Commentary on the Dao De Jing (X): Can One Load the Soul and Embrace the One Without Separating?
As for “loading the soul and embracing the one,” yingpo (营魄) means hun and po—the soul and the spirit-body. The so-called “loading” means to carry and bear. Ancient tradition held that if the hun and po do not separate from the human body, then even after death the seven po can still attend and serve, and the three hun can still guard the dwelling, and flesh and blood can all regenerate. But to practice this method, one must first permanently fix the hun and po. In practicing the way of loading the soul and embracing the one—can one always maintain the visualization, not parting by even a hair’s breadth, reaching the point of acting freely and never separating? There are also those who specially refine qi to attain softness—practitioners of qi alone, for whom long practice can make the skin tender and fallen teeth regrow—but can one truly become like an infant? There are also those who take the heart as a mirror; in antiquity the character lan (览) was interchangeable with jian (鉴), and jian means mirror. The dark mirror is the inner light of the heart, a metaphysical mirror that can illuminate and inspect things, hence called “dark mirror.” Excluding stray thoughts and cultivating the way of utmost stillness and refinement—can one cultivate to a state utterly without blemish? There are also those who practice the way of loving the people and governing the state—can one govern to the point of needing no stratagems or techniques of power, of being at peace without relying on clever calculations? There are also those who open and close the heavenly gate—though they can open and close it, can they nurture the myriad things? There are also those whose bright understanding reaches in all four directions—meaning abundant knowledge and nothing unknown—but can this truly know everything? Like heaven and earth, begetting and nurturing the myriad things, and yet because of this not claiming them as their own; though performing great works, not relying on this to demand anything—this is called “presiding without being a master.” The elder does not take it upon himself to command, and this is called profound virtue.
This chapter actually has a meaning close to Chapter 9, in which “Holding and filling is not as good as stopping in time; sharpening and pointing cannot long be kept; gold and jade filling the hall, none can guard them; wealth and honor with pride, one brings one’s own blame. When the work is done and one withdraws—that is the way of Heaven.” This indicates the way of Heaven; and in this passage, with “begetting them, nurturing them, begetting without possessing, acting without relying on them, presiding without being a master—this is called profound virtue,” the Dao of Heaven is linked with profound virtue.
This great virtue lies in its sage intent. In mythology, for example, Pangu opened heaven and earth, his body transforming into the myriad things of heaven and earth; or Nüwa fashioned humans from clay—thus accomplishing “begetting without possessing, acting without relying, presiding without being a master,” and therefore receiving the reverence of the myriad people, who paid them worship. Again, Laozi wrote the Dao De Jing (originally the De Jing and the Dao Jing), and Confucus possessed vast learning and transformed the masses. The reason sages are called sages is that the purpose of their lives was not to seek their own benefit.
What good does doing this bring? If one does it for benefit, that is again wrong. The Dao of Heaven moves of itself; to accord with the Dao of Heaven, one must first accomplish these things—and only when these are accomplished can one be non-active yet leave nothing undone. But though one can be non-active yet leave nothing undone, one must not take that as a goal, for then one is seeking something.
So though it is called attaining the Dao, in reality nothing is attained; though nothing is attained, one has attained the Dao. This subtlety requires careful contemplation.
Seeking partial things—even if accumulated in great quantity, they can hardly form a comprehensive whole. This also tells us the mode of thought for dealing with things. If one tries to accumulate knowledge from piece by piece of fragments, it is very hard to form a holistic understanding. To know things, one should consider starting directly from the origin, sketching out a general framework, and then continuously filling in within it—only this is the correct way.
And when filling in, one must do it thoroughly—as in “concentrating qi to attain softness, can one be like an infant?” If one specially practices qi, one should be able truly to return to youth, like an infant—and only then is it correct. If one cannot, then there is a problem with the method, or with one’s original understanding, and so one cannot do it.
Modes of thinking play a very important role in solving problems. For example, modern people know the concept of proportion; when measuring the distance between two things far apart, one can use direct projection, transform them into a small region for calculation, then convert by the ratio to compute the answer. But without such a mode of thinking, one would have to measure both places directly, which becomes extremely difficult.
As for the mode of thought toward all things in the world, the closest approach is to study how heaven, earth, and nature themselves evolve: heaven, earth, and nature beget and nurture, without claiming credit, and do not think that everything they create belongs to them. If a person cultivates, they should be like heaven, earth, and the myriad things—not merely taking, but considering how to give.
Such giving, like heaven, earth, and nature’s giving, should at the same time not hold any utilitarian purpose—only then can one become one with heaven and earth.