《天口篇》

The ancients said, “The sage is Heaven’s spokesperson.” I am no sage; how could I presume to speak on Heaven’s behalf? It is only that the supreme Lord on High secretly protects the people, and by this means rouses the deaf and stirs the heedless, making plain the gracious intent that watches over the world. Exhorting people toward goodness and admonishing their faults is likewise a worthy path for the universal salvation of all beings.

Though my speech is clumsy and my wit dull, I do not decline. To the many people of the world, I earnestly ask that you hear these words. I have specially written a number of admonitory essays, entitled Tiankou, in order to respond to Heaven’s commendation and generous kindness. Respectfully written by Dongxuan Zhenren (the Perfected Person of the Cavern of Mystery), Zhang Sanfeng.

“Tiankou” means speaking on behalf of Heaven. “Weihuang Shangdi” refers to the supreme Lord on High, while “Biweng” is a form of address for Heaven. The “Zhengjiao pian” at the end is the title of the following essay.

From ancient times to the present, there have in the end been only two kinds: the orthodox teaching and the heterodox teaching. There have never been “three teachings” sealed off from one another. Why speak of two kinds? One is the orthodox, and one is the heterodox. Why, then, say that there are no three teachings? Because fundamentally there is only one Dao (the Way).

Why are different schools distinguished, and why say that they return to a single whole? It is because the world has had sages such as Confucius, Laozi, and Muni (Shakyamuni, the founder of Buddhism). Even with the distinction among Confucius, Laozi, and Muni, one cannot say that their teachings are utterly different from one another. Traced to the root, there is in fact no distinction. Since at the root there is no distinction, they have a point of convergence. Thus Confucius is not merely Confucius, Laozi is not merely Laozi, and Muni is not merely Muni. What Confucius, Laozi, and Muni taught is, in the final analysis, all called the Dao.

Confucius spoke of “cutting off the four” (discarding four kinds of selfish intention), Laozi of “embracing the One” (holding fast to the fundamental principle), and Muni of “emptying the five” (so the original text has it; the specific reference is unclear). All of these concern cultivating oneself. Confucius spoke of humane love for the people, Laozi of aiding the age and saving others, and Muni of relieving suffering. All of these concern benefiting others. Self-cultivation and the benefiting of others move in the same direction.

People of the world view Confucius, Laozi, and Muni separately because they look only at names and do not examine the actual content, or look only at outward form and do not judge according to principle. To regard them merely as Confucius, Laozi, and Muni, each different from the others, is not truly to understand them. Even if one says that they are not sealed off from one another, they remain, each of them, Confucius, Laozi, and Muni. Confucius, Laozi, and Muni were all sages of antiquity. The teaching of the sages takes uprightness as its standard; whatever does not accord with the orthodox Dao is called a heterodox teaching.

The learning of Yang Zhu and Mozi within Confucianism, the arts of the fangshi within Daoism, and the heretical doctrines of demonic monks within Buddhism may also be counted as three kinds of schools. Yet although they are divided into three categories, in essence they still all belong to the heterodox path. Therefore, to divide the orthodox Dao into three teachings is foolish; to be able to distinguish the heterodox from the orthodox, and to stop at discerning the heterodox, is wise.

Beyond the Six Classics, if one asks who can establish teachings and set a lasting example, one must certainly look to the Confucian school (Confucius and his disciples). They did not speak only of leaving the world, nor did they expound mysterious scriptural doctrines, for fear that people would flee into mountain forests and secluded valleys and fail to attend to practical affairs.

The concern of Confucius and Yan Hui was simply that people might live in seclusion so as to fulfill their aspirations, act according to righteousness, and thoroughly comprehend the great Dao (the Way). If the Dao lies in aiding the world, then mountain forests are as fit a place for practicing the Dao as the court and the marketplace; if the Dao lies in cultivating oneself, then even amid the court and the marketplace one will not be stained by what lies outside. Thus their words in fact contain a great many subtle principles; it is only that the deeper meaning within them is not easy to grasp.

The second section of the Great Learning speaks of Confucius’s cultivation of the self. Practicing humaneness through the “Four Restraints”—what Yan Hui called “Do not look, do not listen, do not speak, and do not act in whatever is contrary to ritual propriety”—is Yan Hui’s method of refining and nurturing himself. When one’s practice is not yet mature, one dwells quietly in a humble lane and cultivates; when one’s practice has ripened, one still does not forget the state. They could therefore practice while living in seclusion, and preserve a recluse’s mind while engaged in practice: in seclusion they showed the manner of Confucius and Yan Hui, and when they entered the world to act they showed it as well. Even when there is neither anything to carry out nor any place in which to withdraw, one still nowhere departs from their ethos. When mind and Shen (spirit) are luminously aware within oneself, and transformation proceeds as the mind moves, this alone is the true great Dao.

Confucius transmitted the Dao to Zengzi, and Zengzi transmitted it to Zisi. The Doctrine of the Mean composed by Zisi deeply illuminates the mysteries of the Dao. Those who comprehend its profound principles can draw from it the essentials of cultivating the Dao and realizing the True, and these are as numerous as the sands of the Ganges.

After Zisi, one should turn to Mencius. He spoke of holding fast to the original mind and nurturing upright Qi (vital energy), neither deliberately forcing its growth nor forgetting and losing the original mind, so that the flood-like Qi fills heaven and earth, vast, great, firm, and upright. Everyone may thereby attain deliverance, quietly grasping the essentials within. The marvel of the flood-like Qi can hardly be exhausted in oral formulas; and Mencius was also able to dispel heterodox teachings, uphold the correct Dao, and refute the doctrines of Yang Zhu and Mo Di.

I hope that all of you, scholars and common people alike, need not seek the true Dao on the Three Isles (the legendary mountains of the immortals), but need only comprehend it from the Four Books: take Yan Hui, Zengzi, Zisi, and Mencius as enlightened teachers; take the duties among ruler and minister, father and son, brothers, and friends as the meritorious work of cultivation; take body, mind, nature, and life as mercury and lead (a metaphor in Neidan, internal alchemy); and take the clarity of moral principle and the ripe maturity of humane virtue as the attainment of ascent.

When cultivating the Dao, do not hasten to take the Dao and put it to use; when nurturing the Dao, do not hasten to go and practice the Dao; once the Dao has been attained, one may then make the great Dao manifest. If the great Dao is not suited to being displayed, then depart with a light and unattached air, transmit the Dao and leave it in famous mountains, so that its source and stream may be handed down for a long time.

What is meant here by “Shi” is Śākyamuni and his teaching; “Fo” means the awakened one. “Muni” is Śākyamuni, and “dashi” (great being) is an honorific for practitioners of the Mahāyāna.

It was asked: What does the name “Shi” mean? Muni said: “I cherish the name ‘Shi,’ and so I use it to expound the teaching. What is taken from it is the sense, conveyed through ‘Shi,’ of letting go of every kind of clinging.” It was asked further: Why is one called “Fo”? The great being said: “I cherish the name ‘Fo,’ and so I use it to establish the teaching. What is taken from it is the sense of awakening sentient beings.”

The Jing (scripture/classic) says that Śākyamuni leaves the dusty world, while the Buddha awakens the people of the world. All the Jing, in the end, serve to transcend the afflictions and defilements of the world and to rouse those sunk in delusion. Thus the purity of Muni is carried on by the purity of the great being: Muni gathers purity into a comprehensive whole, while the great being extends purity to all sentient beings. This purity clings to nothing, nor does it deliberately destroy anything, nor begrudge anything; it does not even cling to the distinction between “pure” and “impure.” It is not fixed as pure, nor does it cling to impurity, and yet it is able to be pure—this is vast and perfect purity.

