Geng Sang Chu

Geng Sang Chu

Among the disciples of Lao Dan there was a man named Geng Sang Chu, who had attained in a singular way the Way of Lao Dan, and went north to dwell on the mountain of Wei Lei. Of his retainers, those who displayed their knowledge and prudence he dismissed; of his concubines, those who clung to their benevolence he kept at a distance. He lived with the coarse and lumpish, and employed only the bustling and careless. After three years, Wei Lei had a great harvest. The people of Wei Lei said to one another, "When Geng Sang Zi first came among us, we thought him strange. Now, when we reckon by days, we find him insufficient; but when we reckon by years, we find him more than enough. He must be nearly a sage! Why should we not make him the object of our offerings, and establish him as our presiding spirit?" Geng Sang Zi heard this, and facing south, he was not at ease. His disciples were surprised at this. Geng Sang Zi said, "Why are you surprised at me? When the spring qi arises, the hundred grasses are born; and when autumn arrives, the myriad fruits ripen. But do spring and autumn accomplish this without cause? It is the operation of the Heavenly Way. I have heard that the Perfect Man dwells in a tiny room, yet the people run wild, not knowing where they wish to go. Now these petty people of Wei Lei wish to make offerings to me and set me among the worthies. Am I then to be the standard? This is why I cannot rest easy in the words of Lao Dan."

His disciple said, "Not so. In an ordinary ditch, a great fish has no room to turn his body, but the loach and the minnow can manage themselves there; on a hill of a few paces, a great beast has no room to hide his form, but the fox and the weasel can take shelter there. Again, to honor the worthy and employ the capable, to give precedence to the good and benefit the people—this has been the practice since the days of Yao and Shun, and how much more should the people of Wei Lei do so! Sir, you should listen to them!"

Geng Sang Zi said, "Come here, young man! A beast large enough to swallow a cart, if he goes off alone and leaves the mountain, he cannot escape the calamity of nets and snares. A fish large enough to swallow a boat, if he is stranded and loses the water, even ants can torment him. Therefore birds and beasts do not mind being high, and fish and turtles do not mind being deep. So too, those who would preserve their bodily form and nourish their lives—they do not mind keeping themselves deeply hidden! And as for those two men [Yao and Shun], why are they worthy even to be mentioned with praise? In their case, as regards discrimination, it would be like tearing down walls to plant brushwood. To pick out each hair and comb it, to count each grain of rice and cook it—how petty! How could such as they ever be enough to help the world? If you promote the worthy, the people will scheme against one another; if you employ the knowledgeable, the people will rob one another. These sorts of things are not enough to make the people generous. The people are exceedingly zealous in pursuing profit: a son will kill his father, a minister will kill his lord. In broad daylight they rob; at midday they dig through walls. I tell you: the root of great disorder was born in the time of Yao and Shun, and its branches will remain a thousand generations hence. A thousand generations hence, there will surely be men who eat one another."

Nan Rong Chu, sitting up straight, said, "I am already advanced in years. How shall I apply myself to learning so as to attain to these words?"

Geng Sang Chu said, "Preserve your bodily form, hold fast to your life, and do not let your thoughts and anxieties trouble you. If you do this for three years, then you may attain to these words."

Nan Rong Chu said, "The eye is a form, and I do not know how it differs from other forms, yet a blind man cannot see himself. The ear is a form, and I do not know how it differs from other forms, yet a deaf man cannot hear himself. The mind is a form, and I do not know how it differs from other forms, yet a mad man cannot find himself. Form may indeed be akin to form, yet perhaps something stands between them? They seek one another but cannot find each other. Now you say to me, 'Preserve your bodily form, hold fast to your life, do not let your thoughts and anxieties trouble you.' I have only managed to hear your words—that is all!"

Geng Sang Chu said, "I have said all I can. It is said: 'The great wasp cannot transform the caterpillar of the bean plant; the small chicken of Yue cannot hatch the eggs of the wild goose,' but the large chicken of Lu certainly can. As for chickens, their nature is not different; there is the able and the unable—their capacities are inherently great and small. Now my capacity is small, and I am not enough to transform you. Why do not you go south and visit Lao Dan?"

