《太上感應篇》Vol. 24

The Tract of the Most High on Action and Response discusses the relationship between the depletion of vital essences and human lifespan. Drawing from Li Changling's commentary and Zheng Qingzhi's annotations, it particularly emphasizes the bodily harm caused by excessive indulgence.

A person's innate Yuanqi (original vital energy) originally measures 384 zhu (an ancient unit of weight), corresponding to the Qian hexagram (pure Yang symbol) in the Book of Changes. From ages fifteen to twenty-five, if one indulges in unrestrained desires, 48 zhu of this vital energy will be depleted, at which point the body's condition aligns with the Gou hexagram (the initial emergence of Yin). Every subsequent decade sees further loss of Yuanqi, corresponding to hexagrams like Dun and Pi, where Yin energy gradually increases. By age sixty-four, when the vital energy is completely exhausted—symbolized by the Kun hexagram (pure Yin symbol)—one is left with only a feeble existence.

The text particularly underscores the importance of the kidneys, referring to them as the "Mysterious Pass" (Xuan Guan), where the heart and kidneys interconnect to form the body's vital energy circulation. This system contains the essence of the entire body, called the "Mysterious Qi of the Nine Heavens, Void and Harmonious," which serves as the foundation for the functioning of the five viscera, six bowels, and the meridian system. If the "tail gate" (referring to kidney Qi) cannot be firmly retained, it is as perilous as the sea running dry.

Finally, the text cites a dialogue between the Yellow Emperor and Qibo: The ancients could live a hundred years without bodily decline, whereas people today grow weak by fifty—not because the times have changed, but because they no longer understand the Dao of nurturing life. Through the principles of the Book of Changes and medical theory, this passage warns of the importance of restraining desires and preserving one's vital energy.

In ancient times, those who understood the art of nourishing life followed the changes of Yin-Yang (the fundamental pattern of opposition and unity in nature) and brought the various methods of health cultivation into harmony. They ate in moderation and kept regular hours, without overexerting themselves. Thus they were able to maintain harmony between body and spirit, and live in good health to the age of one hundred before passing away.

People today, by contrast, drink wine as if it were water and treat debauchery as normal. They have sex while drunk, indulge their desires until their Jing (essence) is depleted, and dissipate their Original Qi (the body’s inborn vital energy). They do not know how to preserve their vitality or nourish their spirit. Seeking only momentary pleasure, they violate the patterns of life and keep no restraint in their daily habits, so they grow old by the age of fifty.

The Huangting Jing (Scripture of the Yellow Court), an important Daoist text on nourishing life, also says that the first priority on the path to longevity is to be cautious about sexual activity, for this is where people are most likely to create karmic burdens. Sadly, people do not understand the harm that sexual attraction can bring. As the Buddhist scriptures say, sensual desire is a fundamental obstacle to spiritual cultivation, the source of harm to life, and the cause of sorrow and distress. For this reason, the wise keep their distance from it.

In his later years, Ren Huigong grew ever more robust. When someone asked him for the secret of nourishing life, he replied, “I gained insight from reading the Wenxuan (Selections of Refined Literature).” Asked what insight he meant, he said, “It is like a mountain made radiant by the jade it holds, or water made graceful by the pearl within it.” This means that inner cultivation is what matters.

When Pu Chuanzheng was prefect of Hangzhou, a centenarian named Li Jue came to see him. The old man’s complexion was rosy, like a child’s. Prefect Pu asked him how he had maintained his health. The old man replied, “My method is simple: complete abstinence from sexual activity and going to bed early.” How, then, could sexual indulgence be taken too far? How can the teaching to restrain desire go unpracticed?

(A separate essay records the harms of illicit sexual conduct: seeing a beautiful woman and conceiving improper thoughts, then secretly engaging in wrongful acts...)

To sum up:

If doing good harms you, it should not be pursued;

if it benefits you for life, keep it in mind.

The foremost principle of nourishing life is to abstain from lust.

Revere the teachings of the sages, and you will never regret it.

If you ruin your life through indulgence, whom can you blame?

A person with a vicious heart who appears kind is like Li Yifu, the treacherous minister of the Tang dynasty. He seemed respectful and gentle, and always greeted people with a smile. In truth, he was ruthless: the slightest displeasure would lead him to plot against someone in secret. People called him “a knife hidden in a smile,” and also “the human cat”—seemingly docile, yet harmful. In the end, he was exiled and died in Xizhou. Can a malicious heart bring a good outcome? Many people in the world have such cruel hearts, unaware that after death they will surely fall into evil realms—the Buddhist term for painful states of rebirth, such as hell.