If a person can recite the sound of the Jing, continuous like the sound of the tide, that person can obtain a pure mind and the mind of prajñā. Prajñā is the wisdom that sees into the principles of things; once prajñā has been obtained, attachment to prajñā must also be let go. If one still clings to prajñā, it is not true prajñā. Neither clinging to the name “prajñā” nor falling into the further clinging of “not prajñā”—only this is true prajñā.

One who has obtained prajñā may be called “Shi,” and may also bring “Shi” to completion. One may say that there is “Shi,” and also that there is no fixed, unchanging “Shi”; and “Shi” can come about only through one’s own realization. Becoming a Buddha is the same: one may say that there is a Buddha, yet one cannot regard the Buddha as a fixed, unchanging entity. The practitioner must personally realize and accomplish the Buddha Way. So it is with Muni, so it is with the great being, and so it is also with the śramaṇa (the renunciant practitioner) and the bhikṣu (the male monk who has received full ordination).

If one does not understand in this way, can one become Shi or become a Buddha? One cannot. Why? True Shi is simply Shi; apart from Shi, it is not Shi. True Buddha is simply Buddha; apart from Buddha, it is not Buddha. Outside Shi there is no other Shi; one must accomplish Shi in the very course of realizing Shi. Outside Buddha there is no other Buddha; one must accomplish Buddha in the very course of realizing Buddha.

“Shi shi shi yi” means realizing the meaning of “Shi” again and again, until the mind no longer clings to Shi—only then has one truly grasped the meaning of Shi. “Fo fo fo nian” is the same: only when one no longer clings to the thought of the Buddha is it a true thought of the Buddha. To practice the way of Shi without clinging to “Shi” is the higher vehicle; to accomplish the Buddha Way without clinging to “Fo” is the Great Vehicle.

The Jing of Shi and Fo are gathered into a canon. To embody in oneself the realization of Shi and Fo is the true Dharma revealed by that scriptural canon. It is called the “Treasury of the True Dharma Eye” (Zhengfa yanzang), that is, the fundamental wisdom that sees into the true Dharma.

The Xuanyin chapter says that, in practicing the learning of the mysterious, one must take merit and De (Virtue/Power) as the foundation and the cultivation of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) as its operative function; only then is it possible to become an immortal.

Immortals are of five grades; strictly speaking, there are only four.

The first grade is the human immortal. By refining and nourishing primordial Jing (essence) so as to replenish primordial Qi (vital energy), the human immortal has already planted the foundation for cultivating immortality; yet such a person can only nourish the body and keep it healthy, and still cannot escape birth and death. This is an immortal of the human world.

The second grade is the earth immortal. By refining and nourishing primordial Qi until it coalesces into Neidan (internal alchemy), the earth immortal no longer has the worry that Jing and Qi will dissipate; yet such a person can still only walk upon the land, has not left the dusty world, and is an immortal of the earth.

The third grade is the spirit immortal. By refining and nourishing primordial Qi so that it transforms into primordial Shen (spirit), the spirit immortal already possesses spiritual powers, and cannot be harmed by water or fire. Such a one is also called a water immortal.

The fourth grade is the celestial immortal. When cultivation reaches the realm of “refining Shen and returning to emptiness,” one is a celestial immortal.

Therefore, beneath the celestial immortal is the spirit immortal, beneath the spirit immortal is the earth immortal, and beneath the earth immortal is the human immortal. Below the human immortal there are only ghosts, not immortals. Ghosts belong to pure Yin, and immortals belong to pure Yang. Human beings partake of both Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang), and so remain within birth and death: when Yin Qi is reduced to nothing, one becomes an immortal; when Yang Qi is reduced to nothing, one becomes a ghost. A person stands where it is possible either to become an immortal or to become a ghost. If one wishes to transcend this condition, one should resolve to cultivate into a celestial immortal or a spirit immortal.

Turn back and clearly recognize the road of return, and set down attachments to the dusty world. Although the elixir scriptures (Jing) run to thousands upon thousands of words, the crux lies entirely in one’s own person. If one mistakes the true object of one’s own cultivation for an external thing, one falls into a deviant side path. The writings left by the sages of former ages must also be skillfully grasped. The Dao (the Way) of cultivation is not the concrete things named at the literal level—metals and stones, mercury, lead, furnace and cauldron, man and woman, sun and moon, Kun and Qian, father and mother, dragon and tiger, horse and rabbit, or pin and mu (female and male). Where is the so-called “xuan”? The mysterious lies in the place of subtle mystery. Where is the so-called “miao”? The wondrous lies within wondrous principle.

I hold a genuine transmission and dare not speak of it rashly or at will. If a person has a sincere heart in seeking the Dao, I will not close the door. Only by broadly accumulating hidden De can one be said to possess the quality of an immortal; only by broadly doing good deeds and providing convenience to others is there the foundation of cultivating immortality; only by broadly cultivating good causes and planting good fruits is there the root of becoming an immortal. If I meet such a person who comes seeking my Dao, I am willing to teach him the highest level of the method of cultivation and to point out the subtle principles within it, so that he seems to part the clouds and mist and see the blue sky, and then departs with a long whistle.

The human person possesses five kinds of virtue (De). I once compared them to the Five Phases (wuxing) of heaven and earth. The human body has five viscera: benevolence corresponds to Wood and to the liver; righteousness corresponds to Metal and to the lungs; propriety corresponds to Fire and to the heart; wisdom corresponds to Water and to the kidneys; and trustworthiness corresponds to Earth and to the spleen. From this we can see that none of the five virtues may be lacking, just as none of the five viscera may be missing, and just as none of the Five Phases may be absent.

Everyone says that Wood is indispensable, yet why do some people lack the virtue of benevolence? A person without the virtue of benevolence necessarily lacks the intention to nurture and care for others. This is like the Qi (vital energy) of the liver being cut off, so that Wood withers along with it.

Everyone says that Metal is indispensable, yet why do some people lack the virtue of righteousness? A person without the virtue of righteousness necessarily lacks the reflection needed to weigh matters and adapt with flexibility. This is like the Qi of the lungs being cut off, so that Metal decays and grows dull along with it.

Everyone says that Fire is indispensable, yet why do some people fail to observe propriety? A person who does not observe propriety necessarily lacks a bright and upright countenance. This is like the Qi of the heart being cut off, so that Fire dwindles and is extinguished along with it.

Everyone says that Water is indispensable, yet why do some people lack wisdom? A person without wisdom necessarily lacks a clear and limpid mind. This is like the Qi of the kidneys being cut off, so that Water turns turbid and dries up along with it.

Everyone says that Earth is indispensable, yet why do some people fail to keep faith? A person who does not keep faith necessarily lacks the feeling of mutual trust and of associating with one another in sincerity. This is like the Qi of the spleen being cut off, so that Earth splits and collapses along with it.

From this we can see that, to be a person, one must first possess the five virtues within the heart, and only then can one speak of the five viscera of the body. If the virtue of benevolence is not lost, the Qi of the liver can generate and flourish; if the virtue of righteousness is not lost, the Qi of the lungs can be peaceful and even; if the virtue of propriety is not lost, the Qi of the heart can be bright and clear; if the virtue of wisdom is not lost, the Qi of the kidneys can be keen and alert; if the virtue of trustworthiness is not lost, the Qi of the spleen can be lucid and awake.

Virtue is nurtured within the body, and the body is in turn held under the heart’s command. The body is employed by the heart, and the heart becomes clear by means of virtue. The body is the embodiment of the heart, and the heart is likewise embodied in the body; the five virtues are the very principle embodied in the five viscera. When virtue is lost, the Qi of the five viscera is impaired as well; when virtue is cultivated to completion, body and mind are thereby fulfilled, and the five viscera are harmonized along with them. In this way, a person may participate in the workings and the transformative nurturing of heaven, earth, and the Five Phases.

