《亢仓子注》

Kangcangzi lived on Mount Yan, south of Mount Yu. For three years, the local people suffered no illness, and the crops yielded abundant harvests year after year. They spoke among themselves: “When Kangcangzi first arrived, we did not think there was anything remarkable about him. But seeing the benefits he has brought, he may truly be a sage. Why don’t we all honor him as our lord and build an ancestral temple and an altar to the soil and grain to worship him?”

When Kangcangzi heard this, his expression darkened. His disciple Yanchuo asked him why. Kangcangzi said, “I have heard that the Perfected One—a person whose virtue and cultivation have reached the highest level—dwells as quietly as a sacrificial figure in a humble hut, and the people naturally turn to him without knowing why. Now the people of Mount Yu are privately discussing how to honor me with ritual vessels. Do they mean to make me into someone for people to look up to? So I cannot forget what Lao Dan said: ‘I practice Wuwei, and the people transform themselves. I keep free of affairs, and the people prosper by themselves. I cherish stillness, and the people set themselves right.’ What they are doing now runs directly counter to those words.”

Yanchuo said, “A shallow pond cannot hold a great fish, and a small mound cannot shelter a giant beast. Salamanders and small animals can only move about in small places; giant beasts and foxes, too, each have a place suited to hide in. Yao and Shun honored the worthy and guided the people toward goodness and benefit, thereby securing their rule. How much more so should the people of Mount Yu honor you? Please accept their tribute.”

Kangcangzi sighed. “Do you really understand the affairs of Yao and Shun? A great beast that fills a cart, if it leaves the mountain forest alone, will fall into a net. A fish large enough to swallow a boat, if it leaves the deep waters, will be bullied by ants. That is why birds and beasts live securely in high places, and fish and turtles live securely in deep waters. Those who preserve life must hide themselves away, dwelling in remote and quiet places. I tell you, the roots of great disorder lie hidden between the times of Yao and Shun. A thousand years from now, people may swallow one another up and inflict harm on one another. Affairs often turn from prosperity to decline; a fortunate beginning does not guarantee a good ending. The celebrated story of Yao and Shun yielding the throne may become an excuse for those who come later to imitate them in their struggle for power.”

Before he had finished speaking, Nanzirong Zhi-chu’s expression changed. He drew his knees together respectfully and sat upright. “I am growing old, and I do not know what to make the work of my later years. I hope you will instruct me.”

Kangcangzi said, “Preserve your body and guard your life. Do not let your thoughts run on in confusion. If you can do this, perhaps you will understand these words throughout your life. My abilities are limited; I cannot transform the world. Why don’t you go south and visit my teacher, Lao Dan?”

After bidding farewell to Rongzhi-chu, Kangcangzi declined the people’s tribute at Mount Yu and quietly departed. Like a dragon, he changed beyond recognition and traveled throughout the world.

Water is clear by nature, but when stirred up by mud it can no longer remain clear. Human nature can sustain a long life, but when disturbed by external things, people find it hard to enjoy their full span of years. Food, clothing, and other goods are meant to sustain life. Yet many people in the world today damage their lives in pursuit of possessions, not understanding that life is more precious than wealth.

Thus the sage’s attitude toward sights, sounds, and flavors is this: what benefits life, he accepts; what harms life, he gives up. This is the way to preserve life. If thousands of people shoot arrows at a single target, nearly every arrow will hit, and the target will be destroyed. When people busily chase after the myriad things, life too is bound to suffer harm. The sage therefore governs the myriad things in order to preserve their natural dispositions.

When one’s nature is preserved, one’s spirit is whole. A person whose spirit is whole understands without deliberate thought and responds aptly without planning ahead. The spirit’s perception has no bounds, and the will is gathered between Heaven and Earth. His De bears all things like the earth. Whether he stands above the Son of Heaven or lives as an ordinary person, he is neither proud nor resentful. This is what it means to preserve the Great Dao.

When the heart is balanced and untempted by external things, this is called “clarity.” Sustained clarity brings illumination; sustained illumination brings emptiness. In emptiness and stillness, the Dao is kept whole within the heart.

When Qin Yi died, Kangcangzi wept for him. A disciple asked, “Everyone in the world dies. Why do you weep, Master?” Kangcangzi replied, “Everyone in the world is weeping. How could I not weep?” The disciple asked again, “People usually weep because they are grieving, but you do not appear sad. Why is that?” Kangcangzi answered, “In all the world, there is no one with whom I share joy. How, then, could grief arise?”

The earth sheds its form and becomes water; water changes into Qi (vital energy); Qi changes into emptiness; emptiness changes into the Dao. The “shedding” described here means layer by layer letting go of one’s former shapes. Only when the Perfected One is no longer bound by joy or sorrow can he reach this state.

Emptiness is the substance of the Dao; stillness is its foundation; principle is its guiding framework; understanding is its particulars. Only by being empty and still, understanding principle, and possessing insight can one accord with the Great Dao. The Dao preserves the spirit; De expands one’s capacity; ritual brings order to the myriad things; material goods sustain the body. All these are conditions that nourish life.

Those who love white things think black will stain them; those who love black things, in turn, think white will stain them. How can I know what the world agrees is clean or unclean? So I do not cling to any single standard of cleanliness or filth. Someone suffering from blurred vision may see yellow as red and blue-green as black. How can I be certain that what I now call black and white will not appear red or yellow to someone else? Therefore, I do not become attached to the colors of the myriad things.

Those who covet wealth see nothing else worth loving. Those especially fond of fine horses or books often fail to see anything else lovable, too. How can I know what the world considers worth loving or hating? Therefore, I do not tie my heart to any one thing, nor let anything disturb my original nature.

Lord Huai of Chen sent the official Dao to Lu on a diplomatic mission. The Lu minister Shusun quietly asked him, “Do you know that our state has a sage?” Dao asked, “How can you be sure he is a sage?” Shusun replied, “He can set his thoughts aside and act with his body alone.” Dao said, “Our small state also has a sage, named Kangcangzi. He has somehow obtained Lao Dan’s Dao and can see with his ears and hear with his eyes.”

When Duke Ding of Lu heard this, he was greatly astonished. He sent Shusun back to Chen and invited Kangcangzi to Lu, where he received him with the honors accorded to a senior minister. Kangcangzi arrived in Lu and lodged in the secondary palace. The Duke respectfully sought his instruction. Kangcangzi said, “My seeing and hearing do not mean that I do without ears and eyes. Rather, my body and mind are joined; my mind is joined with Qi; Qi is joined with Shen (spirit); and Shen is joined with emptiness. Whether it is the faintest movement or the slightest sound, from beyond the eight directions or close before my eyes, if it reaches me, I am aware of it. This does not mean that I am unaware of what my ears, eyes, hands, and feet perceive, or of what the five organs, six bowels, and mind know. These perceptions simply arise naturally, and I am aware of them.”

After body and mind have merged, spirit has joined with breath, and one has reached a state of emptiness, stillness, and self-forgetfulness, the quieter the heart becomes, the farther the will reaches. The more still the spirit becomes, the clearer its discernment. When understanding reaches its utmost point, it becomes unobstructed: one perceives clearly without deliberate thought. Only those who are supremely sage and divine can reach this state. It is the essence and mystery of the path of numinous truth spoken of in Daoism.

Chapter Two of “The Use of the Dao” explains the Dao at its utmost, enabling people to understand deeply without deliberate thought. Who but someone of supreme holiness and spiritual power could reach this state? This is the essential meaning of the Way of the Numinous and the Real, and the subtle principle of the Way of Profound Mystery, which values transcending distinctions and returning to the mystery.

Chapter Two of “The Use of the Dao”: All actions should be rooted in benefiting all things, accord with Heaven’s intent, restrain selfish desires, and return to benevolence. In this way, instruction can be put into practice and punishments set aside.

Heaven and Earth, other people, and one’s own heart are not worthy of relying on individually; only the Dao can be trusted. Do wise rulers and outstanding people not understand this?

In the past, Jie of the Xia relied on his own power and thought the whole world belonged to him, but he did not diligently cultivate the Way of governing. Heaven therefore took his state away and gave it to Tang of the Shang. Zhou of the Yin also relied on his power and thought the whole world belonged to him, but he did not honor the true Way. Heaven therefore took his state away and gave it to King Wu of the Zhou. Jie of the Xia and Zhou of the Yin indulged in luxury, assuming they possessed the people and held Heaven’s Mandate. They became cruel and violent, failed to cultivate the true Way, and in the end lost the realm.

