《通关文》Vol. 2

The Book of Changes says, “The noble person follows their inborn nature, accumulating small things until they accomplish something great.” The Supreme Sage says, “A noble person follows the Great Dao, but if they stop halfway, they cannot truly understand and practice the Dao. Without firm conviction in one’s heart, it is difficult to hope to understand the Great Dao.”

Overcoming the Fear of Difficulty

The Book of Changes says, “The noble person follows their inborn nature, accumulating small things until they accomplish something great.” The Supreme Sage says, “A noble person follows the Great Dao, but if they give up halfway, I cannot continue the journey for them.” Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji, founder of the Quanzhen school of Daoism) says, “Nothing in the world is difficult for those who set their minds to it.” These sayings all teach that cultivating the Dao requires firm resolve and that we must not fear hardship.

The hardest things in the world are often the greatest things, and great undertakings require tremendous effort. If something is easy and succeeds at once, it is usually a small matter. The study of nature and life—the cultivation of body and mind and inquiry into the roots of life—is a great undertaking. It encompasses all things, transcends the human and celestial realms, and rises beyond the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) and the Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness). Its root stands prior to Heaven and Earth, while its workings appear after Heaven and Earth have taken shape. Is the pursuit of becoming a sage, an immortal, or a Buddha not a great undertaking? Since we seek to cultivate such a great undertaking and accomplish work that endures, how could it not be difficult?

Yet if we recognize the difficulty and do not fear it, regard life and death as life’s great matter, firmly set our resolve and never waver, and persist to the very end without giving up, then we can understand and practice the Dao. In this way, difficulty ceases to be difficult. But if we recognize the difficulty and fear it, fail to regard the study of nature and life as a great undertaking, begin diligently and then grow lax, and remain unfocused, doubtful, and hesitant, then we will be unable not only to practice the Dao but also to understand it. Difficulty will remain difficulty.

In the past, Shen Guang cut off his arm in pursuit of the teaching and ultimately received Bodhidharma’s transmission of the mind seal. Wang Zhongli stood in the snow until it lay three feet deep and eventually received guidance from Yichuan. Patriarch Qiu purified himself and broke his ribs, thereby receiving a message from the spirits. These stories show that wholehearted study of the Dao, pursued with undivided sincerity, can move Heaven and Earth and the spirits. How much more readily, then, can it move one person to reach another?

Some confused students of the Dao fail to understand that the study of nature and life is life’s greatest undertaking. They simply hope to learn a little technique and become immortals, or foolishly imagine that learning a few lesser methods will let them live forever. When they hear that the Sage’s Dao is profound and mysterious and demands deep study, they find it difficult. When they hear that the path of cultivation is long, requires giving up one’s life and forgetting oneself, and means enduring hunger and cold, they shrink back. When they hear that cultivation has a beginning and an end, that practice proceeds through stages and the firing process follows its proper timing, and that every detail must be handled with utmost care, they lose confidence. How can people who study the Dao this way—hesitating between advance and retreat, lacking strength in body and mind, and dispirited in resolve—ever experience its flavor? Are they not letting life’s great undertaking slip away?

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to overcome the obstacle of fear without delay and take on a steadfast resolve. Do not shy away from hardship or danger: press forward with all your strength, and forget sleep and food. Whether or not you make progress or see results for now, persist longer and work harder as you go. Keep your heart fixed on moving forward, and in the end you will gain something; difficulty will cease to be difficult. Otherwise, if you fear hardship and waver, sometimes persisting and sometimes giving up, you will only talk about cultivating the Dao while failing to act, wanting to move forward but immediately retreating. To hope to understand the Great Dao under such conditions is very difficult.

The Dao is vast, profound, and supremely worthy of reverence. Confucian teaching says that the way of the sages is boundless and enables all things to grow. The Old Master says that between Heaven and Earth, nothing is more worthy of reverence than the Dao. The Chapter on Returning to the Source says that the Dao existed before Heaven and Earth: silent and nameless, yet able to govern the myriad things, it does not wither as the seasons change. These statements all show that the Dao is supreme and immense, but that it must be embodied and put into practice by someone truly fit to do so.

The Dao is deep and boundless, beyond measure: within ultimate emptiness it contains what is real; from the formless it can give rise to form; from the imageless it can transform into the myriad forms. It embraces Heaven and Earth, sets the sun and moon in motion and the seasons in their cycles, nourishes all things, and is present everywhere. Since ancient times, many sages have attained the Dao and accomplished extraordinary things: Confucius became a sage of the Confucian tradition, Shakyamuni became the forefather of the Buddhas, and Lord Lao became the patriarch of the immortals. The Yellow Emperor, Nüwa, Xu Xun (Jingyang), Celestial Master Zhang (Tianshi), and the Five Patriarchs and Seven Perfected Ones also each achieved distinction in Daoist tradition. The sages who have attained the Dao throughout the ages are too many to count. Since the Dao is so worthy of reverence, how could it be slighted or treated carelessly? To regard it as an ordinary, trivial matter is to show oneself unfit to embody the Dao and instead to have turned away from it. How, then, could one speak of learning the Dao?

Those who slight the Dao assume that learning it is easy, and so refuse to study it deeply. Those who treat it carelessly think that practicing it is not worth the effort, and so refuse to work hard and press forward. Without deep study or steady progress, how could they cultivate themselves and accomplish what is rare in the world? Those who learn the Dao must first understand that it is supremely worthy and cannot be grasped lightly or obtained casually. Only with this understanding can they resolve to persevere, make a difficult effort, and continue without letup until they attain the Dao.

Some misguided people who study the Dao do not understand that it is a secret treasure of Heaven and Earth, cherished by spirits and deities. They therefore treat Daoist teachings lightly and show no sincerity. Some rely on a little cleverness and think they have already awakened to the Dao. Some memorize a few shallow phrases and assume that they contain the whole Dao. Some seize on vague hints and imagine they have truly gained something. Others reverse right and wrong, yet believe they have seen the truth. When questioned by someone who understands, they speak shamelessly and at length; when fellow practitioners discuss and examine the matter, they argue stubbornly and insist that they alone are right.

Others create harmful karma through their speech and slander Daoist teachings: they disparage people who speak of the Dao and feel aversion when they see others reading the scriptures. They regard the sages’ scriptures and the rules of cultivation as mere external forms, and dismiss the long, diligent accumulation of merit and cultivation by committed practitioners as a low-level, trivial pursuit. When they happen to meet an accomplished master, they refuse to ask humbly for instruction and instead presume themselves superior. Even if they lower their heads for a time, they cannot withstand the test and trials of the years.

They do not understand that one seeks a teacher in order to study the Dao and save one’s own life and nature. Those who seek a teacher to save their lives must be as earnest as people who truly cherish their lives. In this way, they may move a true teacher to guide them openly and receive the support of spirits and deities in secret. If they do not cherish their lives, it shows that they do not regard the Great Dao as worthy of reverence. If they do not revere the Dao, how can they hear it? This is truly foolish.

The author urges those who sincerely wish to study the Dao to overcome the “barrier of slighting”—the obstacle of treating Daoist teachings with contempt or carelessness—without delay. They should believe in the Dao with firm conviction, treat life and nature with solemn care, serve their teachers with sincerity and respect, act cautiously, remain diligent at all times, and keep their practice grounded, never allowing even the slightest irreverence. Cultivation should be like climbing a high mountain, exerting oneself at every step; it should be like crossing a great river, staying alert to danger at every moment. Only then can one hope to reach the far shore of the Dao. Those who do not understand the Dao’s profundity and worth, who treat it as something optional, act lazily, yet still presume they can comprehend the Great Dao, are unlikely to succeed.

The Doctrine of the Mean says, “The Dao does not stand apart from people. If someone abandons the everyday duties of human relationships in order to cultivate the Dao, that is not the true Dao.” It is difficult for someone living an ordinary life—herding sheep or gathering firewood—to imagine that they can grasp the Great Dao all at once.

The Doctrine of the Mean also says, “The Dao does not stand apart from people. If someone abandons the everyday duties of human relationships in order to cultivate the Dao, that is not the true Dao.” Confucius said, “Has anyone ever devoted a day’s effort to benevolence? I have never seen anyone whose strength was insufficient.” The Wuzhen pian says, “The Great Medicine—the foundation sought through cultivation—is not something one can simply wish for and find. If one finds it but does not cultivate it, one is foolish.” An ancient scripture also says, “The Dao does not act on its own; it depends on people to put it into practice.” All these words teach that cultivating the Dao requires vigorous perseverance; one must not be timid or slack.

People are born endowed with the upright Qi of Heaven and Earth, the Yin-Yang and Five Phases, and are the most spiritually endowed of all living things. Whether noble or humble, wise or foolish, strong or weak, each person possesses the complete foundation granted by Heaven and Earth and can embody the Great Dao. The Doctrine of the Mean says that ordinary couples, though dull-witted, can understand the Dao, and though unworthy, can put it into practice. The key is whether they have resolve. With resolve, even the weak can grow strong and advance step by step toward the Great Dao. Without it, even the strong may grow weak and remain unable to escape the sea of suffering.

The “resolve” spoken of here means being firm and decisive. With such resolve, worldly affairs cannot taint a person, family affection and love cannot bind them, private desires cannot drive them, fame and gain cannot tempt them, wealth and rank cannot lead them astray, poverty and low status cannot change their purpose, and hardship cannot shake them. Their heart is set solely on the Dao; they devote themselves to cultivating nature and life, undistracted by external things. Only then can they hope to hear and cultivate the Dao.

Without firm and decisive resolve, people cannot see through worldly affairs, let go of affection, or rid themselves of private desires. Wealth and rank make them waver; poverty and low status alter their purpose; hardship makes them retreat. They live amid illusory circumstances without knowing they are illusory, and in a sea of suffering without knowing they suffer. Even if they briefly feel drawn to the Dao, their strength of purpose does not last and soon fades. They fear wolves ahead and tigers behind; they worry about hunger and cold, dread hard work, and fear that cultivation may bring no result. So they put off what needs doing, make excuses, hesitate, and shrink back in timidity. How can they learn, hear, or practice the Dao this way?

Some muddleheaded people in the world claim to study the Dao, yet their conduct bears no resemblance to that of Dao students. They say they want to hear the Dao, but do nothing that accords with it. From morning to night, when do they ever truly attend to their own body, mind, nature, and life? They care only about food and clothing, gossip, amusement, and winning arguments; their behavior is no different from that of ordinary people. When they see a chance for gain, they scheme and pursue it; when a task calls for accumulating merit through cultivation, they hide and shrink away. When they suffer, they seek only pleasure; they go about their work like sleepwalkers. They put all their energy into empty formalities, yet have no strength for serious work.

Since they wear Daoist robes and caps and accept offerings from the ten directions, they should take their own duties seriously. If instead they are idle and listless, wasting their time, how can they repay the kindness of those offerings when they have gained no merit? Moreover, cultivating the Dao does not require strenuous physical labor. One need only keep the intention constant and the resolve firm, and one can make progress.

Sakyamuni Buddha did not descend from the sky; the Venerable Lao, Laozi revered in Daoism, did not grow up from the ground; and Confucius did not appear out of thin air. They had eyes and ears, flesh and skin, just like ordinary people. They first worked hard in the human world, and only later attained the realms of sages, worthies, immortals, and Buddhas. Mencius said, “Yao and Shun were the same as ordinary people.” Sages, worthies, immortals, and Buddhas all became what they were through cultivation as human beings. Therefore, anyone can become a sage, worthy, immortal, or Buddha. The only obstacle is timidity and weakness—the refusal to form a strong resolve.

