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Chapter 12 of 35
周易参同契
When lead powder (white lead) is cast into fire, its color is destroyed, yet it reverts to lead; when ice and snow meet warm water, they melt and transform into the water of primal mystery. Gold takes cinnabar as its root, and unites with quicksilver. The transformation of all things is determined by their true nature; from beginning to end, they are mutually dependent. One who seeks to achieve the Immortal of Inner Elixir should nourish with things of the same kind. To plant grain, one must use grain seeds; to hatch chicks, one must use eggs. When like kinds complement each other in accord with the natural Way, things are easily accomplished and refined. How could a fish eye pass for a pearl? Wormwood can never grow into fine timber. Things of the same kind are mutually dependent; when principles diverge, they cannot produce treasures. Swallows and sparrows do not give birth to phoenixes; foxes and hares do not suckle fine steeds. Water by nature flows downward and does not burn upward; fire by nature flares upward and does not moisten below.
There are many scholars in the world — men of lofty talent and self-regarded brilliance — who, failing to encounter true transmission, waste their fire-phasing and lose their resources. They rely on texts and force interpretations, speculating idly to guide their cultivation. Their threads have no origin, their measures lose all grip. Some refine with Ganshi realgar, mica, alum, and magnetite; some burn sulfur and Phoebe wood, mixing them with clay to smelt. They fan the bellows to refine the five-stone bronze, taking this as their pivotal art. Yet mixed natures are not of the same kind — how could they consent to dwell together? A thousand attempts must yield ten thousand failures; what began as cleverness turns to folly. From youth to grey hair, in mid-course doubts inevitably arise. Turning from the Way, they cling to delusion; leaving the straight path, they step onto crooked trails. It is like peering at heaven through a tube — the view is narrow, and the path ahead is hard to measure.
This chapter's central thrust is to articulate a foundational proposition: Like kinds follow one another; unlike kinds do not unite. The author weaves a chain of analogies from everyday experience to the principles of cultivation: lead powder returns to lead, ice and snow turn to water, grain seeds yield grain, eggs yield chicks — all are manifestations of "things returning to their kind, natures following their root." Conversely, a fish eye is no pearl, wormwood is no timber, swallows are no phoenixes, foxes and hares beget no steeds — these are iron laws that unlike kinds do not engender one another.
In the context of Inner Alchemy, "like kind" refers to the true nature of life and the primal qi, not to post-natal composite substances. Through this, the author criticizes those who blindly refine various minerals in hopes of forcibly uniting "unlike kinds" — a method of External Alchemy — and points out that the root of its "a thousand attempts, ten thousand failures" lies in violating the heavenly principle that "kindred things follow one another." In a word: cultivation must accord with one's true nature, not act against it recklessly.
The principle of "like kinds following one another" retains formidable explanatory power today. In personal growth, the mistake we often make is precisely that of the "scholars" the text condemns — possessing knowledge and talent, yet squandering fire and resources through misplaced methods. For example, filling inner emptiness with external accumulation, shaping one's life with the success templates of others, or substituting fragmented information scattershot for systematic practice — these are all forced unions of "unlike kinds."
In an age of information overload, many are obsessed with the "elixir-refining" shortcut: hoarding courses, chasing trends, imitating viral hits — all while neglecting their own true temperament and gifts. The result is often "cleverness turned to folly" — the harder one rushes down shortcuts, the further astray one goes. This chapter reminds us: return to your own "kind" — what you love, what you excel at, what you truly need — these are the very foundation of achievement.
This chapter's most direct lesson for modern readers: recognize your own "kind," and hold fast to your own "nature." Concretely:
The arts of sitting in forgetfulness (releasing attachments and discriminatory thought) and heart-fasting (purifying the inner self, emptying to await the world) are precisely the inner pathways that lead us back to our "like kind."
This chapter touches upon a profound philosophical question: the relationship between identity and change. Lead powder cast into fire returns to lead; ice and snow meeting warmth become water. These seem like changes, yet "beginning and end are mutually dependent" — within the change there is an unchanging "true" nature holding sway. This implies an ontological stance: the transformations of all things are not random or disjointed, but governed by an inner nature.
This flows from the Daoist principle of "the Way follows what is naturally so": true naturalness is not laissez-faire, but allowing things to unfold according to their inherent being. Applied to the human realm, non-action (wu wei) is not inaction, but non-arbitrary action — refraining from doing what violates one's own nature and the principles of things. This wisdom of "knowing when to stop" appears especially rare and precious amid the fragmented, anxious condition of contemporary life.
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Further Reading:
This content is based on classical Daoist texts and is provided solely for traditional culture study and life reflection. It does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice.