《文始真經註》Vol. 7

The seventh volume of Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture, titled "The Seven Cauldrons Chapter," primarily expounds on the principle of "transformation" through thirteen sections. Here we explain several key passages from its core teachings:

The essence of Dao (the Way) is absolute emptiness (true void), yet those who can merge concrete phenomena with Dao instantly comprehend its ultimate truth. Though manifested things tangibly exist (wondrous being), those who employ Dao to master phenomena can adapt to all transformations. This reveals that Dao is fundamentally empty, while phenomena are fundamentally substantial.

Realized adepts who attain Dao can assist the mundane world because their noble state helps bring peace to all under heaven. Solitary awakened ones who attain Dao achieve self-realization because they preserve Dao's purity, returning to their true void nature.

Those who truly understand Dao transcend temporal constraints—they can perceive a single day as a century, or a century as a single day. For Dao surpasses time and space (true void and wondrous being), like the Great Void unbound by temporal limitations. All worldly phenomena meet their end, yet the true void of Dao alone endures eternally.

Similarly, those who comprehend Dao transcend spatial boundaries—they can regard one mile as a hundred miles, or a hundred miles as one. For Dao has no fixed form and encounters no directional obstructions; the supreme spirit (Shen) dwells without attachment, unconfined by borders. Just as light illuminates all places unimpeded by walls, the mind's awareness reaches everywhere unlimited by distance.

This passage describes the miraculous states and extraordinary abilities of those who have attained the Dao.

Those who truly comprehend the Dao possess bodies as vast as the void (Taixu refers to the cosmic origin), unconstrained by spatial limitations. They can walk within a single mile yet simultaneously reach the eight distant extremes of the world, or compress the vast heavens and earth into a mile's span. This represents the state of transcending spatial boundaries.

Those who penetrate the great Dao can operate "substantial Qi" within a state of "no-Qi," thereby summoning wind and rain. They understand that before the primordial Qi of heaven and earth emerged, the Dao was already in operation, naturally transforming Yin-Yang and generating wind and rain. These sages who have mastered the Dao can skillfully manifest transformations from emptiness, instantly summoning clouds, thunder, wind, and rain.

Those who have attained the Dao can also transform the formless into form and form into formlessness, freely altering the shapes of birds and beasts. They wander with the Creator, turning flying creatures into land animals and land animals into flying creatures in endless transformations.

The pure and tranquil Dao attainers cannot be burdened by the myriad things—their bodies are light as the void, enabling them to ride phoenixes and cranes. Examples include Wei Shuqing ascending on a white crane and Wang Zijin playing his flute while riding a phoenix. Their form and spirit (Shen) are both wondrous, united with true emptiness, capable of traversing the ten directions in an instant and manifesting divine powers to enlighten sentient beings.

As for those seemingly turbid Dao attainers, the myriad things cannot defile them. Their forms remain obscure and unfathomable, able to command flood dragons and giant whales. Though dwelling in the mundane world, they remain unstained by dust—blending with the light while mingling with the ordinary without revealing themselves, achieving the highest state of hidden virtue.

This scripture describes the miraculous abilities manifested by adepts who attain profound states of cultivation. It recounts the wondrous deeds of ancient practitioners: Yu the Great riding dragons to channel rivers, Li Bai straddling flood dragons, Liu Zhigu mounted upon golden carp, and Qin Gao ascending to heaven astride crimson koi. These accounts demonstrate how realized beings can command mythical creatures like dragons and whales as celestial steeds to traverse the void (cosmic space).

The text reveals the dialectical relationship between "being" (manifest function) and "non-being" (void essence). These constitute an inseparable unity of substance and function - understanding this principle enables one to command spirits. Examples include Liu Gen's mastery over spirit summoning and Celestial Master Zhang (Tianshi)'s subjugation of ghosts in Chengdu.

"Substance" and "emptiness" similarly interpenetrate, with absolute void being identical to substantial reality. Realizing this truth allows passage through fire, water, metal and stone unimpeded. Likewise, the "higher" (primordial wondrous Dao) and "lower" (mundane virtuous conduct) originally share one essence - comprehending this makes stars serve as celestial attendants.