I urge those who truly study the Dao to break through the barrier of timidity at once. Plant your feet firmly, summon a courageous resolve, set your heart on the long term, step forward, and devote yourself to cultivation. Attend constantly to cultivating nature and life, and seek out the principles of the Dao in everything you do. If you do not understand, make every effort to learn; if something is unclear, work hard until you understand it. If you meet a wise teacher, study with them sincerely. Do not imagine that you can easily obtain secret instructions, and do not rush to demand an oral transmission. If your teacher tells you to endure hardship, endure it; if they tell you to bear hunger, bear it. Even if they discipline and test you, accept it willingly and without resentment. Only then can you make progress.

Those who can endure what others cannot endure can obtain what others cannot obtain. Those who can bear hardships others cannot bear can understand what others cannot understand. Otherwise, if they keep shrinking back in timidity and cannot rouse their strength of purpose, they will lack the strength to bear the Great Dao. It is difficult to imagine that one can grasp the Great Dao all at once.

The Book of Changes says, “One who cannot sustain their virtue may thereby suffer disgrace.” Confucius said, “A person without constancy is unfit to be a shaman or a physician.” Zisi said, “Without the highest virtue, the highest Dao cannot gather within oneself.” Mencius said, “The noble person studies deeply in accordance with principle so that, in the end, they can understand it for themselves.”

Yuan Duzi said that students of Quanzhen Dao, if they lack constancy, may not understand the specific steps of practice even if a teacher has given them a general introduction. Even if they know that Shen and Qi must depend on each other, they may not understand the joining of lead and mercury, a term in Daoist Neidan practice. Even if they understand the joining of lead and mercury, they may not understand how nature and life are brought together. If they merely speculate about the firing times—the arrangement and timing of stages in Neidan practice—and do not know when to advance and when to withdraw, they will ultimately accomplish nothing. An ancient scripture says, “Those whose words do not accord are not fellow practitioners; when the work is not brought to completion, it cannot reach fulfillment.” These sayings all teach that cultivating the Dao and establishing De require a resolve to persevere over time.

The path of cultivating the Real is a study of investigating principle, fully realizing one’s nature, and cultivating the roots of nature and life. To investigate principle is to reach a point where the mind has not the slightest doubt and nothing remains unclear; only then is understanding complete. When one recognizes what is real and sees things accurately, principle becomes clear. To fully realize one’s nature, one must remove the biases of one’s temperament and private desires, reaching a state of openness and clarity. Only when the mind is lucid rather than clouded, and remains undeluded even when facing what is subtle and obscure, has one fully recognized one’s nature. To cultivate the roots of nature and life, one must transcend Yin-Yang and the constraints of the Five Phases, bringing one’s practice into full integration until one is no longer shaken and can act autonomously. Only then have the roots of nature and life been firmly established.

Yet investigating principle, recognizing one’s nature, and cultivating the roots of nature and life cannot be accomplished in a single day. One must make a long-term resolve and continue applying oneself; only then can one understand principle, recognize one’s nature, and cultivate the roots of nature and life, abiding amid the transformations of Heaven and Earth without being constrained by them. This is a great undertaking that endures through time, and it can be accomplished only through sustained, unremitting effort. Which of those in the past who succeeded in cultivating the Dao did not make a long-range commitment and persevere in practice? Even minor worldly skills require focused study, guidance from a teacher, and years of practice before one can perform them with ease and adapt them skillfully to each occasion. How much more so the great undertaking of cultivating nature and life: how could someone without constancy understand it?

Some muddled Dao students in the world do not understand what “principle” truly is. They mistake attachment to emptiness, or attachment to outward forms and concrete affairs, for understanding principle. They do not understand what “nature” truly is. Some suspect that nature lies in the Celestial Valley, a Daoist Neidan term for an area associated with the head, or at the fontanel, the soft spot on an infant’s head; they think Shen is located in the head and take this to be cultivation of nature. They do not understand what “life” truly is. Some suspect that life lies in the Dantian Qihai, an abdominal site used in Neidan practice, and that fixing the mind on the lower region of the body is cultivation of life. Alas, to mistake these things for principle, nature, and life, and then imagine that one can use them to transcend the world and attain longevity, is like climbing a tree to catch fish or pressing one’s eyes until illusory flowers appear. What real result could come of it? If they have not even understood principle, nature, and life, how can they expect to become immortals?

There are also one or two kinds of Dao students who can already distinguish the orthodox from the deviant and tell right from wrong, yet foolishly expect to attain the Dao quickly and are eager to see results. As time passes, they grow lax, lacking the resolve to persevere and unwavering faith. They advance at times and retreat at others; they practice for a while, then stop. Just as they set out to move forward, they draw back. Their aspirations are insubstantial, and their minds waver. How could such people glimpse the depths of Dao cultivation and its true results?

I urge those who sincerely wish to study the Dao to overcome as soon as possible the obstacle of “being unable to persevere.” Make a long-term resolve and apply yourselves continuously; do not divide your attention or give up halfway. The longer you persevere, the more you must redouble your efforts; the more difficult the path, the more patiently you must endure it. In time, you will reach a moment of understanding. Otherwise, if you begin diligently but later grow lax, if your words and actions fail to align, yet you presumptuously claim to have heard the Dao, you will find it difficult to truly attain it.

The “Barrier of Self-Abandonment” refers to the point at which people give up on themselves and abandon the cultivation of the Dao.

Confucius said, “If I hear the Dao in the morning, I can die content that evening.” Yan Hui said, “What kind of person was Shun, and what kind of person am I? If I am willing to make the effort, I too can become like him.” Mencius said that people who abandon themselves cannot be reasoned with or inspired to work toward anything. The Old Master said, “I was not born a sage; I came to understanding through study.” Shangyangzi also gave examples: when Shakyamuni heard a verse of Buddhist teaching, he was willing to give up his life in pursuit of the Dao; and the Yellow Emperor respectfully sought Guangchengzi’s guidance on cultivating the body and attaining long life. All these stories show that people should value themselves and never abandon themselves.

People are born by receiving the Qi of the Five Phases of Heaven and Earth. Where there is Qi, there is nature; where there is nature, there is life. Principle, Qi, nature, and life are all present within each person. Whatever their wisdom or standing, everyone shares the same foundation. There is no unbridgeable divide between ordinary people and sages: those who understand the principles of nature and life are sages; those who do not are ordinary people. Mencius’s words, “The difference between humans and animals is slight. Ordinary people discard it, while the noble preserve it,” express this very point.

Biographies of immortals record that, since ancient times, three thousand people have ascended to become immortals, eight hundred families have ascended together, and countless others have left the body and passed away while sitting or standing. All these people achieved something through study and diligent cultivation. No one succeeds without learning or effort. Few are born already knowing; most must rely on study. Even those who claim to have been born knowing can lose their way when circumstances change. Without study, there can be no achievement; only after studying can success become possible. Thus Shakyamuni once took the Buddha Dipankara as his teacher, Confucius once studied under Xiang Tuo, and Laozi once learned from the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning. The patriarchs Zhongli Quan, Lü Dongbin, Liu Haichan, Wang Chongyang, Zhang Boduan, Shi Tai, Xue Daoguang, Chen Nan, and Bai Yuchan also transmitted the Dao through teacher and student, passing it on through oral instruction and heart-to-heart transmission. This shows that study can lead to achievement, while without study success is difficult. How could we take the work of learning lightly?

Confused people who study the Dao in this world do not value their own nature and life, nor do they cultivate body and mind. They live within the Dao but do not know that the Dao is already within them. They are like people in a forest of treasures who fail to recognize the riches before their eyes. Instead, they abandon what is real and take what is false for reality. Some say that a person’s lifespan is fixed in advance and cannot be changed; some say that immortals and sages are born that way and ordinary people cannot learn to become like them; others say that the Great Dao is too profound to understand and beyond the reach of ordinary people. So they abandon themselves, set limits for themselves, and willingly remain in the sea of suffering, sinking toward ruin. They have lived out a human life for nothing.

In fact, anyone born human has received Yin-Yang Qi and the creative power of Heaven and Earth. Everyone can become a sage; everyone can cultivate themselves into an immortal or Buddha. What matters is sincere effort, humility in seeking guidance, beginning with what is close at hand, advancing step by step, and persisting over time without slackening. Look at the foxes, monkeys, and deer in the mountains: though they are animals, they can gather their spirit and nurture their Qi in caves, quiet their minds, and cultivate themselves. With the passing of many years, they can become invisible, transform themselves, and prolong their lives. Since humans are the most spiritually endowed of all beings, how could they fail to achieve something through cultivating the Dao? To say that humans cannot attain the Dao would be to claim that they are inferior even to animals.

I urge all those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the barrier of self-abandonment at once. Set your will firmly, sweep away the distortions of temperament, ingrained habits, and accumulated burdens formed since birth, and devote yourself to the Dao, refining yourself through hardship and adversity. If you do not understand something, work until you understand it; if you cannot do something, work until you can. Correct your faults and turn toward goodness; hold fast to sincerity and rid yourself of falsehood. Remain constant from beginning to end, without turning back, and the Great Dao will be within reach. Otherwise, if you abandon yourself, fail to value your nature and life or cherish what is right, and drift through life in a haze of drunkenness and dreams, you will waste your whole life. Once you lose your human body, gaining another chance to cultivate the Dao will be exceedingly difficult.

Confucius said, “A scholar who sets out to pursue the Great Dao, yet is ashamed of wearing poor clothes and eating poor food, is not yet worthy of discussing the Dao.” Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji) said, “Every grain of rice and every coin comes from farmers’ sweat and toil. How can anyone enjoy them for nothing, without having earned them?” These words both teach that those who study the Dao should place their cultivation above all else and not abandon it for the sake of food and clothing.

Cultivation of the Dao is undertaken to cultivate nature and life—the body, mind, and roots of one’s existence. People living in the world cannot entirely do without clothes and food, but they must not let these needs delay the great work of cultivation. Patriarchs of every age taught people to act according to their circumstances: those in wealth and high station should hold to the Dao amid wealth and high station; those in poverty should cultivate themselves amid poverty. Not everyone needs to go begging in every direction for food and clothing.

Because people with truly superior innate capacity and ability are few, while those of middling or lesser capacity are many, the conditions for cultivation differ: some can proceed with ease, others must strive; some face greater difficulty, others less. The patriarchs taught people to act within their means. Those of superior capacity can remain untouched by wealth even while living among the markets or at court, and can reach the shore of the Dao—the goal of cultivation—without relying on others. Those of middling or lesser capacity have limited standing and strength, and cannot manage every circumstance. If they live amid wealth, they may easily become entangled in it, hindering their cultivation. The patriarchs therefore taught them to withdraw from wealth, endure humiliation, sustain themselves by begging, and accept whatever circumstances arise. They could temper their minds amid hardship and apply themselves steadily to practice. Some people of superior capacity, too, have no desire for wealth: they let go of family attachments and romantic ties, willingly live simply, wear a single robe, carry a water gourd, and depend on alms. By cultivating quietly and avoiding attention, they may find it easier to devote themselves to practice.

These cultivators do not set their hearts on food and clothing; they make temporary use of offerings from the ten directions—that is, from donors and devotees everywhere—to sustain their bodies. Foolish students of the Dao, however, fail to understand that such offerings come from the hard work of many people and cannot be taken lightly or enjoyed for nothing. They abandon the great work of cultivating nature and life, yet make food and clothing their highest concern. They solicit donations everywhere, eat their fill and dress warmly, but do no proper work, spending their days idly wandering and never considering why they left home to become monastics. They repay neither their parents’ care in raising them nor the kindness of the ruler and the land that sustain them. Instead, they incur debts to the people of the ten directions. How will they repay them?

