《太上感應篇》Vol. 16

This passage contrasts two types of people to illustrate the dangers of "arrogance in sudden wealth" and the value of those "filled with Dao."

Those who become arrogant after sudden wealth are like frogs at the bottom of a well—limited in vision, indulging in pleasure without pursuing growth. They flaunt their carriage-driving skills before horses, like mantises raising their arms in false confidence; they chase empty fame in lavish towers and host extravagant banquets by riversides. These are all manifestations of the nouveau riche's hubris. While they revel in their perceived success, they fail to recognize such arrogance inevitably invites misfortune. As Laozi (the Supreme Venerable Sovereign in Daoism) clearly warns: "Wealth and honor that breed arrogance sow the seeds of calamity." Just as Confucius observed—Duke Jing of Qi possessed a thousand fine steeds, yet no one praised him after death, while Boyi and Shuqi who starved at Shouyang Mountain were celebrated for generations.

Those truly filled with De (Virtue/Power) are entirely different. Fan Zhongyan, while studying at Changbai Mountain in his youth, cooked just two liters of millet daily, dividing it into four portions for morning and evening meals—yet later became a high-ranking official. Han Yi and Li Ruogu shared one quilt and mat during imperial examinations, taking turns as servants, yet both rose to prominent positions. Zhu Ang read by lamplight using tung oil nuts; Kong Yanzhi illuminated his studies with pine torches—both eventually became imperial attendants. Li Xingjian practiced calligraphy on leaves in poverty; Li Xuzhou studied borrowed books diligently—both attained high office. Du Yan supported himself by copying texts in youth yet became Head of the Privy Council; Wang Sui was once sued for unpaid meal debts yet later achieved high rank. These individuals of profound virtue stand worlds apart from the suddenly wealthy.

Consider also Shi Jie studying at Nandu in his youth: when Minister Wang Ji, knowing his poverty, offered him banquet leftovers, he declined saying, "If I eat my fill today, what shall I do tomorrow?" Or Master Hengpu enduring bitter winters with thin clothing and meager bedding... These examples all demonstrate how true sages maintain their integrity amidst hardship, ultimately achieving extraordinary accomplishments.

This passage expounds on the principles of integrity and self-discipline.

A wealthy man once attempted to gift luxurious garments to an impoverished villager, who steadfastly refused. The villager remarked, "Poverty is precisely the ideal circumstance for cultivation. Without rigorous self-restraint, greed will take root, and the sense of shame will erode—how then can one speak of spiritual practice?" The author praises such unwavering moral integrity, questioning what the wealthy truly have to boast about.

The text then employs verse to criticize ill-gotten gains: Wealth acquired through unrighteous means violates the Dao (the Way). Those who flaunt their riches by day—riding ornate carriages, seated upon embroidered cushions—mock those content in poverty. Yet success and failure vanish in an instant, like dust scattered by the western wind.

Next, Buddhist scriptures and Confucian classics are cited to emphasize the importance of "knowing shame." The Buddha taught two pure Dharmas capable of saving sentient beings: the first is hri (shame over one's own transgressions), and the second is apatrapya (shame when others witness one's faults). Those devoid of shame are no different from beasts. The Nirvana Sutra states that shame is the most sublime adornment, capable of restraining evil. The Sutra of the Buddha's Bequeathed Teachings warns that abandoning shame leads to the loss of merit. Confucius similarly taught that one must act with a sense of shame, and the Book of Rites instructs that in times of crisis, one must not cling to life through disgraceful means.

The passage concludes with a cautionary tale: The monk Yuancheng, skilled in talismanic arts (fulu), once cured Wang Pang's night terrors and thus gained favor. However, when dispatched by the authorities to pacify a tribal rebellion, he indulged his desires, defiling the women of the tribe and enraging their chieftain Yuan Meng. While others were executed, Yuancheng alone was spared due to Yuan Meng's Buddhist faith. This story illustrates how those who discard integrity ultimately reap the consequences of their actions.

This scripture recounts a story about virtue (De) and shame, using the contrasting behaviors of two historical figures to illuminate the importance of cultivating the heart-mind.

The first part tells the story of Fan Taibo (Fan Li) and Wang Kui. Hailing from the same hometown, the two were close friends who both returned to their village in old age. When Wang Kui composed a poem critiquing contemporary politics and was consequently arrested by authorities, Fan Li, to save himself, reported all their past interactions to officials, leading to Wang Kui's exile. Meanwhile, Fan Li was not only pardoned but promoted for his denunciation. The imperial appointment document even contained the remark, "How difficult it must be to be your friend," reflecting contemporary public opinion. Yet Fan Li proudly accepted the appointment without the slightest sense of shame.