Nanrong Chu, carrying provisions, traveled for seven days and seven nights until he reached the place where Laozi dwelt. Laozi said, "Have you come from Chu's place?" Nanrong Chu said, "Yes." Laozi said, "Why have you come accompanied by such a multitude of people?" Nanrong Chu, startled, looked behind him. Laozi said, "Do you not understand what I mean?" Nanrong Chu looked down in shame and looked up with a sigh, saying, "Now I have forgotten my reply, and thereby lost my question." Laozi said, "What do you mean?" Nanrong Chu said, "If I do not know, people call me a fool; if I do know, it brings sorrow to my body. If I am not benevolent, I harm others; if I am benevolent, it brings sorrow to my own person. If I am not righteous, I injure others; if I am righteous, it brings sorrow to myself. How can I escape this? These three are the afflictions that trouble me. I hope to ask about them through Chu's mediation." Laozi said, "Just now I observed the space between your eyebrows, and from that I already understood you. Now what you say confirms it. You look around anxiously, as if you had lost your parents, as if you were holding a pole and searching for them in the sea. You are a lost man, bewildered! You wish to return to your nature and essence but have no way to enter—pitiable indeed!" Nanrong Chu asked permission to stay in the lodge. He called forth what he loved and put away what he hated. After ten days, still troubled, he went to see Laozi again. Laozi said, "You have been washing and scrubbing yourself, but how heavy and oppressive you still seem! Yet within you, there is still something bubbling up with foulness. When external entanglements cannot be grasped amid their complexity, one shuts oneself within. When internal entanglements cannot be grasped amid their tangles, one opens oneself to the outside. When one is entangled both within and without, even the Way and its Virtue cannot sustain one—how much less one who tries to proceed by letting the Way go!" Nanrong Chu said, "When a villager falls ill and others ask about it, the sick person can describe his illness. Yet the one who is ill enough to be ill is still not truly ill. My hearing about the Great Way is like taking medicine that only adds to my illness. I would merely wish to hear the principles of nurturing life." Laozi said, "The principles of nurturing life—can you hold to the One? Can you not lose it? Can you know good and bad fortune without divination? Can you stop? Can you cease? Can you abandon others and seek it in yourself? Can you be free and easy? Can you be innocent and unknowing? Can you be like a baby? The baby cries all day but its throat does not become hoarse—this is because it has attained the ultimate in harmony. It clenches its fist all day but its hand does not cramp—this is because it shares in its natural Virtue. It looks all day but its eyes do not blink—this is because its attention is not directed outward. It moves without knowing where it goes; it rests without knowing what it does. It goes along with things and ripples with their waves. This is the principle of nurturing life." Nanrong Chu said, "Then this is the Virtue of the Perfected Person?" Laozi said, "No, this is what is called the melting of ice and the thawing of frost. As for the Perfected Person, he shares in the nourishment of the earth and shares in the joy of Heaven. He does not allow the benefits and harms of other beings to disturb him. He does not join with others in strangeness, does not join with others in scheming, does not join with others in tasks. He goes free and easy; he comes innocent and unknowing. This is the principle of nurturing life." Nanrong Chu said, "Then is this the ultimate?" Laozi said, "Not yet. I told you before: 'Can you be like a baby?' The baby moves without knowing what it does, goes without knowing where it goes. Its body is like a branch of a withered tree; its mind is like dead ashes. One like this—disaster does not arrive, nor does blessing come. When disaster and blessing have nothing to attach to, how could human calamity reach him?"

When one's inner peace is firmly established, it radiates a heavenly light. One who radiates a heavenly light is seen for what he truly is. One who cultivates himself attains constancy. One who attains constancy is sheltered by others and aided by Heaven. One whom others shelter is called a citizen of Heaven; one whom Heaven aids is called the Son of Heaven. In learning, one learns what cannot be learned; in action, one does what cannot be done; in argument, one argues what cannot be argued. To know where to stop at what cannot be known—this is the ultimate. If one does not do this, the Heavenly Potter's Wheel will undo him. Prepare things to meet the outward form; store up no schemes to nourish the inner mind; honor the inner to reach the outward. If, after doing all this, a myriad evils still arrive, they are from Heaven, not from man. They are not enough to corrupt one's completion, nor can they enter the spiritual platform. The spiritual platform is that which holds but does not know what it holds, and which cannot be held. If one acts without seeing one's own sincerity, each action will be inappropriate. If entanglements enter and are not put aside, each change will become a failure. One who does evil in the open will be punished by men; one who does evil in secret will be punished by ghosts. Only one who is clear about men and clear about ghosts can walk alone. One who trusts to the inward acts without a name; one who trusts to the outward aims at expected expenditure. One who acts without a name will shine with a constant light; one who aims at expected expenditure is merely a merchant. People see him stretching on tiptoe and think him imposing. One who goes along with things will be entered by things; one who stands against things cannot even accommodate himself—how could he accommodate others? One who cannot accommodate others will have no intimates; one who has no intimates will be used by everyone. No weapon is sharper than the will; even the sword Moye ranks below it. No enemy is greater than yin and yang; there is no escape from them between Heaven and earth. It is not yin and yang that harm—it is the mind that drives them. The Way pervades all; in completing, there is destroying. What one resists in pervading is that pervading is complete; what one resists in completeness is that there is something that completes. Thus, to go out and not return is to see one's ghost; to go out and gain what one seeks is to attain death. To be extinguished yet have substance is to be one with ghosts. Taking what has form to image what has formless—then there is stability. It emerges without a root; it enters without an orifice. It has substance but no location; it has duration but no starting point. What emerges without an orifice has substance. What has substance but no location is space; what has duration but no starting point is time. There is life, there is death, there is going out, there is coming in. Going out and coming in without showing a form—this is called the Heavenly Gate. The Heavenly Gate is non-being. The myriad things emerge from non-being. Being cannot produce being from being; it must emerge from non-being. And non-being is simply non-being. The sage dwells in this.

