《淮南鸿烈解》Vol. 7

Shang Yang drew up laws and regulations to govern Qin under Duke Xiao. The people resented him, and later he was dismembered for his crimes. Wu Qi carried out severe reforms and was eventually torn apart by chariots. While serving as prime minister of Chu, he established a law holding nobles and ministers mutually liable for one another’s actions; later, he too was torn apart by chariots.

Governing a state is like tuning strings to play the se: the tension must be just right. If the strings are tightened too much, the finer ones will snap. So repeatedly yanking the reins and whipping the horses is no way to drive a thousand-mile steed. A loud sound travels no more than a hundred li; a sound without sound, however, can reach across the four seas.

Thus, rewards that exceed one’s achievements invite harm, and a reputation that exceeds the facts will be obscured. When one’s words and actions accord with one’s heart, and one’s reputation matches the facts, good fortune and calamity do not descend without cause. A wrongful dream cannot outweigh upright conduct; strange omens in a state cannot outweigh good laws and policies. Therefore, one should not receive high office and generous emoluments without merit, nor suffer the punishment of axe and halberd without having committed a crime. Those who cultivate themselves and uphold what is right in daily life do not stray from the proper path.

A noble person does not dismiss a good deed as unworthy simply because it is small, and so leave it undone. Small acts of goodness accumulate and become great goodness. Nor does a noble person excuse a small wrong as insignificant and let it pass; small evils accumulate and become great evils. Thus, enough feathers can sink a boat, and enough light, scattered objects can break an axle. This is why a noble person guards against faults in their earliest, smallest forms.

One moment of joy is not enough to establish goodness, but joy accumulated over time can nurture virtue. One moment of resentment is not enough to constitute wrongdoing, but resentment accumulated over time can turn into enmity. The good names of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties were praise built up over a thousand years; the condemnations of Jie and Zhou were likewise slanders accumulated over a thousand years.

Heaven has four seasons, and people have four faculties. What are these four faculties? Nothing is clearer than the eyes at observing the forms of things; nothing is more sensitive than the ears at discerning sounds. The mouth can close tightly and keep secrets—nothing is more secure. The heart can receive thoughts and conceal them deeply—nothing is more profound. When the eyes see forms, the ears hear sounds, the mouth speaks sincere words, and the heart attends to what is subtle, the changes and development of all things will have their bounds.

The land grows vast through De: that is, a ruler expands his territory through De. A ruler who is honored through De holds the highest rank; one honored through righteousness ranks below; one honored through force ranks lowest. Thus, a person of pure De can be king; one whose De is mixed can only be a hegemon; one with no De at all will perish. In ancient times, under the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, phoenixes flew to the court. During the three dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, auspicious signs appeared at the gates. When the Zhou royal house declined, auspicious signs appeared only around the marshes. The broader one’s De, the farther auspicious signs reach; the purer one’s De, the nearer they appear.

A noble person is truly benevolent at heart. Whether extending kindness or not deliberately seeking to do so, they embody benevolence. The Dao follows its own course and does not act rashly, so the people can live amid a simple and honest spirit. This is benevolence that does not depend on deliberately extending kindness. A petty person is truly unbenevolent at heart; whether they extend kindness or withhold it, they have no benevolence. Goodness that comes from oneself shows deeper benevolence than goodness that depends on others.

Therefore, when reason prevails over desire, the state flourishes; when desire overwhelms reason, the state declines. To understand the Way of Heaven, examine the patterns of the calendar and the seasons. To understand the Way of Earth, observe what the land is suited to grow, for each kind of soil has its own fitting crops. To understand the human way, look at people’s desires. The noble person seeks the Dao; the petty person seeks profit.

Do not startle or disturb the myriad things; they will each fall naturally into their proper order. Do not disrupt or entangle them; they will become clear of themselves. In governing all under Heaven, one should follow the inherent nature of things. Someone who understands only one particular matter cannot be told about change; someone who sees only one season cannot be told about the greater principles, just as a cicada knows nothing of winter. The sun knows nothing of night, and the moon knows nothing of day. Though the sun and moon give light, neither can cover both day and night; only Heaven and Earth can contain the myriad things. And only the formless Dao can contain Heaven and Earth.

An arrogant, self-satisfied ruler will have no loyal ministers; a clever speaker is difficult to trust completely. A tree with a trunk so thick that two arms can barely encircle it will not have branches thin enough to grasp in one hand. A shallow ditch will not hold a fish large enough to swallow a boat. When the roots are shallow, the branches are short; when the roots are damaged, the leaves and branches wither. Good fortune comes from Wuwei (non-action), while calamity comes from excessive desire. Harm comes from failing to prepare; filth comes from failing to clean. The sage is afraid of falling behind in doing good and of being too late to guard against calamity. To be covered in dust yet expect to stay free of it, or to cross water yet expect to stay dry, is impossible. Therefore, those who understand themselves do not blame others, and those who understand the workings of fate do not blame Heaven. People bring good fortune upon themselves, and they also bring calamity upon themselves.

The sage neither seeks praise nor avoids slander. They simply set themselves right and act with integrity, and all forms of crookedness then subside of themselves. Today, people abandon the straight path to pursue crooked ones, and turn from what is right to follow the crowd. They run after worldly conventions while keeping no standard in their hearts. A standard is meant to straighten what is crooked, so the sage returns to themselves and does not drift with the current.

If the Dao had definite chapters, forms, and boundaries, it would not yet be the highest Dao. The highest Dao has no taste, no visible form, and cannot be taught to another. Daji, a medicinal herb, can reduce moisture, while Tingli, another herb, can increase it. Used without restraint, medicine can itself become a source of illness. Many things in the world appear alike but are in fact different; only the sage can distinguish their subtle differences.

A skilled charioteer does not forget the horses; a skilled archer does not forget the crossbow; a skilled ruler does not forget those beneath them. If a ruler truly cares for the people and benefits them, all under Heaven will follow. If the ruler neither cares for them nor benefits them, even their own son will betray his father.

There is something most precious in the world, but it is not power or status. There is a state of utmost abundance, but it is not gold, silver, or jade. There is a truly long life, but it does not mean living a thousand years. To explore the heart and return to one’s nature is to be honored. To be content with one’s lot and know when one has enough is to be wealthy. To understand the boundary between life and death is to live long.

Speech without any settled standard of right and wrong, and conduct without any settled measure of what is fitting, are marks of the petty person. Seeing only one matter clearly and mastering a single skill are abilities common to ordinary people. Only the sage can take account of and accommodate all things, assess each person’s abilities, and assign them fitting responsibilities.

“Qi” means unity. The customs of every region across the four quarters of the world, along with the various principles found in society, should be brought together and integrated, so that they converge on a single principle.

Acting in accordance with one’s nature is called the Dao (the Way); preserving the nature one is born with is called De (Virtue/Power). Only after people lost their nature did they begin to exalt benevolence. Only after society lost the Great Dao did it begin to exalt righteousness. Thus, when benevolence and righteousness arose, Dao and De receded into the background. When ritual and music were used as embellishments, simplicity faded away. Once the boundaries between right and wrong were made clear, the people became confused. When pearls and jade were prized, people throughout the world began to compete for them. These four phenomena all arose in times of decline; they are methods adopted in the latter days.

Ritual is used to distinguish rank and status, and righteousness to regulate relations among ruler and minister, parent and child, brothers, spouses, and friends. Yet those who practice ritual today show respect on the surface while harboring envy and malice within. Those who practice righteousness give to others but keep their beneficence in mind. Rulers and ministers blame one another; family members grow resentful. In this way, the foundations of ritual and righteousness are lost, and people are left to associate through power and status, making demands of one another. When power and status are exhausted, their ties grow distant.

Where water gathers deep, fish appear that devour one another; where earth piles up, beasts emerge from their burrows. When ritual and righteousness are elaborately embellished, they breed the roots of deception and concealment. It is as impossible as stirring up dust without getting it in your eyes, or wading through water without getting wet.

In ancient times, the people were simple and unknowing; they could not even tell east from west. They did not fuss over their appearance, and their words went no further than their deeds. Their clothes were meant to keep them warm, not to display patterns; their weapons were light and had no sharp edges. In Chu, a blunted blade was called a “zhu.” People sang joyfully without seeking elaborate melodies; when they wept in grief, they made no sound. They dug wells for water and farmed for food, seeking no outward adornment and coveting no extra gain. Relatives neither slandered nor praised one another, and friends neither reproached one another nor kept accounts of favors.

Later, ritual and righteousness arose, wealth came to be prized, and deceit and pretense took root. Praise and blame multiplied, while resentment and the granting of favors went hand in hand. Thus filial sons such as Zeng Shen and Xiao Ji were praised, while evildoers such as Zhi the Robber and Zhuang Qiao appeared. Zeng Shen and Xiao Ji were models of filial conduct; Zhi the Robber and Zhuang Qiao were regarded as wicked men.

So when there are grand carriages for the Son of Heaven, dragon-patterned banners, feathered canopies and hanging tassels, and the spectacle of four horses abreast with a train of chariots, there will inevitably be people who break through walls, bore through doors, and pry open locks. When people wear splendid embroidered garments of fine, soft cloth and gauze, there will inevitably be others who can afford only grass sandals and ragged, coarse tunics. Jian is a kind of grass, and jue means grass sandals; duanhe refers to a short tunic of coarse cloth. From this we can see that high and low set each other off, just as long and short are defined in relation to each other.

A toad can transform into a quail, and a water nymph—the larva of a dragonfly—can transform into a damselfly, an insect related to the dragonfly. After transforming, these creatures look different from their original kinds. Only a sage understands such transformations. They move from Yin to Yang, or from Yang to Yin.

A foreigner may see hemp but not know that it can be woven into cloth; a Yue person may see animal hair but not know that it can be made into felt. It is difficult to discuss transformation with someone who does not understand how things work.

Long ago, Jiang Taigong (Taigong Wang) and the Duke of Zhou, Dan, were both granted lands to govern. Taigong asked the Duke of Zhou, “How do you plan to govern Lu?” The Duke replied, “By respecting the noble and cherishing those close to us.” Taigong said, “If you govern this way, Lu will gradually grow weak.” The Duke of Zhou asked how Taigong planned to govern Qi. Taigong replied, “By promoting the capable and placing those who have earned merit in positions of authority.” The Duke said, “In later generations, someone is certain to seize power and kill the ruler.” Promoting the worthy and honoring merit would make the people compete, eventually bringing about seizure of power and murder. In time, Qi grew stronger and dominated the other feudal states. After twenty-four generations, the Tian clan seized the throne and replaced the ruling house. Lu, by contrast, steadily weakened and was destroyed after thirty-two generations: the ruler’s income and power gradually passed beyond the ducal house, until King Kaolie of Chu finally conquered it.

The Book of Changes says, “When you step on a thin layer of frost, you know that solid ice is on its way.” A sage can discern the beginnings and outcomes of events from the smallest signs. The mound of wine lees and the all-night drinking began with ivory chopsticks. After King Zhou of Shang began using ivory chopsticks, he pursued ever more extravagant pleasures and eventually drank through the night, piling up wine lees like a hill. The torture of roasting people over heated metal began when King Zhou found his soup too hot and used it to punish the person who served it. Later, he killed people on heated bronze pillars, and the punishment developed into the roasting torture.

When Zilu rescued someone from drowning, he accepted a cow as a gift. Confucius said that from then on, more people in Lu would be willing to rescue those in danger. Zigong rescued people from Lu who had been taken to another state, but refused the compensation that the government offered according to its rules. Confucius said that afterward, no one in Lu would redeem captives. Zilu’s acceptance of a reward could encourage people to do good; Zigong’s refusal of compensation could make it harder for good deeds to continue. Confucius could infer great things from small ones and distant outcomes from what was near; he understood how things worked. From this we can see that integrity must be judged in its circumstances. One way of acting should not be made into a rule that everyone must follow.