Today, a lazy farmer trusts that the earth will naturally produce the hundred grains, but refuses to plow according to the seasons. Weeds overrun the fields, the crops wither, and in the end there is no grain to harvest. A ruler of Qi trusted in human nature but did not understand how to treat people with ritual propriety and deference. He handed his entire state over to another, who proved greedy and brutal and seized Qi.

When ordinary people do not cultivate the Dao and follow only their own inclinations, taking selfishness as their standard, their desires keep growing and calamities arrive one after another. In the end, they harm themselves and shorten their lives. This is what happens when the heart turns against the body and becomes its source of harm. Thus it is said that only the Dao can be trusted. The Dao is open and upright, peaceful and content, untouched by external things. When people empty their hearts and return to the Dao, body, mind, nature, and life can all be at peace.

If Heaven and Earth did not rely on the Dao, they could not endure. When all things each find their Dao, Heaven becomes clear and Earth becomes tranquil. Without worthy people to govern them, the people cannot live in peace and harmony; without capable people to manage them, affairs of state cannot be orderly and harmonious. The worthy and capable govern all things by relying on the Dao.

Those who practice the Dao do not display their own efficacy, yet they allow blessings to grow. The achievements of all things go unseen, so the people feel that everything happens of itself. When principles are understood and applied, undertakings flourish, and the blessings accumulated through good deeds can endure for generations.

To understand principles and distinguish among them is called “discernment.” To understand without clinging to distinctions is called the “Dao.” Distinguishing things and leading people to abandon evil and embrace good means governing people through discernment. Embracing them with quiet composure, without praising or condemning them or competing with them, means bringing them to rest through the Dao.

Rising at the cock’s crow, laboring all day until sweat pours down, and finding a little rest only at midnight: this is the farmer’s way of life. Bending to pick things up, stretching upward to seek them out, calculating intently and working hard, all for the sake of profit: this is the merchant’s way of life. Regulating the breath and nourishing Qi, settling the Shen and quieting the mind, casting off distracting thoughts, seeking freedom and transcendence, cultivating the essence of the sun, and refining the immortal substance: this is the cultivation practice of the lofty adept. Focusing the mind and keeping one’s thoughts upright, serving the ruler to the utmost, adhering to principles and weighing affairs, and accomplishing one’s work in the position one holds: this is the official’s way of serving. Quieting the heart and reducing selfish thoughts, observing the officials close at hand, devoting oneself to seeking the worthy, and bringing peace to the people: this is the ruler’s way of governing.

If each person acts according to their station and aspirations, without abandoning their work or principles, then the realm may be said to have the Dao. When farmers and merchants each uphold their own occupations, and worthy rulers and good ministers each cultivate their own Way, the realm is orderly and peaceful, and all its undertakings proceed securely.

Nurturing the sinews and bones and preserving the physical form is preserving the body. Cutting away desires and preserving the spirit is preserving the mind and Shen. Speaking cautiously and holding on to one’s blessings is preserving De. To accomplish these three forms of preservation is the clear and virtuous Way. When De accords with the Way of Heaven, spirits and deities will lend their aid. Those who keep faith with the Dao will be treated with ritual courtesy by gentlemen, while even petty people will regard them with respect.

People with insight have their own views, and people without insight have theirs; people who have the Dao are quiet and reserved, while even dull-witted people may be silent. Things often appear alike while being different in reality, or appear opposite while being similar in reality. Sometimes adversity comes first and joy follows; what begins auspiciously may end in danger.

Some people are worth drawing close to, though their abilities must not be slighted; others have talents worthy of respect, though their character is not worthy of esteem. Excessive respect can make closeness difficult, while excessive closeness can undermine respect. Those who are close may gradually grow distant, and those who are distant may become close again. Excessive kindness may give rise to resentment, and excessive love may invite hatred. Being too hasty with others can cause harm, and being too slow in dealing with matters can cause harm as well. Excessive firmness and excessive yielding can both bring harm. The causes of failure in all kinds of affairs are often deeply hidden, and these principles must be understood. That is why even the wise find such matters difficult to handle.

When the heart is calm, the spirit can become clear. Even in straitened circumstances, the mind may thereby find clarity. Speaking little can allow words to ring true; abundant wealth can bring ease to the body and one’s life. This follows from the natural order of things. People who share the same Way often become close, while those with the same skills may become jealous of one another. This is a natural expression of human feelings: when people are in harmony and have nothing to compete for, they love one another; when they try to outdo one another and compete, jealousy readily arises.

A person of many talents who remains humble, who is poor and low in status without being obsequious, who does not slacken in hardship, and who remains respectful and diligent in wealth and rank may be called a person of De.

Human intelligence cannot grasp the cycles of seasonal cold and heat or the movements of the sun, moon, and stars. If people could understand these patterns, all living things in the world, with life and vital energy in them, could settle into their proper places and grow in peace. Ministers, too, cannot know their ruler in advance. Only by understanding how the ruler administers rewards and punishments and grants titles and stipends can they know how people, close or distant, worthy or capable, will each apply their strengths and receive suitable positions. When the ruler keeps faith, the ministers are secure; when the ruler breaks faith, the ministers are in danger.

The people labor hard, their resources are exhausted, and they struggle against one another. Then the impulse to harm others grows, and people cease to trust one another. The root of this mutual distrust is faulty government orders. Faulty orders are the officials’ responsibility. When officials make mistakes but receive no fitting punishment or reward, it is because the ruler is not diligent in examining affairs. When the ruler is diligent in examining affairs, punishments and rewards become fair and consistent; when officials act according to the law, government orders can reach the people below. Only when everyone finds their proper place can people trust one another. Thus, the root of mutual distrust throughout the world lies in the ruler’s failure to examine affairs diligently.

Kangcangzi lived for five years in Xirang, in the Zhou domain. King Ling of Zhou sent the Duke of Ji to invite him, bearing silk in bamboo baskets and fine jade threaded on silk cords. The king said, “My virtue and ability are meager, yet I presume to occupy the ruler’s position. Now floods and droughts come at the wrong times, and the people suffer. May I ask how these calamities can be dispelled?”

Kangcangzi replied, “Floods are a sign that Yin energy is out of balance. In government, Yin corresponds to punishments; in human affairs, it corresponds to private abuses. Unjust trials and widespread selfishness may bring on such disasters. Drought is a sign that Yang energy is excessive. In government, Yang corresponds to virtue; in human affairs, it corresponds to arrogance and excess. A ruler who fails to cultivate virtue and acts with arrogance and excess may also bring on drought. When the state of Chu suffered floods and droughts, it put punishments in order and cultivated virtue. Its officials cast off selfishness and guarded against arrogance and excess. By addressing the roots of these things, they made the calamities recede and peace return.”

The state of Zheng possessed a great gui-jade and a Rong bow inherited from the state of Hu. Later, Zheng arrived late at an alliance meeting, and Chu demanded, “Hand over the great gui-jade and the Rong bow, or I will send troops to attack you.” The ruler of Zheng was deeply worried. He traveled by carriage to see Kangcangzi and said, “These two treasures were acquired by my late father from Hu and have been kept for generations. I wished to leave them to my descendants. Now Chu is using its power to seize them, threatening to attack our state if we refuse. I am thinking of replacing the originals with other gui-jades. What do you think?”

Kangcangzi said, “Please put your mind at ease. Chu, too, has its own treasure: good faith and righteousness. If you deceive Chu with imitation jade, you may temporarily delay disaster, but Chu will lose its good faith, and we will incur the guilt of breaking ours. So I cannot approve. You should hand over the genuine jade. Chu is relying on force over a minor offense, using the threat of punishment to seize the property of an ally. In the end, it will lose the feudal lords’ support. When they hear of this, the lords will be alert and wary, strive to cultivate virtue and examine their affairs, and form an alliance to uphold what is right. Zheng should first yield and hand over the treasures, then wait. This may well prove a blessing.”

So Zheng sent Hu’s gui-jade and the Rong bow to Ying, the capital of Chu. When the people of Chu heard Kangcangzi’s advice, they said, “Zheng has acted in accordance with a sage’s words. If we take these things, we will expose our unrighteousness to the world and arouse suspicion among the feudal lords.” They immediately returned the treasures to Zheng and treated its envoys with courtesy.

