《淮南鸿烈解》Vol. 10

The art of war cannot be summed up in fixed rules. It has no unchanging standards, but adapts constantly to the times. It has no fixed name or form, yet takes on different appearances as circumstances change. It is profound and perceptive, far-reaching and without limit. It passes through winter, summer, spring, and autumn, probing upward to the highest heights and measuring downward to the deepest depths. As all things wax and wane and change, so it turns with them, never becoming stuck or obstructed. Set your mind on the hidden and remote, and conceal your intent in the abyss of the Nine Twists, a deep pool winding through countless bends. Even with keen eyes, who could see through its true nature?

In warfare, Heaven’s Way works in secret, terrain provides the ground for planning and deployment, and human affairs are what can be openly stated. What truly decides victory or defeat is grasping the key to the situation. A superior general, in using troops, follows the timing of Heaven above, gains the advantages of the terrain below, and wins the hearts of people in between. Then, acting through adaptability and drawing strength from the situation, the general avoids having the army shattered or the campaign defeated. An average general does not understand the timing of Heaven or the advantages of the terrain, and relies only on human strength and the situation in deploying troops. Though this does not always guarantee success, the general can often still grasp the key to victory. An inferior general hears much and is thrown into confusion, knows much and becomes hesitant. Fear fills the heart in ordinary times, and when troops are sent out, indecision takes hold; the moment the general acts, the enemy gains control.

Suppose two people fight, equally skilled. The one whose courage is calm and resolute will surely win. Why? Because his actions are single-minded and firm.

When chopping a catalpa log with a heavy axe, there is no need to wait for an auspicious hour or day to split it. Simply bring the heavy axe down on the log, and it will break; there is no need for a sharp blade. Suppose two people fight, equally skilled. The one whose courage is calm and resolute will surely win. Why? Because his actions are single-minded and firm.

Use a large axe to chop paulownia firewood, and there is no need to wait for an auspicious hour or lucky day: the wood will split all the same. But set the axe on the wood without anyone swinging it, and even if it is aligned with the direction of the Dipper and matched to the Qi of punishment and virtue, it will not split. What is missing is force put into action. Here, “Dipper” refers to the Big Dipper; “punishment” refers to the twelve earthly branches, and “virtue” to the ten heavenly stems.

When water is stirred up, its current grows fierce; when an arrow is propelled, it flies far. Even an arrow made from fine bamboo produced in the Qi and Wei regions, fitted with silver and adorned with thin silk and a lotus-shaped point, cannot fly by itself. Only with the strength of a bow or crossbow and the force of its release can it pierce rhinoceros-hide armor and strike deep into a leather shield. A fierce wind can lift roofs and snap trees. As it blows downward, its force slackens, then it can rise again from a high hill. This shows that the power of things depends on the circumstances they draw upon.

A skilled commander’s military force is like a thousand-ren embankment bursting open, with floodwaters pouring down; or like a massive boulder tumbling through a bottomless ravine, unstoppable. When people everywhere see that our army is certain to fight, who would dare engage us? A hundred men resolved to die can prevail over ten thousand who think only of retreat. How much more so when the soldiers of the three armies throw themselves forward without regard for their lives, charging into water and fire without turning back? Even if they suddenly faced the armies of the whole realm, who would dare to stand above ours?

“What is meant by the timing of Heaven” is that the army’s positions correspond to the constellations: the Green Dragon lies to the left, the White Tiger to the right, the Vermilion Bird in front, and the Black Tortoise behind. Jiao and Kang belong to the Green Dragon; Shen and Jing to the White Tiger; Xing and Zhang to the Vermilion Bird; and Dou and Niu to the Black Tortoise. In battle, face Shen and Jing on the right, Jiao and Kang on the left, Dou and Niu behind, and Xing and Zhang ahead. This is to follow the direction of the Big Dipper.

“What is meant by the advantage of the terrain” is to place favorable ground behind and unfavorable ground in front, taking the firm, Yang aspect on the left and the yielding, Yin aspect on the right. High ground is called “life,” and low ground “death”; hills are called “male,” and ravines “female.”

“What is meant by human affairs” is that rewards must be delivered and punishments carried out without hesitation; movement and stillness must accord with the moment, and measures must be swift. These methods, passed down through generations and honored as standards, are established in response to circumstances. They are not, in themselves, the source from which all things arise. Standards should change with the times. Sitting in the shaded part of a hall, one can infer the sequence of the sun and moon’s movements; seeing ice in a vessel, one can know how the world’s cold and heat change.

Differences among things often lie only in subtle details, and only the sage can grasp their underlying principles. Thus, the drum itself is not one of the five tones, yet it can lead them; water itself is not one of the five flavors, yet it can harmonize them; and a general does not personally handle the affairs of the five offices—the various specific duties of government—yet commands them all. One who can harmonize the five tones is not constrained by any single tone; one who can harmonize the five flavors is not constrained by any single flavor; and one who can govern the affairs of the five offices cannot be measured by ordinary standards.

A general’s state of mind should therefore change with the seasons. In governing military affairs, it should be expansive and full of life, like spring. When open and generous, it should be grand, like summer. When still and orderly, it should be clear, like autumn. When holding to the constant Way and remaining upright and settled, it should be firm, like winter. “Constant” means enduring; “firm” means upright—like winter, holding to what endures and keeping to what is right. One should follow the circumstances of things and adapt as the times shift.

A shadow does not straighten itself to suit a crooked object, and an echo does not muddle a clear, ringing sound. Observe how the other side acts, then respond with methods suited to its characteristics. Act in accordance with what is right and proceed according to the principles of the situation; seize the right moment and decide decisively. “Covering” means concealing; here it refers to knowing when to restrain and when to decide. Succeed by relying on your own strengths. Let the other side know where your army will attack, but not where it will enter; let them know what your army has done, but leave them unable to discern how it is deployed.

At first, be light-footed and cautious like a fox, so that the enemy underestimates you. In battle, be fierce like a rhinoceros or tiger, and make the enemy flee. When a bird is about to strike, it lowers its head; when a beast is about to seize its prey, it hides its claws. A tiger or leopard does not reveal its claws and teeth while hunting, nor does it let its prey see its teeth as it bites.

The principles of warfare are therefore these: appear weak and yielding, but meet the enemy with strength; seem feeble, then seize the moment to bring your strength to bear; first draw back and conceal yourself, then launch your attack. If you intend to march west, first make it appear that you are heading east. Conceal your intentions at first, then reveal your actions. Move like a ghost, leaving no trace, and like water, leaving no mark. The direction you actually take is not the one you display; what the enemy sees is not what you are truly planning. Let the enemy discern neither your movements nor your stillness, neither your actions nor your changes. Strike like a sudden peal of thunder, leaving the enemy no time to prepare. The methods of warfare change continually and are never repeated, which makes it possible to win again and again. To be in accord with the profound, mysterious, and lucid principles, so that no one can discern their gateway, is called “ultimate spirit.”

An army’s strength comes from the people’s support. The people are willing to fight to the death because they identify with a just cause, and a just cause can be upheld when the army commands respect. Therefore, the people and the troops must be taught through ritual and righteousness, while military discipline must also be enforced through force. Only then can victory be won. To apply both kindness and authority is the mark of the greatest strength.

Everyone cherishes life and despises death. Yet when arrows and stones rain down beneath towering walls and deep moats, or when soldiers clash with the enemy at close quarters on open plains, they still rush forward to charge. They do not do so because they disregard death or welcome injury, but because rewards are given faithfully and punishments are administered fairly.

Thus, when those in high positions treat their subordinates as their children, the subordinates will treat them as fathers; when they treat them as brothers, the subordinates will treat them as elder brothers. A ruler who cares for the people as for his own children can become king over all under Heaven; a people who honor their ruler as a father can bring peace to the realm. When those above draw close to their subordinates as brothers, the subordinates will not hesitate to die for them. And when subordinates serve those above as they would an elder brother, they too will not hesitate to sacrifice themselves. Such bonds between fathers and children, and between brothers, make it difficult for others to oppose them because kindness has been built up over a long time and first extended to others.

If the four horses are not in harmony, even Zao Fu, the legendary master charioteer, cannot drive far. If bow and arrows are not properly matched, even Yi, the legendary master archer, cannot hit the mark every time. If ruler and ministers are at odds, even Sunzi—Sun Wu, general to King Helü of Wu—cannot face the enemy.

Therefore, at home, order the affairs of state and build up De; abroad, eliminate abuses and establish authority. Also attend to whether the soldiers are weary or rested, and make sure they have enough to eat. Then, when the appointed day for battle arrives, they will face death as if returning home. A commander must share both hardship and comfort with the soldiers and endure hunger and cold alongside them; only then will they give their full effort.

In ancient times, commanders skilled at leading troops always set an example in battle. In hot weather, they did not shield themselves with parasols; in the cold, they did not wear heavy furs, thereby enduring heat and cold alongside the soldiers. On dangerous, narrow paths, they did not ride in carriages, and when climbing heights, they always dismounted and walked, so that everyone bore the same hardships. They did not eat until the whole army’s food had been cooked, and did not drink until the army’s wells had been dug, thereby sharing hunger and thirst. In battle, they always stood within range of the enemy’s arrows, sharing danger and safety with the soldiers. Thus, a commander skilled in warfare counters long-accumulated resentment with kindness built up over a long time, and long-accumulated hatred with care built up over a long time. How could such a commander fail to win?

A ruler asks two things of the people: first, that they toil for the affairs of state; second, that they give their lives for the country. The people, in turn, have three expectations of their ruler: that they receive food when hungry, rest when weary, and rewards when they have rendered service.

The people have fulfilled the two demands made of them, but the ruler has failed to meet their three expectations. In such circumstances, even if the country has a vast territory and a large population, its army will still grow weak.

If those who suffer eventually find comfort, and those who grow weary eventually gain some benefit; if those who earn merit by killing the enemy receive their full reward, and the families of those who die in war are surely cared for—then, if the ruler can do all this and convince the people that promises will be kept, the army will remain strong and the ruler’s commands will be carried out even if the ruler merely hunts birds, fishes, plays the qin and se, strikes bells and yu pipes, plays liubo, an ancient board game, or tosses arrows into a pot, an old banquet game.

Thus, when a ruler is worthy of reverence, his ministers will heed and serve him; when De is worthy of admiration, authority and trust can be established. A general must possess the “Three Paths, Four Principles, Five Qualities, and Ten Disciplines.”

The “Three Paths” are to understand the workings of Heaven above, to know the lay of the land below, and to discern human affairs between them. A general must master all three, for they are like the roads people follow in their travels.