Conduct that accords with customary ways is easy to put into practice, and arrangements suited to people’s abilities are easy to carry out. Deliberately flaunting falsehood to mislead the world, or acting with calculated arrogance in defiance of everyone else, is not suitable as an everyday custom for the people.

A spacious house is comfortable for people to live in, but a bird that flies inside will be uneasy. High mountains, perilous terrain, and dense woods are places tigers and leopards favor, but people who enter them are afraid. Deep waters and pools suit giant softshell turtles and crocodilians, but people who venture in are in danger. Xianchi and Chengyun were musical pieces of the Yellow Emperor; Jiushao belonged to Shun, and Liuying to Zhuanxu. People find them pleasing to hear, but birds and beasts may be frightened by them. Deep ravines, sheer cliffs, and tall trees are places monkeys favor, but people who climb there are afraid. Different forms and natures mean that what one creature considers joyful may grieve another, and what seems safe to one may be dangerous to another. Therefore, each thing should live according to its own nature, occupy a fitting place, and do what lies within its abilities.

Even a fool has something he does well, and even a wise person has things he cannot do. A pillar cannot be used as a toothpick, nor a hairpin as a roof support. A horse cannot pull a heavy cart, and an ox cannot race at speed. Lead cannot make a knife, copper cannot make a crossbow, iron cannot make a boat, and wood cannot make a cooking pot. When things are used in the right place and for a fitting purpose, each has its use, and there is no basis for ranking them as higher or lower.

A bright mirror is suited to reflecting one’s appearance, but a bamboo basket is better for holding rice. An ox with beautifully pure coloring is suited to be a sacrificial animal, but to pray for rain, it is less useful than the black li, a mythical divine serpent said to summon clouds and rain. This shows that things have no fixed rank of worth or worthlessness. If we value things for how well they serve a purpose, all things are precious; if we despise them for not meeting a particular need, all things can seem worthless. A rough jade stone need not be thin, while the horn fittings on a sword need not be thick. Lacquer is better the darker it is, and white powder the whiter. The standards for these four things are different, but as long as each meets its own need, each is equally useful.

Which is more useful, a fur coat or a rain cape? In the rain, a fur coat is of no use; indoors, there is no need to wear a rain cape. These implements each have their proper occasion, just as a boat suits travel on water and a cart suits travel on land, while the si, a vehicle suited to sandy ground, the dun, a vehicle suited to muddy ground, and the qionglu, a dwelling suited to open grassland, each belong in a particular setting. When Laozi said, “Do not exalt the worthy,” he meant that people should not be placed where they do not belong, just as one should not try to catch fish in a tree or birds in a deep pool. Each thing has its fitting place, so even when appointing the worthy, one must take account of their strengths.

When Yao governed the realm, he appointed Shun as Minister of Instruction, Xie as Minister of War, Yu as Minister of Works, Houji to oversee agriculture, and Xizhong to oversee the making of tools and equipment. He guided the people to work according to where they lived: those by the water fished, those in the mountains cut timber, those in the valleys raised livestock, and those on the plains farmed. The land’s suitability determined what work was arranged; the work determined what tools were provided, and the right people then used them. Marshes and level ground suited weaving, while slopes suited farming. People exchanged what they had for what they lacked and used their own skills to make up for what others could not do. As a result, few turned away or rebelled, and many were willing to obey.

It is like scattering game pieces on the ground: round ones roll to lower places, while square ones stay on higher ground. Each settles where it belongs. What ranking as higher or lower could there be? It is also like wind passing through bamboo pipes: each pipe produces a different sound, clear or deep, according to its shape. Monkeys settle in dense trees when they find them; badgers and raccoon dogs move along earthen embankments when they find them. No creature gives up a place that benefits it to choose one that harms it.

Thus, neighboring states may face one another, with the crowing of their roosters and the barking of their dogs audible across the border, yet few people cross the boundaries between feudal states, and cart tracks do not run for a thousand miles, because the people of each state can live securely in their own land. A disordered state looks crowded, while a well-governed state looks quiet and spacious. A state on the verge of ruin always seems to lack enough, while one able to endure seems to have a surplus. A state that looks spacious is not empty of people; everyone is keeping to their duties. One that looks crowded does not have too many people; rather, people neglect their proper work and compete for lesser pursuits. Abundance comes not only from having many possessions, but also from restraining desires and spending little. Scarcity does not necessarily mean there are no possessions; it may arise because the people are restless and spend too much.

Therefore, the laws and institutions of the former kings were not invented from nothing, but followed the principles already present in things and human affairs. Their prohibitions and punishments were not imposed arbitrarily, but were grounded in established standards. To govern things, one must follow their own patterns; to harmonize human relationships, one must follow the ways of human feeling. To govern the people, one needs a suitable ruler; to govern the ruler, one must begin with his desires. To regulate desires, one must follow human nature; to cultivate nature, one must rely on De (Virtue/Power); and to fulfill De, one must follow the Dao.

Human nature is originally clear and pure, but at times it becomes confused and clouded. This is the result of being influenced by things in the outside world. “Kē” refers to dust swirling through the air. Babies from different peoples, such as the Qiang, Shi, Bo, and Di, all cry in the same way at birth; these names refer to distinct peoples of ancient times. When they grow up, even if they look alike, they cannot understand one another’s languages, because they have received different teachings and customs. If a three-month-old baby were moved to another country and raised there, that child would grow up unfamiliar with the customs of the place of origin. This shows that clothing, ritual, and custom are not part of human nature, but are learned from the outside world.

Bamboo is naturally buoyant. But if it is cut into strips, bound together, and put into water, it sinks: it has lost its original form. Metal is naturally heavy, yet when placed on a boat it can float, relying on external conditions. White silk turns black when dyed with black dye, and yellow silk turns red when dyed red. Human nature is originally free of evil, but prolonged immersion in worldly habits can change it. People may even forget their roots and mistake acquired habits for their own nature.

The sun and moon are naturally bright, but drifting clouds can obscure them. River water is naturally clear, but sand and stones make it turbid. Human nature is naturally peaceful, but cravings and desires can harm it. Only sages can set aside the disturbances of external things and return to themselves. When travelers on a boat lose their way, seeing the Northern Dipper—the Dipper’s pivot, which people in ancient times used to find their bearings—can bring them back to their senses. Human nature is like this guiding star: by relying on it to understand oneself, one will not misunderstand the true state of things. Without an inner standard, one’s actions can easily become confused. It is like traveling in the Longxi region: the more impatient one is, the more likely one is to fall into difficulty.

Confucius said to Yan Hui, “I admire you, yet I have forgotten that fact; you admire me, yet you have forgotten it too. But even if you have forgotten, there is still one thing in my heart that I cannot forget.” This shows that Confucius understood and held fast to the human root. Indulging desire causes people to lose their nature, making it difficult to act with integrity. To cultivate oneself in this state of mind is dangerous; to govern a state is to invite disorder; and to lead an army is to risk defeat. Therefore, those who do not understand the Dao cannot return to their nature. The sage kings of antiquity could grasp the root within themselves. Thus their orders were carried out and their prohibitions enforced; their names were handed down to later generations, and their De (Virtue/Power) extended throughout the four quarters.

Whenever one undertakes a great task, one should first make the mind upright and the spirit clear. Only with a tranquil mind can one deal with things impartially. It is like pressing a seal into clay: if the seal is straight, the impression will be straight; if the seal is crooked, so will the mark be. Yao chose Shun and reached his judgment through observation. Duke Huan of Qi appointed Ning Qi and made his decision on the basis of what he heard. But if one casts aside deliberation and relies only on the ears and eyes, confusion will only grow worse. The ears are easily swayed by praise and blame, and the eyes easily drawn by beauty. It is not easy to handle affairs correctly on that basis.

A person who is grieving may hear a song and weep; someone who is happy may see another person crying and laugh. These confused responses to sorrow and joy arise because emotions already held in the heart shape one’s reaction. What is precious, then, is “emptiness”: not having grief or joy lodged in the heart beforehand, and not being controlled by emotion. When water is struck, waves rise; when the breath is disturbed, the mind becomes clouded. A clouded mind cannot govern affairs of state, just as agitated water cannot remain still. Therefore, the sage kings held fast to the root and kept their spirits from straying. In this way they could clearly discern the true state of all things, and people throughout the world would submit to them.

The Dao is the most precious root, and it takes no side in the world. When sages hold to this impartial standard, the people have something to depend on in their lives. If one relies only on benevolence, one must judge affairs through personal sorrow and joy. If one speaks only of righteousness, one may be inclined to measure things solely by what is given and what is taken. Yet the human eye can see only a limited area, even as one tries to care for all the people of the world; personal feelings cannot reach everyone. And if one lacks sufficient wealth, it is difficult to satisfy the needs of the people at large.

When stirred, joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure arise naturally. Weeping comes from the mouth and tears from the eyes: both are emotions within the heart showing themselves outwardly. It is like water naturally flowing downhill and smoke naturally rising upward; no one has to push them. Forced crying, even when someone weeps until their voice is hoarse, is not genuine grief. Forced friendliness, even with a smile, brings no real harmony. Only when feelings arise from within do words and actions accord with them.

Thus, when Li Fuji sent Chong’er a pot of food, it was worth more than the precious jade of Chuiji that Duke Xian of Jin sent him. And when Zhao Xuanmeng offered a bundle of dried meat, it was worth more than the great bell that Zhi Bo gave to Chouyou. Duke Xian used the jade of Chuiji to destroy the states of Yu and Guo, while Zhi Bo used the great bell to lure Chouyou into a trap. A lavish gift is no proof of genuine care; sincerity is what brings even those far away to one’s side. Confucius’s disciple Gong Xihua served his parents with the warmth and ease of a friend, while Zeng Shen served his parents with the reverence due to a stern ruler. Their intentions in caring for their parents were originally the same.

The Hu swore oaths by striking bones, a form of covenant among the Hu: they poured wine into a human skull and drank it, then cursed one another to bind themselves to the agreement. The Yue cut their arms and let the blood flow as a pledge. The people of the Central Plains performed the blood oath ritual: they slaughtered an animal and drew its blood, then showed the blood to their fellow oath-takers or drank it, thereby assuring one another of their sincerity. Although customs differed from place to place, all aimed to honor promises and earn trust.

The Sanmiao bound their hair into a zuā hairstyle, an ancient style of wearing the hair. The Sanmiao state lay around Pengli and Dongting. The phrase “using hemp to bind the hair” here means that they tied up their hair with hemp.

People in different regions wore their hair and clothes in different ways. The Sanmiao bound up their hair; the Qiang tied it at the back of the neck; people of the Central Plains wore caps and fastened their hair with pins; the Yue cut their hair short. These were only differences in dress. Under the rules established by Zhuanxu, a woman who did not give way to a man on the road was driven off at a crossroads. Today, men and women crowd together in the capital, shoulders brushing, and customs are no different.

Thus, although the rites and customs of the peoples in the four directions differ, they all respect their rulers, care for their kin, and honor their elder brothers. The Xianyun, an ancient people of the north, had customs opposite to those of the Central Plains: they cherished their children but treated their elders harshly. Birds fly in rows, and beasts live in herds. Did anyone teach them to do so? It is simply their nature.

The state of Lu followed Confucian rites and the teachings of Confucius, yet its territory was reduced and its standing remained low; it could not draw distant peoples near. King Goujian of Yue cut his hair and tattooed his body. He wore neither a leather cap nor a sash holding a tablet, and his bearing was neither stiff nor formal. Yet around the Five Lakes he defeated powerful enemies, ruled as hegemon in the south, and the twelve lords of the Sishui region led the Nine Yi to pay him court. The people of Hu, Mo, and the Xiongnu wore their bodies loosely, let their hair hang down, sat cross-legged, and spoke in ways that did not conform to Central Plains etiquette, yet their states did not perish for it. This shows that they were not necessarily without rites. King Zhuang of Chu wore a loose robe, yet his commands were still carried out throughout the realm, and in the end he became hegemon among the lords. Duke Wen of Jin wore coarse cloth and a sheepskin coat, with a sword at his belt, yet his fame still spread throughout the land. Must rites belong only to the customs of Zou and Lu?

