《太上妙法本相經》

This scripture explores the profound principle of "pure authenticity and wuwei (non-action)"—referring to the original state of the Dao. It begins by raising a question: Does genuine cultivation truly require deliberate adherence to doctrines or arduous practice? For the Dao itself remains unaffected by external circumstances—neither slander can disgrace it, nor praise glorify it; neither reverence enhances its worth, nor contempt diminishes its essence.

The questioner argues that rather than exhausting oneself in spiritual practice, one should simply follow the natural course of life, given human existence's impermanence and fleeting nature. Yet disciples maintain that diligent cultivation brings blessings, while negligence leads to rebirth in the Three Wretched Realms (hell, hungry ghosts, animal existence), and only devout practice secures divine protection.

The response clarifies: "Pure authenticity" is the Dao itself. Whether people cultivate or revere it changes nothing about the Dao. All spiritual practice stems from human seekers pursuing benefits, not from any Daoist need for offerings. True practitioners (zhenren, perfected persons) ultimately attain great joy through their arduous efforts and perceive the true Dao through reverent practice. Those who insult the Dao actually harm themselves; those who disdain perfected persons disdain their own potential. Like shooting arrows at the sky—the arrows inevitably fall back upon the archer—all misfortunes originate from one's own words and deeds, never arising without cause.

Through ten metaphors, the scripture describes the human body: both the root of the Three Poisons (greed, hatred, delusion) and the foundation for attaining immortality. The body is compared to fertile farmland, an orchard, a seed repository, the gate of longevity, and the domain of the Dao—yet it may equally become a village of pus and blood, a bowl of rubble, or a prison of darkness. The key lies in how one treats this physical form—only those who comprehend this principle deserve the title "zhenren."

The core teaching emphasizes that Daoist cultivation centers on understanding principles and self-awareness. All blessings and calamities result from one's own conduct, while the Dao transcends all dualities. Authentic practice isn't about external seeking, but recognizing and returning to one's original Dao-nature.

This scripture primarily elucidates the relationship between spiritual cultivators and the Great Dao (Da Dao), with its core tenet being "people must seek the Dao themselves—the Dao does not seek people." The Supreme Venerable Sovereign (Taishang Laojun, the highest deity in Daoism) possesses boundless perfected merit and can universally deliver all beings, yet the Great Dao itself remains impartial and undifferentiated, never intentionally delivering any particular individual. Just as water does not actively ferry people across a river, it is humans who must seek the means to cross.

Through a dialogue format, the text clarifies that when the Great Dao transforms and nurtures all things, it never shows partiality—sunlight and rain bestow their gifts equally upon all living creatures. The Daoist tradition establishes precepts to educate sentient beings not because the Great Dao needs humanity, but because humans require these methods to discipline body-mind and purify speech-action. Truly wise individuals actively pursue the Dao, just as thirsty people naturally seek water.

Particular emphasis is placed on the Dao's characteristic of "no favoritism" (wu qin shu): it creates heaven and earth, arranges the movements of sun, moon and stars, and nourishes myriad beings without special preference for humans. The crux of Dao cultivation lies in self-awareness and proactive effort—one cannot wait for the Dao to deliver enlightenment. If the Great Dao showed partiality, it would generate discriminatory mind, violating the essential nature of "Dao's disposition being serene and detached."

Concluding with the metaphor of water and river-crossing, the text illustrates: cultivating the Dao resembles crossing a river—the water (Dao) eternally exists, but humans must personally generate the intention to cross and take action. The Great Dao treats all beings equally, neither coveting nor rejecting anyone. Whether one attains the Dao depends entirely on genuine personal pursuit.

This scripture employs the metaphor of parents raising children to illustrate the Dao's impartial compassion toward all beings. Just as parents who give birth to ten children love them equally in infancy—never abandoning a child for minor ailments—they anxiously consult shamans and diviners, their hearts breaking upon hearing of worsening illness and rejoicing at signs of recovery. They nourish them with milk, yearning for their swift growth.

Yet when these children reach adulthood, their paths diverge: some obsess over selfish gains, turning against their parents, rejecting guidance, even hurling abuse that shocks the neighbors; while one or two filial children, gentle in word and deed, earn widespread praise, their virtues celebrated throughout the village. Though all ten share the same origin, their endings reveal both good and evil.

The Dao (the cosmic source and supreme truth) extends compassion similarly, bestowing twelvefold equal grace, yet the outcome rests with each being. As parents know their nurturing may or may not be repaid, the Dao understands whether its mercy is received depends on the people. Its compassion, like a mother's love, knows no favoritism nor seeks reward.

Some question: If the Dao is as compassionate as a mother, why do suffering souls remain trapped in adversity, their plight mourned even by trees and beasts? Witnesses grieve—should not the Great Dao pity and save them? If it offers no aid, how can it be called merciful?

The answer lies in karma (a Buddhist concept denoting causality from past actions): all suffering stems from karmic retribution. Miracles like rivers diverting to nourish abandoned infants or wild beasts nursing orphans are secretly orchestrated by the Dao through dispatched flood dragons and spirit animals. Water flows naturally; tigers hunt by instinct—these seemingly contradictory phenomena conceal profound meaning. The Dao manifests compassion through myriad means, though its mysteries often elude ordinary understanding.

This dialogue explores the core Daoist teachings on karmic retribution. A seeker named Bianfu poses questions to the Celestial Master (Tianshi) regarding the vicissitudes of human destiny.

Bianfu initially argues that if the Dao (the supreme cosmic truth) possesses awareness, it should not permit human suffering; if it embodies compassion, none should be forsaken. He questions why the world remains filled with hardships yet receives no deliverance.

The Celestial Master responds that all beings' circumstances—wealth or poverty, joy or sorrow, nobility or lowliness—are determined by karmic forces (the causal power of past actions), as certain as planting melons yields melons and sowing beans begets beans. Even children born to the same mother manifest different fortunes precisely due to distinct karmic seeds planted in previous lives. This karmic retribution operates with unfailing precision, leaving no room for alteration.

Bianfu persists: Can those trapped in poverty and suffering alter their fate through virtuous deeds in this lifetime? Might one miss the opportune moment and fall into lower realms?

The Celestial Master commends this profound inquiry, explaining that all beings' circumstances manifest from karmic causes sown in past existences. Present suffering constitutes the inevitable fruit of prior actions. Yet the response subtly implies that dedicated spiritual practice and virtuous conduct can reshape future karmic trajectories. This exchange elucidates the Daoist doctrine of "inherited burden" (the cosmic law of moral causation), which simultaneously affirms karma's determining power while preserving space for transformative practice in the present life.

Do not linger in circumstances of poverty and hardship; one should diligently practice fasting, almsgiving, and making offerings. Show reverence through bowing and burning incense, assist others by sharing their burdens, yield the path to the elderly and weak, uphold fasting, and encourage others to do the same. If one can cultivate all such virtuous deeds, they will surely attain the Dao of Supreme Truth (Taizhen) in the future—how then could they still speak of poverty and suffering?

When a poor person gives even a single coin in charity, the merit equals that of a king donating a hundred pieces of gold. A single act of worship performed in hardship is equivalent to leaving home and devoting oneself fully to spiritual practice. Why is this so? Because when one in poverty still gives without reluctance, the merit is immeasurably vast. If those in hardship have no other refuge, they should turn their minds to the true Dao—a single sincere act of worship is enough to alter their destiny. Just as a lotus blooming in boiling water is rare, this shows that karma is not fixed but depends entirely on present actions.

Many believe that poverty means they have no connection to the Dao, or that lowly status proves karma untrue, thus remaining trapped in hardship forever. The Perfected Beings (Zhenren, accomplished adepts) attained their state precisely because they saw the horror of this cycle and diligently cultivated until they succeeded. If suffering beings can recognize the wretchedness of pain and the value of peace, persisting in practice despite adversity, their merit equals that of the Ten Grounds Immortals (high-level practitioners). Why? Because those who cultivate while fully aware of suffering will ultimately transcend it; those who refuse to accept lowliness and practice will rise above it.

All sentient beings possess the potential to leave suffering and attain joy. From beginners to the Ten Grounds Immortals, all undergo the process of transforming suffering into bliss. But once one surpasses the Ten Grounds, suffering is forever left behind—how much more so for those who attain the Dao? The karmic retribution of beings is never predetermined; it is shaped entirely by present actions. What is inherently fixed?

Someone may ask: The Perfected Beings of the ten directions, as countless as the sands of the Ganges—what primordial Qi (vital energy) did they receive, and what methods did they cultivate, to achieve such merit?

The answer is: All sages and Perfected Ones attained their state through practicing this very scripture, The Supreme Scripture of the Fundamental Reality (Taishang Miaofa Benxiang Jing). The Dao of "Fundamental Reality" (Benxiang, ultimate truth) encompasses the vastness of heaven and earth yet penetrates the minuteness of dust motes. This scripture is boundless as the sands of the Ganges, like a floating bridge over the Yangtze and Han rivers, delivering beings beyond count since the dawn of creation. If you persist in studying this scripture, uphold fasting, and perfect your virtue, you will ultimately attain the same achievement as the Ten Grounds Immortals. Know this: those immortals too were once ordinary people.