Long ago, Lu Zhen had a maid...

There was a man named Xiao Jin who was suddenly haunted by a female ghost. Despite repeatedly hiring shamans to perform exorcisms, the ghost could not be driven away. Later, he prayed before a Buddha statue and dreamed at night of an old man resembling a Bodhisattva, riding a lion, who said to him: "The ghost tormenting Xiao Jin was originally the daughter-in-law of the Wu family from the eastern neighborhood, surnamed Zhu, the twelfth in her family (in ancient times, people were often referred to by their birth order). In life, she was malicious, and after death, she fell into the snake realm (one of the animal realms in the Buddhist cycle of rebirth) and hid under the large paper mulberry tree near the Tianzhu Temple. The roots of this tree extend into an underground cavern, and over time, it became a spirit, gaining the ability to shapeshift. If you wish to escape this misfortune, quickly seek refuge with a virtuous family, and she will naturally not dare to approach you." Xiao Jin followed this advice, and the ghost indeed ceased to appear. This shows how vastly different the outcomes are for those who cultivate kindness versus malice—the malicious become snakes after death, while the virtuous are untouchable even to ghosts. The choice between these two paths is yours to consider carefully.

A later commentary states: Birds of prey conceal themselves before striking, and traps are disguised to appear harmless. Sweet words and pleasant expressions can mask even the deepest enmity, making it hard for foes to detect. Poisons like aconite and venom can be guarded against, but the most dangerous are those "human cats" (referring to people who hide daggers behind smiles)—those who feign kindness while harboring ill intent.

Regarding serving unclean food to guests, the Book of Rites contains the rule "do not return fish or meat," meaning food already eaten by one person should not be given to another. From the perspective of karmic retribution, such actions not only deplete one’s blessings but also invite calamity. For example, the monk Shiyan (known for constantly wiping his eyes), originally a royal family member who became a monk, was born with double pupils, arousing his younger brother’s suspicion. To allay fears, he pretended to have an eye condition and frequently wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. Later, while cooking porridge in the monastery, he accidentally shook his undergarment into the pot, and that very day, his double pupils vanished. Is this not clear proof that serving unclean food erodes blessings?

There was also a rice merchant named Qu Yongshou who, during a rice shortage in the year Yimao of the Shaoxing era, secretly diluted his rice with water from a rice paddy to increase its weight—unaware that the field had just been fertilized with manure. Suddenly, dark clouds gathered, and thunder roared. Realizing his misdeed would not escape punishment, he hastily handed his money to a companion to deliver to his elderly mother. The moment he finished speaking, the clouds dispersed, and the thunder ceased, sparing him. This shows that cheating others with unclean food brings immediate retribution. According to Buddhist teachings, the karmic consequences of such evil deeds extend far beyond this life, condemning one to the wretched realms after death.

The Taishang Ganying Pian (Treatise on Response and Retribution) warns people to stay away from sorcery and improper conduct, lest they incur karmic retribution.

First, it points out that those who commit evil may be reborn as pigs, dung beetles, or hungry ghosts (suffering beings in Buddhist cosmology)—should this not serve as a dire warning? It then illustrates with classical allusions: Ill-gotten wealth is like water from the "Thief’s Spring," which even the righteous Zhongzi would vomit up if he drank it; food kicked toward a beggar would be rejected in disgust. If even the sacrificial offerings of the "three domestic animals" (ox, sheep, and pig) are treated irreverently, how much more cruel is it to treat people like livestock?

The so-called "left-hand path" (zuodao, heterodox methods) refers to demonic arts. How can those who deceive the masses with sorcery avoid eventual downfall? Several historical cases are cited: Houmo Chen Liyue gained favor through dark arts but was ultimately executed and had his heart publicly displayed; Li Tan and his son were exiled for studying demonic magic and later committed suicide; Yang Qian claimed mastery of Mozi’s occult techniques, boasting the ability to command spirits and fetch objects from afar, yet he too met execution; Ming Chongyan, though skilled in sorcery, was killed by the very ghosts he controlled. These examples prove that those who bewitch others with wicked arts inevitably meet a wretched end.