The “Four Principles” are to serve the state without shirking because military affairs are difficult; to be loyal to the ruler without sparing oneself; to face danger without fearing death; and, when making difficult judgments, not to evade responsibility.

The “Five Qualities” are to be gentle in temperament yet unyielding, strong yet unbreakable, benevolent yet beyond violation, trustworthy yet beyond deception, and brave yet beyond insult.

The “Ten Disciplines” are to keep one’s spirit clear and undeceived, plan far ahead without being tempted, remain steadfast in one’s conduct without wavering, and see clearly without being obscured; to covet no wealth, become absorbed in no external things, indulge in no disputes, and cling to no single method; and to lose composure neither in joy nor in anger.

One who reaches this state is profound and elusive, so that others cannot see his true nature. Every move he makes is apt, every word he speaks accords with the rules, every action follows the moment, and every matter he handles strikes at its heart. He knows when to shift between movement and stillness, understands when a matter should be opened or closed, and carefully weighs the advantages and drawbacks of each action. Everything fits together as precisely as matching tallies.

His actions are swift as a drawn crossbow loosed, his force like an arrow released from the string. At times he surges like a dragon; at times he lies coiled like a snake. His movements have no fixed form. Others cannot tell where he will strike or fathom the limits of his changes. His attacks are impossible to withstand, and his defenses impossible to breach.

Those skilled in the use of arms first cultivate and regulate themselves, and only then make demands of others. They first place themselves beyond defeat, and only then seek victory. First put your own affairs in order, then contend with others. If you have not yet brought yourself under control but try to defeat the enemy by attacking their disorder, it is like using fire to put out fire or water to fight water. How could you possibly bring it to an end?

If a potter became clay, he could no longer make bowls and jars. Once he had become clay, he could no longer shape it into vessels. If a woman who weaves became silk, she could no longer weave brocade. Things of the same kind cannot restrain one another, so victory must be sought by relying on things of a different kind.

When two sparrows fight, neither will lose its life because of the other. But when a hawk flies in, they scatter, because hawks and sparrows are not of the same kind. Thus stillness can restrain agitation, and an action beyond the ordinary can secure victory. Orderly governance can restrain chaos; being well fed can overcome hunger; ease can overcome exhaustion. The extraordinary and the ordinary meet in turn, like Water, Fire, Metal, and Wood succeeding one another, each becoming the counterpart of another.

Those skilled in warfare know how to respond to the enemy by adapting to the “Five Killings”—the changing patterns of mutual overcoming among the Five Phases—and so preserve their victories. Those unskilled in warfare are trapped by the “Five Deaths,” the perilous situations caused by misapplying the Five Phases. They think only of grasping military glory, and are captured by the enemy as soon as they act.

The art of war prizes plans the enemy cannot fathom, concealed movements, and striking without warning, before the opponent has time to prepare. Once a plan is exposed, it leads to difficulty; once a movement is seen through, it can be constrained. Thus, those skilled in warfare conceal their movements by drawing on the conditions of Heaven above, the terrain below, and human arrangements between them. Skillfully using the conditions of Heaven allows them to take the initiative at every turn.

What does it mean to conceal movements by drawing on the conditions of Heaven? It means making unpredictable moves when faced with bitter cold or scorching heat, fierce winds and driving rain, or dense fog and darkness. What does it mean to conceal movements through the terrain? It means lying in ambush among mountains, ridges, woods, thickets, and strategic positions, so the enemy cannot see where you are. What does it mean to conceal movements through human arrangements? It means placing screens at the front and observers behind, and using unexpected tactics within the ranks to win. The troops move with the speed of thunder and the sudden force of wind and rain; they furl their flags and silence their drums, entering and withdrawing without revealing their movements, so that no one can make sense of what they are doing.

The army keeps its front and rear in order, and its formations in all four directions are as precisely set as lines drawn with a carpenter’s square. When advancing, withdrawing, dividing, or regrouping, its parts work together without colliding. Its wings move nimbly, and its flanks deploy with flexibility. At times it is in front, at times behind; now dispersed, now gathered—yet the ranks never fall into disorder. This is the art of arranging formations.

Understanding the changes between unorthodox and orthodox forces, and being familiar with Yin-Yang, punishments and rewards, the Five Phases, observing the movement of clouds and Qi, reading the stars, turtle-shell divination, and the casting of stalks and other signs of good or ill fortune—this is skill in using the Way of Heaven. Setting up devices and making plans, laying concealed ambushes, using water and fire to create strange sights, beating drums and shouting to confuse the enemy’s hearing, and dragging branches, scattering brushwood, and raising dust to obscure the enemy’s vision—this is skill in using decoys and deception.

The army is equipped with strong, heavy gear, rooted firmly and not easily disturbed. It cannot be tempted by gain or shaken by the threat of death. This is the art of making an army robust and powerful. The troops move swiftly; the soldiers are nimble and brave, willing to take risks. Their sudden attacks are so fast they seem to vanish in an instant. This is the art of sending out agile forces to win by surprise.

Skillfully assessing the terrain, choosing where to camp, building fortifications, scouting the enemy, taking high ground, and carefully selecting where to establish or withdraw a camp—this is the art of using terrain. When the enemy is hungry or thirsty, suffering from cold or heat, exhausted or disordered, frightened or distressed, elite troops strike while the moment is ripe, or attack under cover of night. This is the art of acting in step with the moment and adapting as circumstances change.

On level ground, chariots are suitable; in rugged terrain, cavalry is suitable. When crossing water, bows are generally used, since it is difficult to draw a crossbow in the water and a bow is more convenient. In narrow places, crossbows are suitable because they are easier to use for holding a defensive position. By day, flags are used more often; by night, torches; and in dim light, drums are used more often to relay commands. This is the art of arranging the means of combat.

These eight methods must not be neglected in warfare, but they are not the most fundamental or valuable part of the art of war.

A commander must possess keen powers of observation and sound judgment. “Seeing alone” means perceiving what others cannot; “knowing alone” means understanding what others do not. To perceive what others cannot is called “clarity”; to understand what others do not is called “spiritual insight.” With clear perception and foresight, one can gain the advantage before the enemy does. An army that secures the advantage first can hold its position firmly, leaving the enemy unable to attack; when battle is joined, it can also leave the enemy no way to win.

When commanders and officials are divided and out of step with one another, when their policies are not carried out, and when the soldiers harbor grievances and are unwilling to obey, the army is “empty.” When the ruler is wise and the commanders capable, those above and below are of one mind, and morale and resolve are strengthened, the army is “full.” Water put to a fire drives the flames back wherever it reaches. Strength and weakness cannot withstand one another, and the outcome becomes clear: this is the principle of “emptiness” and “fullness.”

Skill in warfare does not depend on having few troops, just as skill in defense does not depend on having a small force. Victory depends on whether the army’s power can be roused; defeat comes when morale declines. When an army is full, it advances to fight; when it is empty, it withdraws. When its momentum is strong, it is powerful; when its momentum wanes, it collapses.

King Fuchai of Wu ruled a territory two thousand li across and commanded seven hundred thousand armored soldiers. He marched south against Yue and drove its army back to Kuaiji; he fought Qi in the north and defeated its forces at Ailing; and in the west, he confronted the ruler of Jin and compelled Jin to yield at Huangchi. These victories were all won because the morale of the army and people was strong.

Later, Fuchai grew arrogant and indulgent, pursuing pleasure and rejecting admonition. He welcomed flattery, acted with reckless impatience, and let his faults grow until no one could dissuade him. His ministers resented him, and the people no longer supported him. The King of Yue selected three thousand soldiers and captured Fuchai at Sui. He won by taking advantage of the emptiness in Wu’s army.

Qi (vital energy) waxes and wanes, just as darkness must follow light; armies, too, have their strengths and weaknesses. A victorious army is not always strong, and a defeated army is not always weak. A skilled commander can rally the people’s morale, strengthen his own forces, and wait for the enemy’s momentum to falter. An unskilled commander, by contrast, lets his own country’s morale decline and then faces a powerful enemy. For this reason, judging and managing the strength and weakness of an army’s momentum is of the greatest importance in warfare.

Whenever a state faces danger, the ruler summons the general from the palace and says, “The safety of the state is entrusted to you, General. Our country now faces peril; I ask you to lead the army into battle.” After receiving the command, the general orders the officer in charge of sacrifices and prayers, and the diviner, to observe a three-day purification. They then go to the Grand Ancestral Temple, where they use a numinous tortoise to choose an auspicious day and hold a ceremony conferring the drums and banners.

The ruler enters the temple gate and stands facing west. The general enters, strides to the foot of the hall, and stands facing north. The ruler takes an axe, grips the blade, and hands its shaft to the general, saying, “From here upward, even to the affairs of Heaven, you shall decide.” Then he takes up the axe again, grips the blade, and hands its shaft to the general, saying, “From here downward, even to the depths of the abyss, you shall decide.” In this way, the authority to make decisions in the army is entrusted to the general.

After receiving the axe and battle-axe, the general replies, “State affairs cannot be managed by outsiders, and an army cannot be directed from the court at a distance. With a divided heart, one cannot serve the ruler; with an unfocused will, one cannot face the enemy. Since I have received command in your presence, I must act with the authority of the drums, banners, axe, and battle-axe, and will not turn back to seek further instructions. I ask the ruler to give me one clear command: if you do not permit me to act on my own authority, I dare not lead the army; if you do, I shall take my leave and depart.”

Before setting out, the general trims the nails on his hands and feet, puts on mourning clothes, and leaves the city through the northern gate used for funeral processions. These rites treat the expedition as a funeral, signifying that the general already regards himself as a man who will surely die. He rides in his own carriage, carrying banners and axe and battle-axe, his expression grave, as though burdened beyond endurance. When facing the enemy in battle, he gives no thought to life or death and has no divided purpose.

Thus, an excellent general does not rely on auspicious timing from above, nor complain about the terrain below. He does not fear a powerful enemy before him, nor allow the ruler behind him to interfere. He does not attack for personal fame, and does not retreat to escape blame. His only concern is to protect the people and make his actions accord with the interests of the ruler and the state. This is the foundation of the state and the proper conduct of a commander. When a general acts in this way, strategists will devise plans for him, and brave soldiers will fight for him. Their morale will soar to the heavens, and they will move as swiftly as galloping steeds. Before battle has even begun, the enemy will already be afraid.

If the enemy is defeated and driven into flight, rewards are granted according to merit: officials are promoted, titles and stipends increased, and land may also be bestowed. Major decisions about enfeoffment are made beyond the frontier; the merits and faults of the soldiers are assessed within the army. Those who are guilty are punished according to their offenses.

