Dé: Living in the Dao

CHAPTER THREE

To live in harmony with the Dao, one has to follow one’s own intrinsic nature, which is called dé. Dao is the natural process of life unfolding. A human being is true to his or her dé when acting in accord with Dao. In this way one mirrors the Dao in one’s life and lives according to the spiritual law of nature. The abstract Dao becomes concrete as dé.

A person’s dé is developed through inner spiritual cultivation. It is one’s essential spiritual nature maturing and expressing itself. The American Daoist Louis Komjathy has emphasized that dé comes from the Dao: “Inner power (dé) is one’s personal endowment from and expression of the Dao. By cultivating stillness, a pivot of emptiness becomes established. The emptiness creates the space for the sacred to enter and manifest through the individual adept.”²³

Master Meng, whom I met in Beijing in 2017, also explained that a person’s dé is his spiritual nature, which is universal and unites him with all living beings. It is the inner pull or yearning to perfect oneself, to realize one’s essential nature as spirit. We use the term Dao to express our common spiritual origin, which is not personified; it is also the inner spiritual path or way that leads back to that origin or source. Chinese mystics speak of “cultivating the Dao.” By living in tune with Dao, being true to one’s dé, they say, one will easily find happiness and peace within oneself.

Human beings have two tendencies in their nature – one, the outward-seeking mind and its associated senses, which churn up desires, fears, and other emotions; and the other, dé, our spiritual nature, which pulls us inward to experience the peace and equilibrium that are the hallmark of the Dao. The inner pull provides balance for the outward energy that involves us in the world. Our experience of the world is the experience of change, while balance and stillness are the nature of Dao.

Change is an unalterable fact of life in the material plane, the world of form.

In Daoist literature, change is often called “the transformation” of things. But the Dao is unchanging. It is the pivot around which all change occurs. Change occurs on the periphery. Many Chinese texts advise us to hold on to the pivot while allowing the flow of changing events to continue around us. If we do so, we will be unaffected by the changes and the transformations. Also, if we are true to our dé, our inner spiritual core, we will not advance ourselves above others; we will be humble, not contending, remaining in harmony with nature and other people; in tune, at peace. The Chinese mystics advocate that if a person wishes to live peacefully, in harmony with the law of nature, with the Dao, he will not compete with others to advance himself but will “stay behind” – following, not leading.

An evocative passage from the “Yuan Dao,” the first chapter of the Huainanzi, summarizes the secret of living naturally, without stress, in touch with one’s intrinsic spiritual nature. It advises us to reject from our consciousness all that is external to our well-being and focus on the needs of our true self. In this way, one can easily find personal happiness. This passage exemplifies what it is like to live as a sage, a mystic – in touch with the Dao by being true to one’s inner nature. The Huainanzi urges us to live peacefully and respond appropriately to the world around us, “and to observe and watch changes as they arise. As easy as turning a ball in the palm of one’s hand, it enables one to find personal happiness.”²⁴

“As easy as turning a ball in the palm of one’s hand” – this phrase says it all. Rolling the ball in our hand is easy, if we relax and don’t hold on too tightly – just as it is best not to hold tightly to our opinions, our possessions, our family, our ego, our status. Then we will be able to drop our obsession with the external world. The Dao puts us in touch with our intrinsic nature, our inner equilibrium – the balance between our outward nature and inner pull. This is the stillness that allows us to hold on to the pivot and be in tune with the Dao.

The Dao is hidden. It leaves no traces. In that way it is humble, always leading from behind. This is the characteristic of dé, and of the sage or leader who follows Dao. He is modest and goes along with others or events, minimizing his desires. He reduces his wants and thus his wants are satisfied. He is objective and doesn’t indulge in excess. He knows his inner self, his dé, which he calls the “one norm,” and he’s in tune with reality, ignoring external considerations and ambition.

He puts aside cleverness and follows Dao;
Together with the people he goes along
the path of impartiality.
He sets aside all yearnings,
Abandons all desires,
and does away with all deliberation.

Since he reduces to essentials what he abides by,
he is discerning;

Since he curtails what he seeks, he gets it
(that which he seeks).
Those who rely on their eyes and ears
to see and hear
Tire out their persons,
yet fail to see or hear things clearly;
Those who govern through cleverness
and deliberation
Toil their minds yet achieve nothing.
No desire, no excess; …

Hence, the sage follows the course
of the one norm….
Following the water gauge and adhering
to the plumb line
He does in every way what is fitting
to the circumstances.²⁵

Here the text of Huainanzi returns to the metaphor of water for the Dao and dé. The mystic keeps himself attuned to the norm. He has the internal “water gauge” to know the flow of the Dao, and the inner plumb line to know its depth. Because he has inner knowing, he can adapt to all circumstances without distorting himself.

