《太上感應篇》Vol. 17

This scripture passage conveys, through several historical anecdotes, the principle that officials should show compassion for the people's hardships and alleviate their burdens.

When the renowned Northern Song minister Wang Dan (posthumously titled Wenzheng) served as chancellor, he would always remind departing officials that the people of the southeast could no longer bear their heavy burdens. When Zhang Shixun was appointed as the fiscal commissioner of Jiangxi, Wang Dan likewise cautioned him that the court's taxation had already reached its limit. The author argues that true officials should have the people's welfare at heart. Those who hold high office yet show no concern for local administrations, or serve as local officials yet remain indifferent to the people, are effectively oppressing the populace.

The text cites multiple examples of Song dynasty officials who advocated for the people: When Song Shou (posthumously titled Xuangong) served as the Commissioner of Revenue, he petitioned to investigate unpaid taxes across regions, ultimately reducing millions in tax burdens and releasing over three thousand people imprisoned for tax arrears. Wang Qinruo (posthumously titled Wenmu) proposed waiving accumulated debts from previous years, canceling over ten million in taxes and freeing more than three thousand individuals. The Vice Minister of Revenue, Chen Buliang, sought justice for the salt-producing households of Rongzhou, restoring confiscated property to over three hundred families and voiding more than three hundred thousand in falsely reported taxes.

Though these officials wielded great authority, they refused to impose further hardships on the people. How could those who abused their power to oppress the common folk compare to them? The passage also mentions how Wang Zhi, tasked with reforming tax policies in Liangzhe, reduced the levy from three pecks per mu (a historical unit of land) during the Wuyue Kingdom to just one peck. Similarly, Zhang Fangping opposed reinstating the salt monopoly in Hebei, arguing it would repeat past mistakes. These examples all demonstrate that truly virtuous officials should act with benevolence and deep empathy for the people's suffering.

This passage recounts the stories of two officials who abolished oppressive policies, citing Buddhist and Daoist scriptures to illustrate the karmic retribution for harming living beings.

When Li Yunze served as the prefect of Tanzhou, the local Ma clan imposed exorbitant levies: forcing commoners to pay "land tax silk," demanding a zhang and three chi (about 4 meters) of "house tax silk" per household, and requiring four dou (about 40 liters) of rice per ox annually—even collecting "dry bone tax" after the ox died. Upon assuming office, Li Yunze immediately abolished these unjust taxes.

Chen Shiqing, as prefect of Guangzhou, eliminated the corrupt practice of compulsory salt purchases per capita. The grateful citizens praised: "Shao the Father and Chen the Mother have lifted two great burdens from us"—referring to former prefect Shao Ye who had dredged inland waterways to shelter boats from typhoons. The author reflects: Rather than abusing power to incur public resentment, it's better to practice benevolent governance and earn people's affection.

The text then quotes the Sutra on Maintaining the Earth to outline five karmic consequences of killing: 1) Falling into hell realms for torment due to harming sentient beings; 2) Rebirth as livestock for slaughter due to lacking compassion; 3) Becoming a hungry ghost suffering thirst and starvation due to gluttony; 4) Short human lifespans in future lives for taking others' lives; 5) Not only short-lived but also illness-ridden due to causing suffering. The Buddha taught: Though humans and animals differ in form, they equally cherish life. Just as people seek medicine when ill and pray for longevity when dying, don't animals do the same? Finally, it mentions Zhang Daoji's hunting addiction, which his father cured by asking: "You fear death—do you think animals don't?"

Through historical examples and religious teachings, this passage expounds the principles of benevolent governance and compassionate abstinence from killing.

This scripture recounts two cautionary tales of individuals who faced retribution for wantonly killing living creatures.

The first story tells of a man who hunted extensively in the woods near his ancestral graves, setting up "heaven-spanning nets" that captured hundreds of animals daily. After shooting a peculiar white rabbit (missing part of its ear), he began experiencing mental disturbances. Eventually, he burned all his hunting tools and built a hermitage beside a Daoist temple to cultivate himself. Later, two spirit rabbits manifested, explaining: one claimed three hundred years of cultivation while residing near the Zhang family graves; the other, missing an ear from a hawk attack, had cultivated for one hundred eighty years. Though able to evade all traps, they never expected arrow attacks and had already petitioned Heaven for justice. Soon after this revelation, the hunter died.

The second story describes Liu Xiang, an obsessive hunter who slaughtered countless creatures year-round. Eventually, three turtle-like growths appeared on his back, writhing like living creatures that gnawed his flesh. After months of agony, he died. Five days posthumously, he possessed his daughter-in-law, confessing: his excessive killing had condemned him to underworld punishment, urging his family to burn his hunting gear in repentance.