When the general returns to the state, he lowers the banners and puts away the axe and battle-axe, then reports to the ruler, “There are no unresolved matters left in the army.” He then puts on plain clothes, withdraws to one side, and asks the ruler to punish him. The ruler says, “I pardon you.” The general withdraws, observes purification, and changes his clothes. A general who wins a great victory over the enemy returns to his former residence only after three years; after a moderate victory, after two years; after a small victory, after one year.

An army should be sent to punish a state that has abandoned the Way. In that case, even after victory, it does not pursue the enemy to exact further revenge; even after taking land, it does not greedily seek further expansion. The people are spared epidemics, the generals do not suffer untimely deaths, the crops are plentiful, and rain and wind come in season. Victory in war abroad brings blessings upon the state at home. In this way, once merit and renown have been achieved, they leave no excessive harm behind.

The second scroll of Huainan Honglie Jie ends here. The preceding collation notes explain that, following the Jijie edition, the text was corrected by changing “ji” to “tao,” “zhi” to “ji,” “zhe” to “shi,” and “bi” to “xin”; omitted words were restored, and interpolated words were removed.

The twenty-third scroll of Huainan Honglie Jie

Recorded by Xu Shen, libationer of the Grand Commandant

“Discourse on the Mountains”

Mountains are the foundation of the Dao and the dwelling place of the benevolent. The meaning of principles unfolds through successive layers, accumulating like a mountain. Thus the chapter is called “Discourse on the Mountains,” and this phrase serves as its title.

Po asks Hun: “What is the Dao grounded in?”

Hun replies: “The Dao is grounded in ‘nonbeing.’ The Dao has no shape, so its substance is ‘nonbeing.’”

Po asks: “Does ‘nonbeing’ have a shape?”

Hun says: “No. Since it has no shape, how could anyone see it or know what it looks like?”

Hun continues: “I understand it only through an encounter.” Here, “encounter” means gaining insight through experience. The Dao cannot be seen or heard, so it is called “the hidden and dark.” This phrase is only a metaphor for the Dao, not the Dao itself; it merely resembles the Dao.

Po says: “Now I understand.” It then turns inward to observe and reflect on itself.

Hun says: “Those who attain the Dao cannot be seen in bodily form, and their reputation cannot be made known. Now that you have a body and a name, how can you say you have grasped the Dao?”

Po asks: “If that is so, why do you still speak?” Po means: since you also have no body, how can you speak? It then says: “I will return to my own root.” Here, “root” means “nonbeing.”

Po turns to look back, and Hun suddenly vanishes. Po then turns its attention to itself and gradually sinks into the formless.

If people do not study, they will not fall into great confusion; but if their learning is not broad, they too may vanish suddenly, like Hun, and become impossible to find. Even turning inward to observe themselves may lead them to sink into the formless. The final sentence of the original again says that Po returns to itself and enters the formless, and notes that some versions write “being” instead of “form.”

If people lack some basic knowledge, they are less likely to fall into great confusion. But if they do not learn widely, they cannot understand the Dao and will therefore fall into great confusion. If people have no small measure of cleverness, they will not become profoundly foolish. But when cleverness cannot be used to understand things, it instead leads to great foolishness.

People do not use the muddy water that collects on roof tiles or in vessels after rain as a mirror, but use clear, settled water to see their reflections, because still water does not ripple. Here, “rainwater” refers to rain that gathers on an overturned earthen jar; “clear” means still water, and “rippling” means being disturbed.

When Zhan Gong (Zhan He, a legendary master angler) cast his line, even a carp a thousand years old could not escape him. This illustrates the refinement of his fishing skill. When Zengzi, a disciple of Confucius, saw off a relative’s funeral procession, he clung to the hearse in grief. The men pulling it were moved by his filial devotion and stopped. A “chun” was a cart used to carry a coffin.

An old mother sang as she walked, and her song enabled Shen Xi to recognize her. This shows how deep their affection was. Shen Xi was from the state of Chu. When he was young, he became separated from his mother. Later, he heard a beggar singing and felt deeply moved. He went out to see who it was and discovered that she was his mother.

When Huoba, a skilled player of the se, a kind of zither, played, music-loving fish rose to the surface to listen. When Boya, a renowned ancient zither player, played, even horses lifted their heads and stopped eating grass, as though listening intently. Jiezi (that is, Jie Zitui) sang a song about a dragon and a snake, bringing Duke Wen of Jin to tears. Jie Zitui had accompanied Chong’er, later Duke Wen, during his exile. When food ran out along the way, Jie cut flesh from his own body and gave it to Chong’er to eat. After Chong’er returned to Jin and took the throne, he rewarded those who had accompanied him, but Jie Zitui alone received nothing. Jie Zitui then sang: “The dragon was mighty, yet lost its place to rest; the snake followed the dragon and gave it its own provisions. Now the dragon has risen into the clouds, while the snake is left alone in the mud.” The dragon in the song represented Duke Wen of Jin, and the snake represented Jie Zitui. Hearing the song, Duke Wen understood what had happened and went in search of Jie Zitui. He could not find him, and wept in sorrow.

When jade is hidden in a mountain, the plants and trees appear lush. When pearls form in the depths, the shore does not look barren. This is explained through the mutual containment of Yin and Yang: jade is “Yin within Yang” and can nourish plants and trees; pearls are “Yang within Yin” and give off light, so the shore does not appear withered.

The earthworm has no strong sinews or bones and no sharp claws or teeth, yet it can eat soil above and drink spring water below. This is because its attention is wholly focused.

When water is clear, even tiny things can be seen in a cup of it; when water is muddy, even a river cannot reflect Mount Tai. Staring at the sun blurs the eyes, and hearing thunder deafens the ears. When people follow Wuwei (non-action), governance can be peaceful; when they insist on acting recklessly, they damage the Great Dao. “Governing through Wuwei” means consistently following Wuwei, without letting personal likes, dislikes, or desires disturb the natural course of things. Those who cannot maintain calm and detachment cannot truly practice Wuwei; and without practicing Wuwei, it is difficult to achieve good governance and lasting accomplishments.

People can communicate with the wondrous without speaking because the Dao itself does not speak. The Dao transforms and nurtures the myriad things, and this is what makes it wondrous. To open one’s mouth and speak, by contrast, brings harm. The Dao does not prize words, and words often cause harm. The saying that silence can communicate with the divine means that one bears and follows “nothingness.” The Dao prizes wordlessness, through which one can reach the wondrous. Here, “bear” means to follow: one should continually follow the Dao of wordlessness. Too much talk harms the spirit. The Dao regards words lightly, yet people often go against this and speak too much, thereby harming their own spirit.

The nose’s ability to breathe and the ear’s ability to hear both ultimately depend on the empty spaces within them. “Uselessness” here refers to the hollow parts of the nasal passages and ear canals. All things make use of their own emptiness through what they already possess; it is precisely these empty spaces that serve a purpose. If you doubt this, consider the lai and the yu. The lai is a wind instrument with three holes. It produces sound by means of the hollow space inside its tube.

When thoughts keep coming, one cannot sleep. The Book of Songs says, “My heart is troubled and uneasy; I cannot fall asleep, as though a heavy sorrow lay within me.” It also says, “Tossing and turning, leaning on the pillow, awake or asleep, I sigh at length.” Yet if one merely forces oneself to stop thinking, one becomes caught up in the effort to stop. Here, “stop” means to remove. Forcibly suppressing thoughts does not amount to having no thoughts; instead, it leaves one bound to external things. Only by setting aside both thinking and the forced effort not to think can one attain the state of pure unity in the highest De. “Both” refers to thoughts and the forced suppression of thoughts. When one clings to neither side, the spirit can remain within, and the highest De becomes pure and unified.

The sage may speak throughout life about the Way of governance, but what truly works is not the words themselves; it is the principle they express and point toward. A singer has lyrics, but what makes the song pleasing is not the lyrics alone. It is also the clear, harmonious sound.

A parrot can speak human words, but it cannot be entrusted with conducting affairs. The parrot is a bird found in Shu Commandery, with a red beak and blue-green feathers, and it can imitate human speech. Why? It has learned only the words that are spoken, not why they are spoken or the principles involved in giving commands and managing affairs. Thus, those who can only follow old tracks cannot open a new path.

A divine snake can be cut apart and join its body together again, but it cannot keep others from being cut apart. A divine turtle can appear in a dream to King Yuan of Song, yet it cannot escape the fisherman’s trap. According to the story, King Yuan of Song dreamed one night that he had caught a divine turtle. Later, when the fisherman Yuqie was fishing, he really did catch a turtle and presented it to the king. King Yuan split open its shell and used it for divination. Thus, although the divine turtle could manifest in a dream, it could not free itself from the fisherman’s trap.

Any place in the world can become a gateway to the Dao (the Way); what matters is the angle from which one observes. Thus, fishing can teach someone to ride a horse, riding a horse can teach someone to drive a cart, and driving a cart can teach someone to sail a boat. Each of these skills requires care and attention, and must follow its own principles, so they can illuminate one another.

People from Yue learned long-distance archery by looking up at the sky and shooting their arrows, yet their targets were only five paces away. They knew the water well and were skilled at sailing, but they did not know how to shoot arrows. Since they did not understand archery, they continued to shoot toward the sky in the old way when aiming at distant targets. The arrows reached the end of their flight and fell, so they could hit only targets within five paces. “Can” means to look, and “yi” means the method of archery. The point is that those who do not understand archery do not know to change their old habit of looking up at the sky. The world has changed, yet they still cling to old methods, just like the people of Yue shooting arrows. This shows that holding to an old way without knowing how to adapt will not do.

When the moon is full, the sun eclipses its light; Yin cannot rise above Yang. On the fifteenth day of the lunar month, when the moon faces the sun and they are aligned from east to west, a lunar eclipse occurs, and the moonlight is obscured. The moon gradually wanes until it disappears completely at the end of the month. Thus, Yin cannot rise above Yang. Once the sun has risen, the stars can no longer be seen. Stars belong to Yin and cannot compete with the sun for light.

The tips of branches cannot be stronger than their roots, and fingers cannot be stronger than the arms. When the base is light and the top is heavy, it will inevitably be easy to topple. A single abyss cannot contain two jiao, legendary giant fish. One explanation says that the jiao is the largest of fish and has pearls on its skin; another says that a fish weighing two thousand jin is called a “jiao.”

When water is still, it becomes clear and level; when it churns, it loses its balance. Thus, only by avoiding reckless movement can one respond to all kinds of change. Rivers gather the waters of a hundred streams because they lie in low places. Precisely because they can remain below, they become great bodies of water. Here, “above” also carries the sense of “vast.”