The Huainanzi contrasts the ideal and pure ways of “heaven” (Dao) with our human ways, which are totally out of tune with the Dao and governed by self-interest and deception. “Heaven” is a metaphor for the state of non-being, spiritual purity – untouched by human motive. The examples of heaven are taken from the natural world. Letting an animal maintain its original unbridled state is an example of heaven. A piece of uncarved wood or jade is simple and natural, like heaven, as is a new-born infant. But artificially controlling an animal or carving a piece of wood or jade into objects that can be purchased and cherished are examples of man’s attempts to dominate nature. The author explains that those who follow their dé will always remain in the company of the Dao; those who give in to the artificial pressures of society will remain out of touch and become base and coarse.

By “Heaven” is meant pure and unadulterated
like uncarved wood and undyed silk;
Original simplicity and sheer whiteness,
which has never been mixed with anything else.

By “man” is meant studying each other
and exercising one’s knowledge
and presuppositions,
Being crafty and deceptive to others,
in order to get on in the world
and to be able to deal with the vulgar.

Thus an ox’s having cloven hoofs and horns,
And a horse’s having a mane and uncloven hoofs
is what is “Heaven”;
Bridling a horse’s mouth
And boring an ox’s nose
is “man.”
Those who follow Heaven ramble about with Dao,
Whereas those who accede to man have dealings
with the vulgar.²⁶

In this passage, the poet says that the person who understands and follows the Dao is true to his natural state. He may adapt his external behavior to society, but internally he remains true to himself.

Thus, one who understands Dao
Does not barter what belongs to Heaven
for what is man’s.
While externally he is transformed
along with the transformation of things,
Internally he does not become other than
what he is really like.²⁷

Because he is in harmony with Dao internally, he experiences its purity and stillness within; he is holding on to the pivot of Dao, the point of balance between external activity and inward stillness. In the next stanza, he says, the mystic can return to this point – it is his origin, and so, with his mind in control, he can swing back to that point, like a pendulum. This is why he can practice the ideal of wu-wei – acting without motive, “doing without doing.” He is detached from results. He is not involved with the passing show but “lodges his spirit” in the pure emptiness of the Dao. He has entered the “mysterious pass,” the gateway to the inner realms, which is the inner point of concentration, called the “Gateway of Heaven” in the passage below.

Hence, one who understands Dao
Returns to his limpidity and stillness,
And one who knows all there is to know
about things (the mystic)
Always ends up with nonactivity.
If one nourishes his nature with tranquility
And lodges his spirit in emptiness,
Then he has entered the Gateway of Heaven.²⁸

The Daoist masters advise against indulging in strong emotions, which would throw the practitioner off-balance, causing an imbalance between his yin (inward) energy and his yang (outgoing) energy. They advise that it is important to maintain control and adjust to the events of life without getting caught by the passions that drive people to act in extreme ways. Here Dao and dé are often used interchangeably to express the spiritual center and balance.

Gladness and anger are a deviation from Dao;
worry and sorrow are a falling from dé;
likes and dislikes are excesses of the heart;
cravings and desires are a burden on the nature….
In man, a great anger shatters the yin,
While great gladness weighs down the yang….

Hence, if one regulates the external
from the core of his person,
His various affairs will not end in failure.
If he gets it at the core,
He can nurture externals.²⁹

Our core is our center, the point of balance and stillness, the pivot, the manifestation of the Dao within, which is likened to the “handle” of Dao that the charioteer holds as he rides the chariot of life. If we hold on to the pivot, we can engage in worldly activities without losing ourselves; we can remain calm. We can stretch and bend with changing events, as if we were an echo or a shadow. We don’t lose our balance but remain composed and serene.

The Pivot of Dao
The idea of the Dao as a pivot is profound. The pivot is the central axis of the wheel around which all revolves. The rim of the wheel revolves, but the pivot or axis stays in one place, totally still. It may rotate around itself but is never thrown to the rim, the arena of change. Therefore, the person who keeps hold of the pivot, keeping his mind merged in the Dao, can go through life with balance and not be buffeted by changing circumstance. He is steady because his center is still. Any extreme contains the potential for loss of stability.

As Thomas Merton, the Catholic priest who did a deep study of the Zhuangzi and published a poetic rendition of his favorite sections, wrote in his commentary:

He who grasps the central pivot of Dao is able to watch “Yes” and “No” pursue their alternating course around the circumference. He retains his perspective and clarity of judgment, so that he knows that “Yes” is “Yes” in the light of the “No” which stands over against it. He understands that happiness, when pushed to an extreme, becomes calamity. That beauty, when overdone, becomes ugliness. Clouds become rain and vapor ascends again to become clouds. To insist that the cloud should never turn to rain is to resist the dynamism of Dao.³⁰

The clouds must become rain according to the natural law, in which transformation is always taking place on the physical plane. It is pointless to resist the process.

