《通关文》

Cultivating the true Dao means grasping the changes of Yin-Yang, claiming the creative power of Heaven and Earth, understanding nature and life, and transcending birth and death, until one ultimately rises beyond the ordinary, enters the realm of sages, becomes an immortal, and founds a lineage. This is a matter of great importance, and cannot be compared with the trivial affairs of the world, which are as fleeting and insubstantial as frost on grass or bubbles on water.

Sadly, those who pursue the Dao throughout the world are often shallow in understanding. They treat great matters as small and small matters as great, value what is false, and dismiss what truly matters. The Dao is not far from people, yet people often make the path to seeking it distant from themselves. Thus the ancients said that students of the Dao are as numerous as ox hairs, while those who truly attain it are as rare as a qilin’s horn. I would put it this way: today, students of the Dao are as numerous as ox hairs, but those who have truly heard the Great Dao are as rare as a qilin’s horn. Why do I say this? In ancient times, many heard the Great Dao, but few completed their cultivation. Today, many study the Dao, but few truly hear it. There are several times as many students of the Dao today as there were in ancient times, yet those who truly hear the Dao are even fewer than those who completed their cultivation in the past.

The reason is that students of the Dao have many shortcomings of their own, and their hearts are filled with malign influences, so they cannot move their teachers and fellow seekers. As a result, they waste years and toil in vain. I have set down the teachings I received from my elders in books such as Expounding the Truth, Essential Compendium, Pointing Straight to the Goal, Understanding in the Heart, Tracing the Original Meaning, A Guide, Awakening to the Dao, and Dispelling Doubts, hoping through them to meet people who truly understand these teachings. This is my wish.

Still, I worry that students of the Dao will forsake what is near to seek what is far, neglect what they should first do for themselves, and instead presume to manage other people’s affairs. So I wrote The Passage-Clearing Text, like a lamp lit to help students of the Dao see the path ahead. First cultivate yourself into a sound and upright person, then proceed step by step from low to high and from near to far. In this way, you may perhaps meet an enlightened teacher, find good companions, and hear the Great Dao.

The matters listed in this book may seem small, but they have great consequences. Its words may be simple, yet they offer people much benefit. Although the book is called The Passage-Clearing Text, cultivating nature and life—that is, cultivating body, mind, and life—cannot be separated from these foundational steps. Readers should not dismiss it because its contents seem elementary. Those of keen talent and broad understanding are already on the right path; once they meet an enlightened teacher, receiving the true Dao is not difficult for them, and they have no need to rely on The Passage-Clearing Text to lay their foundations.

Preface written by Su Pu San Ren on the winter solstice of the seventeenth year of the Jiaqing reign (the Ren Shen year).

The Pass of Sexual Desire

Lü Zu said, “A young and beautiful woman’s body is soft as cream. At her waist, it seems, she conceals a sharp sword that can wound foolish men. Though no one appears to die on the spot, she can secretly drain a person’s essence.” Qiu Zu (Qiu Chuji) said, “Those who cultivate the Dao must be vigilant and steadfast, sweeping away sexual desire so they may return to their original nature.” He also said, “Sever the bonds of lust, cross the sea of desire, unlock the heart, and leave the prison that holds people captive.” These words are the compassionate admonitions of the patriarchs, urging people to keep away from sexual desire and take the path of preserving life.

Sexual desire is a major pass in life, one that bears directly on one’s nature and life, and it is among the most dangerous. Why is it said to threaten life? When people see someone beautiful, their hearts and minds are easily stirred, and lust arises. As the fire of desire grows, it consumes Qi (vital energy) and unsettles the spirit. Even before any sexual union takes place, the “primordial Jing” (the essential Qi at the root of life), as Daoist practitioners call it, may be secretly depleted when the mind and spirit lose their guard. One’s nature becomes clouded, and the foundation of life is shaken. How much more so for those who become engrossed in sensual pleasures, indulging day and night and taking what harms them for pleasure: when their Jing and Qi are exhausted and the body declines, they may lose their lives.

For this reason, those who cultivate the Dao must first abstain from sexual desire. Yet it is difficult to cut off and hard to guard against. The scriptures teach that, through the long cycle of birth and death, people have often been burdened by sexual desire. What is called the “demon of lust” may be old habits accumulated in past lives stirring without one’s awareness; or it may arise when someone sees outward beauty or finds themselves in a tempting situation. Across the ages, many heroes and outstanding people have overcome all kinds of dangers, only to be stopped by this pass of sexual desire, unable to break free.

Those who cultivate the Dao should recognize that sexual desire can endanger life and resolve firmly to restrain it. Even when confronted with beauties like Xi Shi or Yang Guifei, they should regard beauty as an impermanent outer shell and remain unmoved and unbewildered: meeting as if they had not met, seeing as if they had not seen. They should stay alert and regularly examine their own thoughts, allowing not even the slightest desire to lie hidden in the heart. This is like a farmer weeding a field: as soon as weeds appear, they are pulled up, roots and all, so they cannot grow back. Once the root of sexual desire has been cleared, the spiritual nature needed for cultivation can grow.

What does it mean to have truly uprooted sexual desire? The scriptures say that when the root has been completely severed, even seeing beauty will no longer draw one in. But if someone still recognizes that another person is beautiful and merely forces down desire in the moment, their old habits have not yet been pulled out and may grow again later. Some people boast publicly that they have freed themselves from desire, yet still experience nocturnal emissions that they cannot control. This shows that desire has not truly been eliminated; it is only hidden in the heart. The scriptures call these lingering habits “root-dust,” meaning the underlying causes and external influences that can still give rise to desire.

Although uprooting desire completely is difficult, one must still apply oneself with courage and keep working to clear it away. With enough time and effort, the day will come when it is finally cut off. Once the root of sexual desire has been pulled out, the body can become strong and firm, and it becomes easier to cultivate the “Dharma Body” (the pure spiritual body sought through cultivation). The other passes also become easier to cross. If one cannot get through this pass, it will be difficult to pass the others.

The author urges those who sincerely wish to learn the Dao to cross the pass of sexual desire as soon as they can: fear it as one would a ferocious tiger, and guard against desire as one would a poisonous scorpion. They should remain unmoved by external circumstances and free of greed within, while carefully avoiding danger and conserving their spirit. Only then can they hope to learn the Dao.

This admonition is not aimed only at monastics. Even people living at home, who bear the responsibilities of marriage and having children, should restrain their desires. The author holds that temperance in sexual desire helps keep Jing and Qi abundant, strengthens the body, reduces illness, prolongs life, and benefits fertility. The scripture cites the many descendants of the Yellow Emperor and King Wen of Zhou, attributing this to their restraint of desire. Whether at home or in religious life, one should make abstaining from excessive sexual desire the first priority in cultivation. If desire has not been cleared away, it is difficult to imagine that one can grasp the Great Dao.

“Understanding the Truth” says: Even if a person might live to a hundred, the length of life and the turns of fortune are hard to predict. Yesterday you may have been riding through the streets; today you may already be lying in a coffin. A wife and wealth cannot be taken along in the end, and the wrongs you have committed cannot be concealed. When you encounter a precious opportunity to cultivate the Great Dao, to refuse to seek it and practice it is truly foolish. It also says that cultivating the Dao requires firm, decisive resolve and a strong will. Even in the presence of men and women, wives and concubines, one should regard them as one regards other people in the world. These words urge people to take worldly attachments of love lightly and promptly cultivate nature and life—the roots of body, mind, and life as understood in Daoism.

Many things in life are temporary; only nature and life are worth cherishing. People often take illusory things for reality and set aside the work of cultivating nature and life. Led by family ties, romantic love, and desire, they toil for food and clothing. Worry unsettles the mind and spirit; affairs exhaust body and mind. People labor day and night, making every sort of plan. Sometimes they harm others for their own gain and crave without limit. To make a living, they may even disregard the dangers of floods and fire, weapons, tigers and wolves, and pestilential miasmas. They bustle through life without rest, thinking only of securing their children’s future. But when their spirit is depleted, their Qi and blood have weakened, and serious illness leaves them bedridden, even devoted children cannot bear the pain in their place; wives and concubines cannot suffer in their stead either. None of the affection and love they once treasured can help them then. Once a person draws their last breath and their consciousness leaves the body, they may look back and wonder: Who was the other person, and who was I? If the love of a lifetime cannot relieve the suffering of life and death, what practical use does it have? We should therefore recognize its limits as early as we can.

To understand the benefits and harms of affection, one must examine it repeatedly in one’s heart. With sustained reflection, one comes to see that sweetness can contain suffering, and that emotional ties can bring burdens. When one recognizes that affection is not lasting or reliable, one will not trap oneself in a mire or make a home in a pit of fire. With a clear understanding in one’s heart, one is less easily led by affection. If one can truly see its painful side, then someone who wishes to leave the world behind and cultivate the Dao can set aside these bonds and devote themselves to cultivating nature and life. Even while living in the world, one can remain clear minded and understanding, respond to circumstances as they arise, and avoid being harmed by them. Having seen the suffering bound up with affection, one can still deal with worldly affairs and make one’s own choices, without being injured by romantic attachment.

Since fathers and sons, brothers, husbands, and wives live together in the world, each should fulfill their proper duty: fathers should follow the way of fathers, sons the way of sons, and elder brothers, younger brothers, husbands, and wives should each meet their respective responsibilities. One should understand that these duties belong to one’s place in life. Inwardly, however, one should recognize that life is like a play: each person performs their role well, allowing life to reach its proper conclusion and bringing matters between them to a fitting close. In this way, one neither violates the ethics of family relationships nor obscures one’s nature. This is cultivating the Dao at home without being held back by the mundane world, while remaining at ease and free. In the past, Pang Jushi, Chuan Dashi, Ge Xianweng, Xu Zhenjun, Zhang Tianshi, and the Three Mao Perfected Lords all achieved success in the Dao while living at home. Those who practice at home should take them as examples.

Those who leave home to cultivate the Dao should, apart from their duties to serve their parents, provide for them, and arrange their funerals, let go completely of all other attachments of love, without the slightest lingering attachment. Even a little attachment will obstruct cultivation: one will neither complete the practice nor come to understand the Great Dao. If affection unsettles the heart, it shows that one has not yet seen through it. Without seeing through it, one will be stopped at this barrier and unable to go further. Those who sincerely study the Dao should therefore pass through the barrier of affection as soon as possible, set aside their attachments, free their hearts of restraint, and devote themselves to cultivation; progress will then follow naturally. If one cannot bear to part with affection and keeps it constantly in mind, yet still hopes to understand the Great Dao, it will be difficult to do so.

The Pass of Glory and Status concerns how to regard worldly honor, rank, and wealth.

The Daode Jing says, “Even if a pair of fine jades and four horses are presented before you, they are not as valuable as sitting down to cultivate the Great Dao.” Confucius also said, “Wealth and rank are things people desire; but if they are not gained through the proper way, they should not be accepted.” The Wuzhen Pian says that someone who does not seek the Great Dao and emerge from delusion is not a true great person, however talented they may be. A hundred years pass in an instant; life is brief as a bubble on water. If one only covets fame, profit, glory, and distinction while neglecting the body as it grows frail, then even a mountain of gold and silver cannot buy back the life carried away by impermanence. Patriarch Qiu said, “A peaceful heart is better than holding the high rank of one of the Three Excellencies; a settled nature is better than possessing a city ten miles across.”