Nothing in the world is more mutually repellent than glue and lacquer: once they stick together, they are hard to separate. Another explanation is that if glue is mixed into lacquer, it ruins the lacquer, and if lacquer is mixed into glue, it ruins the glue; this is why they are said to hate each other. Ice and charcoal, by contrast, most readily fulfill one another: when ice meets charcoal, it melts into water and returns to its original form, while charcoal retains its form even when it meets ice. Thus, ice and charcoal love one another, while glue and lacquer harm one another.

When a wall collapses, the earth returns to its original state. Thus, a wall’s destruction is a return to its nature. When ice melts, it returns to water, its fundamental state. “Pan” means to melt, and “zong” means origin.

Mount Tai rises high and majestic, yet from a thousand li away, one cannot see the clods of earth at its foot, because the distance is too great. “Duo ke” refers to tiny clods of earth. The tip of an autumn hair—the fine hair that grows anew in autumn—is so minute that it can scarcely be seen. From this we know that something extremely small cannot be considered an inner boundary; nor can something so vast that it has no form and encompasses everything be said to have an outer boundary.

An orchid growing in a secluded mountain valley does not stop releasing its fragrance simply because no one wears it; fragrance is its nature. A boat on a river or sea does not stop floating simply because no one rides in it; floating is its nature. Likewise, a noble person does not stop practicing the Way of righteousness simply because no one knows of it; this is because benevolence and righteousness arise from one’s nature.

Jade is lustrous and radiant, and its sound is mellow and resonant; people often feel that it resembles a noble person’s virtue. Jade is clear through and through, with no hidden flaws. Near at hand, it feels warm and smooth; seen from afar, it is bright and striking. In a mirror one can see one’s pupils, and by looking closely one can make out the finest hairs; light can also reveal what lies in darkness.

Treasures such as the He Shi jade disk and the Marquis of Sui’s pearl come from the finest essence of mountains and rivers. When noble persons wear them, they take them as symbols of virtue, follow the good way, and bring themselves peace. When lords and kings prize them, they should respect people’s nature and govern the world with impartiality.

Chen Chengzi Heng once coerced Ziyuan Jie, seeking to divide the state of Qi with him, but Ziyuan Jie refused to yield. Zihan declined something he did not want, considering freedom from greed to be precious. Confucius once met a man skilled at catching cicadas. The man was so absorbed that he did not notice when an object on his staff injured him or when blood ran down to his shoes. Lady Wei saw that Duke Huan of Qi intended to attack Wei, and asked him to kill her as a way of atoning for Wei’s offense. When Confucius met Zixia, Zixia had grown thin; later, Zixia said that he had become content because his sense of righteousness had grown fuller and his desires had diminished. When Marquis Wen of Wei saw a man wearing a fur coat inside out and carrying firewood on his back, he understood that once the hide wore away, the fur would have nothing to cling to. Er Yue untied a stubborn knot for the King of Song, undoing what seemed impossible to undo. These small examples can all help one infer the larger from the smaller and discern the principles of things.

When a man married off his daughter, he warned her, “Go now, and by all means do not do good deeds.” She asked, “If I am not to do good, should I do evil instead?” Her father replied, “If you do not even do good, how much less should you do evil?” This was meant to preserve her natural disposition. “Vessel” here means one’s original nature. Mencius held that human nature is good, which is why the passage speaks of preserving one’s nature.

People confined in prison feel that time passes slowly; those about to be executed at the place of punishment feel that it passes quickly. Time itself has a definite duration, but people experience it differently according to their circumstances: sometimes it seems short, sometimes long, and so their minds cannot find balance. “Taking imbalance as balance” means treating what is unbalanced as balanced; as a result, the mind remains unbalanced.

If a woman is married to a man with wasting-thirst disease, she often finds it difficult to marry again after her husband dies. One explanation is that others may think she brought harm upon her husband and be afraid to marry her. Another is that she believes everyone in the world has wasting-thirst disease and so refuses to marry again.

One should not sit beneath a low, unstable building or stand leaning against a wall, because the building or wall might collapse and crush someone. Yet the official in charge of prisons does not fall ill, because even malevolent spirits fear him. People sentenced to death are sometimes well-fleshed because, once the sentence has been decided, they have no other worries on their minds. Another explanation is that, with their death sentence settled, they no longer fret and so appear well-fleshed. Those subjected to castration often live long because, free from the burden of desire, they suffer less depletion of their vital energy.

A highly skilled physician often treats illness before it becomes apparent, and so keeps people free of disease. A sage deals with hidden dangers before calamity arises, and so keeps people free of harm. The “treatment” mentioned here also includes regulating a person’s nature so that the spirit remains inwardly guarded.

A master swordsman need not use a sword: his skill already resides in mind and hand. One who is skilled at closing a door need not use a bolt, because he knows how to guard the heart and keep matters from getting out of control at their source.

Chunyu Kun once urged a neighbor to alter his chimney and move his firewood away to prevent a fire. The neighbor ignored him, and later a fire broke out. The person who had proposed precautions received no credit, while those who were scorched and singed while fighting the fire were instead honored as guests of distinction. This ridicules people who fail to guard in advance against the calamities caused by desire, yet think they can rely on others to rescue them once disaster has struck.

When the upright enter a corrupt environment, they are bound to suffer hardship and humiliation; when the corrupt enter an upright environment, they too are liable to be brought down. A noble person does good as a woodcutter gathers fuel: seeing a branch, he picks it up; seeing fresh green growth, he plucks it. He does not casually leave anything behind. So it is with a noble person’s good deeds.

When two kinds of Qi in the heavens combine, they form a rainbow. When two kinds of Qi on earth combine, hidden things beneath the ground are revealed. When two kinds of Qi clash within the human body, illness arises, because pathogenic Qi invades healthy Qi. Yin and Yang cannot be winter and summer at the same time: winter is winter, and summer is summer. The moon knows nothing of daylight, and the sun knows nothing of night. This means they cannot possess one another’s qualities.

A skilled archer always hits his target, but what he shoots is not well served by it. A skilled angler never fails to catch a fish, but the fish he catches suffer for it. Thus, a person’s particular skill may also cause harm to other things.

When a bell and a stone chime are near one another, the bell sounds louder. When they are farther apart, the chime’s clear, bright sound carries farther and stands out more. Some things look better from nearby, others from a distance. Rice grows in water, but not in a swift current. Purple fungus grows on mountains, but not on hard rock, where it cannot take root. A lodestone attracts iron, but cannot make copper move along with it.

In broad waters, fish grow large; on high mountains, trees grow tall. Expanding a territory without improving one’s De (Virtue/Power) is like a potter stretching the clay without thickening the vessel’s walls: the pot will be more likely to break at a touch. “More” means to a greater degree; “swift” means rapidly.

The sage does not rush to act before the wind has begun to blow, nor react before the thunder has sounded. They simply loosen the soil a little and do not keep piling it higher; once it is broken through, the task can be completed more quickly. “Yu” means to increase, while “ji” means swift. “Die” is pronounced like the “die” in “die mai.”

The sage does not act rashly before the wind rises or the thunder sounds. They act only when there is no other choice, and so do not bring trouble upon themselves. As the moon waxes and wanes in the sky, snails and clams on earth change along with it. This shows that things sharing the same kind of Qi respond to and affect one another; we cannot assume that they have no connection simply because they are far apart. When the moon is full, the flesh inside snails and clams diminishes. The moon belongs to Yin, and so do snails and clams, which is why they are said to respond to one another through the same Qi.

If you try to attract birds with a slingshot or call a dog by waving a whip, they will turn and run away. So fishing requires bait, and calling wild animals requires more than an empty vessel. Cowhide can be made into a drum to put the three armies in order; but from the cow’s point of view, it would be better to be yoked and put to work plowing. White fox fur can be made into a robe for the Son of Heaven to wear while seated in court; but from the fox’s point of view, it would be better to escape into the marshes. This means that all things prize their lives.

If someone loses a sheep but gains an ox, everyone considers it a good bargain. If someone loses a finger but saves their life, everyone considers that worthwhile too. So when people stand to gain, they compete to secure the greater benefit; when they face harm, they compete to reduce their losses as much as possible.

A general does not dare ride a white horse, because it makes him easy to recognize. Another explanation is that white is worn for mourning, so a general would not dare ride a white horse. The Zuo Tradition records that when Duke Xiang of Jin fought the Jiang Rong, he defeated the Qin army while wearing black mourning clothes. This means he wore mourning dress in an unconventional way. A fugitive does not dare carry a torch at night, for fear of being discovered; someone living within a city’s walls does not dare keep a biting dog, for fear it will injure people. As the time approaches for the rooster to crow, the crane senses at midnight that dawn is coming. Yet the crane still cannot escape becoming food in a cooking pot or on a chopping block. Though it can cry out at midnight, it lacks the wisdom to make plans and so cannot avoid disaster. This example shows that a commander must have many abilities and must not lack adaptability and strategy.

When there is a fierce beast on a mountain, no one dares cut down the trees in its forest. When a garden is full of poisonous insects, no one dares gather its pigweed or bean leaves. This means people hold back out of fear. Confucians ought to uphold ritual and right conduct, yet squatting among the people of a village goes against Confucian rules. Mohists esteem frugality and hardship and dislike music, yet playing the yu reed instrument at Chaoge goes against Mohist teachings. “Chaoge” is a place name. Running across snow to erase one’s tracks, or trying to rescue someone from drowning while insisting on staying dry, are both ways of acting that contradict one’s purpose.

For example, if someone drinks with their eyes covered, they will not spill the wine so long as they can hold the cup steady themselves—even a fool can manage that. So there is no way to accomplish something by going against the natural order of things. Here, “harmony” means what is fitting and properly measured.

Those who seek a fine reputation may fail to gain one; those who do not deliberately pursue it may end up with one. If someone sets their heart on gaining a fine reputation, their conduct will suffer; by not clinging to it, they may leave behind a good name. That is why the Laozi says, “Pursue a complete carriage, and you will end up with no real carriage.” Those who seek ugliness may not attain it; those who deliberately seek not to be ugly may instead bring ugliness upon themselves. When one seeks neither beauty nor ugliness, beauty and ugliness cease to apply. This is called “mysterious sameness.” “Mysterious” refers to Heaven, which does not deliberately seek anything. If people too can be without desire, they can accord with the Way of Heaven.

Shentu Di, a man from the end of the Yin dynasty, carried a rock on his back and threw himself into an abyss to die. But drowning people could not be rescued by his death. Unable to bear the sight of King Zhou bringing chaos to the world, Shentu Di plunged into the abyss. “Kang” means to raise high or hold something up.