The practitioner who endures hardships and trials will ultimately attain luminous wisdom—how much more so for one like you, whose past lives have accumulated such vast stores of virtuous karma. Now gifted with innate intelligence and extraordinary insight, you are capable of penetrating the profound mysteries of the Dao. Such merit is as lofty as the Kunlun Mountains, and your virtue (De) runs as deep as the ocean. The cultivation realms of the Ten Immortals (Daoist perfected beings) are all within your reach, attainable without the slightest deviation.

Why is this so? Just as two mirrors reflecting each other can dispel all darkness, when you cultivate the Way of Shangqing (the highest celestial realm), the Golden Register (the sacred text recording immortal lineages) will secretly inscribe your name, and the Purple Palace (abode of the immortals) will mark your entry. Like a shadow inevitably following light, the foundation of your virtue (De) will assuredly bring about such an attainment.

The Questioner said: Indeed, it is so. Yet beings who attain the Dao and achieve sagehood are as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, yet none return to the mortal world. Those who begin cultivation now are likewise countless, and though the path has an end, it is truly without limit. If cultivation has no end, then one must never cease; yet if it does have an end, then when fate is exhausted, all vanishes. Pray, explain this in detail.

The Reply said: Precisely so. That those who attain the Dao are as numerous as the sands of the Ganges is no marvel. When the kalpa-cycle of the Nine Heavens (the Daoist celestial realms) reaches its end and Heaven and Earth return to chaos, even the lowliest insects will awaken to virtuous intent. Those who attain the Dao after a thousand days of cultivation are not many; what is truly rare is that all beings may give rise to goodness, and all things may ascend to the Jade Capital and Purple Tenuity Palace (the highest celestial abode), adorned with the Seven Treasures. Thus, it is said: The void cannot be filled, and emptiness is hard to satiate—this is the inconceivable field of the Dao. A jewel can contain all things without crowding; the World of Eternal Bliss embraces countless beings without overflowing—how much more so the vast and silent Great Dao?

The Questioner pressed further: I am grateful for your teaching, yet doubts remain. If, as the Celestial Worthy (the highest Daoist deity) has said, at the end of the kalpa all beings will attain the Dao without exception, transformed through the cycles of rebirth—then why are teachings necessary? Why seek a master? Why toil in cultivation? Why rely on methods? It would be needless suffering—better to sit in peace and wait, like raising chickens for slaughter or preparing offerings in advance.

The Reply offered a parable: To endure a century of hardship is not equal to a single year of joy before death. Ten bolts of coarse cloth cannot match a single span of brocade. A sparrow living three hundred years is not worth one meaningful year of a human life. A hundred pounds of scrap iron is not equal to ten coins of gold. A promise of a thousand taels of gold is not as good as a peck of grain given now. Waiting a hundred generations for a sage-king is not as precious as having food before you today. It is like the game of Go—the key is to seize the initiative, for the first move brings victory, while delay only begets burdens. Those who hesitate will ultimately be trapped by their own hindrances, weighed down by regret and bound ever tighter by karmic retribution.

When people fall into poverty due to poor management of affairs, they leave debts for their descendants, condemning them to prolonged hardship. Just as some risk everything to repay debts—men becoming slaves, women becoming maidservants—such gambling with debt ultimately invites calamity. Why is this so? Winning at gambling is like stumbling upon the Dao by chance, while defaulting on debts is like falling into the Three Wretched Realms (hell, hungry ghosts, and beasts).

True cultivators of the Dao begin their practice early and ultimately attain the rewards of the Eight Liberations (Buddhist stages of realization), abiding forever in the joy of Wuwei (non-action), with immeasurable merit. This is like farming: early sowing brings early harvest, late sowing brings late harvest, and no sowing yields nothing. In times of famine, only those who have consistently practiced generosity receive aid. Those who expect rewards without effort are like hoping a centenarian can carry heavy loads or that a ten-year prison sentence will end in an instant—utterly unrealistic.

Those who truly attain the Dao understand this principle: by not clinging to results, they fulfill their aspirations; by not chasing rewards, they achieve true realization. Just as farmers cannot rely solely on rain from heaven, it is better to first dig irrigation channels. Heaven does not withhold rain—it is drought that causes famine. The degenerate age is not devoid of the Dao—it is beings who cannot escape the Three Wretched Realms. Thus, the Zhenren (perfected beings) revere cause and effect and practice the Dao in advance.

Those who attain the Dao reach sublime states where they dwell forever without worry, abiding in Wuwei: acting without forced effort, bearing responsibility without strain, and resting in thought without attachment. Therefore, sages emphasize foundational cultivation and value basic discipline. Why? Because only those who immerse themselves in the Dao can avoid the calamities of the Three Origins (heaven, earth, and water officials) and the Nine Misfortunes.

Sages stress foundational practice because all who aspire to the Dao must begin at the beginning. The initial stage is the cause for eradicating transgressions; basic discipline is the prerequisite for progress. Those who disregard these are no different from beasts—beasts know nothing of the Dao, much less the profound mysteries of cultivation and merit.

A seeker once asked a wise master: "Why do some practitioners who follow their masters and devote years to Daoist cultivation achieve nothing, while others attain the supreme state of Wuwei (non-action) and authentic realization in relatively short time?"

The master replied: "The essence of spiritual cultivation lies in comprehending the truth. Those who make no progress after years of practice fail because they haven't truly grasped the Dao in their hearts. It's like a lame man planning a thousand-mile journey—if he walks only ten miles daily, he'll need three years to reach his destination. Yet another traveler starting from the same point, covering three hundred miles daily, arrives in less than a month. The difference in practitioners' realization is just like this—some soar on dragons while others trudge on foot—how could they possibly arrive simultaneously?"

The master then elaborated on common failures: "Some outwardly practice Daoist methods while inwardly harboring distracting thoughts; others feign devotion but secretly leak esoteric teachings; some recite scriptures mechanically without focused intent; those in high positions wallow in wealth and lust; hypocrites pretend purity while oppressing the ignorant. Such people inevitably fall into the Three Wretched Realms (hell, hungry ghosts, and animal rebirth), remaining far from the true Dao. Though physically alive, they're essentially walking corpses."

Another question followed: "Why is it that among ten or five disciples who renounce worldly life simultaneously, studying under different masters with equal effort, some attain the Five Supernormal Powers (like divine vision) while others make no progress?"

The master illuminated the key point: "Everything depends on the master's enlightenment. A master serves as the gateway to the Dao—an enlightened master (Mingshi) deeply understands the scriptures and perceives profound truths, naturally guiding disciples to swift progress. But a deluded master, still unawakened, cannot illuminate others. It's like trying to wash something with muddy water—you'll only soil it further. Therefore, choosing an enlightened master is the foremost matter in spiritual cultivation."

This scripture elucidates the essential principles of following the Dao and seeking a true master. When participating in ritual assemblies, practitioners must adhere to ceremonial protocols, strictly observe precepts, and cultivate diligently each day. Regardless of innate aptitude or depth of Daoist affinity, all should follow enlightened masters (those who have truly attained the Dao) with reverent sincerity, practicing tirelessly day and night while maintaining physical and mental harmony to nurture joyful and tranquil spirit (Shen).

Genuine Dao cultivators receive divine guidance and attain resonance with the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, and Shen). They devote themselves to studying under three types of masters (scripture masters, register masters, and initiation masters), delving deeply into Daoist methods to achieve the Five Supernormal Powers through cultivation. These accomplishments are recorded in celestial registers, ultimately leading to the realization of Wuwei (effortless action) and the fruit of Dao attainment.

The scripture employs vivid metaphors to illustrate the importance of enlightened guidance: Just as ocean treasure hunting requires sturdy vessels and proper navigation skills, Dao cultivation necessitates a true master's direction. Similarly, searching for the Golden Elixir and immortal herbs in perilous mountains—though they promise longevity—proves impossible without proper guidance. False masters (those lacking authentic transmission) resemble leaky boats destined to sink midway, or treasure hunters without navigational skills who ultimately capsize and perish.

The text concludes by emphasizing that genuine cultivators never presume their own wisdom: Only those who refrain from self-promotion become true teachers; only those who don't flaunt cleverness attain great wisdom; only those free from arrogance achieve self-perfection; and only those who avoid forceful displays manifest genuine efficacy. By relinquishing self-attachment, one ultimately merges with the Dao in perfect unity.

This scripture primarily elucidates the proper methods and attitudes practitioners should follow in spiritual cultivation. It first points out that genuine cultivators do not chase empty fame, yet their reputation naturally becomes illustrious; they do not covet praise, yet their virtuous name spreads far and wide. Daoist practitioners should focus wholeheartedly on cultivating the Dao (the Way), diligently nurturing their De (Virtue/Power), learning from enlightened masters, studying scriptures, refining immortal Qi (vital energy), maintaining purification rituals and precepts, examining their words and deeds, and cultivating compassion—caring for orphans, widows, and the impoverished. This constitutes the true path of cultivation.

The text particularly emphasizes the crucial role of enlightened masters—a master who comprehends the truth serves as the gateway to Daoist teachings. When the master is wise, the Daoist methods flourish; when the master is deluded, the methods fail to bear fruit. Even among disciples under the same master, some may attain the five supernatural powers (五通), while others remain unenlightened—this depends entirely on individual practice.