Therefore, when you enter a country, follow its customs; when you visit another person’s home, avoid what they consider taboo. Do not enter where there are prohibitions, and do not press ahead when you meet an obstacle. Even in lands inhabited by different peoples, where everyone goes unclothed, or on distant journeys to remote regions, you will not fall into difficulty.

Rites are standards that give form to practical principles; humaneness is the expression of affection. Rites should follow human feeling in setting limits and forms, while humaneness arises from emotions within the heart. Rites should not go beyond practical principles, and humaneness should not extend beyond the bonds of affection. This is the principle for governing the world.

The three-year mourning period demands more than ordinary people can bear; it uses formal observances to make up for feelings that fall short. A three-month mourning period, by contrast, may suppress grief and make people’s feelings too urgent. The Confucians and Mohists did not examine how human feelings change from beginning to end. Instead, they imposed regulations contrary to actual feeling, prescribing mourning periods of three years, two years, nine months, five months, or three months. Grief should arise from genuine feeling, and burial should accord with the true purpose of caring for one’s parents. People should not be forced to do what they cannot, nor prevented from doing what they can. When the measure is right, there is no cause for undeserved praise or blame.

The ancients were not ignorant of the elaborate rites of ascending, descending, and turning, nor did they lack knowledge of the ceremonial movements in dances such as “Caiqi” and “Sixia.” They simply considered these practices time-consuming and burdensome to the people, with no practical benefit. Rites therefore need only support practical principles and express one’s intentions. The ancients were also capable of displaying bells and drums, playing pipes and flutes, brandishing shields and axes, and waving feathered banners. They simply considered this wasteful and disruptive to government. Music therefore need only bring people joy and express their feelings; it need not pursue a lavish profusion of sounds.

The ancients were also capable of exhausting the state’s resources and impoverishing the people, emptying the treasuries, and decorating burial goods with pearls, jade, silk, cotton, cords, and belts to give the dead an extravagant burial. They simply considered that such practices deprived the living of their livelihood and did nothing for dry bones and rotting flesh. Burial therefore need only ensure that the body and its grave goods are properly laid to rest. When Shun was buried at Cangwu, the markets continued to operate as usual; when Yu was buried on Mount Kuaiji, the farmers lost no time from their work. This was because they understood that life and death each have their proper place, and that extravagance and frugality should be kept in balance.

A disordered state does otherwise: words and actions contradict one another, and inner feelings do not match outward appearances. Its rites become cumbersome and its music excessively grand; lavish burials harm the living, while prolonged mourning disrupts people’s lives. As a result, customs decline, and disputes over praise and blame begin even at court. The sages therefore abandoned these practices and did not adopt them.

Righteousness means following reason and doing what is fitting; rites mean understanding human feeling and setting out ceremonial forms. In the past, the Youhu clan believed itself to be upholding righteousness, yet it was ultimately destroyed because it knew what righteousness was but did not understand how to act fittingly. The state of Lu emphasized rites, yet its territory steadily weakened because it knew the forms of rites but had not grasped their true substance.

When the Youyu people made sacrifices, they built their altars from earth, made offerings at the central part of the house, and arranged their burial grounds according to the pattern of the fields. Their music included “Xianchi,” “Chengyun,” and “Jiushao,” and they favored yellow in their clothing. The Xia rulers used pine to build their altars, placed a ritual representative of the dead first in their sacrifices, and set burial screens beside the tombs. Their music included “Xiayue,” “Jiucheng,” “Liuyi,” “Liulie,” and “Liuying,” and they favored blue-green in their clothing. The Shang people built their altars from stone, first sacrificed at the gate, planted pines beside tombs, and used the music “Dahu” and “Chenlu”; they favored white in their clothing. The Zhou people built their altars from chestnut wood, first sacrificed at the hearth, planted cypresses beside tombs, and used the music “Dawu,” “Sanxiang,” and “Jixia”; they favored red in their clothing. These arrangements each reflected the virtue associated with the ruling house: Yu corresponded to Earth, Xia to Wood, Shang to Metal, and Zhou to Fire. Although the rites, music, and forms of dress differed from one dynasty to another, none violated the bonds of affection or the proper order between high and low.

To use a law made by one ruler to reject customs handed down through the ages is like gluing the bridges of a zither in place and then trying to tune its strings: the sound will naturally be out of harmony. A wise ruler should therefore make clothing according to rites and righteousness, and set limits on conduct. Clothing need only cover the body, accord with classical records, feel comfortable, and allow freedom of movement. There is no need to pursue strange or ornate styles, or to insist on decoration at the edges and seams. A belt need only hold the garment closed, and shoes need not be made deliberately elaborate or exquisite. In establishing rites and righteousness and putting supreme virtue into practice, one should act flexibly and appropriately, without being bound by the established rules of the Confucians or Mohists.

What is meant by clarity is not seeing external things clearly, but knowing oneself. What is meant by acuity is not hearing sounds from the outside world, but listening clearly to one’s own heart. What is meant by understanding is not knowing other people, but knowing oneself. The human body is therefore where the Dao takes up residence; only when body and mind are cultivated properly can one experience the Dao. Having attained the Dao, one sees clearly, hears distinctly, speaks justly, and acts appropriately.

When a sage handles things, it is like a craftsperson carving and cutting material, or a cook slicing food: each is treated according to its nature and purpose, without being damaged. An incompetent craftsperson cannot do this. If the material is too large, it jams and will not fit; if it is too small, gaps remain and the pieces do not join tightly. The craftsperson grows flustered, the hands grow unsteady, and the work becomes ever uglier. A sage may divide, take apart, and disperse things, but when they have strayed from the right path, the sage weighs them again against a unifying principle. Things branch out from their root, yet in the end return to it. After being carved and polished, they can return to simplicity. Joined together, they form the Dao and De; separated, they become rites and regulations. The Dao lies hidden in the mysterious depths, yet when put into practice it adapts to invisible changes. How can speaking only of rites, duties, and rules of conduct uncover the foundations of good governance?

People in the world who think they understand government often abandon the foundations of Dao and De, believing that rites and duties alone are enough to govern all under Heaven. Such a view does not yet amount to understanding the Dao of governance. Rites and duties are the standards that the Five Emperors and Three Kings established in accordance with the laws, customs, and circumstances of their own times. They applied only to those times. They are like straw dogs used in sacrifice and earthen dragons made to pray for rain: while being made, they are adorned in blue and yellow, dressed in brocade, and tied with red silk; the officiants wear ceremonial robes, and ministers in caps preside over their presentation and removal. Once the sacrifice is over, they are only earth and straw scraps. Who would still cherish them?

When Shun was on the throne, the Sanmiao people would not submit. Shun therefore put government affairs in order and suspended military action, dancing with shield and battle-axe in hand to bring them around. When Yu was controlling the floods, heavy rains struck. He had the people heap up earth and gather firewood, then move to live on high ground. When King Wu attacked the tyrant Zhou of Shang, the realm was not yet settled, so he set out with Zhou’s corpse and did not immediately observe the three-year mourning period for his father. Yu, too, was so occupied with the floods and the building of dikes and embankments that he was buried soon after his death. These are examples of sages observing the circumstances and acting appropriately as times changed.

Today, some people know only how to repeat Shun’s dance with shield and battle-axe, while mocking the hoes and shovels Yu used to control the floods. They know that a three-year mourning period is not just one day, yet think it correct to obey an ox but not a horse, just as if they were mocking a musical composition with only the zheng and yu notes. Such people want to respond to changing events by these means, like plucking a single string and expecting to play a whole tune.

When times change, affairs change; as circumstances shift, customs change too. Thus sages examine their times when establishing laws, and respond to circumstances when managing affairs of state. In antiquity, kings performed the Feng and Shan rites on Mount Tai to make offerings to Heaven and Earth, but the laws followed by more than seventy sage kings differed. They did not deliberately oppose one another; their times were simply different. What should truly be emulated is not the specific methods the ancients established, but the principle they followed in establishing them: adapting their methods to changing circumstances. Those who can act in response to change are the most worthy.

One may join in singing a song by Huliang, but one cannot simply copy why he sang it in the first place. One may observe the laws of a sage, but cannot reproduce the specific circumstances that led the sage to create them. One may listen to the words of a skilled debater, but cannot confine their reasons for speaking or their response to the times within a fixed formula. The Chun Jun sword, an ancient renowned blade, is not itself something to be enamored of; what is precious is the skill of master swordsmiths such as Ou Ye and Gan Jiang.

Wang Qiao, a legendary immortal, and Chi Songzi, a legendary adept, both practiced methods of nourishing Qi and calming the spirit. Through daoyin, a practice of guiding the body and circulating Qi, and through breathing exercises, they exhaled stale Qi and inhaled fresh Qi. They forgot their bodies and clever thoughts, remained simple and true, roamed the mysterious realm, and connected with Heaven. Anyone who wishes to learn from them but fails to grasp the foundations of nourishing Qi and calming the spirit, and merely imitates inhaling and exhaling or bending and stretching the limbs, plainly cannot ride the clouds to Heaven.

The Five Emperors and Three Kings could hold the realm lightly and set little store by the myriad things; they regarded life and death equally and merged with change. They possessed the broad heart of sages: above, they befriended the spirits; below, they accorded with the transformations of Heaven and Earth. Anyone who wishes to learn from them but lacks a clear and far-reaching mind, and merely clings to old laws and regulations, plainly cannot govern the realm well. Thus, possessing ten sharp swords is not as good as mastering the sword-making skills of Ou Ye and Gan Jiang; possessing a hundred fine horses is not as good as mastering Bo Le’s ability to judge horses.

The most simple and vast things have no fixed shape; the most subtle and profound Dao cannot be measured. Heaven is round, yet a compass alone cannot determine it; Earth is square, yet a carpenter’s square alone cannot measure its full extent. Past and future together are called “zhou”; the four directions, above and below together are called “yu.” The Dao exists between Heaven and Earth, yet no one can point out exactly where it is. Therefore, those whose vision does not reach far are not fit to discuss the vast Dao, and those whose wisdom is not broad are not fit to discuss the highest truths.

Long ago, after attaining the Dao, Feng Yi went to live in seclusion beneath the waters of the Great River. Feng Yi was the River Earl, said to have come from Dishou Village in Tong Township, Huayin. After taking an elixir refined from the Eight Minerals, he became a water immortal. After attaining the Dao, Qian Qie lived on Mount Kunlun. Bian Que used his medical skill to heal the sick and save lives. He came from the state of Lu, bore the surname Qin and the given name Yue Ren, and lived during the time of Zhao Jianzi. Zao Fu was skilled at driving chariots, Yi at archery, and Chui at woodworking. Chui was a master craftsman of the time of Yao. Each pursued a different occupation, yet the Dao they followed was the same. Those who receive the Great Dao and use it to understand things do not contradict one another. It is like a single canal irrigating fields: every plot receives the same water.

When a cow is butchered and its meat cooked, some find it sour, others sweet. Frying, stir-frying, roasting, and broiling each produce different methods and flavors, yet all begin with the same cow. Trees such as pian, nan, yu, and zhang are felled and split apart; some are made into coffins, others into pillars and beams. However they are divided and worked along the grain, the methods may vary, but the material is always the same unworked timber. In the same way, the teachings of the various schools may differ in their aims, yet the Great Dao with which they accord is one. It is like silk, bamboo, metal, and stone instruments played together: though the melodies differ, none departs from the music’s overall structure.

Bole, Han Feng, Qin Ya, and Guan Qing were all skilled horse assessors of antiquity. Their methods of judging horses differed, but their understanding of them was the same. The laws and texts of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors varied, yet each won the people’s support. When Tang of Shang entered the territory of Xia, he adopted Xia’s laws; when King Wu of Zhou entered the territory of Yin, he put Yin’s rites into practice. Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang lost their kingdoms through their rule, while Tang and King Wu governed the world through theirs.