Xian Gao falsely claimed to be carrying out the command of the Earl of Zheng and presented twelve oxen to the Qin army as a gift, persuading it to withdraw and thereby preserving the state of Zheng. But this expedient cannot be treated as a regular practice. “Dan” refers to an unconventional course of action: a measure taken to meet the moment may sometimes succeed, but that does not mean it should be repeated as a matter of routine.

A person who talks too much is like the mockingbird, a bird that readily changes its calls and imitates the cries of other birds. The comparison suggests that although such a person says much, it may do little good. A person who says little is like a door without oil. One explanation is that its dry hinge makes no sound, a figure for someone who is taciturn; another is that the door is difficult to open and close, likewise suggesting few words.

When the six domestic animals are born with strange features, such as extra ears or eyes, this is taken as an ill omen and is also recorded in books of prophecy—texts that foretell good and bad fortune. “Xiang” means auspicious or good. People regarded extra ears and eyes as monstrous signs of calamity. The comparison suggests that someone who speaks much but lacks honesty is likewise a bad omen.

A hundred people carrying something together are not as quick as one person picking it up and walking briskly. Here “kang” means to lift, while “fu” refers to something light and easy to carry. Things often seem to go less well with many people than with just a few.

Those who pull a cart must coordinate on both sides for it to move forward. There are three people on each side of the shafts, six in all; hence the phrase “two times six.” Some explain it as meaning twelve people. Certain tasks can be accomplished only through mutual cooperation. If two people are both drowning, neither can rescue the other; if one is on shore, that person can help.

People who hold the same opinions cannot correct one another; differences are needed to get things done. If the ruler says something is acceptable and his ministers say the same, or if the ruler says it is not and they follow suit, this is like mixing water with water: it has no flavor, and so they cannot correct one another. By “different,” the text means affirming what the ruler approves while also pointing out where his judgment is mistaken and guiding him back to the right path. Only then can things be accomplished.

Beneath a thousand-year-old pine grows fuling, a traditional medicinal substance once believed to form from pine resin; on the pine grows rabbit silk, also known as nǚluó, a parasitic plant. Where divination plants grow in clusters, a turtle is often hidden below. A sage can infer what lies within from outward signs, and perceive what is subtle from what has already come to light.

A fondness for martial arts does not make someone a knight-errant; a fondness for literary writing does not make someone a Confucian scholar; a fondness for esoteric arts does not make someone a physician; a fondness for horses does not make someone a horse keeper; knowledge of music does not make someone a blind musician; and knowledge of flavors does not make someone a cook. These six abilities amount only to a little familiarity. They have not been mastered well enough to establish a person’s specialized identity. Thus one has only a general skill, without a definite professional title.

Putting on armor and going to battle is not only a matter of fighting at a distance of ten paces. At a hundred paces, too, one must judge whether an arrow has penetrated deeply or only shallowly. A deep wound can injure the five viscera; a shallow one harms only the skin. The distance between life and death is immense and cannot be measured in miles along a road.

After King Zhuang of Chu’s monkey escaped, the woods were cut down because of it. Monkeys move nimbly and usually live in trees, so people felled the woods to search for it. When the ruler of Song lost a pearl, all the fish in the pond were caught. “Exhausted” means used up completely. When a marsh catches fire, the woods are anxious too, because the flames may spread to them. The woods feared being cut down after the monkey escaped for the same reason: disaster might spread to them.

When a ruler demands timber from his ministers, they destroy trees; when he demands fish, they drain the water from the valleys. A ruler may speak as quietly as a silken thread, yet his ministers hear it and amplify it into a thick cord. “Fishing line” here refers to a thick line. A ruler may do one good deed, and his ministers may praise it twice over; he may make three mistakes, and they may suffer severalfold harm as a result. The words “increase” and “intensify” both convey the sense of something growing greater or heavier. An old book says, “What those in high places favor, those below will pursue with even greater enthusiasm.” Thus the effects may intensify layer by layer.

Wenzhong, a senior official, knew how to make Yue powerful, but not how to protect himself, and in the end Yue killed him. Chang Hong knew how the Zhou house could survive, but not how he himself would meet his downfall, and in the end the people of Zhou killed him too. They understood great matters at a distance but not what concerned them nearby and personally. “Distant” means making Yue powerful and preserving the Zhou house; “near” means protecting oneself.

Someone afraid that a horse might startle will not ride; someone afraid that a cart might overturn will not travel in one. In this way, avoiding dangers that do not exist means losing real benefits. “Empty” means absent or without foundation. If someone fails to show filial respect to his parents or affection for his elder brothers, or even insults his parents, people will naturally worry about him. Yet parents cannot guarantee that their child will be filial; they still have to raise the child to adulthood.

When the Fan clan fell, someone stole a bell and tried to flee with it on his back. “Fan” refers to Fan Jishe, the great-grandson of Fan Hui and son of Fan Yang, known as Zhaozish. The Fan clan fell because Zhao Jianzi attacked it; another account says that Zhibo destroyed the clan. The thief heard the bell ring and, afraid that others would hear it, hurriedly covered his own ears. It might be understandable to say that other people could not hear the bell, but covering his own ears was foolish. “Absurd” means muddled and contrary to reason.

A small measure cannot be larger than the large vessel that contains it; a night, being part of a year, cannot be longer than the year. In the same way, humaneness and righteousness cannot exceed Dao and De, because they are contained within them. The point is that humaneness and righteousness have a narrower scope, while Dao and De have a broader one—just as a small measure is contained in a vessel and a night falls within a year.

A needle must be prepared before the thread can be passed through it and a canopy sewn; if one has the thread first and only then looks for a needle, one cannot sew a garment. Needle and thread together sew a canopy; baskets of earth are carried to build a city wall. Success or failure often begins with something small, showing that things develop gradually. “Canopy” refers to a covering: the shelter above is called a canopy, and the screens around it are called curtains. The thread must be passed through a needle, so the needle should be prepared first. An earth basket is a basket for carrying soil. When building a wall, one begins with a single basketful of earth and gradually builds it up.

When dyeing cloth, it works to dye it blue first and then black; it does not work to dye it black first and then blue. When making lacquerware, it works to apply a base coat first and then add vermilion; it does not work to apply vermilion first and lacquer afterward. This is true of all kinds of work: the order of steps and the arrangement of what comes first and what comes later must be examined carefully. “Examine” means to understand and distinguish the order.

When the water becomes cloudy, fish rise to the surface, gasping for breath. Short of breath and panting, they stretch their mouths above the water. When the body is overworked, the spirit becomes unsettled; when the body is out of balance, the spirit cannot be at peace. Governing a state is the same: trouble follows when one puts fundamentals below and superficial efforts above. Everything has its proper order and its higher and lower aspects; these must be examined carefully. Only through careful examination can one truly understand.

Even from ten thousand li away, a wise ruler can make enemy troops afraid to invade. “Qu” refers to a battering ram, used to smash into an enemy city. The point here is that a wise ruler’s Virtue makes him impossible to attack: it can halt the enemy’s battering rams a thousand li away, before they dare approach. This is what happened when Marquis Wen of Wei treated the recluse Duangan Mu with respect, and the Qin army consequently dared not invade.

Marriage is arranged through a matchmaker in accordance with ritual, but a husband and wife truly become one family through their union, not through the matchmaker. People may be introduced to one another by others, but genuine closeness depends on Virtue. Those whose aims accord and whose actions are in harmony will follow one another even across a thousand li and eventually meet. Those whose aims and conduct differ cannot connect even when they live opposite one another. The Book of Songs says, “The rooms are close, yet the people are far apart”: they live nearby, but their hearts are separated.

Though the sea is vast, it cannot contain scraps of rotten grass. The sun and moon, too, do not respond to things whose natures are out of accord with their own. The yangsui mirror can produce fire, and the fangzhu mirror can collect water, because their natures resonate with what they attract; without such accord, there can be no response. A noble person likewise does not accept those whose Virtue differs from their own.

People do not cherish the hands of the master craftsman Chui, but they do cherish their own fingers. Chui was a renowned craftsman in the time of Yao. Though his skill was superb, it was of no practical use to other people, so they did not cherish his hands simply because he was so skilled. People also do not treasure pearls from the Yangtze and Han rivers, but they do treasure their own fishhooks: pearls may be beautiful, but they cannot be put to personal use; a fishhook can catch fish, so it is worth keeping.

A traveler at night may mistake a bundle of firewood for a ghost and turn back in terror. Someone may take smoke from a fire as an omen of good or ill fortune and slaughter pigs and dogs to avert disaster. Both are delusions. Instead of panicking at the outset, it is better to deal calmly with the matter a little later. The clever know how to weigh things; the wise know how to prepare in advance.

Hou Yi died at Taobu before he could draw his bow and shoot an arrow; Qingji died beneath a sword before he could use his agility. Hou Yi was ruler of the state of Qiong in the Xia dynasty and was killed by his disciple Feng Meng. Qingji, son of King Liao of Wu, was assassinated by Yao Li. However great one’s speed or skill, a sudden turn of events can leave no time to use it.

Someone who goes around proclaiming that he had no part in slander or disorder may only cause the slander to spread further. Trying to stop rumors with words is like raising dust in the hope of making it settle. Trying to suppress one problem with another is like carrying firewood to put out a fire: it only stirs up more dust and makes the flames burn higher. Rumors should be stopped with silence; calamities should be stopped with measures suited to them. Clearing someone’s name with abusive words is like rubbing white cloth with black dye stone: it only makes the cloth black.

An arrow shot ten paces can pierce armor, but at a distance of three hundred paces it cannot pierce even a thin piece of Lu silk. A fine horse can run a thousand li in a day, yet when it reaches its destination, its harness is removed and it collapses in exhaustion. This shows that strength is eventually spent and momentum eventually wanes.

When a great state attacks a small one, it is an act of violence. Yet people now call the annexation of small states by great ones “wise,” because they admire military force and disregard morality. A small horse differs from a large one: it cannot carry people over long distances or gallop a thousand li as a large horse can. In the same way, lesser wisdom cannot match greater wisdom: it cannot govern all under Heaven or lead the people.

It makes sense for a hired laborer to wear a sheepskin coat. But wearing a sable coat while carrying a basket of earth seems strange. Treating something clean and white as filthy is like bathing and then cleaning out a cesspit, or burning incense and then carrying a dead pig. When treating a sore, cutting away healthy and diseased flesh alike is wasteful; when a farmer weeds, would it not be pointless to hoe up the grain along with the weeds? Destroying a pond to catch a turtle, tearing down a house to find a civet, digging up a building to catch a rat, or cutting off one’s lips to cure a toothache are all misguided ways of doing things. A noble person would not approve of conduct like that of Jie or Zhi.

