《淮南鸿烈解》Vol. 6

When those above and below overstep their roles and interfere with one another, each vying for authority, government falls into disorder. Only when ruler and ministers each keep to their proper place and fulfill their responsibilities can those above and below work in harmony and make good use of one another. When the ruler acts according to the Way of the ruler and ministers according to the Way of ministers, each occupying the proper position, they can coexist peacefully and govern well.

When hearing reports on government affairs, the ruler should be open-minded rather than stubborn, and remain clear-sighted and free from deception. Then the ministers will gather to offer their counsel, and people of every kind—wise or foolish, worthy or ordinary—can put their strengths to use. The ruler can thereby direct the ministers, while the ministers can fulfill their duties in assisting the ruler; the principles of governing the state then become clear. King Wen of Zhou was intelligent and eager to consult others, and so became a sage king. He was glad to ask questions because he wanted to achieve great things together with everyone. King Wu of Zhou was brave and skilled at seeking advice, and so defeated the Shang. Drawing on the wisdom of many, there is nothing that cannot be accomplished; gathering the strength of many, there is no difficulty that cannot be overcome.

An object weighing a thousand jun (an immense weight, traditionally reckoned at about ten thousand jin) is too heavy even for Wu Huo, the strongman of King Wu of Qin, to lift. Yet when many strong people unite, their combined strength is far greater. Relying on one person’s strength alone is not enough—even Wu Huo cannot be relied upon to lift such a load. But if one is skilled at bringing together the strength and plans of many, there is nothing in the world that cannot be managed.

Yu the Great dredged the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers and undertook works beneficial to all under Heaven, yet he could not make the waters flow west. Hou Ji cleared and cultivated the land, encouraged the people to farm, and removed the wild growth, yet he could not make grain grow in winter. This was not because they failed to do all they could, but because circumstances made it impossible. If one forces what cannot be done and fails to follow the patterns of things, even a sage cannot succeed—how much less an ordinary ruler? When a cart is overloaded and the horse is thin, even Zaofu, the expert charioteer of King Mu of Zhou, cannot make it travel far. When the cart is light and the horse strong, even an ordinary driver can make it move swiftly.

Thus, sages do not act against the patterns of things or distort their natural qualities. They do not treat what is crooked as straight or what is constrained as extended; instead, they arrange and employ things according to the conditions at hand. When the strength of many is combined, nothing is too heavy to lift; when the wisdom of many is brought together, nothing is impossible to accomplish.

A deaf person can be assigned work that does not depend on hearing, but cannot be made to hear. A mute person can be asked to guard the city walls, but cannot be made to speak. Everyone’s physical form and abilities have their limits, so different people should be given positions and tasks suited to them. When one’s strength is sufficient for the task, lifting a heavy object does not feel burdensome; when one’s ability matches one’s responsibilities, the work does not feel difficult. Whatever the size of the position, the level of ability, or a person’s height and build, if each is suited to the task, all under Heaven can work in harmony, with none superior or inferior to the rest. The sage makes use of every kind of talent and therefore allows none to go to waste.

The ruler should put himself in order and honor those who are loyal and upright. When upright and loyal people hold important positions and conduct government affairs, flatterers, slanderers, and wicked schemers have no chance of being appointed. It is like square and round shapes that cannot overlap, or crooked and straight things that cannot fit together. Birds and beasts of different kinds cannot be mixed together, just as a tiger and a deer do not travel side by side: their powers are too unequal. When a sage gains authority and occupies a high position, if flatterers and schemers try to offend the ruler, it is like a sparrow meeting a hawk or a mouse encountering a civet cat: they will find it hard to escape.

Therefore, the ruler must be cautious every time he appoints or dismisses someone. Appoint the right people, and the state will be secure, those above and below will be in harmony, the ministers will be close to the ruler, and the people will be loyal. Appoint the wrong people, and the state will be endangered, those above and below will be at odds, the ministers will resent one another, and the people will be unsettled. One improper appointment can bring harm for a lifetime. The key to order and disorder, gain and loss, lies in the ruler’s hands.

When the ruler is upright at the top, those below will be straight, like wood aligned with a carpenter’s ink line. This is not because the ruler has corrected each of them one by one, but because the ruler’s own integrity influences the ministers. If the ruler is truly upright, honest people will take charge of government affairs and wicked people will hide themselves. If the ruler is not upright, evildoers will gain power while loyal people are kept out of sight.

Why do people not carve melons and gourds from jade? Because jade is hard, and a knife cannot easily cut it. If the ruler can uphold what is right and remain impartial, measuring high and low as with an ink line and a level, then when wicked people try to carry out their schemes, they will be as ineffective as eggs striking stone or fire meeting water.

King Ling of Chu admired slender waists, and people among his subjects began starving themselves. King Goujian of Yue prized courage, and his people took risks, competing to face death. This shows that those who hold power can change customs. Even if Yao had been an ordinary person, he could not have made everyone in a single village respond to his benevolence. Jie, though a tyrant, could issue commands that were obeyed when he sat in the highest position. This shows that virtue alone may not be enough to govern all under Heaven, while power can indeed change customs. The Book of Documents says, “When one person is blessed with good fortune, the people of all lands can rely on him.” This is what it means.

People throughout the world are often misled by reputation and rarely examine a person’s true circumstances carefully. As a result, some withdraw from public life yet earn respect through their reputations, while others travel from place to place and rise to prominence through their eloquence. If we examine why they are respected or celebrated, we find the problem lies in this: the ruler has failed to clarify the boundaries between authority and responsibility, name and reality, benefit and harm, and instead listens to the arguments of the crowd.

Governing a state cannot be done this way. Discussions of state affairs must be assessed according to established laws; officials’ work must be checked against their assigned duties. The ruler controls officials’ titles and responsibilities and inspects their actual results. Ministers keep to their own duties and answer with their accomplishments. Words must not go beyond the facts, and actions must not transgress the law. When every minister fulfills his role, no one dares to act alone and seize power.

When a matter is not covered by law but would benefit the governance of the state, the ruler should examine it repeatedly from different angles, then listen widely to people’s views and observe its eventual results and consequences. By refusing to trust one side alone or favor any particular matter, the ruler can handle state affairs fairly and comprehensively, like light shining in every direction. Ministers act justly and without deceit; officials carry out their duties and focus on producing a record of fair conduct. When the ruler above sees clearly and officials below work diligently, the wicked have nowhere to hide, and every achievement grows day by day. Brave soldiers will then strive to distinguish themselves in the army.

In a disordered state, the opposite occurs: people praised by the crowd receive rewards despite having no merit, while those who faithfully perform their duties are punished without fault. The ruler hears of events but fails to investigate them clearly; ministers form factions and are disloyal; persuaders compete in verbal argument, while even those who cultivate themselves and act properly scramble for private gain. As soon as the ruler issues an order, some form factions to criticize it; they secretly violate laws that expressly forbid their actions. Those who consider themselves clever devote themselves to deceit, while the bold rush into conflict. High ministers monopolize power, lower officials act on the strength of their position, and factions collude with one another to deceive the ruler. Such a state may still exist in name, but in reality it has already perished.

Failing to perform one’s official duties while donning armor and bearing weapons, or neglecting farming while winning a reputation for sagehood, does nothing to help govern the state. Qiji and Lu’er are both fine horses known throughout the world. But if a charioteer cannot make them move by driving them or stop them by pulling the reins, even a fool will no longer regard them as fine horses. Today, the signs that reveal whether a state is well governed or in disorder are plain to see, yet rulers throughout the world fail to notice them. This is precisely why the Way of governing the state is obstructed.

Power is the chariot with which the ruler governs the state; rank and emoluments are the reins with which he controls his ministers. If the ruler holds firmly to the essentials of power and the authority to bestow rank and emoluments, weighs matters carefully according to their urgency and importance, and grants rewards or makes choices appropriately, people throughout the world will exert themselves without slackening.

Between minister and ruler there is no natural affection like that between father and child, yet ministers are willing to give their utmost and even risk death in the ruler’s service. This is because of the relationship between them and the treatment they receive. Yu Rang was first a minister of the Zhonghang clan. Later he left his former master and entered the service of Zhibo. Zhibo fought Zhao Xiangzi at Jinyang, was defeated and killed, and his territory was divided among the three houses of Han, Wei, and Zhao. Yu Rang, however, wanted to avenge Zhibo by killing Zhao Xiangzi. So he lacquered his body until his skin broke out in sores, swallowed charcoal to change his voice, and damaged his teeth to alter his appearance. One man served two masters in succession: he abandoned one, yet was willing to give his life in return for the other. Was this simply because he chose differently between the two? It was his masters’ kindness and treatment that made him act as he did.

King Zhou possessed the world and received the homage of the feudal lords. Within his realm, all who could be reached on foot or by boat submitted to him. Yet King Wu of Zhou led only three thousand armored soldiers and captured King Zhou at Muye. Was this because the people of Zhou were willing to die for their ruler while the people of Yin betrayed theirs? The key was that the ruler of Zhou had deep virtue and could make his commands take effect. A violent wind raises waves; lush trees provide places for birds to settle. Such things happen because they respond to one another. When ministers are not treated well by their ruler, the ruler cannot obtain what he needs from them. What rulers and ministers give one another is, in the end, a reciprocal exchange.

Therefore, when ministers risk their lives in the ruler’s service, the ruler should grant them rank according to their merit. A ruler cannot reward ministers who have no merit, and ministers will not risk their lives for a ruler who shows them no kindness. If a ruler’s kindness does not reach the people, yet he expects them to work for him, it is like driving a horse with a whip and spurs. It is also like expecting crops to ripen before the rain has fallen. Acting in this way, one is bound to fail.

The fourteenth volume of Huainan Honglie Jie ends here.

The character “yue” is a corruption of “bai,” and “zai” is a corruption of “ai.” The three characters “yu,” “sheng,” and “zai,” missing from the original text, have been restored on the basis of the Jiji edition. The character “chen” should be “kuang.” The character “zi” is an interpolation and has been deleted on the basis of the Jiji edition. The missing character “jun” has been restored on the basis of the Jiji edition. The character “jun” should be “gong.”

The fifteenth volume of Huainan Honglie Jie

Recorded by Xu Shen, libationer of the Grand Commandant

The Lower Section of “Treatise on the Art of Rulership”

A ruler should cultivate himself through quietude and set an example for his subjects through frugality. When the ruler is quiet, his officials will not be disturbed; when he is frugal, the people will not resent him. If officials are disturbed, government affairs will fall into disorder; if the people are resentful, the ruler’s virtue will grow weak. When affairs are in disorder, the worthy will refuse to offer their counsel; when virtue is weak, even the brave will refuse to give their lives in the ruler’s service.

