《太上感應篇》Vol. 4

This scripture illustrates the importance of "treating others with equanimity" through stories of historical figures. It first cites the dialogue between Manjusri Bodhisattva and Vimalakirti (a renowned Buddhist lay practitioner), noting that "an even mind is the Dao-field"—maintaining ordinary awareness itself constitutes the ground for spiritual cultivation. It then records how Zen Master Zhaozhou sought guidance from Master Nanquan and received the same reply: "Equanimity is the Dao (the Way)."

Though Ouyang Xiu (a Northern Song dynasty literatus) revered virtuous people and delighted in good deeds, he often lamented how difficult it was to maintain equanimity. Peng Siyong (a Song dynasty official) devoted his life to learning and claimed to have practiced "leveling the mind" since childhood. These examples show that while the mind itself is formless, the ability to regard others' gains and losses impartially depends entirely on oneself. When predecessors spoke of its difficulty, they were lamenting how few could achieve it—a warning for later students.

The text sharply criticizes the conduct of Xue Yuan (Warring States period chancellor of Yan): He felt personal loss at others' gains and took pleasure in their misfortunes; he never recommended worthy candidates but instead suppressed talent as if dealing with enemies. His later retribution was severe: one son died in prison while the others became blind, deaf, mute, hunchbacked, or mentally impaired. Physiognomist Gongming Zigao identified this as the consequence of "distorted mental conduct." Only after receiving the Red Pine's Classic of Admonition (a Daoist ethical text) did Xue barely manage to save one son.

Finally, it emphasizes that this Taishang Ganying Pian (Treatise of the Most Exalted on Action and Response) shares equal importance with Red Pine's Classic—both being foundational texts exposing erroneous mental attitudes. Xue Yuan avoided family extinction by heeding these admonitions, while Zhou Chi escaped starvation by propagating this text. These cases prove that only by practicing the teaching to "regard others' gains and losses as one's own" can disasters be averted and blessings accumulated.

All things in this fleeting world are transient, yet accumulated karma (cause and effect) becomes the burden of one's life. This Taishang Ganying Pian (Treatise of the Most Exalted on Action and Response) exists precisely to elucidate this truth. Those who know of this text must seek it out and read it; having read it, they must put it into practice. If one can do so, they will gain powerful assistance when facing the critical moment of life and death.

The eulogy states: The hundred sacred classics are solemn and divine—even if later generations possess talent, they should regard others' virtues as their own. If people cannot unite in shared virtue, calamity is inevitable. The sage kings recorded in the Hong Fan (Great Plan, a chapter of the Book of Documents) bestowed blessings impartially, without favoritism. A truly cultivated person is strict with themselves but never exposes others' flaws.

Ancient texts record: General Fubo (Ma Yuan) admonished his descendants, saying that hearing of others' faults should be like hearing one's parents' names—the ears may hear, but the mouth must not speak. This already attains the state described by the Most Exalted Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun) as "not publicizing others' shortcomings." Master Guishan (Yang Shi, a Song Dynasty scholar) took it further: Not only should the mouth refrain from speaking, but the ears should not even listen. This surpasses even Ma Yuan's teaching.

In the mundane world, people inevitably have faults—but those are others' affairs, what concern are they of mine? Simply by neither listening nor inquiring, others' flaws will naturally not spread through me. If one casually spreads them, the faults will circulate widely, damaging one's own reputation and undermining one's moral integrity. When traced back, who bears the responsibility? Know this: A noble person would never expose others' weaknesses—only petty individuals act so recklessly.

In the past, there was a man named Zhu Qisheng in Guicheng, whose nature was harsh and who delighted in exposing others' flaws. He mocked the disabled, envied the beautiful, scorned the foolish, nitpicked the wise, looked down on the poor, and slandered the rich. He exposed officials' secrets and betrayed friends' confidences. When encountering those whose family background and talents were beyond reproach, he would rack his brains to find fault—claiming their grandfather was lowly, their father crude, their mother from the merchant class, their in-laws vulgar, their younger brother wayward, or their son unpromising. Even minor mistakes were exaggerated. Whether great or small matters, he treated all this way—fabricating, embellishing, and seizing on rumors without basis.

This passage discusses those who deliberately nitpick and argue unreasonably. They consistently portray accidental mistakes as intentional faults, unavoidable actions as premeditated deeds, and inadvertent errors as malicious acts. When they see someone vulnerable, they publicly humiliate and excessively belittle them. They behave this way not only with strangers but also with relatives and friends, spending their entire lives putting others down.

Even more egregious are those who label their parents as stubborn and inflexible, or compare their siblings to the rebellious lords Guan Shu and Cai Shu from the Zhou dynasty. They instigate lawsuits only to pretend to mediate later, or provoke arguments and then serve as witnesses. They persist in such behavior without recognizing their faults, only to develop a strange condition in old age where their tongue turns yellow. Each episode requires bloodletting with needles to release several liters of blood before relief comes. With five or six attacks per year, the suffering is indescribable, and they ultimately perish with a withered tongue.