Human nature seeks life and recoils from death, seeks security and recoils from danger, and seeks honor and recoils from disgrace. When the people obtain what they desire, they are happy; when they are happy, they are settled. When they cannot obtain what they desire, they suffer; when they suffer, they fall into danger. If a ruler gives free rein to his own desires, and the officials and elders each pursue their private wants, the poor will exhaust their strength and the rich their wealth. The proper order among scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants will be lost, and no one will be able to fulfill their wishes.

When the people cannot obtain what they want, they support one another as they flee and hide, drift from place to place to make a living, and gather wild fruit to stay alive. Officials then hunt them down. Unable to endure danger and hardship, people begin to contemplate joining together in rebellion. Once a state has lost the people’s support, it cannot simply covet a large population and build strong city walls: the people will flee, and building walls will exhaust them further. Unfair taxes drive the poor into deeper hardship; severe punishments increase the number of those with divided loyalties; harsh prohibitions strengthen the impulse to rebel and bring the state to ruin.

When officials are unfit for their positions, exercise leniency and severity inappropriately, and compete with the people for profit, cunning and deceit take root. People throughout the world then become treacherous and hard to read; ruler and ministers grow suspicious of one another, and the ministers become increasingly confused. When ministers are confused, the administration is strained. Under a strained administration, rewards are inadequate to encourage good conduct, and punishments cannot deter wrongdoing. The government becomes unstable and difficult to restore to order. This happens because the officials appointed are not suited to their positions.

The most important thing in governing is to examine people’s abilities carefully. If someone has the virtue and ability to govern a village, appoint them to govern a village. If they are capable of governing a county or a province, appoint them to govern a county or province. If they can govern a state, entrust them with its affairs. Then each person can put their abilities to use, and no worthy person will be overlooked.

When someone in a village commits wrongdoing, the village elders should first instruct them. If they do not change, they should be sent to the county for correction. If they still do not change, they should be dealt with according to the law. This is how rebellion can be prevented. If this is done, everyone in the world will be respectful and cautious, with no desire to break the law, flatter others, or act arrogantly. This is what it means to bring the people to a settled state.

In managing the affairs of the world, nothing is more important than seeking worthy people. The best way to draw them near is to make government work smoothly; the key to doing so is to bring the people to a settled state. The abilities of worthy people differ in roughly the following ways: if one selects by written work alone, one may find four or five suitable people in a hundred; if one selects by speech, perhaps only one or two in ten; but if one observes a person’s spirit, bearing, and composed, appropriate conduct, eight or nine in ten may be suitable. Whether such people are discovered still depends on whether an enlightened ruler has the discernment to recognize and appoint them.

If a ruler selects people only by their writing, ornate compositions crafted for effect will proliferate, while plain and upright people are overlooked. If he selects only by speech, flashy and embellished words will flourish, while honest people who dare to offer remonstrance will withdraw. If he judges only by outward appearance and bearing, he will elevate those who seem correct on the surface but are deceitful within, while honest and upright people are overlooked. When selection is misguided, the more worthy people there are, the more government drifts from the right course; the more numerous the orders, the more confused people become.

The world is the most important vessel, and the ruler’s position is of the greatest significance. When worthy people are found, the state is secure; when they are lost, the state falls into disorder. Therefore, a ruler should labor to seek able people, then entrust them with their work in confidence. How could those who safeguard the state and bring the people together fail to examine their candidates carefully?

When people’s feelings do not accord with what the ruler expects, the ruler becomes concerned. Of all the matters that cause concern, none is more pressing than criminal cases. When hearing cases and questioning prisoners, the facts must be established. If someone conceals the truth, the matter must be brought to light according to the circumstances, through strategy, authority, persuasion, or stern measures. Though the methods may differ, the final judgment must be fair and free of injustice. Then, while alive, the people will not feel they owe anyone a favor, and, when they die, they will bear no resentment, because they know that both life and death have been governed by what is right. Only when those who rule the state, appoint its officials, and administer its punishments can do this have they fulfilled their duties. The feelings of the people will then be harmonious, all occupations will be settled, and the ties between those above and below will be firm, like those within one family. Even if some oppose the ruler, they will not easily shake the state.

After King Ping of Zhou restored the proper order and moved the capital to Luoyi, he devoted himself to seeking worthy and capable people. Whenever he heard one good saying, he would be delighted for several days. Year after year, his attendants praised a certain minister as exceptionally worthy, but King Ping said, “My virtue is not clear, and I am striving to seek able people. How could I become self-satisfied and close my ears and eyes merely because I have heard a few good words? Lately, these corrupt and flattering attendants have repeatedly praised powerful ministers to curry favor with those around me. I am weak and dull, unable to discern matters clearly, and I have let them ally with one another and conceal their faults, making their factions ever stronger. Nothing damages virtue more severely than this.” He then had three close attendants executed in the marketplace and demoted five officials who oversaw government offices. He said, “I must not let ministers deceive those above and attach themselves to those below, simply to preserve their stipends and indulge their own interests.” When people throughout the world heard of this, they praised his fairness and clarity.

In times of great peace, clothing and carriages are plain, laws are simple and lenient, and prohibitions are few. When clothing and carriages are plain, people do not envy one another. When laws are simple and lenient, society has few taboos. When prohibitions are few, people can avoid wrongdoing more easily and are less likely to violate the law. People no longer compete to outdo one another, so their desires are few and do not become conspicuous; they can work in peace and take pleasure in their occupations. When society has few taboos, human feelings can unfold freely, and people communicate with one another more openly and cheerfully. When people honor virtue and understand shame, they can readily avoid wrongdoing. Being content in one’s occupation is called compliance; mutual harmony is called accord; honoring virtue and understanding shame is called uprightness. Compliance, accord, and uprightness are the foundations of governing a state.

In times of decline, clothing and carriages are elaborate and ornate, laws are numerous, prayers to avert misfortune and taboos proliferate, and prohibitions are biased and harsh. When clothing and carriages are elaborate, people imitate and compete with one another. When laws are complicated, folk taboos multiply. When prohibitions are biased, people cannot tell how to avoid punishment. People then feel ashamed of plainness and admire ostentation; those above and below lose all understanding of one another and turn against each other. Slander and false accusation become common, and the people no longer fear death. Admiring ostentation is called frivolity; separation between those above and below is called estrangement; and people’s disregard for death is called recklessness. A true scholar cannot hold office amid frivolous customs; a fair and upright person cannot do his work where those above and below are estranged; and a capable person cannot serve where everyone treats the law lightly. Frivolity, estrangement, and recklessness are steps on the path to a disordered state.

Xiong Yu, ruler of Chu, asked about floods and droughts, and about order and disorder in government. Kangcangzi said, “Floods and droughts come from the seasons; order and disorder come from human affairs. When human affairs are harmonious, even floods and droughts cannot ruin the state. The times of Yao and Tang are examples. The Zhou text Order of the Officials says that strong human affairs can overcome natural calamities. But if human affairs are in disarray, the state will gradually collapse even without floods or droughts. Were the downfalls of Jie and Zhou really caused only by floods and droughts?” Xiong Yu bowed respectfully toward the north and said, “Heaven has not abandoned me, for it has let me hear these words.” He gave Kangcangzi ten pairs of large jade disks and appointed him Assistant Minister, saying, “I hope this can cure my state’s ills.” Kangcangzi could not refuse. After staying one night, he changed into ordinary clothes and left Chu.

In times of great peace, the mountains have no false recluses who seek private gain, the marketplaces have no crooked schemes for profit, and the court has no people who earn stipends through flattery. Zichan, a minister of Zheng, asked how to win the people’s hearts and make them simple and sincere. Kangcangzi said, “When government orders are harsh and numerous, people become deceitful and false; when orders are few and consistent, people become honest and plain. The people’s customs change with the shape of government, just as a looper caterpillar changes its color to match the leaves: when it eats yellow leaves, its body turns yellow; when it eats green leaves, its body turns green.”

Zichan then asked, “How can the people be made prosperous?” Kangcangzi said, “If taxes are collected at the proper times and officials are honest and frugal, the people will prosper. If taxation has no limits and officials are extravagant and indulgent, the people will be poor.”