The latter section, presented in a question-and-answer format, compares various cultivation methods: abstaining from grains and relying on elixirs is inferior to prolonged fasting (长斋); prolonged fasting is inferior to scripture recitation; and scripture recitation is inferior to seated meditation and contemplation. Fasting and cultivation accumulate merit—when merit is fulfilled, one may ascend as an immortal. Reciting scriptures accrues merit character by character—each word counts as one merit, and when fulfilled, one's name is recorded in Shangqing (上清, one of the highest Daoist heavens). Scriptures are the teachings of the Dao—by practicing according to them, one eradicates greed and afflictions, dispels the five poisons (贪嗔痴慢疑, greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt), accumulates virtuous deeds, and ultimately attains supreme realization. Thus, perfected beings (真人) treasure the scriptures as invaluable gems.

This scripture expounds the realms and methods of cultivation for attaining the Dao. The practice of the "Ten Immortals" (ten stages of immortal cultivation) fundamentally requires maintaining a mind pure and free from distractions. True practitioners must accomplish three essentials: studying scriptures to rectify their thoughts, observing purification rituals (Zhaijiao) to sustain perseverance, and practicing the true path without wavering. Only thus can one reach the supreme authentic realm, and upon perfecting one's merits, roam freely in the celestial fields of purple-gold (the Daoist paradise).

Someone once asked the Celestial Worthy (Tianshi, the highest Daoist deity): "If one wholeheartedly cultivates the three virtuous deeds (likely referring to upholding precepts, reciting scriptures, and charity), will the merit be great?" The Celestial Worthy replied that it would indeed be immeasurable. But then another asked: "What if a practitioner neglects these three deeds but instead builds numerous temples and makes abundant offerings—what reward would they receive?" The answer was that such a person would ascend to heaven and enjoy blessings. However, these blessings are impermanent, for if one fails to continue cultivating the three deeds while indulging in such rewards, once the blessings are exhausted, they will fall back into the cycle of rebirth, possibly even descending into the three wretched realms (hell, hungry ghosts, and animals).

Another question followed: "What if one avoids the four unwholesome deeds (likely four types of unvirtuous actions) and focuses solely on making offerings and charity?" The response was that such a person would enjoy the blessings of celestial feasts and earthly treasures (the divine provisions of heaven and the riches of the underworld). Yet again, it was emphasized that without continued cultivation, once the blessings are exhausted, one would still fall according to their karma.

Finally, the scripture mentions a type of practitioner who neglects the five worldly affairs (likely five mundane concerns) and devotes themselves solely to propagating Daoism, disregarding secular matters. While this approach may gradually lead to meditative absorption, the scripture states that attaining the four paths of liberation would remain difficult. The key lies in steadfastly upholding the three virtuous deeds in all circumstances—only then can one attain the highest merit.

The core message of this passage is clear: while external offerings and charity are significant, true cultivation must be grounded in the fundamental practices of upholding precepts, reciting scriptures, and refining the mind. Otherwise, even the greatest blessings remain transient. Practitioners must maintain right mindfulness at all times, never slackening in indulgence, to ultimately achieve the immortal path.

This scripture elucidates the causal relationships in spiritual cultivation and attaining the Dao. The realized Daoist masters (those who have achieved cultivation) receive various blessings precisely because they planted virtuous causes in past lives. For instance, the merit of constructing Daoist temples manifests in this life as residence in celestial palaces; the virtuous act of donating to build altars brings heavenly nourishment in this lifetime; teaching others through Daoist methods yields unobstructed wisdom.

The text specifically enumerates correspondences between cultivation practices and their karmic rewards: abstaining from pungent foods (like onions and garlic) results in a purified body, avoiding rich flavors leads to a Wuwei (non-action) physical form, devout bowing brings supreme noble status, non-killing grants longevity, praising virtuous deeds produces a melodious voice, practicing forbearance yields dignified appearance, relieving suffering beings ensures robust health, maintaining equanimity cultivates wisdom, healing with medicine bestows eloquent speech, beautifying sacred spaces manifests a golden-hued sacred form, truthful speech develops lotus-tongued eloquence, and sustaining virtuous conduct creates perfect physical marks.

These extraordinary virtues accumulate through prolonged cultivation. By persisting in such practice, one transcends worldly dust to reach the carefree realm of the Great Luo Heaven (the highest Daoist celestial realm). Even the smallest virtuous act becomes as precious as a pearl in one's palm. To achieve such merit, practitioners must diligently cultivate all virtuous actions without fearing hardship, ultimately arriving at the supreme Daoist sanctuary.

A subsequent question arises: Why do worldly emperors and nobles maintain generational nobility? If following karmic principles, how can sons receive rewards for their fathers' merits? The Celestial Master (Tianshi) explains this occurs because ancestors accumulated collective merit, allowing descendants to share these blessings. The questioner persists: Then why do some fortunate families lose their lineage? The Celestial Master clarifies that true merit should ensure unbroken descendants; if lineage ceases, it indicates insufficient karmic conditions for continuation.

The Celestial Master (Tianshi) replied: The status of nobility or commonness among worldly beings stems from their respective karmic causes, just as those who planted similar karmic seeds in past lives will share comparable fortunes in this life. Why is this so? Consider farmers tilling their fields—what seeds they sow determines their harvest. Change the seeds, and the yield naturally transforms. Thus, a single field may rotate through a hundred different crops—how much more so for a person's destiny, which can never remain fixed?

The seeker pressed further: May the Celestial Master impart deeper wisdom. Since the creation of heaven and earth, how many kalpas has this Scripture of Original Appearance (Benxiang Jing) endured? How many destined beings has it delivered? And why do some remain beyond salvation? I beseech the Celestial Master to reveal these cause-and-effect principles.

The Celestial Master praised: Excellent questions! This Marvelous Scripture of Original Appearance is the root transmission of my lineage, having traversed kalpas as countless as the Ganges' sands, delivering immeasurable beings. It moves in synchrony with the cosmos, like seawater evaporating into rainclouds unnoticed by mortals. Just as sun and moon illuminate imperial courts, enlightened sages throughout history—numerous as Ganges' sands—all attained realization through cultivating this dharma of original appearance. Thus, the Scripture of Original Appearance is truly the source of all scriptures, operating with the Dao (the Way) in ways unfathomably profound.

Hearing this revelation, the seeker's heart overflowed with joy. Bowing reverently, he chanted verses of praise:

For millennia of karmic affinity I encounter the peerless Celestial Master,

Hearing this supremely authentic scripture.

All doubts resolved—the Great Dao manifests through body, speech, and mind.

All virtuous dharmas dwell within impermanence,

As the wheel of birth and death never ceases turning.

Practitioners who uphold divine teachings

Find the Dao's radiance growing clearer daily.

Seeking the realm of Wuwei (non-action),

They ultimately attain ten grades of immortality.

When both master and disciple lack wisdom,

Not even ten thousand kalpas bring realization.

Like blind men crossing precipices,

They inevitably plunge into abysses.

Only by studying true scriptures with sages

Can ten thousand virtuous deeds bear fruit.

Regard not the wealth of kings and nobles—

These are fleeting as water bubbles.

True treasure lies in forging the violet-gold immortal form,

Realizing the emptiness of all phenomena.

So-called nobility or baseness

Depends wholly on the purity of one's heart-mind.

(Key teachings emphasized:

1. The paramount importance of karmic cause and effect

2. The eternal nature of scriptural transmission

3. The necessity of enlightened guidance in cultivation

4. Seeing through worldly glamour

5. Heart-mind refinement as the fundamental practice)

This scripture expounds on the steadfast conviction and transcendent state that Dao cultivators should embody. The "Dao Artisan" (referring to the Great Dao) created heaven and earth, while De (Virtue/Power) nourishes all things—even wild beasts and insects understand their innate connection to the source, let alone those seeking immortality through cultivation. Yet heterodox practitioners (non-orthodox cultivators) lack even this basic awareness of animals; like movable earth and wood that remain stubbornly inert, they ultimately sever the unity of Shen (spirit) and physical form.

True Dao cultivators must achieve complete integration of body and mind, maintaining unwavering focus on their practice. The scripture presents two trials that test practitioners: first, when heaven sends falling stones and earth erupts in flames, the steadfast remain anchored in the Dao heart; second, when three thousand heavenly demons (obstacles to cultivation) destroy mountains and forests, the cultivator's mind remains still as placid water. Though flames rise and fall like ocean waves, the practitioner abides in constant purity—a state born from Wuwei (non-action, the natural flow of cultivation) and "wordless truth" (reality beyond language).

The "emptiness-nothingness" (the void-nature underlying all phenomena) realized by cultivators cannot be comprehended through worldly understanding, for this awakening originates from celestial realms, not mundane existence. Heterodox teachings mislead the masses like moths drawn to flame. Only true "seeds of Dao" (those with innate capacity for cultivation) grasp the profound meaning of emptiness—that while the Dao creates all things, it never claims the role of creator. Thus, Zhenren (perfected beings) cultivate emptiness to realize the primordial source.

Finally, the text reveals that those who understand the truth of "no words, no names" are actually celestial beings incarnated to guide humanity. They embody the Dao's movement, employing the mysteries of emptiness to accomplish virtuous deeds. The passage emphasizes transcending external phenomena, maintaining original purity amid chaos, and ultimately merging with the formless source of emptiness.

All living beings in this world cannot clearly explain their origins, hence the concepts of "spontaneity" (自然) and "karmic conditions" (因缘) have emerged. People use these notions to account for experiences of suffering and joy, wealth and poverty. But those who truly understand the Dao of spontaneity do not cling to the concept of "spontaneity," just as those who genuinely comprehend karmic conditions do not superstitiously believe in "karmic conditions." It is like children learning to speak—they imitate sounds without understanding meanings, recite words without grasping principles.