There are also evildoers who wear Daoist caps but harbor the heart of Robber Zhi, the legendary brigand of antiquity. They care only for food and clothing and devise every means of deceiving others. Some borrow money and then embezzle it; some pretend to be advanced cultivators to cheat people out of offerings; some profit from donations collected in the name of building temples. Today they solicit money from a charitable household; tomorrow they beg rice from a kindhearted person. They deceive people everywhere, while gambling, drinking wine, and eating meat. They incur countless debts through their appetites and pleasures—how will they repay them? Patriarch Qiu’s saying, “Whether a pair of horns grows on you is uncertain; that one tail will surely follow you, no matter how many thousands you owe,” mocks such people: whether horns actually grow on them may be debatable, but the debts they incur will certainly follow them.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “barrier of accumulated debts” at once, so they do not incur debts in cultivation or morality by accepting offerings. Live according to circumstances, eat in moderation, and nourish the body with plain fare. With every thread and strand, remember how hard it was to obtain; with every drink and every bite, recognize the labor embodied in it. Strive constantly and make steady progress, until your cultivation is complete and your De perfected.

If you truly cultivate until the Dao is realized and De fulfilled, you will not only repay your debts to the people of the ten directions; you will also be able to dispel the karmic burdens accumulated since time without beginning. Then you may enjoy the clothing, food, and good fortune bestowed by Heaven—what, then, of worldly goods? But if you know only how to incur debts and not how to repay them, know only how to use offerings and not how to give back, and have neither merit nor cultivation yet presume to attain the Dao, it is impossible.

The Dao De Jing says, “The hard and strong are likely to die; the soft and weak have vitality.” Mencius says, “Those who respect others are often respected by them in return; those who care for others are often cared for by them in return.” As the saying goes, “Those who try to dominate the world through sheer force often find they cannot take a single step.” All these words teach that people should be humble and place themselves below others, rather than considering themselves superior.

To be “lofty and great” means to believe oneself wise and enlightened, to compete through displays of strength, and to care only for oneself while disregarding others. Those who do not exalt themselves can ultimately reach high places; those who do not consider themselves great can ultimately accomplish great things. This is because people who do not exalt themselves are willing to be below others, and those who do not think themselves great are willing to lower themselves. They may seem to lack ability, yet in fact they are capable. They have talent but do not show it off, and wisdom but do not flaunt it. They conceal their strengths and keep their sharpness from view. Though they understand much, they do not pretend to know everything. The world appreciates this way of treating others, and teachers and fellow students of the Dao are glad to help those who seek to learn it in this way.

In ancient times, when Yu the Great heard words that could benefit him, he bowed in thanks. When Zilu heard others point out his faults, he was pleased. Both could be humble and put themselves below others instead of exalting themselves; thus they became great sages and worthies, and their reputations endured for generations. Yet humility can truly help only when it comes from the heart. If someone merely puts on a show of humility while concealing pride within, it is like secretly hiding troops in ambush: the outside and inside do not match, the heart is insincere, and the conduct cannot last. To appear respectful while feeling no respect within is what is meant by “Clever words and an ingratiating manner—rarely do these go with benevolence.” Such behavior not only fails to cure the habit of self-exaltation; it brings still more trouble. Those who truly overcome this failing are so humble that they do not feel themselves to be in a high position or believe they are anything special.

The patriarchs of past generations and the realized adepts who attained the Dao all cultivated the Dao and established De by following the path of humility and placing themselves below others. They persisted in it over time, and so accomplished great things and reached heights beyond the reach of ordinary people. Yet some confused people who study the Dao rely on wealth, status, and power and refuse to treat others with humility; some rely on talent and learning and refuse to yield; some take pride in their age and likewise refuse to place themselves below others. Among those who cultivate the Dao, some have memorized a few volumes of alchemical texts and think they have already gained something; some have learned a few stages of cultivation and imagine they possess the Great Dao; some are willful and arrogant, heedless of all restraint; others are eager for quick results and cannot persevere patiently. Still others are insincere and unwilling to learn with an open mind. Instead, they piece together and misuse the words of the patriarchs, speaking recklessly and leading people astray. Or they assume they are right, make claims from scant evidence, and show off their skills before experts like people who pretend to understand what they do not, boasting of their abilities. All these are signs of self-exaltation and a refusal to be humble. They show that such people do not regard the Dao of nature and life as something of great importance.

The Great Dao of nature and life—the fundamental path concerning life and cultivation—is rare in this world. How could anyone hope to obtain it through self-exaltation, or learn it with ease? Those who sincerely study the Dao should quickly pass through the “barrier of loftiness and greatness,” completely set aside complacency, pride, and the urge to compete, and begin their practical study from the humblest position. This will not only reduce troubles in dealing with the world; it will also bring greater benefit in studying the Dao. If someone continues to exalt themselves and refuses to treat others humbly, who would be willing to share profound principles with them? With such an attitude, understanding the Great Dao is difficult.

The “ornamentation barrier” means that those who cultivate the Dao should value inner cultivation and work on nature and life, rather than pursuing outward splendor single-mindedly.

The Dao De Jing says: “The fields lie fallow and the granaries are empty, yet people wear fine clothes, carry sharp swords, crave lavish meals, and accumulate much wealth. This is ostentation, and it does not accord with the Dao.” The Zhuangzi says that those who place too much importance on outward appearances often seem clumsy within. The Mencius likewise says that when one fills oneself with a good reputation and De, one no longer cares about luxurious clothing. These words all remind those who cultivate the Dao not to pursue appearances while neglecting the heart, or abandon what is genuine in favor of empty adornment.

The study of nature and life—the Daoist practice of cultivating body and mind and seeking the roots of life—calls for sincerity and practical effort. It leaves no room for the slightest falseness and relies on no superficial show. Even a little pretense can hinder the cultivation of nature and life and damage the heart. For this reason, the ancient seekers of the Dao placed the greatest importance on this inner work. They wore coarse cloth, ate simple food, and lived as circumstances allowed. They did not love fine things or deliberately dress themselves up. They might appear dull or clumsy, blending into ordinary society so that people could not see their cultivation. The text gives the examples of the Great Master Huineng, who lived in seclusion among hunters in Sihui; the Imperial Lord Chongyang, who dwelt in the Tomb of the Living Dead; and Zhang Sanfeng, whose clothes were worn and ragged. These examples show how many cultivators devoted their energy to inner work instead of their appearance. Others concealed themselves among farmers, lay on icy shores, hauled water and transported grain, or gathered firewood across the river. Outwardly, they endured the hardships of ordinary life; in secret, they cultivated themselves. They valued inner genuineness and cared little for outward appearance.

Some confused students of the Dao do the opposite: they prize appearances and neglect the inner life, taking what is false for true and casting away what is genuine. Afraid of being laughed at, they dress in finery; afraid of the cold, they pile on layers of clothing. Some deliberately groom and adorn themselves with strange ornaments to attract attention. Others retreat into seclusion and sit in meditation only to win fame and praise. Such people merely devote their efforts to outward display. How could that count as work on the cultivation of nature and life? Hoping to attain the Dao through these surface efforts is like trying to scoop the moon from the bottom of the sea or pluck flowers from a mirror: in the end, nothing is gained.

Those who sincerely devote themselves to learning the Dao should pass through the “ornamentation barrier” as soon as they can: put aside ostentation and return to simplicity, dress plainly, and live modestly and calmly. They should give priority to cultivating nature and life, value Dao and De, correct what is deviant, and make their actions practical and grounded. Only then can they make progress. Otherwise, if they take the empty for the real, pursue appearances while neglecting the inner life, and abandon what is genuine in favor of empty adornment, they will find it difficult to understand the Great Dao.

The sage says: “Regard nature and life—the roots of existence—as most important, and the Dao and De as most precious. Turn away from what is deviant and return to what is upright, and put what you have learned into practice in everything you do; only then will you make progress. Otherwise, you will claim that what does not exist does exist, take emptiness for reality, focus only on the outside and lose what is within, abandon what is true and pursue what is false, yet still imagine that you can understand the Great Dao. That will be very difficult.”

The sage says, “To know that you know, and to know that you do not know: that is true understanding.” The Old Master says, “Knowing what you do not know is insight; not knowing yet believing that you know is a failing.” The Realized Person of Ziyang says, “Even if you can identify cinnabar and black lead—the medicinal substances used as metaphors in Neidan—without understanding the firing times, the timing and measure of the refining process, your knowledge is useless. In the end, everything depends on cultivation. Even the slightest deviation means the Elixir will not form.” Yuan Duzi says, “Those who study the Dao must truly distinguish the inner and outer medicines and master the complete methods of both stages of cultivation, bringing them into accord with the transformations of Heaven and Earth. Only then have they received the transmitted Dao. The slightest difference can lead to an enormous disparity.”

All these sayings make the same point: those who study the Dao must have genuine, precise understanding. They must not claim to know what they do not know, or they will lead themselves astray in matters of great importance. Practitioners seek out teachers and fellow students precisely because there are things they do not know and wish to understand. They must clarify such matters as: What are nature and life? What are Yin-Yang and the Five Phases? What are the precelestial and postcelestial? What does it mean to begin cultivation, and when should one rest? What are Wuwei (non-action) and action? What are refining and nurturing? What does it mean to restore life and to realize one’s nature? They must understand everything thoroughly, from beginning to end, with no doubts in their minds. Only then can their understanding be clear and their cultivation free of error.

If you understand nature but not life, or life but not nature; Yin-Yang but not the Five Phases; the postcelestial but not the precelestial; how to begin but not when to rest; action but not Wuwei; refining but not nurturing; or restoring life but not realizing nature, then you cannot be said to truly understand the Dao. And if you do not understand the Dao, how can you put it into practice? In the study of nature and life, you can practice only as much as you understand: understand one part and you can put one part into practice; understand it fully and you can put it fully into practice. Without genuine understanding, genuine practice is impossible. That is why those who cultivate the Dao must first seek clarity.

In seeking knowledge, first distinguish what you know from what you do not. You can say that you know something only when you understand it completely. If you still have doubts, or only half understand it, then you do not yet know it; continue asking until your mind suddenly opens and all doubts disappear. Never pretend to understand when you do not, and thereby mislead yourself.

Some muddled people who study the Dao do not understand what nature and life are or how to cultivate. Instead, they learn misguided contrivances and convoluted tricks. They remain confused, yet claim to know, and rush into cultivation. The result is not only no benefit but harm. Others commit the error of claiming that what does not exist does exist and that what is empty is substantial. They cannot distinguish right from wrong or the deviant from the upright, and mistake the false for the true. Though they have already harmed themselves and know they are in error, they still pose as accomplished masters. Worse, they teach their mistaken methods to others and lead them astray. This secret harm to others is especially grave.

Some people spend time with an enlightened teacher and hear a few explanations, but do not reflect on them carefully. They take the words they remember for their own learning and show them off everywhere. Others read a few volumes of alchemical scriptures, follow the words on the page, and guess at their meaning. Their learning has neither direction nor completeness, yet they too claim to have gained insight. Even when an enlightened teacher is right before them, they do not ask for guidance or confirmation. All of this is mistaking ignorance for knowledge; it is called “false knowing,” not genuine understanding. From ancient times to the present, countless Daoists have fallen into this failing.

Alas, the study of nature and life is so important. How can anyone treat it so carelessly and absurdly, deceiving themselves and others? Know this: only complete understanding can lead to complete practice. Even those who do their utmost to distinguish and examine things carefully may still worry that their understanding is insufficient or their practice unclear. That is why they must seek instruction from their teachers. How much more so for those who plainly do not understand, yet stubbornly pretend that they do?