A carver’s knife, a plane, and a saw are used to work wood, but without exceptional craftsmanship they cannot shape it well. The furnace, bellows, and clay pedestal are tools for smelting, while the mold is made of earth; without refined skill, metal cannot be cast. Tufu once butchered nine oxen in a single day, yet his blade remained sharp enough to shave hair. Cook Ding used his knife for nineteen years, and its edge still looked as though it had just been sharpened. How was this possible? They moved their blades freely through the spacious places and gaps within things, working along their natural grain.

The compass, square, hook, and ink line are tools used by craftsmen, but they are not the source of skill. Without strings, even the musician Shi Wen could not play a se; yet strings alone cannot make a listener grieve. They are merely a means of expressing sorrow, not sorrow itself. When craftsmen make intricate structures such as lianji, yun’kai, yinbi, and xuancuo, they enter a subtle and profound realm, where mind and hand work together among all kinds of openings without obstruction from external things. A father cannot teach this skill to his son. The blind musician attends closely to the myriad things and gives voice to what is in his heart, turning feeling and spirit into the sound of the strings; an elder brother can scarcely explain this to a younger one.

To make something level, one uses a level; to make it straight, one uses an ink line. To achieve levelness and straightness without using a level or ink line is a distinctive skill that cannot be taught. Strike the Gong note, and the Gong note responds; play the Jue note, and the Jue note vibrates. Notes of the same kind resonate with one another. If a sound matches none of the five notes, yet all twenty-five strings respond to it, this is a Dao that can scarcely be put into words. Deep stillness without form is the master of forms; silent emptiness is the source of sound. The faintest sounds arise precisely from silence.

Right and wrong in the world have no fixed standard. People each regard what they themselves deem correct as right and oppose what they themselves deem wrong. Their ideas of right and wrong differ, and each affirms themselves while denying others. It follows that something that accords with one’s own heart is not necessarily right, nor is something that comes from one’s own thoughts necessarily wrong. Thus, when people pursue what they call “right,” they are often not seeking an objective principle but what accords with their own wishes. And when they reject what they call “wrong,” they may not be condemning what is deviant; they may simply dislike it because it does not suit them. What goes against my ideas may still suit someone else, while what accords with my ideas may still be judged wrong by the world.

If what is “right” contains no “wrong,” and what is “wrong” contains no “right,” then we have true right and wrong. If something is judged right here but wrong there, or wrong here but right there, then one side is called right and the other wrong. Such partial judgments of right and wrong are merely views from a corner; when seen from the whole of Heaven and Earth, right and wrong have no unchanging standard. Now I want to choose what is right and accept it, and reject what is wrong and cast it aside, yet I do not know whose judgment of right and wrong in the world is truly correct.

Laozi said, “Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish.” Those who favor lenient rule explain this as, “Don’t turn it over too often.” Here, yu means lenient and generous. Those who favor harsh rule, by contrast, say, “Just keep adding salt and vinegar to it.”

Duke Ping of Jin said something inappropriate, so Shi Kuang raised his zither and struck at him. The zither hit the palace wall and also caught the hem of Duke Ping’s robe. His attendants wanted to repair the wall damaged by the blow. Duke Ping said, “Never mind. Let this stand as a reminder of my fault.” When Confucius heard of this, he said, “Duke Ping did not simply disregard the danger to his own body; he wanted to invite people to remonstrate with him.” Han Fei, also known as Lord Han, heard the story and said, “If a minister behaves discourteously and is not punished, his wrongdoing is being indulged.” Thus there was a reason Duke Ping of Jin could not achieve hegemony.

A guest went to visit Mi Zi, also known as Ziqian, an esteemed figure of antiquity. After the guest had left, Mi Zi said, “Your guest had three faults: he smiled at me, showing disrespect; he spoke without calling me ‘master,’ violating proper ritual; and he spoke at length despite our shallow acquaintance, putting words and conduct out of order.” The guest explained, “I smiled at you to show respect. I did not call you ‘master’ because we understood each other. Though our acquaintance was shallow, I spoke at length out of sincerity.” The same expression and behavior can be seen by some as the conduct of a gentleman and by others as the behavior of a petty person. People’s differing judgments are precisely what can cause disorder.

When people share the same aims, their words are taken as sincere and their relationship grows closer. When they are distant from one another, even sound plans arouse suspicion. If a mother treats a sore on her child’s head and blood runs down beside the child’s ear, onlookers will see it as deep maternal love. If a stepmother does the same, they may think she resents the child. The act itself is the same; the observer’s standpoint differs, and so does the judgment.

From atop a city wall, a cow looks like a sheep, and a sheep looks like a pig. This is because of the height of the vantage point. Looking at a face in a basin of water makes it appear round; looking at it in a cup makes its shape seem to change with the cup. The face itself has not changed. Its rounded or distorted appearance depends on how it is viewed. Even if I want to make myself upright and treat others with care, how can I know the angle from which the world will look at me?

If you are always rushing about in response to external changes, it is like trying to escape the rain: wherever you take shelter, you cannot avoid getting wet. When you deliberately pursue emptiness and stillness, you cannot truly be empty and still. Deliberate action leads to loss, and clinging control leads to failure. To be empty and still without deliberately seeking it comes from one’s nature; people may admire this state without necessarily being able to attain it.

One who understands the Dao is like an axle: it need not turn by itself, yet it carries the hub forward for a thousand miles and keeps the wheels revolving. One who does not understand the Dao is like someone lost on the road. Others tell him which way is southeast or northwest, and at first he seems to understand, but when he reaches a fork, he loses his way again. For his whole life he remains at the mercy of others, like a weather watcher who tracks the wind, unable to settle for even a moment. A sage understands the Dao and returns to his own nature. He does not actively alter himself to chase after change, but responds to change; he does not act with deliberate purpose, but follows the workings of things. In this way, he can nearly escape the troubles of the world.

A well-governed society is easy to maintain, its affairs are easy to manage, its rites and institutions are easy to put into practice, and its taxes and labor duties are easy to fulfill. People therefore do not hold several official posts at once, and officials do not take on many different responsibilities. Scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants each pursue their own occupations, while villages and regional administrations each have their distinct roles.

Farmers, then, speak with farmers about cultivation; scholars speak with scholars about conduct; artisans speak with artisans about their skills; and merchants speak with merchants about trade and calculation. In this way, scholars avoid faults of conduct, farmers do not neglect their work, artisans do not find their tasks oppressive, and merchants do not suffer losses in their dealings. Everyone can put their own strengths to use without hindering anyone else.

When Yi Yin undertook construction work, he assigned tasks according to people’s abilities. Those with long legs used their feet to tread on the tools and dig the earth deeper. Those with strong backs carried the soil. Those with poor eyesight checked the alignment. Those with hunched backs applied the mud, since they were already suited to working bent over. When each person does work suited to them, everyone’s abilities can be put to use.

The Hu people are skilled at riding horses, while the Yue people are skilled at sailing. People differ in appearance and kind, and each is suited to different tasks. Put someone in the wrong place, and they may seem worthless; put them where they belong, and their value becomes clear. The principle by which the sage coordinates arrangements and appoints people according to their abilities is always the same.

To foresee events far away and see clearly across a thousand li is a sign of exceptional talent. But governing a society does not require every common person to do this. In other words, one must not demand that every subordinate be as capable as oneself in every respect. Being widely read, having a powerful memory, and speaking persuasively are signs of intelligence, but an enlightened ruler does not expect everyone to have these qualities. Rising above worldly customs and refusing to follow the crowd are noble qualities in a scholar, but governing a society does not mean requiring all the people to take such a person as their model. Ingenuity and the skill to make objects without leaving visible traces are marks of an artisan’s mastery, but good government does not require everyone to work as an artisan.

Chang Hong and Shi Kuang could foresee good and ill fortune, and were seldom mistaken in what they predicted. But this is no reason to expect everyone to hold the same offices as they did. Gongsun Long was skilled in argument, analyzing sameness and difference, and hardness and whiteness. Yet his style of debate cannot be made into a path for everyone to follow. Beiren Wuze believed that Shun was unworthy of reverence and threw himself into a cold, deep pool; his action cannot become a standard for the world. Lu Ban and Mozi once made a wooden kite that flew for three days without falling. But this is no reason to expect everyone to become an artisan.

What is so lofty that ordinary people cannot reach it is not suited to serve as a standard for everyone. Conduct so exalted that others cannot attain it is not suited to become the customary practice of a whole state. There are people who can weigh things without making even the smallest error. Yet the sage would not give one of them this task alone; instead, the sage would hang a standard on the scale for everyone to use. There are people who can judge heights by eye to within a fraction of an inch. Yet an enlightened ruler would not rely on such a person alone, but would use a level to make the measurement accurate. Why? Because human ability cannot be relied on in just one person, whereas standards of measurement can be passed down and used from generation to generation.

The way of governing a state can be upheld even by ordinary people. The organization of an army, too, can be established by relying on standards such as weights and measures. If one had to wait for fine horses such as Yaoniao and Feitu before driving a carriage, no one in the world would be able to ride. If one had to wait for beauties such as Xishi and Maoqiang before marrying, people would remain unmarried all their lives. People need not wait for the outstanding figures of antiquity before they can accomplish anything; they should coordinate and make use of the talents available to them. A swift horse can travel a thousand li in a day. An ordinary, inferior horse can cover ten stages of the road a day and arrive in ten days. This shows that one cannot rely only on a few talented people, while methods of managing affairs can be put into practice by everyone.

The laws of a disorderly age set high standards without reducing the penalties to match. They impose heavy labor duties and punish those who cannot fulfill them. They establish dangerous and harsh prohibitions, then execute those who do not dare comply. Driven into hardship by these three kinds of severe demands, the people scheme and deceive their superiors, and break the law in an effort to escape. So even harsh laws and severe punishments cannot prevent wrongdoing. Why? Because the people lack the strength to comply. As the saying goes, “Drive a bird to desperation, and it pecks; drive a beast to desperation, and it bites; drive a person to desperation, and they resort to deceit.” That is the point.

Moral principles are like the sun and moon: whether one is south of the Yangtze or north of the Yellow River, their direction does not change. Traveling a thousand li does not alter where they are. But people’s choices and customs are like their houses: what the household on the east calls the west, the household on the west calls the east. Even if Gao Yao were to judge between them, he could not assign them a fixed position. Thus, whether people’s interests align or differ, praise and blame often depend on the customs of the time; and whether people with similar aims and conduct can rise to prominence depends on the circumstances of the age.

Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou built up good works and accomplished great things; their actions can be emulated. But they lived in the tyrannical times of Jie and Zhou, and their opportunities were provided by those circumstances. If someone today has the ambitions of Tang and Wu but does not live in the age of Jie and Zhou, it will be difficult to establish a hegemon’s rule.

In his day, King Wu took up the dagger-axe and battle-axe to attack King Zhou and bring down the Shang. Later, when he went to court, he held a tablet and a staff. After King Wu died and the people of Shang rebelled, the Duke of Zhou entered the heir apparent’s palace, climbed the steps used by the ruler to mount his carriage, and governed on behalf of the Son of Heaven, receiving the feudal lords from behind a screen. He exiled Cai Shu, executed Guan Shu, quelled the rebellion, and sacrificed to King Wen at the Hall of Light. Seven years later, he returned power to King Cheng. King Wu first used force and later governed through civil means; this did not mean that his intentions had changed, but that he responded to the times. The Duke of Zhou exiled his elder brother and executed his younger brother; this did not mean that he lacked benevolence, but that he sought to quell disorder. Only when one’s actions meet the needs of the age can one accomplish great things; only by adapting one’s efforts to the times can one establish a reputation.