Arrows produced in Yue have points made of refined gold and fletching made from the feathers of fierce birds. If used to pound something, they are no more effective than dry wood. But when used to shoot at the enemy and decide a battle, they can be fitted to a powerful crossbow and remain unmatched at a range of three hundred paces. The Feijing sword is a divine sword, its brilliance outshining the sun and its sword aura rising like a purple rainbow. If used to cut grass or harvest crops, it is no different from a sickle. But when used to root out evil and quell disorder, it can leave no calamity within a thousand li. Different implements have different materials and uses; what matters is applying them in accordance with the time.

In ancient times, enlightened rulers governed the world with harmony among the people. All things flourished and each fulfilled its nature. They knew how to act in accordance with the times and did not disturb the people. In recent generations, the wicked have become numerous and the upright few; there are many who are shallow and chase profit, and few who hold to what is proper and withdraw into quietness. Deceitful people speak in a way that sounds just like words of loyalty, confusing the world until the people distrust one another. It is lamentable that laws should be easy to avoid and hard to violate, and that remedies for abuses should be simple and consistent. If only the powerful and violent are removed, officials will not dare pursue private gain, the people will prosper, and all kinds of falsehood will be less able to blur the distinction between right and wrong.

The Records of the Grand Historian says, “Remove great harms and extend clemency.” But clemency must not be granted too often. If pardons are frequent, the wicked will think it profitable to do wrong, and ordinary people will develop bad intentions, while worthy people will have no way to put their abilities to use. When someone commits a serious crime and officials arrest them, the case often implicates many people and ensnares the innocent. The officials delay proceedings, hoping to catch an amnesty. In the end, the victims receive no justice and can only suffer alone. As a result, offenders keep devising ways to exploit the system, officials toil over their cases, and government grows harsh without bringing crime to an end. Such are the harms of frequent pardons.

People detest the Wayless and those who act unjustly because wrongdoing brings punishment. They strive to follow the Way and uphold justice because good conduct brings reward. If those without the Way and those who act unjustly are pardoned, while those who follow the Way and uphold justice are harmed and receive no reward, how can anyone expect people to be good? If enlightened rulers and outstanding scholars arise in later generations and examine these principles carefully, they will understand that the people’s resentment of a ruler does not necessarily arise because he has failed to draw near to them, and that the spirits’ anger does not necessarily arise because he has failed to sacrifice to them. Excessive clever words meant to please the people will only deepen their resentment; excessive immersion in illicit sacrifices will only make the spirits more wrathful.

The fourth lecture in “The Way of the Ruler” explains that a ruler should remain quiet and interfere little, guiding the people through his own conduct.

In the beginning, Heaven and Earth gave birth to the myriad things; afterward, people were responsible for nurturing them. When people follow the patterns by which Heaven and Earth bring forth and sustain all things, allowing them to live in peace and harmony, this is called “the duty of the Son of Heaven.” Here, the Son of Heaven means a ruler who receives Heaven’s mandate and governs the realm. In governing, the ruler should preserve the vitality of all things. Official posts, too, are established to help the ruler nurture them and keep the life-giving force of Heaven and Earth from being harmed.

In later generations, some rulers became confused in their thinking and appointed too many officials. This hindered the people from sustaining their lives and they forgot the original purpose of establishing offices. When plants grow too thickly, they rot and become infested with insects; when human affairs become congested, the state falls ill. The state’s “stagnation” means that the ruler’s Virtue and intentions cannot reach the people, while the people’s wishes and grievances cannot reach the ruler. When corrupt ministers deceive the ruler and the people suffer injustice, calamities accumulate and endanger the state.

For this reason, a wise ruler does not shut out loyal ministers and upright men who speak frankly, but clears away obstructions and resolves the problems they reveal. When the ruler restrains selfish desires and returns to ritual propriety and righteousness, worthy people will naturally come to him. When the ruler personally plows the fields and the empress personally raises silkworms, they lead by example; seeing their ruler act this way, the people are moved to follow. Worthy people should be allowed to come of their own accord; they cannot be won by force. The people should be transformed through Virtue, not subjected to punishment at every turn. If the ruler does not do something himself but orders the people to do it, punishments will not make them willingly submit.

When Yao and Shun ruled, they accepted the burden of the ruler’s labor and concern without devoting themselves to satisfying their own desires. As a result, the people were able to fulfill their rightful wishes. Though they held the position of ruler, they did not seek comfort for themselves or indulge in luxury, so the people, too, could be at ease.

Some people’s conduct is approved by the people but not by the ruler; others act only to please the ruler, while the people disapprove. Those who devote themselves wholeheartedly and loyally to serving the common good win the people’s affection. Those who serve private interests and flatter the ruler often win only the ruler’s favor. Employing the first kind brings peace to the people; favoring only the second puts them in danger. If a ruler truly cares about the people’s well-being, he must restrain his personal likes and dislikes and not let private feelings determine whom he appoints.

“People” means those who possess and make use of all kinds of things in their lives; a “state” is a place where people gather. People are the foundation of the state: when they are at peace, the state is at peace. A ruler should therefore devote himself to finding ways to govern the people and appoint worthy and capable people to assist him.

Jade is difficult to identify because there are strange stones that look like jade; metal is difficult to identify because there is tuoshi, an alloy resembling copper that looks like gold. In the same way, treacherous people can appear upright while remaining crooked at heart, making them hard to recognize. If a falcon’s wings are placed on a small quail, someone with poor eyesight may mistake it for a falcon. A sharp-eyed person, however, sees at once that it is still a quail.

Likewise, some petty men read the scriptures and books of methods, learn ingenious arts and clever argument, and dress in the blue and purple robes of office. The foolish take them for gentlemen, but those with clear sight can see that they remain petty men. A clear-minded ruler chooses people by examining their words, abilities, and conduct; this is sound judgment. A muddled ruler chooses by the same outward signs and creates disorder. The point is not that words, actions, and abilities are useless, but that the ruler must distinguish what is genuine from what is false and avoid being deceived by appearances.

When the sage employs people, he values achievements that are hard to notice with the eyes and ears and difficult to proclaim in words. They do not advertise their reputations or boast of their accomplishments. Instead, they quietly bring things to completion, enabling the people to live in peace and move freely, while society is governed naturally. When achievements are not deliberately publicized, people do not compete to pursue fame. This is why the sage values such an approach.

If the ruler values only achievements that can be heard about, his ministers will spend money to buy a reputation and pursue profit. If he values only achievements that can be seen, they will flaunt their appearance and behave extravagantly to win promotion. If he values only achievements that can be described, they will polish their speech and seek favor through clever words. When ministers compete to buy fame, seek advancement, and embellish their words, government affairs fall into disarray.

Everyone knows that a mirror can show what one’s face looks like, yet some rulers dislike worthy people pointing out their faults. A mirror reveals the good and bad of one’s appearance, while a worthy person can discern the good and evil of one’s heart. Improving one’s appearance has a limited effect; improving one’s heart has a far greater one. A ruler who prizes the small use of a mirror but dismisses the great value of a worthy person who helps set his heart right has mistaken what matters most.

When the ruler clears his mind of desires and reduces the disturbance of government affairs, and his ministers are respectful and frugal, each keeping to his duties, the realm can be at peace. Yet some rulers find this very difficult. If a ruler cannot judge clearly and decisively within his own heart, the plants and animals throughout the four quarters of the realm will lose their proper patterns of growth. “The square inch” refers here to the human heart; “moving things” means living animals, and “growing things” means grasses and trees.

Choosing people by what the eyes and ears perceive leads to more official posts and muddled government: too many people feign virtue or compete to draw attention, making them difficult for the ruler to distinguish. Choosing people through inward reflection allows the number of official posts to be reduced and government affairs to become clear. Thus, in times when people govern in accordance with principle, they seek out those whose achievements go unnoticed and who do not succeed through reputation or outward display. In times when standards have declined, they select those who are easy to see and hear about. If the ruler chooses people only by what the eyes and ears perceive, everyone will rush about competing for advantage and buying a reputation. If he recognizes people through inward reflection, they will remain quiet and upright, and diligently cultivate Virtue. When officials are quiet and upright and diligently cultivate Virtue, the people will naturally be influenced even if the ruler issues few commands. When officials are busy competing for fame and profit, punishments will still fail to make the people fear and submit.

