《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 68

Among Lao Dan’s disciples was a man named Gengsang Chu. He had received only part of Lao Dan’s Dao, so he went north and settled on Mount Weilei.

Those under him who thought themselves clever left him, and those who prided themselves on their benevolence and virtue kept their distance. He kept around him people of plain character, not especially quick-witted, and had them attend to his affairs. After three years, the area around Mount Weilei had become greatly prosperous.

The local people discussed it among themselves: “When Master Gengsang first arrived, we thought he was extraordinary. Now, if we count day by day, his gains seem small; but over the course of a year, there is a surplus. He must be a sage. Why don’t we honor him together as a worthy man and offer sacrifices to him?”

When Gengsang Chu heard this, he sat facing south, looking unsettled. His disciples thought it strange. Gengsang Chu said, “Why do you find this strange? In spring, the power of life stirs, and all the plants grow; in autumn, all things ripen and yield their harvest. Did spring and autumn deliberately do something to make all things turn out this way? It is simply the workings of the Dao of Heaven. I have heard that the Perfected Person dwells at ease in a tiny room, while the people go about their own activities naturally, unaware of who guides them. Now these ordinary people of Mount Weilei secretly want to count me among the worthy and offer sacrifices to me. Am I someone who draws attention and is meant to be looked up to? For this reason, I still cannot let go of Lao Dan’s teachings.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “‘Huaran’ means deliberately displaying cleverness; ‘qieran’ means priding oneself on benevolence and virtue. ‘Yongzhong’ describes a plain and slow-witted manner; ‘yangzhang’ describes a restrained and rigid manner. At first, the people thought Gengsang Chu extraordinary because he rejected clever contrivances and let their simple, unpolished nature take its course. Later, they came to understand that those who accord with the natural changes of the four seasons do not seek immediate results. Spring growth and autumn harvest both follow the natural Dao; they are not the result of deliberate action. The Perfected Person is as still as a corpse, while the people naturally go about their own affairs; they are not guided by his clever methods. That is why he did not want to become someone held up for public admiration. Laozi said that once a task is accomplished, the people all say, ‘We did it ourselves.’ The people of Mount Weilei acted in exactly the opposite way, and so Gengsang Chu felt uneasy.”

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “Lao Dan’s Dao calls for cutting off contrived benevolence and virtue and casting aside showy wisdom; it does not praise the worthy and capable. This does not mean governing by displaying the people’s cleverness or deliberately making them ignorant. Those under Gengsang Chu who thought themselves benevolent and clever all left or kept their distance. Only the plain, slow-witted, restrained, and rigid remained. The people of Mount Weilei followed Gengsang Chu’s Dao, stopped troubling themselves with clever contrivances, and focused solely on their clothing, food, and livelihood. As a result, the region prospered. This is precisely what Gengsang Chu did.”

These words are enough to make people see and hear things anew, so they seem extraordinary. Lao Dan’s Dao works through Wuwei (non-action) and natural self-fulfillment. Its results may appear slight in the short term, but over the long term they are more than sufficient. Matters such as offering sacrifices to the soil and grain deities are handled by rulers and heads of clans. Here, the people want to honor a worthy person and make him a leader whom everyone reveres.

The four seasons follow their course through nature, yet the myriad things do not know why. The sage is like this too: he dwells in stillness, and the people do not know where he is headed, yet they naturally come to him and place their trust in him. Now the people of Mount Weilü want to treat me with sacrificial vessels, placing me among the worthy. As the saying goes, “One cannot keep people from finding someone to rely on.” Can I really not refuse, and instead consent to become a model for everyone to follow?

Lin Yidu’s commentary: The myriad things receive their life from Heaven and are therefore subject to Heaven’s control; the people receive their mandate from the ruler and are therefore at the ruler’s service; disciples learn from their teacher and are therefore subject to the teacher’s direction. Heaven causes the myriad things to grow and then causes them to die. The ruler sets the people to work and also provides them with material support. The teacher has disciples study and also teaches them the Dao. All who accept a command or instruction inevitably serve someone. Thus, when the state of Chu studied under Lao Dan, Lao Dan too said that he was being put to service. Lao Dan did not favor Chu in particular. Chu obtained Lao Dan’s Dao because its people were able to fulfill and realize their own nature.

Mount Weilü appears in the “Tribute of Yu,” a chapter of the Book of Documents, and also in the Scripture of the Cavernous Mystery. The local ministers and people chose those who were simple and honest, rejecting the clever and calculating, as well as those who made a show of benevolence and righteousness. They gave places to people with no talent or use, and assigned duties to ministers who were unfit for office. After three years, the harvest was abundant, and the people all found this extraordinary. This way of governing had no striking effects in the short term, hence the saying, “By the day, it seems insufficient”; but it brought lasting results, hence, “By the year, it is more than enough.”

Transformed by his De, the people wanted him to sit facing south and govern, and to honor him with the rites used for sacrifices to the soil and grain deities. This means the same as wanting to entrust the whole world to Laozi. Spring comes and the myriad things grow; autumn comes and they ripen. The Dao of nature runs its course, yet people do not know why. To say that he “dwells like a corpse” means that he is still and practices Wuwei; to say that he lives in a humble hut means that his dwelling is exceedingly plain. The people admire him fervently and come of their own accord to place their trust in him, without understanding the reason.

Now the people of Mount Weilü want to honor me with ritual vessels and place me among the worthy. That amounts to treating me as an implement for public use. A “ladle” is a small utensil, handy for everyone to use. If I became such an implement, I would go against Lao Dan’s teaching, and so I cannot be at ease with it.

Bixu Chen Jingyuan’s commentary: He is said to have especially grasped Lao Dan’s Dao because he understood its principles most deeply. For this reason, he did not value strategy or benevolence and righteousness, but was willing to be like a useless lump, unfit for any purpose.

Among those who looked awkward and found themselves in difficult circumstances, there were people who could remain content and at ease. Gengsang Chu was willing to spend time with them, so he was startled at first, but later his mind grew calm.

The people grew prosperous, and their customs and morals became steadily more generous. Gengsang Chu’s De (Virtue/Power) also deepened day by day. The people wanted to honor him with the rites used to sacrifice to the spirits of the soil and grain, but he could not feel at ease with this. He thought that doing so still left traces of human contrivance. The turning of the four seasons follows the natural order: no commands are given, yet everything proceeds on its own. What merit could I claim in this? So he stayed still, like a ritual figure, and withdrew into obscurity. The people had no way of knowing him. Could he really be willing to serve as everyone’s model? If he accepted their sacrifices, it would mean that I had failed to understand my teacher’s words and was deliberately going against his instruction.

Liu Gai quotes the Laozi: “When the work is accomplished and the task completed, the people all say, ‘We did it ourselves, naturally.’” Yet the people of Weilei wanted to sacrifice to Gengsang Chu. This suggests that the people of Chu had perhaps not yet understood the Dao (the Way) well enough. I have also heard that when a person has truly achieved something, and others offer him recognition, he refuses to accept it; if he accepts it instead, disaster will follow. Now we hear that the people wished to honor Gengsang Chu, yet he could not feel at ease. This suggests that the people of Chu had perhaps not yet understood the principle of following the course of all things. I have also heard that Yao did not deliberately bestow kindness on others, nor did he seek to be regarded as benevolent. His De endured for thousands of years, but what people could see were only the traces he had left behind. From this, it seems that Gengsang Chu’s Dao had reached Wuwei (non-action), but had not yet reached the point of doing everything without effort.

Lin’s Yanzhai Kouyi explains: “‘Yongzhong’ and ‘yangzhang’ describe an awkward, ungainly appearance; ‘sa-ran’ means free and unrestrained, unlike ordinary people. ‘An annual surplus’ means that, though there may be little gain in any given year, benefit accumulates over time. ‘Shi-zhu’ refers to honoring someone with sacrifices to the spirits of the soil and grain.” This passage vividly portrays Gengsang Chu’s unwillingness to accept sacrifice. “Unable to feel at ease” describes unease and unhappiness. “Heaven truly brought it about; the Way of Heaven has already run its course” means that all this was brought about by Heaven’s Way, an expression of nature acting without intention. “Not knowing where to go” means not knowing where one might turn, and implies forgetting the world and being forgotten by it. A “shao” is a small vessel; here it means that he was small and easy to see, which is why people came to know him. Buddhists say, “My practice is too weak; the spirits have seen through me.” Gengsang Chu could not put his mind at ease about Lao Dan’s words because he feared he had failed his teacher’s instruction, and so he was unhappy.

Chu’s Guanzhen says: Sima Qian wrote the name as “Kangsang,” and it is also written “Kangcang.” Gengsangzi was one of the schools among the Masters. The Tang dynasty bestowed on him the title “Author of the True Scripture of Mysterious Inspiration.” The text attributed to Gengsangzi says that he lived on the summit of Mount Yu. He Can’s commentary says that Mount Yu is in Xuzhou. The Weilei in the Zhuangzi refers to his plain, awkward appearance. “Hua-ran” and “qie-ran” both describe things that show themselves outwardly. If one deliberately displays benevolence, righteousness, and cleverness without knowing how to conceal them, one will invite the resentment of those who lack benevolence and wisdom, and calamity will readily follow. Gengsang Chu therefore preferred to spend time with slow-witted, simple people, among whom no one schemed or calculated. As customs grew generous and the people prosperous, in time they gladly accepted his teaching and wished to honor him. Calculated by the day, it seemed to bring no gain; calculated by the year, it yielded a surplus.

I used to think that accumulating fine threads could weave into silk—that layer of reasoning Gengsang Chu did not accept. He worried that if the people attached themselves to him, they would become his burden instead. Spring growth and autumn ripening are outcomes of the Dao’s natural course; in an age of great peace, how would ordinary people know whose merit it was? Yet now I am placed among the “worthy” and held up for praise. Though I do not consider myself worthy, others still honor me—as if someone had set up a wooden ladle here and drawn arrows and stones toward it. How could I agree to act that way? So Gengsang Chu lived on Mount Weilei: he reined himself in, but not deeply enough to stay hidden; he failed to make people forget him entirely. Better to be like Liezi, who lived in the gardens of Zheng—blending with nature and leaving no trace.

A disciple said: “That is mistaken. A small ditch cannot hold a large fish at full stretch, yet it suits minnows and loach. A hill a few zhang high cannot shelter a huge beast, yet it suits a little fox. Honoring the worthy and employing the capable, putting good conduct and benefit first—Yao and Shun acted thus from antiquity; how much more the people of Mount Weilei? Master, you should heed their pleas.”

Gengsang Chu said: “Child, come here. A great beast that could fill a chariot, once it dons armor and leaves the forest, cannot escape nets and snares. A fish big enough to swallow a boat, once it leaps from the water and loses water’s protection, can be harmed even by ants. Therefore birds and beasts do not disdain high mountains; fish and turtles do not disdain deep water. One who would preserve body and life should likewise hide deep and far.

“What is there to praise in those two? What they did in word and debate was like recklessly breaking through a wall and planting tangles of wormwood and weeds. Counting hair strand by strand, counting rice grain by grain—busying oneself with petty minutiae—how could that heal the age? Elevate the worthy and the people will tear at one another; rely on cleverness and the people will deceive one another. Merely tallying goods cannot make the people rich, yet they chase profit with fierce zeal. Then sons kill fathers and ministers kill lords; theft happens in broad daylight, and at noon people break through walls to steal.

“I tell you: the root of great disorder must arise in the age of Yao and Shun, and the fruit of that disorder will linger a thousand years hence. A thousand years from now, people will surely devour one another.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary explains: The disciple thought that a person of great virtue ought to receive ample stipends, and therefore urged the master to accept the people’s honor. Gengsang Chu replied that only by keeping far from profit and avoiding harm can one preserve oneself; to plunge into fame and gain is shallow—even fish and turtles know better how to hide. “Those two” means Yao and Shun. Gengsang Chu held that praising them would make later generations drill holes at random and plant confusion; counting hairs one by one and grains of rice one by one are ways of chasing profit as small as a knife-tip. Guo Xiang then discusses the principle of returning the myriad things to undifferentiated unity.

What people do can only provide temporary relief for the problems at hand. If they go against their nature, simply waiting for things to correct themselves will not work.

If even honoring what is genuine and unadorned is not enough to make people understand, they will next turn toward hypocrisy. What difference is there between seeking a livelihood through hypocritical practices and being a thief? When the people devote themselves entirely to pursuing profit, they have no time left for anything else. These ills arose because people followed the traces of the governance left by Yao and Shun, then embellished and promoted them.

Lü’s Commentary: Lao Dan (Laozi) believed that what is fundamental is essential, while external things are coarse; the more one accumulates, the more inadequate one becomes. People should remain detached and self-contained, in harmony with the spirits alone. Gengsang Chu of Chu understood Lao Dan’s Dao, so he did not disdain seclusion in a remote place. His De was profound and hidden; he did not imitate the practices left by Yao and Shun, nor did he make a point of putting those practices into effect.

To judge Yao and Shun’s governance from the standpoint of the root, before the myriad things had even begun, is like taking apart a wall and planting mugwort: it is neither fitting nor useful. Only by following the natural nature of the myriad things, and daring not to act presumptuously, can one act simply and effectively. Otherwise, one is like counting hairs and grains of rice, tallying trivial details. How could such petty accounting suffice to save the world?

The sage governs the world so that the people have neither a cunning mind nor excessive desires. Judged by the methods of governance left by Yao and Shun, they promoted the worthy and employed the clever, but in the end this led people to scheme against and deceive one another. Clearly, talent and cleverness can fuel desire and affect the people’s nature, and disorder arises from this.

Yidu’s Commentary: A disciple asked: “Those with De are honored and given high rank; those with ability are employed and given responsibilities. Yao and Shun governed the world in this way, so how much more must this apply to the ordinary people beneath Mount Weilü, who have been transformed by Gengsang Chu’s De?”

The reply was: “Fish and birds do not shun high places and deep waters, for these keep them from harm. People who wish to preserve their lives and hide from danger should likewise not shun remote and secluded places. Yao and Shun, as realized beings, appeared in the world to respond to its affairs. The traces of governance they left behind were no more than dust and chaff from the bodies of realized beings. Why should they be so highly praised?

“Although the two men’s arguments were skillful, they did not follow the principles of nature and life. Their methods were still like taking apart a wall and planting mugwort: unfitting. ‘Counting hairs and grains of rice’ means acting with an eye only to petty calculations. Yao and Shun’s De was lofty, but it gradually departed from the natural and turned toward human contrivance. Zhuangzi criticized the traces of governance they left behind to prevent later generations from following that path into its ills.

“Zhuangzi worried that the people would scheme against one another, so he did not exalt the worthy, lest people become competitive. He also worried that they would steal from one another, so he did not deliberately promote sagehood and cleverness; he believed this would instead benefit the people a hundredfold. Standards such as worthiness, ability, and cleverness cannot truly make the people’s lives prosperous. They may instead set those above and below against one another in a struggle for gain. Some people even kept busy through midday, boring through walls and digging tunnels to steal, with no time for anything else. These ills were all thought to stem from the lingering influence of Yao and Shun’s way of governing. People abhor beasts devouring one another; how much more so when people devour one another?”

Bixu’s Commentary: Murky ditches are places where ordinary fish gather, but dragons and giant whales do not swim there; hills…

Foxes are skilled in places where tigers and rhinoceroses would not linger. Thus, the more De is displayed and exalted, the harder it becomes to hide the troubles of the world. A good reputation and material gain readily invite harm; this is a common occurrence. Only those with lofty aims and a hidden way of life are less easily troubled by gain and loss and can preserve themselves. Such a person is worthy of praise.

Yang Zhu was skilled at distinguishing the worthy from the foolish, but this would destroy people’s natural simplicity. To be as exacting as counting grains of rice or combing each strand of hair is to lose one’s undivided, original nature. The sage does not promote reputations for worthiness or govern the people through cleverness and artifice. This keeps the people simple and prevents anyone from using such things to usurp or steal power. Those who rely on their own cleverness plan only for success in the present. How could they foresee the failures that lie ahead?

The Yanzhai Commentary on the Meaning (Yanzhai’s explanation of the text) says: Loaches and foxes, though small and weak, can each claim a place in a ditch or on a hill. This means that places, large or small, each have something worthy of respect. When someone is capable and worthy, others will naturally respect them. Now the people of Weilei are glad to honor the worthy and capable, so Confucius need only follow their wishes. But when animals leave the mountains and forests, or fish leave the water, they are easily harmed. This is a metaphor for how making one’s reputation prominent in the world can also harm oneself. “Jie” means to stand apart from the crowd; “dang” is the same as “dang,” meaning to clear away. To use Yao and Shun as grounds for argument is like tearing down a wall and then planting weeds in its place; it makes no sense. “To toil greatly for gain” means to struggle hard to make a living. “Digging through walls” means making holes in them to steal.

The disciple believes that honoring the worthy and elevating the good is a principle handed down by Yao and Shun, and that the people of Weilei are not wrong to put it into practice. The reply is that the Perfected Person knows how to conceal himself and does not mind hiding far away, in a place obscure and unseen. Like a dragon lying hidden in the depths, he can then reveal his miraculous power.

Yao and Shun inherited the imperial throne and became rulers. Their achievements and well-ordered government depended on benevolence and righteousness. On the surface, there seems to be nothing to criticize. But the Nanhua True Scripture (the Zhuangzi) takes Laozi’s teachings as its guiding principle and advocates setting aside benevolence and righteousness. So, when it honors Dao and De while lowering the standing of benevolence and righteousness, it makes Yao and Shun its chief targets of criticism in order to trace the problem to its source. Readers should grasp the author’s main point and not be distracted by incidental remarks.