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “barrier of false knowing” as soon as possible and cast off the habit of imagining themselves clever. If you do not understand, seek guidance at once; if you already understand, investigate further. Matters of nature and life are weighty, and the Great Dao is profound and subtle. You must investigate deeply and observe with care, following your understanding ever deeper until you grasp the matter at its root. If you pretend to be wise and treat the study of nature and life as a game, those who do not understand will never come to understand, and those who know only a little will struggle to go deeper. To imagine that you can understand the Great Dao under such conditions is exceedingly difficult.

The Yijing says, “Dwelling with others in the open wilderness brings success and good fortune.” Confucius says, “Make greater demands of yourself and blame others less, and resentment will keep its distance.” Laozi says, “The Dao is empty, yet in its use it seems never to be filled.” These sayings all teach that in cultivating oneself and dealing with the world, one should remain even-tempered and peaceful. One must not harbor hidden malice, for it will obstruct the cultivation of the Dao.

Those who study the Dao do so because they recognize their own shortcomings and wish to improve; they seek to eliminate evil because they have bad habits of their own. Yet in striving to improve and cast off what is harmful, it is especially important not to act with deliberate intent or become inwardly attached. With no fixed intention, one can forget oneself; forgetting oneself, one no longer regards others as standing in opposition. The distinction between self and others dissolves, and neither side keeps score. Even if someone humiliates, deceives, mocks, or deliberately harms you, do not take it to heart. Even when you hear slander or meet with great hardship, do not let it give rise to enmity. Whether circumstances are favorable or adverse, respond with an ordinary, steady mind. Let things pass and do not dwell on them.

Consider people who study the Dao together. They differ in goodness and evil, in wisdom and folly; everyone has their own temperament, and no one can expect everyone to suit their wishes. Some speak hurtfully, while others act dishonestly. When you hear it, it is as though you had not heard; when you see it, as though you had not seen. Adapt to others as circumstances require, and once a matter has passed, do not keep score.

When a revered teacher (shifu) instructs you, points out your faults, or even rebukes and stops you, it is usually because you have indeed done something wrong. You should correct yourself at once and take greater care. What is more, a true teacher chooses disciples who have potential. When a person shows resolve, the teacher may put them through particularly demanding trials to strengthen that resolve. Those who cannot be cultivated are left to their own devices, and the teacher no longer concerns himself with them.

Therefore, whether dealing with the world or learning from a teacher, those who study the Dao must set aside selfish motives and keep the common good in mind if they hope to make progress. Confused students of the Dao demand that others accommodate them, yet refuse to accommodate others. They enjoy flattery but will not hear frank advice. The slightest offense displeases them. They forget the great kindness others have shown them, yet remember the smallest grievance; they harbor malice for years and will not let it go. Their words may be honeyed and their manner pleasant, while sharpness lies hidden within. They insist on taking revenge.

Even when their own faults are pointed out by teachers or friends, they neither repent nor change. Openly, they argue over right and wrong; in secret, they slander others and cultivate enmity. Such people are deeply malicious and can no longer be called upright. They never stop to consider: how could the great Dao of nature and life—the fundamental principles of life’s origins and cultivation—be made clear to people like this? How could the malicious attain it? If resentment is not cast off and bad habits are not changed, one will sink into the sea of suffering that is the cycle of birth and death. It is truly lamentable.

I urge those who sincerely devote themselves to studying the Dao to break through the “barrier of hidden malice” without delay, and to cast off all the resentment, rancor, ignorance, and evil thoughts accumulated over a lifetime. Be peaceful in how you treat others and in all your dealings; be willing to yield. Be able to shoulder heavy burdens and endure humiliation. Cultivate yourself through hardship and trial, and free yourself from the drive to compete and prevail. Regard all things as empty and leave no trace of attachment in your heart. Only then may you have the chance to meet a true teacher who can lead you out of the sea of suffering.

Otherwise, if you cannot bear even a single remark or gesture, if the slightest affront brings distress, and your heart is filled with malice and resentment, yet you still imagine you can hear the great Dao, that will be very difficult indeed.

Mencius said, “Yu disliked fine wine but delighted in words that were beneficial.” Lü Zu said, “Wine, sex, wealth, and anger are like four walls, with people hidden inside them. Whoever can leap beyond those walls has found the path to longevity.” These words teach people not to be greedy for wine, lest it keep them from what truly matters.

Wine is the beginning of four kinds of trouble. Once a person becomes greedy for it, drunkenness clouds the mind and spirit, and may give rise to lust, greed for wealth, and anger. Indulgence in wine and sex, the pursuit of money, and a violent temper can all stem from drinking; damage to Virtue and the ruin of one’s integrity are often tied to it as well. Some people, drunk and unrestrained, approach water or fire without knowing it, or encounter weapons without realizing the danger. Since ancient times, many intelligent and talented people, heroes and great figures, have met disaster this way and lost their lives.

Some people are naturally kind and self-disciplined. Though they enjoy wine, they do not lose control when drunk or succumb to the lust, greed, and irritability that drinking can provoke. Yet even when it does not lead them to reckless behavior, wine still clouds the mind, shortens the breath, stirs dampness and heat within the body, depletes bodily fluids, and harms Qi and blood. In the end, it brings harm and no benefit. This is why the Buddhist tradition counts abstaining from alcohol among its important precepts: its dangers are great.

Some misguided cultivators in the world quote sayings attributed to the patriarchs, such as “Wine and meat pass through the gut; the Dao remains in the heart,” and use them as an excuse not to avoid meat or abstain from alcohol. They then drink greedily without restraint, day after day, living in a drunken stupor with muddled minds and confused behavior, doing whatever they please. Some, when drunk, say hurtful things, hold grudges, cause trouble, or even brandish knives and clubs. Others strip naked, babble nonsense, or collapse in the streets and alleys without regard for shame. Still others damage their Qi by vomiting and leave their spirit unsettled. Over time, they drink themselves sick, lose their appetite, and remain unwilling to give up alcohol even on the verge of death.

There are also people who devote themselves to the Dao and have given up many bad habits, yet cannot bring themselves to renounce the coarse pleasure of drinking. Alas, those who cultivate and seek the truth must uproot the defilements and seeds of transmigration accumulated through countless kalpas. Wine is merely a taste on the tongue, something acquired from outside; it is not part of one’s innate nature. If you cannot overcome even the small fault of greed for wine in this lifetime, how can you uproot the seeds of transmigration accumulated through countless kalpas? Would such a person not be sacrificing what matters for something trivial and bringing about their own ruin?

Besides, wine is not like ordinary food or drink. Go without food for a few days and you will suffer hunger and harm. But what harm is there in never drinking wine throughout your life? If all you want is to quench your thirst, soup and water are readily available. Why drink wine? The truth is simply that the habit of craving wine runs too deep, and you refuse to cure it.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to overcome their craving for wine without delay. Turn the attention once spent longing for fine wine toward the work of investigating principles and understanding how things are. Do not let the demon of wine disturb you. Drinking may seem a minor matter, yet it can ruin what is important; resolve to give it up, and the benefits will be many. Otherwise, if you drink without restraint and live in a drunken stupor, sinking into muddled confusion day after day, you will remain lost—and understanding the Great Dao will be difficult indeed.

The Doctrine of the Mean says: If others can accomplish something with one unit of effort, I will use a hundred times the effort; if others can accomplish it with ten units, I will use a thousand. If one can truly do this, even the foolish will become clear-minded, and even the weak will become strong.

An old saying goes: Sleep for a while, and you lose that much time; sleep for a whole day, and you lose a whole day. Work diligently each day, without indulging in sleep or idleness, and after a thousand days you will have achieved something. As the common saying goes, “Without enduring hardship, you cannot become exceptional.” All these words mean that great achievements require diligence and hard work. The greatest undertakings in the world call for the most arduous effort, and can succeed only through long perseverance. The greater the hardship one endures, the greater the achievement. How, then, could a great undertaking such as cultivating nature and life—cultivating body and mind and seeking the source of life—be accomplished without hardship?

“Hardship” is a good medicine for those who cultivate the Dao. Only by willingly enduring hardship can one temper body and mind and treat one’s longstanding afflictions. So, outwardly, accumulate merit and good deeds; inwardly, refine the mind. Let the sinews and bones grow weary, and let the body endure hunger and exhaustion. Apply yourself in every way and exert yourself in every task. Build bridges and repair roads; even at personal cost, help others. Bear humiliation and slander, and wherever you go, do what makes things easier for others. Do not covet what others enjoy, and do not become attached to what others love. Endure what others find unbearable; get through what others find hard to bear. Decisively cast off all the habits and attachments accumulated over a lifetime. This is outward ascetic practice.

Inwardly, put the spirit in order and strengthen your resolve; cast off desire and delusive thoughts, and strive to cut through every affliction and ignorance that clouds the mind. If you cannot yet do so, resolve to do so; if you cannot yet be rid of them, persist in trying. Keep only a sincere wish to seek the Dao in your heart, never letting it slip away, and allow no other delusive thought to take root. This is inward ascetic cultivation. Only by enduring hardship both outwardly and inwardly does one truly practice austerity and heal deep-seated afflictions.

In the past, Shakyamuni cultivated the Way in the Snow Mountains, the Sixth Patriarch exerted himself in Sihui, and Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji) tempered his nature at Panxi. Even sages of exceptional natural gifts had to undergo great hardship to succeed. How much more, then, must later generations of Dao seekers—most of whom have ordinary abilities—be willing to endure hardship if they hope to achieve anything?

Some muddleheaded Dao seekers fail to understand that sweetness comes after bitterness, yet expect to obtain the precious fruit of the Dao with ease and attain the Dao in comfort. They grow anxious as soon as they hear that hardship is required, and retreat as soon as they hear that effort is needed. By day, they are unwilling to exert themselves, caring only to eat their fill and wander about; by night, they sleep long beneath thick blankets. They refuse to do what benefits others or to undertake tasks that require effort, yet will not correct their own faults. Some read a few books on the Elixir and recite a few scrolls of scripture, pretending to be people of the Dao. Some roam about begging and think they have gained skill once they have enough food and warm clothing. Others live in temples or Daoist monasteries, manage affairs, burn incense, and cultivate, but because they have escaped hunger and cold, imagine they have erased their karmic debts. Such people never ask themselves why they left their parents and parted from their wives and children. If they left home only for food and clothing, how are they any different from ordinary people? Why, then, incur a debt for the offerings of the faithful in all ten directions?

I urge those who sincerely seek the Dao to overcome the fear of hardship at once, resolve to endure every difficulty without turning back, and press forward with courage, keeping their feet firmly on the ground. Hold the great matter of nature and life in your heart, and attend to it at every moment. Do everything beneficial to the best of your ability, and abandon everything useless to the best of your ability. Alongside your own strenuous cultivation, follow your teachers’ instructions and carry them out in every respect. Do not slacken. Work diligently day and night, persevere over time, and never give up; in the end, you will gain real results. Otherwise, if you fear toil and shrink from moving forward, wasting your days while vainly hoping to hear the Great Dao, you will find it difficult indeed.

The Barrier of Doubt

The Daodejing says, “Those of the highest capacity hear of the Dao and diligently put it into practice. Those of middling capacity hear of the Dao and sometimes remember it, sometimes forget it. Those of the lowest capacity hear of the Dao and laugh.” The Diamond Sutra says that after good men and women give rise to the aspiration for supreme, perfect enlightenment—the highest wisdom and awakening in Buddhism—they should abide in this mind and bring their thoughts under control. The Book of Changes says that sincerity can move even creatures such as pigs and fish, and that this is auspicious. The Doctrine of the Mean says that sincerity is the foundation on which all things begin and end; without sincerity, nothing exists. For this reason, the noble person values sincerity above all.