Duke Huan of Qi met with the feudal lords in a carriage, while at home he used the battle-axe to punish rebellion. Duke Wen of Jin met with the feudal lords in a war chariot, while at home he governed through ritual and righteousness. Duke Huan first showed himself to be gentle, then became forceful; Duke Wen was forceful at first, then became gentle. Both were able to command the world and control the feudal lords because they knew how to adjust their strategies as circumstances changed.

The recluse Yan He of Lu refused when the ruler of Lu wanted to appoint him as chief minister. When an envoy first went to visit him bearing gifts, Yan He escaped through a hole he dug by the wall at the back of his house and avoided the envoy. If he had encountered someone like Shang Yang or Shen Buhai, he might have brought ruin not only on himself but on his whole family. People often praise the conduct of the ancients, yet fail to value people of the present who have the same qualities. This does not mean that people today are less capable; the times are simply unsuited to them.

Six fine horses, or four northern steeds known as jieti, are less useful for crossing a river than a hollow log. The same is true of conducting oneself in the world. Those who accomplish great things know how to adapt their actions and take care to seize the right moment.

Customarily, people call those who achieve success and fame worthy, those who overcome disaster clever, those who meet with calamity foolish, and those who die for integrity misguided. I believe they have simply followed the paths they chose to their respective ends.

Bi Gan was not unintelligent. Jizi let his hair hang loose and pretended to be mad in order to save himself. But Bi Gan took pleasure in speaking frankly and serving loyally, and was willing to die for his integrity, so he did not choose Jizi’s course. Boyi and Shuqi were not incapable of accepting office and accomplishing great things. But they took pleasure in keeping apart from worldly life and holding fast to their purity; they did not want to be like everyone else, so they did not seek fame. Xu You and Shanjuan were not incapable of governing the world, bringing peace to all within the four seas, and transforming the people through virtue. They simply felt that external things would disturb their inner peace, and so refused to accept the task. Yurao and Yaoli were not unaware that they could have lived on by enjoying their families and protecting their wives and children. But they chose to act with integrity and were willing to die for their masters, so they did not stay behind.

If we judge Bi Gan by Jizi’s standards, Bi Gan seems foolishly stubborn. If we judge Jizi by Bi Gan’s standards, Jizi seems base. If we judge Boyi by the standards of Guan Zhong and Yan Ying, Boyi seems impractical. If we judge Guan Zhong and Yan Ying by Boyi’s standards, they seem to crave fame. People make different choices and have opposing preferences. Each is glad to do what they believe they ought to do. Who, then, can decide which is right and which is wrong?

Zengzi said, “Strike the side of a boat while it is on the water, and birds hearing the sound fly upward while fish hearing it dive deep. Each moves toward a different place, yet each finds the environment that suits it.” When Hui Shi passed through Mengzhu Marsh with a hundred carriages, Zhuangzi saw him and threw aside the fish he had left, then went away. The tihou bird drinks several dou of water and still finds it insufficient. Eels and tuna may seem to have dew in their mouths, yet they may die because of it. Zhi Bo possessed the lands of the Three Jin states and still found them insufficient. Lin Lei and Rong Qiqi wore ragged clothes and felt no regret. Given that people’s interests and actions differ, on what grounds should they criticize one another?

Those who value life do not let gain or loss injure them. Those who hold fast to their integrity do not readily flee when danger comes. Those who crave official stipends see profit and disregard their own safety. Those who cherish their reputation, meanwhile, will not readily take anything that is contrary to righteousness. These views conflict and negate one another, like ice and charcoal, or a curved hook and a straight line. How could they possibly be reconciled? From the standpoint of the sage, they should be harmonized by making room for them all, without hastily deciding which is right and which is wrong.

Birds make their homes in nests, and foxes in burrows. Once a nest is built, a bird can roost there; once a burrow is dug, a fox can settle in it. In choosing their paths, conduct, and principles, people too are seeking a place where they can settle body and mind. Each person rests where they are and does their best to follow their own path: this is what it means to fulfill one’s character. Thus, from the perspective of the Dao, all differences should be brought together and balanced.

The way to govern a state is for the ruler not to issue harsh commands, the authorities not to impose complicated administration, scholars not to feign benevolence and righteousness, and craftspeople not to pursue excessive refinement. Government should follow what is natural without disturbing the people; implements should be sturdy and sound, without added ornament. In times of disorder, things are different. People compete to advertise their noble conduct, while those who practice ritual praise one another’s hypocrisy. They lavish ornament on carriages and horses, and vie to engrave and carve their wares. Those seeking wealth scramble for rare goods as treasures, while those showing off their writing mistake confusion and complexity for cleverness. People compete in sophistry, and disputes drag on without resolution, bringing no benefit to governance. Craftspeople make ingenious curiosities that take years to complete but serve no practical purpose.

Thus, the account of Shennong’s way of governing says: if adult men do not farm, people in the world will go hungry; if adult women do not spin and weave, people in the world will go cold. So Shennong farmed with his own hands, and his wife spun and wove with hers, setting an example for all under Heaven. He taught the people not to prize rare goods or treat useless things as treasures. In this way, those who did not work hard at farming could not feed themselves, and those who did not work hard at weaving could not clothe themselves. Any surplus or shortfall was borne by each person. When food and clothing were sufficient, wrongdoing became less likely. The people lived in peace, and the world was brought into balance. In those times, Confucius and Zeng Shen had no need to display their goodness, and Meng Ben and Cheng Jing had no chance to show off their prowess. Cheng Jing was a warrior of antiquity.

The customs of declining, disorderly times were different. People relied on cleverness, practiced deceit and affectation, and made many useless things. They prized goods brought from distant places and cherished hard-to-obtain valuables, yet failed to store what was needed to sustain life. This made the world’s honest, generous spirit shallow and fractured simple customs. People penned cattle and horses in enclosures, disturbed the populace, muddied what had been clear, and sent people’s lives and thoughts into restless pursuit. Upright and trustworthy character dissipated, and people lost their original nature.

Jade kingfishers, rhinoceros horn, ivory, and the ornate patterns on fine ceremonial robes dazzled the eyes. Lavish meat dishes, millet, fine grain, and delicacies from the Jing and Wu regions tempted the palate. Bells and drums, flutes and pipes, strings and bamboo, and music on metal and stone instruments indulged the ears. The many choices of conduct, rules of etiquette, and judgments of praise and blame further troubled the mind. The people were thrown into turmoil, chasing profit day and night, and customs grew complicated and shallow. Laws and principles of right conduct came into conflict, while conduct and profit pulled in opposite directions. Even ten Guan Zhong would have been unable to govern.

The carriages and clothing of the wealthy were splendid, woven with fine brocade, and their horses were adorned with plumes and ivory ornaments. Their curtains, mats, embroidered fabrics, and silk sashes mingled colors such as blue and yellow in indescribable extravagance. In summer, the poor wore coarse cloth and tied grass ropes around themselves. They ate beans and drank water to stave off hunger and endured the heat. In winter, they wore tattered sheepskin coats and coarse clothes that left parts of the body uncovered, and could only warm themselves by huddling near the stove. Rich and poor alike were ordinary people, yet the gulf between their lives was as vast as that between ruler and slave; they could not be compared.

Those who relied on clever deception and crooked methods could enjoy life in the world, while those who upheld what was right and refused to seek profit through compromise could not escape hunger and cold. To ask the people to abandon superficial pursuits and return to the root would be like blocking a river without clearing its source. Carving and engraving damage farming; brocades and silk sashes hinder women’s weaving. Neglected farming and disrupted weaving are the very causes of hunger and cold. When hunger and cold come together, no one who can still avoid breaking the law and incurring punishment has ever been heard of since antiquity.

Thus, whether an official rises to prominence or remains low in status depends on the times, not entirely on character. Whether one encounters benefit or harm depends on fate, not entirely on one’s wisdom. When an army is defeated, even brave soldiers flee, and the general cannot stop them. When an army is victorious, even the timid fight at the risk of their lives and cannot escape. When rivers burst their banks and flood villages, fathers, sons, and brothers abandon one another, scrambling to climb slopes and high ground. Those who run fastest get up first, with no time to think of anyone else. When the world is peaceful and everyone is content, people will grieve even to see someone from a neighboring state fall into the water—how much more so when it is a relative? Thus, when we are safe, our concern can extend even to neighboring states; when we are in danger ourselves, we may even forget our own kin. This is beyond human control. A swimmer cannot rescue someone who is drowning because his own limbs are in danger; a person burned by fire cannot put out the flames because his own body is in pain.

When the people have surplus grain, they are willing to yield to one another; when they lack the means to live, they fight over what they need. Yielding gives rise to ritual and righteousness; fighting leads to unrest. When someone knocks at a door asking for water, no one refuses, because water is plentiful. People do not sell firewood in the forest or fish on the lake for the same reason: there is enough to go around. When goods are abundant, people’s desires diminish; when supplies are sufficient, rivalry ceases.

During the reign of the Qin king, some people hid newborn children, and even killed and pickled them, because their livelihoods and means were inadequate. When the Liu clan held power—that is, during the Han dynasty—some people adopted orphans, because their resources were plentiful. Thus, when the world is at peace, even if petty people hold power, profit cannot readily tempt people into wrongdoing. When the world is in disorder, even a gentleman may commit wicked acts, and laws cannot prevent them.

The seventeenth volume of the Huainan Honglie Jie concludes.

Editorial note: The following text has been corrected or supplemented by comparison with the Jijie edition: zai was originally a copying error for bu; the character jin is superfluous and should be deleted; qiang was originally a copying error for cha; kun was originally a copying error for yin; jing was originally a copying error for qing; “zhi fei zhi” should be corrected to “zhi fei zhi” in the proper order; bai and zhe were omitted; zhou is superfluous and should be deleted; wu was originally a copying error for wu; shang was originally a copying error for gong; luan was omitted; shen was originally a copying error for er; ha was originally a copying error for han; ji was originally a copying error for wang; and qi was originally a copying error for feng.

The eighteenth volume of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Recorded by the minister Xu Shen, Libationer to the Grand Commandant

“Teachings of the Dao”

The operation of the Dao sets all things in motion and brings forth corresponding responses. By examining the good and ill fortune that these responses bring, one can verify the signs that things accord with the Dao.

Great Clarity questioned the Boundless. Great Clarity refers to the pure primordial Qi. The Boundless…

Where the Dao operates, things change and respond accordingly. By examining the good and ill fortune that events bring, one can verify earlier signs against their actual results.

Great Clarity—the clear and pure part of primordial Qi—asked the Formless, a being without physical shape, “Do you understand the Dao?” The Formless replied, “I do not understand it.” Great Clarity then asked Non-action, a being with physical form who does not act recklessly, “Do you understand the Dao?” Non-action replied, “I do.” Because Non-action had physical form, it assumed that it understood the Dao.

Great Clarity asked, “Are there fixed principles to your understanding of the Dao?” Non-action replied, “Yes.” Great Clarity asked, “What are they?” Non-action said, “I know that the Dao can be yielding or forceful, gentle or firm, in Yin or in Yang, hidden or manifest. It can encompass Heaven and Earth, and respond to every change without having a fixed position. These are the principles by which I understand the Dao.”

Great Clarity then went to ask the Unbegun, primordial Qi not yet manifested: “Earlier, I asked the Formless about the Dao, and it said it did not understand. I then asked Non-action, which said it did understand and claimed that its understanding of the Dao followed certain principles: the Dao can be yielding or forceful, gentle or firm, in Yin or in Yang, hidden or manifest; it can encompass Heaven and Earth and respond to every change without having a fixed position. In that case, which is right and which is wrong: Non-action, which claims to understand, or the Formless, which says it does not?”

The Unbegun replied, “The one who does not understand has the deeper grasp; the one who claims to understand has the shallower grasp. The one who does not understand touches what is within; the one who claims to understand sees only the surface. The one who does not understand approaches what is subtle; the one who claims to understand grasps only what is crude.”