Ancient principles and modern manifestations also interconnect: antiquity represents essential principles while modernity manifests concrete affairs. When substance and function unite perfectly, one gains the divinatory accuracy of turtle shell prognostication. Finally regarding mind and external phenomena: when cultivators reach the state of "forgetting both mind and environment," they open the Dao-eye (transcendent perception) to discern others' thoughts.

These teachings illustrate how advanced cultivation transcends ordinary limitations to achieve inconceivable spiritual powers. The core emphasis remains on the essential cultivation principle of non-duality between substance and function, and the mutual identity of emptiness and form.

This scripture expounds the profound state of "unity of mind and matter" in Daoist cultivation. When practitioners attain the state of "no distinction between self and others" through inner observation (neiguan practice), they gain the ability to perceive others' thoughts—this is what's called the "knowledge of others' minds" (a type of spiritual power). As cultivators merge with all things, they refine the dragon and tiger (symbolizing yin-yang energies or the essence of Jing, Qi, and Shen) within their bodies.

The scripture states that heaven, earth, and all things share the same origin with the self. Those who realize this truth can transform the spirit of their liver into a blue dragon and the spirit of their lungs into a white tiger (terms from Neidan alchemy, representing the yin-yang energies within the body). By mastering these dragon-tiger energies, one can roam freely in the Great Purity (Taijing), the highest celestial realm in Daoism.

The text mentions that "all phenomena arise from the mind." Through contemplation of the original mind, the heart's spirit transforms into the crimson maiden (representing the fire of Li) and the kidney's spirit into the infant (representing the water of Kan). Their union enables transcendence beyond life and death. Understanding that breath originates from the mind, practitioners refine their spirit through breath regulation, forming the "furnace" (a metaphor for the inner alchemical workspace) within the body. The Golden Elixir (Jindan) refined here, when ingested, leads to liberation from the cycle of life and death.

Those who attain the Dao possess the Virtue (De) to subdue tigers and leopards, harmonizing with water and fire. Their Dao-body merges with emptiness, just as water and fire cannot harm the void—raging floods cannot drown them, nor can scorching suns burn them. Yet the scripture concludes by emphasizing that true adepts, though capable of such powers, refrain from casually displaying spiritual abilities.

This passage describes eighteen extraordinary abilities possessed by realized sages (those who have attained the Dao), along with their attitude toward such spiritual powers.

Those who have attained the Dao can accomplish many things beyond ordinary comprehension: altering space and time (turning one mile into a hundred, transforming a single day into a century), summoning wind and rain, taming birds and beasts, riding phoenixes and cranes, mounting dragons and whales, commanding spirits and deities, passing through metal and stone, observing celestial phenomena, divining fortunes, seeing through human bodies, refining dragon-tiger elixirs, restoring youth to women, subduing tigers and leopards, moving freely through fire and water, and more. Yet true sages, though capable of these feats, often choose not to perform them.

The cultivation of Dao values sincerity and inward refinement above all—concealing one's light is the superior strategy. Those flashy supernatural tricks used to astonish ordinary people are beneath true sages. These eighteen powers are essentially manifestations of the Dao's application, attainable only by those who have realized it, yet they understand the principle of restraint.

Several examples illustrate this: thunder in winter, ice in summer, making corpses walk, reviving withered trees to bloom (including the story of Lü Dongbin reviving a dead tree with elixirs), Guo Pu conjuring ghosts from beans, or Zuo Ci fishing from a wine cup. These demonstrate that realized beings can indeed alter natural laws, but they refrain from flaunting such abilities.

The core message is this: genuine Dao cultivators, though possessing the power to transform nature, prioritize inner refinement over startling the world with supernatural displays. Spiritual powers are merely byproducts of cultivation, never the ultimate goal.