(In the original text, repeated sentences follow the passage on the virtue of righteousness; here, in keeping with the context, they have been arranged so that the lungs correspond to Metal.)

On the pillars within the Cassia Palace (the palace of the immortals), a couplet reads: Among all forms of De (Virtue/Power), the Dao (the Way) of filial piety is the most important. The Cultured Ancestor (here referring to Shun of Yu) was able to practice the Dao of filial piety, and therefore his fair renown has been handed down through ten thousand generations. If a person can fulfill filial piety, that person can attain the Dao, become an immortal, and become a sage, and will thereby also possess the De of the worthy. Filial De illuminates heaven and earth like the sun and the moon; the heart of filial piety reaches upward to heaven and downward through the earth. If people of the world wish to pursue the Dao of filial piety, they should know this: filial piety is the root of every kind of De.

When Shun of Yu governed the hundred officials and the affairs of state were in good order, his reputation for filial piety had already spread before all else. King Wen of Zhou brought every kind of governmental affair into accord with the correct Dao, and his fair name, too, was first bound up with his filial conduct. Zengzi valued three kinds of De, among which serving one’s parents was the most important. Min Ziqian was ranked among the four categories of Confucius’s school, and he was especially filial and respectful toward his mother. Filial sons have been many since ancient times; only a few examples are briefly cited here. Do not read these stories merely as allusions to the Dao of filial piety; take them also as standards for putting that Dao into practice.

Some filial sons carried rice on their backs for their kin; some set aside sweet broth for their kin. Some gazed at the clouds and longed for their parents; some, because their mothers had sewn clothes for them, cherished the mottled traces on the cloth. Some wept until the staff in their hands lost its luster; some carried tangerines in their bosom to offer to their kin. Some prayed that bamboo would put forth shoots; some so moved the stones that springs gushed forth. Some yearned for their kin; some were stirred by the thought of crows returning to feed their parents; some prayed that fish would leap from the abyss. Some reverently held the proclamation of Anyang (the episode referred to here is unclear); some grieved upon reading “Lu’e” (the title of an ancient poem, which tells how children remember the grace of their parents in raising them). Some ceased their banquets because they longed for their kin; some provided for their kin and had their kin’s features depicted. All these are the deeds of the worthy. Do they not possess De, achievements, and words worthy of being handed down? Even so, performing a great many good deeds still falls short of a heart of filial piety that is profound and unwavering to the end.

Only by being filial and respectful toward one’s parents can one be affectionate toward one’s brothers. Extend the heart of filial piety to the affairs of government, and one can give complete loyalty. Let the Dao of filial piety shape one’s wife, and husband and wife can respect one another. Treat one’s friends with a filial heart, and one can keep faith. The Dao of filial piety is contained within the five human relationships; therefore one should know that filial piety can serve as a model for all people.

The highest filial piety lies in the heart, where sincere affection shows itself of its own accord. Filial piety of the middle degree is embodied in action: one must diligently and earnestly support one’s parents. To speak of filial piety with the mouth, one must also truly practice it. A face that merely puts on a filial appearance only deceives others, and deceives one’s kin as well. Filial De has no limit: each time a thought of filial piety arises, one measure of De is added. Accumulate measure upon measure and inch upon inch, and in the end one can move the heavenly Shen (spirit) to respond. Be filial, and filial yet again; the feeling of earnest sincerity must also be deepened again and again. I have written this Xiaojing (Classic of Filial Piety) because, among all Jing (scriptures/classics), the Classic of Filial Piety is the most important.

Chapter on Licentiousness and Evil

On the pillars of the Cassia Palace a couplet is inscribed: Among all evil deeds, licentiousness stands foremost. Therefore, among the retributions for evil, the retribution brought on by licentiousness is especially grave.

On the pillars of the Gui Palace (the name of a palace) is inscribed the following admonition: among all evil deeds, licentious conduct is the most serious. The retributions that evil deeds bring are many, yet the retribution for licentiousness is especially shameful and humiliating.

The punishments Heaven inflicts take every strange form, and the penalties it sends down likewise differ from one another. Some seduce another man’s wife, and their own wife is seduced by someone else; some embrace another man’s daughter, and their own daughter is embraced by someone else. Some lose their lives through illicit sex, and some thereby cut off their descendants. Some thereby ruin their families and scatter their property, and some thereby lose rank, reputation, and length of life. Still others cause their sons and grandsons to sink into low and servile status. There are also those who are deceived and abducted and so scattered apart. The retributions that licentiousness calls down are tangled and many, and cannot be told one by one. Who can escape this evil? Why have you still not turned back?

Do not suppose that “licentiousness” is merely the surging of desire, and that retribution comes only after guilt has filled its measure. Once a licentious act is committed, retribution already follows with it. Heaven sees clearly and shows no partiality. A case of licentiousness entered in the records of the ghosts is truly pitiful and lamentable. The people of the world are urged never to break the precept against licentiousness. Before you have seen what ought not to be seen, do not let your thoughts run wild; once you have seen it, do not give rise to depraved thoughts or let your conduct lose all measure. Do not trifle with virgins, and do not offend women who keep their chastity. When you meet the wives, concubines, and daughters of others, you should treat them as you would your own sisters. Do not defile maidservants and bondservants, and do not take liberties with prostitutes and the female roles of the theater. Beautiful looks are only a short-lived flower; to crave them for a moment is to wear down essence (Jing) and spirit (Shen). To preserve one’s own person, one must step out of the pit of desire; to leave suffering behind, one must cross this pass.

Even with one’s own wife, the intimate matters of the bedchamber should be kept within bounds. If one wishes to bear upright and proper children, one should establish rules of reverence and of avoidance. On the birth anniversaries of sages and deities, at solar and lunar eclipses, at the time of sacrifice to the Stove God, on days of mourning taboo, in the dim seasons when Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang) succeed one another, or when thunder and lightning are violent, husband and wife should lie under separate coverings, or sleep in separate beds or separate rooms. The deities of Heaven observe whether a person’s mind is reverent; if one seeks blessing with a sincere heart, blessing will come of itself. Celestial immortals prize integrity of conduct; if one can hold to right conduct, it becomes possible to seek the immortal Dao (the Way). If, beyond this, one can also be free of every other kind of evil deed, one is all the more a person of rare and heroic stature.

On Bestowal and Requital

(In the original, the passage from “ji ru qi yu qi” to “xu li jing bi ge” shows obvious repetition or textual corruption; what appears above has been arranged according to the sense and translated.)

For wealthy and high-born families, accumulating good deeds is relatively easy, but receiving a reward in due proportion is not. This is not because Heaven fails to repay goodness, but because it weighs the measure of a good deed before granting a return. For poor and lowly families, accumulating goodness is comparatively difficult, yet receiving a reward is not hard. This is not to say that Heaven rewards only the poor and lowly; it likewise weighs the measure of the deed. As for those who are neither wealthy and high-born nor poor and lowly, the return on their goodness is also given according to the measure of the deed.

Take the giving of money. When a wealthy family donates a hundred in gold, it counts as ten portions of merit; when a poor family donates ten in gold, that too counts as ten portions of merit. Take the relief of others. When a wealthy family aids a hundred people, it counts as ten portions of good deeds; when a poor family aids ten people, that too counts as ten portions of good deeds. Those who are neither wealthy nor poor are measured by the circumstances of an ordinary household.

