《太上感應篇》Vol. 12

This scripture elucidates the formation of heaven, earth, and all things, as well as the relationship between humans and creatures. It begins by describing how during the primordial chaos, the clear Qi (vital energy) ascended to form heaven while the turbid Qi descended to form earth. The essence of Yang Qi transformed into the sun, and the essence of Yin Qi became the moon, with their combined energies further manifesting as stars. Harmonious Qi gave birth to humans, mixed Qi produced beasts, sparse Qi formed birds, and abundant Qi generated insects. All things are interconnected, arising according to karmic causes and conditions.

Fundamentally, there is no difference between humans and birds—as the Zhao Lun states, "Heaven, earth, and I share the same root; the myriad things and I are one body." The reason birds differ in form from humans lies solely in the variations of their karmic merit. The text provides two examples: Liu Anmin, originally the son of a wealthy family, pursued empty fame instead of genuine cultivation and was reborn as a phoenix after death, regaining human form only after sixty years. Through diligent practice, he eventually achieved transcendence via shijie (corpse liberation, a Daoist method of shedding the mortal body to attain immortality). Huang Anshi, a Confucian scholar in his past life, failed to ascend due to an unfocused mind and was reborn as a wild goose. After ninety years, he regained human form, cultivated earnestly, and ultimately attained the Dao to ascend to heaven.

Two additional anecdotes recount immortals transforming into cranes: Ding Lingwei returned as a crane to find his homeland changed beyond recognition, while the Daoist Xu Zuoqing took crane form and was shot by Emperor Ming of Tang. The following year, the emperor discovered the arrow in a Sichuan temple, realizing it had struck an immortal’s manifestation.

The concluding verse reflects: In an age when the Dao flourished, people harbored no killing intent—even birds’ nests could be observed freely. But once cunning arose, even seagulls would flee. Birds of prey still possess righteousness, and crows understand compassion—why then have humans lost their benevolence?

(Note: Shijie is a Daoist term referring to an adept’s shedding of the mortal body to achieve immortality; Huangzeng Tian is one of the Thirty-Six Heavens in Daoist cosmology.)

This scripture expounds on the principle of beings trapped in the cycle of birth and death through Buddhist concepts of reincarnation and Daoist teachings on virtuous conduct. It states that all living beings were originally pure, but due to delusional attachments, they continuously transmigrate through rebirth. Those of perfect virtue ascend to heavenly realms, those with mixed virtue and vice are reborn as humans, while those dominated by wicked thoughts descend into animal forms—the severely wicked becoming beasts, the less wicked becoming birds. The seven rebirth paths (referring to devas, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell beings) are inevitable for those who fail to cultivate themselves.

Several reincarnation cases are cited: an arhat's previous life as a monkey, the cultivator Jiaofanboqi's former existence as an ox, and Song Dynasty officials Zhou Xun and Cai Xiang (Junmo) who were actually serpent spirits in past lives. For instance, when Zhou Xun napped in his garden, the groundskeeper saw a large serpent hanging its head over the railing; when Cai Xiang fell ill, he dreamed nightly of coiling atop a drum tower—manifestations of their serpentine origins.

The text emphasizes that those who hunt and kill animals today may find themselves pursued by animals in future lives. To escape samsara, one must actively rescue creatures encountered in distress. The concluding narrative recounts Prince Hejian's story: after prolonged illness, the Daoist adept Xuan Su (actually a celestial immortal sent from heaven) administered medicine causing him to vomit over a dozen small serpents. Xuan Su explained these represented karmic retribution for the prince's hunting six lifetimes prior, but because he had once saved a spiritual deer (actually the mother of a qilin), this virtuous deed moved heaven to dispatch Xuan Su for his deliverance.

The core teaching is clear: hunting and killing accumulate negative karma leading to adverse rebirths, while protecting life accumulates merit. The text specifically condemns the practice of "taking archery as sport" (yi wei xi)—precisely the kind of harmful habit that requires renunciation.

This passage tells two stories of karmic retribution, warning people not to harm living beings.

The first story concerns the brothers Li Ying and Li Tan, who chased a deer. Cruelly, they tied its four legs to a tree branch, cut out its entrails, and roasted them. Just as they were about to share the meat, a giant three zhang tall appeared, carrying a large sack, and took all the roasted meat away. Soon after the giant entered the mountains, the two brothers suddenly died. This warns us: when we see an animal running, must we always chase it down and kill it?