Thus, if a ruler delights in startling birds, fierce beasts, and rare and bizarre objects, prizes gold and jade as treasures and strange things as curiosities, and gives himself over to indulgence, impatience, and reckless ease, heedless of the people’s labor, constantly galloping out to hunt and coming and going at irregular hours, the officials will be thrown into confusion. Government demands will grow heavy, resources will run short, the people will suffer, and production will be unable to proceed normally.

If a ruler delights in lofty terraces and deep pools, carved and ornamented structures, elaborate patterns on ceremonial robes, fine or coarse hemp cloth, embroidered garments, and playthings such as pearls and jade, taxes will be levied without limit, and the people’s strength will be exhausted. “Fu” refers to a pattern of alternating black and white; “fu” refers to one of alternating blue and red. “Chi” is finer hemp cloth, while “xi” is coarser hemp cloth; “xiu” means embroidery in all five colors.

Yao possessed the realm not because he coveted the people’s wealth or clung to the ruler’s position. He saw people fighting among themselves, the strong bullying the weak and the many oppressing the few. So he personally practiced frugality and made the virtue of mutual care manifest, thereby bringing harmony to the realm.

For this reason, the thatched roof of Yao’s dwelling was left untrimmed, and its rafters were left unplaned. His carriage was not painted, and the edges of his rush mat were left undecorated. The sacrificial “great stew” was not seasoned with the five flavors, and his food was not finely prepared. Yao traveled through the regions to teach the people, laboriously making his way across the realm and journeying around the Five Sacred Mountains. Was this because his provisions were too meager for him to enjoy? He governed the realm for its peace and stability, not to profit himself.

When Yao grew old and anxious, he handed the realm to Shun as easily as slipping off a straw sandal while walking backward. Rulers of declining ages were different. Once they had gained the realm and seized power, they exhausted the people’s strength to gratify their eyes and ears, devoting themselves to building palaces, towers, ponds, and gardens, raising bears and other fierce beasts, and collecting rare curiosities.

As a result, the poor could not even get bran and chaff to eat, while tigers, wolves, and bears were fed fine meat. The people’s coarse-cloth garments were worn and tattered, while palaces were decked out in embroidered silks. When rulers rushed to undertake these useless projects, the people throughout the realm were worn down and impoverished. Such rulers made it impossible for people to live in accordance with their nature. Unable to live according to their natural disposition, people resorted to deceit in order to survive.

A ruler’s position is as conspicuous as the sun and moon. Everyone under Heaven watches and listens to him, craning their necks and rising onto their toes to look up at him. What a ruler does therefore affects the whole realm. It can keep people from settling into their natural dispositions and remaining upright, and may even encourage hypocrisy.

Since a ruler’s position is so prominent, he must be detached from worldly concerns if his De is to shine; calm if he is to plan for the long term; broad-minded if he is to embrace all people; benevolent if he is to win their allegiance; and impartial if he is to make sound judgments.

An enlightened ruler appoints able people as a skilled craftsman works with timber. Thick logs become boats, masts, and roof beams; smaller pieces become oars; long pieces become eaves and rafters; short pieces become supports for beams. Timber of every size and length can be put to suitable use according to its qualities, just as each kind of tool has its proper application. Among all things under Heaven, few are more dangerous than aconite, a poisonous medicinal herb. Yet a good physician keeps it in store because it has its uses. If no timber in the woods or thickets is entirely useless, how much less so are people?

Those who have not been appointed to office at court, or praised in their home villages, are not necessarily lacking in ability. They may simply have been assigned unsuitable posts. Deer are good at climbing mountains, while muntjacs struggle to keep up with them. But on the descent, a shepherd boy can catch up with a deer. This is because each has strengths and weaknesses. A person with grand strategic vision should not be expected to handle delicate, trivial tasks, nor should someone with only a little cleverness be entrusted with great responsibilities. Each person has their own abilities, just as things have their own forms: some find one task burdensome, while others can take on a hundred and still find them light.

Those who concern themselves too much with small gains and losses often overlook the larger interests of the realm. Those who focus only on choosing minor things may sometimes miss what matters most. One should no more set a wildcat to fight an ox than send a tiger to catch mice. Suppose someone wishes to pacify the Nine Provinces, bring distant lands under control, rescue states in peril, and restore lineages whose ancestral rites have been broken. Their aim is to correct wrongdoing and bring order to chaos, yet they are assigned trivial duties such as managing etiquette in the women’s quarters. Meanwhile, others who are skilled only at flattery and clever argument, ingratiating themselves through their advice, following local customs, and pleasing the crowd, are entrusted with the realm’s great authority and the key task of governing disorder. This is like using an axe to trim wool or a knife to prop up a piece of wood: in both cases, the wrong tool is being used.

A ruler should use the eyes of all under Heaven to observe, the ears of all under Heaven to hear, the wisdom of all under Heaven to plan, and the strength of all under Heaven to act. Then commands can reach the lowest levels, and the truth about those below can reach the ruler. Every official will perform their own duties, and the ministers will converge on the ruler like spokes meeting at the hub of a wheel. The ruler will not hand out rewards on a whim because he is pleased, or impose punishments rashly because he is angry, and so will avoid mistaken judgments.

In this way, the ruler’s authority can be established and endure; he will be clear-sighted and keen of hearing, not confused or deaf to what is happening; his laws and orders will be clear without being burdensome; and information will flow freely without obstruction. Reports of good and evil will be presented to him each day, with nothing suppressed or concealed. The able will be able to exercise their wisdom, while those less able will still do their best. His kindness will extend widely without favoritism; his ministers will work diligently without slackening; those nearby will live in peace, and those far away will give him their allegiance. This is possible because the ruler understands how to appoint people, rather than relying only on his own abilities.

Thus, someone who relies on a carriage and horses need not run on foot to travel a thousand li; someone who boards a boat and rows can cross rivers and seas without knowing how to swim. The principle is to make good use of the strength of others rather than relying on oneself alone.

Every ruler wants to gather the wisdom of all under Heaven and draw on the strength of the people. Yet when ministers try to speak freely and serve with loyalty, they often put themselves in danger. If what someone says is correct, it should not be dismissed even when it comes from a commoner or woodcutter. If it is wrong, a plan offered in court may still be useless even when it comes from a high minister or the ruler himself. Right and wrong must not be judged by status, and low rank is no reason to reject a proposal. An enlightened ruler listens to his ministers’ views and considers only whether their plans can be put to use. He is not ashamed to hear advice from someone of low rank, nor does he require the speaker to be eloquent. If a proposal is workable, he does not insist that it be expressed beautifully.

A foolish ruler is different. He cannot see the crookedness of those he loves and keeps close, yet cannot recognize the devoted service of those distant from him and of low rank. When someone offers advice, he challenges them with harsh words; when someone remonstrates with him, he punishes them with accusations. To hope to see clearly what is happening under Heaven and bring peace to the four quarters is like plugging one’s ears while trying to distinguish pure from impure notes, or covering one’s eyes while trying to tell blue from yellow. Such a ruler is far from true understanding and clarity.

The law is the measure by which affairs under Heaven are judged and the standard by which a ruler governs the state. Laws and orders are announced to restrain conduct that does not meet the rules; rewards are established to honor those who deserve them. Once the laws and orders are set, those who meet the standards are rewarded, and those who violate them are punished. The noble are not spared punishment because of their rank, nor are the lowly punished more harshly because of theirs. This is what fairness means. Whoever breaks the law must be punished according to it, even if they are virtuous and wise; whoever meets the standards should not be found guilty, even if they are not virtuous. In this way, the path of justice can remain open and the path of favoritism can be closed. “Public” means upright; “private” means crooked; “closed” means blocked.

The ancients appointed officials so they could govern affairs and regulate the people, preventing them from acting as they pleased. They established a ruler to oversee officials and prevent them from acting on their own authority. Laws and orders, classical texts, and ritual principles were meant to regulate the people and the ruler alike, preventing the ruler from acting arbitrarily. When no one can act as they please, the Dao prevails and governance runs smoothly; in the end, this is what is called Wuwei (non-action).

Wuwei does not mean remaining inactive. It means that political orders are not issued at the ruler’s whim. Measures have their foundations, sounds have their sources, and governance has its key: law arises from what is right; what is right comes from a suitable way that people commonly recognize; and that shared recognition accords with the human heart. Thus, those who understand the foundations are not distracted by minor details, and those who grasp the essentials are not confused by complexity.

Law does not fall from Heaven or grow out of the earth. It is established among people to set their conduct straight. So do not blame others for faults you also have, and do not demand of others what you have failed to do yourself. A ruler must obey the laws he establishes for the people, and must not do what he forbids them to do. This means setting himself straight before setting others straight. A state is lost not because it has no ruler, but because it has no laws and standards. Even when laws exist, if they are not enforced after being established, it is as though there were no laws at all. When a ruler makes laws, he must first set an example by following them himself. Only then can his orders be carried out throughout the realm. Confucius said, “When one’s own conduct is upright, things are done without commands; when one’s own conduct is not upright, people will not obey, even when commanded.” Only when the ruler restrains himself can orders be put into effect among the people.

A wise ruler governs the state like Zao Fu driving a chariot: he guides the horses’ movements with the reins in his hands, holds the measure of the journey in his mind, and controls the pace with the whip. He grasps the method inwardly and responds outwardly to the horses’ nature. Then he can travel straight or turn according to the rules, and cover long distances without exhausting his strength. The key lies in mastering the art of driving.

Power is the chariot in which the ruler rides, while ministers are the horses that draw it. If a ruler enjoys the comfort of the chariot but loses control of the horses, there has never been one who did not fall into danger. If horses and chariot are out of harmony, even the finest driver cannot make steady progress; if ruler and ministers are at odds, even sage rulers like Yao and Shun cannot govern the state well. When the methods of governance are in hand, even worthy ministers like Guan Zhong and Yan Ying cannot exceed their authority. When everyone’s duties are clearly defined, even villains like Dao Zhi and Zhuang Qiao have no way to cause disorder.

Imagine peering into a well from its rim: even with keen eyesight, one may not see clearly. Look with the aid of a mirror, however, and even the finest details can be made out. So a wise ruler need not strain his own eyes and ears, nor exhaust his spirit. He observes the signs things present and responds to circumstances as they arise, keeping what is near in order and governing what is far away. He does not act on the basis of chance calculations, but governs according to dependable principles; therefore, he rarely makes mistakes.