The ancients—there were limits to what their knowledge could reach. Where was the limit? There were those who held that there had never been anything at all. This was the ultimate, the furthest extreme—nothing could be added beyond it. The next in order acknowledged that there were things, but regarded life as a loss and death as a returning home; thus they drew a distinction. The next said: "At first there was nothing, then there came life, and life suddenly gave way to death. They took nothingness as the head, life as the body, and death as the rump. Who is it that knows that being and non-being, death and life, are but a single keeping? It is such a person I would call my friend." These three positions, though different, all belong to the same noble clan. Like the Zhaos and Jings, who are distinguished by their hereditary rank, or the Jias, who are distinguished by their fiefs—they are not the same, yet they share a common origin.

Where there is life, there is a dark spot; when it is cast off, it is called "shifting the this." I have tried to speak of "shifting the this," but it is not something that can be spoken of properly. Even so, it is something beyond knowing. It is like the spleen and the tripe in a sacrificial offering—they may be separated, or they may be left together. When one tours a house, one goes around the main hall and the side chambers, and also visits the privy. All these are brought together in what is called "shifting the this." Let me try to speak of "shifting the this": they take life as the foundation and knowledge as the master, and thereby ride the chariot of right and wrong; they insist on having name and reality, and thereby take themselves as the standard; they cause others to take them as their model, and thereby die in order to fulfill that model. Those who act in this way take utility to be wisdom and uselessness to be folly; they take success to be honor and failure to be disgrace. "Shifting the this"—this is what people do today; it is like the cicada and the little dove agreeing in what they agree upon.

If you tread on a passerby's foot in the market, you apologize for being careless; if it is your brother's, you scold him; if it is your parent's, you say nothing at all. Thus it is said: the ultimate ritual does not treat others as others. The ultimate righteousness does not treat things as things. The ultimate knowledge does not scheme. The ultimate benevolence shows no partiality. The ultimate trustfulness needs no gold.

Remove the tangles that bind the will, untie the knots that confuse the mind, strip away the burdens that weigh down virtue, and clear the obstructions that block the Way. Nobility, wealth, eminence, authority, fame, and profit—these six tangle the will. Bearing, movement, countenance, pattern, temperament, and intention—these six confuse the mind. Hatred, desire, joy, anger, grief, and pleasure—these six burden virtue. Leaving and coming, taking and giving, knowing and ability—these six obstruct the Way. If these four sets of six do not churn within the breast, then one is correct; being correct, one is still; being still, one is lucid; being lucid, one is empty; being empty, one is without action and yet nothing remains undone. The Way is what honors virtue; life is the radiance of virtue; inborn nature is the substance of life. The movement of inborn nature is called action; the falseness of action is called loss. Knowledge is contact; knowledge is scheming. What knowledge does not know is like looking askance. Action that arises from what cannot be avoided is called virtue; action that is never not oneself is called order. Names may contradict each other, but in reality they follow each other.

Yi was skilled at hitting tiny targets, but clumsy at making others refrain from praising him. The sage is skilled at what belongs to Heaven, but clumsy at what belongs to man. To be skilled at Heaven and also adequate at being human—only the Complete Person can do that. Only an insect can be an insect; only an insect can be Heaven. Does the Complete Person reject Heaven? Does he reject what is human in Heaven? How much more, then, would he not reject the question of Heaven versus man! When a sparrow flies past Yi, Yi is certain to catch it—that is through force. But take the whole world as a cage, and no sparrow can escape. Thus Tang used the cook as a cage for Yi Yin, and Duke Mu of Qin used five sheepskins as a cage for Baili Xi. Therefore, there has never been a case where one did not use what the other prized as a cage and yet succeeded.

A man who has had his feet amputated no longer cares about ornament—he has put praise and blame beyond him. A convict climbs a height and does not fear—he has forgotten life and death. One who has forgotten others through repeated ease in forgetting them has thereby become a Heavenly person. Thus he who is not pleased by respect and not angered by insult is only he who is one with the harmony of Heaven. If anger comes forth without anger, then the anger comes forth from the absence of anger; if action comes forth without action, then the action comes forth from the absence of action. If you wish to be still, even your vital energy; if you wish to be spiritual, follow your mind. If in acting you wish you may hit the mark, then rely on what cannot be avoided. The category of what cannot be avoided is the way of the sage.