Merton explains the concept of Dao as the still point, the pivot of all opposites. The opposites go to the extremes; Dao is the center point that finds the stillness between the opposites. Merton quotes the Zhuangzi:

Dao is obscured when men understand only one of a pair of opposites, or concentrate only on a partial aspect of being…. If I begin from where I am and see it as I see it, then it may also become possible for me to see it as another sees it. Hence the theory of reversal, that opposites produce each other, depend on each other, and complement each other….

However this may be, life is followed by death; death is followed by life. The possible becomes impossible; the impossible becomes possible. Right turns into wrong and wrong into right – the flow of life alters circumstances and thus things themselves are altered in their turn. But disputants continue to affirm and to deny the same things they have always affirmed and denied, ignoring the new aspects of reality presented by the change in conditions.

The wise man, therefore, instead of trying to prove this or that point by logical disputation, sees all things in the light of direct intuition. He is not imprisoned by the limitations of the “I,” for the viewpoint of direct intuition is that of both “I” and “Not-I.” Hence he sees that on both sides of every argument there is both right and wrong. He also sees that in the end they are reducible to the same thing, once they are related to the pivot of Dao.

When the wise man grasps this pivot, he is in the center of the circle, and there he stands while “Yes” and “No” pursue each other around the circumference.

The pivot of Dao passes through the center where all affirmations and denials converge. He who grasps the pivot is at the still-point from which all movements and oppositions can be seen in their right relationship. Hence he sees the limitless possibilities of both “Yes” and “No.” Abandoning all thought of imposing a limit or taking sides, he rests in direct intuition. Therefore I said: “Better to abandon disputation and seek the true light!”³¹

Three in the Morning
There is a humorous story told by the master Zhuangzi that illustrates how to be balanced and not cling to a partial view of life, but to always see both sides; how not to be attached to one’s own opinion or course of action and not to contend. We often think we are being “reasonable,” but whatever we are thinking is only our opinion. But by looking at both sides of every problem, we are able to adjust to all circumstances with equanimity. This story demonstrates how the sage, “firmly centered in Dao,” resolves the problem. He sees things in perspective, and then acts. By employing such a mundane and childish example, Zhuangzi shows us how ridiculous it is for us to guard our closely held opinions.

Dao is obscured when men understand only one of a pair of opposites, or concentrate only on a partial aspect of being. Then clear expression also becomes muddled by mere wordplay, affirming this one aspect and denying all the rest….

When we wear out our minds, stubbornly clinging to one partial view of things, refusing to see a deeper agreement between this and its complementary opposite, we have what is called “three in the morning.”

— What is this “three in the morning?” (we ask).

A monkey trainer went to his monkeys and told them:

“As regards your chestnuts: you are going to have three measures in the morning and four in the afternoon.”

At this they all became angry. So he said: “All right, in that case I will give you four in the morning and three in the afternoon.” This time they were satisfied.

The two arrangements were the same in that the number of chestnuts did not change. But in one case the animals were displeased, and in the other they were satisfied. The keeper had been willing to change his personal arrangement in order to meet objective conditions. He lost nothing by it!

The truly wise man, considering both sides of the question without partiality, sees them both in the light of Dao.

This is called following two courses at once.³²

The secret is to become detached from personal opinions – the need to always be right and impose one’s will – but to accept the ways and opinions of others. In this way, the sage leads from behind; he acts without imposing himself on others.

On Becoming Inwardly Happy and Mature
The author of Huainanzi counsels people not to look for stability and pleasure in outward activities but to seek inside. Generally, people feel something missing within and try to soothe their hearts and minds with external pleasures, like music or some other entertainment. But this comfort will be only temporary. When the music – the external pleasure – stops, the internal need will remain unfulfilled; people will again feel sad and their spirits will be in turmoil. This is what happens when one alternates between the two extremes of happiness and sadness. There is no constancy, no stability.

Vaguely they feel as if something is missing
Or as if pining after something lost.
What is this?
Because not looking for the inward to please the external,
They were pleasing the inward with the external.
When the music starts, they feel happy,
But when the performance is over, they are sad.
With happiness and sadness giving rise alternately
to one another,
The spirit is thrown into turmoil
and cannot find a moment’s peace.³³

Yet, not everyone can act on such good advice because they don’t have the inner maturity. It doesn’t resonate with who they are. “They are unable to look inward and find it in their own nature,” as the author says below:

Thus, on hearing good advice or sound counsel, even an idiot knows enough to be taken away by it; where the highest dé and lofty conduct are held forth as examples, even an unworthy person will know to want to emulate it. Those who are taken by it [the advice] are numerous, but those who can actually adopt it are rare; those who are attracted by it are many, but those who can actually put it into practice are few. Why is this so? Because they are unable to look inward and find it in their own nature. For one who insists on learning while being internally unreceptive, what is taught neither enters the ears nor registers on the mind….