The scripture concludes: killing ranks first among the Ten Evils. Legal punishments should only restrain crime, military actions only avert disasters—both as last resorts. The truly benevolent maintain compassion toward all beings. Those who harm creatures may wear human faces, but harbor bestial hearts.

The reference to "the four stars of the Girl constellation" (Nüxiu)—which Daoism associates with weaving and clothing—implies that harming life and disrupting nature invites celestial punishment. Through these karmic narratives, the text warns against reckless slaughter and teaches reverence for all life.

This scripture cautions people through several narratives against needlessly cutting fabrics or wasting cloth, lest they incur punishment in the underworld.

It first recounts the previous incarnation of Asvaghosa (the 12th Buddhist Patriarch): As King Vaisali, he saw horse-headed human creatures suffering without clothing and manifested divine power by transforming into a silkworm to provide them garments. These centaurs later wailed incessantly in gratitude, hence the name "Horse-Cry" (Maming). The text observes that each garment requires sacrificing countless silkworm lives—the Buddhist scriptures state that even wearing silk incurs karmic debt, let alone wasteful cutting without cause.

Several historical paragons of frugality are then cited: Empress Dowager Dou of Han wore dresses that didn't touch the ground; Emperor Wenzong of Tang displayed sleeves washed thrice to his ministers; Duke Wen of Jin forbore double-layered silk; Zixia wore tattered clothes like a dangling quail; Ji Wenzi prohibited concubines from wearing silk; Yan Ying's concubines likewise wore no silk; Dong Wei pieced together a "hundred-knot garment" from scraps; Ji Tong owned no spare robe—all exemplifying cherished blessings.

Two karmic retribution stories follow: During Southern Song's Shaoxing era, Guo Yinfeng was taken to the underworld where he saw Lady Zhao the Twelfth—who in life had reveled in lavish attire and random fabric cutting—endlessly piecing shreds until restoring whole cloth for release. Another tells of Scholar Zhao Shizhou's wife Lady Quan appearing posthumously in dreams, recounting daily underworld floggings for wasting cloth, shoes, and excessive water.

A concluding verse emphasizes: Silk garments come through arduous labor (silkworm women toil overnight), yet some squander extravagantly (dressing servants in furs, draping rooms in embroidered canopies). Don't mock Gongsun Hong's (Western Han chancellor) reputed cloth blanket—improper indulgence is the true offense.

The core teaching warns: Needless fabric waste diminishes blessings, while luxury invites grave retribution; one should practice frugality and cherish fortune.

Some people whip live fish to make sashimi just to obtain the red blood streaks in the flesh, while others pickle crabs in fermented rice wine simply to watch them struggle—these are acts of extreme cruelty. Such individuals will swiftly descend into the three evil paths of hell (referring to the three karmic retributions of hell, hungry ghosts, and beasts) as fast as an arrow leaving the bowstring, hardly worth further discussion. Do they not understand that animals also possess spiritual awareness, no different from us humans?

Consider how animals, too, understand familial love: During the Three Kingdoms period, Deng Zhi shot a mother ape, causing her to fall from a tree. Immediately, her young one pulled out the arrow and licked her wounds before carrying her away. Is this not a display of filial devotion?

Animals also cherish their offspring: When He Quan shot a mother stork in the abdomen, she endured excruciating pain and, even in her dying moments, continued to feed her chicks with her beak until her last breath. Is this not a testament to maternal love?

They are equally aware of marital bonds: Among wild elephants in the kingdom of Huan, when a male died, the females guarded his body until they collectively buried it before dispersing. Is this not reverence for a spouse? After Zhang Ziming shot and cooked a female mandarin duck, her mate saw this and flew straight into the boiling pot to join her in death. Is this not love for one’s partner?

Animals understand gratitude and repayment: A flock of parrots once took refuge on a distant mountain, where they were treated kindly by the local birds and beasts. Later, when a fire broke out, the parrots soaked their feathers and flew back and forth to sprinkle water droplets in an attempt to extinguish the flames. Touched by their righteousness, the mountain deity intervened and helped put out the fire.

They also hold grudges: A dog owned by Liu Yongxi, after being mocked by a guest for being unworthy of eating steamed buns, sought revenge that very night. When the guest hid on a roof beam, the dog, upon discovering this, became so enraged that it dashed itself against the ground and died.

Loyalty is no stranger to them: When the horse of Wei Dajian was on its deathbed, its master asked it not to die in his presence. Upon hearing this, the horse knelt on both knees to bid farewell and passed away the moment it stepped outside.