The teachings of the sages of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism all regard faith and sincerity as the foundation of cultivation. The “faith” discussed here does not mean keeping one’s word or exchanging information. It means a sincere belief that comes from the heart. The single word “faith” embodies a true principle and has great power: it can move Heaven and Earth, communicate with the spirits, and even alter the course of life and death, enabling a person to cultivate into a sage, a Buddha, or an immortal. It is the most important treasure for those who cultivate the Dao. Once a student of the Dao commits to this faith and holds it firmly in the heart without letting it go for a moment, the foundation of cultivation is established and will no longer waver or change. Only then can one continue to hear and practice the Dao, cultivate one’s nature, and resolve the matters of nature and life.

Since ancient times, which immortal or perfected being did not begin by believing in the Dao and ultimately accomplish the work of the Dao? Yet belief in the Dao is neither idle fantasy nor empty talk among a group of people. It means turning wholeheartedly toward the Dao, without divided intentions, and never forgetting it, at any moment. Only those who regard cultivating nature and life as the great matter of human existence can truly believe. Only those who are not burdened by external things—who are not confused by wealth and rank, not shaken by poverty, not subdued by force, and who can take all things lightly and set aside concerns about fortune, misfortune, and disaster—can be called steadfast. If even the slightest doubt or slackness remains in the heart, that is not true faith. True faith is single-minded and undivided, advancing day by day and putting the Dao into practice at every opportunity. Those who can do this make progress in cultivation each day; those who cannot merely let their time go to waste.

Belief in the Dao, however, also requires distinguishing right from wrong and the orthodox from the deviant. Some people in the world stray into heterodox paths and cling to them all their lives, refusing to change even at death. Is this not also a kind of “faith”? Yet the direction of their faith is wrong, and they are harmed by the very belief they hold. Thus, while faith is essential to learning the Dao, one must also believe in what is right. That is true faith in the Dao.

Some confused students of the Dao are not steadfast in their faith. Their thoughts scatter throughout the day, letting distractions disturb them; they do not keep the Dao in mind even for a moment. Sometimes, when they have free time, they open a book, but before they have properly considered its meaning, their thoughts are drawn away to something else. Others rouse themselves for a time, working hard to examine the principles and seek out teachers and fellow practitioners. When a long time passes without their finding someone suitable, they begin to slacken. Some hear of a method of cultivation but, seeing no results for a long while, grow doubtful and retreat. Others take a wrong turn and develop problems in their practice, yet refuse to admit their own mistakes and instead call the Dan classics—the texts on Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation—absurd. Such cases are too numerous to count. If one cannot believe in the Dao, how can one truly understand it?

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the barrier of “doubt” at once. Set your sights firmly on cultivating nature and life, sweep away improper thoughts and conduct, establish an unwavering resolve, and proceed steadily in your practice. Do not concern yourself with whether you see results in the present or whether you will ultimately succeed; persevere until death. Unseen, the spirits will lend their aid, and in the end there will be a good outcome. Otherwise, doing one thing today and changing to another tomorrow, advancing at times and retreating at others, half believing and half doubting, without a firm center, while hoping to understand the Great Dao, will make the task exceedingly difficult.

Crossing the Hurdle of Having No Firm Conviction

The Classic of Changes (Yijing) says to compare and weigh things carefully before speaking, and to deliberate before acting. Only after such reflection can one respond to change. Otherwise, one does one thing today and another tomorrow, veering back and forth, sometimes believing and sometimes doubting. With no firm conviction in one’s heart, yet hoping to understand the Great Dao, one is unlikely to succeed.

The Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong) says that if one thinks through one’s words beforehand, one will not speak inappropriately; if one plans a task in advance, it will not be obstructed; if one considers one’s actions carefully, one will not regret them afterward; and if one understands the principles beforehand, one will not reach a dead end in conducting oneself. These words all show that success depends on first having a clear and firm conviction.

Those who study the Dao must first establish a firm conviction in their hearts. When they recognize their nature and life, their true heart can emerge. Once it does, they will not be swayed by worldly affairs, crave romantic attachments, or seek fame and profit. They will not dwell on things outside themselves, and will be able to focus wholeheartedly. They will also be able to endure hardship and suffering. With such a heart, they can investigate the principles of the Dao and gradually understand them; they can listen to instruction and truly grasp it. This is because a firm conviction makes it harder for external things to mislead them.

Before establishing a firm conviction, however, one must distinguish truth from falsehood. A true conviction benefits one’s nature and life, while a mistaken one harms them. If one cannot distinguish the upright path from deviance and strays into heterodox ways, pursuing the secret and bizarre and engaging in all sorts of contrivances, the result will be harm without benefit. Such conduct is, in truth, still a sign of having no real conviction. One must therefore discern carefully, recognize the right path, and then remain steadfast on it, following it with undivided attention. Each step will bring benefit, and each day will show results. As the saying goes, only by being cautious at the beginning can one preserve oneself from start to finish. The Classic of Changes says, “Do not go out beyond the courtyard gate, and there will be no blame”—this too speaks of making a clear judgment in advance.

Some confused people who study the Dao speak of cultivating nature and life, but in truth they do not know how to cherish them or what such cultivation involves. They treat the matter carelessly, remain muddled in their hearts, yet hope to achieve their aim. Lacking a firm conviction, they follow whatever rumor or commotion catches their attention. Today they study one method, tomorrow another; in the morning they pay homage to Master Li, and in the evening to Master Wang, filling their minds with a jumble of teachings. They act recklessly, and when their bodies are harmed, there is no way to repair the damage. By then, regret comes too late.

Some people see strange apparitions and take them as proof that their cultivation is working. Without distinguishing truth from falsehood, they jeopardize their prospects. Others meet a genuine teacher but lack the resolve to study over the long term, coming and going without constancy. The reason in every case is the absence of true, steadfast conviction. Their resolve remains unsettled and their conduct lacks substance; they waste their years and let their lives pass in vain.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the hurdle of having “no firm conviction” as soon as they can, and to strengthen their resolve. First investigate the principles: apply yourself day and night, study their real meaning, and experience their inner delight. Do not be bound by the passage of time; the longer you study, the harder you should work. Examine them repeatedly until you see how they fit together and gain genuine understanding. Then your conviction will naturally grow stronger and your wisdom will gradually open. From then on, hold firmly to that conviction and never let it go. After that, ask a teacher to verify your understanding and explain in detail the timing and methods of cultivation. Only then may you receive genuine guidance.

Even if you have strayed or acted improperly, you can ask a knowledgeable person about any doubts in your heart. Speak honestly and conceal nothing; through questioning and careful examination, your doubts can be resolved. Even if you have not yet learned the true Dao, you can at least avoid disaster. But without a true and firm conviction, you will act in confusion and haste, unable to distinguish the deviant from the upright or the false from the true. Hoping to attain long life, you will instead hasten your own ruin. It is very difficult to understand the Great Dao in this way.

The Pass of Quick Results

The “Classic” says: “Only after investigating things can one attain knowledge; only after attaining knowledge can one make one’s intentions sincere; only after making one’s intentions sincere can one set one’s heart right; only after setting one’s heart right can one cultivate oneself.” This means that only by first investigating the principles of things can one gain true knowledge. With true knowledge, one’s intentions can become sincere; when one’s intentions are sincere, the heart can be set right; and only when the heart is set right can one cultivate oneself. The Dao De Jing says, “Great vessels are completed late.” Shangyangzi also says that great practitioners must gradually set aside their everyday worries and deliberations, their hard and troubled thoughts, and their attachments and desires, leaving no trace of concern, until outwardly they are like withered wood and inwardly like dead ashes. An ancient immortal said, “If words do not reach one another, you are not kindred; if the work is not complete, the circle is not whole.” He also said, “The Return Elixir is made in an instant, but refining the self takes ten months.” These sayings all mean that cultivating the Dao requires proceeding step by step, in the proper order. Only sustained effort over a long time can bring results; one cannot skip ahead or rush to achieve them.

The study of nature and life is a path of cultivation that seeks long life and lasting vision. To live long and see far, one must have enduring resolve and act with persistence. Only through daily accumulation and uninterrupted effort can one accomplish anything; it cannot be done overnight. Since time without beginning, people have accumulated many karmic offenses and ingrained habits. In this life, they also carry the root-dust formed over many lifetimes—the desires and habits that bind the heart and Shen—as well as the seeds of samsara. Added to these are the imbalances of the acquired Five Phases Qi and the conditioning of the mundane world. All these disturbances cloud the Original Shen, deplete the Original Qi, and damage the Original Jing, gradually consuming one’s innate true nature. The body thus becomes entirely Yin, with only a faint, hidden trace of Yang remaining.

To uproot the seeds of root-dust carried through many lifetimes, transform acquired imbalances, and clear away long-standing conditioning, one must endure the passage of time and be willing to work hard. As long as even a trace of Yang Qi remains, a person will not die; as long as even a trace of Yin Qi remains, one cannot become an immortal. For this reason, the ancestral masters established the path of return, teaching practitioners to apply themselves steadily, making effort at every step and cultivating diligently at all times, until Yin Qi is entirely transformed and Yang Qi becomes pure and complete. Here, “Yin Qi” refers to root-dust, imbalanced Qi, and ingrained conditioning; “Yang Qi” refers to Original Shen, Original Qi, and Original Jing. How could dispelling Yin and restoring Yang be easy? Not only is cultivation itself difficult; even discerning Yin and Yang is no simple matter.

Confused people who study the Dao in the world have barely entered the gate before they want the secret formula; before learning how to practice, they want to attain the Dao. They refuse to study the scriptures or cultivate merit, yet whenever they meet a clear-sighted master, they imagine they can easily obtain the treasure. They do not understand that precious jade and jewels are hard to come by, and the wondrous Dao of cultivating the true is the same: one must apply oneself steadily and wait patiently before results can appear. Those who hope to obtain it easily by luck are usually following heterodox paths or crooked ways. Such methods may produce quick results, but they rarely lead to true success and may, over time, cause harm. The true Great Dao cultivates the formless Qi of the precelestial state. Though its results come slowly, success is ultimately more readily attained, and sustained practice will surely bring benefit.

Those who hear the Great Dao may be called lesser sages; those who truly attain the Dao are great sages. To become a sage, one needs great virtue among one’s ancestors, accumulated merit and practice in previous lives, and, in this life, an early encounter with a clear-sighted master and the chance to hear the Great Dao. If one’s ancestors lacked virtue and one has accumulated little merit through practice, how could one easily hear the Way of the sages or reach their state? Still, now that you have begun to study the Dao, you should first do your utmost: endure hardship with sincerity and listen to instruction with a genuine heart. Take one step, and you gain what comes from one step; take ten steps, and you gain what comes from ten. Even if you do not fully understand the Great Dao in this life, once you have planted the roots of goodness, there is still hope in a future life.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “Pass of Quick Results” without delay: let go of the desire to succeed at once and establish a resolve that will endure without faltering. Whenever you hear a good saying or see a good deed, pay attention and learn from it. Study the alchemical scriptures, seek the company of clear-sighted masters, and apply yourself to what you can genuinely do right now. Even if you cannot complete the cultivation of the Great Dao in this life, you can still rise above the ordinary and stop letting your life be spent in a sea of suffering. If you do not establish enduring resolve or hold fast with patience, but rush toward success and grow careless and lax, you may fall into a deep pit while hoping to ascend to Heaven. With such delusions, understanding the Dao is truly difficult.

The “Carelessness Barrier” teaches that those who study the Dao must examine things closely and verify them repeatedly. They must not assume they understand on the basis of a few words or outward appearances.