Transmitting my master's teachings, I spread the Great Dao (大道) throughout the world. Though diligent, I never feel weary; though seemingly laboring in vain, I never abandon my task. I consistently follow the heavenly principle of withdrawing after accomplishing merit, thereby able to discard appearances and grasp the essence. The Dao appears soft yet can break the hard; De (德) seems faint yet pure as ice and snow—the key lies in holding to the Middle Way to harmonize above and below. Therefore, what is high must be lowered, and what is low must be raised—this is the operating principle of the Great Dao. Excessive strength leads to destruction; maintaining balance ensures lasting preservation. If one persists in forcing strength, the body loses its foundation—where then can the Dao be found? Thus, Dao cultivators pursue harmony, rejecting rigidity, nourishing body and mind like water, moistening the five viscera (the "jade palaces" refer to internal organs), remaining free from calamity throughout life. The Perfected Person (真人) has no personal ailments yet treats the people's suffering as his own. Therefore, to regard illness as illness is to have no real worry—what then have I to fear?

Arrogance is the root of death; gentleness is the foundation of life. Why so? Observe how fierce tigers fall into traps while hard trees burn in fire. Are traps not fearsome? Yet befriending them brings coexistence. Those who act violently will inevitably be trapped; can wood avoid burning? Yet continuous friction ignites flames. Thus, the restless ultimately perish in fire. The Perfected therefore discard arrogance and maintain gentleness. The strong belong to the category of death; the soft belong to the category of life. Hence Dao cultivators treasure the path of life, valuing internal preservation (握固 refers to life-nurturing techniques), while worldly people admire force, emphasizing external attachments. The True Dao differs from worldly pursuits—though both involve effort, their outcomes are diametrically opposed.

What is the origin of life? What is its fundamental support? The closest root is the Qi (炁) of heaven and earth. Aligning with it brings harmonious breath; opposing it causes energetic disorder. The father corresponds to heaven, the mother to earth—to oppose parents is to oppose heaven and earth. Constantly remember life's nobility and value its fundamental connections. Worldly people cherish family due to attachment to wives, while the Perfected relinquish selfish love to achieve true nature, honoring life's source to realize the Great Dao. Thus, though people hold diverse views, all beings are born through receiving heaven-earth Qi, following this fundamental law.

This scripture reveals the transcendent attitude a Daoist practitioner should cultivate by contrasting human and animal perceptions of heaven and earth. The text states that while the earth nourishes all things, none express gratitude for its virtue (De), unlike certain spiritually attuned creatures that understand the natural Dao. Just as in places where promiscuous women gather, those who lust after them naturally sink into desire's abyss—yet those with steadfast resolve, like eunuchs unmoved by temptation, remain unaffected even amidst such surroundings.

The crux lies in this: viewing debauchery with lustful eyes makes desires impossible to restrain; facing temptation with purity of heart is like birds skimming the void without collecting dust. True persons (zhenren, the realized ones) can make even wanton women repent and abandon desire when passing through their quarters—for they regard beauty as mere earth and timber, treasures as broken tiles. The more one craves wealth and sensual pleasures, the more desires multiply. When life approaches its end, what meaning do these attachments hold? Only those who understand relinquishment can awaken to the Dao.

The text then elucidates the principle of "the Dao begets all things": First, the origin of all things (Dao) remains unknown to humans; though Yin-Yang transforms and nurtures creation, people refuse to believe. Heaven and earth support all beings, sun and moon illuminate everything—these manifest proofs lie before our eyes, yet some deny the divine governance of life and death, neglecting karmic cultivation. True persons maintain the pure undivided Dao to nurture the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind); when merit (De) reaches perfection, they naturally attain the purple-golden fruit of immortality (achieving the Dao). The wise first cultivate wholesome causes to nourish their spirit (Shen), preserving wholeness without loss—just as the law "Dao begets One, One begets Two, Two begets Three, Three begets all things" enables heaven and earth to endure eternally.

Finally, it emphasizes the Dao's characteristics: Though square-cornered, it never injures (square without cutting), adapting freely to deliver all beings; virtue (De) remains flawlessly complete (round without gap), achieving fulfillment through natural merit. Forced division creates lack; indulging deficiency leads to collapse. Thus Dao-realized individuals maintain serenity without diminishing essence—where their spirit resonates, merit spontaneously arises, like sweet rain soaking the three thousand worlds, subtly penetrating every crevice. This realm can never be reached through indulgence.

This passage elucidates the operational principles of the Dao (the Way) and the behavioral standards for spiritual cultivators.

The workings of the Dao (cosmic origin) transcend external forms: it remains unchanged by extravagance or simplicity, unmoved by beauty or ugliness, and unswayed by sin or blessing. Like an invisible artisan, it permeates all things yet defies verbal description—even the most powerful cannot fathom it. Just as mountain echoes vary with space, so too does the Dao manifest with natural spontaneity.

Practitioners should emulate water's gentle nature: just as water nourishes all beings without contention, those who attain the Dao must cherish the quality of "softness." Zhenren (perfected beings) maintain constant virtue (De), much like how water and stones share the same space yet serve different purposes. They remain ever mindful of the Dao's guidance, acting with the caution of one carrying a heavy load, progressing diligently day and night without complacency.

The rise and fall of societies correlate with Daoist principles: when people honor virtue (De), true methods (orthodox paths) flourish; when morality decays, primordial Qi (vital energy) withdraws. No ruler can forcibly alter this—it depends solely on collective karma. Like the ancient virtuous King Ye who attracted auspicious purple yang energy by renouncing desire, these phenomena manifest the law of cause and effect.

The cycle of rebirth operates through karmic law: sentient beings transmigrate through the Five Paths (heavenly, human, animal, hungry ghost, hell realms), with blessings and misfortunes determined by accumulated karma. Celestial deities meticulously record each soul's merits and faults with the precision of millstone grooves. Karmic retribution follows natural order as inexorably as a wall conforms to its mold.

This scripture elucidates how practitioners should cultivate themselves to attain the state of being in harmony with Heaven and Earth. The core teaching states: Just as an unworked plank of wood cannot stand upright, sages remain vigilant against their own faults. Thus they diligently cultivate the Dao, pursuing their original pure nature—unbound by worldly constraints and unconcerned with fame or achievement. Only through such devoted practice can one break free from bondage and attain true wisdom. Those with aspiration and wisdom may stand among celestial immortals, untroubled by demonic obstacles or external distractions. Why? Because they possess clear determination and insight. Conversely, those lacking these qualities differ little from beasts, akin to animals that recognize their mother but not their father.

The scripture then describes the nature of the Dao: Though supremely exalted, it never obscures the myriad things; though profoundly deep, it has no bottom. Boundless and inexhaustible, its limits cannot be measured. Pervading all existence, it operates spontaneously, manifesting in myriad forms to universally deliver beings, its compassion reaching everywhere. Why? Without these manifestations, who could comprehend the Dao’s truth? Thus, practitioners must focus on cultivating this "responsive transformation" (the Dao’s adaptive teachings according to circumstance), maintaining single-minded dedication without slackening, thereby uniting with the supreme Dao.

Genuine adepts who master the method of "responsive transformation" ultimately attain the state of Wuwei (non-action). Those who understand this principle and practice diligently may also stand among the Perfected. For true nature is formless—born from emptiness, neither a concrete image nor any particular appearance, but spontaneously formed from the mysterious primordial Qi (vital energy). Indivisible yet capable of manifesting in all things, it disperses without diminishing, subtle and lucid yet unattached. This Qi takes shape in countless forms, universally aiding all beings, operating endlessly without exhaustion, its function inexhaustible. Though it accomplishes merit, it claims no credit, always withdrawing into obscurity; though it creates all things, it makes no boast, ever concealing its name. This is the purest teaching, the true meaning of Wuwei.

Authentic adepts follow the instruction of not pursuing fame, diligently practicing what appears effortless, thus achieving success. Why? Attachment to fame hinders the establishment of merit; obsession with merit obstructs its giving. Thus, the Perfected understand cultivation without minding reputation, know diligence without feeling strain, and give without expectation—yet results naturally follow. Like rivers flowing to the sea without expecting water to return, yet the ocean’s cycles continue spontaneously, so too operates the "great movement" (the Dao’s functioning) of responsive transformation. Therefore, one must comprehend the path of cultivation and understand how to apply effort wisely.

A house must have doors and windows to let sunlight stream in and create illumination. What difference is there between a perfectly sealed room without light and having no light at all? Just as craftsmen cannot work without illumination, light cannot enter without openings. If sentient beings lacked the Dao-nature (the innate capacity for cultivation), it would be like craftsmen having no starting point. Precisely because all beings possess this enlightenable nature, we establish teachings to guide them. Like needing lamplight to inhabit a room at night or craftsmen requiring illumination to work, truth-seekers must receive instruction from three masters before becoming genuine attainers of the Dao.

Why so? Building a house without doors and windows renders it no different from having no house; possessing a body without receiving master's guidance is like having no body. Thus cultivators relinquish worldly attachments to perfect their true form, leaving household life to cultivate De (Virtue/Power). Like the immortal Yu Luoqiao who treasured Daoist methods and revered De, they ultimately reach Wuwei (non-action, Daoism's highest state of natural harmony).