All these words teach people to give priority to the Dao and right conduct, and not to covet glory and wealth. There are two kinds of honor and rank. One is “Heavenly Nobility,” the dignity that comes from virtue, benevolence, and righteousness. The other is “Human Nobility,” the fame, salary, and official position bestowed by the world.

Pursuing worldly fame and rank requires years of study, hard work day and night, and great expenditure of effort. Yet even after all that, there is no guarantee of passing the examinations, becoming an official, or keeping one’s post. Some pass the entry-level examination but fail to advance; others pass the civil-service examinations but never enter government service. Even once in office, the fortunes of one’s career and one’s personal safety are hard to predict. What honor or nobility is there in exhausting one’s spirit and Qi, trading one’s real body and mind for empty fame? Some become ill and prematurely frail before their careers have even taken off, wheezing and short of breath, unable to move about, and unable even to safeguard their lives. This is truly lamentable.

Worldly glory and status amount to riding in palanquins or on horseback, wearing silk and brocade, and eating delicacies—all to adorn the body, satisfy the appetite, and stir the envy of others. In the end, however, they may harm both body and mind, and the pleasures they bring are limited. When one’s allotted time comes, glory and status cannot hold life back; in the end, the celebrated and the uncelebrated alike pass away.

Those who cultivate Heavenly Nobility take benevolence and righteousness as their inner substance and virtue as the flavor of the heart. They put aside ostentation and return to simplicity, nurture their spirit and vital energy, honor virtue, and pursue learning. They do not trade their real bodies and minds for empty fame, nor mistake hardship for pleasure. They respect and satisfy themselves, remain unmoved by favor or disgrace, and do not waver in the face of praise or blame. Such people are not controlled by external changes. They preserve their nature and gain enduring honor and good fortune. Compared with worldly splendor, as brief as frost and dew, the two are worlds apart.

Those who truly study the Dao should see through worldly glory and status as soon as possible. But “passing through the Pass of Glory and Status” does not mean avoiding wealth and rank. It means being able to live amid them without coveting them. Those who rely on their position and crave splendor while in high office, keep yearning for it after leaving office, or ingratiate themselves with the wealthy when they encounter them have not yet seen through it. Only when one recognizes that glory and status can disrupt one’s nature, confuse the heart, feed arrogance, ruin virtue, and indulge harmful desires—even to the point of damaging the body and endangering life—can one live amid wealth and rank without being harmed by them.

Among the ancients, some attained success in the Dao while living in places of glory and status. They included Bao Qian, the Huainanzi, Dongfang Shuo, Xu Jingyang, Perfected Mei, Immortal Ge, Baopuzi, and the top graduate Luo. Though they lived in the court or the ordinary world, they had already seen through glory and status. Thus, they could uphold the Dao amid danger and use worldly affairs as a means of cultivation. Whether they rose to prominence or withdrew, and whether circumstances favored or opposed them, others might not have understood; but they did not act out of greed for glory and status.

It is not only those who cultivate outside the world who must see through glory and status. People living in the world should also understand them clearly. When successful, one should be loyal to the ruler, care for the people, and give one’s full effort to the work rather than occupy a post without doing one’s duty. When unsuccessful, one should cultivate oneself and nurture virtue rather than sink to the level of the vulgar. Yi Yin assisted King Tang not for the sake of his own glory, but because he wished to use the Dao to guide the people. Confucius traveled among the states, and Mencius advised the feudal lords, not to seek wealth and rank, but in the hope of putting their Dao into practice. Zhou Dunyi, Cheng Hao, Zhang Zai, Zhu Xi, and others likewise did not covet glory and status: they served as officials when it was right to do so and withdrew when it was time to leave. Since ancient times, sages and worthies have valued the Dao and kept glory and status out of their thoughts.

Some foolish people who study the Dao cannot see through glory and status. When they are wealthy and honored, they cannot bear to let go; when they lack wealth and status themselves, they envy others. Some curry favor with the powerful for personal gain, or take pride in visiting the homes of nobles and lords. Coveting glory and status while also trying to cultivate the Dao leaves the mind confused, darting in every direction. Small wonder that they toil all their lives and achieve nothing.

Those who sincerely study the Dao should see through worldly glory and status: when they possess them, they do not cling to them; when they lack them, they do not envy them. They should regard understanding the Great Dao as precious, and realization of the Great Dao as true glory. Then their thoughts can return to the right path, and their future will hold promise. If they mistake false, worldly glory and status for true honor, their attachments will block the openings of the spirit, making it difficult to understand the Dao.

The Challenge of Wealth and Profit

Confucius said, “The gentleman understands what is right; the petty person prizes profit.” The Patriarch said, “Do not treat rare goods as precious.” He also said, “Do not let thoughts of greed disturb your heart.” Lü Zu (Lü Dongbin) said, “Even immortals would laugh scornfully at mountains of gold and silver.” All these words teach people not to covet money and profit, for greed for wealth can obstruct the great work of cultivating the Dao.

Wealth is divided into worldly possessions and the Dharma wealth gained through cultivation. Worldly possessions mean gold, silver, pearls, and jade; Dharma wealth means merit and sincerity. Those who crave worldly possessions prize gold and silver and disregard merit. They scheme in every way to acquire wealth, demanding it openly or stealing it in secret, harming others for their own gain, and always seeking to give less and take more. They wish all the wealth under heaven belonged to them and that they alone enjoyed every worldly advantage. They seek out anything of value and pursue every possible profit, caring neither for their lives nor for their conscience. After earning ten strings of cash, they want a hundred; after gaining a hundred, they want a thousand or ten thousand. Their greed is never satisfied, and they will not turn back even on the brink of death.

They do not understand that when death comes, even someone as rich as Shi Chong, the Western Jin magnate, cannot buy back his life with mountains of possessions or escape the cycle of birth and death. In the end, only the consequences of their sins follow them; not a single coin can they take along. By the time they regret it, it is too late.

Some foolish people know only how to accumulate wealth. They begrudge themselves food and clothing, and refuse to aid the orphaned and widowed or help those in hardship. They live as misers and hoarders. Even as they draw their final breath, they still instruct their children and grandchildren on how to make and amass money, and worry about who owes them money and where they have stored it. Alas, when a person breathes their last, everything is empty. Even their own body no longer belongs to them—how much less their wealth! Is this not foolish?

Those who accumulate Dharma wealth prize merit and look lightly on gold and silver. They are detached from external things and do not let their many desires sway them. They build merit and perform good deeds, preferring to endure hardship themselves so they can help others. They regard life as a treasure, benevolence and righteousness as gold and jade, cherishing their original Qi (vital energy) and nurturing their spirit as wealth, honesty and preservation of the truth as abundance, and stillness and Wuwei (non-action) as their family estate. As for the gold, silver, and treasures of this world, they regard them as no more than stones and dirt. They seek the true treasures bestowed from before birth; these worldly, illusory riches are not worth clinging to.

Anyone who studies the Dao and still harbors even a trace of greed for wealth and profit will obstruct the Great Dao. Cultivators live in the world and cannot avoid all use of worldly possessions, but when they encounter a profit, they should first consider what is right, accept what comes naturally, and avoid grasping for extra gain. Even when money comes to them of its own accord, they should find out where it came from: if it is acquired righteously, they may accept it; if it is improper, they should give it up. To “take righteousness as profit” means to accept possessions outwardly without becoming attached to them inwardly. Accepting wealth in itself, then, need not hinder cultivation.

In the past, Confucius traveled among the states, and Mencius visited the courts of the feudal lords. They accepted travel expenses and gifts from rulers; these came to them naturally and were not something they had deliberately sought. Patriarch Changchun, the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) master Qiu Chuji, at first did not dare take even a grain of rice or a single coin without cause. He cultivated through hardship and endured trials others could not bear. Later, after hardship gave way to success, he was honored by the emperors of the Song, Jin, and Yuan dynasties and accepted their gifts. But he used what he received to pray for rain and relieve drought, avert disasters and protect the state, build temples, and strengthen the religious community. He made good use of worldly possessions because he had first accumulated Dharma wealth, then used worldly resources to accomplish good works.

Some foolish people in the world who study the Dao do not hurry to accumulate Dharma wealth; instead, they care only for worldly possessions. They deceive believers from all directions to get food and clothing, borrow and incur debts, yet do no good deeds and build no merit. One day they will have to repay what they owe. They may not even be reborn as human beings, much less become immortals.

Some people who commit evil go from place to place soliciting alms and deceiving others, taking money from sincere believers without doing a single good deed. They gamble and drink heavily, and quarrel over a few coins, sometimes even coming to blows. Others are false students of the Dao: they speak of morality while harboring thoughts of theft, and put on the airs of immortals. As soon as money appears, their true nature emerges. They fight over who gets how much, without the slightest shame. I once said that some people value their lives less than two hundred coins. That was no exaggeration.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through this challenge of wealth and profit at once. Do not forget what is right when profit appears, or allow greed to arise. Know that mountains of gold and silver cannot buy back your life. The more wealth you have, the more burdens you carry; the more profit you seek, the more trouble you invite. Better to die holding fast to the Great Dao than to die in violation of it; in that way, something will have been gained. If the desire for profit is strong and the desire to seek the Dao is weak, right thoughts cannot overcome wrong ones, and it will be difficult to understand the Great Dao.

The sage said, “When a gentleman finds himself in hardship, he can still hold fast to the right way; when a petty person falls into hardship, he will do whatever he pleases.” The Doctrine of the Mean says that when you are poor and low in status, you should act in accordance with that situation. Mencius says that poverty and low status cannot make a person abandon their principles. Master Ziyang, the Daoist Neidan practitioner Zhang Boduan, said, “The pearl is already hidden in the poor man’s clothes, whole and shining. If you do not know to seek within yourself, you will only keep counting other people’s treasures.” All these sayings teach that even in hardship, one must hold fast to the right way and not let poverty change one’s resolve.

The path of cultivating the Dao runs counter to worldly pursuits. It calls for giving up wealth and status in favor of simplicity, leaving luxury behind and being content with a quiet life. A cultivator must first temper the will, strain the body, endure hunger, and accept a life of deprivation, refining away the false and preserving the true through hardship. Even in the face of weapons and warfare, flood or fire, illness, and calamity, one should not waver—how much less should poverty shake one? If you cannot bear poverty, grow distressed when hungry or cold, and become confused when difficulties arise, then hunger and thirst have harmed your resolve.

Those who focus only on looking after the body and pursuing material comforts are nurturing what is small at the expense of what is great: they embrace the false and abandon the true, moving ever farther from the Dao, with no knowing when they will reach its realm. Understand that the great matter of nature and life is far more important than the small matter of food and clothing. If you prize food and clothing but slight nature and life, how can you cultivate them? Providing for food and clothing can sustain only the flesh; cultivating nature and life can preserve one’s original, innate nature. If that innate nature is lost, then even a strong body is merely human in appearance and beastlike within: alive as if dead. How could such a person be devoted to cultivating the Dao?