Hence, for a man to have the ambition to manage the world while not finding it in his own heart is like a person without ears trying to tune the bells and drums, or a man without eyes wanting to take delight in colors and designs. He is sure to be unequal to the task.³⁴

This means that even if we want to accept good advice, we can’t practice it unless we have come to that realization within ourselves. Hearing advice and acting on it are not the same. Because we don’t have the ability to take our attention inward, we are unreceptive. Nothing registers within. The truth isn’t mirrored from within us. We can’t manage the world if we haven’t found the strength within. Our actions must start from our center.

Yet, if we follow the way of our heart by tuning in to our dé and become detached from externals, then all our desires, likes, and dislikes will become extraneous. Everything becomes equal. We find our equilibrium; we become balanced.

Hence, there is nothing one is pleased with,
there is nothing one gets angry about,
There is nothing one finds enjoyment in,
there is nothing one finds hardship in.
The myriad things (of the creation) merge
in mysterious unity:
Without right or wrong –
In a bedazzling transformation,
life is like death.³⁵

How does one govern oneself? By being detached from desire and emotion, life becomes like death, in that the myriad things of the world, including our emotions and experiences, become unimportant. We are not advancing our own motives, as we have no personal motive.

Thomas Merton wrote about the “inner law of dé” as our guide to self-discovery. A person who follows his dé keeps his motives hidden from others, and thus he is true to himself; his actions aren’t dictated by other people or outer conditions. He sees the light within, which guides him. The person whose “law” is outside himself always tries to influence what is not under his control. He no longer values himself and will never be valued by others. He ultimately will be abandoned. The play of nature and its inevitable changes rob him, because he doesn’t exert his inner power and instead tries to exert his will over external conditions. The master Zhuangzi is quoted:

He whose law is within himself
Walks in hiddenness.
His acts are not influenced
By approval or disapproval.
He whose law is outside himself
Directs his will
To what is beyond his control,
And seeks to extend his power
Over objects.

He who walks in hiddenness
Has light to guide him
In all his acts.
He who seeks to extend his control
Is nothing but an operator.
While he thinks he is
Surpassing others,
Others see him merely
Straining, stretching,
To stand on tiptoe.
When he tries to extend his power
Over objects,
Those objects gain control
Of him.

He who is controlled by objects
Loses possession of his inner self:
If he no longer values himself,
How can he value others?
If he no longer values others,
He is abandoned.
He has nothing left!

There is no deadlier weapon than the will!
The sharpest sword
Is not equal to it!
There is no robber so dangerous
As Nature (the duality of yang and yin).

Yet it is not Nature
That does the damage:
It is man’s own will!³⁶

Humility
When I met Master Meng in Beijing, I asked him how Daoists regard pride or arrogance on the spiritual path. His answer surprised me in its boldness. He said:

The ego and pride is the path of death. With it there will be no progress on the path of Dao, because it is harmful to our original nature. The practice of Dao is to pursue the original and internal, nothing external. In my practice of thirty years ago, if you showed even a slight sign of pride, your master would point it out to you. Since ancient times, those who have Dao do not show it, as in the Chinese saying “They have the greatest wisdom, but they appear like an idiot.” The more advanced they are, the less they show. The more light they have, the less they reveal it outside.

The advice to live humbly and not flaunt one’s qualities to others is a simple guideline for the sincere Daoist.

A beautiful passage from the eighteenth-century master Liu Yiming expresses the essence of humility. He says it comes from having “no-mind” (wuxin), meaning that one doesn’t carry a sense of self and ego, which creates separation between people. He uses an example from the natural world to illustrate his meaning:

(It is said that) a fierce tiger will not harm an infant, and that a hungry hawk will not snatch an infant. How can this be? Because the infant has no-mind (wuxin)….

The only reason people cannot attain the Dao is because they have a mind (xin). Having a mind means having a self. Having a self means having a perception that others are separate. The moment there is a perception of others as separate, people immediately contrive to benefit themselves at the expense of others. Full of all manner of clever schemes, their selfish desires run rampant, their inherent conscience completely obscured. If you cannot even accumulate virtues, how can you presume to realize the Dao?

True seekers of the Dao hasten to break down the mountainous barrier between themselves and others, and steer clear of narrow byways. They discipline themselves and adapt to the world. They see themselves and others as the same. They regard all classes of people as equal. They attend to things and situations as they come. They deal with them, but are not affected by them. They let things go and do not cling to them. They approach every situation they encounter with no-mind (wuxin). Having no-mind, they have no ego. Having no ego, they are pure within. Being pure within, they are clear and without blemish – totally merged with the celestial law.