When a state is about to flourish, the officials at court differ in many ways: some are tall, others short; some plain-looking, others handsome; some affable, others stern; some correct, others mistaken. Their words and appearances may make them seem entirely unlike one another. But if we examine their aims and test what is in their hearts, we can see whether they are devoted to the state. They criticize openly without bearing resentment, and are neither alarmed nor afraid when dismissed from office. Their arguments are fair and do not go against reason. Then the seasons remain in order, the land yields its abundance, affairs among people are not thrown into confusion, and the spirits lend their aid. Distant peoples submit, and all things are brought into harmony and grow together.

When a state is about to fall, the officials at court often appear affable, speak gently, and conduct themselves with refinement, seeming to get along with one another. But an examination of their aims and hearts reveals that they struggle for office and pursue private gain, secretly suspicious and jealous of one another. They are startled by strange and unusual reports, and suspect and reject anyone whose views differ from their own. In the end, they undermine the Way of governance. Calamities descend from Heaven, the seasons fall out of order, and strange phenomena appear on earth. People commit violence and wrongdoing, spirits bring down misfortune, and the Rong and Di—ancient names for peoples to the north and west—invade from all sides. Disorder multiplies, and all things struggle to grow as they should.

A minister who does not harm the people or overburden officials, yet brings achievements to fruition, ensures that orders are carried out, and improves the people’s lives, is a loyal and worthy servant of the ruler. Someone who squanders resources, burdens the people, and harms officials merely to secure quick results and win the ruler’s favor, while disregarding the calamities this will leave the state in the future, is a treacherous minister.

When government is well ordered, offices are filled by suitable people. When government is in disarray, people instead attach themselves to offices. Zhu Long asked Kangcangzi, “How can one become a virtuous person capable of assisting the ruler?” Kangcangzi replied, “The heart should above all be impartial; one’s manner should above all be gentle; one’s words should above all be upright. Impartiality need not be flaunted, gentleness must not be mixed with falsehood, and uprightness need not offend others. The ancients worked diligently and lived honestly in order to govern the state and set its affairs straight. People today often work diligently and live honestly only to protect themselves and win a reputation.”

Those who are concerned with governing the state and setting its affairs straight can arrange matters in good order, act in keeping with reason, and take the whole into account. Those concerned only with protecting themselves and winning a reputation may also arrange matters neatly, but their outlook is narrow and they are bound by trivial details. Therefore, when one takes what is right as one’s guiding principle, one handles affairs appropriately; when one takes private interests and personal attachments as one’s guiding principle, one is likely to handle them badly.

A minister who holds high office but does not offer remonstrance, or who holds low office but acts unjustly, does not deserve a stipend. A ruler who does not treat senior ministers with solemn respect, and does not establish trust with junior officials, is unfit to appoint capable people to serve at court. A capable minister is not necessarily loyal, and a loyal minister is not necessarily capable. Ministers need not fear that they are not loyal; what they should truly fear is that, after giving their utmost in loyalty, the ruler will not trust them. Nor need they fear that the ruler will not trust them; what they should truly fear is that, even if trusted, they will be unable to fulfill their duties.

The highest class of people are those of worthy character. When a wise ruler appoints them, the ruler should entrust them with authority and responsibility, allowing them to respond flexibly to affairs and make full use of their abilities. Even when they adapt their methods to changing circumstances, they should always return to the right path. The middle class are people with skills and abilities. When appointing them, the ruler should assess their achievements and guide them through rewards and punishments, since they are readily influenced by good and evil and need the ruler to steer them through incentives and sanctions.

The reason worthy people repeatedly seek office yet fail to obtain it is that they are difficult to instruct through rewards and punishments. People of middling ability, such as educated men with particular skills, follow good conduct when they see it, but are also easily influenced by evil conduct. A ruler can therefore restrain them through rewards and punishments.

A person of talent and discernment is cautious in appearance and calm within. He treats others with warmth and propriety, yet does not become familiar with them casually. When close to someone, he remains respectful; when distant, he bears no resentment. When he meets hardship, he accepts his lot and puts his mind at ease. When he attains success and recognition, he sets limits by the Way and does not crave more. Sometimes people see his bearing and think him worthy; sometimes they hear him speak and think him worthy. But only when they examine his expression and discernment do they discover that he may not live up to their expectations.

When a worthy person is appointed to office, he dares to point out the ruler’s failings at court and can also praise the ruler’s virtues. He handles his duties diligently and judiciously, and lives at home with simplicity and ease. Before he is appointed, he keeps himself concealed, does not readily display his understanding or speak without cause. He is content with his food and his daily steps, seeking only to cultivate his own character in private; he holds fast to the right Way without resentment. A truly discerning person will not look down on a worthy man because his circumstances are dangerous, nor dismiss his principles because he speaks modestly. Even in a corrupt age, the worthy man does not change his resolve. Though his position is precarious, his expression remains composed; though his words are modest, his principles remain firm. A worthy person does not call himself worthy. Whether he is worthy is shown by his record in office and the results of his work.

In an age of peace, people of the highest rank apply their discernment, those of middling rank exert their abilities, and ordinary people contribute their physical strength. In Qi there was a man named Pouzi, whose abilities were sufficient to revive the state and whose conduct was exceptionally principled. He served his parents with filial devotion and care, and treated people in his village with respect and courtesy. Reflecting that his family was poor and he could not provide for his parents, he dealt with others in good faith and spent many years traveling in search of work. Yet wherever he went, he found it hard to get along with people, and at times arrogant men mocked and deceived him.

So, leaning on his staff, he went to ask Kangcangzi: “I have heard that the Perfected Person, united with the Dao and inwardly empty and still, forgets personal feelings, while ordinary people do not know how to deal with their feelings. Common people place great importance on trust and righteousness. I do not understand: I practice trust and righteousness myself, yet repeatedly meet with failure wherever I go. What good does this do? Some people are not trusted, yet continue to uphold trustworthiness; others are truly trustworthy but are not trusted, and still continue to uphold it. Some lack genuine righteousness, yet are called righteous because they admire it. Why are those who uphold trust and righteousness so often left in hardship, isolated and pushed aside? Is this really what the times and prevailing teachings esteem?”

Kangcangzi lowered his head and straightened his robe. Then he looked up with a sigh and chanted aloud: “When the times are bright, trust and righteousness flourish; when the times are dark, trust and righteousness lie hidden. Brightness and darkness, flourishing and concealment, change with the times. I have no preference between them. When the world is in turmoil, who can explain its principles?” His meaning was that the world passes through order and disorder, and people’s advance or withdrawal changes with the times. When the times are clear, they advance with them; when the times are dark, they withdraw and preserve themselves. This is not done out of self-interest.

To act in accordance with one’s true nature yet receive no response from the world means that genuine nature has no place in public life. An age in which genuine nature cannot prevail is called “the concealment of the Dao.” When the Dao is concealed, people of the highest rank withdraw. Sometimes they can act, and sometimes they have no opportunity to put their abilities to use; sometimes they can be appointed, and sometimes there is no place for them.

Jigong asked, “Why are worthy and capable people so hard to find, even when one seeks them?” Kangcangzi replied, “People of upright virtue can only wait for the right opportunity; they cannot be forced to appear. Whether talent can be put to use depends on how people are sought out and selected, not on whether talent exists in the world. If the ruler is enlightened and the ministers are diligent, impartial, and clear-sighted in administering punishments and government, without shielding the powerful, then benefits will not be blocked from reaching those below. Worthy people will naturally come forward and be willing to serve. When worthy people are appointed, people throughout the realm can see clearly and speak freely, and their hearts are at ease, free of pent-up grievances. The ruler can then bring government to completion, the people can live in peace, all things can flourish in harmony, and even spirits and gods will have no occasion to display their wonders.”

If the ruler is enlightened, the ministers diligent and clear-sighted, and governance harmonious, and if those seeking talent are broad-minded, fair, and upright, they will find people who are magnanimous, hold to what is right, and bring peace to the people. If the ruler is harsh and the ministers impatient, their search for worthy men will attract only people who flatter and ingratiate themselves, scheme for advantage, and undermine principles. If the ruler is suspicious and distrustful and the ministers are adept at compliance and appeasement, those recruited will be people of strange origins and titles, skilled in flattery and manipulation. If the ruler considers himself wise and the ministers care only to keep their positions, those recruited will pursue literary fame and be greedy, corrupt, and showy. If the ruler is evasive and the ministers are treacherous and protective of wrongdoing, those recruited will be disloyal within and crooked in appearance, malicious in intent yet gentle in speech. This is why whether talent can be put to use depends on how people are sought out and selected.