Great Clarity raised its head and sighed. “Then does not understanding count as understanding? Does understanding count as not understanding? Who can grasp that what is called understanding is in fact not understanding, and what is called not understanding is in fact understanding?”

The Unbegun said, “The Dao cannot be heard with the ears; what is heard is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen with the eyes; what is seen is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be spoken in words; what is spoken is not the Dao. Who can grasp how what has form returns to what is formless?”

That is why Laozi said, “When everyone under Heaven knows goodness as goodness, there is already evil.” Thus, those who truly understand the Dao do not speak lightly; those who speak without end do not necessarily understand it.

Bai Gong asked Confucius, “Can people convey meaning through subtle, indirect words?” Bai Gong was the grandson of King Ping of Chu and the son of Crown Prince Jian. After Crown Prince Jian was killed, Bai Gong harbored resentment and wanted revenge, which was why he asked about such coded speech. Confucius did not answer, because he knew Bai Gong was plotting something.

Bai Gong asked again, “What happens if you throw a stone into water?” Confucius replied, “Skilled divers from Wu and Yue can retrieve it.” Bai Gong then asked, “What happens if you pour one kind of water into another?” Confucius replied, “When the Zi and Mian rivers meet, Yi Ya can taste them and tell them apart.” The Zi and Mian are two rivers in the state of Qi.

Bai Gong said, “So people ultimately cannot communicate through subtle, indirect words?” Confucius answered, “Why not? What matters is who can understand what lies behind the words. Those who truly grasp the meaning of speech do not rely on the words themselves; they understand through the heart.”

Those who struggle to catch fish get wet; those who chase wild animals run all along the way. They do not do these things because they enjoy getting wet or running, but to obtain fish and animals. Truly profound words are not confined to phrasing, and the highest skill appears to be doing nothing. People of shallow understanding argue only over trivial details.

Bai Gong failed to grasp Confucius’s meaning and later died in a bathhouse. The people of Chu killed him there. Laozi said, “Words have their roots, and affairs have their governing principles. Because Bai Gong did not understand these, no one could make him understand.” This is precisely what happened to Bai Gong.

Hui Shi drew up a set of laws for governing King Hui of Liang. When he had finished, he showed them to the gentlemen, who all approved. He presented the laws to the king, who was delighted, then showed them to Zhai Jian. Zhai Jian approved as well. The king asked, “If they are good, can they be put into practice?” Zhai Jian replied, “No.” The king asked, “If they are good, why can’t they be put into practice?” Zhai Jian answered, “When people carry a heavy timber, those at the front call out ‘ya-xu,’ and those behind echo them. These are work chants for lifting heavy loads and keeping up one’s strength. Surely there are no stirring, pleasing melodies from Zheng, Wei, or Chu? Yet people do not use those melodies when carrying timber because they are less suited to the task than the chants. Governing a state, too, must accord with ritual; it does not depend on ornate words. Laozi said, ‘The more numerous and strictly enforced the laws, the more thieves and bandits there are.’ That is the point.”

Tian Pian offered counsel to the King of Qi through the art of the Dao—the teachings about the Dao and the principles of governing. Tian Pian was from Qi and served as a minister there. The king replied, “What I possess is the state of Qi. The art of the Dao cannot easily dispel the troubles before me. I want to hear concrete ways to govern.” Tian Pian answered, “What I speak of may seem to involve no government orders, yet it can be used to govern a state. Trees in a forest are not themselves timber, but they are the source of timber. I hope Your Majesty will reflect carefully on what I have said, then choose for yourself how to govern Qi. Even if this does not directly dispel the troubles before you, everything within the four quarters of Heaven and Earth can be shaped and transformed by it. What is there about Qi’s affairs that requires a separate question?”

This is what Lao Dan meant by “the shape that has no shape, the image that has no object.” The King of Qi asked about the affairs of his state, but Tian Pian spoke of timber: wood fit for use, which also serves as a metaphor for useful people and things. Timber is less fundamental than the forest, and the forest less fundamental than rain. With rain, timber can grow. Rain is less fundamental than Yin-Yang; Yin-Yang, less fundamental than harmonious Qi; and harmonious Qi, less fundamental than the Dao. The Dao is the source from which all things arise.

After Bai Gong Sheng seized control of Chu, he became attached to the riches in the state treasuries and refused to share them with anyone. The treasures remained locked in the Chu treasury for seven days. On the seventh day, Shi Yi, one of Bai Gong’s allies, advised him, “You gained power by unjust means and refuse to show generosity to others. Trouble is bound to come. Rather than refuse to give the riches away, you would do better to burn them, so that no one else can use them to harm you.” Bai Gong did not listen.

On the ninth day, the Chu noble Ye Gong Zigaoxiang came from beyond Fangcheng. He distributed the treasures in the main treasury to the people and brought out weapons from the high treasury to give them as well. Then he led them in an attack on Bai Gong. After nineteen days, Bai Gong was captured, and Ye Gong killed him. A state that does not belong to you, yet you still try to make your own: that is extreme greed. Refusing to work for others while being unable to protect yourself: that is extreme foolishness. Bai Gong’s hoarding of wealth was no different from an owl’s love for its young. When the young owl grows up, it eats its mother.

So Laozi said, “Holding something in your hands and always wanting to fill them to the brim is not as good as knowing when enough is enough. Sharpen a blade too keenly, and it cannot stay sharp for long.”

When Zhao Jianzi, leader of the Zhao clan, appointed Xiangzi (whose personal name was Wuxu) as his heir, Dong Ezi, a minister of the Zhao clan, asked, “Wuxu holds a low position. Why have you made him your heir?”

Zhao Jianzi replied, “Because he can endure humiliation for the sake of the state.” He believed Xiangzi was gentle by nature and able to bear disgrace.

One day, Zhibo, a powerful minister of Jin, was drinking with Xiangzi when he struck Xiangzi on the head. The senior officers urged Xiangzi to kill Zhibo. Xiangzi said, “My late lord made me his heir because I can endure humiliation for the sake of the state. Did he expect me to act on a moment’s courage and assassinate someone?” Ten months later, Zhibo struck Xiangzi on the head again. The senior officers once more urged Xiangzi to kill him, but Xiangzi gave the same reply.

Later, Zhibo besieged Xiangzi at Jinyang. Xiangzi dispersed his troops into separate formations and led them in a counterattack, defeating Zhibo decisively. He cut off Zhibo’s head and made it into a drinking vessel. This story of Xiangzi first enduring humiliation and later striking back illustrates the following teaching: as Laozi says, understand strength but hold to weakness, like a stream that gathers the waters of the world.

Nie Que, a hermit in the time of Yao, asked Bei Yi, another hermit of that age, about the Dao. Bei Yi said, “Straighten your body and focus your gaze, and the harmony bestowed by Heaven will come to you. Gather in your mind and set your conduct in order, and your spirit will come to rest within you. De will draw near, and the Dao will dwell in your heart. Be as simple and unspoiled as a newborn calf, without clinging to ideas formed in the past.”

Before he had finished speaking, Nie Que gazed quietly at him and gave no reply. Bei Yi sang as he went away, saying, “His body is like a withered corpse, his heart like cooled ashes. Is he truly wise, or not? He keeps to his natural disposition alone. Still and expansive, there is no private intention with which to counsel him. What kind of person is he?”

Thus Laozi says, “Bright, perceptive, and knowing everything—can one do so without relying on clever knowledge?”

Zhao Xiangzi attacked the Di state and won, capturing its two cities of You and Zhong. When a messenger arrived with news of the victory, Zhao Xiangzi was about to eat, yet his face showed worry. Those around him asked, “Taking two cities in a single morning is something people would celebrate. Why are you worried instead?”

Zhao Xiangzi replied, “Even a river in full flood may run dry in three days. Whirlwinds and torrential rains arrive with great force, but they do not last long and often stop in an instant. The Zhao clan has not yet built up enough De (Virtue/Power), yet this morning we have taken two cities. I fear our ruin is near.”

When Confucius heard this, he observed, “The Zhao clan is likely to prosper. Worry can lead to prosperity, while delight and arrogance can bring ruin. Winning a victory is not difficult; the difficult thing is for a wise ruler to know how to hold on to it, so that its blessings may reach later generations. Qi, Chu, Wu, and Yue all won battles, yet in the end they still fell. This was because they did not understand how to preserve victory. Only a ruler who follows the Dao (the Way) can hold on to victory.”

Confucius once pulled hard on the bolt of a city gate. In ancient times, such bolts hung down from above, making them difficult to pull from the top. Yet Confucius did not want to be known for his strength. Mozi was skilled at defending cities and once defeated the siege master Gongshu Ban, yet he too did not want to be known for his mastery of military strategy. Those who know how to hold on to victory turn strength into weakness. Thus the Laozi says, “The Dao is empty and formless, yet in use it is never exhausted.”

Hui Meng paid a visit to King Kang of Song. The king stamped his feet and coughed to signal his impatience, then said eagerly, “I admire people who are brave and win victories. I have no liking for people who talk about benevolence and righteousness. What do you intend to teach me?”

Hui Meng replied, “I have a way to make it so that even a brave person cannot land a thrust, and even someone nimble and strong cannot land a blow. Would Your Majesty like to hear it?”

King Kang said, “Yes. That is exactly what I want to hear.”

Hui Meng continued, “Even if a brave person cannot land a thrust, and someone nimble and strong cannot land a blow, that is still a humiliation. I have another way: a person may have courage, yet not dare to thrust; may have strength, yet not dare to strike. The reason people do not dare to thrust or strike is not that they lack the desire to do so. I have yet another way: to make people free of any desire to harm others at its root. If this can be achieved, people will have a wish to care for others and help them. I have another way still: to make men and women throughout the world gladly develop a desire to care for and help others. This is far superior to winning through physical courage and strength, and surpasses the four methods I have just described. Those four methods are all burdens imposed by worldly life, while people everywhere, men and women alike, gladly esteem a higher way. Would Your Majesty like to hear it?”

King Kang said, “That is exactly what I want.”

Hui Meng replied, “Confucius and Mozi were such people. Kong Qiu and Mo Di had no fief, yet people honored them as if they were rulers; they held no office, yet people revered them as if they were ministers. They had no fiefs because they were made rich by the Way; they held no office because their De made them noble. Men and women throughout the world stretched their necks and rose on tiptoe, hoping they were well and wishing them prosperity. Your Majesty now rules a state with ten thousand chariots. If you truly had such an aspiration, everyone within your borders could benefit. In that case, your virtue would far surpass that of Confucius and Mozi.”

King Kang had no reply. After Hui Meng left, King Kang said to those around him, “That guest is a skilled debater. His words have persuaded me.”

Thus Laozi says, “Dare not to dare, and you will preserve your life.” From this we can see that the greatest courage is not to flaunt one’s courage.

In ancient times, Yao had nine assistants: Yu, Gaoyao, Houji, Xie, Boyi, Chui, Yi, Kui, and Long. Shun had seven assistants, seven of whom were also among Yao’s assistants. King Wu had five assistants: the Duke of Zhou, the Duke of Shao, the Grand Duke, the Duke of Bi, and the Duke of Mao. Yao, Shun, and King Wu did not personally perform all the tasks their assistants were capable of, yet they accomplished great deeds while sitting with their robes hanging loosely and their hands folded. This was because they were skilled at making use of other people’s abilities.

If a person runs on foot against a fine horse, they are certain to lose. But if they ride in a carriage, the horse can no longer outpace them. In the north there is an animal called the Cu. The front half of its body resembles a mouse, with short forelegs; the back half resembles a rabbit, with long hind legs. Because of this, it often stumbles when running and falls when it tries to go fast. It regularly has the Qiongqiong and Juxu gather licorice for it. The Qiongqiong and Juxu have long forelegs and short hind legs. They are good at leaping and running, but cannot climb to high places. When the Cu encounters danger, it already knows that the Juxu will carry it away on its back. It uses its own strengths and relies on another’s strengths to make up for its weaknesses.