This is called original virtue (yuandé). Original virtue has neither form nor sign. It cannot be seen or heard. It is a virtue unified with heaven and earth, as radiant as the sun and moon, as ordered as the four seasons…. Then creation cannot constrain you; the myriad things (of the creation) cannot harm you.³⁷

Another Daoist ideal that embodies humility is uselessness. It means not advancing oneself but presenting oneself as useless. Daoist literature uses the metaphors of the useless tree, the broken pot, the empty spaces between the spokes of the wheel, the windows in the wall of a house. Emptiness and uselessness invoke the ideal of humility. Uselessness is a metaphor for the principle of non-being. It is seen as an advantage rather than a disadvantage. Chapter Eleven of the Daodéjing tells us:

Thirty spokes are united around the hub
to make a wheel,
But it is on its non-being
that the utility of the carriage depends.
Clay is moulded to form a utensil,
But it is on its non-being
that the utility of the utensil depends.
Doors and windows are cut out to make a room,
But it is on its non-being that the utility
of the room depends.
Therefore turn Being into advantage,
and turn non-being into utility.³⁸

Two evocative parables in the Zhuangzi also teach about the advantage of uselessness – to deflect attention from oneself and survive any assault or ill wind. If you draw attention to yourself, you risk provoking jealousy.

Huizi said to Zhuangzi, “I have a big tree called a shu. Its trunk is too gnarled and bumpy to apply a measuring line to, its branches too bent and twisty to match up to a compass or square. You could stand it by the road, and no carpenter would look at it twice. Your words, too, are big and useless, and so everyone alike spurns them!”

Zhuangzi said, “Maybe you’ve never seen a wildcat or a weasel. It crouches down and hides, watching for something to come along. It leaps and races east and west, not hesitating to go high or low – until it falls into the trap and dies in the net. Then again there’s the yak, big as a cloud covering the sky. It certainly knows how to be big, though it doesn’t know how to catch rats. Now you have this big tree, and you’re distressed because it’s useless. Why don’t you plant it in Not-Even-Anything Village or the field of Broad-and- Boundless, relax and do nothing by its side, or lie down for a free and easy sleep under it? Axes will never shorten its life; nothing can ever harm it. If there’s no use for it, how can it come to grief or pain?”³⁹

By being useless, the tree is able to live peacefully. When we push ourselves ahead of others or try to do something important to have an impact, to be recognized for our accomplishments, we will be “cut down” to size. But if we just rest “in emptiness” – in the spirit of Dao – we can survive nicely. So what if people think we’re useless!

There’s another passage in the Zhuangzi that expresses the same thought even more strongly:

The mountain trees do themselves harm;
the grease in the torch burns itself up.
The cinnamon can be eaten,
and so it gets cut down;
the lacquer tree can be used,
and so it gets hacked apart.
All men know the use of the useful,
but nobody knows the use of the useless!⁴⁰

Here again he is saying that by projecting yourself as important you will attract negativity and be attacked. One needs to follow along with the pattern and flow of life without trying to make an impact. In that way, one can accomplish everything without calling attention to oneself.

Zhuangzi also cites the metaphor of an empty boat. The empty boat describes a person without ego, one who is truly humble. Zhuangzi says that a person crossing a river who collides with an empty boat will not become angry, as the empty boat did not intentionally bump into him. But if he sees that there is someone in the boat that bumped him, he will become angry. He might even think it is intentional.

Zhuangzi is saying that no one will quarrel with you if you can empty your boat as you navigate the river of life. You will meet with no resistance.

If a man, having lashed two hulls together, is crossing a river, and an empty boat happens along and bumps into him, no matter how hot tempered the man may be, he will not get angry.

But if there should be someone in the other boat, then he will shout out to haul this way or veer that. If his first shout is not heeded, he will shout again, and if that is not heard, he will shout a third time, this time with a torrent of curses following.

In the first instance, he wasn’t angry; now in the second, he is. Earlier he faced emptiness, now he faces occupancy.

If a man could succeed in making himself empty and, in that way, wander through the world, then who could do him harm?⁴¹

Then, in another passage, he talks about the tree that grows straight and the spring of clear water – metaphors for the person who allows his light to visibly shine outwards so that others will see it, rather than keep it within himself. He advises against achievements that bring too much attention to oneself. They invite disgrace. People will become jealous and seek to take you down. Be like the masses of men who flow with the Dao, unseen. Don’t draw attention to yourself or put yourself forward. Come from behind rather than going in front – even seem like a fool.

The straight tree is the first to be cut down,
The spring of clear water is the first to be drained dry.
If you wish to improve your wisdom
And shame the ignorant,
To cultivate your character
And outshine others,
A light will shine around you
As if you had swallowed the sun and the moon:
[Yet] you will not avoid calamity!

A wise man has said:
“He who is content with himself
Has done a worthless work.
Achievement is the beginning of failure.
Fame is the beginning of disgrace.”