This scripture illustrates the principle that "pure Qi" (chunqi, pristine unadulterated energy) can transform all things through several miraculous tales. Wu Daozi's landscape painting on a palace wall could magically open a cave entrance for him to enter; clay statues of temple deities that predicted fortunes were actually possessed by wild fox spirits. These phenomena all stem from the workings of pure Qi, just like winter thunderstorms, summer ice formations, walking corpses, or withered trees blossoming—all anomalous occurrences resulting from adepts harnessing pure Qi to alter natural laws.

Human emotional fluctuations resemble ceaseless water ripples, likewise driven by "strong Yang Qi" (qiangyang zhi qi, vigorous yet chaotic Yang energy). This energy gathers abundantly in youth but scatters and declines with age. However, sagely beings who attain the Dao master the "ancestral primordial Qi" (yuanqi zhi zu), an energy that neither gathers nor dissipates. Ordinary people undergo birth and death through Qi's cycles of aggregation and dispersal, while sages transcend these transformations to unite with the eternal Dao.

The text describes eight wondrous examples—like "fishing from a wine cup" or "opening painted doors"—demonstrating how advanced cultivation of pure Qi can transcend ordinary physical limitations. These confirm the earlier assertion that "human effort can seize the creative powers of heaven and earth," emphasizing how refining pure Qi enables extraordinary metamorphoses beyond conventional reality.

This scripture employs metaphors to explain the patterns of primordial Qi (qi) depletion and the essence of life and death. It states that ordinary people (the deluded) are born with a fixed amount of primordial Qi: men receive one jin (sixteen liang) of Qi, corresponding to the number eight in the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), and begin depleting this Qi at age sixteen when they reach puberty, losing one liang every three years until exhaustion after forty-eight years; women receive fourteen liang of Qi, corresponding to the number seven, and start depleting it at age fourteen with the onset of menstruation, losing one liang every two and a half years until exhaustion after thirty-five years. Once the primordial Qi is exhausted, the body relies solely on the Qi from grains for sustenance. Though such individuals are still called "human," they have effectively lost their vitality, resembling "ghosts."

The text then uses the metaphor of a relay station (you) and a traveler (ke) to illustrate the nature of life and death: the traveler (symbolizing Qi) comes and goes, but the station (symbolizing the Dao) remains unchanging. Those who have attained the Dao (the enlightened sages) grasp the source of Qi, understanding that while Qi appears to gather and scatter, to be born and to perish, the Dao itself is eternal—neither born nor destroyed, neither coming nor going. Just as the station does not change with the comings and goings of travelers, the Dao remains unmoved by the fluctuations of Qi.

Finally, the text mentions several misguided approaches to cultivation: some cling to chanting spells (reciting incantations), others blindly serve deities (worshiping spirits), and still others rigidly adhere to written words (fixating on texts). These efforts operate only on the level of phenomena, failing to realize the eternal nature of the Dao. True practitioners understand that the gathering and scattering of Qi are mere appearances, while the Dao is the fundamental reality that transcends birth, death, coming, and going.

Practitioners of esoteric arts can mobilize divine beings and harness primordial Qi (vital energy) to transform all things through four methods: reciting incantations, venerating deities, inscribing Fulu (talismans and registers), and forming hand seals. Each method requires dedicated cultivation to achieve efficacy. For instance, the "Nine-Word True Mantra" must be silently recited 108,000 times before manifesting instant results—as immediate as a shadow following form or an echo responding to sound.

Those who specially venerate divine images will find all sincere prayers answered. Masters of the Fulu tradition can predict fortunes with unfailing accuracy by writing vermilion characters. Another method involves patients placing their hands over incense burners while the master forms mudras (ritual hand gestures) to summon celestial generals. By observing changes in the patient's fingers, the master identifies which spirit is causing affliction—a technique proven consistently effective.

In truth, every person possesses innate Dao-nature, originally capable of commanding spirits and summoning wind/rain like enlightened sages. Yet ordinary people struggle to believe in their inner power, often relying instead on external ritual implements. Thus, compassionate sages employ these tangible methods as skillful means—not because incantations or talismans inherently contain power, but because they help cultivate absolute sincerity in practitioners.