Even with gold and jewels piled mountain-high or wealth covering fields like cloth, those who don't pursue the Great Dao or aspire to cultivation are like the setting sun—when blessings exhaust, nothing remains. As sparrows don't value their droppings nor dung beetles their rolled balls, true treasures aren't objects of greed, nor wealth worthy of veneration. Hence cultivators honor Dao over jewels, esteem De above riches, ultimately attaining the "Supreme Truth" realm. Why? Treasures attract calamity; wealth invites thieves. Thus adepts diligently cultivate Dao without coveting treasures, nurture De without hoarding goods. Mountains of wealth cannot compare to serene Dao-cultivation. They neither chase valuables nor crave possessions.

The Dao generates all things, De nourishes existence, merit benefits beings, universally sustaining all forms. Yet the Dao creates without claiming lordship, De accomplishes without taking credit. Thus the Dao presides effortlessly—the people never weary of it. Without following the Great Dao, nothing endures. Why? Humans cannot leave Dao, just as fish cannot leave water. Departing Dao brings annihilation; fish out of water perish. Therefore, cultivators who uphold Dao and embody De gain eternal life—meaning their Shen (spirit) remains lucid and unchanging, abiding in Wuwei. This is the Way of enduring vision ("long life and perpetual observation"). "Perpetual observation" means: though heaven and earth perish countless times and all things turn to ash, the cultivator's form alone persists, witnessing cosmic dissolution while their spirit stays radiantly pure—thus we speak of the Dao of enduring vision.

In the mother's womb, an infant's original nature is pure and free from desires, like a pearl concealed within an oyster, its radiance inwardly contained. Why is this so? Because the infant has no awareness of the external world and makes no distinctions within the heart—crying when hungry, peaceful when full. Even if left unfed for long periods, crying all day will not make the voice hoarse, for they maintain the natural harmony of their innate state, untainted by agitation.

A pearl nurtured properly within an oyster becomes a treasure; otherwise, it remains mere oyster flesh. What people fear most is growing up and being controlled by passions and desires—a poison difficult to eradicate. Thus, those who cultivate the Dao must begin their practice from a state of desirelessness, nurturing De (Virtue/Power) from the age of seven, for only then can they attain the true self. Desires are the root of the five poisons, and delusions are the source of calamity—both must be abandoned.

Those who are fickle and unreliable cannot be accepted, and the views of heterodox paths (non-orthodox cultivation methods) must be resolutely avoided. If one awakens, even an ordinary person can swiftly reach the realm of terrestrial immortals (the preliminary stage of transcendence). Why? Because erroneous views seep into the mind, while the Qi (vital energy) of wisdom requires long accumulation. Yet the slightest deviation leads one astray—hence, those with deep foundations awaken more quickly.

The fickle and the heterodox are alike in their stubborn delusions, difficult to change. They sway like grass in the wind, just as black lacquer is inherently black but takes on whatever color it is dyed. Therefore, one cannot guide the inconstant with the orthodox Dao, nor can the views of heterodoxy be redeemed—both cling to their own opinions and refuse to learn the true path.

Thus, the resolve of a Zhenren (Perfected Being) must be as unshakable as Mount Kunlun, unmoved even as forests grow upon it. The Zhenren ties "knots that are no knots" (a practice beyond form) and closes "gates that are no gates" (a state beyond attachment), never drifting with the current, ultimately attaining the Dao.

Consider pottery-making: Clay cannot take form without water, and an unfired vessel remains uneven. Water is the foundation of harmony, shaping the essence of the finished vessel. Only through the artisan’s labor can earthenware be made—without water, the clay does not bind; without refinement, the vessel is not smooth. Earth, water, and the artisan’s skill collaborate—kneading, molding, firing, and smoking—until the perfect vessel emerges. This illustrates: Earth is the raw material of the vessel, water the condition of its form.

This scripture primarily expounds on the behavioral principles and cultivation methods that Daoist practitioners should follow, emphasizing how the accumulation of minor virtuous deeds ultimately leads to the realization of the Great Dao (the Way).

Just as crafting pottery requires an artisan to meticulously refine every detail, so too does Daoist cultivation demand the gradual accumulation of virtue (De) from the smallest acts, eventually attaining the supreme Dao-fruit like rivers merging into the sea or mountains towering above the earth. Perfected beings (those who have attained the Dao) achieve transcendent blessings and inconceivable power precisely through such persistent practice. Though the Dharma of the Dao is vast and boundless, only the wise and diligent can truly comprehend it.

Those who do not study the true path are like the blind—cultivation must begin with rectifying the mind. If one covets personal gain, steals wealth, or exploits others, they will suffer the torment of blade-winds in hell after death, bringing misfortune upon their descendants. But if one abandons such evils and devotes themselves to studying the true scriptures (Daoist classics), unwholesome thoughts will naturally dissipate. The unlearned cannot distinguish good from evil, remaining as ignorant as beasts.

Cultivation requires relinquishing utilitarian motives and maintaining a natural state. Seemingly insignificant virtuous deeds, accumulated over countless kalpas (immeasurable eons), generate tremendous power. In the early stages of practice, visible results may not appear, but with unwavering perseverance, one will ultimately attain the state of Wuwei (non-action, the highest realm of Daoist cultivation) and gain recognition from the sages of the Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness).

The scripture contrasts the noble person (junzi) with the petty person (xiaoren): the noble person embodies sincerity and simplicity in word and deed, while the petty person maintains an imposing facade without substance. The wise should emulate the noble person and cultivate the Dao of Wuwei (the practice of aligning with nature). The true path appears humble yet embraces all goodness, while the demonic path (heterodox ways) is arrogant and self-aggrandizing; human pursuits chase worldly splendor, but the genuine Dao (the true path) honors simplicity. Though both are called "Dao," their directions are diametrically opposed. Practitioners should cultivate humility and inclusiveness, accumulating virtuous power rather than clinging to self-righteousness like the demonic path.

This scripture explains how Dao cultivators should maintain their humble and simple nature to attain true wisdom and virtue (De).

The text begins by contrasting two different pursuits: worldly people crave longevity (the so-called "longevity-seeking life"), while heterodox paths (referring to deviant cultivation practices) focus on endings. True Dao practitioners, however, emphasize simplicity and essence, avoiding ostentation and vanity. Just like realized adepts (those who have achieved cultivation success) – though they may hold lowly positions, their stature shines like the sun and moon over Mount Kunlun. Rivers and seas, precisely because they occupy the lowest places, become the gathering points for all streams.

The text then uses the metaphor of silkworms spinning silk: though silkworms feed on ordinary mulberry leaves, they produce magnificent silk threads (衮冕 refers to splendid robes). Similarly, cultivators may appear ordinary yet contain profound wisdom. Only when someone can explain the true principles of Dao cultivation as clearly as the origin of silk will people become convinced. True masters of great virtue (De) possess extraordinary features (such as the thirty-two auspicious marks, including thunder-like voices and sunbeam-like eyes) and remain unshaken through countless kalpas.

Later passages describe crisis response: when a nation is besieged by bandits, only those who have mastered the true Dao can resolve the situation. The entire text emphasizes that cultivators should accumulate silently like silkworms, without external displays, to ultimately achieve the majestic virtue (De) of the "King of Ten Thousand Sages." Those with shallow understanding from foreign lands (literally "outer regions without insects") react with suspicion and resistance precisely because they cannot comprehend such profundity.

When enemies invade, the best defense lies in skillful diplomacy rather than military confrontation. For adversaries are inherently timid and easily deterred. Against minor foes, negotiation alone can make them withdraw without resorting to arms. Why adopt this approach? Because wisdom can subdue evil, and virtuous power (De) can dissolve calamity. Even when completely surrounded, simply fortifying the city walls, closing the gates, and maintaining defensive positions will exhaust the attackers until they retreat naturally. Thus, those who embody the Dao (the Way) always defend with wisdom, making invasion impossible; by securing their strongholds firmly, enemies cannot prevail.

How to pacify a nation on the brink of chaos? How to appease ministers plotting rebellion? Disorder stems from oppressive governance, while revolt arises from the ruler's incompetence. To remedy this, one must eliminate greed and nurture the people through serene non-action (Wuwei). When citizens live in peace and prosperity, they naturally support their sovereign, and the state remains stable. Ministers rebel when rulers act arbitrarily, ignoring laws. To quell uprising, the ruler must repent faults, rectify decrees, and restore order. Avoiding internal confusion and external cruelty, those who attain the Dao permanently abolish harsh policies to comfort the people, removing tyrannical rule to secure ministers' loyalty. With enlightened leadership comes stable governance—the nation stands unshaken, and people enjoy lasting harmony.

Uncarved wood cannot become vessels; untilled fields yield no harvest. Why? Unworked timber decays, and neglected land grows thorns, becoming dens for jackals and owls. Like abandoned fields turning barren, those who forsake spiritual cultivation meet similar fate. But when craftsmen apply compasses, squares, axes, and chisels daily, raw wood transforms into useful implements; cultivated soil bears grain. Likewise, ordinary people resemble uncarved wood and wild land—they require enlightened teachers (acting as spiritual craftsmen) to achieve the Dao-fruit (enlightenment). Hence, Dao attainers diligently refine themselves to ultimately realize true Dao.

Practicing non-action (Wuwei), virtue (De) grows daily; clinging to forced action brings gradual loss. For genuine non-action leaves nothing undone, and all things recognize its benefit. Yet those obsessed with forceful action become shackled by their own delusions.