Thus, the scripture says: To use Yao and Shun as grounds for argument is like planting mugwort and gathering weeds—it is wasted effort. How could it heal the world? Benevolence, righteousness, and wisdom are all things the people of the world esteem; they believe these can be used to govern the world well. But if they are not guided by the Dao, and people merely copy their outward forms, abuses and evils will proliferate. The result will be far worse than people simply fighting and stealing from one another. Once social customs have grown shallow and people pursue private gain without restraint, ministers will no longer keep to their duties, and rulers and fathers will no longer command respect. Betrayals of human relationships and violations of reason may then arise in every form. Gengsang Chu refused the people of Weilei’s praise because he saw the root of the trouble in it.

If the roots are secured before anything shows signs of taking shape, how could troubles in the world ever find their way to you?

Nang Rongchu, uneasy and self-conscious, sat up straight and said, “At my age, I am already old. Where can I begin my practice so that I may grasp these words?”

Gengsangzi replied, “Preserve your body, guard your life, and do not let your thoughts churn on like this. After three years, you will be able to grasp these words.”

Nang Rongchu said, “I do not know what distinguishes the eyes from the body, yet a blind person cannot see with their own eyes. I do not know what distinguishes the ears from the body, yet a deaf person cannot hear with their own ears. I do not know what distinguishes the mind from the body, yet a deranged person cannot be at peace with themselves. Bodies themselves also differ from one another. Perhaps something external comes between them and keeps them apart? They may wish to connect, yet be unable to do so. Now you tell me to preserve my body and guard my life, and not let my thoughts become chaotic. I have tried hard to listen to the Dao, and my ears have heard it; but I fear it will be difficult to truly understand it.”

Gengsangzi said, “I have finished what I have to say.” Then he added, “A gadfly cannot produce a hornet, and a Yue chicken cannot hatch a swan’s egg, but a Lu chicken can. The nature of one chicken does not differ from that of another; some can do it and some cannot because their innate capacities vary in degree. My ability is not enough to transform you. Why not go south to visit Laozi?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Preserving the body” means keeping to one’s proper place and not extending one’s life beyond it. Eyes resemble eyes, ears resemble ears, and minds resemble minds, yet what they can do differs; there is no need to force one to imitate another. When two bodies each have their own openings but cannot communicate, this shows that something stands between them. “My ears have heard it” means that Nang Rongchu had long since heard of the Dao. But a barrier seems to stand between the body and the Dao, making transformation difficult.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: The sage’s virtue is so high that even Yao and Shun need not be his models. This is not because he has accumulated anything, but because he has reached the utmost. So where can one begin one’s practice in order to grasp these words? The answer is that people need only preserve their bodies and guard their lives. Why regard external things as troubles? Once the eyes and ears are drawn by sights and sounds, the nose and mouth by smells and flavors, and the mind is made a servant of external things, the body is harmed and life cannot remain secure. Thoughts then churn without end, and one cannot help being affected by external things. Only by preserving the body, guarding life, and keeping thoughts from becoming chaotic can the mind be at peace. Then how could so-called sage wisdom and benevolence and righteousness remain in the mind?

When the eyes and ears do not distinguish sounds and sights, and the mind does not distinguish right from wrong, people call this deafness, blindness, and madness. As for… (The original text ends here.)

One who has attained the Dao does not presume to have seen anything, as though blind; does not presume to have heard anything, as though deaf; and does not presume to have gained anything, as though mad. The difference between a sage and a mad person lies only in whether one clings to thoughts. My body and the bodies of others are naturally equipped to preserve the spirit, and the spirit has no fixed boundaries. If so, how could there be a way that can only be closed and never opened? People seek one another but cannot connect because something external stands between them. Although Jianwu, a figure in the text, says he has not heard the Great Dao, his understanding is already unlike that of ordinary people. He simply has not yet taken Cangwu Chu’s words truly to heart.

The Yidu Commentary explains: Jianwu worried that Cangwu Chu’s Dao was difficult to attain, so he asked what one should rely on to establish oneself and what one should do. Cangwu Chu replied that preserving the body and safeguarding life is like what the Laozi calls “embracing the One with the corporeal soul”—holding body and spirit together as one. Only by preserving the body, safeguarding the spirit, concentrating on Qi until it becomes gentle, and letting go of thought and worry can one achieve this.