Even cats show compassion for orphans: Han Yu recorded two cats raising their young together. When one died, the other took it upon itself to nurse the deceased’s kittens.

These examples remind us: Animals, like humans, possess emotions and spiritual awareness. Their joys and sorrows, loves and hatreds, are no different from ours. To harm them is to harm a life no different from our own.

This scripture illustrates the principles of karmic retribution and compassionate conduct through several parables.

The first story tells of the monk Renxi who wished to build a Buddhist temple. A donor offered a large sandalwood tree, but when workers came to fell it, they found tens of thousands of bees swarming around it and dared not approach. Renxi addressed the bees: "Your present form results from evil karma from past lives. I intend to perform Buddhist rites here. If you do not disperse within three days, I shall burn the tree." Remarkably, all the bees departed by the third day, demonstrating how even insects can heed admonition.

The second parable describes five hundred bats dwelling in a withered tree by the southern sea. When merchants lit a fire beneath it for warmth, one merchant chanted the Abhidharma Pitaka. As flames unexpectedly engulfed the tree, the bats—so enthralled by the Dharma that they refused to flee—perished in the fire. These same bats were later reborn as humans of extraordinary intelligence who took monastic vows and attained sainthood. When King Kanishka and the Elder Parsva convened five hundred sages in Kashmir to compile the Vibhasha-shastra, these scholars were none other than the five hundred bats. This reveals the transformative power of spiritual practice.

The third account concerns King Angulimala, originally a bloodthirsty ruler who later repented and became a monk. Once while begging alms, he encountered a woman suffering difficult childbirth who pleaded for help. Admitting his recent ordination left him powerless to assist, he consulted the Buddha, who instructed him to return and declare loudly: "Having come from the company of saints, I have never taken life." Upon hearing this, the woman delivered safely—showing how non-harming intentions possess the power to avert calamity.

The text concludes by warning that slaughtering animals without just cause incurs karmic consequences. Even when ritual sacrifice necessitates taking life, one must maintain reverent mindfulness. Wasting grain also constitutes transgression, for the Five Cereals correspond to celestial constellations (with the Wei constellation governing heavenly granaries among the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions).

These narratives collectively demonstrate that all beings share the same fundamental nature, differing only in merit, karma, and physical forms. Compassionate nonviolence and cherishing foodstuffs constitute essential practices for accumulating spiritual merit.

The most essential thing for human survival is eating—missing a single meal feels like being scorched by the flames of hunger. Thus, ancient sages placed great importance on agriculture, with emperors personally tilling fields to encourage farming and offering prayers for bountiful harvests during spring and summer. Given this, how can we ever justify wasting the Five Grains?

During a famine in the ancient Sanchuan region, grain prices soared, forcing people to dig for wild yams and kudzu roots to survive. Countless perished from starvation. At that time, a Daoist named Wang Fajin, whose merits had ripened to the point of imminent ascension, ascended to immortality yet remained concerned for the suffering masses. He pleaded with the Celestial Emperor (Tianshi), who responded: "The human body is difficult to attain, and rarer still is birth in the Central Lands (the fertile heartland). The heavens revolve through the four seasons, and the earth nurtures the essence of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), giving rise to the Five Grains and fruits to sustain humanity. Yet people show no gratitude—wasting food without thought, scorning coarse cloth, leaving farmers and weavers to toil in hunger and cold, oblivious to their hardships."

The Celestial Emperor continued: "Such behavior has provoked divine wrath. Recently, mountain and river deities have submitted memorials detailing human wastefulness. I have ordered the Taihua Prefecture (the Daoist celestial bureau governing grains) to withdraw the spirits of the Five Grains, ensuring poor harvests as punishment. However, the Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun), in his compassion, teaches that the Dao values life. Humanity must first be given a chance to repent. Though this famine is self-inflicted, the people remain ignorant of its cause. Return now to the mortal realm and teach them to cherish food—this too shall accumulate your hidden virtue (Yinde, meritorious deeds)."

Later, the adept Liu Yuanzhen dreamt in his youth of an immortal offering him a peach, after which he could sustain himself through bigu (grain abstention via Qi absorption). Once on Zhongnan Mountain, he encountered a majestic figure with a resplendent retinue. Yuanzhen implored him to consider the people’s plight. When asked who it was, he revealed it was the mountain deity. That year, though wheat flourished, people squandered it, prompting the Celestial Emperor to decree a 70% reduction. The deity interceded, and a sudden storm destroyed only two-tenths of the crop.

These stories remind us: the Five Grains must never be treated lightly!

(Note: Bigu refers to Daoist ascetic practices of abstaining from grains through Qi (vital energy) cultivation; Yinde denotes virtue accumulated through unseen benevolent acts.)