Who can free himself from achievement
And from fame, descend and be lost
Amid the masses of men?
He will flow like Dao, unseen;
He will go about like Life itself
With no name and no home.
Simple is he, without distinction.
To all appearances he is a fool.
His steps leave no trace. He has no power.
He achieves nothing, has no reputation.
Since he judges no one,
No one judges him.
Such is the Perfect Man:
His boat is empty.⁴²

The story emphasizes the Daoist principle of living meekly and humbly, “following from behind” rather than trying to lead. Keep your boat empty. This will lead to safety and security as it will not provoke jealousy. You will live like the sage, the mystic, the Perfect Man.

The Huainanzi offers other analogies from the natural world to emphasize the importance of living modestly:

Because earth dwells below
and does not contend for a higher station,
It is safe and secure;
Because water flows downward
and does not contend for the lead,
It flows rapidly instead of slowly.⁴³

It is safest to be modest. Like water, whatever flows to the lowest point makes the fastest and greatest progress. And the Dao is like water – it flows to its natural level. To live according to Dao one has to follow one’s dé.

The Huainanzi gives general advice on how to live in harmony with oneself and with the environment in which one lives by being in control of one’s spirit. All the creation’s inhabitants know their likes and dislikes because they are true to their inner nature. Similarly, a human being is able to govern his body, and has the intelligence to discriminate right from wrong, because his qi (his vital energy) dominates his senses and desires, and so he finds internal balance.^† But when he is not in harmony with himself he stumbles and falls; his attention is gone. The Huainanzi observes:

All of the myriad things in the world down to the tiny bugs and swarming insects squirming and wriggling about know what they like and dislike, what will benefit them and cause them harm. Why? It is because they have … their nature which has not deserted them. Once their nature leaves them, they will be unable to know their own kind.

Now, man is able to see and hear with discernment, is able to raise his body and lift his limbs, and can bend and stretch his joints; in his discrimination he is able to distinguish white from black and the beautiful from the ugly, and in his intelligence he can differentiate sameness from difference and the right from the wrong. Why? Because his qi fills his body and his spirit is at his bidding.

How do we know this to be so? Because whenever the focus of a man’s mind is directed toward something (external) and his spirit is bound up with something, then he can stumble over a stump or bang his head on a tree without even being conscious of it. And if you try to beckon him, he won’t be able to see, and if you try to call him, he won’t be able to hear.

It is not that his eyes and ears have deserted him – yet he is not able to respond. Why? It is because his spirit has left its station.⁴⁴

He has all his sensory faculties, but he has lost his focus – he is not in touch with his inner spirit. His spirit has left its station. Then the author reminds us that our attention follows whatever we focus on and ignores what is irrelevant. Since there is no place absent of the spirit, whoever focuses on emptiness, the Dao, is aware of everything – from the vastness of the cosmos down to the tip of a hair.

Thus, where the attention of the spirit is directed
toward the small
it is oblivious to the big;
Where it is directed toward the internal,
it is oblivious to what’s going on externally;
Where it is directed toward what is above,
it is oblivious to that below;
Where it is directed toward the left,
it is oblivious to the right.
It is only when there is no place
that the spirit does not fill
that there is nowhere toward which the focus
is not directed.
Hence, one who values emptiness
takes the tip of an autumn hair as his abode.⁴⁵

When our spirit is in tune with Dao, our spirit is everywhere – it fills all of creation – and then we have focus. We become aware of everything, down to the smallest insect or hair.

That is when we are empty of self and desire. But when we are caught up with desires and attachments, we are out of tune, and our spirit leaves its station. Thus, when “there is no place that the spirit does not fill,” then there is nowhere and nothing that we are not aware of. The man of dé, who values the Dao and is empty of self, can focus his attention on the tip of a hair or, equally, on the vast cosmos.

This is the person we call the sage, the real or perfect man; he is humble, whole, and follows the natural course of wu-wei. He is in harmony with Dao. But the person who is not in touch with the Dao – not following his dé, his inner nature – is always inappropriate. He is like an insane person, stumbling through life. Why? “Because his body and spirit have lost their position.”⁴⁶ When the spirit dominates, all is well. He has integrity. But when the body is in control, the spirit will be harmed. When the body is in control, then lust, desire, pride, and greed dominate him, and his spirit is increasingly squandered; eventually he will lose touch with his inner self.

The passage below describes the person whose spirit is his master. He is the sage, the real man; he nurtures his spirit. He rises and falls with Dao. But the greedy person, under the influence of desire, squanders his spirit; it roams far from home, attaching itself to the external world, without returning to its center. The natural way is for the spirit to go out and return. If it doesn’t return, he has no centre or pivot to link him with Dao. The sage, the person governed by his inner nature, his dé, detached from the external world, is not disturbed by the myriad transformations of the created realm of beings.

Thus, where the spirit is master,
the body will go on to be benefited,
But with the body in control,
the spirit will go on to be harmed.
Because a covetous and avaricious person
Is submerged in power and profit
And is engrossed in the desire
for reputation and position,
And he hopes against hope
that by means of surpassing cleverness
He can establish a high reputation in the world,
His spirit is squandered day by day,
and goes increasingly far afield.