Jianwu had not yet understood Cangwu Chu’s meaning. He thought that although the body is a whole, the ears, eyes, and mind cannot work together. Looking at the deaf, the blind, and the mad, he therefore assumed that the ears, eyes, and mind each differ from the body. How could he know that deafness, blindness, and madness might also enable people to preserve body and spirit? My body and the bodies of others are open to the world: they encounter external things and perceive all kinds of principles. Sometimes external things get in the way, causing people to meet and clash; they try to understand one another but cannot connect. This is the harm caused by the “six thieves,” the six sensory desires that disturb body and mind. Jianwu knew he had not yet transformed to the state Cangwu Chu described; he was merely trying, by force, to hear and understand.

“奔蜂” and “越鸡” serve as metaphors for Jianwu’s limited abilities: he cannot grow from the small to the great. They are meant to help him see the Laozi’s idea of “transforming through greatness”—attaining a state of expansive transformation and free understanding.

The Bixu Commentary explains: Jianwu asked what one could rely on to establish oneself after abandoning worthiness and knowledge. Cangwu Chu replied that removing the belief in one’s own worthiness preserves the body, while forgetting cleverness and calculation safeguards life. Opening the mind and spirit and cleansing away distractions: these words already answer the question. The mind may have a guiding principle without clinging to it, so even when regarded as mad, one does not presume to have gained anything. When the six senses compete with one another, external things find an opening to enter. Mere surface-level hearing can never lead to understanding; only insight of the spirit brings complete comprehension. How could a little pool in a cow’s hoofprint give rise to a Kun fish or a Peng bird? How could a beehive produce fledgling eagles or falcons? Such is the way of things. Cangwu Chu declined to answer Jianwu’s question because he wanted to rein in his own extravagant words to protect himself, and to attribute the highest principle to Lao Dan.

The Yanzhai Commentary explains: The human mind, ears, and eyes are all naturally open, but a mad person cannot know what they have gained, just as deaf people and blind people have not heard or seen. My body and the bodies of others are naturally open and unobstructed, yet now they are cut off from one another by material desires…

The mind cannot reach the mind by searching for it with the mind; the two cannot truly connect. Gengsang Chu taught me not to let thoughts scatter in every direction or to scheme with the mind, but simply to make an effort to listen for the Dao. Perhaps then I might attain understanding. The parable of the “rushing bee” and the “Yue chicken” makes the same point as what has been said above.

Chen Chu had heard that the “Perfect Person”—a person of high attainment who has realized the Dao—conceals himself and withdraws from the world, finding no difficulty in dwelling in remote and hidden places. He asked what kind of cultivation would make this truly possible. Gengsang Chu taught him to preserve his body and keep it from harm, to guard his life and keep it from being scattered, and to forget thoughts and cut off distractions. If he kept up this practice for a thousand days, perhaps he would succeed. The earlier advice to honor the worthy and draw near to the good requires striving and scheming; in the end, it harms the body and turns one away from life’s root.

Chen Chu still did not understand, so he voiced his doubts: the eyes and the body belong to one whole, yet a blind person cannot see himself. The relation of the ears and the mind to the body is similar: the deaf cannot hear, and those in a state of confusion cannot grasp themselves.

Lianshu then said: Is it only the body that can be deaf or blind? Human understanding, too, can be deaf and blind. Chen Chu’s question now does not arise from deafness or blindness of the body; his understanding is obscured. That is why Gengsang Chu must take pains to guide him. Once the body is open and responsive, awakening can emerge: one’s own form and the forms of others can all open to one another, and there is no barrier between us and external things. But when external things enter the mind and take command, what is called “I” becomes their guest.

Seeking one another yet failing to connect is like what the disciples of Confucius said: “When the Master spoke of human nature and the Way of Heaven, we could not understand.” If they could understand one another, it would be as Zhuangzi says: Zigong understands me, and I understand the fish. Though Chen Chu followed his teacher’s instruction and strove to listen for the Dao and attain understanding, he had not yet truly grasped it in his heart.

At this point, Gengsang Chu had no other ingenious method. He sent Chen Chu to seek instruction from someone who had attained the Dao, so that he might awaken as soon as possible; then, perhaps, all his doubts would be resolved. Here we can see Gengsang Chu’s De: he did not blame his disciple for being difficult to teach, and he could also judge the limits of his own ability as a teacher. He therefore taught widely and gladly nurtured his disciples, helping them develop their abilities.

Collected Subtle Commentaries on the True Classic of Nanhua, juan 70