What is there to admire in killing a warhorse to catch a fox, throwing away a sacred tortoise to catch a small one, breaking one’s right arm over a single hair, or snapping a famous sword over an awl? Better to prick oneself many times with a needle than once with a knife; better to bear a heavy load once than to carry something light for a long time; better to have too little food for a month than to run out of food for ten days. The many footprints people leave behind are better than the deep hollow made by one person’s step.

Someone praises a person as hardworking, frugal, and capable, saying that he pounded grain from dawn until daybreak, but then criticizes him for not pounding it evenly enough and gives him a scolding. On closer inspection, it turns out that the person’s mother, who did the work, was he himself. To use such a story to praise someone is, in effect, to damage his reputation. As the saying goes, “Who ruined him? A petty person praised him.” Praise from a petty person can end up causing harm.

A mother in the eastern household died, but her son did not weep with grief. A child from the western household saw this and went home to tell his mother, “Mother, why are you so reluctant to die soon? I will certainly weep bitterly for you.” In the Huai and Jiang regions, people call a mother “she.” Someone who wants his mother to die cannot weep with grief even if she really does die. Likewise, someone who says he has no time to study may not study even when he has free time.

Build a terrace along the higher ground and dig a pond in the lower terrain, each following the conditions already there, without daring to force a change. The sage makes use of things by adapting to their particular qualities. Only by being able to stop oneself can one bring others to a halt. “Stopping” is like an arrow coming to rest: only then can it pierce through something. Another interpretation is that only by restraining one’s own desires can one quiet the desires of others and keep them from making excessive demands.

Build a terrace on high ground and dig a pond in low ground, each in accordance with the terrain, without forcing a change. In using things, the sage may act as though tying a straw dog used in sacrifice with a red cord, or as though making an earthen dragon to pray for rain. During sacrifices, people rely on straw dogs to seek blessings. Here, “seeking” can also mean “obtaining”: they hope to gain good fortune through the efficacy of the straw dog. The earthen dragon is used to pray for rain; rain ripens the crops, and people thereby obtain food. Another interpretation holds that the earthen dragon is part of a rainmaking rite, during which wine and meat are offered.

A man from Lu was skilled at making hats, and his wife was skilled at weaving shoes. After they moved to Yue, however, they fell into poverty because they had brought their skills to a place where those skills were of no use. This is like planting lotus flowers on a mountain or keeping a fire in a well. Carrying a fishing rod up a mountain or taking an axe into the water makes it hard to get what one wants. Driving a cart to Yue or steering a raft into Hu is likewise ill-suited to the place. Desires have no end, and in the end it is impossible to obtain everything; some places simply do not have what one seeks.

The King of Chu kept a white ape. When the king himself shot at it, the ape caught the arrows and played with them. Later, the king summoned Yang Youji, a Chu courtier famed for his skill with the bow. As soon as Yang drew his bow and aligned the arrow, before he had even released it, the ape clung to a pillar and cried out in distress. The point is that the ape sensed the force of Yang Youji’s certainty that he would hit his target. Though the arrow had not yet been loosed, the sign of a sure hit had already appeared; the vital energies of the two seemed to respond to each other.

The bi of the Wo clan and the huang of the Xia ruler were ancient jade objects. If they are given respectfully at the right moment, they can strengthen goodwill; if someone hurls them at another person at night, they will instead provoke resentment. The objects are the same, but the timing differs, and so do the results. A painting of Xi Shi’s face, though beautiful, cannot delight people; a depiction of the ancient warrior Meng Ben’s eyes, though large, cannot inspire fear. This is because, beyond outward form, there must also be a vital force that animates it. Some people divided an inheritance among brothers and received an immeasurable amount of property, yet everyone praised them for their righteousness. Precisely because what they received had no limit, it could not be measured.

Climbing to a high place makes one want to gaze into the distance; approaching a deep place makes one want to look down into it. The surroundings lead people to act this way. An archer makes others straighten their bodies, and a fisherman makes them hold themselves with care; the activity itself has this effect. One must stand steady to hit the mark, and remain attentive and focused to make a catch. This is why it is said that such conduct is determined by the circumstances of the activity.

Some say that killing a frail ox can save a fine horse from death, but this course of action cannot be carried out. Killing an ox necessarily causes a loss: oxen are used for plowing and are essential to the people’s livelihood. The law of the king therefore forbids killing oxen, and those who violate the ban are put to death. To trade a loss that is certain for something that may not be saved is a course that can never be put into practice.

The Ji Sun clan took control of the power of the Lu state’s ducal house. Ji Huanzi, a senior official of Lu, was named Si; some accounts also call him Ji Kangzi, named Fei. He coerced Duke Ding of Lu and monopolized the government. An ancient book says, “The stipends and political authority flowed away from the ducal house.” When Confucius spoke of this, he first went along with the Ji Sun clan’s practices, then took part in government. He said, “Whether one follows an upright person or a crooked one, how could one gain nothing? If you follow an upright person, then even if he has something crooked about him, do not encourage it. You may agree with him in small matters, but you must not follow him in major ones.” This means appearing to associate with the corrupt while in truth taking a different path.

When crooked people grow numerous, they leave no room for the upright; when the bent and unjust grow numerous, they leave no room for the fair. Thus, when people are many, they eat wolves; when wolves are many, they eat people. Those who wish to do evil must disguise it under the name of what is upright; those who wish to follow a crooked path must use the right path to make their way. No one has ever heard, from ancient times to the present, of public justice being established while private desires run rampant.

This is called covering ugly conduct with a good name. “To borrow” means to rely on or make use of something. For example, when Li Ji wanted to kill Crown Prince Shensheng, she first praised him before Duke Xian of Jin, and only afterward was able to carry out her plot against him. This is the same kind of tactic.

The talk of many people can gather into a “forest,” and even a creature without wings can be made to fly. When everyone discusses something, it is as though a forest has sprung up on level ground. If people believe that a wingless bird can fly, they will take it to be true. The saying “Three people make a tiger in the marketplace” means that if three people all claim there is a tiger in the market, listeners will believe them, even though a marketplace is no place for tigers to appear.

If everyone in the village says that someone can bend and twist his spine, others will believe it too. A swimmer who dives beneath the water need not wash himself deliberately, because he is already immersed in it. So grazing animals do not hurry to change pastures, and fish and insects in the water do not hurry to change waters. They may undergo small changes from time to time, but they do not lose their original habits. Those that eat grass continue to eat grass; those that live in water continue to live in water. This is how one undergoes small changes without losing one’s usual nature.

Some acts that are called faithful in fact violate ritual propriety, and some observances of ritual can also be inappropriate. Weisheng waited beneath a bridge for a woman, having agreed not to leave until they met. When a flood came, he still would not go, and in the end he drowned. Such rigid adherence to a promise was an inappropriate form of faithfulness.

The Kong clan’s failure to mourn a mother who had been put aside was also a lapse in ritual propriety. According to ritual, a son of a concubine should mourn for one year for a mother who had been put aside. Kongzi, known as Zishang and named Bai, was Confucius’s great-grandson and the son of Kong Ji. After Zishang’s mother was put aside, she died in another place, and Zishang did not mourn for her. Someone asked Kong Ji, “Did your father mourn for a mother who had been put aside? Why do you not have Bai mourn?” Kong Ji replied, “My late father did nothing contrary to the right path. When virtue was high, he acted by a high standard; when virtue was low, he could only act according to the circumstances of the time. How could I compel him?” Kong Ji did not regard Zishang’s mother as his own wife, nor as Bai’s mother. The Kong clan’s failure to mourn for a mother who had been put aside began with Zisi, and this is why it is called a lapse by the Kong clan.

Zengzi took filial piety as his guiding principle and would not enter the village gate called “Defeats Mother.” Mozi opposed music and would not enter the city of Zhaoge. Zengzi upheld his integrity and would not drink from the Robber’s Spring. In each case, they were holding fast to their own convictions.

King Zhou of Shang had chopsticks made of ivory. When Jizi saw them, he sighed. He thought that once there were ivory chopsticks, jade cups would follow; with jade cups, one would crave precious foods such as bear’s paw and leopard fetus, gradually falling into limitless extravagance. For this reason, Jizi sighed in sorrow and alarm.

When the state of Lu used wooden figures as burial companions, Confucius let out a long sigh. He abhorred burying human-shaped figures and foresaw that later generations would go further and bury living people as human sacrifices. Thus, when a sage sees frost fall, he knows that severe cold is coming and solid ice will form.

If a bird is about to fly by, one can wait with a net and catch it through one of the net’s openings. But if one sets out just a single opening, one will never catch a bird. By noticing the smallest signs, one can foresee the changes to come; but if one acts on the basis of only one part or one sign, one cannot accomplish anything.

People take up arms today to guard against dangers that are hard to foresee. If one could always know in advance where to begin, a posted notice would be enough. But some matters cannot be planned beforehand, and some circumstances cannot be predicted; they often arrive suddenly, when one is unprepared. So the sage accumulates De and wisdom, waiting for the right moment. The Dao can harmonize change and enable all things to benefit from it. Thus the sage cultivates himself and waits for the right moment; when it comes, he responds in keeping with the situation, as King Wu of Zhou did when he attacked King Zhou of Shang.

A plow ox with a mottled coat may have its hair shaved, its horns removed, and a nose ring put in so it can be led. Yet when it grows up, it may give birth to a calf with a pure red coat and horns. People take the calf as an offering, and after the ritual officer has fasted, they sink it into the river in sacrifice. Would the Earl of the River, the water deity of the Yellow River, reject the offering because the calf came from an unworthy stock?

The Book of Songs says, “Gather turnips and radishes; do not reject them because their roots are poor.” The Analects also says, “A mottled plow ox may give birth to a calf with a pure red coat and horns. Even if someone does not wish to use it in sacrifice, would the spirits of the mountains and rivers reject it?” Thus, gaining an army of ten thousand is not as valuable as hearing a single incisive remark. To be incisive is to understand the timing of Heaven, the advantages of the terrain, and the hearts of the people—and so to make the enemy submit without fighting.

Obtaining the Marquis of Sui’s pearl, a legendary treasure, is not as valuable as understanding the source of a matter; obtaining the He Clan’s jade disc, a renowned piece of jade, is not as valuable as understanding how the matter should be handled. Its “source” is what caused it to arise; what is “appropriate” is the course of action the matter calls for.

Fine horses are bred not to chase foxes and badgers, but to hunt deer. Swords are sharpened not to cut white silk, but to slay rhinoceroses and si, great beasts of ancient legend. So people should admire noble virtue and follow the right way. When they meet someone of great virtue and conduct, they should take that person as their model.

