grasped what I am saying.

Some say: The Great Dao spoken of by sages is like gold and jade; the lesser paths they speak of are like jie geng and fu wei, kinds of plants. Used well, even jie geng and fu wei can preserve life; used poorly, even gold and jade can bring death.

Some say: When discussing a matter, some say it is beneficial, some say it is harmful, and others say it may be beneficial. The Great Dao spoken of by sages is like gold and jade; the lesser paths they speak of are like jie geng and fu wei, kinds of plants. Used well, even jie geng and fu wei can preserve life; used poorly, even gold and jade can bring death.

When people discuss something, one says it is beneficial, another that it is harmful, a third that it is beneficial at times and harmful at others, and a fourth that benefit and harm are present together. However one puts it, the claim will always fall into one of these categories. Those who truly understand the Dao do not use words in this way to reach a final judgment.

Particular things have definite places, and there are sound principles for discussing particular matters. The Dao, however, has no fixed place, and there are no fixed principles for discussing it. Understand that words themselves have no fixed principles, and every sentence can lead to the Dao. Fail to understand this, and even if you cling to the most subtle words, they will obstruct and mislead you.

It is easy not to trust a fool, but difficult not to trust a worthy person. It is easy not to trust a worthy person, but difficult not to trust a sage. It is easy not to trust one sage, but difficult not to trust a thousand sages. Those who are truly unmoved by the words of a thousand sages cling neither to others outwardly nor to themselves inwardly; they cling neither to the Dao above nor to particular things below.

The words of sages are subtle and elusive, making it seem as though they cannot be heard, seen, or spoken. Only the deaf cannot hear sounds; only the blind cannot see forms and colors; only those unable to speak cannot utter words. Those who do not hear sounds do not hear the Dao, things, or the self. Those who cannot see forms and colors do not see the Dao, things, or the self. Those who cannot speak do not speak of the Dao, things, or the self.

People know only that, by clinging to no forms or colors, one sees neither the Dao, things, nor the self; and that, by not speaking, one speaks of neither the Dao, things, nor the self.

People know only that false gain conceals real loss, but do not know that real gain can also conceal real loss. They know only that false correctness conceals real error, but do not know that true correctness can also conceal real error.

Speaking of the Dao is like speaking of a dream. Someone describing a dream can say it contained gold, jade, utensils, and birds and beasts, but cannot take those things out and hand them to another. A listener can hear the description, but cannot thereby truly obtain what was in the dream. Only those who are good listeners do not cling to the words’ literal meaning or rush to argue.

Make your Dao whole and unobstructed, your De upright, your conduct steady, and your handling of affairs keen and decisive.