Thus Laozi says, “When you take the place of a skilled carpenter and chop wood, few escape injuring their hands.”

Bo Yi tried to persuade Marquis Si of Wei by speaking about the way of kingship. Marquis Si was the ruler of Wei. He replied, “All I possess is an army of a thousand chariots. I hope you will teach me how to care for the people.” Bo Yi answered, “Wu Huo, the legendary strongman, could lift a weight of a thousand jun. How much more easily, then, could he lift a single jin?”

Du He tried to persuade Lord Zhaowen of Zhou by speaking about how to bring stability to the realm. In Lord Zhaowen’s time, the Zhou royal house had declined and split into Eastern Zhou and Western Zhou, each with its own ruler. Lord Zhaowen said to Du He, “I want to learn how to bring stability to Zhou.” Du He replied, “If the principle I speak of cannot be put into practice, it cannot bring stability to Zhou. If it can be put into practice, Zhou will naturally be stable.” This is what is meant by “not deliberately seeking to bring stability, yet stability arising on its own.”

Thus the Laozi says, “Excellent governance does not impose arbitrary divisions.” It also says that many parts—such as the wheels and the carriage frame—come together to make a cart. If one clings only to its separate parts, one loses sight of the cart as a whole. (This means that governance should grasp the whole rather than get caught up in trivial distinctions.)

Lu had a rule that if a person from Lu was enslaved in another state, anyone who redeemed them could claim a reward from the government. Zigong, a disciple of Confucius, redeemed a person from Lu in another state, but after returning home, declined the reward. Confucius said, “Zigong, you were wrong. A sage’s actions should be able to change customs, so that principles people accept and follow can be passed down to later generations. One must not consider only whether one’s actions conform to one’s own personal standards. In our state, the rich are few and the poor are many. If people who redeem others accept the reward, they may be judged not to be upright; if they refuse it, others will no longer be willing to redeem anyone. From now on, I fear the people of Lu will no longer go to other states to bring their fellow countrymen home.” Confucius may truly be said to have understood the principles of ritual.

Thus the Laozi says, “Only those who can see what is subtle deserve to be called discerning.”

Marquis Wu of Wei asked his chancellor, Li Ke, “Why did the state of Wu fall?”

Li Ke replied, “Because Wu went to war time and again, and won time and again.”

The marquis said, “Winning every battle should be a blessing for a state. Why, then, did Wu fall because of it?”

Li Ke replied, “Frequent wars exhaust the people; frequent victories make a ruler prone to pride. When a proud ruler drives an exhausted people, few states in the world can escape ruin. A proud ruler gives free rein to himself, and unchecked indulgence brings calamity. Exhausted people grow resentful, and deep resentment leads them to plot rebellion. With both ruler and people pushed to extremes, Wu’s fall was already long overdue.”

Fuchai, the last ruler of Wu, eventually took his own life at Gansui. When Yue attacked Wu, Fuchai killed himself. Laozi said, “When achievement is complete and one’s name is renowned, one should withdraw. This accords with the Way of Heaven.”

Ning Yue wished to seek an audience with Duke Huan of Qi, but his difficult circumstances left him without a way in. So he joined a merchant caravan, loaded goods onto a cart, and traveled to Qi to trade. At night, he lodged outside the city walls. Duke Huan went to the outskirts to welcome guests. That night, he asked the gatekeeper what was there and learned that a cart loaded with goods was parked outside the gate. He ordered bright torches to be lit. With a large retinue around him, he saw Ning Yue beneath the cart, feeding the oxen. When Ning Yue caught sight of Duke Huan, he was moved and began striking the ox’s horn as he sang a merchant’s song.

Duke Huan heard the singing and tapped the hand of the attendant beside him. “Remarkable,” he said. “The man singing is no ordinary person.” He ordered someone to bring Ning Yue over in a carriage following his own. When Duke Huan reached his lodging, an attendant announced Ning Yue’s arrival. Duke Huan changed into formal dress to receive him, then discussed the governance of the realm with him. He was greatly pleased and intended to appoint Ning Yue to office.

His ministers urged him against it. “This guest is from the state of Wei. Since Wei is not far from Qi, Your Highness should first send someone to inquire about him. If he proves truly worthy, there will still be time to appoint him.”

Duke Huan replied, “There is no need. Inquiring into his faults may uncover only minor flaws. To overlook a person’s great talent and virtue because of small failings is precisely how a ruler loses the worthy people of the realm. When we hear an opinion, we must test it; after listening, we should question further and confirm whether it accords with our own judgment. Besides, people can never be in perfect accord with one another. Weigh the matter, then appoint him for his strengths.”

Duke Huan made a sound choice in appointing Ning Yue. Thus the Laozi says: “Heaven is great, Earth is great, the Dao is great, and the king is great. Among all things between Heaven and Earth, there are four great powers, and the king is one of them.” This means that a ruler should be broad-minded, weigh people’s strengths and weaknesses carefully, and appoint them for their strengths.

Gugong Danfu lived in Bin when the Di people came to attack him. He offered them leather, silk, pearls, and jade, but they refused to accept them. Gugong Danfu said, “What the Di people want is land; possessions cannot satisfy them.” He continued, “To live alongside another, I would have to kill his younger brother; to live alongside another’s father, I would have to kill his son. I will not do such a thing. Everyone, do your best to settle elsewhere. What difference is there between being my subjects and being subjects of the Di?” So he set off from Bin, leaning on his staff. The people followed him one after another, and later they established a state at the foot of Mount Qi. Mount Qi lies north of what is now Meiyang. At its foot was the land of Zhou, which the Zhou people later used as the name for their realm.

Gugong Danfu may be said to have understood how to preserve life. Even when surrounded by wealth and rank, he did not let the things that sustained him turn around and harm his body. Even when poor and lowly, he did not burden himself for the sake of gain. Those who inherit rank and stipends from their ancestors are bound to become especially afraid of losing them. These honors and stipends may have been held for generations, yet can be lost in an instant. Is that not foolish?

Thus the Laozi says: “One who values himself more than the world can be entrusted with the world; one who loves himself more than the world can be given the world to care for.”

Prince Mou of Zhongshan was from the state of Zhongshan, founded by the Xianyu. He said to Zhanzi, “Although I live among the rivers and seas, my heart remains attached to the court. What should I do?” To live among the rivers and seas means that one’s body is among the common people; to have one’s heart attached to the court means that inwardly one remains loyal to the state.

Zhanzi said, “Value life. When you value life, you will look lightly on profit. To value life is to follow your own nature.” Prince Mou of Zhongshan said, “Although I understand this, I still cannot control myself.” Zhanzi said, “Since you cannot control yourself, follow the inclination of your heart. If you follow it, your spirit will not feel resentment. If you cannot control your desires but force yourself to suppress them, you will gravely harm yourself and be unable to live long. That is why Laozi said: ‘To know how to harmonize is to accord with the constant Dao. To know the constant Dao is to be wise. Seeking to increase life without restraint instead invites calamity; letting the heart drive Qi is called forcing things.’ So use your own light, then return to inner clarity.”

King Zhuang of Chu asked Zhan He, “How should one govern the state?” Zhan He replied, “I understand how to cultivate myself. How could I not understand how to govern the state?” The king said, “I have been able to establish the ancestral temple and preserve the altars of state. I hope to learn how to safeguard the state.” Zhan He replied, “I have never heard of someone whose self-cultivation was sound while the state was in disorder, nor of someone who was in disorder within yet governed the state well. So self-cultivation should be the foundation. I dare not answer only about the lesser matter of governing the state.” The king said, “Well said.” Thus Laozi said, “Cultivate yourself, and your De will become true and pure.”

Duke Huan of Qi was reading a book in the hall. He was the ruler of the state of Qi. Below him, a wheelwright named Bian was shaping a wheel. He set down his hammer and chisel and asked the duke, “What book are you reading?” Duke Huan replied, “A book by the sages.” Bian then asked, “Are the sages who wrote it still alive?” The duke said, “They have been dead for a long time.” Bian said, “Then what you are reading is no more than the sages’ dregs.” Dregs originally means the residue left from making wine. Here it is a metaphor for the written words the sages left behind, which cannot fully convey their true understanding.

Duke Huan’s expression darkened, and he said angrily, “I’m reading a book. How can a working man mock me? If you can explain your reasoning, fine. If you can’t, you’ll die.” Bian replied, “Very well. I’ll explain, using my own experience shaping wheels.

“If I work the wood too quickly, it resists and the chisel won’t bite. If I work too slowly, the wood becomes too soft, and the wheel I make won’t be sturdy. Only when the force in my hands is neither too fast nor too slow, but just right, do hand and mind work in harmony and the result become skillful. I cannot teach this knack to my son, and he cannot learn it all from me. That is why, at sixty years old, I am still making wheels with my own hands.

“It is the same with the truths the sages speak of. The sages truly grasped their essence in their hearts, but they have died, leaving only written words behind. Words are like wine dregs: they cannot fully convey what the sages understood through their own experience.” That is why Laozi said, “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.”

Long ago, Zihan, the Minister of Works in the state of Song, said to the ruler of Song, “The safety or peril of the state, and the order or disorder of its people, depend on how the ruler dispenses rewards and punishments. Rank and rewards are what the people desire, so please administer them yourself. Killing and punishment are what the people resent; let me take responsibility for those.” The ruler of Song said, “Agreed. I will take the good name, and you will bear the resentment. Then the other feudal lords will have no cause to mock me.”

Everyone in the state knew that Zihan controlled executions and punishments. The ministers therefore drew close to him, and the people feared him. In less than a year, Zihan had pushed aside the ruler of Song and seized sole control of the state. Thus Laozi says, “Fish cannot leave the deep pool; the sharp instruments of the state—the powers and methods of rule—must not be casually displayed to others.”

Wang Shou was traveling with books on his back when he met Xu Feng in the Zhou region. Wang Shou was an ancient lover of books, and Xu Feng was a recluse of Zhou. Xu Feng said to him, “When dealing with things, act in accord with change. Change arises with the times, so those who understand the times do not cling to fixed methods. Books are vessels for words; words come from the wise, and the wise keep the principles in books hidden in their hearts.”

Wang Shou then burned his books and began dancing with joy, expressing his delight at having burned them. Thus Laozi says, “Too many words often lead to difficulty; better to hold fast to the center within.”

Zipei, the Chief Minister of the state of Chu, invited King Zhuang to a banquet, and the king agreed. Later, Zipei put on his formal clothes and, standing below the hall, bowed toward the north. “In the past, Your Majesty agreed to attend my banquet, but now you have not come. Have I done something wrong?”

King Zhuang replied, “I have heard that Qiang Terrace has splendid scenery. From there, one can look south toward Mount Liao and down upon Fanghuang; the Yangtze lies to the left and the Huai River to the right. The view is so delightful that one forgets life and death. A man of my meager De (Virtue/Power) cannot bear such pleasure. I feared that if I went, I would become so attached to the place that I would not return, so I did not attend.” Thus Laozi says, “When desirable things are not put on display, people’s hearts can be kept from becoming unsettled.”

When Chong’er, a prince of Jin, was fleeing into exile, he passed through Cao. Duke Gong of Cao treated him with great disrespect. Having heard that Chong’er’s ribs were joined together, Duke Gong had him remove his upper garment to go fishing, then drew aside a curtain to watch him.

Li Fuzhi’s wife, a senior official of Cao, said to her husband, “It is very wrong for the ruler to treat the prince of Jin with such contempt. I see that all his attendants are able and worthy men. If they help Chong’er return to Jin, he will surely attack Cao. Why not show him kindness first?” Li Fuzhi then sent Chong’er a pot of leftover food, with a jade disk hidden inside. Chong’er accepted the food but returned the jade.

Later, Chong’er returned to Jin and led his troops in an attack on Cao, defeating it. He ordered the army not to enter the neighborhood where Li Fuzhi lived. Thus Laozi says, “To bend is to be preserved; to curve is to become straight.”