If for a long time it wanders too far from home
without coming back,
The body will shut its apertures
and resist from within,
and there will be no way for the spirit to gain entry….

Hence, the sage nurtures his spirit,
harmonizes and retains the fluency of his qi,
calms his body,
and sinks and floats, rises and falls with Dao….

Thus, of the myriad transformations of things,
there is none that he cannot match.
Of the hundred changes of affairs,
there is none to which he cannot respond.⁴⁷

Living in Harmony with Nature: A Vegetarian Diet
Being true to one’s dé, one’s intrinsic spiritual nature, means living in harmony with Dao, the underlying natural order of life. This is not just an abstract concept. It is a principle that needs to be made concrete, a moral and ethical guidepost for every thought and action. Although Laozi, Zhuangzi, and other Daoist masters have taught the ideal of living in harmony with nature, the way in which society and individuals have translated this principle into action has varied. In general, it means leading a simple, balanced life, causing minimum harm to other creatures, and not indulging in any form of excess. Historically, this has sometimes meant adopting a vegetarian diet, though not always. Yet over the centuries, many Daoist teachers have emphasized the importance of refraining from killing animals and indulging in alcoholic drinks.

Ancient Daoist texts include many prescriptions for austere and healthful diets. Some even forbid the eating of grains, and some suggest eating minerals. Bigu or pigu was the term used for the avoidance of grains and cereals – probably a way of describing practices of fasting. These austerities were intended to help attain spiritual immortality and induce bodily longevity. The prohibited grains are often listed as rice, various types of millet, wheat, and soybeans. The idea was to eat as little as possible in order to preserve health. To that end, herbalists also created a variety of potions and concoctions of minerals and herbs as hunger suppressants, and devised various techniques, such as breathing exercises and swallowing of air, saliva, and special “talismanic water” (water mixed with the ashes of burned talismans), which were believed to contain pure life energy (qi).

For example, in the first chapter of the Zhuangzi, an advanced Daoist shenren (divine person or master) is described as one who “eats none of the five grains (bushi wugu), but inhales the wind and drinks the dew. He mounts the clouds, rides flying dragons, and wanders at ease beyond the four seas.” The adept, nourished and maintained by the spirit, has free access to the spiritual realms, and travels in higher consciousness beyond the confines of the body.

Natural law dictates that one should not kill any living creature. Love for all creatures is considered the mark of a true human being, as emphasized in a fifth-century text of instructions for Daoists:

Maintain your humanity and do not kill. Rather feel sympathy and support for the multitude of living beings. Be compassionate and loving! Reach out, succor, and benefit all.⁴⁸

In the 180 Precepts Spoken by Lord Lao, written in the sixth century, adherents of the Celestial Masters school (Tianshi) are instructed:

Do not kill or injure any being; …
Do not engage in killing;
Do not encourage others to kill; …
Do not fish or hunt
and thereby harm or kill
the multitude of living beings.⁴⁹

Respect for the life of animals extended to an understanding that all animals, including human beings, are creatures of the one Creator. The same scripture enjoined followers to adopt the attitude taught by Laozi. It begins:

Lord Lao said: “The first precept is to abstain from killing….

“The precept to abstain from killing means that you must not kill any living being or anything that contains life energy (qi), be it flying or merely wriggling….

“The precept to abstain from killing … concerns the life energy, which maintains life and induces growth. Those who harm and kill living beings will receive corresponding harm in their own lives.” … Thus, not to kill means that you must not even entertain the idea of killing.⁵⁰

Some people even adopted a practice of capturing and then releasing animals back into the wild, as taught by the Fangsheng (Mercy Release) school. The Precepts of the Three Primes of the fifth-century Lingbao (Spiritual Treasure) school of Daoism synthesized many of the teachings of the Tianshi (Celestial Masters) with Buddhism and Fangsheng. It lists a number of forbidden things:

The sin of killing living creatures; …
The sin of killing or harming
the multitude of living things; …
The sin of slaughtering the six domestic animals
or killing living creatures;
The sin of shooting wild animals or flying birds;
The sin of burning the mountainsides for hunting.⁵¹

Centuries later, in one of the moral stories related in Taishang Ganying Pian (“Chapters on Action and Response”), written in the sixteenth century, a hunting party comes across an old sage, who advises them:

To refrain from injuring all growing things, and from killing whatever is awakening into life, is the part of universal lovingkindness as observed by saints and sages.⁵²

Spiritual and moral guidance also included warnings about the negative consequences of drinking alcohol. The Precept Scripture of the Lord Lao of the Celestial Masters school graphically depicts the descent into immorality that occurs when a person indulges in intoxicating drinks:

Dead drunk, people get into disputes and quarrels, bringing misfortune to their lives and shame on themselves. Lying and cheating, they lose sight of all the principles they should follow. Even stealing from their six relations, they grab from all, not just from strangers. Killing and injuring a multitude of living beings, they are only interested in giving satisfaction to their tongues and stomachs.⁵³

A sixth-century Lingbao text, the Twelve Highest Precepts of Admonition, gives a vivid description of the long-term consequences of drinking alcohol:

People who drink wine may expect three kinds of retribution for their sins:

In this world, they hinder or lose all goodness and connection to the divine law. In future lives, they will be born with a dark and obtuse spirit.