In the past, Perfected Changchun cultivated at Longmen for seven years and at Panxi for six, often going hungry, yet never changing his resolve until he died. Perfected Taigu sat in meditation and cultivated at Zhaozhou Bridge, avoiding neither hunger nor cold and giving no thought to life or death. Perfected Danyang gave up a great fortune, moved into a crude thatched hut, left behind a life of comfort, and lived in poverty in mountain caves. These Perfected Ones endured hardships others could not endure and bore difficulties others could not bear. It was through poverty that they cultivated the Great Dao.

Some confused people who study the Dao in this world cannot endure hardship, hunger, or cold. When they encounter even a little difficulty or have to live simply, they create troubles for themselves, complain against Heaven and other people, and let distracting thoughts multiply. They are dissatisfied with their lot and scheme to get ahead. If they cannot bear poverty, how will they stand firm when faced with greater dangers? Therefore, those who study the Dao must first learn to endure poverty. If even a trace of fear or aversion remains in the heart, poverty will become a towering mountain blocking the way and a great demon obstructing cultivation, leaving them unable to take a single step.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the trial of poverty as soon as they can: keep your resolve firm, quiet your thoughts, and accept life as it comes. Do so when hungry and when cold; even if you freeze or starve to death, do not change your resolve. Never let the small matter of poverty make you forget the great matter of cultivating nature and life. If you devote yourself wholeheartedly to putting this into practice and make cultivating the Dao your responsibility, then those who have not yet heard the Dao will eventually hear it, and those who have heard it will eventually attain it. The Patriarchs will make arrangements unseen and will not let those who truly cultivate the Dao be harmed by hunger or cold.

Conversely, if you have plenty of food and clothing and live in comfort, yet cannot bear the slightest hardship or endure a simple life, and still imagine that you can understand the Great Dao, you will find it very difficult.

The “barrier of the physical body” refers to whether a practitioner of the Dao can see through attachment to the flesh.

Laozi said, “The reason I suffer great troubles is that I have this body. If I had no body, what troubles could I have?” He also said, “By putting yourself last, you can come to the fore; by placing yourself beyond concern, you can preserve yourself.” The Diamond Sutra says that the Tathagata cannot be known through bodily form. The Elder of Untroubled Ease said that the Dharma body of the Buddhas—the true nature beyond the limits of form—has no form of its own, and appears only by means of dignified and beautiful forms. Chan Master Linji said that the true Buddha has no fixed shape, true nature has no substance, and the true Dharma has no outward form. Zhuangzi lamented: People believe that by nurturing the body they can preserve life, but if nurturing the body is not enough to preserve life, what can they do? An ancient immortal said, “Do not cling to this body as the Dao; beyond this body is the true body.” Since ancient times, immortals and Buddhas who attained the Dao have not valued the flesh. They cultivated the Dharma body instead.

People take the flesh to be a true treasure, so they cherish and cling to it, intent on making their lives prosperous and long. They seek status and honor to glorify the body, accumulate wealth to nourish it, eat meat and drink wine to make it robust, and adorn it with fine clothes and rich food. Day and night they scheme and exhaust themselves, dissipating their spirit, until they seem to stand on the brink of death. Outwardly, they appear to care for life; in truth, they harm it.

In fact, the flesh is a form temporarily bestowed by Heaven and Earth, brought together provisionally from the Four Great Elements: earth, water, fire, and wind. When Yang energy is spent and Yin energy prevails alone, the hun and po souls disperse, leaving nothing but a mass of foul-smelling flesh and blood, which in the end returns to dust. If so, where is the true “I,” and where is real life? Since the flesh does not last, it is only a temporary illusion. To cherish it single-mindedly is simply to add another layer of attachment to what is false.

Some misguided people who study the Dao want to cultivate the true but never investigate what is true; they want to attain the Dao but never discern what the Dao is. Ignorant of the true Dao, they blindly take the flesh to be real. Afraid that their bodies might suffer, grow tired, go hungry, or feel cold, they care for themselves with warm clothes and fine food, crave comfort, and refuse to exert themselves to do good. Yet they are willing to spend their spirit and strength on things that do nothing for life, or even harm it. This is mistaking the false for the true and taking illusion for reality.

In truth, nothing inside or outside the flesh can truly benefit life; instead, harm may arise at every turn. The eyes delight in beautiful sights, the ears grow angry at unpleasant words, the nose becomes enamored of fragrant scents, the tongue hankers after delicious flavors, thoughts in the mind give rise to desire, and contact between the body and external things brings fear. The six outer gates—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, through which perception and thought enter—and the six inner consciousnesses—the acts of knowing that arise through those gates—stir one another and consume a person’s original vitality. At root, all these troubles arise from attachment to the flesh. Without a body, where would the harms of the six gates and six consciousnesses come from?

Everything in Heaven and Earth that has form will perish. If one cherishes only the illusory flesh and does not seek the truth of nature and life, then when one’s allotted lifespan ends, who am I, and whose is this body? By then, the body and the “I” will have nothing to do with each other. A sincere student of the Dao should therefore pass through the “barrier of the physical body” as soon as possible, and not let the flesh obscure the way. Regard the seven apertures as caves, the limbs as knots in wood, and the skin and flesh as boils; stop treating the body as the entirety of the self. Instead, seek the formless, imageless true body: the original nature that is not confined by outward form. Only by letting go of false attachments can one seek what is real; only by recognizing what is false can one see what is true. The crooked and the upright cannot stand together, and good and evil do not follow the same path. If you know the flesh is false yet cannot free yourself from attachment to it, you will not find your true nature, let alone cultivate the true. If you remain enamored of the flesh and fail to awaken, understanding the Great Dao will be difficult.

The Yijing says, “A noble person should receive others with humility.” It also says, “Though the humble person holds a low position, humility makes them bright and honored; no one can surpass them.” The Daodejing likewise says, “Because one does not display oneself, one can become evident; because one does not insist on being right, one can be recognized; because one does not boast, one can accomplish great deeds; because one does not exalt oneself, one can endure.” All these words teach people to lower themselves and respect others, rather than harboring arrogance and insisting that they are right.

Those who study the Dao should first be openhearted and humble, willing to regard themselves as lower and lesser, without complacency or a sense of being complete. They should see their own shortcomings rather than dwell on their strengths; study diligently and never feel ashamed to ask someone of lower status or lesser learning for guidance; respect their teachers and elders, and treat fellow practitioners kindly, without the slightest arrogance or impatience. In this way, they are more likely to move an enlightened teacher to come and guide them, and to receive encouragement from good companions.

True enlightened teachers and good companions do not usually reveal their abilities lightly. If someone devoted to the Dao does not rely on talent or boast of their abilities, and even appears plainspoken and foolish, a discerning person will take notice in private and will not readily abandon them. Only after observing and testing them over a long period, and confirming that they have the potential to be developed, will the teacher support and guide them. Those who are self-confident and convinced of their own correctness, even if exceptionally clever and learned, often go unnoticed.

Some foolish students of the Dao want to become immortals as soon as they begin. The moment they meet an accomplished person, they rush to demand secret instructions. They give no thought to what the Great Dao truly is and do not understand what cultivation entails, yet treat it lightly, imagining they can stumble upon a treasure without making any effort. Some learn a few techniques from side paths and then imagine they possess the Dao. Arrogant and conceited, they compare themselves to sages and show off wherever they go. Even when they meet someone who understands, they refuse to ask respectfully and humbly, and so miss their opportunity right before their eyes.

Others have read a few Confucian books, grasped a few passages, and memorized some alchemical scriptures and Daoist texts. They then cling to the words and outward appearances, imagine they have fully awakened to the Dao, talk boastfully, look down on everyone, and refuse to seek guidance from those with deeper understanding. They rush into cultivation and act recklessly. This not only brings no benefit but may cause them harm. When a serious illness overtakes them, they realize they have gone wrong, but by then it is difficult to undo the damage, and regret comes too late.

There are also literary men who know nothing about cultivating the Dao but rely on their learning to speculate and make pronouncements, saying things that sound plausible yet are false. If they happen to meet a Buddhist monk or a Daoist priest, they quiz them with alchemical scriptures; if the other person does not answer, they conclude that he has no knowledge of the Dao. Even when they meet a truly enlightened teacher, they show no sincere respect. Instead, they put on airs and hold forth without restraint. How can people who are negligent and disrespectful, and who deceive themselves, hear of the Dao or approach its realm?

The Great Dao can wield Yin-Yang, seize the workings of creation, transcend life and death, and escape the cycle of rebirth. It is a principle cherished by Heaven and Earth and kept secret by spirits and deities. Unless someone has deep De (Virtue) and is truly sincere, how could they speak of it casually, or be content simply to hear a little about it? Besides, the secret teachings of the Great Dao are not found in written words alone. Alchemical scriptures and Daoist texts are materials through which ancestral masters of past generations explained the principles and showed later students the way. They help broaden one’s understanding, but in the end one must seek a teacher’s confirmation. They do not teach people to mistake the books themselves for the Dao.

Those who do not understand written texts often hear only a little and cannot distinguish right from wrong, leading the blind while blind themselves. Those who understand a little of the words, meanwhile, often cling to their own views and refuse to humble themselves; even when they are wrong, they persist to the end. These failings all stem from arrogance and complacency. The arrogant and complacent have no sincere desire to seek the Dao. If they do not truly wish to study it, who would sincerely show them the way? Would this not be a waste of effort and a delay in an important matter?

I urge those who truly wish to study the Dao to break through the “barrier of pride” at once: seek out enlightened teachers and good companions, and ask for guidance with sincerity and respect. Cast off, one by one, the habits of self-righteousness, self-praise, and self-exaltation. Even if a trace of pride remains in your heart, strive to let it go and become openhearted and humble. Those who have not yet heard the Dao will then be able to hear it; those who have already heard it will then be able to realize it. For only by thinking little of oneself can one accomplish something great; only by occupying a humble place can one reach a height; only by yielding can one truly extend oneself; and only with an open heart can one be filled. Otherwise, when pride fills the heart and one sees no one else, hoping to understand the Great Dao will be difficult indeed.

The Book of Changes says that a noble person should discuss and study together with friends. The Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra says that before crossing over oneself, one should first help others cross over. The Diamond Sutra says that if someone upholds a scripture—even if only four lines of verse—and explains it to others, the merit gained surpasses that of someone who accumulates merit only for themselves. The Mencius says to share what is good with others, set aside one’s own prejudices and adopt the strengths of others, and take pleasure in learning from their good conduct. All these teachings urge people to treat others well and not harbor jealousy or selfishness.

Cultivating the Dao means cultivating one’s nature and life. In Daoist usage, “nature and life” refers to the innate nature of the mind and the root of life that everyone possesses. This nature does not increase or diminish according to one’s status, whether one is a sage or an ordinary person. Rich or poor, worthy or foolish, high or low in station, everyone has nature and life. The Great Dao is therefore shared by all: everyone can understand it and cultivate themselves to become an immortal or a Buddha. What matters is whether one has firm faith and aspiration, and whether one undertakes the practice and realizes it firsthand.

Yet the methods of cultivation and realization require guidance from an enlightened teacher and help from good companions. An enlightened teacher helps people grasp the essentials of practice, while good companions broaden their understanding. One should sincerely seek an enlightened teacher and show respect to good companions, for a good companion can serve as half a teacher: what they know can make up for one’s ignorance, and what they do well can make up for one’s shortcomings. Such help can be considerable and should not be dismissed. That is why the ancestral masters taught people to seek teachers and visit friends.