At the sight of a crossbow, someone wants to roast an owl; at the sight of an egg, someone expects to hear a cock crow and longs for night to pass. To leap from small signs at hand to their final outcome is to be hasty. Seeing hemp seeds and hoping to have cloth at once is no reason to complain that the cloth takes time to make, even though it will indeed be woven in the end. This reminds us to let things reach completion step by step.

An elephant does not resent others for taking its tusks after it has lost them. A bamboo mat used to bathe a corpse does not resent others for taking it away. If a person can give others something they no longer need, that is appropriate. “No longer need” is illustrated by Zihan of Song, who refused to covet a jade worker’s fine jade; “give others” is illustrated by the jade worker handing over what he no longer needed.

A madman runs east, and the person chasing him runs east too. They travel in the same direction, but for different reasons. A drowning person jumps into the water, and the person rescuing him jumps in too. They act in the same way, but with different aims: the rescuer wants to save the drowning person from death. The sage understands the distinctions and principles involved in life and death; the foolish person also experiences life and death, but does not understand where benefit and harm truly lie.

King Xu Yan ruled through benevolence and righteousness, yet his state fell. But a state’s fall is not necessarily caused by benevolence and righteousness. The state of Xu lay around present-day Xiapi and Xuzhou, and its territory also included Tong. “Yan” was King Xu’s posthumous title. He lived in a troubled age of decline, yet continued to uphold benevolence and righteousness, and in the end King Wen of Chu destroyed his state. Many states have fallen because they acted unrighteously, so Xu’s fall alone cannot prove that benevolence and righteousness inevitably lead to a state’s ruin. Bi Gan loyally remonstrated with King Zhou of Shang and was killed; yet people who are killed are not necessarily killed for their loyalty. When people see someone put to death after offering remonstrance, they often assume that the person was disloyal. So we cannot infer that the causes were the same merely because the outcomes were alike. Cold makes people shiver, and fear can make them shiver too: the same outward reaction may have different causes.

The Bright Moon Pearl came from Longshen, and the Jian Gui of the Zhou dynasty—a great gui tablet of fine jade—came from an unremarkable stone. The divine turtle called the Great Cai came from a ditch. “Great Cai” originally referred to a place where large turtles were found, and later became the name of this kind of turtle; the place where Zang Wenzhong lived was therefore called Cai. A ruler with ten thousand chariots—whether a feudal lord or the Son of Heaven—might wear a crown of very little value while riding in a carriage worth a hundred gold pieces. Six zhu make one zi, and eight liang make one chui; the point here is that the crown was worth very little. Some things, though lowly, occupy an honored place, while others, though precious, occupy a lowly one. Oxhide is a humble material, yet it can be made into a drum whose sound inspires the troops and commands the army.

Anyone who wants to learn to sing must first master musical tones such as zhi and yu. Zhi belongs to the southern Fire, and yu to the northern Water; music is properly composed when the five tones harmonize. Poetry and music can shape people’s dispositions and move Heaven, Earth, and the spirits. The term “feng,” or “airs,” refers to how those in higher positions use poetry to instruct the people, while the people in turn use poetry to remonstrate with their superiors. To sing beautifully, one must first learn pieces such as “Yang’a” and “Gathering Water Chestnuts,” whose harmonies are pleasing. “Yang’a” is also said to have been the name of an ancient song renowned for its skillful call and response. In each case, one first learns the fundamentals related to the desired skill, and only then can one attain it.

To lure cicadas with a flame, one must first make the light bright; to catch fish, one must first prepare fragrant bait. The bright flame attracts cicadas, and the fragrant bait draws fish to the hook. Applied to governing, the principle is this: a ruler should display virtue and improve the administration, and the people will gather to him just as cicadas and fish are drawn to a bright flame and fragrant bait. To attract fish, first clear the waterways; to attract birds, first plant trees. When water gathers, fish gather; when trees grow thick, birds come to roost. Those who want to shoot birds first prepare a zhuo, a silk cord attached to an arrow, and a zeng, a short arrow. Those who want to catch fish first prepare their nets. Without the appropriate tools, one cannot obtain what one seeks. A ruler who lacks a way to govern, for example, cannot win the people’s hearts.

To give someone a horse but untie its reins, or to give someone a carriage but remove the yi, the fitting that secures the yoke, appears to be a gift but in fact leaves the recipient worse off. There is a village saying: “If you cook beef without washing the pot, you will spoil the job.” Soup made without salt will not turn out well. The Book of Rites records that when a guest complained the soup was bland, the host apologized for not knowing how to season it. This too shows that soup cannot be properly cooked without seasoning.

Even Jie of Xia had an ability worth preserving for later generations: he knew how to fire roof tiles for building houses. Yao, too, had things he failed to handle well. One account says he did not banish the Four Evildoers or appoint the Sixteen Worthies; another says he did not pass the realm to his son Dan Zhu, but abdicated in favor of Shun, leaving himself with a reputation for lacking fatherly kindness toward his son.

Mo Mu was an ugly woman of antiquity, yet her conduct was upright, and so she had qualities worth valuing. Xi Shi was a famous beauty of antiquity, but outstanding looks do not prove that one’s conduct is upright, so she too may have had shortcomings. It follows that even the actions of rulers who lost their states may have had something to commend them, while the customs of those who governed well may still deserve criticism—just as Mo Mu had virtue and Xi Shi may have had faults.

Even if fine jade such as Wan and Yan falls into mud, a person of integrity will not abandon it. But even if broken, worn-out bamboo steamers and earthenware cooking vessels are placed on an ornate mat, a greedy person will not take them. Good qualities do not become less worthy because they are found in a filthy, lowly setting; base qualities do not become precious because they occupy an honored, elevated position. This means that a worthy person retains value even when placed in a humble, lowly position, while a petty person does not become worthy of respect merely by holding high office.

When grain is lent to the people in spring and collected again in autumn, everyone is pleased. Grain is scarce in spring, so help is given; after the autumn harvest, when supplies are abundant, it is collected again, and the people accept this willingly. But if grain is collected in spring and lent only in autumn, people will resent it. The gain and loss of giving and taking are the same, yet the joy and anger differ. The distinction lies in the timing.

A person skilled at keeping fish does not carry them in a basket and put them into the deep; a person skilled at keeping apes does not carry them on his back while climbing trees. One need only let each live in the surroundings suited to it. This is an analogy for governing: appoint officials according to their roles, placing those skilled in civil affairs in civil posts and those skilled in military affairs in military posts, so that each can put their strengths to use.

A sable fur robe pieced together from mismatched scraps is not as good as a fox fur robe with a uniform coat. Here, “mixed” means impure, while “refined” means uniform. This also shows that in governing, people should be placed in positions suited to their abilities.

That is why people find inconsistency of conduct so objectionable. Without constancy, a person is like the one described in the Analects: “If a person lacks constancy, even a shaman or physician cannot be.”

Someone assessed horses but failed to recognize a fine one. Here, “missed” means “did not recognize.” Yet a fine horse still falls within the scope of horse assessment. Horses differ in whether they die young or live long, and their bone structure alone cannot reveal this. That is why it is said that the horse assessor did not know everything.

Today, if someone sets fire to something, one person may bring more fire to help it burn, while another carries water to put it out. Neither succeeds, but those around them judge the two very differently.

In Ying, the capital of Chu, roughly in the area of present-day Jiangling in Hubei, someone wanted to buy timber for a roof beam and asked for a large piece three spans in circumference. The timber seller instead gave him a wheel hub. Though thick enough, the hub was not long enough to serve as a roof beam.

Qu Boyu, a minister of Wei who governed through virtue, transformed the people by his example. Zhao Jianzi planned to attack Wei and sent Shi Mo to investigate. When Shi Mo returned, he said that Qu Boyu was governing Wei, and that it was not the right time to send troops. This is the power of transformation through virtue.

Gongsun Yang, also known as Shang Yang, governed Qin through punishments. Qu Boyu relied on transformation through virtue, while Shang Yang relied on punishments. Their methods differed, but their aims were the same.

A sick person lies on a bed, while a physician treats them with needles and stone lancets, and a shaman performs rites for blessing with rice and thatching grass offered to the spirits. Both aim to heal the patient. Here, “needles and stones” refers to acupuncture and treatment with stone lancets; “grain offering” means rice used in rites to the spirits, and “matting” means thatching grass laid out as a surface.

The head of a wildcat can treat a rat bite; the head of a chicken, meaning the gorgon fruit, also called “wild-goose head,” can treat swelling in the neck. Horseflies can disperse blood stasis, and shaving wood can treat tooth decay. These are examples whose effects can be inferred.

Grease can kill a softshell turtle, and magpie droppings falling on a hedgehog can also cause it to die. Maggots grow in decayed ash, and lacquer does not readily dry when it comes into contact with crabs. These phenomena, however, cannot be inferred directly by the reasoning used above. What can and cannot be inferred sometimes seems unreasonable yet is indeed so, and sometimes seems reasonable yet may not be so. Who can fully understand the subtle principles at work?

There are no pure white foxes in the world, yet there are pure white fox furs, made by piecing together the pelts of many white foxes. A good learner is like the King of Qi eating chicken: he insists on eating the feet, and does not feel satisfied until he has eaten dozens. The “feet” here are the chickens’ heels. The comparison means that to pursue learning and the Way, one must draw from many sources in order to gain something.

A knife is suited to shaving hair. To fell a great tree, however, is impossible without an axe. “Cut down” means to sever. This is simply how things are: one tool may accomplish one task but prove inadequate for another. Looking at only a small patch of an ox, one might think it no larger than a sheep. Only when one sees the whole animal does it become clear that the ox is much bigger; the difference is great.

A pregnant woman who sees a rabbit may give birth to a child with a defect in the chest; if she sees a muntjac, the child may be born with four eyes. A foal has large eyes, but that does not make it a “large horse”; a full-grown horse has small eyes, but that does not make it a “small horse.” Some things look alike yet are not the same in reality. Some people injure a finger and later die as a result; others lose an arm and nevertheless survive. Analogies between things cannot be applied indiscriminately.

To sharpen a precious sword, one needs a soft whetstone. To strike a bell or stone chime, one needs a resilient wooden mallet. A hard wheel hub must be paired with spokes that are comparatively pliant. When both things are too hard, they are difficult to bring into harmony; when both are forceful, neither can easily control the other. Thus, paulownia wood can break a beast’s horn, and a horse’s hoof can shatter jade. These examples show that softness can sometimes overcome hardness.