To drive a chariot, the horses and vehicle must move in harmony, and the driver’s intention must accord with the horses. Only then can they cross dangerous roads and travel far, advancing, retreating, and turning as desired. Even if one has fine horses like Qiji and Lü’er, handing them to someone who cannot drive will only make the horses run wild and the driver lose control. Thus, those who govern the state do not prize appearing to be right; they prize having institutions that make wrongdoing impossible. Do not put opportunities for greed before people and then expect them not to pursue them. Do not place things within reach that people can fight over and then expect them not to compete. In this way, people of ability can put their talents to use and justice can prevail. Affairs should be judged by established standards; where ability falls short, the right means should be used to make up the difference. Then the realm can be brought into unity.

If a ruler abandons his duties, listens only to praise and blame, casts aside merit earned in the public interest, and appoints members of a private faction, then people of outstanding ability but impure character will compete for posts above their station, while those who faithfully perform their duties will be obstructed and passed over. The customs of the state will fall into disorder, and ministers at court will contend with one another. Laws, measures, and institutions are the means by which a ruler controls and governs his subjects. To abandon them is like driving a chariot without reins: ministers and people will turn around and manipulate the ruler. With the art of governance, one can direct others; without it, one is controlled by them. A great fish out of water can be subdued by ants, and an ape away from the forest can be caught by a fox. If a ruler abandons his duties and competes with his ministers for power, officials will do nothing to protect their positions, while those who perform their duties will cater to the ruler’s preferences to keep themselves safe. The ministers will then hide their abilities and refuse to offer counsel, pushing matters back onto the ruler to handle alone.

The noble and wealthy should not take on every hardship themselves; those who understand public affairs should not personally examine every matter; and a ruler should not become arrogant because of his power. If he refuses to employ capable people and prefers to handle everything himself, his judgment will grow increasingly constrained and every responsibility will fall on him. His ministers will be unable to make their case, and governance of the state will deteriorate. The ruler will lack both the wisdom to govern and the authority to enforce punishments, making it impossible for him to deal effectively with the realm. If he displays his anger and pleasure, ministers will stray from the right path and cater to his wishes; officials will twist the laws and orders to follow his hints. Rewards will no longer match merit, and punishments will no longer match offenses. Those above and below will lose faith in one another, and rulers and ministers will resent each other. Officials who govern will flatter the ruler, and no one will dare hold them to account when they make mistakes. When the guilty go unpunished, the hundred officials fall into disorder, and even the wise cannot bring matters into order. Praise and blame multiply, and the ruler can no longer judge clearly. If the ruler does not begin with the fundamental institutions but instead labors over every matter himself, he will only grow more exhausted while his ministers grow more at ease. This is like abandoning one’s own duties to slaughter animals in place of the cook, or to chop wood in place of the carpenter. It is also like racing a horse: one runs until utterly exhausted and still cannot catch up, while the horse eventually collapses beside the chariot pole. Bo Le is responsible for judging horses, and Wang Liang for driving them. A wise ruler need only employ them well and draw on others’ abilities as his support; he can travel a thousand miles without judging horses or driving a chariot himself.

Therefore, a ruler should practice Wuwei while holding firmly to his duties, and when he does act, he should not be guided by private preferences. When a ruler shows favoritism, slanderous speech grows; when he shows private affection, flattery flourishes. Duke Huan of Qi loved fine food, so Yi Ya cooked his own eldest son for him. The ruler of Yu loved precious objects, so Duke Xian of Jin used a jade disk and fine horses to lure him into a trap. The king of Hu loved music, so Duke Mu of Qin beguiled him with female musicians. All these rulers were controlled by others because they coveted private gain.

Those who are skilled at establishing foundations make them hard to shake. Fire may be hot, yet water can extinguish it; metal may be hard, yet fire can melt it; wood may be strong, yet an axe can cut it down; water may flow, yet earth can hold it back. Only the Way of transformation cannot be overcome by anything in the world. When desires in the heart are not revealed, this is called “bolting the door”; when harmful thoughts from outside cannot enter, this is called “blocking them out.” If the heart is restrained within and guarded from without, what can exceed its proper bounds? When the outside is securely guarded and the heart remains clear, affairs can be brought to completion. Knowing how not to act recklessly is what allows one to act effectively; refusing to force matters is what enables things to succeed. When the spirit is overworked, it scatters; when the eyes and ears are immersed in sights and sounds, they grow depleted. Therefore, a ruler who possesses the Dao clears away delusions and private intentions, and maintains a quiet, empty clarity. He listens to words that are not boastful and does not take over duties that belong to his ministers. He checks actual performance against stated titles, lets officials each attend to their own responsibilities, employs them without directing every move, and evaluates them without teaching them in advance how to respond. He takes “not presuming to know” as his principle and “not forcibly controlling” as his precious way. Then the hundred officials each have their own duties, and once the ruler holds the power, it is easy to educate the people.

Duke Chu, known as Gongzi Zhe, was controlled by his ministers because power had fallen into other hands. Duke Huan and Duke Jing of Qi could keep Guan Zhong and Yan Ying as their ministers because the ruler’s position was honored and his authority secure. The weak can make the brave obey, and the foolish can restrain the clever, through the power on which they rely. Branches should not be larger than the trunk, and the tips should not be stronger than the roots; then what is large and small, heavy and light, can keep each other in check. Fingers belong to the arm, and so the hand can grasp, hold, and take things with ease. Those who possess power may rely on something small yet control a great domain; the principles they uphold may be simple yet give them command over a vast realm. A tree ten armspans around can support a roof weighing a thousand jun, and a bolt five inches long can control a door’s opening and closing. What matters is that they are positioned at the crucial point, not the size of the material.

Confucius and Mozi studied the Way of the ancient sages and mastered the Six Arts. They taught their doctrines in words and put their principles into practice, yet each drew only a few dozen followers. If they had occupied the position of Son of Heaven, the people throughout the realm would have become Confucians or Mohists. When King Zhuang of Chu heard that Wen Wuwei had been killed in Song, he set out at once with his robes hastily thrown on. Crowds so large that their clothes brushed together gathered along the road, and he then led his army to the walls of Song. This was because a ruler’s authority carries great weight. King Wen of Chu liked to wear the Xiezhi crown, said to distinguish right from wrong, and the people of Chu began to imitate him. King Wuling of Zhao decorated his belt with shells and wore the clothes of the northern peoples at court, and the people of Zhao changed their clothing too. If ordinary people wore the Xiezhi crown, tied on shell belts, or wore northern clothes, they would be mocked. It is rare for people to love goodness, willingly uphold what is right, and naturally comply with the laws without being compelled. But if commands make obedience beneficial and disobedience harmful, before long the people throughout the realm will follow the laws in orderly unison.

To face sword masters like Beigongzi and Sima Kuaikui while gripping a sword by its blade is, of course, to make victory difficult. If one holds the hilt and raises the point, even an ordinary person can gain the advantage. Wu Huo and Jifan were men of great strength. If they pulled an ox by its tail from behind, the tail would break while the ox still refused to follow, because this went against the ox’s nature. But if a mulberry branch were passed through the ox’s nose, even a child five feet tall could lead it wherever he wished, because this followed the ox’s nature. An oar only seven feet long can steer a boat because it draws on the power of the water. An order from the Son of Heaven can ensure that commands are carried out and prohibitions obeyed because it draws on the strength of the people. Prevent harm to the people and open paths for them to prosper, and orders will spread swiftly, like water released from a breached dam. A boat reaches its destination easily by following the current, and horses and carts travel far by following the wind. In both cases, success comes from moving with the prevailing force.

Duke Huan of Qi took three measures: he eliminated beasts that ate meat, birds that ate grain, and nets used to catch animals. The people were pleased. King Zhou of Shang killed Prince Bigan, causing resentment among the royal family; then he broke the leg bones of people who crossed the river at dawn, turning the people against him as well. The former performed three acts that benefited the people and was able to gather the feudal lords; the latter committed two cruel acts and lost the realm, becoming unworthy even of the status of an ordinary person. Measures in governance must therefore be chosen with care. An act of benevolence and righteousness need not benefit every person under Heaven: if it benefits even one, people throughout the realm will imitate it. Tyranny need not harm everyone: if it harms even one, people throughout the realm may turn against the ruler.

When a ruler levies taxes on the people, he must first estimate the harvest, understand the people’s reserves and the risk of famine, and then decide how much to collect to provide for expenses such as horses and carts, clothing, and food. Lofty towers and grand halls may be splendid, but if the people still lack shelter, a wise ruler will take no pleasure in them. Rich and sweet foods may be delicious, but if the people cannot even get coarse grain, a wise ruler will not find them savory. A comfortable bed and mat may offer ease, but if the people suffer danger at the frontier and die in the wilderness, a wise ruler will not enjoy them in peace. The rulers of antiquity felt compassion for the people. When the state suffered famine, they did not eat a variety of delicacies; when the people were cold, they did not wear fur robes in winter, but endured hunger and cold alongside them. Only when the harvest was abundant and the people were prosperous did they hang bells and drums and display musical instruments. Then ruler and ministers, high and low, could enjoy themselves with one heart, and there was no one in the state who suffered.

Bells, chimes, flutes, zithers, and lutes give expression to joy; weapons, axes, and halberds display anger; drinking wine and performing rites express fellowship; mourning clothes, wailing, and ritual dancing express grief. These outward rites and objects take shape when feelings within are full. Under a benighted ruler, however, taxes are collected without regard for what the people can bear, and demands are made without considering their reserves. Men and women cannot farm and weave to provide for those above them. The people are exhausted and destitute, and rulers and subjects resent one another. The people’s lips are parched and their hearts tormented; they have food today but no provisions for tomorrow. Yet the ruler still rings great bells, beats drums, blows pipes, and plays zithers and lutes. This is like entering an ancestral temple in armor or going to war in splendid robes: it turns entirely away from the conditions that give rise to joy.

It was not easy for ordinary people to make a living. A person who plowed the land by foot could cultivate no more than ten mu. On middling fields, each mu yielded at most four shi of grain a year, which had to feed a wife, elderly parents, and children. When disasters such as prolonged rain and flooding or drought struck, harvests became even less certain. People also had to surrender grain and property to pay taxes and cover expenses such as carts, horses, and weapons. It is clear, then, that the people lived in great hardship.

The land under Heaven is vast. After three years of cultivation, one year’s provisions ought to be saved in reserve. By this measure, nine years of cultivation would provide three years’ provisions, eighteen years would provide six, and twenty-seven years would provide nine. Then, even if floods or droughts struck, the people would not be driven from their homes by poverty. A state without a nine-year reserve is said to have insufficient stores; without a six-year reserve, it is in danger; without a three-year reserve, it is impoverished.