Those who study the Dao under the same teacher share their interests and spend their days together; they should respect and care for one another. They should encourage one another in good conduct, offer counsel when someone errs, support one another in hardship, and care for one another when sick. Like companions seeking wealth together or joining their strength to keep a boat afloat, they can explain what another does not understand, and seek guidance from others in what they themselves do not understand. Mutual support doubles what they gain. How much more, then, should those who study the Dao together in the same hall draw close and live in harmony? They are friends who support one another in cultivating nature and life, and who are joined by the bonds of the Dao and moral duty. When another makes a gain, one should rejoice as if it were one’s own; when another suffers a loss, one should care as if one had suffered it oneself. This is the proper spirit among fellow students of the Dao.

The Book of Songs says: “When others have ability, it is as if I had ability myself; when others are worthy and excellent, I love them in my heart, almost as if I had praised them with my own lips.” Yet some foolish students of the Dao lack aspiration. When friends encourage them, they refuse to draw near; when friends point out their faults, they become angry and resentful. They will not study the principles of the Dao, and make no progress over time. When they see others practicing diligently, understanding and gaining insight, and earning the respect of their teacher, they secretly grow jealous. They deliberately stir up trouble and sabotage others’ good efforts. Instead of examining their own lack of ability, they resent the strengths of others.

Studying the Dao is meant to correct one’s faults and turn toward goodness: if one is unkind, study should lead one to become kind; if one has made a mistake, study should help one correct it. But now, when they see another’s good conduct, they do not think to learn from it. Instead, jealousy draws them into faults they did not previously have, and their intentions grow increasingly distorted. The more they study, the further they fall behind, until they are trapped in a foolishness that is difficult to remedy.

There are also people who have no sense of what is good: when they hear the Dao discussed, they mock it to people’s faces; when they see someone practicing, they slander them behind their back. If they do not believe in the Dao, why enter its gates? Even if they do enter, they take no joy in it. They wear the ancestral masters’ caps and robes, yet defy their teachings and depart from their example. They neither understand their own faults nor investigate cause and effect. How can they be called Daoists?

In the past, the Bodhisattva Kṣitigarbha vowed to attain Buddhahood only after all beings had done so. Lü Zu, too, vowed to save everyone in the world before ascending to the heavens. The Seven Perfected of Quanzhen all took the Emperor Chongyang as their teacher. After the Emperor Chongyang attained the Dao, Qiu, Liu, Tan, Wang, Hao, and Sun—the other six—then studied under Master Ma. With Master Ma’s support, they completed the great work of cultivation. These examples all show that students of the Dao must first have a compassionate heart that is impartial, selfless, and eager to help others. Helping others also enables oneself to make progress.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the “jealousy barrier” without delay. Keep a broad heart and harbor no selfish attachment. Devote yourself to tempering your own character, respect the strengths of others, and acknowledge your own shortcomings without shame. Work steadily and press forward sincerely. Cultivation proceeds step by step; complete one thing at a time. Hold the heart of a sage and act as sages do, and in time you will accomplish the work of a sage. Otherwise, a heart full of jealousy will only grow worse through study. Such a person will struggle even to be good, so how could they hope to become a sage and understand the Great Dao?

The Pass of Impatience

The Book of Changes says, “The noble person restrains anger and curbs desire.” The Scripture of the Hidden Talisman says, “Fire arises from within wood; once disaster breaks out, it is often hard to control.” Zengzi said that as soon as anger arises in the heart, one can no longer remain upright. Mencius said to hold fast to one’s will and not let one’s temper become impulsive. The Song of Understanding the Dao says, “Before cultivating the Elixir of Return, first cultivate the heart and nature.” All these teachings mean that a hot temper and an impatient disposition hinder the cultivation of the Dao and must be overcome through careful effort.

A true student of the Dao should be as quiet in conduct as an unmarried young woman and nurture Qi as gently as an infant. Take softness and weakness as the first principle, and calmness as the foundation. Respond to the world by adapting to circumstances, and make treating others generously and yielding to them important rules of conduct. Tradition says that Shakyamuni practiced forbearance through five hundred kalpas before attaining Buddhahood. When people called the Supreme Lord Lao a cow, he agreed that he was a cow; when they called him a horse, he agreed that he was a horse. In time, he became the Ancestor of the Dao. The Perfected Lord Changchun once tasted another person’s excrement and thereby attained the Great Dao. The Realized Person Sanfeng (Zhang Sanfeng) endured insults from others and thereby accomplished great things. With their hearts wholly devoted to the Dao, they regarded cultivation of nature and life as paramount. They therefore set aside harsh words, harmful deeds, and every kind of distressing experience that came from outside, refusing to take them to heart.

Some confused people in the world who claim to study the Dao never consider why they left home, nor understand what the Daoist cap and robe signify. They simply drift through life in a daze. They enjoy being flattered and praised, and want others to go along with them, yet they refuse to accommodate anyone else. At the slightest disagreement, they lose their temper. Anger arises this way, and conflict follows. They disregard the dangers of water, fire, and weapons, and fear neither falling into a pit or well, tumbling from a cliff, nor plunging into a river. They even show off and fight to win, leaving one another injured or dead.

When a violent temper flares, it also damages the cultivator’s inner spirit: the Original Spirit, the source of a person’s spirit, seems to leave the body; inner fire blazes, fluids dry up, and upright Qi is depleted. The Three Treasures—Jing, Qi, and Shen—are harmed, and the Five Virtues may be lost. The inner true nature is injured, outward conduct deteriorates, the heart and nature fall into confusion, and both nature and life are shaken. Before harming anyone else, one has already harmed oneself. How great, then, is the harm caused by a violent temper!

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the “Pass of Impatience” at once. Be someone who, even when angry, seems to feel no anger; pretend to be a foolish person without thoughts or concerns. Appear dull and slow, like a deaf person or a mute. Whether others insult, strike, despise, or slander you, remain calm: let your heart be like cold ashes, your nature like frozen ice, and leave not a spark of anger within. Only then have you truly passed beyond the Pass of Impatience. If even a trace of anger remains hidden in the heart, its root is still there, however well concealed. When faced with distressing circumstances or injustice, you may eventually erupt in anger.

The Dao De Jing says, “The highest good is like water. Water benefits all things and does not contend; it dwells in places that people disdain, and so is close to the Dao.” Only by placing yourself beneath others can you truly stand above them; only by treating others with softness can you become truly strong. If you do not rid yourself of impatience, think only of yourself and disregard others, show off your strength without understanding softness, and act wilfully as your impulses dictate, then it will be difficult to understand the Great Dao.

The Book of Changes says that if people are quick-tempered and do not know how to restrain themselves, care only for their own interests and not for others, force their way instead of acting gently, and follow their impulses and whims, then it will be very difficult for them to understand the Great Dao.

The Book of Changes says, “Restrain your speech, and your words will be orderly.” It also says, “Refine your words in order to establish sincerity; only then can you bring your affairs to a secure and successful conclusion.” Confucius said, “A noble person speaks carefully and slowly, but acts swiftly.” Laozi said, “Close the apertures of the senses and shut the gates of desire, and you can avoid exhausting your spirit throughout your life.” All these teachings urge people to speak with care and not to open their mouths carelessly.

The mouth is the gateway through which words pass, and the source from which disputes arise. It is bound up with a person’s conduct and De (virtue). A noble person and a petty person, an upright person and a crooked one, can also be distinguished by the way they speak. Words often bring calamity or good fortune, and can make or ruin what one sets out to do. Therefore, a noble person thinks carefully before speaking: say what should be said, and leave unsaid what should not. One may speak words that benefit society and people’s hearts, urging others to correct their faults, pursue goodness, and turn away from wrongdoing; one may also ease others’ troubles and conceal their faults while bringing their good qualities to light. One should never speak recklessly, lightly, or falsely.

This does not mean that people should keep silent. Rather, once spoken, words are hard to take back, and they may bring calamity or good fortune in their wake. Speech must therefore be guarded. Careless words either harm others or bring blame upon oneself. The harm caused by the tongue is sharp as a blade and deadly as poisoned wine; it is no small matter.

Some foolish people who study the Dao do not understand these dangers. They treat idle talk as trivial, taking advantage of others as a skill and glibness as a source of pride. Some expose others’ faults and boast of themselves; some lie and deceive or stir up disputes. Some break their word; some talk without acting; some provoke trouble with wild claims; some speak grandly but accomplish nothing. Others curse in broad daylight, use honeyed words, sow discord, and spread slander; some even ruin affairs and hurt people with their speech. Such words do harm and no good. What value can there be in speaking them? Better to say nothing.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “gate of the mouth” as soon as possible—that is, to learn to restrain their speech. Do not speak carelessly or let the tongue move without thought. Do not say what is contrary to propriety; let all you say accord with propriety. Refine your words in order to establish sincerity. Speak carefully, and act with care as well. Do not open your mouth lightly; when you do speak, get to the point.

Moreover, speech is the voice of the heart, and the tongue is the heart’s first sprout. If a person’s words and conduct are improper, it shows that the heart is not upright. When the heart is not upright, its foundation has already been corrupted: a person’s nature grows clouded, life is unsettled, and the spirit is secretly harmed. To imagine that one can understand the Great Dao and cultivate it under such conditions is very difficult.

The Barrier of Resentment

The Heart Sutra (a Mahayana Buddhist scripture) says, “There is no ignorance, and no cessation of ignorance.” The Great Master Chuan said, “Sweeping away the mind’s distracting thoughts is the foundation for cultivating a pure mind. Whether cultivating merit or wisdom, one should first eliminate greed and anger.” Chan Master Baizhang said that when the mind has no attachments and seeks nothing, disturbances in the outside world do not arise, and distinctions between self and others disappear. This is like fitting Mount Sumeru, the immense mountain of Buddhist teaching, inside a mustard seed. Someone who gives rise to neither greed nor anger is like someone who can take in the waters of the four seas. Such a person is not disturbed by words of joy or anger and remains clear and composed in every circumstance, neither resentful nor elated, with a completely pure mind. They surpass those who merely discuss principles or strive diligently in ascetic practice.

The Song of Knocking on the Yao (a Daoist verse on cultivation) says, “If anger is not cast off and one’s disposition does not change, one will fall into the cycle of birth and death.” These words all show that resentment obstructs the cultivation of the Dao and must be decisively removed. Resentment is as fierce and harmful as a venomous snake or scorpion. If it is suppressed in the heart, in time it will bring disaster. It harms life and damages body and mind; it harms others as well as oneself, and its effects are difficult to undo.

Those who study the Dao should have hearts as vast as the sky, be as generous as the earth that bears all things, and be as accepting as the sea that gathers all waters. The sky covers and nourishes all things. It allows the sun and moon to travel, the stars to turn, and clouds and mist to obscure them; it also makes room for others to deceive, respect, thank, or resent us. It does not become angry over the world’s many forms of good and evil, right and wrong, cruelty and folly. The earth bears all things: it can support the weight of mountains and endure the erosion of rivers; it tolerates trees, grass, and stones pressing upon it, and does not take offense when birds and beasts tread on it. It accepts plowing and digging as they come, and harbors no resentment even when mistreated or damaged. The sea gathers the waters without pause, day and night, and does not overflow from their abundance, even over thousands of years. Clear, muddy, sweet, and bitter waters all flow into it, and it clings to no distinctions among them. Fish, shrimp, crabs, turtles, and dragons swim within it, and it can contain even what is filthy and impure.