Confucius said that learning without reflection leads to confusion, while reflection without learning leads to danger; one must also review what one has learned in order to grasp new meaning. Mencius likewise said that the mind’s function is to think: through thought, one gains something; without thought, one gains nothing. The Wuzhen Pian also reminds readers that even everyday sayings may contain the principles of the sages and should be considered carefully. If one persistently seeks insight through ordinary things, even dust and sand can become a means of understanding. All these teachings urge people to investigate principles attentively and reach sound understanding, rather than dealing with them carelessly and superficially.

The study of cultivating nature and life concerns matters of great importance and cannot be approached casually, as though it were an ordinary, minor task. A small mistake in seeking longevity may instead harm the body and hasten death. So before undertaking the cultivation of nature and life, one must first understand their principles. The principles of nature and life discussed here are neither some tangible substance inside the body nor some heavy, impure matter outside it. At this point, people are bound to wonder: if it is neither within the body nor beyond it, where should it be sought?

The author goes on to criticize the many heterodox teachings and mistaken views. Since ancient times, cultivation traditions have multiplied, branching into competing schools, with errors accumulating through repeated misreporting. Some have even led the blind while blind themselves. Such teachings may be bizarre and absurd, or they may seem reasonable while in fact straying from the true path. They can mislead ordinary people and even cloud the judgment of those who think they understand. Once caught up in them, people often find it difficult to break free.

Daoist alchemical texts often speak of Yin-Yang, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), Original Jing, Original Qi, and other terms, but different people interpret them as things familiar to themselves. Some say Yin-Yang means the sexual union of men and women; others explain it as one breath in and one breath out. Some identify the Five Phases with the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys; others with spirit, the ethereal and corporeal souls, and intention. Some explain Original Shen, Original Qi, and Original Jing as, respectively, the spirit of thought, the Qi of breathing, and the essence produced through sexual intercourse. Others locate them in bodily areas such as the Celestial Valley, the Sea of Qi, and the Dantian (energy center). Similar disagreements arise over nature and life, the Primordial Female, and the Yellow Court. Some say life is kidney Qi and nature is the spirit of the heart; others explain life as a person’s fortunes and lifespan, and nature as their virtue or vice and intelligence or foolishness. There is also no agreement about where the Primordial Female and the Yellow Court are located.

When Daoist alchemical texts discuss stillness, emptiness, and the refining of the Golden Elixir, people often take the words literally. Some believe Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation means becoming still and empty, while Waidan (external alchemy) means gathering ingredients and refining them. They also say that Neidan cultivates nature, while Waidan prolongs life by ingesting substances. In the author’s view, these plausible yet mistaken interpretations are especially likely to mislead. Many intelligent and talented people with lofty aspirations may spend their entire lives laboring in this way, yet never find a true destination.

The Great Dao of cultivating the Real, as the author describes it, cultivates the “primordial Qi of the precelestial True One” (in Daoist internal alchemy, the fundamental Qi that is the source of all things). This Qi is indistinct and profound, and is called “the unseen, the unheard, and the imperceptible”: it cannot be seen, heard, or grasped. Yet within the utmost emptiness it contains reality, and within the utmost nonbeing it contains the utmost being. Heaven and Earth are generated from it, Yin-Yang is sustained by it, and the Five Phases and all principles are contained within it. It cannot simply be sought inside the body, nor can it be found outside the body; it comes from emptiness.

The text then uses internal alchemical terms to explain that this source Qi is what nature, life, birth, death, and the attainment of immortality or Buddhahood depend upon. It is also the foundation for establishing the furnace and cauldron, gathering ingredients, regulating the firing times, harmonizing the Four Symbols (complementary factors such as Yin and Yang), bringing together the Five Phases, and forming the Golden Elixir and the sacred embryo. Reversing Yin-Yang, seizing the workings of creation, transcending the ordinary to become a sage, and such concepts as the Gate of the Primordial Female, the Primordial Pass, the Yellow Court, and the Earthen Cauldron all refer to this same source. The furnace, cauldron, ingredients, firing times, and similar terms are symbolic expressions in internal alchemy. They should not be understood merely as bodily organs or external substances. The text’s saying, “Obtain the One, and all things are accomplished,” refers to grasping this fundamental principle.

The principles of this cultivation are subtle and difficult to fathom; they cannot be understood easily. The text says that one needs great wisdom, great merit, great perseverance, and great ambition, as well as careful inquiry, sustained effort, and hard work, before one may begin to understand. Cultivation has methods, firing times, and stages, and each step is different; adjustments must also be made according to the moment. One must investigate for oneself and seek guidance from a true teacher. Alchemical texts often use tangible things to illustrate intangible principles. Careless reading and perfunctory understanding cannot reveal their true meaning.

Some foolish students of the Dao refuse to think carefully and are unwilling to endure hardship or work steadily over a long period, yet hope to understand everything after hearing just a sentence or two. When they encounter a teaching that merely seems plausible, they assume they can attain the Dao. They memorize metaphors and technical terms without investigating their true meaning or reflecting on them closely. As a result, they may mistake false books for genuine ones and heterodox paths for the true way. They may even fail to distinguish truth from falsehood or right from wrong, believing that every school and every book teaches the true Dao. In the end, they act recklessly and bring trouble upon themselves. All of this arises from carelessness.

The author urges genuine students of the Dao to pass through the “Carelessness Barrier” as soon as possible and study with care, deepening their understanding layer by layer: once they understand one principle, they should move on to the next. They must distinguish the heterodox from the orthodox, and right from wrong, and grasp the essence and key points of the principles until they truly understand and are firmly convinced. Once they have comprehended a fundamental principle, they will find that all things in Heaven and Earth can be understood through it, and that the Qi of the Dao is everywhere. Only then can they be said to possess true knowledge and insight and to have attained thorough awakening. They will not be misled by attachment to appearances or by empty talk about nothingness. If they have only a superficial understanding and have not truly seen the meaning, remaining in a state of half-understanding, uncertain whether to believe or doubt, they will find it difficult to ascend directly to the realm of the Dao.

The “Pass of Wasting Time” refers to the challenge of letting one’s years go to waste.

The Most Sagely One, Confucius, said: “Young people are worthy of respect. How do we know that those who come after us will not surpass those living now? But if someone has reached the age of forty or fifty and still has no standing, then there is little reason to respect them.” If one is already well along in years yet has not truly seen the Great Dao, and remains only in a state of hazy uncertainty, it is difficult to imagine leaping straight to the far shore of the Dao.

Perfected Person Ziyang said: “Alas! Human life is hard to attain, yet time passes easily. No one can know how long life will last, and who can escape the consequences of cause and effect? If you do not awaken soon, but simply wait for life to end, then at the moment of death even the slightest deviation in a thought may cause you to fall into the ‘Three Evil Destinies’—the Buddhist realms of suffering such as hell, hungry ghosts, and animals—and endure long kalpas with no easy escape.” Perfected Person Sanfeng said: “Even paying homage to a clear-sighted master, seeking methods, and beginning cultivation at once may still be too late.” These words all remind those who seek the Dao to study diligently while young and not let their years go to waste.

The sun and moon turn swiftly; time flies like an arrow, and a hundred years of life pass in the blink of an eye. Most things in the world are illusory; only nature and life truly matter. Those who value their nature and life should set their resolve while young and strong, press forward bravely, and seek teachers and friends with a pure heart and sincere intent. They should study earnestly, find a way to save their life, and fulfill their destined opportunity to cultivate the Dao and transcend the world. Do not wait until Qi has waned, Shen has grown dim, and sinews and bones have weakened, while you have still not returned to the source. If you wait until life has ended, will you not have come into this world for nothing?

When young and strong, one has more strength to travel, work hard, and endure hunger and cold. Jing and Qi are abundant, making it easier to achieve something, and the road ahead is still long. So do not drift through life and squander your years, delaying the great matter of nature and life. The ancients cherished every moment, applying themselves diligently and staying alert morning and night so that not an instant went to waste.

Foolish students of the Dao do not understand the need to set their resolve and cultivate. They crave worldly affairs and cannot let go of fame, profit, food, or clothing. They mistake false things for real and abandon what truly matters: nature and life. Day and night they scheme, living in a drunken dream and adding only worry and suffering. They experience every kind of joy and anger, sorrow and pleasure, greed, hatred, delusion, and desire, yet spend their energy on useless pursuits and neglect the cultivation that would truly benefit them. They neither seek clarity in the classics of sages and worthies nor ask enlightened teachers and good friends for guidance. They care only for ample food and clothing, gathering to gossip, indulge stray thoughts, and busy themselves with trivial matters, letting time slip away. When the King of Hell asks them to account for their lives, what will they have to say? Time waits for no one, and the past cannot be reclaimed. It is truly pitiful to ignore the great matter of nature and life, yet do things that damage the body and shorten life, spending precious years on what is useless.

Therefore, those who sincerely study the Dao should break through the “Pass of Wasting Time” as soon as possible, keeping nature and life constantly in mind and never forgetting cultivation in their conduct or speech. When they meet a teacher, they should receive instruction; when they encounter fellow practitioners, they should learn through discussion. Even if they do not yet understand the Great Dao, they should not squander their years. In time, they can still become upright people and avoid creating offenses. If they devote themselves wholeheartedly, endure great hardship, and accomplish great deeds, they will receive the unseen protection of the spirits and the recognition of true teachers, and the Great Dao will be within reach. But if they do not value nature and life, lack resolve, and waste their years while still imagining they can become immortals and attain the Dao, success will be difficult.

The Book of Changes says, “The large fruit is not picked and eaten. The noble person thus obtains a carriage, while the petty person cannot even keep a roof over his head.” An ancient immortal said, “Even at seventy or eighty, as long as one still has a breath of life, one can continue cultivating the returned Elixir.” The Perfected Zhang Sanfeng said, “Grafting a plum branch onto a willow, or a pear branch onto a mulberry, offers examples for those who cultivate the Dao to follow. Since ancient times, Daoist adepts have had methods of grafting; even old age, it turns out, can be treated with medicine.” All these words mean that one must not lose heart, abandon one’s resolve, or give up halfway just because one is old. One should remain eager to learn in old age, work ever more diligently with the passing years, and stop only when life itself ends.

The Dao of the Golden Elixir teaches a return to the root and restoration of one’s life, a reversal of aging and return to youth. It is a path of cultivation for renewing the continuity of life. “Reversal of aging and return to youth” does not mean changing one’s body or regaining a child’s appearance. It means returning to the root of life, so that the spirit is whole and the breath is abundant, restoring the state of wholeness and innate completeness. Recovering this original state is not difficult; what is difficult is lacking resolve and perseverance.

Though a person may be old and physically weakened, their innate spiritual foundation has not entirely disappeared; it has merely been worn down and depleted by acquired, turbid energies. If one encounters a clear-sighted teacher, sincerely seeks instruction in the method of grafting—that is, the Daoist Neidan practice of nourishing and replenishing the original energy of life—and applies oneself earnestly and consistently, one can increase Yang Qi and diminish Yin Qi. By continuing to replenish and reduce until nothing more can be added or subtracted, what was depleted can be made whole again, and what was lost can be restored, returning one to the original state of completeness. This is returning to the root and restoring one’s life, reversing aging and returning to youth: a method for renewing the continuity of life. Once one has secured one’s nature and life, one can say, “My life is determined by me, not by Heaven.” Further cultivation can bring one toward the state of a sage. Why, then, worry about old age or illness?

In the past, Ge Xianweng heard the Dao at sixty and later became a high minister in the Numinous Firmament. Lü Zu heard the Dao at fifty-four and cultivated himself into an immortal of the Great Luo Heaven. Ziqing heard the Dao at sixty-four and cultivated an imperishable perfected body. Zhang Sanfeng heard the Dao when he was over seventy and became a Perfected One of the Great Luo in the Ten Directions. These patriarchs all attained the Dao in old age. Why should age limit the cultivation of the Dao? A person with resolve can attain the Dao even when old; without resolve, even the young will find it hard to succeed. The power of resolve is truly great.