Those who truly understand that "sincerity is the foundation" require no external forms; their genuine devotion alone can commune with the divine. This chapter's essence reveals: ultimate sincerity is both the key to commanding spiritual forces and the true gateway to Daoist practice. As the modern saying goes, "Sincerity makes miracles happen"—external rituals are merely supportive tools for focused cultivation.

Master Guan Yinzi (a key Daoist figure) states: Between one inhalation and exhalation, the movement of Qi (vital energy) can traverse forty thousand li—such transformations occur with astonishing speed. A single breath cycle is called "one Xi," and within one day and night there occur thirteen thousand five hundred such cycles. With each breath, Qi travels six cun, accumulating to eight hundred ten zhang daily, while the blood completes fifty full circulations. Calculated decimally: ten hundreds make a thousand, ten thousands make a wan, ten wan make a yi, ten yi make a zhao. Thus, one Xi moves forty thousand li (four yi li); ten Xi move four hundred zhao li; a hundred Xi move four thousand zhao li; a thousand Xi move forty thousand zhao li. Over a full day and night, Qi's movement totals fifty-four thousand zhao li. This reveals how extraordinarily rapid the transformations of Qi are within the human body.

Yet realized sages remain unattached to existence and unmoved by transformations. Having fully comprehended the Dao of True Emptiness (the ultimate reality beyond form), they transcend both ego-attachment and distinctions between presence and absence. True Emptiness remains constant, surpassing past and present. As ancients said, "Adding one year means subtracting one year," yet True Emptiness abides unchanging. "Non-abiding" here means the dissolution of ego-fixation. This chapter illuminates how the Great Dao itself remains unaffected by the Grand Transformations (cosmic operational laws), while simultaneously governing their movements.

The sage Qingluanzi lived a thousand years, transforming with each passing year; the worthy Taozi served five times as an official, with his mental state shifting fivefold. Sages like Qingluanzi undergo continuous physical changes across millennia, yet within these transformations persists the unchanging True Constant (eternal truth). Just as a sage at sixty has undergone sixty transformations without earlier "rights" becoming later "wrongs." Taozi resembles Qu Boyu (a Spring-Autumn period worthy)—experiencing sixty transformations by age sixty without fixating on judging their rights or wrongs.

This passage expounds two essential Daoist principles:

First, it discusses the attitude of sages (those who have attained the Dao) toward worldly affairs. Although sages engage in worldly matters and establish achievements, they remain unattached to these external manifestations. Like flames in a lantern that appear different yet share the same essence, sages understand the true substance of the Dao is empty, numinous, and tranquil, never constrained by external things. They maintain inner clarity—while responding to external changes, their minds remain perpetually serene. Excessive pursuit of external accomplishments leads to entanglement in formal constraints, like shadows following forms—seemingly real yet fundamentally illusory.

Secondly, it reveals the nature of all transformations. In the phenomenal world, plants sprout in spring, fire Qi (vital energy) flourishes in summer, metal Qi brings austerity in autumn, and water Qi congeals in winter. Though the cyclical changes of seasons and Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) appear manifold, they are all manifestations of the singular Qi (primordial cosmic energy). Only sages comprehend this fundamental principle of "Oneness," thus remaining unconfused by superficial transformations. Like the boundless void—though myriad things arise and perish within it, the void itself remains eternally unchanged.

The text particularly emphasizes that Dao cultivators must understand: the empty true essence should be primary, while marvelous functions are secondary. With this fundamental realization, one maintains unchanging essence amidst transformations. Conversely, pursuing external utility leads to entanglement in formal constraints, making it difficult to realize the true meaning of the Great Dao.

This scripture primarily elucidates the operational principles of the Dao and the varying degrees of comprehension among different types of practitioners.