This scripture expounds on the principle of returning to the state of "Wuwei" (non-action) in spiritual practice. Those who truly attain the Dao (Zhenren, or perfected persons) achieve this natural state of non-action by progressively reducing artificial efforts. They consistently shut the gate to heterodox paths while steadfastly following the true way, thereby attaining genuine Dao-fruits.

The text employs metallurgical metaphors: just as molten metal takes form according to its mold, so does the master-disciple transmission—when the master practices orthodox methods, disciples follow rightly; when the master treads deviant paths, disciples follow astray. Several vivid analogies emphasize the necessity of practical effort in cultivation: building boats requires water, felling trees demands axes, making fire needs kindling, and digging wells calls for ropes. The Zhenren resemble artifacts repeatedly tempered by craftsmen—only through such refinement can they reach that consummate state of natural perfection.

The scripture particularly stresses that cultivation cannot rely on empty talk: water in a pot won't boil without fire, nor will grain in a mortar become rice without pounding. All achievements require tangible effort—Dao practitioners must diligently engage in practical work to succeed. Blessings don't come undeserved, just as uncarved wood inevitably decays. The wise understand persistent practice, while those who neither act nor strive can never approach the Great Dao. A final warning states: practitioners who comprehend the theory without implementation are like those staring at pots and mortars without lighting fires or pounding grain—they'll never obtain desired results.

(Note: "Wuwei" is a core Daoist concept denoting natural non-forced action; "Zhenren" refers to those who have attained the Dao through practice; "pounding" describes the husk-removal process using mortar and pestle.)

Though the qin and se can produce elegant music, they cannot sound on their own without someone to play them. Though bells and drums can create rhythmic melodies, they remain silent without someone to strike them. Thus, realized Daoist masters (those who have attained cultivation) act like players of instruments, awakening people through various means. Why do they do this? Just as qin and drums are played to be heard, masters teach sentient beings so they may comprehend the Dao.

The qin, se, bells and drums symbolize the innate Dao-nature (the inherent capacity for spiritual cultivation) within all people, while the act of playing represents a master's guidance. Just as those fond of qin music will naturally come to listen, those drawn to drumbeats will gather to hear them. Therefore, true masters never cease their "playing"—unceasingly teaching day and night, fearing sentient beings might miss this awakening music.

Different methods suit different capacities: for those drawn to the Three Jewels (Buddhist term for Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha), teach the Three Jewels; for those inclined to the Way of qin and se, teach through music—for even instrumental music can bring enlightenment. If masters didn't "play the qin and drums," how could beings comprehend these truths? Without masters expounding the Dao, beings would remain ignorant. Thus, teaching must adapt to individual capacities.

Present at this teaching was Yemu (a cultivator), who, deeply moved by the Celestial Lord's (highest Daoist deity) discourse on awakening beings through music, thenceforth devoted herself day and night to crafting and playing qin, se, bells and drums. Returning to Northern Longshan Mountain, she felled autumn paulownia wood to fashion these instruments, adorning them with jewels, carving coiling dragons, using yellow silk for strings and jade for bridges. Leading three thousand disciples, she traveled the land teaching qin performance, striking bells and drums without rest. People came from near and far to hear the music—men and women, old and young, gathering by the thousands. Yemu rejoiced, dedicating years to this pursuit, convinced it would lead to immortality. Yet from beginning to end, she only aged and died, ultimately falling into the Three Evil Realms (Buddhist term for hells, hungry ghosts, and animals).

This illustrates how true masters teach without striving for results. Precisely by not self-promoting, they accomplish true teaching; by not self-displaying, they reveal truth; by not forcibly giving, they genuinely benefit beings. Real cultivators cling neither to lineages nor understanding nor displays—thus becoming true guides. Not forcing mentorship makes one a luminous teacher; not self-revealing reveals the great Dao; not insisting on giving truly benefits others. Only by not clinging to external forms can one attain the genuine Dao. Therefore the verse says...

This scripture elucidates the essence of the Great Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) and the true meaning of spiritual cultivation. The Dao remains eternally unchanging (Taichang), yet all phenomena in the world are inconstant and transient, like swirling winds that come and go unpredictably. Life flows away like eastward-running water, worldly affairs churn like boiling liquid—these impermanent transformations often bring sorrow and suffering.

Those with great wisdom (Kongzhi) penetrate this truth, therefore choosing to relinquish worldly attachments rather than drifting with the currents. Through self-cultivation, they attain genuine peace and joy, ultimately realizing the supreme fruit of the Dao. At this stage, all afflictions disperse like clouds and mist, achieving the state of serene Wuwei (non-action).

When cultivation reaches perfection (with all marks of excellence complete), one transcends ordinary existence to become a sage who comprehends all things. The text clarifies that the worldly blessings pursued by ordinary people differ entirely from the liberated state attained through spiritual practice. The entire passage reveals how Daoist practitioners should see through worldly impermanence to pursue eternal truth—the essential principle of cultivation.

This scripture records a debate scene where the Supreme Dao Lord (the highest deity in Daoism) expounded the "Fundamental Form of the Supreme Wondrous Dharma" to sentient beings, engaging in discourse with practitioners from various regions.

At that time, cultivators from the four directions—referred to as "Yu" and "Lai"—gathered together, including heterodox practitioners like Wild Mother, Unhooked, Wooden Marquis, and Deer Rooster. These outsiders each displayed their spiritual powers and radiant light, engaging in clever arguments. The Eastern Yu first raised a challenge: If all present-life circumstances are determined by past karma, wouldn't those who never hear the Dao's teachings be eternally trapped? It's like gathering firewood from a river—those collected reach the shore while the uncollected drift with the current. If destiny is predetermined, why bother cultivating at all?

The Western Yu countered: All things beget their own kind—birds beget birds, beasts beget beasts—just as molten metal retains its original hue, and planted melon seeds yield melons. Where is there any evidence of past-life causality? By your logic, how could a black horse ever sire a white one?

The Southern Lai also gave examples: Four-legged parents bear four-legged offspring; flying creatures beget flying creatures; skin color and language are inherited from parents. We've never seen an ordinary person who can travel ten thousand miles in a day—clearly, this so-called karmic retribution doesn't exist.

These challengers all argued that the Daoist theory of karmic cause and effect contradicted their observations of natural laws. This debate reveals the intellectual collisions during early Daoism's dissemination, using outsiders' voices to raise philosophical inquiries about destiny, heredity, and causality.

This scripture explores the fundamental nature of all things through a debate among several Daoist practitioners. Zhonghu, Yemu, Bugou, Duwan, Mu hou, and Jilu each present their views, yet ultimately conclude that opposing arguments contradict Daoist truth.

Zhonghu begins by stating: Tigers dwell in forests, sparrows nest near humans, and earthworms burrow underground—all because each receives distinct Qi (vital energy) endowments (Daoism teaches all things are composed of Qi). Every being possesses innate nature and never violates it to seek sustenance.

Yemu continues: I observe insects beget insects, oysters produce oysters, flies breed flies, and ants spawn ants. All follow their Qi nature to nourish life—what creature ever alters its form? This refutes transmigration theories.

Bugou argues: Carnivores' offspring eat meat, herbivores' young consume grass, wood-borers' descendants gnaw timber, and soil-eaters' progeny still ingest earth. Fixed Qi nature governs all beings without confusion.

Duwan explains through Yin-Yang: Though forms may resemble each other, names differ because Yin-Yang endowments create distinct species. Understanding one principle reveals a hundred categories; knowing one kind illuminates all things.

Mu hou employs metaphor: Guarding a nation resembles protecting one's body—long-haired people beget long-haired descendants, reptiles produce crawling offspring. All beings reproduce according to kind, like fruit trees yielding corresponding fruits, never defying innate nature.

Jilu concludes: Living beings manifest as square or round, diverse in form yet constant in Qi nature. Has anyone seen clay refined into gold or pigs transformed into dogs? If species could truly change, wouldn't ordinary people attain the Dao through past-life merits? They firmly reject transmigration as delusive talk misleading later students.

These perspectives embody the Daoist principle of "the Dao follows naturalness," emphasizing that all things maintain their inherent nature and proper station, opposing forced alterations of natural essence.

This scripture expounds the fundamental principles of karmic retribution through the teachings of the Celestial Worthy (the highest deity in Daoism). The Celestial Worthy reveals that all living beings experience different destinies due to the accumulated karma (the causal power generated by actions) from past lives. The retribution one receives in this life stems from karmic causes created in previous existences, while present actions will shape future incarnations. Just as seeds require soil to grow and insects need wings to fly, all phenomena obey the law of cause and effect.

Through a series of metaphors, the Celestial Worthy illustrates how the world would descend into chaos without this cosmic principle—just as crops cannot grow in midair or children be born without parents. Smelting ores produces tools, keeping bees yields honey, and raising silkworms creates silk—all requiring adherence to specific karmic laws.

The text emphasizes how the Daoist path fundamentally differs from worldly pursuits: Practitioners should cultivate with grounded diligence, free from attachment to rewards. True practice means "realizing emptiness through substantial cultivation" (因实修空) and "walking the Dao amidst form" (据有行道), where non-attachment to results naturally brings fulfillment. Like the Perfected Ones (得道者) who cultivated for a thousand lifetimes without seeking reward—even offering their bodies to eagles and tigers purely from compassion, expecting no recompense.