The text then cites several examples: when Houji, the founder of the Zhou dynasty, was abandoned in the wilderness, cattle and sheep did not trample him; orangutans can speak human language; and monkeys have gentle dispositions. These creatures are all sentient. If we can bear to treat them as meat in a cooking pot, we may escape tigers and rhinoceroses, but we cannot escape the traps set by human beings.

The second story concerns the time of Jingzhe, the Awakening of Insects. The scripture cites the Monthly Ordinances to explain that in the eighth month, in mid-autumn, thunder gradually falls silent and hibernating animals begin to seal their burrows; in the ninth month, late autumn, they enter hibernation completely; and in the second month, mid-spring, thunder first sounds and the animals open their burrows and emerge. “Hibernate” means to hide away; “repairing the burrow” means narrowing its entrance, while “sealing the burrow” means closing it entirely with mud. All this follows the seasons and completes the changes of nature. So should hibernating animals be disturbed?

The text next offers two positive examples. When the monk Huijue built a hall for Mañjuśrī in winter, he specifically held a three-day ritual to pray for the dead and asked that no hibernating insects be harmed during construction. Even after digging down to where spring water welled up, not a single ant was found. In the Song dynasty, an elderly man whose father had recovered from illness wanted to hold a ritual at the Medicine Buddha Hall in Yongzuo Temple to fulfill a vow of gratitude. The monk Yizhao reminded him that bees were hibernating beneath the Medicine Buddha’s seat and advised him to use another hall. The man would not listen, so the monk prayed in advance. On the day of the ritual, the bees inside the hive quietly fed on honey, while those outside temporarily left the hive; not one was harmed.

Both stories warn that all things have life and spirit, and that we should follow the seasons rather than cause harm recklessly. The Great One—the highest deity in Daoism—deliberately recorded these examples, and the Buddhas, too, especially protect those who act with compassion.

This passage recounts cultivation stories from Daoism and Buddhism that emphasize compassion for living beings, with the core teaching of not disturbing animals in their habitats.

The text mentions how the Supreme Venerable Lord (Taishang Laojun, the highest deity in Daoism) admonished people not to disturb roosting birds, aligning with Confucius' principle of "not shooting at birds in their nests." When birds roost, it resembles human sleep; if suddenly startled, the entire flock becomes agitated. Those with genuine compassion regard all life as they regard themselves.

Two cultivators' stories follow: The first concerns the Snail-shell Ascetic (a Buddhist practitioner) who entered deep meditation (samadhi) beneath a tree. Birds mistook him for part of the tree and laid eggs in his coiled hair. Upon realizing this, the ascetic remained motionless to avoid disturbing the nest and potentially damaging the eggs, maintaining his posture until the fledglings hatched and flew away. The second tells of the Great Tree Ascetic who meditated for years by the Ganges River until birds nested in his shoulders. When he needed to rise, he employed spiritual powers to relocate the entire tree to avoid startling the birds.

Two ordinary people's examples are also given: Li Xizi, a mountain village elder, would shelter birds during heavy snowfall, providing grain without disturbing them, for which heaven granted her the opportunity to help enlighten others. Chen Anshi, a servant in Quan Shuben's household, never harmed living creatures throughout his life and ultimately attained spiritual fruition (cultivation achievement).

These stories illustrate that even the smallest lives deserve protection, and practitioners should treat all beings with compassion. Ordinary people who nurture such benevolence can also accumulate virtuous merit.

When encountering birds blocking the path, one should actively yield and avoid disturbing them. It is precisely this compassion that enables cultivators to attain the Dao and ascend to immortality. Understand that all who achieve the Dao and become perfected beings reach this state because they hold loving-kindness toward all things.

The eulogy states: All living beings should dwell in peace and work contentedly, resting securely at night. Humans and other creatures share the same essence in nature. Even the sages would grieve over a small animal losing its shelter. Confucius recorded in the Analects the principle of "not shooting birds returning to their nests" - disturbing resting creatures may seem trivial, but its harm is profound.