Regarding Chapter Six: The Great Dao (Da Dao) creates and transforms all things while remaining eternally unchanging itself. Just as human fingernails grow, hair lengthens, and Qi-blood circulates (the "flourishing-defense" system refers to Qi-blood circulation), these subtle transformations occur ceaselessly, yet ordinary people only perceive obvious changes, remaining unaware of these delicate processes. While virtuous individuals may observe these subtle transformations, they cannot fully align with this natural creative process. The sages, however, completely harmonize with nature's transformations, thereby attaining the state of "non-transformation" in unity with the Dao. This chapter illuminates the Dao's fundamental nature as both independent and eternal, ceaselessly flowing yet unchanging.

Chapter Seven employs everyday scenarios to illustrate cognitive limitations: when indoors, what one sees and hears appears ordinary; yet as one moves to the courtyard gate, neighbor's house, village, suburbs, or mountains and rivers, perceptions differ at each stage, giving rise to preferences, competition, and attachments to gain and loss. Using ancient residential units—"chamber" (inner room), "neighborhood" (five households), "village" (five neighborhoods), "district" (five hundred households), and "suburbs" (beyond city walls)—the text vividly demonstrates how human cognition and emotions evolve with expanding horizons. This implies that Dao cultivators must transcend environmental constraints to realize the constant and unchanging Great Dao.

When the ear perceives various sounds, each person experiences a different realm of perception. From neighbors to villages and beyond, from countryside to mountains and rivers, what each individual sees and hears varies greatly. The colors seen by the eye and sounds heard by the ear may inspire affection in some and aversion in others. The world presents both harmonious joys and conflicting circumstances; some things can be obtained while others must be relinquished. These realms shift with human emotions and take form through human choices. Thus it is said that preferences and aversions alter one's mental state, harmony and competition influence behavior, while gains and losses shape outcomes.

Therefore, those who have attained the Dao (the Way) regulate every movement and stillness with discipline. "Stillness" means calming the heart-mind, while "discipline" means restraint. The sages left teachings so practitioners would maintain moderation in both action and stillness, exercise caution toward sensory temptations, and ensure their conduct remains unshaken by external perceptions. When it mentions "the sage's movements and stillness follow discipline," it's actually instructing practitioners—for what need would true sages have for discipline? This chapter primarily reveals how ordinary people easily have their fundamental nature altered by sensory phenomena.

Just as the vast ocean nurtures countless species of fish, yet all are essentially water. Here the ocean symbolizes the great Dao (cosmic origin), while the various fish represent the wise and foolish beings of the world. Though marine creatures appear diverse, they all dwell in the same waters; similarly, the Dao gives birth to myriad lifeforms—wise and foolish, good and evil—all springing from the same source.

We and all things resemble lush vegetation, flourishing abundantly through the Dao's transformative power. Though appearing complex and numerous, our fundamental nature remains one. Those who understand this principle transcend distinctions between self and others, seeing through the illusion of life and death. "Lush" describes dense vegetation, while "flourishing" depicts vigorous growth—this metaphor illustrates how sentient beings, though multitudinous, all share the same Dao-nature. The truly awakened perceive no faults in others externally and cling to no self-centered views internally, their mind as vast as the void, transcending the cycles of birth and dissolution.

Human nature is originally a unified whole, without distinctions between self and others or between life and death. What we call death is merely the dissolution of physical form. This chapter discusses how the nature of Dao transcends human distinctions and the cycle of life and death, remaining unaffected by worldly changes.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: The principles of the world are constantly transforming. What is right may become wrong, and what is wrong may become right; kindness may turn to enmity, and enmity may transform into kindness. All worldly affairs change according to people's selfish thoughts and delusions. We consider aligned opinions as right, but when public matters conflict with private interests, what was once deemed right becomes wrong; we consider differing opinions as wrong, but when personal matters satisfy our desires, what was once deemed wrong becomes right. Thus the principles of the world are always in mutual transformation.

The greatest kindness is that of rulers and parents, yet when public duty conflicts with private interests, this profound kindness can become profound hatred—this explains historical cases of regicide and patricide. The greatest enmity is that between enemy states, yet when personal affairs satisfy our desires, this profound hatred can become profound kindness—this explains historical cases of enemy states forming alliances through marriage. Thus kindness and enmity can transform into each other.