In the past, the Yellow Emperor gained the services of Changxian, Fengju, Rongcheng, and others; the Shang king gained Yi Yin; King Xuan of Zhou, during his restoration of the state, gained Zhongshanfu and Shen Bo; and Duke Huan of Qi gained Ning Qi. These rulers were all able to embody the Dao and practice benevolence, to manifest sage virtue and martial achievement, and to work toward bringing harmony and clarity to the realm, while acting with generosity, supporting its flourishing, and upholding what was right. For this reason, many worthy men were willing to come and serve them. They did not obtain talent through painstaking scrutiny and selection.

Jigong asked, “You say that worthy people will come of their own accord without being sought. Are there also people who are not worthy yet come to offer their services without being sought?” Kangcangzi said, “There are many such people. When a ruler follows the Dao, worthy people will be discovered and examined even without a search. When a ruler does not follow the Dao, those who come forward will mostly be unworthy. There are few rulers who follow the Dao and many who do not; few worthy people attend the ruler and many who are unfit. Therefore, those who come of their own accord without being sought are often unworthy.”

Jigong then asked, “Worthy people can certainly help a ruler govern, and people of talent can also help a ruler govern. Since both can accomplish the work of government, what is the difference between a worthy person and a person of talent?” Kangcangzi replied, “That is an urgent question. To complete great work and then pursue no fame, while holding to deference, yielding, simplicity, and frugality—this is what makes a worthy person. To complete great work and then enjoy rank and emoluments, become widely renowned, and feel self-satisfied—this is what makes a person of talent. A worthy person can steady the state; a person of talent can also govern it. To ‘steady’ means to transform the people through a virtue that is harmonious and peaceful, so they do not know where his power comes from. To ‘govern’ means to lead the officials diligently in their work, so that when the people benefit, they know to credit his virtue.”

One worthy person can direct many talented people and still manage with ease. Even many talented people considered together are no match for a single worthy person. This is the fundamental difference between a worthy person and a person of talent.

Some people live in the mountains and forests yet have restless minds; others live amid worldly life yet remain inwardly calm. Some are outwardly noisy but upright in conduct, while others seem quiet but are crooked in character. When judging people, it is common to find those who seem crude and lowly yet truly possess virtue; nine out of ten who appear polished and refined are petty people. Only someone who does not judge a person’s learning without listening carefully to his words, assess his character without observing his conduct, assume he is good on the strength of his reputation, or reject the truth about him because of slander can be called discerning.

Chapter Seven, “Treatise on the Way’s Instruction,” explains that the highest virtue can serve as the foundation of every kind of teaching. The spirits also aid those who possess it, enabling them to transform the people.

Min Ziqian asked Confucius, “How great is the difference between the Dao and filial piety?” Confucius replied, “The Dao is the wondrous power by which all things move of themselves. Filial piety is the highest virtue a person can attain. The Dao runs through life and brings forth the myriad things, yet no one knows where it comes from; hence it is called ‘wondrous power.’ Filial piety means treating one’s parents well, showing them wholehearted reverence and love, obeying them, and being considerate of them. It moves the spirits to respond; hence it is called ‘highest virtue.’

“The Dao embraces and sets Heaven and Earth in motion. It brings forth and nourishes the myriad things, allowing each to find what is fitting for it. It does not demand that things have a particular nature or lifespan. Its effects are real and profound, yet it claims nothing for itself and takes no credit. People seek it and observe it, but cannot grasp or possess it; therefore it is called the ‘Dao.’ When the Dao takes shape in human life, it is called ‘filial piety.’”

Filial piety is the name for treating one’s parents well. A truly filial person is respectful and obedient, and understands the wishes of their parents. They do all they can to attend to their parents’ expressions and moods. In every word spoken and every deed done, they remember their parents. In office, they remain loyal; among friends, they keep faith; toward those beneath them, they remain respectful; in pursuing goodness, they do not grow slack. Even when alone, they do not relax their sincerity. This is filial piety in its fullest form. When sincerity reaches its utmost, it can move the spirits to respond and carry one’s reputation far and wide. Whatever one seeks to move will then answer. This is the height that care for one’s parents can attain.

In ancient times, Yu the Great was a profoundly filial son. His father, misled by his stepmother, continually hated him and sought to harm him. Yet Yu became ever more respectful and careful, harboring no resentment. Once, his father ordered him down a well, then filled it with earth in an attempt to bury him alive. The spirits were stirred and showed their power, and Yu escaped through a hidden passage he had dug beforehand. From then on, he served his parents with even greater care. His virtue grew ever deeper, and eventually he became ruler of the realm. Another account in the histories says that Yu’s father, Gusou, and his younger brother, Xiang, once tried to burn him to death and bury him alive. Each time, Yu escaped by means of an exit he had prepared in advance. Even afterward, he served his father with still greater care, and Yao then ceded the throne to him.

King Wen of Zhou was Taibo’s filial son. When his father grew old, morning and evening he went to the doorway of his father’s chamber to greet him and ask whether he was well that day. When his father was comfortable, Wen’s face brightened; when his father felt even slightly unwell, his face filled with worry. At every meal, morning and evening, Wen paid attention to how much his father ate. When his father was ill, he straightened his cap, purified his mind through abstinence, and prayed to the spirits for his father’s protection. He personally inspected his father’s food and medicine, tasting them first. If his father ate well, Wen could eat well too; if his father ate little, Wen could not eat his fill. Only when his father recovered did Wen return to his usual habits. If his father made a mistake, Wen gently and tactfully advised him with a pleasant expression. Even when something his father liked was very small, Wen never dared to neglect it.

Thus, when filial virtue is cultivated within oneself, the transforming power of the Dao can extend throughout the world. The Book of Odes says, “King Wen ascends and descends, ever at the side of the Lord on High.” This means that Heaven aided King Wen in all his actions. Though King Zhou was tyrannical, he could not harm Wen at will. The Zhou dynasty’s long-lasting fortune was also decreed by Heaven. These responses to King Wen’s conduct all arose from the way of filial piety.

Min Ziqian said, “I have been fortunate to hear the principles of caring for one’s parents. May I ask how the sage kings of antiquity taught their sons and heirs?” Confucius replied, “The Three Kings taught their sons and heirs by setting an example through ritual and music. Music cultivates the inner self; ritual gives order to outward conduct. When ritual and music cultivate a person together, virtue appears in their bearing and manner, making them gentle and refined.

“A minister may even give his life for his ruler. How much more, then, should he cultivate himself in order to assist his ruler? For this reason, the sage kings chose loyal and upright people to serve as tutors, hoping they would teach the principles governing fathers and sons, rulers and ministers, and elders and juniors. Only someone who knows how to serve others knows how to direct them; only someone who knows how to be a minister knows how to be a ruler. One must first learn to serve others before one can lead them. This is how the Three Kings taught their sons and heirs.”

Min Ziqian returned home and put these teachings into practice for three years. No one who spoke of his parents or brothers found fault with them. His friends praised his trustworthiness; his neighbors praised his benevolence; and his clan praised his affection for his brothers. His reputation for virtue spread throughout the realm. This, too, was a result of caring for one’s parents.

The crown prince of Qi was sitting on the Terrace of Purity, reading. Marquis Zhuang of Yan wore a tall crown and a solemn expression; at his waist hung a jade sword and jade pendants, whose gleam flashed on either side. The prince did not look up from his book. Marquis Zhuang asked, “What treasures does Qi possess?” The prince replied, “When the ruler keeps faith, the ministers are loyal, and the people support their sovereign, those are Qi’s treasures.” Hearing this, Marquis Zhuang immediately removed his sword and left, for he was glad to accept words that accorded with what is right. This story shows that a gentleman values loyalty and trustworthiness, not splendid adornments.

Alas, people may have their own biases and blind spots without ever noticing them throughout their lives. The wise see them and respond with understanding and compassion, but say nothing. Petty people, however, make wild accusations and exaggerate. Even relatives, out of pity or jealousy, may say things that are unfair. Is it not tragic to have faults without knowing it? A gentleman therefore examines himself constantly, as though he were always at fault. If he knows his own shortcomings but refuses to correct them, others will be ashamed on his behalf. When he is about to criticize someone else, he first considers that person’s situation. Knowing that they may not be able to do better, he says less. Before blaming everyone for their faults, he first asks whether he himself is kind. Before condemning everyone’s perversity, he first asks whether he himself is upright. This is called “turning the light back”: seeing oneself clearly before criticizing others.