A benevolent and discerning ruler takes from the people in moderation and limits what he consumes for himself. In this way, he follows the order of Heaven and Earth and keeps the people from suffering hunger and cold. But when a greedy and tyrannical ruler imposes excessive taxes and seizes the people’s property to satisfy limitless desires, the people can no longer enjoy the nourishing seasons of Heaven and Earth or benefit from the land’s generosity in producing all things. Grain is the foundation of the people’s survival; the people are the foundation of the state; and the state is the foundation of the ruler.

A ruler should therefore follow the seasons, make full use of the land’s resources, and deploy human labor wisely, so that all things may grow and the five grains flourish. He should also teach the people to raise the six kinds of domestic animals, plant trees at the proper times, work diligently in the fields, and cultivate mulberry and hemp. Crops should be chosen to suit the land’s fertility and elevation. Where hilly or rugged ground is unsuitable for grain, bamboo and trees should be planted instead. In spring, people should cut dead branches; in summer, gather fruit; in autumn, store vegetables and grain; and in winter, cut wood and prepare fuel for their needs. In this way, supplies will not run short during life, and the dead will not be left exposed in the wilderness.

For this reason, the ancient kings laid down rules for hunting and fishing: hunters were not to take an entire herd or catch young animals; ponds and marshes were not to be drained for fishing, and forests were not to be burned to drive game into the open. Before jackals began laying out their prey, people were not to set traps in the fields; before otters held their “fish offering,” people were not to put nets in the water. The ancients spoke of jackals “offering up beasts” and otters “offering up fish” to describe how, at certain times of year, they laid their catch out along the banks. Before hawks entered the proper hunting season, nets were not to be set in streams and valleys. Before the plants and trees had withered, people were not to enter the mountains to fell them; before insects had gone into hibernation, fields were not to be burned. Animals in the midst of breeding were not to be killed, nor were birds’ eggs to be taken. Fish less than one chi long were not to be caught, and pigs less than a year old were not to be slaughtered. All these rules were intended to keep living resources from being exhausted.

Thus plants and trees grew luxuriantly, as if vapor were rising from them; birds and beasts gathered like waters flowing together; and flying birds assembled like clouds of smoke. These were the results of sound government. The ancient kings also arranged agricultural work according to the seasons. When clouds appeared in spring, they had the field boundaries repaired. When frogs called and swallows returned in spring, they had the roads mended. When springs began to subside in autumn and winter, they had bridges repaired. When the constellation Zhang, one of the seven mansions of the Vermilion Bird in the south, stood at the center of the sky at night, they urged the people to sow grain. When the Great Fire star, the Heart mansion of the Azure Dragon in the east, stood at the center of the sky, they planted millet and beans. When the Xu mansion stood at the center of the sky, they planted winter wheat. When the Mao mansion stood at the center of the sky, they stored grain and cut firewood. The ancient kings announced these seasonal arrangements to Heaven and spread them among the people. By following the seasons and preparing in advance, they made the state prosperous, benefited the people, and provided abundantly even for distant regions. The principles by which the ancient kings governed were already complete.

These measures did not depend on the ruler seeing everything with his own eyes or doing everything himself. They depended on his keeping the people’s welfare constantly in mind. The ruler’s mind is like the master of the body: although it cannot personally direct every task of the nine orifices and four limbs, it can guide human action and perception. When Yao did good, many good deeds followed; when Jie did evil, many evils followed. As good deeds accumulate, achievements are made; as evil deeds accumulate, calamity reaches its height.

A person of good character should be cautious in thought and broad in purpose; wise and adaptable, yet upright in conduct; capable in many ways, yet sparing in the tasks undertaken. Caution in thought means guarding against trouble before it arises, attending to small faults, and not indulging desires without restraint. The Book of Songs says, “King Wen served Heaven with caution and reverence, and so received many blessings.” This is what it means. A broad purpose means embracing all the states under Heaven, reconciling their different customs, and protecting the people, so that every opinion may converge on the ruler as the spokes converge on a wheel’s hub. Wisdom and adaptability mean being able to respond flexibly and reach in every direction, like a ring that turns without beginning or end, and like a deep, abundant spring that never runs dry, allowing all things to arise and answer one another. Upright conduct means standing straight without bending, remaining pure and uncontaminated, keeping one’s principles in hardship, and not giving oneself over to excess in times of success. Being capable in many ways means possessing both civil and military abilities, observing proper standards of conduct, and dealing aptly with different circumstances. Keeping tasks few means grasping essential principles and methods, using simple means to handle many affairs, quietly holding to the middle way, and using one principle to govern all things, like matching tallies that fit together.

Thus, the cautious person prevents trouble while it is still small; the broad-minded person can embrace what is vast; the wise and adaptable person understands change; the upright person refuses to act improperly and does only what accords with the right way; the capable person can manage many kinds of affairs; and the person who keeps tasks few grasps what is essential.

In ancient times, when the Son of Heaven held court and heard affairs of state, the ministers could offer frank remonstrances, the Court Academicians recited the Book of Songs, and musicians and blind court singers could admonish through song. The people could pass on their views, court historians recorded the ruler’s faults, and even the chief of the kitchen could withdraw the ruler’s meal. Yet the ancients still thought these checks insufficient. Yao therefore set up a drum on which people could beat to present remonstrances; Shun erected a wooden board on which they could write criticisms; Tang appointed officials who dared to speak plainly; and King Wu of Zhou set up a warning drum to remind the ruler to be cautious. Even the slightest fault had to be guarded against. The sages encouraged good deeds, however small, and corrected errors, however slight.

Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, King Wen, and King Wu governed the world with open hearts and sat upright in court to receive the feudal lords. They dined to the sound of drums and music, and after meals had music performed. Even when making offerings to the Kitchen God, they used no mediums or ritual invocations, because their De was complete and their conduct proper; they did not seek divine protection. Ghosts and spirits dared not bring calamity, and mountains and rivers could do them no harm. Their De could be called supremely noble. Yet they remained vigilant at all times, growing more cautious with each passing day. This shows how careful the sages were in their thoughts. The Book of Songs’ description of King Wen as cautious and reverent means just this.

After King Wu of Zhou defeated King Zhou of Shang, he opened the granaries at Juqiao and distributed grain to the people. He gave away the wealth from the Luta i treasury to relieve those in hardship. He sealed the tomb of Bi Gan to honor his benevolence and righteousness, and commended Shang Rong’s neighborhood. He made offerings at Tang’s ancestral temple, freed the imprisoned Ji Zi, sought his advice on governing, and enfeoffed him in Korea. King Wu also let the people remain in their former homes and cultivate their former fields, making no arbitrary changes on the basis of whether they were old or new subjects, close or distant kin. He drew near only to the worthy. This shows how broad the sages’ purposes were.

King Wen traveled through the regions, examining gains and losses and distinguishing right from wrong. In the Bright Hall, he displayed accounts of how Yao and Shun had brought prosperity and how Jie and Zhou had brought ruin. He therefore learned widely and committed much to memory, so that he could respond to every kind of change. This shows the sages’ wisdom and adaptability. Kings Cheng and Kang carried on the work of Kings Wen and Wu, following the principles for governing recorded in the Bright Hall and observing the signs of rise and fall, success and failure. They spoke no words contrary to reason and did nothing contrary to benevolence and righteousness. They did not speak carelessly or act rashly, but first chose the good way and then followed it. This shows that the sages’ conduct was upright.

Confucius was more discerning than Chang Hong; his strength surpassed that of Meng Ben. He could even pin a hare underfoot and lift a city gate’s crossbar with one hand, and he was capable in many ways. Yet people did not praise him for strength or skill, because he devoted himself to practicing filial piety. In the end, he became a “Plain King”: a man without an emperor’s title who possessed the De of a king. The things he did may seem few, but the principles he expounded were far-reaching. In the Spring and Autumn Annals, covering 242 years, he recorded the destruction of fifty-two states and the murder of thirty-six rulers, praising good deeds and condemning evil in order to make the kingly way clear.

When Confucius was trapped in Kuang, he faced danger without changing his expression and continued to play the zither and sing. Even when his life was at risk, he acted according to principle and was unafraid. He once served as Minister of Justice in the state of Lu, and whenever he tried a case, he made a definite judgment. When he composed the Spring and Autumn Annals, he did not invoke ghosts and spirits, nor did he make arbitrary pronouncements. This shows how clearly he understood the proper measure of things.

The sages possessed much wisdom, but the principles they held to were simple, so their actions often brought good results. Fools had little wisdom but took on too many affairs, so their actions often led them into difficulty. The wisdom of Wu Qi and Zhang Yi was inferior to that of Confucius and Mozi, yet they competed to please the rulers of great states with ten thousand chariots, and in the end suffered calamities such as being torn apart by chariots. To guide people through the right way is easy to accomplish; to manipulate the world through crooked cleverness is difficult and liable to fail. To abandon the easier path to success and insist on doing what is difficult to achieve is the result of foolish confusion. These six contrasting approaches and figures must all be examined carefully.

Knowing only the principles governing the myriad things, while not understanding how to conduct oneself as a person, cannot be called wisdom. Caring for all kinds of living creatures but not caring for humanity cannot be called benevolence. Benevolence means caring for people of one’s own kind; wisdom means remaining free from confusion.

Even when the benevolent have no choice but to cut off or sever something, their reluctance will show in their expression. The wise, even when faced with difficult and complicated matters, can show that they are not confused.

Put yourself in another’s place and reflect on your own true feelings: do not impose on others what you would not want for yourself. Infer what is distant from what is close at hand, and understand others by understanding yourself. This is wisdom in keeping with human nature, and a principle one ought to follow.

By guiding people in small matters, one can preserve what is great; by correcting them in small matters according to what is right, one can keep the larger order peaceful. When people are taught by the right way, their foundations can endure; when they are corrected in due measure according to what is right, society can be stable. Without the right way, things cannot be sustained; without what is right, they cannot be at peace. Only by extending one’s compassion outward can one make the independent judgments of the wise. Thus benevolence and wisdom sometimes overlap and sometimes work together: when they work together, they sustain things. Their coming together is called correctness; their separate, situational use is called flexibility—the ability to respond to particular circumstances. The principles behind both are the same.

Minor officials carry out the law; the gentleman decides matters according to what is right. If one follows the law alone without regard for what is right, one is merely a minor official, unfit to govern affairs of state.

Farming is exhausting and weaving is laborious, yet people do not give them up because they know that this work will ultimately provide food and clothing. People cannot live without food and clothing, and these must begin with farming and weaving: this is plain for all to see. Work like farming and weaving is extremely hard at first, but brings great benefits in the end; the foolish see only a little of what is before them. Many matters allow room for weighing and adapting, but the foolish rarely understand how to do so, and therefore often suffer anxiety. The wise prepare as far as possible for what can be foreseen, and handle well the things that allow for adaptation, so they have fewer worries.