Therefore, while sages abide by constant principles, they also consider possibilities of change. The phrase "therefore" connects the preceding text to what follows. Sages teach later generations to abide by the constant principles of original nature while remaining vigilant against minor changes caused by selfish emotions, not being swayed by personal desires. This is why sages "dwell in constancy while contemplating change." "Dwell" means to abide steadfastly, while "contemplate" means to carefully consider and remain alert. This chapter illustrates how being swayed by selfish thoughts inverts right and wrong, kindness and enmity, while aligning with the constant principles of true nature allows one to transcend such distinctions.

Master Guan Yin said: In youth, one should cherish parental teachings; in maturity, one should heed friends' admonitions; in old age, one should reflect on youthful words and deeds. Thus, no worldly changes can trouble me.

In youth, one should internalize parental teachings, constantly following them without forgetfulness—this is why we say "wear your parents' teachings like ornaments." In maturity, having like-minded friends who mutually admonish is like good medicine curing illness.

In the prime of life, one should humbly accept the admonitions of friends; in old age, having experienced the ways of the world and gained deep insight into right and wrong, gains and losses, one ought to use the wisdom they have attained to caution the younger generation, tirelessly guiding them—this is the heart of a truly benevolent person. In youth, one heeds the teachings of parents and elders; in adulthood, one accepts the counsel of friends; and in old age, one enlightens the next generation. By following this path, one will not deviate from the principles of human conduct.

To live in harmony with the natural order (Dao) means that even amidst the endless transformations of all things, one remains unshackled by external distractions. By adhering to the laws of nature, one avoids calamity. This chapter illustrates that by aligning with the natural order, one may roam freely with the Creator of all things without encountering hardship.

Among the principles governing the world, those with a light and clear disposition (qing) are easily transformed, for they possess innate wisdom; those with a heavy and turbid disposition (zhuo) are difficult to transform, for they are inherently stubborn. Like the ever-shifting wind and clouds (symbolizing those easily transformed), they contrast with the enduring nature of gold and jade (symbolizing those resistant to change).

Those endowed with a clear and bright disposition can flow with the transformations of creation without becoming stagnant. Though they may appear to change, they retain their unchanging essence. They adapt to transformation without losing their foundation, seeming to undergo minor shifts while upholding eternal truth.

This passage speaks of the unchanging essence within the perpetual transformations of phenomena. The enduring "existence" (original nature) that remains untouched by change consistently maintains its fundamental principles. It illustrates how those with profound understanding easily grasp this truth, adapting to transformations without being constrained by them.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: Two children may be close friends, yet when grown up and reunited, they no longer recognize each other; two men in their prime may share deep camaraderie, yet meeting again in old age, they fail to identify one another. This resembles how sparrows transform into clams or doves become hawks—such changes render distinctions between past and present meaningless.

To elaborate: Two children playing intimately in youth may, after years of separation and physical maturation, fail to recognize each other's grown appearance when reunited. Similarly, two friends who shared aspirations in their prime may, after decades of aging with gray hair and wrinkled skin, no longer discern each other's middle-aged features when meeting in old age.

These transformations from youth to adulthood and adulthood to old age mirror how sparrows entering water become clams, or doves evolve into hawks. The Huashu (Book of Transformations) records instances of snakes turning into turtles and sparrows becoming clams, while the Liezi describes the cyclical metamorphosis of sparrowhawks transforming into kites, kites into cuckoos, and cuckoos reverting to sparrowhawks (cuckoos being another name for turtledoves).

The crucial insight lies in this: The sparrow's "past" as a clam and the clam's "present" as a sparrow are fundamentally one—the clam's entire body was once the sparrow, just as the hawk's whole form was previously the dove. Though outward appearances alter, the intrinsic nature transcends temporal divisions, remaining eternally unchanged. This chapter reveals how physical forms flow through endless transformations while the essential nature persists beyond time, immutable throughout the ages.