Finally, the text emphasizes: The Zhou dynasty already had laws forbidding supernatural trickery, and Confucius avoided speaking of anomalies to prevent confusion about the proper Dao (changdao). Benevolence (ren), righteousness (yi), ritual (li), and music (yue) form the enduring principles of governance for rulers throughout history, while commoners should focus on farming and mulberry cultivation. During Emperor Wu of Han’s reign, the magicians Wencheng and General Wuli, who claimed divine powers, were ultimately put to death. Emperor Shun’s canonical texts stressed the standardization of weights and measures, for when sages govern the world, they always begin with human affairs—and human affairs are founded on nine fundamental virtues.

The core message of this scripture is to urge adherence to the upright Dao (zhengdao) and shun sorcery and wicked deeds, lest one invite calamity. Through historical cases, it demonstrates that those who rely on dark arts to deceive others inevitably meet ruin, reinforcing the necessity of upholding ethical norms and human decency.

In establishing standards of measurement, ancient sage-kings considered it a primary governmental duty. The Book of Rites records that fabrics of improper thread count or goods with nonstandard dimensions were prohibited from market circulation. The Monthly Ordinances similarly mentions the annual mid-autumn calibration of measuring instruments. Mencius observed that only through measurement can length be known. When the Duke of Zhou received feudal lords in the Mingtang Hall, it was through instituting ritual music and standardized measurements that he won universal allegiance.

Here, "du" refers to standards for length and height measurement, while "liang" denotes capacity specifications for various containers (such as dou, qu, hu, kuang, and ju). The ancients established these standards to maintain fairness, yet today some deliberately use short rulers and small measures—not only violating the precepts of the Most High (the supreme Daoist deity) but also losing their original heart-mind. Such deceit may seem profitable but ultimately harms the deceiver.

The Jiangnan recluse Zhu Zhenbai famously said: "People often say one must not deceive the gods, but I maintain there's no need for deliberate reverence toward heaven, earth, or the hundred spirits. Simply avoiding self-deception constitutes true reverence." When asked how to serve the deities, Sima Guang replied: "I serve my own heart-mind—not with lavish offerings, but by maintaining a clear conscience." Sadly, few understand this principle, hence the endless instances of short measures.

The celestial realm specifically appoints Star Officials of Measures (represented by the Zhang constellation among the Twenty-Eight Mansions) to oversee human measurement practices. The Most High Laozi explicitly lists fraud among cardinal transgressions. Consider how common folk depend on meager earnings—every coin and grain hard-earned—how can others justify shortchanging them? The Five Thunder Cloud Script records how a merchant in Emperor Houzhu's reign was struck by lightning for giving short measure, with the characters "dou cheng qing zhong" (measure and weight) appearing on his back. The Lotus Sutra similarly describes ten rakshasi women vowing before the Buddha to uphold righteousness, warning that wrongdoers who exploit others like oil-pressers or use fraudulent scales will reap corresponding retribution.

(This passage employs historical anecdotes and religious warnings to emphasize commercial integrity, illustrating how deceit violates cosmic principles and ultimately harms both perpetrator and victim. The term "heart-mind" (shenxin) refers to humanity's innate moral conscience—a fundamental standard particularly valued in Daoist cultivation.)

This scripture passage discusses the karmic consequences of deceitful behavior. Several examples illustrate how deceiving others invites divine punishment: A merchant who used underweight scales and measures to cheat customers had his misdeeds recorded in the Register of Good and Evil by Zhenwu Zhenjun (True Martial Lord, a Daoist guardian deity); Li Yongzheng, who crafted adjustable scales and bulging-bottomed measuring vessels, was condemned by Heaven and ultimately lost both his eyesight and family. These cases, documented in Daoist texts, serve as stern warnings against unethical conduct.

The text particularly emphasizes the grave sin of adulteration in commerce: Lu Chang at the foot of Mount Lu mixed fish oil into cooking oil, while Huang Yu near Jianlong Temple passed off beef tallow as candle wax—both were eventually struck dead by lightning. The scripture makes clear that not only food and medicine must remain pure, but even the slightest deception in trading gold, silver, or textiles is strictly forbidden.

Two positive examples follow: Lü Dongbin (one of the Eight Immortals), when young, encountered a mysterious adept offering to teach him the alchemical art of "transmuting copper into silver." He refused to learn techniques that might mislead future generations, and thus attained complete merit and immortality. Similarly, Li Zhen met a self-proclaimed Daoist named Zhang Qiwu who offered to teach him metallurgical secrets, but gained celestial recognition by rejecting opportunities to deceive others, eventually ascending to immortality.