At first, the wise may encounter opposition; only later do they come into accord with how things are. The foolish are pleased at first, but end in sorrow. It is easy to say what one should do today to gain honor, or what one should do tomorrow to meet one’s duty. But it is difficult to know how to judge what one should do today to meet one’s duty, or what one should do tomorrow to gain honor.

Someone asked a blind musician, “What is white like?” He replied, “Like white silk.” He was then asked, “What is black like?” He replied, “Like a dark color.” But when objects that were white and black were shown to him, he could not tell them apart. People see white and black with their eyes and speak of white and black with their mouths. The blind musician, too, could speak about white and black, but could not distinguish them for himself. So his words about white and black were like those of ordinary people, while his ability to recognize them was different.

People know that one should be filial to one’s parents at home and loyal to one’s ruler when away from home, whether they are foolish or wise, worthy or unworthy. Yet few can put loyalty and filial devotion into practice and understand how to do so. Before acting, ordinary people first assume that something can be done, and then do it. Sometimes the result is right and sometimes wrong: this is precisely where the foolish differ from the wise.

Among a person’s qualities, nothing is more precious than benevolence, and nothing more essential than wisdom. Take benevolence as the foundation and use wisdom to put it into practice: these two are fundamental. Further strengths—courage and force, eloquence and quick wit, diligence and speed, skill and cleverness, clear judgment and caution—enable one’s various abilities to be put to use. If one has not yet cultivated one’s own character, then even with every skill at hand, lacking benevolence and wisdom as foundation and guide, adding more strengths will only deepen one’s shortcomings.

Courage and force without benevolence are like a madman carrying a sharp sword. Eloquence, clever words, and quick wit without wisdom are like abandoning a fine horse instead of riding it: one does not know how to judge or make use of what one has. Even with talent, if it is applied inappropriately or placed where it does not belong, it will only assist deceit and cover up faults. So it is better to know how to use a few skills appropriately than to master many skills. Do not entrust convenience and power to someone whose intentions are crooked; do not entrust important instruments to someone of dull ability. The Laozi says, “The sharp instruments of the state must not be lent to others.” Here, “sharp instruments” refers to powers and means important enough to affect the governance of the state.

With water, fish can swim freely. When a pond’s banks break and the water dries up, ants and other small creatures can devour them. Someone who oversees the repair of the banks and the plugging of leaks thereby benefits the fish. A state, in order to endure, and a person, in order to live, each have their own foundations. The people of a state are like water to fish; only when the state is prosperous can its people live in peace. A state endures through benevolence and righteousness; a person sustains life through doing good. Without what is right, a state will perish even if it is powerful, as the examples of Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang show. Without the will to do good, a person will be injured even if they are brave. The Analects says, “Bravery without observance of ritual leads to disorder.” Disorder brings harm.

In governing a state, one should keep the people from falling into the danger of taking part in rebellion and suffering harm. This is a skillful way to govern. Being filial to one’s parents, showing respect and affection to one’s elder brothers, and treating friends with trustworthiness are all things one can do without waiting for orders from a superior. To abandon what one can do oneself, while blaming others for matters one has no power to control, is contrary to reason.

A scholar in a lowly and secluded position who wishes to rise in status must first turn inward and examine himself. There is a way to rise: without establishing a good name, one cannot advance. There is also a way to establish a good name: without earning the trust of one’s friends, one cannot gain a good reputation. There is a way to earn the trust of one’s friends: without bringing joy to one’s parents, one cannot win their trust. There is a way to bring joy to one’s parents: without cultivating oneself sincerely, one cannot serve them well. And there is a way to make oneself sincere: without single-minded purpose, one cannot be sincere.

The principle is already close at hand, yet people insist on seeking it far away, and so they cannot find it. “Close at hand” means examining oneself and cultivating the foundation; “far away” means pursuing results outside oneself. If one does not cultivate the foundation but seeks a reputation for serving one’s parents and making oneself sincere, it is naturally difficult to succeed. Thus the principle is originally easy, yet people make it difficult to attain; the result is close at hand, yet they insist on seeking it far away, and so they cannot obtain it.

Discussions of principle often draw on things and analogies, linking different things to the principles of the divine so that people can understand what is truly precious.

The Dao is so high that nothing stands above it, and so deep that nothing reaches its bottom. It is level and true like a carpenter’s square, straight like an ink line, complete and round like a circle drawn with a compass, and square like a shape measured with a set square. It contains the entire cosmos, yet has no boundary between inside and outside; it runs through Heaven, Earth, and all things without obstruction. Those who truly understand the Great Dao are neither saddened nor delighted by external things, and are not quick to rejoice or become angry. Sitting quietly, they have no worries in their hearts; sleeping, they have no troubled dreams. When things arrive, they recognize them as they are; when events occur, they respond in accordance with the circumstances.

The ruler is the heart of the state, just as the heart is the center of the body. When the heart and spirit are calm, all the limbs and body are at ease; when they are disturbed, every part of the body falls out of order. Thus, a person whose body and mind are in harmony does not cling to distinctions among the limbs. When a state is well governed, ruler and ministers can trust one another without constant suspicion or deliberate precautions.

The Yellow Emperor said, “Heaven and Earth are vast, mysterious, and remote. One should follow the Way of Heaven and connect with the original Qi, the fundamental energy shared by all things between Heaven and Earth. Therefore, those whose De reaches the highest level speak concisely and in accord with one another, and act in ways that work together. Those above and below share one purpose; they do not stray onto different paths or each seek a separate understanding. In this way, ruler and ministers can trust one another without suspicion.”

The Yellow Emperor said: The myriad things of the world are vast and obscure. People should follow the Way of Heaven and share a common Qi with the origin of all things. Thus, those whose virtue reaches the highest realm speak briefly and consistently, act with the same purpose, and unite those above and below. They do not take crooked or wicked paths. They restrain evil and open the way for good, and the people then turn toward the right path.

The Book of Changes says, “Meeting others in the open country is favorable for crossing the great river.” This means that if people can be brought to share one heart and one virtue, united in a realm as broad as the open country, they can cross the great river. The great river here is a metaphor for a grave challenge.

The Dao is the guide followed by all things; De is the power that supports one’s nature; benevolence is the sign that appears after kindness has been accumulated; and righteousness is the standard that accords with people’s hearts and suits the many. Thus, when the Dao was obscured, De began to be prized; when De declined, benevolence and righteousness arose in turn. In the flourishing age of antiquity, people practiced the Dao without making a special display of De. In the middle antiquity, they upheld De and kept it from declining. In later times, people became constantly cautious, fearing that they might lose benevolence and righteousness.

The gentleman lives by benevolence and righteousness; to lose them is to lose the foundation on which he stands. The petty person lives by desire; to lose what he covets is to lose the means of living. The gentleman therefore fears losing benevolence and righteousness, while the petty person fears losing profit. By observing what each fears, we can see how different their pursuits are.

The Book of Changes also says, “In pursuit of a deer, without a forester to guide you, you enter the forest; the gentleman sees that the situation is unfavorable and would do better to give up, for pressing on will bring hardship.” Here the deer is a metaphor for the people. According to the commentary, “forester” means deception. If a gentleman pursues the people and deceives them, he will fall into difficulty. In the end, he would do better to give up in time, rather than find himself in a desperate predicament.

When one gives generously, the return is good; when one bears deep resentment, the calamity that follows is also deep. No one has ever given little while expecting a generous return, or accumulated resentment while believing no calamity would follow. Thus, the sage observes how events unfold and can know what they will bring.

The way the sage governs is like a wine vessel set at a crossroads where roads meet in every direction. Passersby draw wine from it, and each drinks a different amount, receiving just what suits them. Thus, to win the heart of one person is to win the hearts of many: when one person comes to join you, discern what is in their heart; when a hundred come, discern what is in the hearts of all hundred.

People take what they hope those above them will give and use it in their dealings with those below them. Who would not support such a person? They take what they hope those below them will do for them and use it in serving those above them. Who would not like such a person? The Book of Songs says, “He pleases this man because he carefully cultivates De.” The meaning of carefully cultivating De is profound: it may seem to focus on one person, but doing small things well is what enables one to do great things.

When a gentleman sees another’s faults, he forgets to punish them, and so is able to offer remonstrance. When he sees someone worthy, he forgets his own low status, and so is willing to defer to them. When he sees another in need, he forgets his own poverty, and so is willing to give. Sincerity within the heart shows itself in outward conduct. When one acts in a way that lets others feel one’s sincerity, even mistakes do not bring resentment. But if one’s sincerity cannot be felt, even loyalty will inspire dislike. Here, “bearing” refers to what one feels in the heart; “feeling” refers to sincerity.

Hou Ji brought widespread benefit to all under Heaven without boasting of it. Yu the Great did not neglect his achievements or hide his wealth, yet still felt he had not done enough. “Unsatisfied” means not feeling content. Even when full, he was as if empty, because he had used all his strength.

People always take what they like to be worthy, and they always like those who accord with their own wishes. No one in the world fails to recommend the worthy, yet such recommendations sometimes bring good government and sometimes bring disorder. This is not because they mean to deceive; they are simply looking for people like themselves. They may not truly be able to recognize the worthy, yet seek only those who resemble them, hoping in this way to find the worthy. That is surely difficult.

It is reasonable to have Yao judge Shun; but to have Jie judge Yao would be like measuring a stone with a measuring cup—the scales are entirely mismatched. If we speak only of “foxes” as a general category, we may end up understanding neither foxes nor raccoon dogs. Foxes and raccoon dogs are not wholly different; they are animals of the same kind. But call them simply “foxes,” and we may fail to distinguish their separate qualities. Thus, to call the unworthy worthy must mean one does not understand the worthy; to call the worthy unworthy must mean one does not understand the unworthy.

When a sage is above, the people are glad to accept his rule; when the sage is among them, they still admire his aspirations. If a petty person occupies a high position, he is like someone trying to sleep on a door bar, or like a silkworm cocoon left to bake under the blazing sun: he cannot be at ease for even a moment. Thus the Classic of Changes says, “The horse circles, unable to advance; tears flow until they run with blood.” This means that those caught in hardship feel anxiety and grief. A petty person in a position unsuited to him cannot remain there for long.

Each thing has its use. Tianxiong and wuhui are both powerful poisons, yet a skilled physician can use them to save lives. Dwarfs and blind musicians are often treated as objects of amusement, yet a ruler may also use their performances to entertain his guests. A sage therefore places people of different abilities where their talents can be put to use. When a brave warrior cries out and the three armies retreat, it is because his command truly carries force. If someone makes a proposal and no one responds, or seeks to carry something out and finds no support, there must be something at odds in their hearts.