The blessings one can enjoy in this lifetime are all predetermined. It's like a person possessing a thousand strings of cash—if they spend a hundred coins daily, it will last ten thousand days; if they spend a full string each day, it will only last a thousand days. Rather than squandering recklessly and exhausting it prematurely, it's better to let it flow gently and savor it slowly.

During the Song dynasty, Minister Feng Ji once shared a story: In his youth, he personally witnessed Zen Master Xuedou teaching people to cherish their blessings. The master said a person’s lifespan depends on whether their blessings are exhausted—once the blessings are depleted, death follows. Later, Yuan Houzhi (a renowned Northern Song official) died and was revived, recounting that when he visited the underworld, an underworld official told him: "Your fortune and rank are not yet exhausted. You will rise to the highest offices (the Secretariat and the Bureau of Military Affairs), but you must cherish your blessings." From then on, Yuan Houzhi practiced restraint in all things, even setting aside a portion of his meal before eating, and avoided extravagance in all expenditures. He eventually became a chief minister and lived past seventy. This shows that those with meager blessings must learn to treasure them.

Master Zhifeng of Wuyun Mountain in Hangzhou was once meditating in the Puxian Hall when suddenly a guardian deity (a spirit protecting precepts) knelt before him. The deity said, "Venerable Master, even the water you use to rinse your alms bowl is provided by devotees—discarding it carelessly is improper." Later, Master Zhifeng indeed suffered from a stomach ailment for thirteen years. Consider this: even pouring out dishwater can diminish blessings—how much more so other forms of waste?

As the eulogy wisely states:

When guards discarded leftover rice, even Emperor Xuanzong of Tang held them accountable.

When a scholar stole raw grain, Tao Kan punished him severely.

Food is life itself—how can it be taken lightly?

The ancients revered grain as "heavenly,"

A single grain of rice or millet more precious than pearls and jade.

When Shao Bowen (a Northern Song scholar) first took office, he sought Cheng Yi’s advice on governance. Cheng Yi said, "In handling official duties, if you can relax restrictions at critical moments, the people will receive an extra measure of grace." These are truly the words of a benevolent heart! All people desire peace—am I any different? All seek happiness—am I an exception? If one seeks comfort for oneself while burdening others, it is truly unkind and unjust. Officials of the past governed with such care that they dared not cause even the slightest disturbance—this is a model worth emulating. Scholars like Lü Zuqian (a Southern Song Neo-Confucian) all led by such example.

(Note: The "highest offices" mentioned refer to the Song dynasty’s central administrative and military institutions, the Secretariat and the Bureau of Military Affairs; the "guardian deity" is a Buddhist protector of precepts; the "grain measure" refers to an ancient unit, here symbolizing the smallest portion of food.)

This passage records the compassionate governance of several Song Dynasty officials, embodying the benevolent governance ideals promoted in Daoist scriptures.

When Wen Jing served as the judicial commissioner of Liangzhe, the capital was constructing grand Daoist temples (gongguan), requiring timber transport from the south. Local officials pressed too harshly, causing laborers to die from exhaustion and even arresting the families of those who fled. Wen Jing petitioned the emperor, arguing that winter's shallow waterways made transport difficult and suggesting a deadline extension until rivers were navigable, with military escorts then provided. The emperor approved, recognized his genuine care for the people, and subsequently promoted him.

Sima Chi, as county captain of Guangshan, faced demands for bamboo and timber after a palace fire. Guangshan lacked large bamboo, necessitating purchases from Qihuang—an impossible three-day task. He reset reasonable deadlines, and though the prefect raged, Guangshan completed the task first.

Fan Zhongyan (posthumously honored as Wenzheng), governing Qingzhou during a Hebei famine, innovated: he had locals pay three strings of cash per dou of grain locally, then sent officials to Bozhou to buy grain at higher prices. Merchants swarmed in, meeting the quota in five days with surplus funds returned to the people.

Wang Ji, as Longxi’s assistant magistrate, confronted Fujian’s harsh demand for crane feathers (heling) for arrows—a rare item driving people to despair. He allowed goose feathers as a stopgap, swiftly petitioned the court for approval, and extended this relief to other counties.

A verse concludes: Ease is the people’s desire; three days’ annual corvée suffices. Timely logging, moderate hunting—this maintains ecological balance. Mediocre officials’ reckless demands only eradicate wild ducks and cranes.

(Note: These cases, originally from Volume 17 of the Taishang Ganying Pian, demonstrate the Daoist principle of cosmic justice: "The Dao favors none but always sides with the good.")