This mirrors the story of Daoist priest Zhang Qiyi, who enjoyed mocking others and eventually bit off his own tongue in death. Thus, is it truly appropriate to expose others' shortcomings?

The eulogy states: We aspire to become sages, but are others not human too? Accidental mistakes can still be forgiven, but once someone's faults are broadcast everywhere, they become lifelong stains. Therefore, the noble person upholds the virtue of "concealing faults while highlighting merits," never flaunting their own strengths.

The Laozi says: Skillful merchants keep their treasures hidden, while those of great De (Virtue) appear simple-minded. Confucius also remarked: The Dao of the noble seems dim yet grows brighter daily, while the Dao of the petty seems dazzling but fades away. How can one live without strengths? But true strength should manifest thus: becoming more reserved, excelling in self-cultivation, and progressing daily—only then can one achieve De. Flaunting one's abilities only reveals shallowness—how could this be the Dao of the noble, where "great wisdom appears foolish"?

Consider this example: Ouyang Xiu (posthumously titled Wenzhong) excelled at writing, yet in conversation he discussed only governance, never literature. Cai Xiang (posthumously titled Duanming) mastered statecraft but always engaged others in literary discussions, avoiding politics. Both epitomized the art of self-concealment. Sadly, most people fail to grasp this principle, constantly boasting of themselves.

Another anecdote: Li Bi displayed extraordinary intelligence as a child. At seven, he could compose poetry, including the Chang Ge Xing: "Heaven covers me, earth supports me—my birth between them must hold profound meaning."

This scripture passage expounds the Daoist principle of maintaining humility while concealing faults and promoting virtues in human conduct.

It begins with an illustrative anecdote: A young man composed poetry to flaunt his talent, receiving widespread praise—except from Zhang Jiuling, the renowned Tang dynasty statesman, who admonished him: "The ancients valued concealing one's brilliance (taoguang yanghui). At your tender age, such ostentation may invite setbacks. Poetry should celebrate nature's beauty and reflect on past and present, not serve self-ploration." The young man awakened to this wisdom and abandoned his boastful ways. This very humility later enabled him to become a distinguished chancellor. The lesson is clear: even with remarkable ability, one must avoid self-display.

The text then employs eulogistic verses to emphasize: Heaven, Earth, and humanity form the Three Powers (sancai). Through self-cultivation, humans may progress from worthiness to sagehood and even spiritual transcendence. But arrogance stagnates moral progress (De). One should emulate Yan Hui, Confucius' most humble disciple, whose supreme wisdom appeared as simplicity—a timeless standard for conduct.

A dedicated section explains "restraining evil and promoting good" (e'e yangshan): The Book of Changes identifies this as the noble person's way, while scriptures call it the path of goodness. Like the hexagram "Fire in Heaven" (symbolizing illumination), the exemplary person must suppress wrongdoing and amplify virtue, aligning with the Dao's movement. Since all humans harbor flaws (evil), we should help others reform; whenever their words or deeds show merit (goodness), we ought to encourage it, inspiring collective moral progress. This is how we accord with celestial intent.

Concluding examples cite the sage-king Shun, who embodied this principle, alongside Northern Song exemplars like statesman Zhao Kangjing (who specialized in covering faults while highlighting virtues) and philosopher Shao Yong (who joyfully praised others' strengths while overlooking shortcomings). These sages all profoundly understood this truth.

This passage explains the principle of restraining evil and promoting good. Sadly, people do not understand that a person can often be raised up or ruined by a single sentence. That is why we must be careful in what we say.

The text gives two historical examples. In the first, Kou Zhun, a renowned official of the Northern Song, put up an elaborate mountain-shaped pavilion for his birthday celebration. An inspector reported this to the emperor, who was furious and challenged the prime minister, Wang Dan. Wang deftly replied that Kou Zhun was capable, though somewhat foolish. Hearing this, the emperor’s anger subsided. Without Wang Dan’s words, how could the emperor’s fury have been calmed? And how could he have come to recognize Kou Zhun’s abilities?

The second story concerns Wang Shu, whose posthumous title was Wenkang. While governing Shu, he punished thieves harshly, and some criticized him for being too severe. When Liu Ye was summoned back, Emperor Zhenzong asked him whether Ling Ce or Wang Shu governed better. Liu Ye explained that they had faced different circumstances: Ling Ce could govern leniently in years of good harvest, while Wang Shu had to punish thieves severely during a famine. The emperor accepted this explanation. Without Liu Ye’s words, how could doubts about Wang Shu’s supposed harshness have been dispelled?

The passage then offers examples of the virtue of taking less and yielding more. When dividing the family property, Xue Bao willingly chose the elderly servants, the barren fields, and the worn-out household goods. When Xu Ji divided the estate, he let his two uncles choose first. He received only a box of books and two dilapidated houses, yet made no complaint. These examples show that yielding when interests are at stake is precisely the kind of virtue that Heaven values.

The closing praise sums up the lesson: thoughts of good and evil begin alike; what matters is how they are guided. Restraining evil thoughts and nurturing good ones is like turning a well sweep, the traditional device for drawing water: once you grasp the right point, you can make good thoughts grow. Following Heaven’s will and keeping desires in check—this is the way to accord with Heaven’s heart.