Shun governed the realm without leaving his seat because he began by putting himself in order. When a ruler’s own conduct is often improper, the people will often resort to deceit. To be crooked oneself and demand that one’s shadow be straight is simply impossible. Where words of persuasion cannot reach, a person’s expression and bearing may sometimes succeed; where these cannot reach, a response deep within the heart may do so. When the heart is moved, understanding becomes clear, and this then appears in one’s actions: that is influence at its most subtle. People may be brought together by rank or outward authority, but these alone cannot reveal what is in one another’s hearts.

The horses of the Rong and Di tribes can all be harnessed to race; some run short distances, others long. Only Zao Fu, the famed charioteer, could bring out the full strength of each. The people of the Three Miao tribes could all be taught loyalty and trustworthiness; some were wise, others ordinary. Only Tang Yao and Yu Shun could fully bring out their virtue. There must be a principle here that cannot be passed on by instruction: inner transformation is so subtle that words alone cannot convey it. Zhongxing Miubo, a minister of Jin, once wrestled a tiger with his bare hands. He had the strength to kill a tiger, but not the virtue to win people’s allegiance. However great one’s physical strength, it cannot compare with the power of virtue.

If you make use of the abilities of a hundred people, you gain the strength of a hundred people. If you appoint someone respected by a thousand, you gain the support of a thousand. It is like holding a tree by its roots: all its branches and leaves move with it. A loving father cares for his child not to receive anything in return, but because he cannot help loving the child. A sage king nurtures the people not to make use of them, but because his nature does not allow him to stop, just as fire naturally gives off heat and ice naturally gives off cold. Those who rely on force and boast of their achievements are like people aboard a burning boat who think only of saving themselves. Those aboard the boat work together to put out the fire, not to do one another a favor. A noble person sees the beginning of a matter and can infer its outcome.

If a matchmaker praises someone, the other party may feel no gratitude toward the matchmaker. If you hire someone to work and then force him to eat, he may still feel no affection for you as his employer. Even one’s birth parents cannot compare with care that comes from the heart. Once people act for the sake of some gain, their kindness is hard to share. Seeing off the dead is not done in order to welcome the living; giving gifts to the dead is not done solely for the sake of the living. Only what springs sincerely from within can bring far-reaching influence. Brocade and embroidery are brought into the ancestral temple because their ornamentation is valued; jade tablets and scepters are placed before it because simplicity is esteemed. Using jade in a sacrifice expresses simplicity. Ornament must not overwhelm substance: this is the principle of the noble person.

A chariot may take years to build, but without a pin three inches long to hold its wheels in place, it cannot travel. A carpenter may cut a doorway, but without a door bar one foot long, the door cannot be secured. Thus the noble person values what is essential to a task and what brings it to completion. The subtle power of the heart can transform people, but it cannot be fully conveyed through teaching. A look or expression can also dissolve another’s guardedness, but outward appearance alone cannot make sincerity understood. What lies deep within the human heart is hidden and difficult to fathom; it cannot be fully explained to others.

Shun brought peace to the realm without leaving his seat; Jie brought chaos to the realm without leaving his palace steps. The key lies in the intentions of the heart, which are more powerful than a loud command. To fail to do something oneself and demand that others do it is a principle found neither in ancient times nor today. When a sage says the same words as anyone else, the people believe him because trust comes before speech. When the same order is issued, the people change because the ruler’s sincerity is expressed in more than the command itself. When a sage is above, the people change with him because his true feelings have already moved them. If those below fail to respond to what is done above, it is because the reality of the ruler’s intentions does not match his orders. Thus the Classic of Changes says, “The dragon that has risen too high will have cause for regret.” A ruler who occupies a lofty position and acts to excess will bring regret upon himself.

A three-month-old baby does not yet understand benefit and harm, yet can feel its loving mother’s affection because that love is sincere. The effects of words may seem clear, but they are limited; the effects that arise without words are broad and far-reaching. A noble person keeps faith by personally practicing the words of a noble person, and is loyal by having a heart in accord with a noble person’s intentions. When loyalty and trustworthiness show themselves from within, they can move the world outside. Yu took up a shield and battle-axe and danced between the courtyard steps, and the Three Miao submitted. The Three Miao had rebelled against Yu; Yu transformed them through ritual and music until they submitted. When an eagle flies over the water, fish and turtles dive to the bottom; when birds see the eagle, they flee. They sense its intent to harm. Yu transformed the Three Miao through virtue, just as the eagle drives animals away through its ferocity. People can discern one another’s true intentions from their actions.

There are indeed sons who die for their fathers and ministers who die for their rulers. They do not do so to seek a reputation; kindness lies so deeply within them that they cannot avoid danger. People willingly do certain things not to gain a name for themselves. A noble person’s grief and sincerity are not a performance put on to please others. Such feelings are not imposed from outside; they arise naturally from within. Righteousness makes people respect their ruler; benevolence makes them love their father. A ruler may let his ministers live or die, but he cannot make them violate what is right and obey him in a cowardly way. A father may raise his son and inspire him, but he cannot make his son cease to feel concern and attachment. When what is right outweighs a ruler’s personal wishes, the ruler can be respected and ministers can be loyal. When a father is loving, his son can be filial.

When a sage was on the throne, he transformed the people as naturally as the spirits transform things. The ancient rulers said, “This is simply my nature.” Here, “the Most High” refers to a ruler who possesses the virtue of a sovereign. The ruler’s natural benevolence surpasses the ordinary love of a father, so the ruler is respected and his ministers are loyal. When a father is loving, his sons are filial.

When a sage was on the throne, he transformed the people as naturally as the spirits transform things. The ancient rulers said, “This is simply my nature.” This refers to what is natural in one’s character. Later people would say, “Could the people have become like this without him?” This refers to the age of the Five Emperors: the people were as they were because the ruler governed them in this way.

The Book of Songs says, “Holding the reins, in orderly fashion, like weaving silk ribbons.” The Book of Changes says, “Conceal your virtue and hold fast to the right course.” Actions taken nearby bear fruit far away. The Duke of Zhou examined his conduct at night. When he thought he had done something wrong, he felt ashamed. Thus, a noble person is careful even when alone and does nothing that cannot bear the light of day. If you abandon what is close at hand and pursue what lies far away, you will meet with obstruction. It is easy to hear good words; it is difficult to put them into practice and correct yourself by them.

Confucius watched a grain plant undergo three changes: first it was a seed, then it grew into a stalk, and finally it bore an ear. He sighed and said, “Even a fox, when it dies, turns its head toward the mound where it was born. Perhaps I, too, will be like an ear of grain, bowing my head toward its roots.” When grain ripens, its ears droop toward the place where its roots grew. A noble person, too, does not forget his roots. So when a noble person sees good conduct, he reflects on himself and carefully examines the good and evil within him. Once he has set himself right, it is easy to draw people from afar.

The Book of Songs says, “If you do not do it yourself and examine it yourself, the people will not be convinced.” A petty person acts only to gain advantage; a noble person acts only to do what is right. Their pursuits may look the same, but they hope for different results. Strike a boat in the water: fish dive to the bottom and birds fly into the sky. They hear the same sound, yet respond differently. Even when they hear the same thing, their inner feelings may be alike while their actions differ.

Xi Fuji was a minister of Cao. When Chong’er, a prince of Jin, passed through Cao during his exile, Xi Fuji gave him a pot of food. Later, when Chong’er returned home and took power, he ordered his troops not to enter Xi Fuji’s residence during the attack on Cao. Zhao Xuanmeng was a high official of Jin. He once saved Ling Zhe’s life with a bundle of dried meat; later, when Zhao Xuanmeng was in danger, Ling Zhe saved him in turn. A gift need not be valuable for virtue to abound. A kind heart makes the person who receives kindness feel grateful, stirring sorrow and remembrance, and so it can move people deeply. When two people call out while caring for an elder at home, their voices convey deep affection. If they call out during a dispute over debt, however, it may lead to a fight. Thus, the most wounding weapon is the heart’s intent; the treasured sword Moye comes second. The most honored crown is the way of Yin-Yang; drums and other instruments are lesser things.

When a sage does good, he does not seek fame, yet fame comes of its own accord. He does not act for profit, yet profit naturally comes to him. People’s sorrow and joy do not arise from trying their luck for benefits in a future life. A person of the utmost Dao does not deliberately adorn his appearance. When sand gets in the eye, a person rubs it with a hand: this is the body’s spontaneous response, not something done to be seen. In the same way, when someone falls, they instinctively brace themselves. When a sage governs the world, at first his achievements may not be apparent. Only when his work is complete do people recognize how great it is. It is like the sun in its course: people cannot see it moving, but they know it illuminates all things. A swift horse cannot compete with the sun in traveling far. Someone working at night can see no better than a blind musician; when the east grows bright, the light appears of itself. The blind remain in darkness and cannot work by the light. To govern affairs, a person must also think carefully.

Actions that bring gains often bring losses with them; sometimes a gain is the beginning of a later loss. The Book of Changes says that decline cannot continue to the very end, and so comes “Return”: after things have fallen away, they grow again. What is weak can become strong through accumulation; what is low can rise high through accumulation. A noble person diligently accumulates, and in the end achieves radiance. A petty person seeks only immediate pleasure and eventually brings disgrace upon himself. The changes by which things wax and wane are so subtle that even the sharp-eyed Li Zhu might not see them.

When King Wen of Zhou heard good words, he feared he would not act on them in time. When he encountered something bad, he worried as though he had met an ill omen. He did not think time was short; rather, he was deeply concerned and considered the consequences well in advance. The Book of Songs says, “Though Zhou was an ancient state, the Mandate it received was ever renewed.” A person who holds to sincerity and preserves his true nature cannot be destroyed even by Heaven and Earth. His reputation will spread between Heaven and Earth, shining alongside the sun and moon, and people will love him wholeheartedly.

If someone truly yearns for goodness, even when they make a mistake, they will not resent others. If they do not yearn for goodness, even another person’s loyalty may bring them trouble. So it is better to reflect on yourself than to resent others, and better to seek within yourself than to seek from other people. Your voice comes from you; your appearance reflects you; your reputation is determined by your conduct; and your words and manners are expressed through your own actions. Nothing can be blamed entirely on someone else. If you stab someone with a sharp object or attack them with a blade, the consequences are of your own making. How can you then blame another person?