If those who study the Dao can possess the sky’s breadth of heart, the earth’s generosity, and the sea’s openness, they can become cultivators who live in peace and freedom from trouble, nurture their lives, and draw near to the Great Dao. Some people in the world who study the Dao do not understand that resentment is especially destructive. They become angry when circumstances go against them, plans fail, or things go missing; when they envy another’s ability, find someone’s temperament disagreeable, or lack food and clothing. They also hold grudges when someone offends them, when they remember another’s minor mistake, when a request for help is refused, or when others do not do as they wish. Such resentment usually arises from their own delusion and their failure to devote themselves wholeheartedly to studying the Dao. Those who sincerely study the Dao should not behave this way.

Confucius urged people to hold themselves to strict standards and treat others generously; Yan Hui did not take offense when others wronged him. It was because they harbored little resentment that they became sages. People in the world often harbor resentment, and so remain ordinary beings. The difference between sages and ordinary people lies in whether resentment is present.

Even when resentment is not shown outwardly, the slightest trace of grievance left deep in the heart can damage one’s true nature. Therefore, the heart, words, and actions should all be clear and unsullied, white as snow and bright as a mirror. When dealing with others and responding to events, meet them with a mind free of attachment. Keep the spirit unharmed and the disposition calm; only then can one hope to experience the Great Dao.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the barrier of resentment at once and become Daoists who are free of self-centered thought. Face matters of great or little importance, and positions high or low, with equanimity. Whatever arises, handle it; once you have responded, do not keep it in your heart. When it has passed, do not dwell on it. How, then, could resentment obstruct you? If you are always getting angry and holding grudges, dark and malicious thoughts will gather in your heart and obscure your true nature. In that state, it will be difficult to understand the Great Dao.

The “barrier between self and others” is an attachment that must be overcome in cultivating the Dao: the tendency to divide oneself from others and to believe that one’s own interests matter more. Citing the Book of Changes, the Diamond Sutra, and the Confucian teaching of loyalty and reciprocity, the text says that cultivation requires letting go of the notions of “self” and “others” and treating people with fairness and generosity.

When people become excessively attached to themselves, their words and actions tend to serve their own interests at others’ expense, sometimes even harming others for personal gain. At birth, people may differ in wisdom and folly, status and rank, yet all have life and a body. In this sense, there is no absolute divide between others and oneself. To see others as connected to oneself and all things as one is to share the impartial heart of Heaven and Earth and the sages’ care for all living beings. It is also a way for those who cultivate the Dao to forget the boundary between self and others.

The text criticizes those who care only about their own gains and losses: they compete to come out on top, look for an advantage at every turn, and even draw lines between themselves and their friends, relatives, and companions, hoping that every benefit will fall to them. After death, neither possessions nor the body can be kept. Why, then, spend one’s life scheming and creating resentment?

Those who truly cultivate the Dao should let go of distinctions between self and others, clinging to neither side as they did when newly born, and no longer calculating gains and losses, as they will after death. They should see all things as one and the world as a single family. When others are happy, they should feel that happiness as their own; when others are sorrowful, they should share in that sorrow. They should put themselves in others’ shoes when others gain or lose. If they have resources to spare, they should help those in hardship; even without material means, they can find suitable ways to help. They should benefit others wherever they can and accumulate good De (Virtue/Power). When faced with unreasonable offense or humiliation, they should not take it to heart; where they can forgive, they should forgive, and where they should yield, they should yield. This is what it means to study the Dao sincerely. If they remain attached to the distinction between self and others and allow private desires to accumulate, their inner awareness will be clouded, making it difficult to understand the Great Dao.

When one should be generous toward others, one should be generous; when one should yield, one should yield. This is how a person who cultivates the Dao speaks and acts, and it shows a sincere commitment to the Way. Otherwise, one remains caught in distinctions between “self” and “others,” competing with one another as private desires accumulate and cloud the heart-mind. In that state, it is difficult to understand the Great Dao.

The Trial of Cold and Heat

The Patriarch said, “By putting yourself beyond concern, you can preserve yourself.” The Perfected One of Wenshi said, “In winter, I face the wind and feel no cold; in summer, I sit near a fire and feel no heat.” Lü Dongbin said, “Those who seek life cannot attain it. Better to learn to take life and death lightly before death comes.” These sayings all mean that a person cultivating the Dao should devote themself wholeheartedly to the Way, without being held back by the body or turning away because of cold or heat.

First, a cultivator must see through the body as a temporary form and not place too much importance on its comfort. If one does not fear even death, why be especially concerned about cold and heat? When Shen Guang sought the Dharma at Shaolin Temple, snow piled above his knees and he did not notice. At the ancient Zhaozhou Bridge, someone sat in the cold without moving and remained unaware even as the river rose nearly high enough to cover him. Shakyamuni endured every hardship while cultivating the Dao in the Snowy Mountains; Patriarch Changchun likewise endured hunger and cold as he tempered his nature at Panxi. In more recent times, Perfected Liang of Baishi Town wore ragged clothes and had a face covered in grime, standing for years without falling or resting. Zhang the Sleeping Immortal of Xining Prefecture lay naked by a spring year after year, for more than forty years. Immortal Suoluo tempered himself on a riverbank; Immortal Dogs’ Hide slept on an icy shore; and Master Xianliu endured hardship beneath the yellow sand. None of them retreated because of cold or heat. By letting go of their attachment to the body, they ultimately attained the Dharma Body—the transcendent state of life sought by cultivators, beyond the physical body.

People who muddle through their study of the Dao do not understand that fragrance often emerges from stench, or that sweetness often comes from bitterness. They mistake the body for something real and unchanging, cherishing it at every turn and seeking only comfort and care. When they are cold, they look for warmth; when they are hot, they long for a cool place. Fear of cold and heat obstructs their resolve to follow the Dao.

The most important task in a person’s life is to cultivate nature and life. How could one let minor concerns about cold and heat delay this great undertaking? Those who truly cultivate nature and life should face even the threshold of life and death and the most difficult circumstances with composure. Why worry about cold, heat, and the changing seasons? Still, before one has completed cultivation of the Dao, one must not damage the body. Wear coarse clothing that protects you, and live in keeping with your circumstances; there is no need to dwell constantly on cold or heat. Bear some cold when it is cold and some heat when it is hot, settling yourself according to the changing seasons.

Living in harmony with the seasons does not mean forcing yourself to endure cold when there is no need, or forcing yourself to endure heat when there is no need. To insist on doing so is contrived and stubborn, with no benefit beyond needless suffering.

In short, fear of cold and heat may seem like a small matter, but it can hinder cultivation of the Dao. Even a slight attachment to cold or heat in the heart can give rise to many misguided thoughts and fantasies: when cold, one devises every means to escape it; when hot, every means to avoid it. Taking the illusory body as something real can cause one to miss what truly matters.

So those who sincerely study the Dao should pass through the “trial of cold and heat” as early as possible, making do wherever they are and finding a place to settle within themselves. A little cold is acceptable, and a little heat is acceptable, so long as one does not freeze or overheat to death. Above all, do not let cold or heat give rise to distress. If one becomes preoccupied with or afraid of cold and heat, the mind will be difficult to set straight; worry also makes it difficult to set straight. When the mind cannot be set straight, it is hard to understand the Great Dao.

The Book of Changes says, “One who cannot maintain virtue over time may invite disgrace.” It also says, “The workings of Heaven and Earth endure without cease.” Confucius said, “A noble person follows the right path, but if I gave up halfway, I could not live with myself.” The Imperial Lord Chongyang, Wang Chongyang, founder of the Quanzhen tradition, said, “Fragrance arises from foulness, and sweetness comes from bitterness.” All these sayings warn those who cultivate the Dao to advance with courage and diligence, and not to grow idle, slack, or fond of ease.

Cultivating nature and life—that is, the cultivation of the heart-mind and life in Daoism—is the most important and also the most difficult undertaking in life. It requires diligence, hardship, and firm resolve. The longer one persists, the harder one must strive. Only by seeing the work through from beginning to end can one make progress. Enduring and consequential undertakings can be accomplished only through sustained effort.

Those who cultivate the Dao can build bridges and repair roads to benefit others; give out medicine and tea, and aid those in urgent need; build temples and monasteries, and encourage people to do good; care for the elderly and show compassion for the poor and weak, thereby accumulating De; and rescue people in danger and help them escape hardship. They can also devote themselves to the Daoist community and take on demanding tasks; work inwardly and let go of worldly concerns; study day and night to understand the principles; seek guidance far and wide in their quest for an enlightened master; and grow more resolute when faced with disaster and hardship. When they see a good deed, they do it; when they discover wrongdoing, they correct it promptly. They encourage themselves at every moment and apply themselves constantly, cherishing every bit of time and letting none go to waste. In this way, they naturally rise from low to high and progress from the shallow to the profound. Their cultivation gradually comes to surpass that of ordinary people, and in the end they win the recognition of the wise.

Some foolish people who study the Dao neither perform meritorious deeds nor cultivate De. They seek only comfort and pleasure, and shrink from hardship. Whenever a task calls for effort, they avoid it; whenever an opportunity arises to do good and accumulate merit, they draw back. They spend their days sitting idle with full stomachs, unwilling to apply themselves, drifting through life and doing things superficially. When they meet an enlightened master, they delude themselves into thinking that hearing a word or two will bring complete realization of the Dao. They put on a sincere appearance while harboring other intentions. They will neither investigate the principles carefully nor endure the trials of cultivation. After studying for just a few days, if they have not obtained a secret teaching, they decide they are not destined for the path and walk away. Some, burdened by grave wrongs, blame their lack of resolve on no one but themselves—or so they should. Instead, they accuse their master of being stingy, hold on to their resentment, and refuse to let it go for the rest of their lives.

Such people have neither enduring resolve nor genuine sincerity in learning the Dao. They are not only unlikely to ascend to Heaven, but may instead fall into hell. I urge those who sincerely wish to learn the Dao to overcome the obstacle of laziness without delay: accumulate hidden De through good deeds done without seeking recognition, and perform good works and merit to the best of your ability. Help others outwardly and cultivate your nature inwardly. Apply yourself morning and night, placing the cultivation of nature and life first, and keep watch over your body and mind at all times. Advance step by step, moving forward in every circumstance, and do not change course until life’s end. Persist for long enough, and the day will come when you stand out and attain your heart’s desire.

Otherwise, if you shrink back, idle away your days, and waste the years, unwilling to endure even the effort required for small tasks or the work needed to accomplish something great, how could you complete the rare and momentous undertaking of becoming an immortal or a Buddha? If you presume to understand the Great Dao, transcend the human and heavenly realms, and escape the sea of suffering, it will be all the more difficult.

The Pass of Talent and Intelligence

The Book of Changes says, “The diligent and humble noble person will ultimately meet with a good outcome; this is auspicious.” Confucius said, “Even if someone has outstanding talents like the Duke of Zhou, if he is arrogant and miserly, there is little else worth praising in him.” Laozi said, “What is most complete seems to have flaws, yet its function is never exhausted; what is most full seems empty, yet its function is never depleted. What is most upright seems crooked, what is most skillful seems clumsy, and what is most eloquent seems slow-witted.” These sayings all mean that one truly fulfills one’s talents and preserves one’s wisdom by having ability without showing it off, and wisdom without abusing it.