The scripture concludes: When one relinquishes utilitarian motives, blessings arrive spontaneously; obsession with merit instead dissipates it. Daoist practitioners should understand the principles of diligent cultivation, practical application, disciplined training, and skillful implementation—never practicing solely for personal gain. This constitutes the essential distinction between the Celestial Worthy's Dao and worldly ways.

This scripture passage describes how practitioners receive different karmic rewards based on their varying levels of cultivation. At that time, some practitioners began doubting the teachings of the Celestial Master (Tianshi, the highest Daoist deity), believing his words did not convey true Daoist methods but were merely deceptive metaphors meant to confuse ignorant people into wasting their lives pursuing illusory future rewards. Filled with skepticism, these doubters departed one after another.

At this moment, the Celestial Master withdrew the celestial radiance, plunging the four directions into darkness and throwing all spiritual paths into confusion—only the place where the Celestial Master remained shone with undiminished light. The departed practitioners returned to this illuminated space and asked, "Why has the heavenly light suddenly vanished, leaving the world in darkness and practitioners losing their way? What strange phenomenon is this?"

The Celestial Master replied, "What concern is the disappearance of heavenly light to you? You who cultivate Daoist arts can fly through the air and possess rare divine powers—how could mere darkness confound you? I only speak of future karmic rewards to enlighten the ignorant—how would I know why the light vanished? Why don't you use Daoist wisdom to observe this phenomenon?"

A practitioner named Yu responded, "We only understand techniques for longevity and aerial flight, not these profound principles. We beg the Celestial Master to explain. If we can comprehend, we'll believe in the karmic retribution you describe; if not, it will prove your words empty."

Hearing this, the Celestial Master smiled joyfully and emitted radiant light from his mouth, illuminating the ten directions. All present could clearly perceive karmic cause and effect across past, present, and future. They beheld the divine palaces atop Mount Kunlun: four-thousand-mile square walls with twelve hundred gates, containing three thousand six hundred minor palaces—golden towers and jade halls, five citadels with twelve gates each, floors paved entirely with lapis lazuli, adorned endlessly with coral, silver foil, and pearls.

Through this vision, the scripture reveals that only through the Celestial Master's guidance can practitioners truly understand karmic truth and behold sacred realms beyond the mundane. The doubters, lacking sufficient wisdom, became lost—only by returning to the true path could they witness ultimate reality.

Brilliant radiance filled the heavens as the Celestial Emperor sat enthroned at the center, governing the thirty-two celestial realms. Four guardian kings stood vigil at the cardinal directions, their magnificent celestial palaces gracing each quadrant of the cosmos. Celestial sovereigns presided over these heavenly abodes, attended by divine generals, celestial soldiers, and dragon-spirits who stood in reverent formation. The blissful scenes upon the Kunlun Immortal Mountains surpassed all mortal description.

At this moment, seekers from all directions who had previously strayed into heterodox paths experienced sudden awakening in their hearts. From then on, they cultivated with unwavering determination, ultimately attaining the fruit of Earth Immortals (a Daoist attainment level below Celestial Immortal but conferring longevity).

The elder Jing (likely a fictional seeker) inquired: "All beings in the world follow their karmic destinies, with human actions determining their retribution. Consider these seekers from the four directions - originally disbelievers in the orthodox Dao who fell into heretical views. Though they practiced cultivation, they followed no authentic teaching and ultimately lost their way. Yet now, without full comprehension and through mere single-minded faith, they've achieved such lofty attainment. Why is this so?"

The response explained: "These twelve types of heterodox practitioners initially cultivated with distorted minds, encountering false teachers who transmitted corrupted Qi. These perverse energies took form as malevolent spirits, leading them astray. Now, through a single thought turning toward correct faith, by virtue of this redirection they've attained Earth Immortal status. The seekers from the four directions possess profound spiritual roots and shall ultimately return to the true position of the Great Dao."

The preciousness of Dao cultivation lies in the initial aspiration and ultimate attainment. Consider the analogy of fruit-bearing trees: when battered by hail and bitter winds, the season's harvest may be ruined, yet when favorable conditions return, blossoms will surely fruit again. The trees represent cultivators, the blossoms symbolize Dao-fruits, while the hail signifies misleading by false teachers. The eastern seeker hailed from the Central Plains of the Eastern Sea - in youth aspiring to immortality but encountering a fraudulent master. The western practitioner came from the Golden Granary of the Western Sea - drawn to the Dao in early years yet deluded by a wild priestess (leader of a heretical sect). The southern cultivator originated from the Sunlit Marshes of the Southern Sea... (the original text breaks off here, presumably continuing with accounts of how seekers from various regions strayed then returned to the true path)

This scripture illustrates the importance of choosing a proper teacher in Daoist cultivation through several practitioners' stories, presenting four cautionary tales:

The practitioner from Beihai Cangchi encountered Daoism in youth but followed a heretical master, mistaking erroneous methods for the true path, ultimately becoming possessed by malign Qi. The Western cultivator Yemu from Changyin initially pursued the Dao but strayed into a heterodox sect midway, deviating from orthodox teachings until his spirit became tainted by perverse energies. The northern practitioner Bugou from Hanchi, though determined in cultivation, suffered invasive corruption of his primordial spirit (Shen) due to training under a false teacher. Dongfang Wuji's solitary seeker Duwan originally pursued the true path but fell into heresy by emulating a pseudo-master's methods.

The text emphasizes that a teacher functions as a cultivator's spiritual parent, with transmitted methods being like nourishing milk that must remain pure and wholesome. The success of authentic adepts (Zhenren) hinges on two essentials: first, meticulous selection of enlightened teachers; second, earnest discernment of true teachings. Cultivation deviations invariably stem from impure transmission lineages, just as frost-damaged trees result from gardeners' negligence and wayward disciples stray due to weak resolve.

Genuine practitioners should: first establish unwavering determination, then generate profound vows; first clarify correct understanding, then progress in practice. They must cultivate strong willpower, maintain precepts, stabilize the mind, clarify intention, select authentic enlightened teachers, associate with virtuous companions, and repeatedly verify teachings. Following enlightened masters requires enduring hardships with daily diligence to avoid straying from the path.

A concluding parable illustrates: when multitudes attempt crossing treacherous terrain where thousands fail, one or two guides versed in both civil and martial arts can lead the group safely through. True cultivators never practice recklessly - only thus can they ultimately attain the state of "Non-being" (Wu, the Dao's ultimate condition).

This scripture, through the dialogue between the Celestial Lord and Yu, reveals the profound mystery of "Dao" and "emptiness" as the origin of all things. The Celestial Lord explains that all phenomena in the world (the ten thousand things) arise from Dao-Qi (the energy of Dao) and depend on emptiness for their existence. Dao is like an invisible father, while emptiness resembles a mother nurturing all things—just as the union of Yin and Yang gives birth to life, these two together create the world.

The text employs the metaphor of parents bearing children to illustrate: without the father (Dao), all things lose their source; without the mother (emptiness), all things lose the space to exist. Just as trees require roots to survive, if humans sever their own roots (Dao and emptiness), they wither like exposed tree roots in winter. Those who are arrogant and disregard their roots are like fish leaving water—their lives will not endure.

True cultivators (zhenren) understand this principle. They cherish "emptiness" as they revere their mother and follow "Dao" as they honor their father. By steadfastly holding to the root of Dao and maintaining deep foundations, they attain the state of enduring life and ageless vitality. Finally, Yu inquires further: Since the supreme Dao itself has no form and is beyond words, what should cultivators take as the foundation of their practice? And with what mindset should they cultivate?

This scripture particularly emphasizes the dialectical relationship between "being" and "non-being"—the seemingly void "emptiness" is precisely the womb that nurtures all existence, while "Dao," though formless and intangible, is the true origin. This philosophy profoundly influenced the later development of Daoist "Chongxuan" (Twofold Mystery) thought.

Someone asked: How can one reach the supreme state in spiritual cultivation? I hope for a detailed explanation so all truth-seekers may understand.

The reply: Your question touches upon the essential. Listen carefully: The purest truth has no fixed form—only through cultivating emptiness can one grasp the true meaning. The profoundest Dao cannot be expressed in words, yet one may follow the scriptures to find the gateway. Always keep in mind the suffering of all beings, embrace the world with compassion, and widely extend aid. Practice this daily without self-concern; devote a lifetime to helping others without treating the body as private property. Precisely this mindset naturally resonates with the Dao of Heaven. Persevere unwaveringly in cultivation, and ultimately you will attain the honored title of "Supreme Truth" (Taizhen).

Consider the analogy of boiling salt: Maintain the fire steadily, and the brine will naturally crystallize into salt. Likewise, persist in virtuous deeds, and blessings will naturally gather. Why? Because evil thoughts summon dreams of calamity, while good thoughts invoke dreams of auspiciousness. Thus, wrongdoing invites misfortune, while virtue attracts fortune. Just as farming requires no daily scrutiny of the harvest—the fruits ripen naturally—or as sowing needs no constant calculation—the yield arrives abundantly—so too is the principle of Dao cultivation.

Another asked: If a pure mind receives the Dao's response while an impure mind attracts delusion, does this mean everything depends on oneself? Is a master's guidance still necessary? Earlier, it was said: "When the master is upright, the disciple becomes upright; when the master deviates, the disciple becomes false." Today’s teaching seems contradictory. Please clarify further.