Guan Zhong assisted the state of Qi and enforced its laws. Though he did not reach the level of a sage, he was like patterned brocade: even if its material was not perfect, it was suitable for the ancestral temple sacrifices. Zichan assisted the state of Zheng, first granting favors and then enforcing the laws. He was like dyed cloth: soft and pleasing, but not noble enough to serve as ritual clothing for the ancestral temple. A person should be humble within to make room for what is full, and live simply to savor life’s pleasures. Such a person is like someone wearing coarse clothes with a jade hidden in his breast.

Two hearts cannot both win a person’s complete trust, but one sincere heart can win the trust of many. A man plants orchids, but though their flowers are beautiful, they have no fragrance. A stepson receives food and grows stout, but his body lacks a healthy glow. This is because their feelings are not in accord. A person’s life has something on which it depends, and after death there is a place to which it must return. So Hong Yan was loyal, upright, and benevolent, and gave his life to protect his former lord. Hong Yan was a minister of Duke Yi of Wei. When the Di people attacked Wei, they killed and ate Duke Yi. Hong Yan cut open his own belly and placed Duke Yi’s liver inside it. Bai Gong of Chu wanted to install Prince Lü as king, but Prince Lü refused, and was ultimately killed by the sword. He would not betray what he had been entrusted to protect, nor would he violate the principles to which he would ultimately return. Thus, when the world is at peace, one protects oneself through the Dao; when the world is in chaos, one uses oneself to protect the Dao. Death is the final test of a person’s character, so a noble person must be careful about the principles to which he remains committed.

A person who lacks courage may not have been timid from the start; rather, when danger comes, he loses his integrity. A person who is greedy may not have begun with strong desires, but on seeing profit, he forgets the harm it can bring. When the Duke of Yu saw the precious jade from Chuiji, he failed to realize that the calamity that befell Guo would also ensnare him. A person who has truly attained the Dao is already firm within: profit cannot entice him, and outside forces cannot take away his resolve.

People generally seek honor for themselves, but what benefit does that bring to others? A sage practices what is right out of natural concern within him; what benefit does it bring to himself? There have been many emperors, but only the Three Kings—virtuous rulers such as Yu of Xia, Tang of Shang, and King Wen of Zhou—are especially praised. There have also been many poor and lowly people, but Bo Yi alone is held in high esteem. If nobility were the measure of a sage, there should be many sages; if poverty were the measure of a person of benevolence, there should also be many. Why, then, are sages so few? True virtue comes from single-minded resolve and inward joy. A person who continually renews himself often forgets the passing years; the growth from youth to old age is completed in just this way, step by step.

A person who does not evade his own responsibilities will not conceal another person’s faults. It is like crossing a narrow bridge: one steps cautiously, afraid of falling. It is easy to make others believe you, but difficult to believe yourself, because the hardest person to deceive is oneself. If a ruler moves the people through sincerity, they respond. When one’s actions win the people’s hearts, resentment does not arise. Even if resentment arises for a time, there is still a good result if, in the end, the people’s hearts are at ease. Thus, the actions of Tang Yao and Yu Shun were not meant to gratify their own private desires, but to bring peace to the world. Jie and Zhou, by contrast, sought only their own pleasure, and everything fell into ruin. A ruler’s likes and dislikes, and the words he speaks, can lead the state toward peace or chaos.

A sage does not deliberately favor one side or distance himself from another, just as the sound of a drum can harmonize with many instruments. Silk strings, bamboo flutes, and instruments of metal and stone differ in tone, range, and length, yet each has its place and together they create harmony. Rulers and ministers, superiors and subordinates, and officials with different duties can likewise divide their work and act in concert. A weaver moves forward a little each day, while a farmer steps backward as he plows. Their methods are opposite, yet each accomplishes its own work.

When Shen Xi heard a beggar singing, he felt sorrow and went out to look. He discovered that it was his mother. Shen Xi had been separated from her, and she had been begging for food along the road. During the Battle of Ailing, King Fuchai of Wu heard news of victory in the local Wu dialect and said, “The Yi people’s voices bring news of victory; Gou Wu may yet have hope.” Here, “Yi” refers to the people of Wu, and “Gou Wu” is another name for the state of Wu. The same sound can be understood differently according to a person’s inner feelings. Thus, when the heart is sad, singing brings no joy; when the heart is glad, even weeping need not express sorrow.

Confucius said, “The strings are properly tuned, but the sound is wrong.” After Min Ziqian completed three years of mourning, he picked up his zither and played. The strings were in good order, but the music was mournful and sorrowful. Words and ritual are how we engage with the world outside us; feelings are hidden within and naturally seek expression. If ornamentation is used to suppress feeling, sincerity is lost; if feeling alone overwhelms ornamentation, ritual is lost. When words and feelings are both in keeping with what is right, a person’s virtue can reach the highest level.

Su Zi Yang said to his son, “A skilled craftsman knows the compass, the square, and the chisel.” These tools are empty in themselves, yet they can be used to work with all kinds of materials. A sage king uses them to govern the people; Zaofu uses them to control horses; and Yue’s doctor Yi Luo uses them to treat illness. The same materials are used in different ways according to different rules. When a ruler has an intention in his heart, the people carry it out. What is sincere within will show itself even before it is expressed, and people may respond without being summoned. Those eager to make themselves known often fail to understand themselves. Inner emptiness gives rise to self-praise, and self-praise gives rise to pretence. A truly sincere person enjoys doing the work but is not eager to show off, just as an owl naturally likes to call. A bear enjoys exercises for guiding and moving Qi, yet it does not do so to boast. All things simply act in keeping with their own nature.

Women in spring are prone to longing; scholars in autumn are prone to sorrow. This shows that all things change with the seasons. Wailing, sighing, and lamenting show that sound can move the heart. A person’s expression and bearing, and their manners and conduct, may be upright or crooked, revealing whether their feelings are sincere. A sage is therefore watchful and reverent within, and ultimately reaches the highest level. Whether achievement and reputation come to fruition may sometimes depend on the season; following what is right and accepting what is given are a person’s own actions. Jiang Taigong and the Duke of Zhou were not created by Heaven specifically for King Wu of Zhou, nor were Chonghou and E Lai assigned by Heaven specifically to King Zhou of Shang. They were simply people of that age, and events unfolded through them. Teaching begins with the noble person, but petty people can also benefit from it. Advantage is often first brought about by lowly people, yet noble people can enjoy its fruits. In the age when Donghu Ji Zi governed the world, lost things left by the roadside were not picked up, and farming tools and surplus grain could be left outside without anyone stealing them. This shows that noble and petty people alike found their proper place. Thus, when someone governs well, everyone benefits.

Those in high positions regard the left as honorable, so ministers say “left” when addressing a ruler, as a gesture of deference. Those in low positions regard the right as honorable, so a ruler says “right” to a minister as a gesture of humility. If a ruler puts himself in the position of a minister, he loses his place of honor; if a minister puts himself in the ruler’s position, he loses his proper standing. Grasping at a small convenience in the present harms what is right; even a small mistake nearby can harm ritual propriety. After Zichan issued a public code of punishments, someone sent a message challenging him. Even if there are many case records and instruments of punishment, when matters are handled reasonably and fairly, the people will not stray onto crooked paths. But if matters are handled contrary to the facts, the words of the world will refute you.

The way to govern a state well is this: craftspeople do not cheat in their work, farmers labor diligently, scholars do not conceal their conduct, and officials do not violate the law. It is like casting a net to catch fish: pull up the cord, and all the openings of the net will spread apart. Shun and Yu did not receive the Mandate of Heaven a second time; they received the people’s support. The virtue of Yao and Shun first showed itself in small matters, then spread until it was known throughout the world. They first set an example at home, treating their wives well, then extended their goodness to their brothers and to the state. The world submitted to them as grass bends before the wind. Great actions reveal what is small: for example, Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou used righteousness to punish what was unrighteous. The people of the world could also recognize great virtue through small things: Yao and Shun’s people learned of their rulers’ greatness from what they saw in daily life.

The Dao of the noble person is close at hand, yet it cannot be reached by force all at once. Though it is lowly, it must not be despised. All things carry it without exceeding what they can bear. It is vast and evident, and its influence is far-reaching and exalted. Once you understand this, you need not seek from others; you can find it within yourself. Abandoning yourself and seeking only from others takes you ever farther from the Dao. A noble person has an abundance of joy within, though his outward reputation may not be prominent. A petty person has too little joy within, yet seeks great renown. The difference between them is clear. Feelings hidden in the heart will always reveal themselves somehow; they cannot remain unexpressed forever. A noble person thinks about what is right and does not calculate profit. A petty person seeks profit greedily and disregards what is right.

Confucius said, “People may all weep, but how can someone say, ‘Why did you ride in my carriage and hurt me?’” The feeling of sorrow may be the same, but its cause may differ. Joy and sorrow deeply move the human heart. One person may dig the earth to make a pond, while another fills a pond in. They act differently not simply to make the people toil, but because each follows his own wishes, and the social results differ accordingly. People may share the same feelings, yet there are good and bad ways of directing them toward others. Thus, Tang Yao and Yu Shun labored diligently every day and ultimately established their royal rule; Jie and Zhou sought only daily gratification and ultimately perished. None of them imagined how later generations would mock them.

Human nature is such that freedom from suffering brings happiness, while the loss of happiness brings sorrow. So those who understand the joy of living will also understand the grief of dying. People of principle cannot be deceived with the lure of gain, and the brave cannot be cowed with fear—just as an empty vessel cannot fool someone who is hungry and thirsty.

Excessive desire damages moral principle: desire makes people prone to grasping, and grasping injures their sense of right and wrong. Excessive worry impairs wisdom; greed and worry cloud the mind. Excessive fear, in turn, weakens courage. Contempt and arrogance are common traits among petty people, and can also be found among the barbarians. Good conduct, by contrast, comes from the noble-minded; its brilliance seems able to rival the sun and moon, and nothing under Heaven can block or take it away. Thus, a well-governed state gladly moves toward prosperity, while a badly governed state drifts toward ruin without realizing it.

Metal cannot be cast into a vessel unless it is melted. Likewise, a ruler cannot make the people obey the laws unless he is concerned that his commands be trustworthy. If a ruler does not care about the people, he cuts off his ties with them; only when he returns to the foundations of good government do the people have somewhere to turn. The highest De must attend to small details while grasping the great principles. Duke Huan of Qi achieved great things but neglected details; Duke Wen of Jin was careful about details but failed to accomplish anything greater. Duke Wen governed well within his court but not beyond his borders. Duke Huan did the opposite: disorder prevailed within his court, yet his government was effective.