A wealthy family cannot plead that it is merely ordinary, still less that it is poor and lowly. If earlier generations accumulate and later generations squander, the family fortune will turn from strength to weakness. Yet if a wealthy family practices goodness in the proper way, even a gift of only a few hundred in gold will surely bring a great reward. The essential thing is to enlarge those good deeds and persist in them. A poor family, for its part, should not strain to follow the standard of an ordinary household, still less strain to imitate the wealthy. Otherwise the means to support the family will fall short and fault will be incurred; if the household suffers cold and hunger for a long time, wife and children will grow resentful. Yet if a poor family practices goodness in the proper way, even when its circumstances have already fallen into deep decline, it will surely receive a great reward. The essential thing is to act within one’s means and arrange matters well.

Heaven does not, of itself, fail those who do good. If a person of wealth begrudges his possessions, thinking that his good deeds are many while the return is small, or that the deeds were done early while the reward comes late, and so ceases to attend to goodness, the calamity he brings upon himself will certainly not be light, nor will the perils he meets be few. Eminent clans collapsing in a moment, and the gates of noble houses turning to ashes in the blink of an eye, are often cases of this kind. If a poor person calculates merit against return, supposing that his good deeds are few and so his gains are few, or that the reward comes late, and thus grows careless of goodness, the calamity he brings upon himself will be still more extraordinarily severe, and the perils he meets still more grievous. The sufferings of war, and wandering destitution amid epidemic, may all arise from this. The same holds for those who are neither wealthy nor poor.

Why is this so? The wealthy have both the means and the capacity to accumulate goodness. Living in wealth and rank, even if one does good and receives no further reward, that may still be reckoned as what is already one’s due: clothing and food are ample, and there is reputation besides. So long as one can remain steadily prosperous and let one’s descendants enjoy peace and honor, this itself may be regarded as a reward for goodness. If, on that account, one thinks a small good deed not worth doing, sets one’s heart only on receiving a return, and then gives free rein to greed, Heaven will transfer that blessing to those who do good, and will show no further leniency.

The poor do not have much means or capacity for accumulating goodness, yet to do a small good whenever one meets it is no extraordinary feat: cherishing written words and material things, and caring for people and other living beings. Persist, and little earth can pile into a mountain, little water can gather into a sea, and a reward for goodness will come at last. If, on that account, one thinks a good deed too small to be worth doing, and looks only for a return, the mind and will are clouded. Heaven will then make one’s hardship still greater, so as to punish wrongdoing, and will grant no partial shelter.

Reward for good is like this, and retribution for evil is likewise so. Those who are neither wealthy nor poor may well consider these principles; the wealthy and the poor, too, are asked each to reflect. Alas, the principles of giving and recompense are seen most clearly by sages and worthies, and handled most broadly by immortals and Buddhas. Men of heroic generosity sometimes give beyond what ordinary feeling would require, yet if people of the world can do as such men do, that is already very good. From my youth I delighted in giving, and I have been fortunate enough to be ranked among the Jiuqing (the lofty celestial realms spoken of in Daoism), and so I understand rather thoroughly the recompense that passes between Heaven and human beings. This is no obscure or hard-to-grasp teaching; the mind of Heaven is just so. And yet when has Heaven ever opened its mouth to say anything?

The affairs of the world and of states often pass through decline and growth, dimness and flourishing—that is, through fullness and depletion. Ordinary people regard this as Heaven’s mandate and allotted destiny, while those who truly understand the principles of things hold that the root lies in the human heart. Such a view is sound in its reasoning and earnest in its expression, and I need not comment on it at length.

There are, however, matters in the world that begin to recede before they have reached the height of flourishing, and that seem about to fall into ruin yet do not truly do so. The circumstances and causes of these cases I shall set out one by one, as an admonition to people of the age.

When the momentum of a state reaches the extreme of stability, it often turns toward danger. Some states meet with upheaval upon passing to the next generation, and face peril and extinction in the generation after that. If one says they have already declined, why can they later achieve a restoration? If one says they are in the midst of flourishing, why do calamities suddenly arise? The reason is this: if the worthy and capable are not drawn close, unscrupulous strongmen will corrupt the government; if the Poetry and Documents, the rites, and the laws are not valued, sons and grandsons readily become extravagant and unrestrained.

When the state is at peace, one ought still to keep the caution of one who stands in danger. The superior person should think ahead and guard against trouble, remain constantly alert, and strive to accord with the regular operation of the Dao (the Way) of Heaven. Yet the Dao of Heaven is not fated to come to an end. If people can preserve the condition of fullness day by day, the state too may endure for a long time.

When the fortune of a state reaches the extreme of disorder, it may turn toward order. Some states seem as if their allotted span is nearly exhausted, yet they flourish anew; their momentum declines only slightly, then rises again. If one says they have not declined, why is their situation nearly as precarious as a pile of eggs? If one says they have already declined, why can they once more enjoy stability? It is because, if one reins in the horse in time at the edge of a cliff, a fall can be avoided; and if one turns back in time upon seeing the signs, the blessings and fortune of successive generations—the allotted favor and the destiny of the state—can be prolonged.

Even in so small a matter as an ordinary banquet, people find it hard always to remember that joy will eventually come to an end. From small matters one may infer great ones. The superior person ought to reflect deeply, so as to keep disaster from arriving. Yet the Dao of Heaven does not arrange calamity in advance. If people remain vigilant against decline each day, and the state stays steady and at peace, there is naturally hope that it will last.

Alas—Heaven’s intent in fact lies within human conduct. Why, then, do people not strive to do good?

On Praise and Blame

Why do people slander me, and why do they praise me? Why does someone slander others, and why does someone praise them? If a person longs for the praise of others yet has not achieved corresponding merit, others will slander him; if a person fears the censure of others and is able to correct his own faults, others will praise him.

Thus, when others praise or slander me, it is not without cause; when I bring praise or slander upon myself, that too has its own cause. When others praise or slander someone else, it is not without reason; when a person brings praise or slander upon himself, that likewise has its cause.

I admire those who care for all people under Heaven, who do not deliberately seek acclaim, yet do what is worthy of praise. I detest those who do not fear the censure of others, yet do what invites criticism. I hold that what is most shameful is not knowing what deserves praise and what deserves blame, and in the end passing an entire life in obscurity. To live out one’s life in obscurity, even if no one slanders you, is tantamount to destroying yourself.

A person who, through his own faults, ruins his reputation while still alive will, on the contrary, certainly be praised by others; a person who has achieved merit throughout his life yet boasts of himself will, on the contrary, certainly be slandered by others. Even so, if praise of a person exceeds the facts, a fashion of self-promotion will arise; if slander of a person goes beyond the truth, those who demand absolute perfection are themselves worthy of condemnation. People of the world should strive to do good, and should also carefully restrain themselves.

On Long Life and Short Life

Who ought to live long, and who ought to live briefly? The Dao (the Way) of Heaven surveys the world below with clarity and inherently shows no partiality. If all living beings are to attain long life, and the myriad things between Heaven and Earth are to flourish, then every place must be filled with vitality. Therefore, the benevolent may live long, while those who do evil will be punished; those possessed of merit may live long, while those with faults will have their lifespan reduced; those skilled at nurturing life may live long, while those who harm life will have their years cut short.

Immortals, Buddhas, sages, and worthies can be spared from calamity. The poem says that one should take song as speech, and thereby draw the scattered back to return. This line urges people to return to the correct Dao.

On Obscurity and Success

The prominent and successful are not burdened by endless sorrow; those who are sorrowful often lack cultivation of De (Virtue/Power). Flourishing and decline are two different paths, like the alternation of spring and autumn. I too have experienced both prominence and seclusion; whether to withdraw or to advance, one may choose freely. Human life hurries past, time flies, and life is diminished along with it.

Immortals, Buddhas, sages, and worthies can be spared from calamity. The poem says that one should take song as speech, and thereby draw the scattered back to return.