The reply: A wise master helps you avoid pitfalls in practice; a confused master leads you into demonic obstacles. How can one cultivate the Dao without a master? How can one practice virtue without proper guidance? Thus, enlightened masters embody great compassion and abstain from extravagance and greed. Master and disciple mutually refine each other; fellow practitioners learn together. How could anyone attain the Great Dao of Shangqing without revering a master? A master is like a father—without a father, how can there be children? Without a master, how can one achieve the Dao? Therefore, cherish enlightened masters.

Why? Because enlightened masters thoroughly grasp the Dao’s methods, transmitting them flawlessly. Later generations who follow this orthodox lineage remain untainted by heterodox influences, ultimately perfecting their merit and reaching the state of utmost truth and wuwei (non-action). Clearly, the difference between wise and mediocre masters is vast; the gap between sages and fools is heaven and earth. Each person’s cultivation differs, yielding distinct results. Thus, one must learn from a master, like a dyer’s cloth: White fabric changes with the dye; black ink flows with the brush. Master and disciple influence each other; fellow practitioners inspire one another. This is the principle.

This scripture elucidates how practitioners should maintain their pure innate nature and avoid contamination from external influences. Just as vermilion becomes obscured when mixed with purple, or water becomes turbid when different sources intermingle, those who value purity cherish cleanliness and detest defilement, while those accustomed to filth fail to revere purity.

True adepts (great individuals) choose the path of simplicity and sincerity, never pursuing superficial glamour. They preserve their unadorned nature while awaiting guidance from genuine enlightened teachers. Those who indulge in shallow ostentation will never receive authentic instruction. Thus, the noble person who comprehends the principle of profound simplicity can abide in their fundamental nature, remaining uncontaminated by worldly impurities and never acting contrary to the true Dao.

The text outlines six cultivation qualities: conduct radiant as snow (明行若雪), virtue that retreats humbly (孔德若退), holding fast to truth as if losing it (执真若失), following enlightened teachers like fulfilling one's duty (逐匠若职), guarding against delusions as if repelling thieves (备道若贼), and maintaining single-pointed focus like an archer's aim (射著若白). Perfecting these six brings one closer to the state of Wuwei (non-action):

1. Those with radiant conduct purify themselves without worldly stains

2. Those with humble virtue turn their hearts toward the Great Dao, undisturbed

3. Those holding fast to truth maintain unwavering determination and undisturbed stillness

4. Those following enlightened teachers progress along the correct path

5. Those guarding against delusions remain ever vigilant against corrupting influences

6. Those with single-pointed focus maintain undivided attention like an archer's concentration

Perfected beings (those who have attained the Dao) embody these six qualities, thereby accumulating sixfold virtue. The standards of acceptance and rejection for Dao cultivators differ from ordinary people—if these six practices remain incomplete, one cannot reach Wuwei; if addicted to the "five colors" (symbolizing sensory desires), one cannot attain the profound mystical state.

The text concludes by emphasizing the Perfected Being's state: unattached to worldly nests (material dependencies), thus truly abiding; distant from the five-colored desires, thus accomplishing the true Dao. The noble person appears to act without deliberate action, to achieve without pursuit, to value without emphasis, to rely without dependence—this is the transcendent state of those who have attained the Dao.

Daoist practitioners and worldly people follow completely opposite ways of conduct. This is because worldly people chase greed, while cultivators uphold purity; worldly people revel in killing, while cultivators cherish life; worldly people indulge in lust, while cultivators maintain chastity. Though both may appear active on the surface, their motivations and outcomes differ entirely—thus it is said that the Dao and the mundane are opposites.

The principles of self-cultivation and governing a state are interconnected, much like the relationship between walking a path and reaching a destination. Cultivating the self requires cutting off distracting thoughts to attain mental tranquility, while governing a state demands eliminating disturbances to achieve peace. If the direction is wrong, the goal cannot be reached. Therefore, realized beings (those who have attained cultivation) refine themselves by observing state governance, practice cultivation by comprehending the Dao, and through continuous refinement, ultimately reach the state of Wuwei (non-action, the supreme state of natural harmony). By constantly reducing harmful thoughts and nurturing virtuous ones, and promptly discarding unwholesome intentions, one avoids entanglement in the web of afflictions.

The fall of great nations and the ruin of fertile lands are all due to poor governance. Just as neglected fields become overgrown with weeds, a chaotic state stirs unrest among the people, leading to war and turmoil in the world. The people are the foundation of the ruler, and the ruler is the guide of the people. Without the people, the ruler loses support; to disrespect the ruler is to forfeit nobility. Thus, neither should be taken lightly.

The wise understand that time flows irreversibly and all phenomena are impermanent, so they practice the Great Dao; the foolish remain obstinately deluded. Realized beings discern this truth and embody it in practice, thus attaining Wuwei, saving countless beings without claiming merit, their spirit eternally abiding within their form—this is the state of "deathless life."

Straying from the path will not take one far; deviating from the Dao will not last long. Yet those who refuse to learn from a master and presume their own correctness are like solitary travelers prone to losing their way and facing danger. Those who believe they are already enlightened instead fall into demonic obstructions (hindrances in cultivation). Without following an enlightened teacher, one is bound to mislead later learners, enduring countless perils on a misguided path, ultimately inviting calamity and failure.

This scripture employs numerous analogies to illustrate that cultivating the Dao requires following natural laws and proper methods. Just as a perfected person (zhenren) ascending lofty heights follows an enlightened teacher to avoid losing their way, Dao practitioners must proceed with careful practice. Imparting teachings to others before attaining personal realization leads to leakage of true essence; instructing without proper transmission from a master results in stagnation; neglecting to treat illnesses allows them to become intractable; persisting in delusion while treading dangerous paths inevitably brings failure.

The text presents over twenty vivid examples: running recklessly on steep slopes leads to falls, forcibly bending wood causes it to snap, using dull tools to carve riverbanks damages their edges, fine silks torn by wind will shred, and trees growing in tangled thickets wither prematurely. These all emphasize the consequences of defying natural principles.

Cultivating the Dao requires foundational preparation like crafting tools: building a house begins with window openings, making a crossbow starts with stringing, constructing a boat requires installing oars first. The virtue (De) of perfected beings manifests precisely through such thorough preparation. The great Dao makes no distinction between kin and stranger, noble and common—sincere practice alone evokes its response. Discriminatory thinking breeds factionalism and opportunistic troubles. Thus perfected beings maintain equanimity, neither arrogant nor dismissive of others.

True practitioners must: maintain impeccable conduct without negligence, transcend worldly attachments, remain unmoved by temptations, disregard slander, and avoid profit-seeking. They eliminate the six corruptions (liu'e, arising from the six sensory faculties), cultivate the six penetrations (liutong, supernatural abilities), widely practice salvation, and transform old habits. Ultimately they attain the three illuminations (sanming: knowledge of past lives, divine vision, and exhaustion of defilements) and six penetrations, where wisdom manifests spontaneously, elevating them to supreme beings who guide immortal assemblies. This state of impartial compassion and spontaneous liberation of beings represents the most profound supreme truth of formless Dao (xuwu wushang zhengzhen zhi dao).

Note: The "six corruptions" typically refer to defilements arising from the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), while the "six penetrations" indicate six types of spiritual powers, and the "three illuminations" signify extraordinary wisdom regarding past lives, celestial vision, and the cessation of outflows. These terms carry specific meanings within Daoist cultivation systems.

Those flashy words may sound clever, but upon closer examination prove baseless; honeyed phrases may please the ear, yet cannot withstand scrutiny. Those who constantly speak empty words and play petty tricks will lose their De (Virtue), causing the true Dao to remain hidden from them.

Why is this? Because the Great Dao only responds to those who are genuine and truthful—it never descends upon the deceitful. Thus, sincerity is the foremost requirement for cultivating stillness and the very foundation for attaining the true Dao. Therefore, realized beings (those who have achieved cultivation) never speak boastfully nor act deceptively. In this way, their De remains unconcealed, their merits undiminished, ultimately reaching the state of Wuwei (non-action).

True teaching is like the sun—never wearying; like the tongue—effortlessly nimble and unbroken. Noble conduct resembles flawless jade, or flowing water that follows its course without resistance. Wise words are as pure as untarnished snow, as smooth as oil that never dries. Solemn admonitions shine like the undying sun, hold firm like unyielding knots. Those of high status remain humble; those of low standing feel no shame. They possess De yet never boast, embody purity without mixture. Their hearts remain empty yet vigilant, steadfast in upholding the Dao.

They extend boundless compassion, tirelessly saving all beings, never glorifying their own merits—thus naturally resonating with heaven and earth. Within them, all wisdom converges; all virtues unite. Through ceaseless accumulation of De, they transcend the mundane, ascending to the supreme state of the Nine Grades of Immortals (the highest realm of Daoist cultivation), attaining the ultimate truth of Wuwei.

A great nation, if insatiably greedy, will inevitably court disaster. A thief, if never satisfied, will surely face the law. Those who bully others without restraint will eventually be subdued by stronger forces. Those who suppress the righteous through power, refusing to adapt, will ultimately be crushed by calamity. Thus, the principles of self-cultivation and governing a nation are one and the same.

Why? Those who rely on De will flourish; those who depend on brute force will perish. The steadfastly loyal endure; those who cling to the powerful court danger. Aiding tyrants is futile; duplicitous schemers end in isolation. Therefore, realized beings—through unwavering loyalty, attain longevity; through maintaining stillness, achieve immortality. They neither fade nor stand alone, befriending only those who share their aspirations, drawing close only to kindred spirits. Hence, we must discard what is hollow and choose what is essential.