Water flows downward and so gathers in abundance. A ruler who places himself humbly above his ministers can hear them clearly. When a ruler does not compete with his ministers for credit, the way of governance can run its course. Guan Yiwu (Guan Zhong) and Baili Xi, a worthy minister of Qin, helped their lords achieve their aims; Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Mu of Qin, in turn, welcomed their advice and followed it.

Those who are deluded mistake east for west; once they see clearly, they wake from their error. Marquis Wu of Wei said to his ministers, “Do not refrain from pointing out my faults because I am old and frail. Whenever I am in the wrong, you must tell me.” He would not give up correcting his faults on account of his age. This shows that he understood what determines whether a state survives or perishes.

People cannot create the myriad things from nothing, but they can act; and even when they act, they cannot always determine the final outcome on their own, because their efforts must be brought to fruition by Heaven’s timing. Throughout a person’s life, Heaven’s timing helps make it possible to persist in doing good; those who persist in doing evil will also, in time, be brought to ruin by it. Good and evil therefore depend on oneself, but misfortune and fortune are not entirely one’s own to decide. The noble-minded attend only to what lies within their power. Human nature is bestowed by Heaven, while one’s fate consists in the circumstances brought by the age in which one lives. To have talent but not encounter the right era is a matter of Heaven’s timing. What did Jiang Taigong do to earn success? What crime did Bi Gan commit to deserve disaster? People act according to their nature and sometimes prosper, sometimes suffer harm. Fortune must be sought by proper means, but whether it is attained still depends on fate. Thus, the noble-minded can do good, but cannot guarantee a reward; they may be unable to bear doing wrong, yet cannot guarantee that they will escape disaster.

The ruler is the root; the ministers are the branches and leaves. It has never been heard of that a sound root bears luxuriant branches when the root itself is bad. In an age guided by the Dao, the realm is entrusted to the worthy, as when Yao yielded it to Shun. In an age without the Dao, the state is treated as private property to be handed to another. When Yao ruled the realm, he was consumed with worry; only after handing it to Shun did his anxiety subside. He once worried about holding on to power, yet in the end was willing to entrust the realm to a worthy person. This shows that he did not claim the benefits of power for himself.

Everything has some use, and even the smallest thing may not be useless. If one does not know how to use it, its value remains unseen. If people do not know how to use jade, they may take it for dung. People often try to minimize their losses when faced with something harmful, but seek greater gains from something beneficial. Someone who shares others’ taste yet especially loves thick-cut meat must find it delicious. Someone who stands out among those taught by the same teacher must be eager to learn. No one has ever been heard of who shows exceptional ability without finding something delicious to taste or something joyful to take pleasure in.

When the time is right, the noble-minded advance in accordance with principle. What is there to count as luck? When the time is wrong, they withdraw in accordance with principle. What is there to regret? Boyi, son of the lord of Guzhu, once yielded his position to his younger brother. Later, he refused to eat grain from the Zhou dynasty and starved to death beneath Shouyang Mountain. He felt no regret, for he had given up what he held in low regard and kept faith with the principle he valued. What he sought was what accorded with principle.

Fortune takes root slowly and in small ways; disaster, too, often begins with something slight. The people therefore overlook both, while only the sage can see the ending in the beginning. An old book says, “Wine from Lu was weak, and Zhao was besieged because of it.” According to the story, Lu and Zhao both sent wine as tribute to Chu. The Chu official in charge of wine asked Zhao for some, but was refused. He then replaced the wine Zhao had sent with weak wine from Lu and presented it to the king of Chu. Thinking that Zhao’s wine was weak, the king sent troops to besiege Handan, the Zhao capital. Another version says that Lu and Zhao sent wine to the king of Zhou. There is also the story of “the mutton soup that was not given to the charioteer, and the danger that befell Song.” Before the Song general Hua Yuan fought Zheng, he slaughtered sheep to reward his soldiers but gave none to the charioteer. In battle, the charioteer drove straight into the Zheng army, and Hua Yuan was captured.

A wise ruler rewards and punishes for the sake of the state, not himself. Those who benefit him personally but do nothing for the state should not be rewarded; those who oppose him yet benefit the state should not be punished. King Zhuang of Chu said to his minister Gong Yong, “A person of virtue may receive my rank and stipend; a person of merit may receive my fields and estate. You have neither virtue nor merit, so I have no reason to give you anything.” This may be called reasonable. Later, King Zhuang still sent Gong Yong away, though it seems he also encouraged him.

The governance and teaching of the Zhou reached the level of the Dao. Those of the Yin dynasty were good at educating the people, but did not reach the level of the Dao; those of the Xia dynasty could put their policies into effect, but did so rather crudely. Issuing commands and teaching goodness do not necessarily bring one to the highest level. Those who truly attain it do not deliberately seek a reputation for their conduct, nor take pride in themselves for doing good. They embody De and practice the Great Dao; those above and below live in harmony, without anyone thinking there is anything exceptional about it.

Many rulers have possessed states, yet Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin became especially renowned. It is said that seventy-two rulers performed the Feng and Shan rites on Mount Tai, but only the Three Kings truly embodied the Great Dao. A ruler should not demand private gain from his ministers, and ministers should not use a ruler’s power for private ends. When cultivation begins close at hand, its influence gradually reaches far, and later generations praise its greatness. One can set an example without reaching beyond what is near in search of a reputation, yet few manage to do so. After Xiaoji, the son of King Gaozong of Yin, was banished, he still did not abandon proper conduct. No one could take away his good name, because others did not share the resolve he held fast to.

A noble-minded person is one who measures what is fitting by principle; a petty person is one who sets aside what is fitting. Those of penetrating wisdom work diligently without feeling burdened by their labor. Those one step below them feel tired, but are not worn out. The worst feel inwardly exhausted, yet refuse to make an effort. The ancients knew how food tasted but did not eat greedily; people today eat greedily but do not know how to savor it.

Confucius was from Lu. When he studied ritual and music, he merely drank; he did not truly savor them. Singing requires attention to pitch. If the voice alone cannot convey the beauty of the music, it must be accompanied by bells, chimes, zithers, lutes, mouth organs, flutes, and other instruments. Even so, this may still fall short of the fullest power of moral instruction. Those who can truly honor the Great Dao, practice what is right, and handle joy and anger, reward and punishment with propriety, teach the people more effectively than music does. The people are like grass: when the wind passes over them, they bend with it.

During the seasons for silkworm raising and farming, the Duke of Shao of Zhou opened the prisons and released those in custody, so the people could return to their livelihoods. King Wen of Zhou refused the thousand-li domain that King Zhou of Shang offered him, asking only that the punishment of the bronze pillar be abolished—a cruel practice in which offenders were punished on red-hot metal pillars.

Thus, the sage acts with a sure sense of when to advance and when to withdraw. It is like putting on a fine hemp robe in summer, or telling the driver to get ready only when it is time to board the carriage: each is an act suited to the season and the moment.

Laozi learned from Shang Rong. When he saw Shang Rong stick out his tongue, he grasped the principle of holding to softness. Shang Rong was a man who had attained the Dao. He showed Laozi his tongue, and Laozi understood from it that the tongue is soft while the teeth are hard. Liezi learned from Huzi. By observing Jingzhu, he grasped the principle of taking the position behind and remaining humble. First the body appears, and then its shadow follows. The body can disappear, but the shadow cannot be harmed by that. So the sage does not put himself ahead of all things, yet can always guide them. It is like stacking firewood: the pieces added later end up on top.

People draw close to one another through righteousness and form communities with those who follow the same path. The strength of their community makes them powerful. Thus, the wider the reach of Virtue, the farther its influence extends; where the influence of righteousness reaches only a little way, the territory that military force can control is limited as well.

A great bell wears itself down by sounding; oil and candles consume themselves by giving light. Tigers and leopards draw hunters’ arrows because their markings stand out, while monkeys are killed because their movements are swift. Thus, Zilu died for his bravery amid the political turmoil of Duke Chu of Wei, Zhe; and Chang Hong was brought to ruin by his cleverness. He sought to aid the Zhou royal house with schemes, but the people of Zhou killed him. They could use strategy to calculate the fate of visible things, yet did not know how to use wisdom to avoid matters that should not be calculated.

Those who travel dangerous paths cannot keep to the straight line marked by a plumb line. Even after leaving the woods, they may still fail to walk straight. When traveling at night, one must close one’s eyes and reach a hand forward to feel the way. Once events have reached a certain point, harm can follow even when it is clearly recognized. Only someone who can pass from darkness and obscurity into understanding and light is fit to discuss the utmost principles of things.

Magpies know where the wind comes from: in windy years, they build their nests lower. Otters can sense changes in the water level; when rising water reaches their burrows, they leave and dig elsewhere. Turtledoves can foresee clear weather and begin calling when the sky is cloudless; female turtledoves, called yin, can foresee rain and call when the sky is about to turn stormy. It would be wrong to conclude from this that human wisdom is inferior to that of birds and beasts. Someone who has mastered only one craft and understands only one kind of principle can discuss specific, intricate matters, but cannot be expected to handle a broad range of affairs.

Ning Qi sang while beating a cow’s horns, and Duke Huan of Qi consequently promoted him to oversee affairs of state. Yongmen Zi moved Lord Mengchang with his weeping, until his tears soaked his sash. Singing and weeping are things anyone can do. But once they produce sound, enter the ears, and touch the heart, they can reveal profound feeling. The institutions of Tang Yao and Yu Shun can be imitated, but their ability to transform people’s hearts is beyond reach. Duke Jian of Qi was killed by Tian Chengzi because he was weak in character; Ziyang, the prime minister of Zheng, favored harsh punishments and was ultimately seized and killed. Neither had grasped the proper way to handle affairs.

If singing does not accord with musical rules, high and low notes fall out of tune. Even when the tones differ in pitch and quality, a loss of harmony makes them unmusical. To go outside the lines marked by a plumb line, or to stray within them, is equally to depart from a straight course. When King Zhou of Shang made ivory chopsticks, Jizi sighed, thinking that ivory chopsticks would surely be followed by jade cups, and that jade cups would lead to a pursuit of the most extravagant delicacies. When the people of Lu buried wooden figures with the dead, Confucius sighed, because figures made in human likeness might lead in time to the burial of living people. From seeing how something begins, one can infer where it may end.

Water flows down from the mountains and eventually empties into the sea; crops grow in the fields and are ultimately gathered into storehouses. When the sage sees where something originates, he knows where it is headed. When water is muddy, fish rise to the surface and gasp; when government orders are harsh, the people fall into disorder. If a city wall is built too steeply, it is bound to collapse; steep riverbanks, too, will eventually crumble. Thus Shang Yang enforced harsh laws and in the end was torn apart by chariots.