At the end of the original text, the chapter title “On Obscurity and Success” is written once more.

A person of true understanding is not weighed down by endless sorrow; one beset by sorrow is often wanting in the cultivation of De (Virtue/Power). Life has two conditions, flourishing and decline, just as spring and autumn take their turn; I too can dwell in either state, advancing or withdrawing freely between seclusion and prominence.

A human life hurries past, swift as an arrow. What in prominence is worth rejoicing over, and what in hardship is worth lamenting? Circumstances may bind a person, yet they cannot bind a true hero. Since fate can be accepted with calm, it is better to set the mind at ease and pass one’s days in leisure.

One studies in order to nurture the Dao (the Way) and De, and the flood-like Qi (vital energy) of rightness in the breast surges as abundantly as a dragon. Yan Hui was content in honest poverty, and Confucius played the se and sang—these can answer to my own heart. Yuan Xian held fast to his original mind, and Mi Zijian governed his district by the sound of the qin; I too am willing to follow their example.

The dragon in its cottage can mount the clouds, and the donkey by the lake can travel far at ease. When clouds rise into the sky, they become rain that nourishes all things; when the waters recede, one may seek out Song and Qiao—Chi Songzi and Wang Ziqiao, immortals of legend. Or one may forgo advancement in official life and live as Yan Ziling did by fishing, or as Wang Qiao did in retreat. Why then grieve alone, and die trapped among the weeds of the wild?

In human character there are many traits that resemble one another yet are easily confused, and they must be clearly distinguished.

Some people carry an upright Qi (vital energy) within and stand singularly apart from the crowd; others call this arrogance, but I call it steadfastness. Some are modest and self-possessed, and in their dealings with the world they are no different from anyone else; others call this drifting with the current, but I call it equanimity. Some live at ease, following the natural course of things; others call this laziness, but I call it peaceful self-contentment. Some intone, whistle, and sing, their manner free, heeding Heaven’s decree; others call this wild abandon, but I call it open and penetrating clarity.

Some are grave in their conduct, correct in bearing and austere in integrity; others call this pride, but I call it solemn uprightness. Some are honest and substantial, solid and steady in temperament; others call this clumsiness, but I call it plain simplicity. Some distinguish righteousness from profit with perfect clarity and let no selfish motive taint them; others call this affectation, but I call it moral principle. Some possess a cast of mind set markedly apart, untouched by the dusty thoughts of the world; others call this solitary oddity, but I call it nobility of character.

Some are gentle and sincere in temperament yet know nothing of literary refinement; others call this coarseness, but I call it the manner of a Confucian. Some take purity and stillness as the root of their cultivation and do not understand scripture chanting, rites of repentance, and other Keyi (liturgy); others call this folly, but I regard them as already awakened. Some eat and drink no differently from ordinary people, yet cold and heat cannot harm them; others call this strange, but I regard them as immortals (xianren).

The worthy and the unworthy exist intermingled. Among them, some appear the same yet are not in fact alike, and one must observe with care. Do not slight the aspirations of others while prizing one’s own; do not belittle the aspirations of others while exalting one’s own; do not disregard others and attend only to oneself—only then will the spirit of the perfected person (zhiren) become manifest. When Shun lived deep in the mountains, little at first set him apart from ordinary people; yet whenever he heard a good word or saw a good deed, he received it with joy. Thus Shun’s character stood forth like the lofty eminence of Mount Chicheng, as conspicuous as a red radiance illuminating the sky.

The Old Man of Ancheng said to Lord Weicheng: “I have heard that one born in an age of great peace ought to be a person of peace. Whether one stands high or low, one should rest content in the ordinary and hold fast to kindness and generosity. Do you know how to live at ease and in joy? Let me compose a short rhapsody and tell it to you.

The red dust of the world swirls like rolling dust, and the bitter sea of human life surges without cease. Follow the proper Dao (the Way), and keep your own integrity; nurture a broad mind, and maintain a noble character. Preserve inner peace, and worry less over the affairs of the world; put aside the urge to contend and prevail, and lessen your vexations. If you can endure plain poverty, your learning and self-cultivation will grow; if you forget excessive desire, you may dwell at ease among mountains and forests.

If you enter office, be upright, pure, and free of fault; if you withdraw to the countryside, be clear-minded and understanding, and do not fill yourself with complaint. Teach your descendants to stay far from licentiousness and gambling, and instruct the women of the household to keep the family discipline in good order. Farming should suffice to pay the official grain tax, and the pursuit of learning and self-cultivation must not be neglected. Often drink the wine of the village gatherings, and thereby dispel melancholy; be one whose De (Virtue/Power) and repute stand out among the common people.

Your bearing is plain and solid, your expression open and unrestrained, your spirit full and complete. However right and wrong may churn in confusion, you can set aside resentment and blame. If you can release living creatures and refrain from killing, you both nurture your nature and help to lengthen your years. Discuss maxims with the elders of the village, and gather the younger generation to speak of good and evil, gain and loss. First cultivate yourself, then help others, so that many people receive moral instruction. Spread mats in the thatched cottage, and invite the senior worthies of the village to take the foremost seats. Plant lotuses in the pond, and beside the hedge plant the chrysanthemums that Tao Yuanming loved; plant plum trees in the hills, and set bamboo beside the streams.

Whatever circumstances you meet, you can meet them with calm—is such a life not joyful? Yet now your brows are knit and your heart is knotted; your feet hurry through the markets and the offices, while your heart is cast among mountains, forests, springs, and rocks. At home you find no peace, and when you go out your doings bring no benefit. You are both greedy and fond of contention, and you love fine dress and the pleasures of the mouth and belly; together with the people of the dusty world you are worn down by vulgar affairs, watching the evening sun vanish in a moment. How can days like these be joyful?”

Lord Weicheng, having heard this, grew solemn in countenance and said: “Alas! What the immortal elder has taught me is indeed this profound. I shall respectfully keep your instruction.” When he had finished speaking, he bowed deeply, took his leave, and departed.

Cultivating a gentle and sincere character can bring harmony to the household; accumulating profound De (Virtue/Power) can leave a store of blessings for one’s descendants. The western wall and the eastern hall of the home are fitting places on which to hang these words of admonition. For example, when one meets with a matter in which one comes off at a loss, many people feel aggrieved in their hearts; yet they do not realize that the ability to yield and forbear is precisely the cultivation of a harmonious Qi (vital energy), and is also the accumulation of blessings and virtue for one’s descendants.

Now I select and set down a few supreme sayings of sages, divinities, and persons of virtue, in order to exhort the people of the world. Someone has said: “Make things convenient for others, and they will be convenient for you as well; make things fitting for others, and they will be fitting for you as well. Attend only to your own convenience, and you inconvenience others; attend only to what suits yourself, and you leave others unsuited.” Someone has said: “Those who can bear a loss often possess a deep share of good fortune; those who seize every advantage without restraint ultimately suffer loss instead.” Another has said: “If everyone must contend to prevail, who in the world is still worthy of being called a ‘person’?” Still another has said: “The Dao (the Way) of Qian lies in bringing others to fulfillment, not in seeking only one’s own satisfaction.” Yet another has said: “The two characters Qian and Kun contain the established principle of fullness and deficiency; when loss has been borne to the utmost, calamity is thereby dispelled.” I too have a saying: “On the many occasions when I have taken a loss, Heaven will also take pity on me and will in the end bestow upon me the benefit that is my due.”

Young people, you must strive to put these principles into practice! Those who are willing to take a loss will in the end not truly lose.