Confused people who study the Dao in this world refuse to commit themselves when young and let their time pass in vain. When they grow old, they lose heart, want to withdraw, and turn to other pursuits. Some encounter a clear-sighted teacher early in life and hear the methods of Daoist cultivation, yet refuse to work hard; their practice comes and goes. By the time they are old, they assume they no longer have the strength to continue and stop making progress. All this comes from beginning with diligence and ending in neglect, ruining one’s own prospects. Whom can they blame?

They do not understand that one must first do everything humanly possible and then leave the outcome to Heaven. Each step forward means one less step of stagnation; each task completed means further progress. Resolve to cultivate without stopping until the end of life. Even if one cannot ascend directly to the highest realm in this lifetime, reaching halfway up the mountain is far better than remaining at its foot. To lose one’s resolve because of old age, abandon cultivation, and refuse to move forward is to set one’s own limits. The saying “When the King of the Dead does not summon you, you send yourself to your death” describes precisely this situation.

I urge those who truly wish to study the Dao to overcome the barrier of losing resolve, remain firm in purpose even in old age, and cultivate with sincerity. Even if they do not succeed at once, they will have planted the foundations; in their next life they will begin differently from ordinary people and will ultimately attain the Dao. If they possess great virtue and strength and do not fear life or death, they may complete the great work of cultivation in this very life. But if they use old age as an excuse not to strive and turn back of their own accord, then wait until their final moments to change course, they will be at a loss, with nowhere to return. That will make things difficult indeed.

The Patriarch said, “Speaking too much often gets you into trouble. Better to keep your heart centered and balanced.” The Sage said, “A noble person is careful in speech and swift in action.” The Jade Pivot Scripture says, “Enter the Dao through sincerity.” An ancient immortal said, “Those who truly understand are not talkative; people who love to boast do not understand the Dao.” All these sayings teach us to be honest and diligent, and not to put on a show.

The path of cultivating the Dao is subtle, intricate, profound, and comprehensive. You must ask earnestly, think carefully, investigate things deeply, and work at it over a long period before you can see the truth clearly. You must also be resolute and practical, growing more diligent the longer you continue, if you are to achieve anything. You must not half understand and do only superficial work, rushing through it to get by; nor should you be frivolous and self-satisfied, putting up an empty facade and calling it done. If your understanding is even slightly muddled, or your practice even slightly shallow, you will be unable to put the teachings into practice, let alone truly understand them. Thus, what matters most in learning the Dao is to gain a sure understanding and practice it steadily for yourself.

Some foolish people who study the Dao make a little effort and think they have already attained the Dao, then talk carelessly in front of others. After practicing for a few days and seeing a small result, they claim to have attained the Dao, put on airs, and look down on everyone. They are showing off their abilities, treating what they do not know as if they know it, calling what is wrong correct, boasting of their talents, and vainly seeking fame.

In truth, the study of nature and life—the study of cultivating the mind and body and investigating the roots of life—is meant for self-cultivation, not for display. One should attend to what is within, rather than concern oneself with outward reputation. Before hearing the teachings, one should examine them carefully and seek them out deeply. After hearing them, one should devote oneself to practice and work quietly. One should act sincerely throughout, without ulterior motives. As the saying goes, “When the will is undivided, the spirit gathers.” This means that only when your focus does not wander can your spirit become concentrated. How could such a person have time to boast and make a noise before others, chasing after fame?

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “barrier of boasting” without delay: speak cautiously and act earnestly, like a simple, quiet person; do not rely on your own strengths or covet empty renown. Put the study of nature and life first, and cultivate yourself wholeheartedly. Those who have not yet heard the Dao should bow their heads and learn; those who have heard it should bow their heads and practice. When their cultivation is complete, if they are utterly sincere, understand what lies ahead, and possess great spiritual powers, people will naturally praise and proclaim them. Even a hundred generations later, people will still honor and admire them, and their names will live on. Why, then, should they boast about themselves or pursue empty fame?

Otherwise, if you claim that what is absent is present and that what is empty is full, congratulating yourself and growing complacent, you deceive both yourself and others while still hoping to attain the Dao. That will be very difficult.

“Understanding Reality” says: One need not take a single step to reach the Western Heaven within the heart; sitting motionless, one can see the scenes of all four directions. A light appearing behind the head is still only an illusion; clouds rising beneath the feet do not mean one has become an immortal. It also says: If you see a woman dressed in blue or a man draped in white silk, do not take this as a sign you can use. If you try to use it, you will no longer see it. Zhang Sanfeng said: Emptiness is form, and form is emptiness. Only by seeing through true emptiness amid all things can one understand the real meaning. Fully realizing true emptiness does not mean that nothing exists; the Dao’s true form endures and does not fall into nothingness. All these sayings mean that the Great Dao has no form or image, and that one should not cling to illusions that arise during cultivation.

The Dao of nature and life is also the Dao of the eternal and true. It is neither bizarre nor strange; it has no fixed form or color, depends on no contrivance or force, and is simply natural and ordinary. Laozi called it “the natural”; Confucius called it “the Mean”; and Shakyamuni called it “non-abiding”—the mind’s not clinging to any place. People are in the Dao from the beginning, yet do not know they are within it. After birth, their temperament and nature are influenced by acquired conditions and shaped into habits as Yin-Yang changes: deluded thoughts crowd the mind, while the outside world stirs the heart through the “six gates”—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. They are beset from within and without. What was natural becomes unnatural; what was centered and balanced becomes distorted; what clung to nothing begins to cling to everything. True nature is concealed, false habits come to the fore, and people lose their original selves.

Thus the ancestral masters established methods of life-extending cultivation, guiding people from deliberate practice into Wuwei (non-action), from gradual training to sudden realization, and ultimately back to the natural, the Mean, non-abiding, and the eternally imperishable True Dao. Cultivation adds nothing to these states, nor does it take anything away. Phrases such as seizing the workings of creation, reversing life and death, turning Yin-Yang back, moving Qi, forming the Golden Elixir, conceiving the sacred embryo, or having a body outside the body ultimately refer only to bringing to completion what is already inherently eternal and true. They do not mean borrowing various tangible things unrelated to the Dao. Since the True Dao is eternal and unchanging, how could it have any fixed appearance? The moment one clings to an appearance, it is no longer eternal and true, nor is it natural, centered, and non-abiding.

Some foolish students of the Dao hear “Golden Elixir” and assume they must see the Elixir’s shape; hear “toad light” and assume they must see a moonlike glow; hear “crescent moon” and assume they must see a crescent shape; hear “rosy clouds” or “red light” and assume they must see rosy colors or red light; hear “conceiving the embryo” and assume an infant must appear inside them; or hear “the single opening of the primordial pass” or “the gate of the primordial female” and assume there must truly be a pass or a gate.

Some practitioners of heterodox methods also practice inner visualization. When they see the five organs, they claim to have seen the Dao’s manifestations. When sitting in stillness, they hear celestial music or see colors and say that they have sat until visions appeared. While walking, standing, or sitting, they imagine their spirits traveling through immortal realms and seeing dragons, phoenixes, and pavilions, then call these true visions. They stare at one place for a long time, notice light and shadow flickering, and think they have attained a vision. Some silently imagine themselves worshipping the Lord of Heaven; after a while, their thoughts grow hazy, they sense clouds and mists coming and going and feel as if their bodies are floating in the air, so they say they have succeeded in cultivating the Dao. Others drive Qi upward, feel their breath circulating up and down and striking their joints, and claim to have opened the passes. Still others consume Qi or feed on rosy clouds, feel rumbling in the abdomen or something in the Dantian (energy center), and say they have formed the Elixir. All of these mistakes take illusions for reality and the false for the true. At best, they lead to illness; at worst, they endanger life.

They do not understand that the eternal and true Dao is neither form and color nor empty space. It has no shape or appearance, so how could it produce all sorts of strange visions? The “body outside the body” said to result from completing the Great Dao—the perfected state of body and spirit—and the wondrousness of form and spirit united with the Dao do not mean that some graspable vision appears before one’s eyes. The scriptures say that true form arises from the formless and real images arise from the imageless; what gathers takes shape, and what disperses becomes Qi. Being is still nonbeing, while nonbeing is real and not false; being and nonbeing are both unfixed, like sharing the same substance as emptiness. These sayings, too, do not point to any vision one can cling to.

Illusions arising in heterodox cultivation are not the Dao. Even after practicing the orthodox Way for a long time and reaching deep attainment, however, the “knowing spirit”—the acquired, deliberating and discriminating consciousness—may produce strange visions that disturb one’s cultivation. Sometimes these seem to foretell good or ill fortune; sometimes they take the form of ghosts, monsters, beautiful women, immortal children, tigers, leopards, wolves, or snakes. Even a little attachment to them can damage one’s cultivation and undo all previous work. In general, the orthodox Way is not marked by visions, and visions do not signify the orthodox Way. Students of the Dao should pass through the “vision barrier” as soon as possible, clear away attachment to forms and states of emptiness, and focus on observing the natural and eternal True Dao. In this way they can grasp the real principle of the imageless image and the emptiness that is not empty, and thus cultivate both nature and life. If they mistake visions for reality, they will be led astray in heterodox practices and their orthodox cultivation will also be harmed, making attainment of the Dao difficult.

The Dao De Jing says that rivers and seas can rule over all streams because they are good at placing themselves below them. The Diamond Sutra speaks of the “Perfection of Forbearance”—practicing by enduring humiliation and thereby reaching the other shore. Master Fu also said that only after passing through immeasurably long kalpas, through the strength gained by enduring humiliation, did he finally realize the Way of eternal truth. All these sayings teach that those who cultivate the Dao should value the discipline of bearing disgrace.

Those who cultivate the Dao should have hearts as steadfast as mountains and minds as broad as the sea. Clouds and mist come and go over a mountain; trees cover it and snow lies upon it. Though wind blows and sun beats down, its substance remains unmoved. Those who study the Dao should likewise hold firm to their aspirations, undisturbed by poverty or calamity. The sea receives muddy water, sweet water, bitter water, and the waters of rivers. It even shelters dragons and mirage spirits in its depths, yet its capacity neither grows nor shrinks. Those who study the Dao should have a heart just as spacious: able to endure humiliation and disgrace, to meet adversity without fighting, and to occupy a low position without shame. Those who resolve to cultivate nature and life can take on burdens that others cannot bear only by first enduring what others cannot endure.

Thus Confucius wore a worn, coarse robe and stood alongside people dressed in fox and sable furs without feeling ashamed. Yan Hui had only a basket of rice and a gourd of water, and lived in a humble lane. Though others could not endure such hardship, he never lost his inner joy. Zengzi wore an old padded robe with no outer layer, his face drawn and pale. For three days he went without cooking a meal, and for ten years he bought no new clothes. When he adjusted his cap, its strap broke; when he lifted his robe, his elbow showed; and when he put on his shoes, their heels split. Yet even as he shuffled along in straw sandals and sang the “Hymn of Shang,” his voice rang out with the strength of bells and chimes. When evil men punched Master Changchun, he accepted it without resistance or argument. When Master Ziqing was cursed without cause, he received it gladly and took no offense. These sages sought the Great Dao in their hearts; they paid no heed to the external misfortunes and disrespectful treatment they encountered.