The second section contains critical commentary condemning such self-serving betrayal of righteousness: those who cling to life ignobly and lack shame are unfilial as sons and disloyal as ministers. Examples like Zhang Yu of the Han dynasty and Jia Chong of the Jin dynasty demonstrate how such people, initially preoccupied with personal gain, ultimately become treacherous villains. One should instead emulate the noble integrity of Boyi (the virtuous late-Shang dynasty recluse).

Quoting the Taishang scriptures, the third part explains that cultivating the heart-mind is cultivating the Dao (the Way). Ancient teachings instruct us: when the mind grows restless, calm it; when it deviates, correct it; when craving arises, relinquish and restrain it; when turbid, clarify it. Through sustained practice, external phenomena cannot disturb you, and the inner mind becomes naturally luminous, maintaining an openhearted, upright demeanor. Then notions of "claiming credit while shifting blame" will no longer arise.

The text concludes with the example of Wang Wenzheng (Wang Dan): when Duke Lai (Kou Zhun) privately requested the position of military commissioner, Wang sternly refused, stating, "How can one seek the offices of general and minister?" Later, when the emperor appointed Kou Zhun as military governor and Kou thanked the imperial grace, the emperor revealed it was Wang's recommendation. Only then did Kou feel ashamed and admit Wang's superiority. Similarly, when Li Hang served as prime minister, he meticulously evaluated all office seekers.

Through these contrasting examples, the scripture emphasizes that cultivating the Dao begins with cultivating the heart-mind—maintaining unwavering integrity and never compromising righteousness for personal gain.

This passage recounts how two historical figures exemplified the wisdom of "attributing merits to others while taking blame upon oneself," along with the warning from the Supreme Daoist Patriarch (Taishang Daozu) on this matter.

The first story tells of Wei Renpu, who served as prime minister during the reign of Emperor Shizong of the Later Zhou dynasty. Faced with a ruler of stern temperament, whenever court officials provoked the emperor’s wrath, Wei would willingly shoulder the blame to save them, thus sparing seventy to eighty percent of those who would otherwise have been executed. The second story involves Cao Wuhui (Cao Bin) and Wang Quanbin during the campaign against Shu. When Quanbin slaughtered three thousand surrendered soldiers despite Wuhui’s futile protests, the emperor later sought to hold someone accountable. Wuhui stepped forward to take the blame, shielding Quanbin. Later, when tasked with conquering Jiangnan, the emperor explicitly warned against indiscriminate killing. Only then did Wuhui reveal that he had previously taken the blame to protect Quanbin—earning him even greater trust.

The Supreme Daoist Patriarch warns: Those who claim credit for themselves while shifting blame onto others are courting disaster. It is like swallowing ice and burning coals—even the legendary physician Bian Que would flee at the sight. The case of Yao Zi illustrates the consequences of deflecting guilt: As a county registrar, he colluded with the overseer of the Dayun granary to embezzle eight thousand shi of imperial grain. When exposed, he secretly passed the bribed gold and silver to another, attempting to frame his colleague Wang Hu. Yet in the end, the consequences returned to him.

The Patriarch cautions: What truly destroys a person is not divine retribution, but one’s own intentions. To transfer misfortune onto others ensures it circles back; to pin wicked deeds on another means bearing the fallout oneself. This reflects the saying: "Life is granted by the divine, but the deluded mind is the killer."

This story illustrates the principle of karmic retribution. There was an official named Yao Zi who framed his colleague Wang Hu through an elaborate scheme. Yao first sent Wang some lacquered trays disguised as ordinary items. When Wang refused to accept them, Yao instructed the messenger to falsely claim that official documents had been soaked during river crossing, requesting temporary storage at Wang's residence. Later, when superiors suddenly investigated the Shouzhou case, Yao seized the opportunity to accuse Wang of accepting bribes, producing those very trays—now revealed to be gold-plated valuables—from Wang's home as evidence. Unable to defend himself, Wang Hu died with this injustice unresolved.

Several years later, Yao Zi was transferred to Luzhou as assistant prefect. While boating on the Huai River one day, he shockingly saw Wang Hu's vengeful spirit standing on the opposite shore. From that moment, Yao became possessed—frequently engaging in inexplicable brawls where he'd emerge bloodied from nose and mouth. This torment continued for three years until local officials summoned Daoist priest Song Zhicai to perform rituals. During the ceremonial petition to Zhenwu the Perfect Warrior (an important Daoist deity), Yao suddenly crawled from his sickbed, prostrating himself before the altar to confess how he'd actually been the corrupt official who framed Wang Hu. The officials recorded his testimony on the spot. Upon regaining consciousness, Yao died soon after from overwhelming shame.