What is “talent”? It means intelligence and skill. What is “intelligence”? It means planning and adapting. People value talent and intelligence because fame, rank, and wealth often depend on them, and they also tend to put them first in dealing with others. Yet at its root, people often damage their own lives through talent and intelligence; they simply have not thought carefully about it. People use their abilities to chase fame and profit, laboring day and night and becoming captivated by these pursuits. They know only how to advance, not how to yield; they see blessings but not calamities. In this way, they exhaust their energy, compete to outdo others, and worry excessively, damaging their Jing and Qi and weakening the body. Sometimes, before fame and profit have even been gained, mind and body are already harmed. Is this not talent and intelligence turning around to harm the person who uses them?

Confused seekers of the Dao do not understand that talent and intelligence are the easiest things to misuse. Everywhere they rely on a little cleverness and quick wit, showing off their abilities before others and imagining that no one can surpass them. Some are arrogant about their gifts; some scheme only to secure food and clothing. Some argue sophistically and bully their elders; some spread false teachings and mislead the public. Some memorize a few cases—stories of cultivation or precedents—and use them to confuse others. Some write a few lines of verse and boast that they have attained the Dao. Others learn a few showy techniques and lead people who are just as uninformed down the wrong path.

Some stubbornly insist that sexual intercourse is Yin-Yang cultivation, enticing people to act wrongly and stray into the path of “plucking”—using another person’s Jing and Qi as a method of cultivation. They also mistake the Golden Elixir, the state sought through Neidan cultivation, for a material object, waste other people’s money, and entice them to burn and refine Waidan. All these things come from relying on one’s cleverness and misusing one’s talents and intelligence. It is like peering at the sky through a tube or measuring the sea with a tiny shell: what one sees is narrow. It is also like feeling one’s way along a road in the dark or trying to make a living in a dry well.

Those who truly seek the Dao rein in their cleverness and let go of the belief that their own intelligence is superior. They conceal their sharpness and cultivate their nature. They do not compete for prominence in worldly relationships or try to outdo others in ordinary affairs. They devote themselves to preserving their original purity, without being drawn along by the myriad things. They seek out wise teachers and good companions, treat the cultivation of nature and life as a serious undertaking, and study diligently and sincerely, without abusing shallow and empty cleverness.

The author urges those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “Pass of Talent and Intelligence” as soon as possible: clear away the false cleverness used to compete for fame and profit, and instead make use of genuine inner wisdom. Correct such faults as competitiveness, self-righteousness, groundless suspicion, and baseless invention. Enter the Dao with sincerity and act with gentleness; only then is there hope of learning the Dao. Otherwise, those who believe themselves superior to the sages and worthies, see only themselves and not others, and rely on their cleverness to scheme and deceive will find that, intending to advance, they fall behind. Their presumptuous attempt to understand the Great Dao will be very difficult to achieve.

The Daodejing says, “If you act only on your own opinions, you cannot see things clearly; if you think yourself always right, you cannot make yourself known.” The ancient classic also says that those who cling stubbornly to their convictions cannot understand the Dao and De. Mencius says that reflecting on oneself and becoming sincere brings the greatest joy, and that extending one’s care from oneself to others is the closest path to seeking benevolence. The Book of Songs says that a person of upright character and dignified bearing acts with care and caution. All these teachings encourage people to act in accordance with reason and human feeling, rather than follow their impulses and cling to their own ways.

After birth, people acquire temperaments and dispositions shaped by their later environment. Thus some are wise and others foolish, some kind and others wicked, some clear-minded and others muddled, some strong and others weak. Only those born as sages have natures that are fully balanced and clear, pure and without flaw. People of middling or lesser abilities each have their own biases and shortcomings, which can seriously hinder the cultivation of life. Yet once we recognize our faults, we can change our temperament: becoming wise instead of foolish, kind instead of wicked, clear-minded instead of muddled, and strong instead of weak.

To do this, we must not let our dispositions run unchecked. Instead, we should seek out people of the Dao and ask them for guidance with an open mind. We can use others’ wisdom to dispel our confusion, and their discipline to polish away our flaws. As the saying goes, “The stones of another mountain can be used to work jade.” Through gradual learning and influence, people can steadily improve. Even someone who was once foolish can become discerning; even someone who was once weak can become strong. How, then, could the Dao remain beyond our understanding, or cultivation fail to reach completion?

Some misguided people who study the Dao do not understand the harm caused by following their impulses. They want to study the Dao but indulge their nature and refuse to improve; they seek the Dao but do as they please and show it no respect. When their teachers instruct them, they agree outwardly but ignore the advice in private. When friends point out their faults, they assent to their faces but remain unconvinced inside. In working with others, they think themselves superior; in company, they compete to come out on top. They use their learning to pick at others’ flaws and their cleverness to mock others’ lack of understanding. They refuse to yield in conversation and grow resentful at the slightest friction. They bully the strong and suppress the weak, cannot get along with others, and are too narrow-minded to make room for them. These are all the failings of following one’s impulses.

Such conduct not only earns other people’s dislike; it also plants the seeds of harm within oneself. None of one’s usual stubbornness or faults has been corrected, and one’s foolishness has not diminished in the least. One still assumes oneself to be right and refuses to admit mistakes. What good would studying the Dao in this frame of mind do, even if Laozi stood before you and Shakyamuni lived under the same roof?

A person of true resolve should devote themselves wholeheartedly to the Dao, often sitting quietly to reflect on their own faults, and refraining in casual conversation from criticizing others. They should act with care and examine themselves at every turn. They should adapt to other people and to reason, responding flexibly to circumstances rather than clinging to their own views. They should treat yielding as a way forward, and not striving to prove one’s strength as true strength. How could such a person fail to cultivate deeply and come naturally to understanding?

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the obstacle of following their impulses as soon as they can. Act with humility and reserve, and make gentleness and yielding the basis of your conduct. Gradually change the old habits of stubbornness, bias, and self-righteousness. Learn not to argue and not to scheme; even be willing to seem slow-witted, deaf, or mute rather than show off your verbal skill, while still giving careful attention to matters that truly concern you. In time, you will surely gain something. Otherwise, if you keep following your impulses, remain rigid and unyielding, and fail to correct your mistakes, then even if you spend your whole life within the Daoist tradition, you will find it difficult to truly hear the Dao.

The Book of Changes says, “When beset by hardship, one who does not lose integrity can still find a way through. Perhaps only a noble person can do this?” The Doctrine of the Mean says, “When you ordinarily find yourself in adversity, act according to the way appropriate to being in adversity.” Perfected Changchun said, “If he is ill, let him be ill; if he is to die, let him die. Even at the threshold of life and death, hold fast to the Dao and die.” These sayings all mean that one must not abandon one’s original resolve because hardship has come.

The Dao encompasses Heaven and Earth, and it can also operate amid adversity. It can seize the workings of Creation, enabling a person to pass from death into life, transcend the ordinary and become a sage, and even become a Buddha or an immortal. To undertake this kind of cultivation, one must possess great courage and strength, like an iron man who stands firm between Heaven and Earth, or a vajra who has left the world of dust behind. Without such strength, one cannot understand, endure, or master it.

What is great strength? Wealth and status cannot make one indulge; poverty and low standing cannot make one abandon integrity; force cannot make one submit. Affection cannot bind one, and fame or profit cannot tempt one. Worry and fear cannot shake the heart; joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure can all be decisively set aside. What is great courage? One remains steady in the face of hardship and danger; when illness and calamity arrive, one accepts them as they come. Even when suffering hunger and cold, one does not change one’s resolve, even unto death. Even when humiliated and abused, one does not respond with anger or contention.

Thus, when Shakyamuni Buddha had his body cut apart by King Kali, he remained unmoved. Chunyang Weng, Lü Dongbin, faced Patriarch Zhengyang, Zhongli Quan, and passed ten trials without fault. Perfected Ziqing was shouted at and driven away, yet did not become angry. Zhang Sanfeng wore tattered clothes and broken shoes, yet felt no regret. Perfected Changzhen was punched but did not fight back. Perfected Changchun had three ribs broken and did not spare himself. These sages and worthies all endured the testing of adversity and bore countless hardships. In the end, they heard the teachings of the Great Dao, understood it, transcended the ordinary to become sages, and achieved extraordinary things.

Foolish people in the world who study the Dao do not understand that adversity is an essential medicine for cultivating the Real, and the furnace in which the Great Dao is forged. Instead, they fear hardship and try to avoid it. Some face a little hunger or cold and immediately seek another way. Some fall ill and at once give rise to deluded thoughts. Some encounter danger and want to retreat. Some suffer humiliation and immediately argue back. They do not know that real gold must be refined in fierce fire before its brilliance appears, and the lotus must grow from muddy water before its purity can be seen. Without fierce fire, the brilliance of gold cannot be revealed; without mud, the lotus’s purity cannot be shown.

What is there to fear in adversity? It is precisely in adversity that a person’s character is revealed and the sincerity of their resolve is tested. I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the trial of adversity as soon as possible and hold firm to the two words “nature and life”: whether living or dying, keep to the same resolve. In the face of great calamities, hardships, and dangers, entrust yourself to Heaven’s mandate and meet them without attachment. Over time, misfortune will naturally turn to good fortune, and calamity to blessing.

Otherwise, fear of adversity will unsettle the mind and change one’s resolve. Adversity may come even when none is present, and a small hardship may grow into a great one. With such deluded hopes, understanding the Great Dao will be very difficult.

The Barrier of Deceit

The Book of Changes says, “…yet does not present an offering.” The Book of Songs says, “When the spirits descend, they are unfathomable. How can one approach them with disrespect or a sense of taking a chance?” The Jade Pivot Scripture says, “Enter through sincerity.” The Token for Joining the Three says, “A filial son, wholly sincere in heart, can move the highest sovereign.” Shangyangzi says, “Even if Heaven does not respond at once, one should still offer both resources and sincerity in one’s appeal.” These words all make the same point: whatever you do, you must act with complete sincerity, without the slightest trace of deceit or hypocrisy.

For those who study the Dao, what matters most is being genuine and humble. Only then can they move a true teacher, earn the trust of reliable companions on the path, and receive their help. If I am sincere, my teachers and companions will respond sincerely; if I am genuine, they will respond in kind. This reciprocal response is a sure and unchanging principle.

If you cannot be sincere, but instead deceive and disguise yourself at every turn, presenting one face outwardly and keeping another in your heart, thinking you can fool those who see clearly, you are mistaken. A true teacher has a discerning eye and can distinguish truth from falsehood at a glance. To deceive others is, in fact, to deceive yourself; to think you can hide something from others is to overlook that you cannot hide it from yourself. This does no good and only spoils things. Why resort to deceit?