Regarding the act of filling ant nests: To humans it's merely an ordinary hole, but to ants, it's their palace dwelling. As ancient anecdotes record: The ants beneath the great locust tree south of Chunyu Fen's home called their nest the "Great Locust Peace Kingdom"; the ants in the large sandalwood tree behind Wang Yi's courtyard named their colony the "Great Sandalwood Vinegar Kingdom." Ants regard their nests as kingdoms, just as shrimp consider their burrows the "Long-Whiskered Palace" and swallows view their nests as "Black-Robed Lane." Each creature treasures its home - this is hardly surprising. Then can humans casually fill ant nests? Blocking an ant nest equals sealing their gate and cutting off their livelihood, leading to the colony's destruction.

Buddhist scriptures record: An enlightened monk foresaw his young novice would die within seven days, so compassionately sent him home to visit family. When the novice returned safely after eight days, the monk used spiritual vision to discover the boy had seen an ant nest about to flood on his journey home. The novice urgently removed his kasaya robe to build an earthen barrier, saving the entire nest - thus extending his lifespan by twelve years. There's also the Song dynasty tale of brothers Song Jiao and Song Qi: A monk predicted the younger Song Qi would place first in imperial exams, while Song Jiao would also rank highly. When they reunited a decade later, the monk was astonished to see Song Jiao's transformed countenance and asked if he'd saved tens of thousands of lives. Song Jiao recalled building a bridge for ants to escape during a storm - this single act of kindness had altered his destiny.

This scripture illustrates through several stories how the act of "destroying nests and eggs" brings retribution, with its core message advocating respect for life and protection of nature.

The text first recounts a karmic tale: When someone destroyed storks' nests and took their fledglings, the local area suffered sixty days without rain. This occurred because flocks of storks stimulate cloud formation when flying, and their destruction disrupted this natural regulation. It also describes how mother birds of prey, when their hatchlings first break shell, surround their nests with leafy branches to prevent falls or overheating, replacing the foliage twice daily. Withered leaves indicate fledglings have left the nest, while fresh leaves show they remain. This demonstrates avian intelligence—how can humans presume them ignorant?

Two historical cases follow: During the Tang Dynasty, when Magistrate Wen Zhang served in Chang'an, someone destroyed a crow's nest causing temple bells to ring inexplicably. Upon investigation, the perpetrator received corporal punishment. In the Song Dynasty's Yuanfeng era, County Magistrate Yuan Ruzhi of Lushan witnessed a stork dropping leafy branches in his courtyard. Tracing the source, he discovered a meat vendor climbing trees to raid nests after removing his clothes, and similarly punished him.

The conclusion reveals the central teaching: Since ancient cave-dwelling times, though differing from beasts, humans and animals alike require shelter. The Supreme Daoist Patriarch (Taishang) states in the Chapter on Protecting Descendants that family lines often end due to ancestors committing acts like "destroying nests and eggs"—among 1,620 related precepts. Destroying nests deprives creatures of habitat and hinders reproduction, deeds that ultimately invite retribution.

(Note: The Taishang Baosi Zhang refers to a Daoist scripture chapter on lineage continuation, while "destroying nests and eggs" constitutes a major prohibition under Daoism's precepts against killing.)

(Bai Guinian encountered Li Taibai at the eastern cliffs of Mount Song, where Li Bai told him: "Both your father Bai Juyi and I have attained immortality." He then presented a white silk manuscript, saying: "Master this text and you'll comprehend the speech of birds in the nine heavens and beasts in the nine underworlds. Continue cultivating virtue (De) and immortality may be yours." Bai Guinian studied it as instructed and indeed gained this ability.)

One day while passing through Luzhou, the governor, aware of his gift, invited him as guest. When two sparrows chattered across the courtyard, the governor asked: "What are they saying?" Bai Guinian replied: "They speak of surplus grain in a western village granary, planning to feast there." Investigation proved this true. Later, when a stable horse raised its head and neighed, he explained: "The fodder's too hot to eat now"—confirmed by the stable hand.

(Another account tells how) Bai Guinian acquired avian and animal speech after obtaining a white silk text in an immortal's cave. During another Luzhou visit, as thirty sheep were driven through the governor's courtyard, one resisted whipping and bleated piteously. Bai Guinian interpreted: "This ewe says she carries lambs—spare her until delivery, after which she'll gladly die." The governor spared her, and twin lambs were later born.