The passage concludes: Those who adulterate goods for profit, like Lu Chang and Huang Yu, will inevitably face retribution. Through contrasting positive and negative examples, this scripture teaches that integrity must be upheld—deceit for personal gain invites heavenly punishment, while honesty leads to spiritual fulfillment.

This scripture passage expounds on the retribution awaiting evildoers, primarily exposing two types of wickedness: deceitful profit-seeking and oppression of the virtuous.

The first form of wickedness involves fraudulent practices. While passing counterfeit goods as genuine constitutes minor transgressions, far graver are those who disrupt social order and endanger the state—greedy and malicious individuals resembling unscrupulous merchants. These predators masquerade as elites, forming cliques for private gain. Falling prey to their schemes proves as perilous as ingesting poison. The scripture cites two illustrative cases: Yang Bing, who dwelled by the Yellow River and hoarded fodder annually, hoping to profit from potential floods until official Zhao Changyan brought him to justice; and Sun Nanjin, who leveraged wealth and official connections to seize farmland, sabotage irrigation systems, and commit myriad evils until dying horribly from a mysterious illness—locals claimed he reincarnated as a donkey.

The second wickedness, "oppressing the virtuous into servitude," involves forcibly reducing free citizens to slavery. The text clarifies that those born into servitude suffer retribution for past-life misdeeds. But compelling those destined for freedom into bondage constitutes grave evil. The case of Ma Xuan exemplifies this—his father remaining childless until middle age itself manifested karmic consequences.

A concluding gatha distills the teaching: Those profiting through deceit weave serpentine schemes as venomous as hidden scorpions, ultimately consuming their own poison. Oppressors of the virtuous, ignorant of cosmic justice, face inevitable punishment.

At its core, this passage embodies the Daoist principle of "retributive justice for good and evil," warning against ill-gotten gains and oppression of the innocent, lest divine retribution follow. The text resonates with the Daoist cosmological framework where actions generate corresponding reactions through the interplay of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases, governed by the immutable Dao.

This passage recounts two karmic tales illustrating the principle of moral retribution:

The first story tells of Song Dynasty official Cheng Yanbin, commander of Luocheng. During the siege of Suining, his subordinates presented him with three beautiful maidens. Though intoxicated, Cheng declared, "You are like my own daughters—how could I violate you?" He secured them in a separate chamber and returned them to their parents the next day. The grateful families wept and wished he might become a Grand Marshal (high-ranking military officer). Cheng humbly replied that he dared not aspire to high office, only hoping for a peaceful death without illness. True to this virtuous act, he eventually rose to the position of Surveillance Commissioner, lived to ninety-seven before passing serenely, with descendants who all became officials. This demonstrates how kindness inevitably brings blessings.

The second story concerns the villain Mao Lie. A man named Chen Qi, seeking to monopolize family property, mortgaged land to Mao at low prices while his three younger brothers were still minors, intending to redeem it later. However, Mao accepted the payment but refused to return the deeds, repeatedly deceiving Chen. Despite multiple lawsuits, Chen consistently lost—showing how oppressing the honest ultimately invites retribution.

The conclusion cites historical parallels: even renowned figures like Han Dynasty general Wei Qing or Duke Wen of Jin (Chong'er) endured poverty and humiliation in their youth, let alone ordinary people. Officials governing the people must particularly exemplify moral conduct. Special emphasis is placed on the gravity of deceiving simpletons, as the defenseless deserve greater protection from exploitation.

Both stories embody the core Daoist tenet of "cosmic justice"—good deeds bring blessings while oppressing the weak invites divine punishment. This universal principle applies equally to nobles and commoners alike.

This scripture recounts several karmic retribution tales and cites the teachings of various sages on the virtue of contentment.

The first story tells of a man who submitted a petition at the Temple of the Sacred Mountain (the Five Peaks Temple) and shortly after died suddenly. Later, he appeared in a dream, revealing that he was being judged in the underworld. He confessed to forging thirteen contracts during his lifetime, hidden in a certain chest, and urged his family to retrieve and return them to their rightful owners to lessen his sins.