Some misguided people who study the Dao enter religious life and pursue the Dao in a daze. They treat the cultivation of nature and life as something ordinary, and studying the Dao as ordinary too. When they meet a true teacher, they rush to ask about the “origin gate,” the crucial gateway spoken of in cultivation. When they meet fellow practitioners, they show off their arcane knowledge, yet do not understand the need to respect teachers and value their companions on the path. Some lie and act disrespectfully; some put on a show of false sincerity. Some use flattering words; others hint around in hopes of coaxing people to reveal what they know. Some lounge and lean while questioning others. Some think a single meal or a brief conversation should win them secret instructions. Some sit and hold forth, arguing over right and wrong. Some grow resentful at the slightest trial, or flee when hardship comes. Some read scriptures only for the gist, flipping through them in haste and calling the matter finished. Some listen to a teacher’s instruction without careful reflection, mechanically memorizing a few phrases. Some appear to study the Dao while harboring other aims; others resolve to cultivate, then turn around and become entangled again in worldly attachments. These failings are too numerous to recount.

How could people like this draw guidance from a true teacher or support from reliable companions on the path? I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the “Barrier of Deceit” without delay, replace deceit with a wholly sincere heart, and work steadily from the ground up. Do not leave behind even the slightest thought of hypocrisy or deception, lest you mislead others and yourself and hinder your progress in cultivating the Dao.

The character “sincerity” can move Heaven and Earth, reach the spirits, and bring all things into resonance. Surely it can move teachers and companions too. If you can move them, there is hope of attaining the Great Dao. But if you harbor even a trace of falsehood or deceit, your heart is not sincere. When the heart is insincere, serious trouble takes root within. You will not only fail to find the true Dao, but also obscure your own original nature. Hoping to understand the Great Dao under these conditions will be exceedingly difficult.

The Barrier of Speculation

An ancient scripture says, “Without a teacher’s guidance to show people the precise method, even the immortals in heaven have nowhere to dwell.” The Wuzhen Pian says, “Even if your intelligence and talent surpass those of Yan Hui and Min Ziqian, do not presume to speculate if you have not met a true teacher.” It also says, “To learn how the oral formula opens onto the source, you must discuss it carefully with the immortals.” The Perfected Master Zhang Sanfeng likewise says, “The secret of when the moon becomes full lies in the oral formula; the mystery of the Zi hour lies in transmission from heart to heart. Visit an enlightened teacher and ask about the method; even beginning your practice at once would be too late.” These words all mean that the Dao must be transmitted by a teacher. It cannot be discovered through wild speculation and debate.

The Great Dao is profound and subtle. It fills the cosmos in its vastness and penetrates to the tiniest detail; it is boundless in its greatness and has no inner limit in its smallness. If people can cultivate the Great Dao, they can transform the workings of creation, transcend the constraints of Yin-Yang, understand nature and life, and fulfill the way of the immortals and Buddhas. They can endure as long as Heaven and Earth and shine alongside the sun and moon. This Great Dao cannot be compared with the many heterodox paths.

Yet Daoist methods involve inner and outer Yin-Yang and Five Phases, as well as distinctions between the true and the false, including different levels such as truth containing falsehood, falsehood containing truth, the truest within the true, and the false within the false. Cultivation also has stages, sequences, and specific steps: practices involving action and Wuwei (non-action), every phase from beginning to completion, and the gathering of ingredients, their combination, the formation of the Elixir, taking the Elixir, forming the embryo, and emerging from the embryo. Here, “ingredients,” “Elixir,” and “embryo” are terms of Neidan (internal alchemy), not ordinary medicines or a physical fetus. Cultivation methods are numerous, and different schools practice them differently. Without an enlightened teacher to clarify each point and give careful guidance from beginning to end, practitioners can hardly make sense of them on their own.

The alchemical scriptures and Daoist books left by Perfected Masters of past generations explain such subjects as ingredients and the timing of the firing process through many metaphors, and do so in great detail. Yet the fundamental mysteries of the Great Dao and the subtleties of its practice still include things that are difficult to put into words or explain fully. Moreover, scriptures use visible things to represent the formless Dao and concrete images to point to formless principles. Later writers have also falsely invoked the names of patriarchs to produce books that slander the sacred Way and confuse the immortal scriptures, mixing truth with falsehood. If you rely only on your own understanding and assume you have grasped the teaching, without seeking confirmation from someone of deep insight, you may enter a mistaken path from which it is difficult to escape for the rest of your life. Even a clever and talented person who can distinguish some right from wrong, orthodox from heterodox, may understand the beginning but fail to carry the practice through to its end. What they gain may seem correct while in fact being skewed. How could they truly understand and fully master the teaching?

Some confused people who study the Dao do not understand the Great Dao’s depths or the weight of cultivating nature and life, yet hope to break through layer upon layer of mystery with their limited knowledge. They do not seek a true teacher and trust only themselves. Some read heterodox and false books, memorize a few techniques for manipulating the body, and cling to them for the rest of their lives, ultimately wasting their lives.

Others read the genuine scriptures of the patriarchs but recite them day and night without probing their meaning, instead guessing from the literal images. Seeing “ingredients” and “furnace and vessel,” they assume the text describes smelting. Seeing men and women and Yin-Yang, they guess it refers to sexual practices. Seeing the dragon, tiger, tortoise, and snake, they take them to mean the heart, kidneys, liver, and lungs. Seeing inversion and reversal, they guess that the breath rises up the back and descends down the front. Seeing a precious pearl, they assume it is a physical object. Seeing the sacred embryo, they guess it means Qi and blood coagulating. Seeing stillness, they take it to mean maintaining Shen (spirit) and regulating the breath. Seeing action, they think it means deliberate effort. Seeing Wuwei, they guess it means emptiness and annihilation. Such guesses are too numerous to count. Speculating this way over and over can lead only to delusion.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “Barrier of Speculation” as soon as possible: set aside the cleverness and abilities you have relied on all your life, seek a true teacher, and understand the Great Dao’s deeper meaning. Above all, do not indulge in arbitrary guesses based on your own supposed cleverness, deceiving yourself and others. Without checking your understanding with someone else and relying only on yourself, you will either search everywhere outside yourself or recklessly manipulate things within your body. It is difficult to succeed in cultivating the Dao this way.

“Crossing the Barrier of Empty Abstraction” refers to the obstacle encountered in cultivation when one remains only in idle speculation and talk, without sincere effort or steady practice.

Confucians speak of “sincere practice,” Buddhists say that one must apply oneself deeply when cultivating the wisdom of prajna, and Daoists speak of “brave and vigorous progress.” The sages of all three teachings value acting earnestly and wholeheartedly; none approves of superficiality or perfunctory effort. The work of cultivating the true is a study of probing principle, fully expressing one’s nature, and reaching the source of life. To probe principle is to investigate what is truly so; to fulfill one’s nature is to do one’s utmost to recognize and realize that truth; to reach one’s destiny is to arrive at the root of life. Since what one investigates, recognizes, and reaches is all real, not the slightest falsehood can be mixed in. If the heart is tainted by falsehood, one cannot act with single-mindedness or apply oneself fully. How then can one penetrate principle, discover the true treasure, move a genuine master, and receive guidance?

The sages of old, on hearing a beneficial word or witnessing a good deed, would follow its course like a river bursting its banks, unstoppable in its flow. Daoist cultivation has three vehicles—upper, middle, and lower—each offering a different level of practice. The upper vehicle suits those of high understanding: they grasp things easily, and once they understand, they put the whole teaching into practice, like those who know naturally and act with ease. The middle vehicle suits those of moderate understanding: they discern principle through concrete things, and from hearing a little they come to understand more, like those who learn through study and act when they recognize the benefit. The lower vehicle suits those of lesser understanding: they must investigate repeatedly and work hard before they gain anything, like those who learn through hardship and persist through effort. Each person should choose among the three vehicles according to their abilities, but whichever vehicle they follow, they must apply themselves steadily. If they are superficial and inattentive, people of moderate or lesser capacity will naturally make no progress; even those of the highest understanding will fall into emptiness and gain nothing.

In the past, Bodhidharma applied himself at the foot of Mount Changlu and sat in austere meditation at Shaolin Monastery. Huineng performed labor at Huangmei and trained himself at Sihui. Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji) cultivated himself for seven years at Longmen and six years at Panxi. He purified his body and endured broken ribs, yet his resolve grew ever stronger. The sages of old acted with sincerity and earnestness; thus they could rise beyond the ordinary and become sages, bringing the great matter of nature and life to completion.

Some muddleheaded people in the world enter the Daoist tradition without understanding what they seek, and simply drift through their days. They spend all day scheming about food and drink, become entangled in disputes, associate with improper companions, chatter idly, and clutter their minds with random thoughts. They neither read the teachings left by the ancestral masters nor heed the advice of those who understand. Even when they read scriptures, they merely skim them, never taking the trouble to investigate their deeper meaning. Even when they meet an enlightened master and listen to a lecture, it passes by them like an autumn wind at their ears: they make no effort and reflect on nothing carefully.

Others, in their foolishness, dismiss alchemical scriptures because they do not directly reveal oral instructions. If they happen to meet someone who understands, they expect to obtain the secrets of cultivation easily, and retreat when they do not. Today they seek instruction from Master Wang, tomorrow they visit Master Li; they switch methods constantly, with no settled purpose or lasting resolve. How could they truly take the great matter of nature and life to heart? Often they spend their entire lives in the Daoist tradition without making any progress. This is truly lamentable.

The author urges those who sincerely wish to learn the Dao to break through the “Barrier of Empty Abstraction” at once: cultivate with steadfastness and sincerity, attend to the study of nature and life every day, keep principle and its meaning in mind at every moment, and correct, one by one, all superficial and insincere habits. First probe principle, then seek a master; learn broadly, inquire carefully, reflect cautiously, discern clearly, and put what you learn into practice. Why then worry that the Great Dao will remain unclear or that the great matter of nature and life will remain unfinished? But if you continue to be superficial and insincere, act recklessly, waste your years, and remain divided in heart and weak in resolve while imagining that you can understand the Dao, you will find it difficult to succeed.

The Barrier of Delusion

The Wuzhen Pian says: “Seek images amid a state so indistinct they are hard to discern; search for true essence in depths shrouded in darkness. Only then can being and nonbeing flow into one another. If you have not yet seen what is real, how could you succeed through imagination alone?” It also says: “Though scriptures, treatises, and verses speak of the utmost truth of the Dao, they do not put the firing times—the discernment of timing and stages in Neidan practice—into words. To know where the true oral instruction leads, you must investigate it carefully together with the spirit.” Perfected Tai Xu said: “What others say cannot be put into practice; what I can put into practice cannot be put into words.”

All these sayings mean that to cultivate the Dao, one must truly understand it and put it into practice oneself. It cannot be attained through empty speculation. The Dao is supremely exalted and precious, and unfathomably deep and hidden. One must work steadily and discern carefully, proceeding from the shallow to the deep, from the near to the far, and investigating thoroughly before one can gain insight. How could anyone expect to understand and accomplish it through just a few words and a few steps of practice? Such a supreme and immense undertaking demands resolve and a sense of responsibility.

The Dao exists between Heaven and Earth, and everyone has the basis for attaining it, yet not everyone can do so. Everyone has this basis because each person is born endowed with the Qi of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), and the principles of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases are also present in the body. Human beings are the most spiritually perceptive of all creatures; each has both principle and Qi. Who lacks the Dao? Who lacks nature and life? Since we possess the Dao and nature and life, we can cultivate the Dao, preserve life, become sages and worthies, and even become immortals and Buddhas. This is why everyone has a share in it.