This passage recounts several stories about humility and forbearance, using these examples to illustrate Daoist wisdom for navigating life.

When brothers Du Yan (a renowned Northern Song official) and Du Chun (a child prodigy) divided their family property, they always gave the larger share to others and took the lesser portion for themselves. Similar acts of yielding occurred with official positions—Shen Jizhong twice declined imperial honors in favor of his younger brothers, while Xu Xi voluntarily surrendered his appointment to his elder brother's son. In contrast, those who calculated every advantage and fought for petty gains often met swift failure.

The text then synthesizes these lessons with insights from the Daode Jing: "Knowing strength yet abiding in gentleness, appearing clear-eyed yet maintaining humility—only by eschewing greed does one attain true treasure." Laozi's way of frugality expands one's De (Virtue) through self-restraint—is this not the highest virtue? Genuine cultivation requires guarding against extravagance and preserving frugal restraint. Those who focus solely on material possessions have yet to comprehend the Dao's profound truth.

Subsequent stories exemplify forbearance: When someone praised the Buddha's great virtue, another retorted, "What virtue? His mother died seven days after his birth!" The admirer explained: "The greatest fortune lies in avoiding untimely death in one's prime, enduring strikes without retaliation, and bearing insults without vengeance." This mirrors how Northern Song statesman Lü Mengzheng, as Deputy Chief Councillor, overheard colleagues mocking him behind a screen—"How is this bumpkin fit for office?"—yet pretended not to hear. He refused to learn the critic's name, reasoning, "Knowing would make me remember it forever."

As a youth, statesman Fu Bi ignored public insults, dismissing them with, "Perhaps they meant someone else with my name." When military hero Di Qing (posthumously titled Wuxiang) hosted a banquet, scholar Liu Yi used actors performing a scholar's role to openly taunt him as an "inked-face recruit," even smashing dishes in rage. Throughout, Di Qing remained unperturbed. These stories reveal that only those with profound virtue can embody such magnanimity.

This scripture passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of maintaining vigilance and humility when receiving honors and favor.

The text presents two historical examples: Wang Ji, a renowned general of the Northern Song dynasty, was often mocked by his colleagues as incompetent, yet he quietly fulfilled his duties and eventually achieved military success, rising to the rank of commander. Wang Wenzheng (Wang Dan), though he became chancellor, would stop his family from celebrating promotions, saying, "The higher the rank, the more cautious one must be." When Zhang Zhongding (Zhang Yong) was appointed Vice Minister of Personnel, he likewise told his relatives, "Receiving imperial favor only makes me more apprehensive."

The scripture explains that misfortune often lurks within good fortune. When one is favored, arrogance invites hidden calamity. Once that favor is lost, disaster strikes suddenly. Thus, the wise accept honors with trepidation, as the Daode Jing states: "Favor and disgrace alike cause alarm."

Finally, the passage compares four ancient sages: Yan Hui remained indifferent to gain or loss; Sui Hui willingly took lower positions; Liu Xiahui did not mind appearing unrefined (disregarding outward appearances); and Lou Shide remained unangered even when spat upon. These exemplars demonstrate that truly cultivated individuals maintain equanimity amid life's fluctuations, treating honor and disgrace as lightly as a drifting boat or broken tile—naturally free from resentment.

(Note: The "Jade Clarity Zhaoying Palace" was a royal Daoist temple of the Song dynasty; "celestial texts" refer to sacred imperial edicts believed to be divinely ordained; and "jade engraving" denotes ceremonial inscriptions—all significant religio-political activities of the period.)

This passage discusses the importance of maintaining reverence when achieving success, as arrogance can easily invite misfortune. It presents cautionary tales from two historical figures:

Lu Duoxun, a Northern Song Dynasty official, began indulging in luxury immediately after becoming Assistant Chief Councilor (equivalent to vice-chancellor). His father anxiously warned: "Our family has maintained scholarly poverty for generations. Suddenly attaining such wealth—I truly fear how this will end." Ignoring his father's advice, Lu Duoxun ultimately fell from grace due to misconduct.

Zhong Fang, a Song Dynasty hermit, gained great fame after being summoned to court. His angry mother admonished: "I warned you against taking disciples and chasing empty fame. Now that you're exposed to public attention, peace will elude us." Zhong Fang likewise disregarded this wisdom and suffered calamity due to his excessive reputation.

Both examples illustrate how disaster follows when people in favor forget caution. Like an ornate sacrificial wine vessel (Xi Zun) that harms the tree it's carved from, or how dressing a calf in brocade is inferior to letting it graze freely. Official carriages and caps (Xuan Mian)—these external trappings of status become seeds of misfortune when coveted. Those who understand this principle cannot but maintain reverent caution.

Excerpted from Chapter 4 of the Taishang Ganying Pian (Treatise on the Response of the Dao), this passage's core teaching warns: maintain reverence when elevated, remember your roots when prosperous—lest extreme joy begets sorrow. Through concrete examples and metaphors, it vividly demonstrates the Daoist principle that "good fortune harbors misfortune within."