The son of Zhai Xi was filial and careful, but Zhai Xi enjoyed listening to careless, absurd talk. One day, Zhai Xi went out and, when he returned that evening, told his son, “Jia has died.” The son believed him, but later saw that Jia was still alive. Another day, Zhai Xi said, “Yi is about to kill me.” His son waited to see what would happen, but saw no sign of danger. On yet another day, Zhai Xi said, “Ding is ill.” The son went to visit him and found him perfectly well. This happened again and again. As the years passed, the son, though originally filial and careful, gradually stopped trusting his father’s words and no longer heeded his instructions. The people of the village despised Zhai Xi’s bad reputation and discussed killing him. When Zhai Xi heard of this, he grew afraid and told his son. At first, the son did not believe him. Later, Zhai Xi was indeed killed. This story warns people against speaking carelessly and losing others’ trust. If even one’s own child no longer believes one, how much less will others?

People who talk a great deal often seem careless and liable to let secrets slip, but some people who speak little cannot keep a secret either. Those who are flighty and restless often lack steadiness, but some who appear quiet are inwardly impatient. The disordered and careless often seem to fuss over trivialities, but some who appear neat are inwardly confused. Cases like these are countless. Without penetrating insight, how could anyone see them clearly?

Some matters cannot be dealt with in haste. Some people are inwardly impatient but pretend to be calm. They covet gain, and the more they pursue it, the greedier they become; as a result, their body and mind grow weary and cannot settle. Others are constantly striving inwardly but outwardly wait for an opportunity. They refuse to be content until they have obtained what they seek, not realizing that this disturbs the spirit and harms their nature. Thus, inner agitation beneath an outward calm stirs the mind and harms one’s nature. Racing after profit drains one’s strength and entangles one in the pursuit of reputation. Only by remaining detached and free of desire, and by refusing to be tempted by status, can the body and mind become tranquil and one’s nature remain whole.

In life, when things sometimes go against people’s wishes, they may complain openly that they were “born at the wrong time.” This is like wearing a red mark of blood around one’s neck while waiting for someone to execute you—is that not dangerous? If one cannot maintain upright conduct and does not know how to speak with care, one may offend those in power and bring death upon oneself. Even if one has broad learning and clear insight but has not been recognized or appointed to office, one should simply say that the times are reasonably peaceful, but that one’s own fortune has yet to meet its opportunity. That is the proper way to put it.

Someone skilled at offering remonstrance first understands the other person’s nature, restrains the manner in which they give advice, and identifies the source of the other person’s feelings. In this way, both sides can gradually speak openly and come to regard each other with closeness and respect. Someone unskilled at remonstrance simply attacks the other person’s nature and fails to understand the source of their feelings. As a result, the two sides become suspicious and distant, and resentment accumulates over time.

What children look down on may be opposed by the old. What pleases the eyes and ears may still displease the heart. To rush to condemn the foolishness of the world shows that one is not yet wise enough; to rush to condemn the confusion of the world shows that one does not yet understand enough. The wise should forgive the foolish and avoid harshly blaming the confused. If one is not wise enough but blames everyone else for being foolish, one will only invite trouble. If one does not understand enough but blames everyone else for being confused, one will only harm oneself.

On Protecting the Way, Chapter Eight

The ancients said that agriculture is the foundation of people’s livelihood and the basis of governing a state. When people abandon the root and pursue lesser profits, affairs multiply and grow complicated. Government orders can no longer be made uniform, making defense difficult and warfare impossible. When people chase after fleeting profits, their livelihoods decline; as their livelihoods decline, they are more likely to migrate and scatter. The state is then often beset by calamities, while the people turn their thoughts away from their native soil and no longer settle there in peace. Abandoning the root for lesser pursuits also makes people clever and deceitful: they exploit the laws and devise ingenious schemes, until truth and falsehood become confused. When the sage kings of antiquity governed the people, they gave priority to farming. This meant not only cultivating the land, but also settling the people’s minds. When people live simply, they are easy to govern; when their minds are settled, the borders are peaceful and the ruler’s position is secure. When the people are as simple-minded as children and have few private desires, public laws can be established with ease. Widespread cultivation and thriving agriculture restore people’s livelihoods; when livelihoods are secure, people do not scatter easily, but remain settled in one place without divided loyalties. The people of the realm are then of one mind. The way of governing practiced by ancient worthy rulers such as the Yellow Emperor and Jiqu was no more than this.

The sage kings of antiquity strongly encouraged farming and weaving in order to teach the people to value what is fundamental. The ruler therefore personally led the feudal lords in plowing the fields set aside for the sovereign’s ceremonial plowing. Officials and men of rank took part according to their merit, thereby encouraging the people to respect the land and its produce. The queen led the consorts and palace women in gathering mulberry leaves and raising silkworms in the suburbs, encouraging sericulture and teaching women to work diligently in production. Men wove cloth, women plowed the fields, and men and women exchanged the fruits of their labor to supply one another’s needs. This was the system established by the sage kings.

Thus, one should honor the seasons for farming, treasure each day, measure the harvest, and assess people’s achievements. Except in old age or illness, no one should rest: one person’s diligent labor in the fields can feed ten. When farm work is at its busiest, no large construction projects should be undertaken, no armies assembled, and no weddings or other affairs arranged, lest they obstruct farming.

The Yellow Emperor said that even when the seasons are out of alignment, planting the Five Grains well can still bring stability to the people’s lives. Crops are sown by people, grow with the seasons, and are nourished by the earth. So when sowing, the soil should be finely worked, making it easier to weed and loosen; space should be left when weeding so there is room for people to work. These are the principles of cultivation. The various crafts each have their own work: farmers produce grain, artisans make tools and goods, and merchants trade in merchandise. If the government fails to honor the seasons for farming and instead conscripts the people to undertake construction and earthworks, this is an extremely ill omen.

Sowing too early means planting before the proper season; sowing too late means missing it. If the cold and heat come out of season, crops will suffer. Around fifty-seven days after the winter solstice, plants and trees begin to flourish, and farming can then begin in accordance with the season. When crops show signs of growth, sow in good time; when harvest season arrives, reap promptly. The ruler should assign the people’s labor according to the seasons. Whether the year brings abundance or famine, rites should be performed to the gods of the soil and grain: in spring, prayers are offered for a good harvest; in autumn, thanks are given for the harvest received. One must not miss the season for farming: begin work at the proper time and stop once the season has passed. If people do not understand the seasons, they may begin too early, try to catch up after the season has passed, or reach the right season but fail to devote enough labor. In every case, the harvest will be poor.

Weeding is best done during dry weather, when weeds wither easily and the soil becomes loose, moist, and fertile. At sowing, the soil should be finely broken up and loose. Once rain moistens it, the soil firms, allowing the seedlings’ roots and stems to take hold. Seeds must be chosen with care, and sown neither too thickly nor too sparsely; the amount of seed and the covering of soil should both be appropriate. Furrows should be deep and straight, while the field surface should be level and fertile, so that water can flow freely and spread evenly. When the roots receive water and the leaves receive sunlight, crops grow vigorously. When seedlings are evenly spaced and the strong do not hinder the weak, they readily grow thick and sturdy. Good airflow between the rows helps crops thrive and yield abundantly. If crops appear sparse and weak, as though the earth had “stolen” their vitality, the soil lacks strength. If weeds are removed only after they have flourished, the seedlings will already be weak: this is the harm caused by untimely cultivation.

When seedlings are young and weak, they should be given space apart from one another. Once they have grown, they can stand close together and provide shade for one another. When they mature, they should support one another to keep from falling over. If all three needs are met, the harvest will be abundant. Seedlings are most at risk when they grow unevenly and then wither all at once: grain that ripens early fills out, while that which ripens late often produces only husks. So when weeding, thin out some of the seedlings that are too crowded or growing too vigorously, and tend to the others. Seedlings in fertile soil should not be too sparse; in poor soil, it is unwise to plant only a few. Those who do not know how to weed and thin seedlings may mistakenly remove the strong ones and leave the weak. They will then harvest no plump grain, only empty husks. When growth is uneven across a field, crops are liable to wither.