Yet not everyone succeeds because worldly affairs confuse them, fame and profit draw them along, and affection and desire bind them. They mistake the false for the real, fail to establish their resolve, cannot rouse their spirit, and are unwilling to put in the work. They follow their desires and let the discerning spirit—the mind shaped by acquired habits, distinctions, and thoughts—run wild. Just as they are about to advance, they retreat; just as they mean to do good, they turn to evil. This is why it is so difficult for people to attain the Dao.

A person with genuine resolve will regard nature and life as precious, discern the principles with care, and advance with courage and constancy. Their determination remains firm. They will investigate the principles deeply, seek out wise teachers and helpful companions, and put the teachings into practice themselves: taking each step well, doing each task properly, applying themselves day and night without slackening, and remaining attentive at every moment. They will fulfill only their own responsibilities, without prematurely coveting what belongs to others; accumulate merit through good deeds; be humble toward themselves and respectful toward others. Whether they will understand and attain the Dao, they leave to unfold naturally, following Heaven’s circumstances without indulging in delusion. Even if they have not accumulated enough practice or blessings in this life to understand the Great Dao, they do not blame Heaven or other people, but persist until life’s end. With resolve and dedication like this, the ancestral masters will make their arrangements unseen.

Confused people who study the Dao in this world have not even managed the matters close at hand. They simply muddle through, craving good food and fine clothes. They wander and amuse themselves by day and sleep soundly at night. They fail to do the good they ought to do, accumulate none of the merit they should, and are unwilling to discern the principles or seek out wise teachers. They learn only a few superficial phrases, put on the appearance of practicing, and make a show of exerting themselves physically. They pretend to cultivate, yet delude themselves that they can become immortals.

They do not understand that the study of nature and life can seize the workings of creation and turn Heaven and Earth around. It must be transmitted from teacher to disciple through a meeting of minds; it cannot be reached by private guesswork or practiced however one pleases. Only by receiving the true transmission and cultivating in accordance with it can one reach a state of harmony with Heaven and Earth. How could such principles be understood casually? From ancient times, the ancestral masters who attained reality endured untold hardships before meeting a true teacher, underwent countless trials before hearing the Great Dao, and faced innumerable dangers before attaining it. How could anyone hope to understand and accomplish the Great Dao without doing real work, relying on empty speculation alone?

Empty speculation itself is the root of failing to understand the Dao. If one cannot understand the Dao, how can one hope to attain it? I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the “barrier of delusion” without delay. Stand firm; whether studying or practicing the Dao, apply effort at every step and work at it constantly. Then hardship will naturally give way to reward. Those who have not yet heard the Dao will have the chance to hear it; those who have heard it will have the chance to attain it. Otherwise, if they do no real work and their words contradict their actions, they will find it difficult to understand the Great Dao, however much they imagine that they can.

Zhuangzi said that those in ancient times who cultivated themselves to the state of the True Person neither clung especially to life nor despised death. They felt no joy at birth and offered no resistance at death, simply coming and going as nature ordained. The Most Sagely Teacher said, “If you understand the Dao in the morning, you may die that evening.” The Postscript to Awakening to Reality says that the principles are exceedingly subtle and profound, while people are dull by nature and attached to the physical body. They therefore fear death and love life, making true understanding difficult. All these words mean that whether one studies the Dao or cultivates it, one should not cling to life or fear death.

The body a person acquires at birth is only a temporary combination of the four elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—a phantom form condensed from nothing into something. It is merely something entrusted to a person for a time by Heaven and Earth. Where there is life, there is death; where there is formation, there is decay. What in it is truly indestructible? Since the body must eventually perish, life and death are also temporary phenomena. The Patriarchs teach people to transcend life and death by regarding them as one, ultimately reaching a state beyond birth and death. Zhuangzi’s teaching is to gather the spirit and attain long life, then to forget attachment to the spirit and reach the state beyond birth. From this we can see that long life is still not the highest state of fully realizing one’s nature and life. Only by reaching the state of forgetting life, being beyond birth, and neither arising nor passing away can one truly transcend life and death and go beyond their transformations.

Heaven and Earth can govern things that have form, but not things without form; things that have Qi, but not things without Qi; things that have a mind, but not things without a mind. Without mind, there is no Qi; without Qi, there is no form. If you stop clinging to life and death, they can no longer burden you. This is to be close to the Dao.

Confused people who study the Dao and vainly hope to attain it often do so because they fear death. Fear of death drives them to seek life with all their might: they worry about starving, freezing, falling ill, or dying young. When climbing a mountain, they fear being attacked by wolves or tigers; when entering a dense forest, they fear being bitten by pythons; even when staying at an ancient altar, they fear disturbance by ghosts and spirits. The thought of clinging to life and fearing death lies hidden in their hearts, leaving them anxious and afraid. Though their bodies remain alive, their minds and spirits are already depleted; their vital force declines, and the deadening Qi begins to grow. Their thoughts churn with calculations, they become suspicious and imagine things, and all manner of deviant notions and strange fantasies arise in succession, draining their spirit. Their true nature is lost, while delusions grow. How could they avoid decline when they wear themselves down day and night?

I urge those who truly devote themselves to studying the Dao to pass through the barrier of life and death at once and put both out of mind. While still alive, begin by learning not to cling to life and death. Let life be as it is and death be as it is; let yourself starve or freeze to death if that is what comes. If you encounter wild beasts, poisonous snakes, ghosts and spirits, disasters of water or fire, weapons and war, or even death from illness, entrust it all to Heaven’s decree. Be like the dead: neither judging nor clinging, but letting things follow their nature. Keep only the word “Dao” in your heart, never forgetting it from beginning to end. The Patriarchs will protect you unseen and will not let a sincere student of the Dao suffer in vain. But if you continue to cling to life, fear death, hesitate, and retreat, the barrier of life and death will remain firmly locked, leaving you unable to take a single step. It will then be difficult to understand the Great Dao.

The Book of Changes says, “The wind of Xun enters beneath the bed; ritual officers and shamans come one after another to pray and consult the oracle, and the outcome is auspicious.” The Dao De Jing says, “Empty the mind and fill the belly.” Shangyangzi says that those who study the Dao should beware of three kinds of people. When they encounter someone like this, they should not pass on teachings lightly.

The first kind longs to study the Dao but is proud of their wealth and status. They refuse to humble themselves and seek instruction from others. They may seem indifferent to the teachings, but in truth their intentions are insincere. The second kind hears a little about minor, unorthodox methods and does nothing but argue about them, using them to show off their small cleverness. The third kind is half-convinced and half-doubtful about the Dao. They give little thought to life and death, yet prize money and undervalue their own lives; they do not understand how to cherish what Heaven has allotted them. In short, only those who are not self-satisfied and do not think themselves complete can benefit from instruction.

The Great Dao handed down by the sages has no end or bounds. It speaks of both roots and branches, both substance and function. Its levels are subtle and its practice takes a long time. The more one looks up to the Great Dao, the higher it seems; the more one studies it, the deeper it proves. One person’s understanding is limited, but the insights of many people can be boundless. Without humility toward others, one cannot learn. Without seeking instruction with an open mind, one cannot truly understand. Without acknowledging one’s shortcomings, one cannot make progress. Without respecting the skills and understanding others already possess, one cannot make up for one’s own deficiencies. Only by lowering oneself can one rise; only by humbling oneself to seek instruction can one broaden one’s understanding. Acknowledging one’s shortcomings makes it possible to accept others’ help; respecting their strengths makes it possible to remedy one’s own weaknesses. Thus, what is full will overflow, while a hollow place can hold water. Humility is more valuable than self-satisfaction.

In ancient times, when the Duke of Zhou washed his hair, he repeatedly stopped to hold it up and rose to receive worthy visitors. The Huainanzi records that when Liu An, King of Huainan, met the Eight Immortals, he let his hair down, went barefoot, and bowed to welcome them. When Shi Xinglin met the Perfected One of Ziyang, he loosened the horse’s reins and freed himself from restraint, serving him with reverence. Patriarch Qiu Chuji first followed Wang Chongyang to study the Dao, then later received instruction from Ma Danyang, and so was able to complete his cultivation. Shangyangzi first encountered Yuandu and gained insight; later he sought instruction from an eminent adept of Qingcheng, and so brought his cultivation to completion. These sages all achieved the Great Dao by seeking it with humility. If the Duke of Zhou had relied on his high status and failed to respect worthy people, how could he have become a sage? If the King of Huainan had been arrogant and failed to honor the Eight Immortals, how could he have attained the Dao and become an immortal? If Qiu Chuji had been self-satisfied and not studied under Ma Danyang, how could he have completed his cultivation? If Shangyangzi had thought himself sufficiently accomplished and stopped seeking instruction at Qingcheng, how could he have achieved so much?

The study of nature and life (the study of human nature and the cultivation of life) is such that if one point remains unclear, one will lose one’s way at that point; an error as slight as a hair’s breadth can lead to a thousand-mile divergence. Whatever you understand, put into practice; whatever method you learn, apply it. If you understand substance but not function, appearances but not reality, nature but not life, beginnings but not endings, contraction but not expansion, advance but not withdrawal, urgency but not patience, good fortune but not danger, the broad principles but not the fine details, the roots but not the branches, action but not Wuwei (non-action), or how to begin but not how to complete the work, then you cannot be said to truly understand the Dao.

If you have only a slight grasp of the way in, yet become complacent and think you have mastered the entire teaching, looking down on others and no longer seeking instruction, how can you understand it thoroughly from beginning to end, grasp all its changes in favorable and adverse circumstances, cultivate with ease, and enter the realm of the sages without hindrance?

Some foolish people in the world who study the Dao rely on their own cleverness, make wild guesses and pronouncements, and regard themselves as right without seeking instruction. Some boast of their extensive learning and enjoy grand talk, so they refuse to ask for guidance. Some learn a little unorthodox technique, fail to distinguish right from wrong, and grow arrogant without seeking anyone to verify their understanding. Others receive guidance from an adept, learn just enough to enter the door, and think that is sufficient, so they go no further. There are also those who chase status and worldly advantage, and shallow scholars who can only read and talk. They flaunt their standing and puff out their chests, afraid others will laugh at them, and refuse to humble themselves. All these people are harmed by self-satisfaction. How could they hear the profound formulas transmitted by a true master, walk the open and accessible Great Dao, and enter the gates of the sages?

I urge those who are truly sincere in studying the Dao to break through the barrier of self-satisfaction at once. Lower your pride and willingly admit that you are less capable than others. Whether someone is older or younger, wise or foolish, high or low in status, treat them with respect and make no distinctions. When you see even a small strength in another person, ask sincerely to learn from them; do not let the opportunity pass. Learn broadly and inquire earnestly. Regard everyone as your teacher, and take every place as an opportunity to learn. If you do this, need you worry that you will fail to understand the teachings or complete your cultivation? Otherwise, if you are complacent and claim to possess what you do not, then even if you meet a true teacher who wishes to guide you, they will find nowhere for the teaching to take hold. To understand the Great Dao will then be exceedingly difficult.

Overcome the fear of hardship. This means that in cultivation or any undertaking, one must overcome the impulse to retreat out of fear of difficulties.