The text includes a parallel case: When Yun'an military commander Guo Huangzhong was burning incense at Xixia Palace, the temple deity appeared in his dream, warning that while nine cattle-butchering criminals would be brought for trial the next day, there should actually be a tenth. Indeed, a soldier was discovered to have falsely arrested an extra person to claim merit—a wrongful conviction averted only because Guo acted on the divine message. Both stories demonstrate how secret misdeeds inevitably come to light, as celestial beings oversee human morality with perfect clarity.

This passage discusses the karmic consequences of pursuing empty fame and offers cautionary tales. The Lady of Southern Peak (a Daoist immortal) observed that people chasing fame are like burning incense - everyone enjoys the fragrance, yet no one notices when it turns to ashes. The moment reputation is established often marks the beginning of one's decline. Thus, true sages always distance themselves from vain glory.

Master Xiyi (Chen Tuan, the legendary Daoist patriarch) warned Zhong Fang: "Fame may appear glorious, but it's what the Creator most abhors. Perfect reputation doesn't exist in this world - when your fame rises, something must inevitably decay." The story of Sheng Junmin illustrates this: though brilliant in youth and achieving imperial examination success, he grew resentful of the top graduate Wang Gongchen. Later, underworld officials revealed in his dream that he had been the notorious Sui dynasty minister Yang Su in a past life. Despite multiple rebirths, his previous misdeeds destined him to misfortune in this incarnation, where he ultimately died in obscurity.

Another example is Li Shu, renowned for his philosophical discourse that even the celebrated Xu Ling admired. Yet he died suddenly, later appearing in his remarried wife's dream to announce his rebirth as another family's son. These stories collectively demonstrate how chasing empty fame invites misfortune, as true fortune and calamity stem from one's own virtuous or wicked deeds.

The passage concludes with a gatha (verse summary): "Fortune and misfortune are self-created, good and evil reside in the heart. Though crafty men set traps that temporarily succeed, they cannot escape Heaven's scrutiny. Like purchased fame - ultimately unreal."

In the alley on the east side south of the crossroads lived an impoverished Liu family with too many daughters to support. This newborn girl faced abandonment—likely drowning—until the parents, moved by past affections, urgently sought Lady Yuan to adopt her. Lady Yuan hesitated, but Li Shu (possibly her husband) said, "You seem concerned about Lord Zhao. Let me speak with him." Later, Lord Zhao had the same dream.

At dawn, Lord Zhao brought money to the Liu household and found the infant already submerged face-down in a basin. He rescued her immediately. Alas, Li Shu's descendants had fallen so far—worse than the decline of Yang Su's (a Sui dynasty powerholder) family. Does this not show how arrogance in prosperity invites retribution?

The eulogy states: Inner virtue manifests outwardly; reputation must match merit. True virtue shines like sunlight, while false fame resembles the fleeting beauty of Ganling. Just as toxic croton seeds induce sores, empty renown brings calamity. Judged by the Spring and Autumn Annals' moral standard, the malicious reap what they sow.

The scripture records: Bodhisattva Dharaṇī once told the Buddha, "During the era of Buddha Prabhākarā, I was a monk. Wherever roads were rugged or ferries hazardous, I leveled paths, built bridges, or carried soil. Through such arduous practice across countless buddhas’ eras, I persisted until Buddha Vipaśyin’s time. When the king hosted him for alms, I was smoothing a road to greet him. Vipaśyin touched my crown and taught: ‘Level the mind-ground first; when it is even, all lands will naturally flatten.’ Instantly, I realized the nonduality of my dust and the world’s dust—their natures unconflicted—and attained perfect awakening, becoming Dharaṇī Bodhisattva."

Thus, how can the mind remain uneven? How dare it harbor malice? Petty men gamble on risky schemes for gain—no wisdom can wholly guard against this. Recall how Chancellor Cao Liyong (Northern Song official), emboldened by merit, even defied the empress dowager. He routinely denied imperial rewards, yet after three rejections, approvals often followed. Over time, schemers learned: What’s denied thrice will pass on the fourth attempt.

This passage tells two stories about people whose malicious intentions brought disaster upon them, and explores the nature of the mind and one’s innate nature.

The first story concerns a chamberlain serving the Empress Dowager, a senior official who falsely reported that he had carried out official duties. He claimed the work was complete when in fact he had done nothing. When the truth came to light, the Empress Dowager flew into a rage, setting off the disaster involving Cao Rui. The second story concerns a cunning clerk under Chen Guan, deputy commissioner of the Three Offices. Outwardly respectful, the clerk was secretly harboring ill intent. Once, when Chen Guan asked him to arrange a banquet, the clerk sold a ten-year-old girl in the street, claiming he needed the money to fund the feast. He also secretly colluded with spies from the Imperial City Bureau to spread rumors. The court nearly dismissed Chen Guan over the affair. A prime minister’s intervention temporarily spared him, but a year later he was still removed from office because of it.