Zhong and Shu are the principle that Confucius handed down as “one thread running through all.” What does “one thread running through all” mean? It means taking Zhong as the root and Shu as its practice. Zhong is the establishment of sincerity from within the heart; Shu is placing oneself in another’s situation and discerning what is in their mind. The principle that “in establishing oneself, one also helps others to establish themselves” is, in all likelihood, to be found right here.

Zhong can run through into Shu. Cultivating humaneness (ren) by the way of Shu, one is able not to impose on others what one is unwilling to bear oneself; in this way, the good heart originally present in one’s nature is not disturbed by selfish desire. Dealing with others and conducting oneself in the world by the way of Shu, one is able, even when offended, not to reckon with people; in this way, the human heart is not easily stirred by resentment and conflict. Governing the affairs of the world by the way of Shu, one is able not to impose on others what one oneself detests; in this way, subjects need not endure cruel decrees. The teachings of the sages and worthies, even in their finest details, ultimately all return to the root, and can indeed be practiced throughout a lifetime.

If one thinks only of making others like oneself, yet is unwilling to discern what is in their minds, there will arise the notions of taking oneself as right and others as wrong, of treating oneself generously and others meanly, of valuing oneself and slighting others, of seeking one’s own advantage while harming the interests of others, and of fulfilling oneself while ruining others. None of these notions accord with genuine discernment of others. If one cannot discern others, how can one truly act according to one’s original mind?

Even if one wishes others to be like oneself and also wishes to discern their minds, those notions may still arise. Excessive craving injures one’s original mind, and a failure to place oneself in another’s situation likewise damages that original mind. Once the original mind is corrupted, the root is lost; when the root is lost, there is no Zhong within. When the inner root perishes, the source of humaneness dries up as well—no wonder one cannot practice forgiveness and considerate understanding.

Seen in this light, a lack of Zhong likewise runs through into a failure to understand consideration for others. I hope that those devoted to study will seek out the true aim of “one thread running through all” and hold fast to its real meaning, so as not to fall short of the teaching of the Confucian school.

Chapter on Emptiness (Xuwu)

“Emptiness and non-being” is the essential teaching jointly transmitted by Laozi and Shakyamuni. What is “emptiness”? It is an empty mind. When the mind can be empty and still, the spirit becomes clear and lucid; when the spirit is clear and lucid, one’s nature possesses wisdom. Only then can one attain great liberation and great enlightenment.

What is “non-being”? It is the absence of a self. Without clinging to a self, one does not take oneself as the center in every matter; when one does not take oneself as the center, desire diminishes. Only then can one obtain great purity and great joy.

Now the two of you, as disciples, do not understand the principle of emptiness and non-being, and seek only what actually exists. The notion of “real existence” is not in itself wrong, yet if one clings to it, it is like counting stones in a mountain valley and chasing metals, stones, and precious treasures—in the end one gains nothing. Pursuing tangible things day after day while investigating Chan verses only lets the six sense-dusts (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects) contacted by the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind continually disturb the mind and spirit. Among dharma-gates as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, which one is the foremost paramita (the supreme practice leading to awakening)?

I pity your ignorance, and so I open wisdom for you. Observe the mind within and make it empty and still, and you can penetrate the wisdom of one’s nature; from this one knows that emptiness and stillness can reach what is real. Observe the absence of self and go on to the absence of desire, and you can understand: non-being does not reject all existence, but can embrace the myriad things. Even Confucius said “have no self” (harbor no selfish mind), and Yan Hui once “fasted the mind” (made the mind pure, still, and single-minded). If even the Confucians seek this, how much more should you?

Nothing people desire is stronger than the wish to live. If one wishes to preserve life, one must treasure life; if one wishes to treasure life, one must not slight life. “To give up one’s life to fulfill humaneness” and “to offer one’s life when danger appears” are not a slighting of life. In ordinary times one should preserve life; when such a moment arrives…

No human wish is more important than preserving life. If one wishes to live long, one ought to treasure life; if one wishes to treasure life, one should not give it up lightly.

To sacrifice oneself in order to fulfill benevolence and righteousness, or to step forward and take up a charge in a time of danger, is not to make light of life. To preserve life in ordinary days, and at the crucial moment to practice righteousness with that life, is not the same as passing a lifetime in vain. Even if such a person dies, the spirit still endures. Loyal ministers and righteous men, women of fierce integrity, and wives who keep their chastity are, precisely because they treasure life, all the more able to give their lives for righteousness when the need arises.

If a person has not met with an age of disorder, but is born into a time of peace and prosperity, and whether of high or low station can fully practice filial piety and loyalty, leave a distinguished name for the state, and become someone respected in the world, then anyone who wishes to live well cannot fail to understand the nurturing of life.

The way of nurturing life is not the same as cultivating the True. Cultivating the True means cultivating the Dao (the Way) and seeking the True, with the aim of transcending the cycles of kalpas; it belongs to the Dao. Nurturing life means lengthening the lifespan; it belongs to methods and arts. Yet if one does not understand the principles of past and present, and of human beings in relation to the Dao of Heaven, it will in the end be difficult to find methods that are truly effective.

The people of high antiquity were simple and had few desires. They thought little, spoke and laughed little, and looked and listened little. They wore coarse clothes and ate coarse food, and did not deliberately pursue external things. Thus they could preserve their original genuineness and enjoy long life in health and peace. People of recent times, however, have grown ever more extravagant. They have many thoughts and many emotional entanglements, much speech and laughter and much seeing and hearing, and they seek ample clothing and rich food, so that the will and the spirit are disturbed. The Jing (scripture) therefore warns that if people continually deplete their inborn nature, they will move toward an early death.

The smooth working of the Dao of Heaven lies in its capacity for cyclic return: the sun sets and rises again, the moon wanes and grows full again, rain gives way to clear skies, and after the thunder ceases the myriad things lie dormant. Heaven and Earth can thereby preserve the vitality of life and keep their workings ever renewed. When a person declines, it is through continual depletion: Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are allowed to drain away, the strength of Qi is allowed to be lost, Shen (spirit) dissipates without pause, and the body sways and cannot rest in stillness and self-guarding. Then it is hard to restore a body already exhausted, and one can only struggle through the days in the brief world of human life.

Therefore, in nurturing life, medicines and diet should come afterward, while protecting body and mind comes first. To model oneself on the cyclic principle of the Dao of Heaven, and to learn the simple life of the ancients, are both workable methods.

How lamentable! In a single lifetime, ordinary people must pass through five kinds of calamity. Which five? Birth, old age, sickness, death, and suffering.

Is it that a person ought not to be born? One should only conduct oneself with integrity and uprightness, and must not muddle along in confusion or follow an improper path. If, while alive, one can become a sage or a worthy, then even an early death is still as though one were living: the heroic spirit remains in the world, one’s renown remains in the world, and the fragrance of De (Virtue/Power) remains in the world. How does this differ from the immortals and the Buddhas? Only those who, while alive, do evil, act with violence, and behave with cruelty are, after death, certainly unable to begin anew as ordinary people do. Their destination is instead an unbroken succession of evil paths; they pass through successive calamities and endure the torments of the Uninterrupted Hell. Even if they wish never again to receive birth, they cannot have their wish.

Birth is one calamity. If one thus sinks into the world and remains trapped among humankind, knowing neither how to change one’s circumstances nor how to accord with transformation, the days drift idly by until old age—and that is another calamity. If, because of this, Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are exhausted and the bodily form withers, Shen (spirit) declines and primordial Qi is depleted, so that medicines cannot remedy the condition and careful nurturing cannot restore it, and one lingers on in listless illness—that is yet another calamity. If impermanence suddenly arrives and the appointed end is at hand—where will the family property go, and to whom will wife and children belong?—and one dies in haste, that is yet another calamity.