King Goujian of Yue fought a war against Wu. After his defeat, his state was ruined and he was trapped, holding out at Kuaiji. His heart was full of anger; he summoned his courage, and his spirit surged like a spring in flood. He selected and trained elite soldiers, who charged even through blazing fires, as though rushing into the flames could put them out. Yet, to secure peace, he still asked to serve as a subject and for his wife to become a concubine. He even took up a weapon himself and walked before the horses of the Wu army in attendance. Later, at Qiansui, he indeed captured the king of Wu. This is why Laozi said, “The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong; the small and weak can overcome the great and powerful. No one under Heaven fails to understand this, yet no one can put it into practice.” King Goujian embodied this teaching and thus came to dominate the Central Plains.

After Zhao Jianzi died, before he had been buried, Zhongmou submitted to Qi and became its vassal. Five days after Zhao Jianzi’s burial, Xiangzi raised an army to attack Zhongmou. Before the city had even been surrounded, a ten-zhang section of its wall collapsed on its own. Xiangzi nevertheless struck the gong—a metal military signal used to order a retreat—and commanded his troops to withdraw. An officer in the army urged him, “You came to punish Zhongmou for its offense. The wall has collapsed by itself; Heaven is helping us. Why withdraw?” Xiangzi replied, “I heard Uncle Xiang say that a gentleman does not take advantage when others are in a favorable position to be exploited, nor drive them into peril. Let them repair the wall; once it is repaired, we can attack.” When Zhongmou heard that Xiangzi upheld justice and kept faith, it asked to surrender. This is why Laozi said, “Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.”

In military commands, drums signal an advance, while the gong signals a retreat. Xiangzi’s decision to withdraw expresses the principle of not taking advantage of another’s peril or contending for a momentary gain.

Duke Mu of Qin said to Bo Le, “You are getting old. Is there anyone among your children or grandchildren whom I could send to judge horses?”

Bo Le replied, “To recognize a fine horse, one can examine its shape, build, and sinews. Recognizing the finest horse in the world is different. Such a horse may seem almost to be there and not there; its traces are hard to make out. When it runs, it raises no dust and leaves no obvious tracks. My sons have only ordinary abilities. I can teach them to recognize good horses in general, but not the finest horse in the world. I have a companion with whom I carry loads and gather firewood, named Jiu Fangyin. He is no less skilled than I am at judging horses. Please summon him.”

Duke Mu summoned Jiu Fangyin and sent him to find a fine horse. Three months later, Jiu Fangyin returned and reported, “I have found one. It is at Shaqiu.”

Duke Mu asked, “What kind of horse is it?”

Jiu Fangyin replied, “A yellow stallion.”

Duke Mu sent someone to fetch it, but the horse turned out to be a black mare. Greatly displeased, he summoned Bo Le and reproached him: “This is a disaster! The person you sent cannot even tell a horse’s color or sex. What kind of horse can he recognize?”

Bo Le sighed deeply and said, “So it has come to this! This is precisely where Jiu Fangyin far surpasses me, beyond any measure. He observes the horse’s innate nature, grasping what is essential and overlooking minor details. He attends to what is within and is not bound by outward appearance. He sees what needs to be seen, without letting insignificant things hold his attention. What Jiu Fangyin recognizes is worth far more than the ordinary outward features of a horse.”

When the horse arrived, it proved to be a thousand-li horse. Thus Laozi said, “What is most upright seems bent; what is most skillful seems clumsy.”

After Wu Qi became chief minister of Chu, the state’s highest administrative official, he went to Wei to visit Qu Yiruo. Qu was a high official of Chu who had later fled to Wei. Wu Qi said, “The king of Chu does not know that I lack talent and virtue, yet he appointed me chief minister. Please take a look at me and tell me what you think I should do.”

Qu Yiruo asked, “What do you intend to do?” Wu Qi replied, “I plan to reduce the ranks of nobility in Chu and make the system of stipends more equitable. I will take away some of what the wealthy receive in excess and provide for those who lack enough. I will reform the army, sharpen its weapons, and, when the time is right, seek advantage in the world.”

Qu Yiruo said, “I have heard that in the past, those skilled at governing a state did not alter its foundations or lightly change its established practices. Now you intend to reduce noble ranks and adjust stipends, taking from those who have excess and providing for those who lack enough. This is to change the foundations and alter established practices. If you proceed this way, the outcome will not be good.

“I have also heard that anger runs counter to De, that weapons are inauspicious things, and that contention is the basis of human action. Here, ‘basis’ means using military force to prevail. Now you are secretly planning what runs counter to De, and you delight in using weapons. By taking contention as your basis, you have already gone to the extreme of opposing the right Way.

“Moreover, you once led the army of Lu. You should not have been able to defeat Qi, yet you won. Later, you served Wei. You should not have been able to defeat Qin, yet you prevailed again. When you governed Xihe Commandery for Wei, Qin’s army did not even dare cross the border and march east. In my view, only those who bring calamity upon themselves can bring calamity about. I have never understood why the king of Chu has repeatedly defied the Way of Heaven and gone against human reason, yet has still avoided disaster. Perhaps he has been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for you” means that calamity might befall Chu with Wu Qi’s arrival. On hearing this, Wu Qi was startled into asking, “Is there still time to change course?” Qu Yiruo replied, “Once things have taken shape, they are difficult to change. You would do better to devote yourself to caring for the people and steadfastly put the way of benevolence into practice.” Laozi said, “Draw in your sharpness, untangle disputes, temper your radiance, and blend with the dust of the world.”

The state of Jin attacked Chu. Its army advanced three she (an ancient measure of marching distance, usually thirty li per she) and showed no sign of stopping. Chu’s senior officials asked to send troops out to meet it. King Zhuang of Chu said, “When my predecessor was on the throne, Jin did not attack Chu. Now that I am on the throne, Jin has come to settle our disputes and restore peace, as though concealing its brilliance and blending with the common dust.”

The state of Jin attacked Chu. Its army advanced three she and showed no sign of stopping. Chu’s senior officials asked to send troops out to meet it. King Zhuang said, “When my predecessor was on the throne, Jin did not attack Chu. Now that I am on the throne, Jin has come to attack Chu. This is my fault. How could I let the senior officials suffer disgrace on my account?” The officials replied, “When our predecessors were alive, Jin did not attack Chu. Now that we are in office, Jin has come to attack Chu. This is our fault. Please allow us to launch three attacks.” King Zhuang bowed his head and wept, his tears soaking the front of his robe. Then he rose and bowed to the assembled officials.

When the people of Jin heard this, they said, “The ruler and ministers of Chu are vying to take the blame upon themselves, and the ruler humbly treats his ministers with respect. Chu cannot be attacked.” So they withdrew their army that very night and returned home.

Laozi said, “One who can bear the humiliation of the state may be called its ruler.”

During the reign of Duke Jing of Song, Mars moved into the Heart mansion. Frightened, the duke summoned Zi Wei, who was responsible for observing the stars, and asked, “What does it mean that Mars is in the Heart mansion?”

Zi Wei replied, “Mars is a warning sent down by Heaven. The Heart mansion corresponds to the territory of the state of Song, as the ancients divided the lands of earthly states according to the constellations. So this calamity will fall upon you, my lord. But it can be transferred.”

The duke asked who could bear it in his place. Zi Wei said, “It can be transferred to your chief minister.” The duke replied, “I appointed him to govern the state. To transfer a death sentence to him would be inauspicious.”

Zi Wei continued, “It can also be transferred to the people.” The duke said, “If the people die, over whom would I rule? I would rather die myself.”

Zi Wei said, “It can also be transferred to the harvest.” The duke replied, “The harvest is tied to the people’s livelihood. If famine comes, they will die. If, as their ruler, I sacrifice them to save myself, who will still acknowledge me as their ruler? It seems my allotted years have simply come to an end.”

Zi Wei fell silent. He stepped back a few paces, turned to face north, and bowed twice. “Allow me to offer you congratulations. Though Heaven is high above, it can hear what is said among humankind. You have just spoken three things worthy of a ruler. Heaven will surely grant you three rewards. Tonight the stars will move across three lodgings, and your life will be extended by twenty-one years.”

Duke Jing also stepped back a few paces, turned to face north, and bowed twice. “Allow me to offer you congratulations. Though Heaven is high above, it can hear what is said among humankind. You have spoken three things worthy of a ruler. Heaven will surely grant you three rewards. Tonight the stars will move across three lodgings, and your life will be extended by twenty-one years.”

The duke asked, “How do you know?”

Zi Wei replied, “Because you spoke three things worthy of a ruler, you will receive three rewards. The stars are sure to move across three lodgings. The ancients said that the stars travel one she—the distance of one lodge—in seven li. Three lodgings make twenty-one li, so your life can be extended by twenty-one years. I ask to keep watch beside Your Majesty. If the stars do not move, I will pay for it with my life.”

The duke agreed. That night, the stars indeed moved across three lodgings.

Thus Laozi said, “One who can bear the calamities of the state may be called the ruler of all under Heaven.”

When Gongsun Long was once in the state of Zhao, he said to his disciples, “I will not associate with anyone who has no useful skill.” A visitor arrived dressed in coarse cloth, with a rope tied around his waist. He said, “I know how to call a ferry.” Gongsun Long turned to his disciples and asked, “Have we had anyone here who knows how to call a ferry?” They replied, “No.” So Gongsun Long added the visitor’s name to the register of his disciples.

A few days later, Gongsun Long went to persuade the King of Yan. When he reached a river, the ferry was moored on the bank at a branch in the river. He asked the man skilled at calling a ferry to call out, and the boat came over. Thus, a sage who moves through the world does not turn away anyone with a particular skill. Laozi said, “Among people, none are useless; among things, none are useless. This is called carrying on the clear understanding of the Dao.”

Zifa attacked the state of Cai and defeated it. Zifa was a general under King Xuan of Chu. The king went to the outskirts to welcome him, granted him a hundred qing of land, and bestowed on him the rank of “Bearer of the Jade Tablet.” This was a rank Chu awarded to meritorious officials, along with a jade tablet; its status was comparable to that of a ruler of a dependent state.

Zifa declined the honors, saying, “Governing the state and establishing its ordinances, with the feudal lords coming to pay court, are the ruler’s De. Issuing commands so that the army’s enemies submit before battle begins is the general’s authority. Forming ranks, fighting, and defeating the enemy depend on the people’s strength. To claim rank and rewards for the people’s achievements would not accord with the way of benevolence and righteousness.” He therefore declined the grant. Laozi said, “When the work is done, do not claim the credit. Because you do not claim the credit, your achievement will not be lost.”

Duke Wen of Jin attacked Yuan, a fief of the Zhou dynasty. King Xiang of Zhou had once granted Yuan to Duke Wen, but Yuan later rebelled against Jin, so the duke sent troops to subdue it. He agreed with his ministers that they would capture Yuan within three days. After three days, Yuan had still not surrendered, so Duke Wen ordered his army to withdraw.

Military officers urged him, “Yuan will surrender in another day or two.” Duke Wen replied, “I knew Yuan could not be captured within three days, but I had already agreed on a deadline with my ministers. If I fail to withdraw when the deadline arrives, I will break my word. I will not break my word just to gain Yuan.” When the people of Yuan heard this, they said, “How could we not surrender to a ruler like this?” So they surrendered. The people of Wen, which bordered Yuan, heard what had happened and also asked to surrender. King Xiang had granted Wen to Duke Wen as well, but Wen too had once rebelled. The story shows how Duke Wen’s commitment to keeping his word led both places to submit willingly.

Thus Laozi says: “In the depths of darkness lies something subtle; this subtle thing is utterly real, and within it there is trustworthiness.” Fine words can win respect, and fine deeds can influence others.

Gong Yixiu served as chancellor of the state of Lu. He had once been a boshi, an official responsible for scholarship and teaching the Classics, and he was fond of eating fish. When someone sent him fish, he refused to accept it. His disciple urged him, “You…”