The second story recounts how Zhang Gai mortgaged his estate to Zhang Jun, who coveted the property and bribed a broker to forge the deed. When Zhang Gai later sought to redeem it, he discovered the contract had been swapped. Filled with resentment, he cursed Zhang Jun, declaring that his descendants would be born mute—a curse that later came to pass.

The scripture then quotes the wisdom of several sages:

Laozi (Lao Tzu) teaches: Those who are content are truly wealthy; the greatest sin is insatiable greed. Which is more important—fame or life? Which brings greater suffering—gain or loss? Excessive miserliness inevitably leads to greater loss; hoarding too much will result in heavier ruin.

Mozi (Mo Tzu) says: The problem lies not in lacking a place to dwell, but in lacking a peaceful heart; not in lacking wealth, but in lacking contentment.

Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu) observes: The giant Peng bird and the tiny sparrow differ vastly in size, just as the ancient chun tree and the ephemeral mushroom differ in lifespan—yet each finds its own fulfillment.

Finally, the text laments the folly of worldly desires: Clothing serves merely to cover the body, yet some wear robes worth a fortune and still crave more; food is meant to satisfy hunger, yet some spend ten thousand coins on a single meal and remain unsatisfied; shelter exists to block wind and rain, yet some dwell in towering mansions and still seek greater luxury. Yet those clad in rags, eating coarse grains, and living in thatched huts can abide in equal joy.

Through these vivid accounts and sage teachings, the scripture warns that insatiable greed invites misfortune, while contentment is the true path to peace.

Here we see how people often chase extravagant pleasures, feeling that jade cups and ivory chopsticks still fall short, yet fail to realize that drinking from simple earthenware equally quenches thirst. The world is forever insatiable in its greed, unaware that all phenomena vanish in the blink of an eye—even our physical forms ultimately dissolve. What truly never perishes is but that single spark of luminous original nature.

The Buddha once instructed King Prasenajit: though appearances may age, the intrinsic capacity to perceive (the "seeing essence") never grows old. Just as the Ganges River appears unchanged whether viewed at three years old or sixty—what alters is the face, while the perceiving nature remains constant. When the Third Patriarch Śāṇavāsa questioned Upagupta about age, he similarly revealed this truth: the body decays, yet original nature knows no aging.

The cycle of birth and death resembles a ring without beginning or end, where mental currents flow unceasingly. Were people to comprehend this principle and maintain luminous awareness, blessings and wisdom would naturally flourish. The wealth and glory desperately pursued by mortals—like King Zhou's Deer Tower or Qin Shi Huang's Lishan Palace—ultimately crumble into mounds of earth.

The final verse reminds us: human life is fleeting as morning dew or autumn leaves—why cling to excess? Even the greatest riches inevitably fade. As for cursing others to gain advantage, the scripture clarifies that formal petitions aren't necessary—any malicious speech born of anger and contention qualifies.

This scripture elucidates the grave consequences of curses. Daoism teaches that when people recklessly swear oaths or curse others, malevolent spirits and demons from all directions (the "Nine Earths" referring to the underworld, and the "Five Soils" representing lands corresponding to the Five Phases) seize the opportunity to invade. These demonic entities include: plague-spreading epidemic ghosts, tomb-haunting cemetery spirits, disaster-bringing goblins, household-fortune-destroying earth essences, and misfortune-delivering baleful stars. They will exploit any opening to wreak havoc upon humans.

Unless one invites a high-ranking Celestial Master (Tianshi) Daoist priest—an early Daoist school—to dispatch specialized ghost-subduing generals (such as the Great General Who Severs Ghosts or the Great General Who Demolishes Temples) to resolve the situation, it proves exceedingly difficult to dispel the calamities brought by such curses.

The text cites two documented cases: the Zhang family, where frequent oath-swearing between fathers and sons, uncles and nephews led to nearly complete extinction within years; and a wealthy Yang merchant who maintained close relations with a widow—after being gossiped about, she cursed in anger, resulting in both dying on the same day. These examples serve as stern warnings: curses ultimately rebound upon their originators.

Concluding with an allusion to the Rites of Zhou (Zhouli), the text emphasizes: rather than swearing oaths to prove innocence, maintaining silence proves wiser. If even treaties between nations eventually fail, how much less reliable are personal curses? The truly wise course lies in forbearance rather than invoking divine witnesses. Frequent oath-swearing only depletes one's own virtue (De) and blessings, ultimately inviting disaster.