They are crazy and confused in their minds, lacking clarity and radiance. Later they will fall among the bats, lizards, and similar creatures.

Even if they attain human birth again, their conscious minds and inner natures will be mad and deluded, full of evil and folly.⁵⁴

In the early third century, the Celestial Masters school was forced to move from its base in Sichuan province to different parts of the empire. When the movement was revived in the early fifth century, it was more organized, eventually securing state sponsorship. In the year 440, an emperor accepted Daoist initiation, after which vegetarianism was decreed by state law for some years.

Over the centuries numerous Daoist masters have reminded the general populace about the importance of maintaining the balance of nature by refraining from killing animals and eating their meat, including the rare and exotic species of animals that sometimes have been used for medicines as well as food. Yet the custom has persisted into modern times in the mistaken belief that consuming these creatures can extend longevity, increase virility, or get rid of evil spirits.

Dr James Miller, professor of Chinese studies at Queen’s University in Canada, has studied the relationship of ecology and Chinese religion. Miller points out that Daoism has a strong tradition of vegetarianism, especially among Daoist monks and nuns who have long adopted a strict vegetarian diet as part of their ethical code.⁵⁵ In fact, many ancient Chinese sages taught that eating wild animals would cause great harm to the body.

When I met Master Meng in Beijing in 2017, I asked him whether the vegetarian diet was important for Daoists today. He said that today there are very few people who are strict vegetarians like he is, and that his reasons for giving up animal food are very different from modern vegetarian trends, which are not based on spiritual principles. If he ate animal food, it would affect his spiritual practice. He was very clear about this, linking his practice with the basic teachings of Laozi:

We shall not kill. All creatures are equal. So we must not kill our fellow creatures. This is part of the ziran (natural) concept of Laozi.

He added:

There are very few strict vegetarians, even among Buddhists, because there are no strict rules or requirements. They used to be, but not anymore. But for those who are on the Daoist path, even if you ask them to eat meat, they cannot. For example, I can tell if anyone is vegetarian or not, or if the vegetarian food is cooked in woks that are used to cook meat.

I have been a strict vegetarian for 30 years, i.e., no meat, no alcohol, no egg, no dairy, no onions or garlic, including no cigarettes. Onion and garlic is not helpful to the reversal of the physical function of the body. I eat one meal a day or one meal every two days. I carry my own pot and food when I travel. I don’t eat in restaurants or hotels. The reason I don’t eat dairy is because its smell is too strong. The smell of eggs is even stronger.

Asceticism
As we read in Master Meng’s account of his early spiritual seeking, many Chinese Daoists adopt an ascetic, austere lifestyle – living as hermits in the mountains in order to pursue the spiritual path. This way of life has often been idealized in novels and films, but is not the only option Daoist masters advocate for pursuing a spiritual objective. Sometimes, in fact, life as a hermit is seen as a temporary choice to help a person gain inner strength before returning to a life in the world.

I found similar observations in the interviews with Daoist hermits conducted by an American Daoist named Bill Porter, who is also known by his Daoist name, Red Pine. His accounts, collected in his book Road to Heaven: Encounters with Chinese Hermits, confirmed that the approach Master Meng described is widespread among Chinese practitioners.

Porter begins his book by giving an historical view of the role of the hermit in the Chinese Daoist and Buddhist tradition, and then continues with his interviews of several hermits he met as he travelled in the Chungnan (Zhongnan or Taiyi) mountains of southwestern China.

A Daoist monk called Jen told Porter that he had lived as a hermit for fewer than three years. He said:

It was a good experience. Sooner or later all Daoists have to live alone for a period to concentrate on their practice. To practice you have to find a secluded place, at least in the beginning. But the important thing is to learn to still your mind. Once you can do that, you can live anywhere, even in a noisy city.⁵⁶

When Porter asked him if it is necessary to be a monk or nun, Jen responded:

The important thing is to lead an upright life. You don’t have to be a monk or nun to do this. It doesn’t do any good to be a monk or nun if you don’t keep the precepts. What’s important is to keep the precepts. But anyone who leads an upright life does this. This is the basis of practice. The precepts are the demands you place on yourself. Precepts make practice possible. If you don’t make demands on yourself, you won’t get anywhere in your practice.⁵⁷

*	Some Daoist writers use qi (energy) interchangeably with shen (spirit).