A matchmaker’s work is not to teach people to deceive one another. Yet if the matchmaker merely brings a union about, people may instead lose trust. “Merely” here means deceit. Someone who swears an oath to prove his courage has not learned to fight; relying on his bravery, he becomes unwilling to yield. Thus, a gentleman avoids prison for fear of injuring bonds of gratitude, and avoids the marketplace for fear that disgrace will damage his sense of honor. Even small faults, when they accumulate, must be treated with care.

People cannot walk on their hands; when their hands are tied, they cannot walk quickly. Birds cannot fly without their tails; if their tails are bent, they cannot fly far. The way things work often depends on what seems not to work. What allows people to see depends on conditions that the eyes themselves cannot see; what lets a drum sound is the silence before it is struck.

By tasting one slice of meat, one can know the flavor of a whole pot. A feather and a piece of charcoal, when hung up together, can reveal whether the air is damp or dry: in damp air the charcoal grows heavier, and in dry air it grows lighter. Seeing one leaf fall, one can infer that the year is nearing its end; seeing ice in a bottle, one can know that the world is cold. These are ways of inferring distant conditions from nearby signs.

Three people standing shoulder to shoulder cannot all pass through a single doorway, because the doorway cannot contain them. But one person following behind can travel throughout the world. This means that a crowd cannot move when everyone is pressed together. A foot placed on the ground naturally leaves a footprint; a person moving in sunlight naturally casts a shadow. These things happen easily, but making a footprint straight and a shadow upright is difficult.

After King Zhuang of Chu executed the corrupt official Li Shi, Sunshu Ao sewed a hat and washed his clothes, preparing to be appointed to office. When Duke Wen of Jin threw away his moldy old mat, Jiefan resigned and asked to return home. He said that he had followed Duke Wen through many hardships and committed many mistakes, which even he himself knew about—how could the Duke not know? So he asked to leave. When mulberry leaves fall, the elderly grow sad, because they fear their own lives, too, are nearing their end.

A small cauldron is used every day, yet does not deserve special esteem, because it cannot harmonize the five flavors. The great cauldron of the Zhou house is not used often, but that is no reason to look down on it, because it can harmonize the five flavors. Sometimes things have greater effect precisely because they are not put to direct use.

When the ground is level, water does not flow; when the counterweight is properly balanced, the scale beam does not tilt. When something has a distinctive quality, it must bring about a corresponding change. The scale beam and counterweight may seem useless for ordinary labor, but with them one can determine an object’s weight. Thus, “uselessness” can contain an important function.

It is proper to take off one’s clothes before bathing; it is improper to take them off after the bath. Eating after a sacrifice is in accordance with ritual, because making an offering before a meal shows respect. Eating first and making the offering afterward is improper. Everything has an appropriate order. On the day of a sacrifice, talking about a dog giving birth; on the evening of a wedding, talking about mourning clothes; or discussing grave visits at a wine banquet—all are out of place. When crossing a river, people do not want to speak of the waves of Yang Hou. According to legend, Yang Hou drowned and became a water spirit who could raise great waves to harm people.

Some people know they are about to receive an amnesty and yet go on killing in great numbers; this is inhumane. Others, knowing they are about to be pardoned, save more lives; this is benevolence and righteousness. Both hope for a pardon, yet their actions bring different consequences. Blowing on a fire can sometimes make it flare up, and sometimes put it out; the result depends on how one blows. Someone who cooks beef for the people of his village but curses an old woman in the neighboring household will receive no gratitude for his kindness and may instead bring danger upon himself.

King Wen of Chu had a sunken chest, and the Chu minister Bao Shen was hunched over, yet both could still help govern Chu successfully. The Zheng official Bichen made plans outside the city, where he could help Zichan carry out affairs of state; when he planned inside the city, he could not. The Analects says that Bichen drafted the plans, Shishu discussed them, and Zichan then polished and finalized them.

A short person asked a tall person, “How high is the sky?” The tall person replied that he did not know. The short person said, “Though you don’t know, you are closer to the answer than I am.” Thus, when asking about something, one should ask someone close to the matter. When bandits attacked, a lame man told a blind man what was happening, and the blind man carried the lame man as they fled. Both survived because each used his own strength. If the blind man had been made to give directions and the lame man to run, their abilities would have been put to the wrong use.

Someone in the Chu capital of Ying sold his own mother, but asked the buyer, “My mother is old. I hope you will care for her well and not let her suffer.” This is an attempt to perform a small act of righteousness amid an act of great unrighteousness.

Crustaceans move about with the help of their hard shells; bees and other insects with stingers protect themselves with their venomous stings; bears and large bears fight with their claws; rhinoceroses and oxen charge with their horns. Different things each have their strengths. One should not abandon what they are good at in order to rely on their weaknesses.

Governing a state is like weeding a field: one need only remove the weeds that threaten the grain. Washing one’s hair causes some to fall out, yet people still wash it, because few hairs are lost and the benefits are great. A whetstone is not sharp in itself, yet it sharpens swords and knives; a bow straightener is not straight in itself, yet it straightens a bow. Sometimes things that are themselves crooked or blunt can help other things become straight or sharp.

In a contest of strength, what matters is coordination and speed; in a contest of strategy, what matters is quickness. If the results are the same, the faster one is better; if the contest ends in a tie, the slower one is at a disadvantage. The precious sword Moxie is prized because it can respond to circumstances and cut through them swiftly.

The people of Chu called a threshold “lin.” A cartwheel rolling over a threshold can crush it. Mencius said that the ruts at a city gate were not made by the strength of two horses. The point here is that to pronounce the character “lin” correctly, one must read it quickly, running the sounds together.

To conclude that the Six Arts are useless because Confucius was stranded in Chen and Cai is foolish. A doctor who cannot cure his own illness and, because he has fallen ill, refuses to seek a physician or take medicine is also unreasonable. Any judgment made without regard to the specific circumstances is foolish.

End of Volume Twenty-Three of Huainan Honglie Jie.

The following is a collation note describing differences among the textual editions. Some characters were missing from the original and have been restored on the basis of the Jijie edition; some were written incorrectly and have been corrected according to that edition; and a few extra characters have been deleted. For example, “bai” was changed to “bo,” “wu” to “ji,” and “zhen” was deleted; “dao” and “ren” were supplied, and “shi” was added.

The Upper Section, recorded by Xu Shen, Grand Commandant and Libationer.

“Shuolin” means “forest”: a place where trees grow together. This chapter discusses how the myriad things gather and sustain one another, and so it is titled “Shuolin” (“Speaking of the Forest”).

To govern the world by the measure of one time and place is like dropping a sword into the water while crossing a river by boat, then hurriedly carving a mark on the boat’s side. When the boat reaches shore, the person searches for the sword only where the mark was made. This is because he does not understand that things change with their circumstances: the boat has moved, but the place where the sword fell has not moved with it. To cling to traces left in one situation without understanding how to adapt to the changes of Heaven and Earth is the greatest confusion. Even if such a practice happens to work once in a while, it is not worth advocating, any more than seeking rain during a drought with an earth dragon, or praying for blessings during an epidemic with a straw effigy. These seem useful only at particular times.

The people of Chu called a kind of coarse cloth “Cao cloth.” Folk sometimes burned it and applied it to sores caused by parasites, so those afflicted with such sores valued it. Yet it was never the jade huang of the Xiahou clan, a precious jade object used in ritual and to issue commands. There is no distinction between ancient and present, nor between beginning and end. The Dao existed before Heaven and Earth took shape, and from it Heaven and Earth came into being. The Dao is deep, subtle, and vast.

The ground a foot can cover is limited, yet one must rely on ground beyond the reach of one’s feet to keep moving forward. What one already knows is also a narrow field; only by recognizing what one does not know can one’s understanding become clear. A swimmer who flails with hands and feet without knowing how to swim is more likely to sink the harder he struggles. One who truly knows how to swim no longer relies merely on the brute force of hands and feet.

Birds fly back to their homeland, rabbits run back to their burrows, and foxes face the hills where they were born when they die. As the cold season approaches, the hanjiang, a kind of water bird, flies toward the water. Each is attached to the place where it began. Do not give a mirror to a blind person, shoes to someone with crippled feet, or a zhangfu, an ancient formal cap, to a Yue person: none of these things serves their needs. The people of Yue traditionally cut their hair short, so a cap is of no use to them.

A mallet may have a handle, but it cannot strike itself. The eyes can see a hundred paces away, but cannot see their own corners. This means that people may be able to accomplish certain things, yet be unable to do the same for themselves. Pigs and dogs are not choosy about food; they grow fat and strong, and thereby draw closer to being slaughtered. The phoenix flies so high that no one can summon it down.

The moon shines over the world, yet the toad said to live in the moon can eclipse it. The soaring serpent can move through mist, yet fears the jiejü, a kind of large-bellied cricket. The crow seems able to contend with the sun, yet fears the zhuili, a kind of bird. Every thing has its strengths and its weaknesses.

No one lives longer than a child who dies young, while Peng Zu can be said to have died young. This is speaking from the perspective of life and death: life is only a temporary sojourn, while death is a return. The child who dies young leaves the place of sojourn early and returns to the final destination. Peng Zu, traditionally said to have lived for four hundred years, delayed his return for a long time and can therefore also be called “short-lived.” Another account says that Peng Zu was a seeker of immortality in the time of the Yellow Emperor. From this perspective, the child who dies young returns early to the realm of the spirits and is no less fortunate than Peng Zu.

A short rope cannot draw water from a deep well, and a small vessel cannot hold a great quantity, because they cannot bear such a task. Anger can be revealed through the absence of anger; action can be expressed through non-action. To see what is formless is truly to see what it manifests; to hear what is soundless is truly to hear the sound it contains.

The richest flavor does not leave people feeling cloyed or overfull; the most profound words rely on no ornament; the highest joy does not appear as laughter; the most pleasing sound is not a loud shout. The finest craftsperson does not carve and chisel deliberately; when ritual vessels are complete and plentiful, there is nothing more to add. The truly brave do not fight with others. Here, “contentment” means satisfaction and delight, while “shout” means loud cries. “Ritual vessels” refers to items such as the fu, gui, bian, and dou used in sacrifices. A truly brave person inspires awe, so others no longer contend with them.

Once one has attained the Dao, De follows. This is like the ancient pitch pipe Huangzhong corresponding to the gong note, and the Taicu pitch pipe corresponding to the shang note: the pitches are naturally in harmony and need no further adjustment.

With a horse bit made of earthenware, a horse can move steadily; with one made of metal, it may stumble; with one made of jade, it may start and leap. Here, “zhu” refers to a bit or similar piece of horse tack. Different materials produce different effects: a metal bit makes a horse’s steps unsteady, while a jade bit startles it into jumping.