In this way, evil deeds are sure to meet with retribution, and offenses are sure to meet with punishment. To wander from place to place in the netherworld, grieving and weeping—this is suffering of the greatest kind. At this point the original text contains the phrase “cha gan dong ye,” whose meaning is unclear. One may still be fortunate enough to have a chance of rebirth, yet one may meet in one’s allotted fate with such disasters as warfare, flood and fire, disease, or poverty, and continue to revolve without cease among these five calamities. As for places of torment such as the mountain of knives and the hells, there is still less need to speak of them.

Those who fall into these calamities, if they lack the good recompense of cause and effect and the merit of virtuous conduct, cannot extinguish their karmic offenses. Therefore, in living out a single lifetime, one ought to cultivate goodness and accumulate blessings, return to the root and restore the origin; only then may one hope to ascend the spring terrace together with others and enter the realm of ultimate bliss. From birth there follows lasting life, and lasting life continues until one no longer receives birth. Because one no longer receives birth, one no longer perishes; and because one no longer perishes, one is able to transcend. People ought to exert themselves!

In this life one ought to cultivate goodness and accumulate blessings, return to the root, and recover one’s original nature. Only then is there hope of ascending together to the Spring Terrace—the realm of the immortals—and entering the realm of ultimate bliss. If life can attain longevity, it is no longer bound by the cycle of birth and death; unbound by birth and death, it does not perish; and if it does not perish, it can transcend. People ought to strive in their cultivation!

On Revering Shen (Spirit)

What is called Shen is that which can transform the myriad things and manifest mysterious functions. Shangdi, the Celestial Emperor, instructs the world by means of the Dao (the Way) of Shen, and so the spirits do indeed preside over human good and evil. All who are intelligent and upright are endowed with the powers of the spirits.

The spirits of Heaven belong to Shen and are charged with guiding the myriad things; the spirits of Earth belong to qi, the terrestrial deities, and are charged with upholding and nurturing the myriad things. The De (Virtue/Power) of these spirits is vast without limit. The people receive its grace every day, yet they may not notice it. If a person simply fulfills his own duty, he can come into accord with Heaven and Earth.

As for famous mountains and great rivers, the suburban altars, and the steles and sacred images set up in hermitages, shrines, and temple halls, what they enshrine is a spiritual presence handed down from antiquity. Monasteries and temples are grand in construction, and the awesome numinous power of the spirits is manifest; when people gaze upon them from afar, they are often filled with solemn reverence. Yet when the incense burns thickly, those who pray for blessings grow many; when supplications are frequent, those who seek good fortune come as well. How could the spirits ever be deceived by anyone?

Although the spirits arise from different sources, in the end they all come from upright Qi (vital energy). The Discourses of Lu says: “The sage-kings of old established the institutions of sacrifice: whoever set down laws and measures and bestowed benefits on the people was sacrificed to; whoever died in the service of public duty was sacrificed to; whoever by his achievements brought peace to the state was sacrificed to; whoever could ward off great disasters and protect the people from great calamities was sacrificed to.” Mountains and rivers, and the gods of soil and grain—the deities of earth and cereals—likewise receive sacrifice because they have merit toward the people.

Those who benefit the people by establishing norms, die for the public good, labor to secure the state, and resist disasters and calamities do not act in order to receive people’s repayment, gratitude, or favors. When they broadly accumulate merit for the world, they do not do so in order to wait for others to pray to them. Even though the spring and autumn sacrifices are solemn, and the rites of fasting and of birthday observances are often held, what is sought in sacrifice is only that the spirits protect the sovereign and the state, one’s parents, the people and all things, and deliver souls sunk in unrest. These prayers are not for private gain.

If a person can rectify himself, make his thoughts pure and his reflections clear, cleanse his inner heart, and revere Shen with a respectful mind, then even without deliberately seeking blessings he will naturally receive them. Therefore, the subtle excellence of revering the spirits does not equal first revering one’s own heart. The human heart is itself Shen, and Shen resides within the human heart. If one is without shame within, one is without shame before the spirits, and one can also face oneself with ease. This is not to say that outside the heart there are no spirits; rather, the spirits also observe your dwelling and your inner heart.

The celestial spirits dwell in the sun; wherever the sunlight reaches, what is not bright? A person’s heart-spirit dwells in the eyes; wherever the gaze reaches, what is not seen? If someone hopes to cancel his own offenses by flattering the deities, how could that ever be possible?

There are two proper ways of revering the spirits; base flattery and profanation are not among them. Those of the higher rank are upright in heart, establish merit and practice goodness, and their aspirations reach far. Even when alone, they fear that the spirits are examining their conduct. The blessings and felicity they receive they all ascribe to the protection of the spirits. Even if such people do not burn incense or light candles, and do not reverently enter a temple gate, they already understand the great Way of revering the spirits.

Those of the middle rank are careful and respectful. As soon as they think of Shangdi and Heaven, their awe deepens. Good thoughts arise through the inspiration of the spirits, and after they practice goodness and establish virtue, they feel in their hearts the spirits’ protection. Even if such people express reverence through fasting and bathing and by bowing to bodhisattvas, one may say that they understand the lesser Way of revering the spirits.

As for those who are outwardly reverent while concealing great evil within, and who come and go in frequent worship on days such as the first and second of the month, the spirits will say to them: “You have come? I am just about to call you to account for your offenses! Do not deceive me, and do not profane me. You honor me with one stick of incense, yet I shall fasten one more set of shackles upon you. Go back, correct your faults, and make yourself anew—perhaps there is still time!”

Among all things, human beings are the most endowed with spiritual nature. Since they surpass other beings in this endowment, one ought to cherish human life. Do not entrap others by intrigue, do not wound people with sharp weapons, do not poison others with drugs, and do not coerce others by means of power and position. Those who entrap, injure, poison, or oppress others will be punished openly by the laws of the state and, in secret, will suffer the penalties of Heaven; in the end they can hardly escape.

Birds that call and take wing, plants fragrant and colorful, animals that can be tamed for viewing, and aquatic creatures that breed in water and bring delight—these people already cherish. Are human beings not still more worthy of being treasured than such things?

I now counsel the people of the world: support one another and live in harmony; do not bully or maltreat one another. Whether setting out from home or coming and going in social intercourse, one should think of caring for others and helping them succeed. To bring to completion another’s reputation, achievements, undertakings, and interests is precisely to accomplish one’s own reputation, achievements, undertakings, and interests. All of these belong to the love of others.

In helping others succeed, do not conceal the loyalty of loyal ministers, and do not steal the merit of those who have rendered service. Do not slander women who preserve their integrity and fulfill filial duty, nor defame chaste young women. Do not envy others’ talents, nor falsely claim others’ abilities as one’s own. Do not resent people of ability, nor bury their talents. Do not conceal others’ good deeds, nor appropriate others’ good name. Do not broadcast others’ evil deeds, nor imitate evil conduct. Do not secretly obstruct others’ advancement, do not alter others’ writings without cause, do not wreck others’ great undertakings and good deeds, and do not ruin others’ sound plans. Do not harm others’ property or lifespan, do not encroach upon others’ fields, and do not trifle with others’ wealth. Do not help the wicked seize the fengshui (geomantic fortune) of the humane, nor collude with petty persons to lure the sons of distinguished families onto a deviant path. To hold toward others a benevolence like that of one’s own kin involves matters too numerous to recount one by one.

Therefore, the Yongming Tianzun (Celestial Worthy of Eternal Life) repeatedly admonishes people: do not humiliate the good folk of the village, and do not bully the poor. Do not separate father from son, do not estrange flesh and blood, do not destroy others’ marriages, and do not insult those who are deaf, mute, or otherwise impaired. One should also rescue others from peril, supply what others urgently need, take pity on the lonely and suffering, be tolerant of others’ faults, relieve others’ afflictions, aid the hungry and the cold, support one’s kindred, relieve neighbors and friends, show compassion to orphans and widows, respect the elderly, and cherish the poor. All these are acts of caring for others.