The passage concludes by lamenting that these two men’s malicious designs were so deeply concealed that they were almost impossible to guard against. The eulogy says: “Their sinister hearts were unfathomable: smiles on the surface, blades hidden within.” They were like Li Linfu, the Tang dynasty minister who appeared gentle while harboring a ruthless nature. They thought their schemes surpassed the gods in cleverness, but did not realize that Heaven’s way is clear and manifest, and would in the end defeat their plots.

Finally, the passage cites the views of Master Guishan—the Song scholar Yang Shi—and Chan Master Daji to discuss the mind and innate nature. Guishan holds that one must first understand what the “mind” is: it is fundamentally bright and open, still and unified. Only when this is truly understood can one speak of “fully realizing the mind.” Chan Master Daji uses a metaphor to explain: a person’s mind and innate nature are like water freezing in the depths of winter. In delusion, they freeze into false thoughts; with awakening, those thoughts melt away and return to their original nature. These teachings all guide people toward recognizing their original mind.

(Note: “the disaster involving Cao Rui” refers to a political upheaval triggered by the chamberlain’s lies; the Imperial City Bureau was a Song dynasty institution responsible for security within the palace precincts; Li Linfu was a powerful minister under Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, known for honeyed words and a dagger hidden in his heart.)

This scripture elucidates the principle of illuminating the mind to perceive one's true nature through two historical anecdotes.

The first story concerns Northern Song poet Mu Xiu. When his poem was inscribed on a palace wall, Emperor Zhenzong greatly admired it and inquired about the author. Upon learning it was Mu Xiu, Prime Minister Ding Wei (Duke of Jin) remarked, "This man's character falls short of his literary talent," causing the emperor to lose interest. The text criticizes Ding's suppression of talent, noting his lack of cultivation in "clarity, profound understanding, magnanimity and tranquil unity." Unable to comprehend the truth of "revealing one's nature through mind illumination" (illuminating the mind to perceive true nature), Ding ultimately met a tragic end.

The second story recounts how Song dynasty statesman Zhang Guaiya reprimanded an elderly, frail military advisor for poor performance. When the advisor expressed his wish to retire through poetry, Zhang immediately recognized his mistake, retained the talented official, and recommended him for promotion. The scripture praises Zhang's ability to "exhaust the mind to know nature," which enabled him to foresee his own death and record the date beforehand on his portrait.

An ancient saying is cited to emphasize how a single misguided thought can lead to vastly different outcomes. The commentary warns readers: cherish and nurture others' merits as one would auspicious signs, avoiding jealous thoughts. Concealing one's flaws only harms both self and others, inviting profound misfortune.

The conclusion features Sun Simiao (the Transcendent Master Sun) discussing self-cultivation, stating that nurturing one's nature fundamentally involves cultivating the heart-mind. Complete virtue (De) surpasses ingesting elixirs of immortality. Persistent self-justification leads to daily misconduct, while correcting faults and refining one's nature brings one closer to transcendence. The Tang dynasty Daoist Huang Wanyu's cultivation in southern Qianzhong—where he was ultimately honored by Wang Jian—serves as supporting evidence.

This passage recounts several stories of ancient practitioners cultivating their nature, illustrating the dangers of "covering one's shortcomings" (concealing faults).

When asked about longevity methods, the Daoist practitioner Wan You frankly admitted he was no immortal, but simply practiced three principles: maintaining inner purity, nurturing primordial Qi (vital energy), and acting with kindness while minimizing transgressions. Liu Yi, a Song dynasty official from an eminent family who rose to become a grand administrator, would often travel incognito to Dabie Mountain to learn of commoners' hardships from farmers and woodcutters. Upon encountering unjust policies, he immediately reformed them, ultimately receiving enlightenment from an immortal.

Counterexamples then warn readers: On his deathbed, official Li Ji's sole regret was having improperly acquired a copy of the Bai Collection during his tenure in Hangzhou. Yet Cai Xiang (Cai Junmo) ironically celebrated this as commendable conduct. When Huang Zongdan, prefect of Suzhou, proudly arrested over a hundred counterfeiters, his colleague Wang Zhi admonished him that "luring people into crimes with schemes" violated heavenly principle—prompting Huang's immediate repentance.

A concluding verse drives home the point: Concealing faults is like an incurable disease; persisting in error invites calamity. Even sages rejoiced when others pointed out their mistakes, yet those who whitewash faults delude themselves into thinking they surpass Confucius. Through contrasting cases, the text emphasizes that Daoist cultivation requires confronting one's imperfections to attain the immortal path.