Foolish people in the world who study the Dao act on impulse and follow their own whims. When poor, they feel inferior at the sight of the wealthy. When treated unfairly, they grow angry; at the slightest affront, they become resentful; and at the slightest insult, they argue. Others speak of studying the Dao but do not truly respect its teachings. Relying on their high status, exceptional talent and virtue, seniority, past achievements, or personal familiarity, they seek instruction from others without humility or sincerity. Sometimes, in public and conspicuous places, they put on airs and refuse to bow their heads, afraid that people will laugh at them. They do not understand that those who consider themselves great cannot become truly great, and those who exalt themselves will not earn genuine respect. Even if a patriarch stood before them and an immortal shared the same room, what good could such conduct do?

Those who sincerely study the Dao should quickly pass through the “barrier of shame,” setting aside the false shame and humiliation of the world. They should regard as truly shameful their failure to understand the Great Dao and to cultivate it to completion. With firm resolve and diligent effort, many good things will naturally come their way. Otherwise, they will treat as shameful what need not be shameful, and as humiliating what need not be endured as humiliation. They will strive only to prevail, wanting others to submit to them while refusing to submit to anyone else; they will know only how to stand above others, and not how to treat them with humility. If so, they can hardly hope to hear the Great Dao.

The Gate of Cause and Effect

The Book of Changes says, “A family that accumulates good deeds will surely leave behind blessings; a family that accumulates wrongdoing will surely leave behind misfortune.” The Book of Documents says, “When people do good, Heaven sends down many auspicious signs; when they do evil, Heaven sends down many disasters.” It also says, “Disaster sent by Heaven may still be avoided, but one cannot escape the wrongs one has committed oneself.” The Cantong qi says, “Only when the beginning is made upright can the ending be complete; if the foundation has not yet been firmly laid, one cannot assume that it is secure.” Master Zhengyang says, “Sow hemp and you harvest hemp; sow millet and you harvest millet.” All these sayings show that every cause brings its corresponding result. If we are careful from the very beginning, we can naturally reach a good outcome.

Between Heaven and Earth, all things, large and small, are governed by cause and effect. Good deeds have good consequences, and evil deeds have evil consequences. Doing good is a good cause; receiving a good reward is its good result. Doing evil is an evil cause; suffering an evil consequence is its evil result. The consequences of good and evil follow us as a shadow follows the body, without the slightest error. Thus, a noble person remains vigilant and self-restrained even when no one can see or hear. Every thought should turn toward goodness, and not the slightest evil thought should be allowed to arise in the heart. Do nothing contrary to ritual propriety, and nothing contrary to righteousness. Be careful in all you do, and let no evil deed enter your daily life. If every thought turns toward goodness and every action is good, then the causes you plant cannot fail to yield good results.

Consider what happens in the world: a murderer must pay with his life, while someone who saves a life will be repaid with gratitude. Treat people with kindness, and they often respond in kind; treat them with malice, and malice will return to you. One side moves, the other responds: cause and effect unfold naturally. As the saying goes, “One good thought is Heaven; one evil thought is Hell.” Heaven and Hell are both created by people themselves. Mencius said that no misfortune or good fortune comes from anything other than what people bring upon themselves. Laozi said that misfortune and good fortune have no fixed gates; people summon them through their own actions. From this, we can see that the principle of cause and effect is perfectly clear.

Some foolish people who study the Dao do not believe in cause and effect. They harm others for their own gain, defy Heaven’s principles, and will do anything. Some deceive the faithful from all directions, thinking they have profited. Some pretend to possess Daoist attainment and trick the ignorant and deluded. Some use the so-called arts of refining yellow and white—that is, methods for making gold and silver—to swindle people out of money and ruin their households. Some use the wicked practices they call “bedchamber elixir,” invoking sexual relations between men and women to lure people into wrongdoing. Some spread rumors and slander worthy and wise people. Others plot in secret and attack from the shadows, ruining the good work of others. All these actions show a lack of belief in cause and effect.

They do not understand that every good or evil deed lays a path for their own future. If they make a path of goodness, the Creator—the power that governs all things—will in time send them along that path to enjoy its blessings. If they make a path of evil, they will be sent along that path to suffer. As the saying goes, “To know what happened in a past life, look at what you experience in this life; to know what will happen in a future life, look at what you do in this life.” These words are indeed sound. Even if you do not believe in a life to come, you can look at this life: people who do good when young often enjoy good fortune in old age, while those who do evil when young often suffer in old age. Everyone can see this.

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to break through the Gate of Cause and Effect without delay. Be careful with every thought and every action, and never be careless in your conduct, whether active or still. First learn to be a good person who commits no wrongs and breaks no laws; only then should you seek to understand the Great Dao and make further progress. This is the way to have hope of attaining something. If you disregard cause and effect, trying to study the Dao while continually doing evil and knowingly breaking the rules, you will only add one offense to another. To imagine that you can still hear the Great Dao will make success very difficult.

The Barrier of Bookish Obsession

Wuzhen says: “Although the treatises and verses in the scriptures speak of the highest principles, if you do not understand the crucial matters, you cannot use them to make progress; at most, you will gain something limited. If you fail to discern cause and effect, studying the Dao while committing wrongdoing, knowingly breaking the rules and adding sin upon sin, yet still hoping to hear of the Great Dao, you will find it difficult.”

Wuzhen also says: “Although the treatises and verses in the scriptures speak of the highest principles, they cannot put the timing and sequence of practice—the regulation of the fire phases—into words. To learn where the oral instructions connect with the Source, you must discuss the matter carefully with the immortals.” He also says: “The symbols set out in the trigrams are meant to represent forms. Once you grasp the trigrams, you can forget the written signs, and the meaning will become clear on its own. Yet confused people in the world cling only to the trigrams and try to attain immortality by calculating the Qi of the trigrams.”

Shangyangzi says: “The Great Dao originally had only a name assigned to it out of necessity. It was only after the Yinfu Jing and the Daode Jing appeared that scriptures began to circulate. Later, immortals of successive generations continued to write alchemical scriptures. How could oral instructions possibly be made clear through words on a page alone?”

These statements all mean that reading the scriptures is important, but one must not cling to them one-sidedly. Scriptures and treatises use countless metaphors to point the way for later generations of Dao seekers, guiding them to recognize the Great Dao and distinguish what is right from what is deviant. They explain in detail the true and false ingredients, whether methods of practice are appropriate, the order of the steps, and the cultivation of nature and life. Yet their language is obscure and their principles profound. They often use visible things to represent invisible principles, and concrete images to explain abstract ideas. They cannot be understood by skimming through them a few times, nor grasped through personal conjecture.

The study of nature and life is unlike the study of worldly things that have visible forms and appearances. Its principles cannot be set down plainly in writing. Why nature and life are as they are, and why the Great Dao is so mysterious, are easy to discuss inaccurately and difficult to express without omissions. Even when alchemical scriptures and other texts describe them as fully as they can, something will always remain unsaid and unwritten. Words can convey only a general outline.

Those who study the Dao should read with care: first grasp the overall meaning, recognize the path, and distinguish what is right from what is deviant; then seek out a clear-sighted master, and only then can they make progress. If they rely on the scriptures alone and form their own guesses, deciding through personal bias that the Dao is nothing more than what the books say, and from then on refuse to seek instruction from people who truly possess the Dao, they will make a grave mistake. It is wrong, then, to abandon the scriptures entirely; it is equally wrong to cling to them and refuse instruction. Neither rejecting books nor rigidly adhering to them is right.

Some muddled Dao seekers read a few volumes of alchemical texts and, seeing terms such as “lead and mercury” or “cinnabar and silver,” fail to understand what they mean and take them as instructions for making and ingesting elixirs or smelting minerals. When they see terms such as “man and woman” or “one another,” they interpret them in terms of sexual techniques or methods of gathering and replenishing vital essence. When they see “Dragon and Tiger” or “Tortoise and Snake,” they take them to mean the liver and lungs, or the heart and kidneys. When they see “reversal” or “movement against the current,” they guess that Qi should rise from the back or be drawn upward from the front. When they see “clarity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action),” they mistakenly take it to mean empty quiescence or imagine that it refers to focusing on and visualizing the spirit. When they see methods of active practice, they mistakenly think these involve moving Qi around or twisting the body.

Others see terms such as “Mud Ball,” “Yellow Court,” “Primordial Pass,” “Gate of the Myriad Wonders,” or “Summit of Kunlun,” and assume they refer to specific acupuncture points or locations in the body. They see terms such as “Valley Spirit,” “Infant,” “Sacred Embryo,” “Golden Elixir,” or “Dharma Body,” and assume they are things formed inside the body from Qi and blood. Such misreadings are too numerous to count. Each person follows their own ideas and sets up a separate path, taking false appearances for truth. They toil all their lives and achieve nothing. This is not merely useless; it is harmful. The root of the problem is treating books as the Great Dao itself, without seeking a clear-sighted master’s guidance, and falling into the “barrier of bookish obsession,” thereby delaying the great work of cultivation.

A sage says: “Learn widely and inquire carefully.” If you read widely but do not ask questions earnestly, you are like the person described in this saying: “Even if your intelligence surpasses that of Yan Hui and Min Ziqian, do not try to guess when you have not met a true teacher.”

I urge those who sincerely study the Dao to pass through the “barrier of bookish obsession” as soon as possible: read the scriptures carefully, distinguish what is right from what is deviant, identify the path, and then seek a clear-sighted master to verify whether what you have learned is correct. Do not presume to be clever, take an interpretation that is only half right as settled truth, and rush to a conclusion. If you treat the scriptures as the Great Dao itself, imagine that you have already understood it, and hope to attain the Dao on that basis, you will find it very difficult.

Stuck in Emptiness

The Buddhist scriptures say that those who set their hearts on seeking supreme, perfect enlightenment should not become caught in distinctions between “is” and “is not.” Do not presume to be clever, mistake a half-understood idea for the truth, and settle for a careless understanding. Otherwise, you may take words in books for the Dao, imagine that you have already attained realization, and delude yourself into thinking you can become one with the Dao on that basis. That will make the path difficult indeed.

The Buddhist scriptures also say that those who give rise to the aspiration for enlightenment must not claim that all things are utterly annihilated and empty. The Chan master Zhizhe said, “Within a single dharma, all manner of wondrous dharmas can arise. The essence of emptiness is not nothing at all; what is called annihilation is not true annihilation. Only through awakening with wisdom can one grasp its meaning deeply.” The Heart Sutra says, “Shariputra, form does not differ from emptiness, and emptiness does not differ from form; form itself is emptiness, and emptiness itself is form.” Here, “form” refers to things with shape and substance, while “emptiness” means that nothing has a fixed, unchanging self-nature.

The Wuzhen pian says, “Even if you have realized your true nature, you may still leave this body only to enter another. Why not go further and cultivate the Great Medicine, at once transcend this conditioned body, and become a perfected person?” “Great Medicine” is a term in Neidan cultivation for the refined substance formed from Jing, Qi, and Shen that practitioners seek to produce.

Yuan Duzi said that people who study the Dao today fail to receive its true transmission and do not understand Zhang Boduan’s words, “Do not enter the mountains before you have refined the Returning Elixir.” They only wish to avoid noise and seek quiet, flee the world and distance themselves from other people, leave their wives and children, and hide alone in remote mountain valleys, priding themselves on their supposed purity. In doing so, they are actually abandoning the ways of the world.

San Fengzi said, “Stop boasting that the Returning Elixir can be refined through nothing more than quietude and Wuwei (non-action).” These words all make clear that the Great Dao’s true emptiness is neither inert emptiness nor a teaching of annihilation and stillness. The Dao seems utterly void, yet contains the utmost fullness; it seems utterly empty, yet can open into the most substantial reality. It is empty yet not empty, not empty yet empty, allowing being and nonbeing to serve and permeate one another. Even through Wuwei, all things can be brought to completion.

Consider how Heaven and Earth act without action, while the myriad things arise and transform of themselves.