Alas! Heaven gives birth to and nurtures the multitude of the people so that the benevolent may practice benevolence, and so that the good may accumulate good deeds. If one can extend to others what one wishes for oneself, widely bestow a humane heart, and protect and nurture the people, then when the wealthy and noble care for others, their descendants will surely benefit; when the poor and humble care for others, they too will surely attain distinction. Heaven protects the good, and the Celestial Emperor bestows blessings upon people. This has been so since ancient times, and such favor often comes swiftly. Therefore, if you wish to understand the principles of conducting oneself in the world, I still counsel you: care for others.

The art of medicine is a Dao (the Way): used well, it can save the state; used poorly, it may also bring harm upon the state. Medicines are the same: they can save a person, and they may also harm a person. One must therefore be cautious in applying medical skill and medicines. The principles of medicine are profound; there is no end to studying them, and no limit to practicing them. Medicines are divided into sovereign, minister, assistant, and envoy—the different roles of the chief drug, the supporting drugs, and the coordinating drugs in a formula—and illnesses include deficiency patterns and excess patterns, as well as long-standing illnesses and newly arisen ones. These principles any physician can state, yet those who truly grasp their deeper meaning are few.

The more profound the learning of sages and worthies, the humbler their resolve; the loftier their moral character, the more modest their frame of mind. Those who practice medicine ought to be the same. One must not belittle oneself, must not mislead oneself, and must not deceive oneself. To deceive oneself is to deceive others; to mislead oneself is to mislead others; to belittle oneself is also to belittle others. These faults will in the end fall back upon oneself. Thus, in practicing medicine it is easy to achieve merit and also easy to commit error; to accumulate blessing is not easy, yet to invite misfortune is not hard. One who wishes merit without fault, and blessing without calamity, must hold oneself with caution. The principles of the pulse are subtle and profound, and those whose learning is shallow find them hard to see clearly.

Practitioners of medicine are now advised: when you come to the patient’s bedside, first ask clearly into the origin of the illness, and do not try the patient with medicines. The patient’s family is likewise advised: when you face the physician, first make plain the causes of the illness, and do not stake a life in order to try the physician. To stake a life in trying the physician is one’s own fault; to try the patient with medicines is the physician’s fault.

One should also aid those in crisis, without raising one’s own standing, and relieve those in hardship, without reckoning money. If the illness can be seen clearly, help should be given at once; if it cannot be seen clearly, one should wait for a physician of superior skill to come and treat it. To act in this way is to accumulate good deeds that are sincere and sound.

Men of learning are further urged to examine more often those medical formulas that prove effective, and to study the principles of medicine with care—neither keeping the art secret and refusing to transmit it, nor applying it rashly and at random—so as to help themselves and also to help others. Fan Wenzheng (Fan Zhongyan) and Lu Xuangong (Lu Zhi), though they served as ministers, still gave their attention many times to the Way of medicine. How, then, can the art of medicine be slighted?

On Physiognomy and Divination (concerning appearance and allotted fate)

People of the highest grade have a physiognomy, and people below the middle grade also have a physiognomy, yet people of the middle grade have none. People of the highest grade have a destiny, and people below the middle grade also have a destiny, yet people of the middle grade have none. Only for people of the highest and the lowest grades, once inborn nature has taken form, is it hard to change.

People of the higher grade have certain features of appearance, and people of the lower grade likewise have certain features of appearance; people of the middle grade have no fixed appearance. Those of the higher and lower grades each have their allotted fate; those of the middle grade have no fixed destiny. Only for people of the higher and lower grades is innate nature already settled and hard to change, and there is no need to say more of them here. What is to be spoken of here is you of the middle grade: neither above nor below, able to rise and able to fall; sometimes above, sometimes below. If one merely remains neither rising nor falling, one is still counted as being of the lower grade; to say that one may rise and may also fall is still to remain of the lower grade; even if one is at times upward and at times downward, in the end one is still counted as being of the lower grade. Only when one is no longer bound by the condition of the lower grade does one truly cease to count as lower.

Appearance can be changed by oneself, and fate can be created by oneself. The ancients said such things, and they did not deceive you. Even those who read faces and calculate destinies can only observe your outward form and can hardly see through to your inner heart; they can only reckon your allotted fate and can hardly reckon your De (Virtue/Power). If they cannot see through your inner heart, they cannot truly judge your appearance; if they cannot reckon your De, they cannot truly calculate your fate. Do not be fooled by those who read faces: the key to physiognomy lies in the wisdom of the inner heart; only when mind and nature are upright is there a good appearance. Do not be deceived by those who calculate fate: De is more powerful than fortune-telling; only when De is steadfast is there a good destiny.

I hope that people of the world will all look upon and judge their own appearance and fate for themselves; I also hope that those who read faces will often urge others to cultivate mind and nature, and that those who calculate destinies will often urge others to accumulate De. As for a person’s bone structure and temperament, discuss them according to what the book sets forth; as for the course of fortune, reckon it according to what the book records. When calculating one’s own fate, one must go further and speak of the conduct of De; when discussing one’s own appearance, one must go further and speak of the inner heart. If the principles of urging people toward goodness and of cultivating mind and nature are woven into the reading of faces and the calculation of fate, then the Three Patriarchs of Mayi (ancestral masters in the transmission of physiognomy) and Master Ziping (the scholar of fate calculation) will surely bestow upon you clothing, food, and a livelihood.

The Kanyu Chapter (the chapter on feng shui)

Heaven covers both the good and the wicked, and Earth bears both the good and the wicked; only the Immortal Masters (Xianshi—the perfected immortals in Daoism who oversee or transmit the affairs in question) are charged with concealing good and evil on behalf of Heaven and Earth. Heaven does not cover the myriad things out of partiality, Earth does not bear the myriad things out of partiality, and the Immortal Masters bestow their favor without selfish intent. If a person harbors private desire, that person cannot see the principle clearly. What is called the principle of the earth is, at root, the principle of Heaven. Since one follows the principle of Heaven, private desire must not be mixed in. Therefore only those who are intelligent, upright, and worthy of the name of sage are qualified to speak of this principle.

People of the present age talk of fengshui as they please and thereby offend the spirits of the mountains. They bring out the remains of their own kin in order to seek blessing and official fortune, and then ask fengshui masters about misfortune and good fortune, the auspicious and the inauspicious. Some search here and there for burial sites on behalf of others; some seek them for themselves, and by this means they cheat people of their money and angle for praise. With minds set in this way, how can they understand the principle of Heaven? That nine out of ten fengshui masters live in poverty—what is there to wonder at?

What sort of land the Immortal Masters bestow depends wholly on a person’s good or ill fortune: the good and virtuous correspond to auspicious land, and the wicked and vicious correspond to inauspicious land. Those who obtain auspicious land need not credit their blessings to the Immortal Masters, and those who meet with inauspicious land need not blame the Immortal Masters. The principle in this has its own impartiality, and the human heart ought to understand it. When I have spoken with people about fengshui, I have likewise set fengshui together with the retribution of good and evil: the good and virtuous correspond to auspicious land, and the wicked and vicious correspond to inauspicious land; obtaining auspicious land calls for no thanks, and meeting with inauspicious land calls for no resentment. The principle has its own impartiality, and the human heart ought to understand.

Those who preside over the land are the Immortal Masters. Since their office belongs to the realm of the immortals, it does not belong to ordinary mortals. People seek burial sites from ordinary mortals—why do they not also seek from ordinary mortals the way of becoming an immortal?