When crops grow in the proper season, rice, millet, hemp, beans, wheat, and other plants all produce abundant grain. If they miss the season, they grow weak and yield little, or may even suffer insect damage. Grain planted at the right time tastes good, is easy to eat, and is more nourishing; grain planted out of season is of poorer quality. When all kinds of grain mature and yield well, those who eat them grow strong, with keen hearing and clear sight. They are less vulnerable to harmful influences and less likely to fall ill. As Confucius aptly said, a full meal in winter warms the body, while a full meal in summer cools it. When the body stays warm or cool in keeping with the season, people fall ill less often. When epidemics do not spread, the people can enjoy the full span of their lives.

Grain, then, is the foundation of the people’s livelihood. Rulers of flourishing states always value agriculture. If a ruler does not value agriculture, he abandons the people. And if the ruler abandons the people, how can he govern the state?

King Jing of Qin wanted to display the might of Qin’s army to all under Heaven. Qin relied on the formidable terrain of Mount Xiao and Hangu Pass, as well as its powerful troops and valiant warriors, hoping thereby to make the other states afraid to oppose it. Yet weapons are inauspicious instruments and should be used only when there is no other choice.

Bao Rong, a senior official of Qin, was ordered to invite Master Kangcang, a legendary Daoist figure. The king offered him twelve cities as a gift and secretly instructed Bao Rong to press him to come. Master Kangcang traveled from Rongquan, a place in Qin, and lodged in a first-class guesthouse. The king waited three days but still had no chance to ask his advice. He then rose from his seat, faced north, and bowed with his ceremonial tablet raised, saying, “Does the Master truly have no wish to show compassion for me, a man left alone without support?”

Master Kangcang remained calm, turned his gaze toward him, and said, “I have heard that Your Majesty has uncommon insight. Is it really to concern yourself with weapons and killing that you have devoted it? Since Your Majesty has asked about the way of warfare, I can only address that question and offer you a sound response. That does not mean these matters exhaust the highest principle.”

The king bowed twice, straightened his robe embroidered with the axe pattern, held his ceremonial tablet upright, and sat respectfully with his head lowered. “I will follow all the Master’s instruction.”

Master Kangcang gazed up at the rafters and sighed, then composed his expression and said, “The roots of war arose with humankind. Weapons embody human might, and the capacity for fierce anger is part of human nature, bestowed by Heaven. The roots of war, then, are ancient. Human feelings of joy and anger arise constantly, and it is difficult for them to have no effect, even for a moment.

“Rich or poor, high or low, young or old, wise or foolish—everyone can recognize the same anger. The signs of war first appear in the heart: harboring anger before it breaks out is a sign of war; glaring and changing one’s expression are its outward signs; speaking arrogantly and shoving or fighting are also signs of war. If things go further, they develop into brawling and armed conflict. These four states differ in degree, but all spring from anger, and so all are forms of war.

“Even before the time of Chiyou, people fought one another with wooden weapons. The Yellow Emperor used water and fire in warfare; Gonggong fought for dominion over the world. The Five Emperors also fought among themselves. States rose and fell, and the victors took power.

“If someone takes medicine and dies, that is no reason to ban medicine throughout the world. If someone dies aboard a boat, that is no reason to prohibit boatbuilding. If a state falls through warfare, that is no reason to forbid the use of arms everywhere. Weapons cannot be abolished, any more than water and fire can. Used well, they bring benefit; used badly, they bring disaster. A household cannot do entirely without rods and switches, a state cannot abolish punishment altogether, and the world cannot put an end to punitive campaigns.

“What the sage kings of antiquity valued was righteous warfare, not the complete cessation of arms. Righteous warfare follows Heaven’s will and answers the people’s wishes; it is used to punish disorder and violence. When an army truly marches for justice, punishing a tyrant and rescuing the people, the people rejoice. Like children seeing loving parents, or hungry servants encountering a good meal, they cheer and rush to join the righteous army, swift as a powerful crossbow bolt plunging into a deep ravine.

“To determine victory or defeat, one need not look outside oneself. The key is whether one accords with human feelings. People want to live, not die; they want honor, not humiliation. If a ruler shares the army’s soldiers’ fate in life and death, honor and disgrace, the whole force will be united. An army may have many soldiers, but what matters most is that their hearts are one. With the whole army of three divisions united, it can be invincible.

“Those who are truly skilled in warfare are careful with their commands. When one’s own forces are strong, the enemy appears weak; when one’s own side keeps faith, the enemy is left in the wrong. One must first establish the advantage at home in order to win on the battlefield. If these things can truly be achieved, what is there to fear from the enemy?

“When an enemy comes, it originally seeks to gain something. If coming means only that it will lose its life, then flight becomes its better choice, and the two sides need not fight. This is the highest skill in warfare. Arrogance, cruelty, and deceit all violate what is right. Righteous and treacherous forces cannot coexist; in the end, the righteous army prevails and the wicked one is defeated.

“When a righteous army enters enemy territory, it lets the local people know they have someone to rely on. When the troops reach the outskirts of a town, they do not trample crops, disturb graves, destroy grain stores, or burn homes. Captives are treated generously and sent back. The army makes clear to the enemy only that it has marched to punish its foe in accordance with the Way of Heaven, thereby showing its position on right and wrong, obedience and defiance.

“If, despite this, the other side remains stubborn and violent, refusing to submit, force may then be used. Before taking up arms, an announcement should be issued explaining that the campaign is intended to rid the people of harm and follow Heaven’s will. After conquering the enemy state, the army does not slaughter the people. It executes only those who deserve punishment—that is, the tyrant.

“Next, worthy and gifted people are selected and honored. The lonely, the afflicted, and the sick are sought out and helped; the elderly are treated with respect. Money and grain from the state storehouses are distributed among the people rather than seized for private use, and worthy scholars are invited with the proper courtesies.

“If someone saves a person on the verge of death, people throughout the world will compete to serve him with respect. When a righteous army rescues the people, even saving just one life is already a great good. Who would not welcome such an army? Thus, when a righteous army arrives, people from neighboring states attach themselves to it like flowing water. The people of those states look toward it as they would toward their parents. The farther the army travels, the more hearts it wins.”

Before he had finished speaking, King Jing of Qin rose and said, “I am fortunate to have heard the Master’s teaching. My resolve now seems to fill Heaven and Earth. I know the direction I should take, and my heart is filled with even greater respect.” He then stepped forward, raised a cup to wish Master Kangcang a long life, and made him his teacher. He arranged for him to live in the ritual chamber and treated him with the highest honors.

When the day’s sexagenary time corresponds to Tiangang (the handle of the Big Dipper, also used to mark the hours), one performs the Way during daylight. Here, “performing the Way” means carrying out the disciple’s bowing ritual.

Postscript to the Annotations on the Kangcangzi

The Kangcangzi above consists of nine chapters and belongs to the Daoist tradition. Much of its content, however, is drawn from such works as the Zhuangzi, Wenzi, Lüshi Chunqiu, Shuoyuan, and Dai’s Book of Rites. Gao You broadly judged that the book’s content was wide-ranging but not empty, and that its language was abundant but not overwrought. Liu Zongyuan considered it hollow and insubstantial, though many people had never read it; those who had read it often criticized it. Some have also called it a Tang-dynasty forgery because it uses Tang-dynasty wording.

By the time Liu Bang and Xiang Yu brought down the Qin dynasty, the contents recorded in this book, as we see them today, must have come from antiquity. During the Kaiyuan era, the court began to honor and adopt its teachings. The reclusive scholar Wang Bao said: “Compared with works such as the Sangzi, books like the Zhuangzi and Wenzi draw on the Kangcangzi for their wording and meaning, restoring passages that had been lost.” I suspect it was compiled from the contents of older books, though some wording may have been altered at will to make it seem unusual.

Outside the Six Classics and the works of Confucius and Mencius, books like this are rare indeed—especially one that has genuine merits. The book also contains one or two passages worth adopting, so it is not merely an isolated Daoist work. I searched for it for a long time without finding a copy. Later, Mr. Wu, Director of the Nanjing Imperial College, sent me this edition and asked me to have it carved and published. Shang Qi greatly approved, so he added pronunciation notes and explanations, then had the text recopied and printed. I have therefore written this postscript. Inscribed by the Daoist of Lanxi and Huang Jian of Jincheng.