(The narrative shifts to Liu Daoyuan:) After leaving his post as Pengxi County magistrate, Liu lodged with the Qin family and dreamed of a weeping woman who said: "I'm Master Qin's wife. His concubine refuses..." (The commentary observes:) Birds nest near human dwellings seeking refuge from snakes and raptors, unaware that some hat-and-boot-wearing humans harbor crueler hearts—devouring fledglings and smashing nests. The phoenix soars beyond reach precisely because the world teems with owl-jing beasts (legendary mother-eating monsters).

On harming fetuses: Buddhist doctrine holds that womb-born beings originate from inverted desires and conditioned coalescence. Deluded thoughts manifest as womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, or metamorphic beings. Though humans, livestock, dragons, and immortals differ, Buddhism classifies them together—all equally bound by defilements and cyclic rebirth. If humans cherish their unborn, can other creatures feel otherwise?

This scripture recounts several karmic retribution stories concerning harm to living beings, particularly fetuses and oviparous creatures.

The first tale describes a man who, in a fit of rage, killed another person. After death, the underworld judges punished him by reincarnating him as a goat. When this goat was about to be slaughtered, it appeared in a dream pleading that its unborn kid would compound the karmic consequences if killed. By dawn, however, the goat had already been butchered, and the family discovered the fetus inside. They wept bitterly and buried both with proper rites.

Following this comes a poetic reflection: A doe dies of broken heart when her fawn is taken; eels arch their bodies in boiling water to protect their young. If even animals cherish their offspring so profoundly, shouldn't humans—who carry pregnancies to continue their bloodlines—extend the same compassion?

Later passages cite Buddhist scriptures: A man who in past lives ate nestlings and destroyed eggs, leaving birds to mourn their lost young, consequently suffered childlessness in this life. Both Buddhist texts and Daoism's "Chapter on Protecting Progeny" warn that destroying eggs invites misfortune.

The text further illustrates oviparous phenomena beyond birds—certain dragons and even humans may hatch from eggs. Two examples are given: A merchant obtained two eggs laid by a divine bird that hatched into two enlightened monks, and a palace maid of the Xu Kingdom birthed an egg that produced the renowned King Xu Yan in adulthood.

These narratives collectively admonish against harming gestating life or destroying eggs, warning of corresponding karmic consequences. By contrasting animals' parental instincts with human behavior, they awaken our capacity for empathy toward all living beings, especially those in vulnerable states of gestation.

This scripture recounts several karmic tales about killing and compassion, with the core message urging people to abstain from harming life.

There was a practitioner who initially believed unhatched bird eggs didn't constitute killing. To enlighten him, his master deliberately dropped a chicken egg on the ground. When the shell cracked, a chick emerged, only for both to perish shortly after. This revelation—that life exists even within eggs—converted him to lifelong vegetarianism.

Li Daonian was particularly fond of eating eggs until he contracted a strange illness. Governor Chu Cheng administered perilla juice as medicine, causing him to vomit thirteen feathered chicks complete with claws—these "chicks" could even fly away. Terrified, Li never touched eggs again.

The discussion then turns to fish eggs: a single female fish often carries thousands within her belly. Before Li Chongyuan could kill a catfish, he dreamed of a black-robed old woman pleading: "My belly holds five thousand children—if I die, they perish too." Li immediately released the fish.

Wealthy merchant Yang Xu dreamed of a deity warning he'd die in ten days unless he could save hundreds of millions of lives. Deeming this impossible in such short time, the deity reminded him of Buddhist scriptures stating fish eggs survive three years without saltwater. Yang subsequently campaigned to have fish eggs returned to rivers. A month later, the deity appeared again, confirming he'd surpassed the quota and extended his lifespan.

The conclusion states: those who rescue lives in crisis will themselves receive longevity when facing death. Just as Qi's mother—progenitor of the Shang dynasty—conceived after swallowing a mysterious bird's egg, life's wonders transcend human understanding, demanding profound reverence.

(Note: The concluding "Eulogy" section poetically emphasizes: All life possesses spirituality; what seems chaotic ignorance is actually sacred—how could wanton harm reflect humane conduct? The myth of the mysterious bird birthing the Shang dynasty reveals life's unfathomable transformations, urging even greater caution and awe.)