《化书》

The Book of Transformations (Huashu)

Written by Tan Qiao in the Five Dynasties period

Volume One: The Transformations of the Dao

The movement of the Dao (the Way) proceeds from emptiness and non-being giving rise to Shen (spirit), from Shen giving rise to Qi (vital energy), and from Qi giving rise to form. Once form has arisen, the myriad things are obstructed. The function of the Dao, by contrast, is the return of form into Qi, of Qi into Shen, and of Shen into emptiness and non-being. When emptiness is clear and pure, the myriad things can communicate freely. The ancient sages therefore sought out the root of openness and blockage and grasped the origin of creative transformation. They forgot form in order to nurture Qi, forgot Qi in order to nurture Shen, and forgot Shen in order to nurture emptiness. When emptiness and substantiality communicate with each other, this is called the “Great Unity” (Datong). Thus, stored away, the Dao is Yuanjing, the original Jing (essence)—the primordial essence-qi; put to use, it is the myriad spirits; gathered within, it is Taiyi, the Great One, the undifferentiated source of all things; and extended outward, it is Taiqing, Great Clarity, a realm pure, bright, and vast. Kan and Li, symbols of Yin-Yang and of water and fire, therefore wax and wane within the human body, while the Qi of wind and cloud issues from the seven orifices—the two eyes, the two ears, the two nostrils, and the mouth. True Qi warms and nourishes the whole body, so that one is unaffected by cold and heat; the current of pure Yang flows throughout the body, so that one transcends life and death. This is the Dao of wondrous transformation.

Snake and Sparrow

A snake may transform into a turtle, and a sparrow may transform into a clam. All at once they cast off the influence of cold and heat; the Qi of pure Yang circulates through their bodies, and it is as if life and death no longer remain. This is the Dao of wondrous transformation.

Snake and Sparrow

The snake transforms into a turtle, and the sparrow transforms into a clam. Suddenly the snake leaves its bent and winding form and acquires a body that crawls at a slow pace; in an instant the sparrow loses its manner of flying and calling and acquires a shelled body. Working them with knife and axe cannot add to their abilities, nor can compass, square, line, and measure fix their shapes. Why is the transformation so swift? It is like facing a clod of earth suspended in empty space: one sees only the clod and does not see the emptiness. Grind the clod to powder in search of that emptiness, and one sees only the emptiness and no longer sees the clod. Form itself obstructs nothing; it is people who feel themselves obstructed. The myriad things are originally without hindrance; it is people who hinder themselves. How lamentable!

The Old Maple

An old maple transforms into a feathered immortal (Yuren, a legendary immortal said to fly and ascend), and decayed wheat transforms into butterflies: this is the change from things without feeling into things with feeling. A virtuous woman transforms into chaste stone—stone of unchanging fidelity—and a mountain earthworm transforms into a lily: this is the change from things with feeling into things without feeling. Soil, plants and trees, metal, and stone therefore all possess feeling and disposition, essence and soul. Emptiness reaches everywhere; Shen connects everywhere; Qi is the same everywhere; and forms can resemble one another everywhere. What is the other, and what is oneself? What is aware, and what is unaware? The myriad things are originally one thing, and the myriad spirits are originally one spirit. This is the utmost of the Dao.

Ears and Eyes

What the eyes cannot see may be seen with the aid of a bright mirror; what the ears cannot hear may be heard with the aid of an empty vessel. Spirit belongs to me, yet sight and hearing are assisted by external things. A toe that grows deformed or in excess may be cut away, and a sunken lip may be repaired—this is the utmost reach of the arts of the Dao (the Way).

Eyes and Ears

What the eyes cannot see may be seen with the aid of a bright mirror; what the ears cannot hear may be heard with the aid of an empty vessel. Spirit belongs to me, yet sight and hearing are assisted by external things. A deformed or extra toe may be excised, and a sunken lip may be mended; ears and eyes, then, may also be contrived, and a countenance may be counterfeited. Falsehood is piled upon falsehood, and delusion is added to delusion. One must therefore understand that the hun and po souls will bewilder me, that blood and Qi (vital energy) will leave me dull and heavy, that the seven orifices—the openings of the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and the like—will bind me, and that the five roots—the five sense faculties of eye, ear, nose, tongue, and body—will press me into their service. Only when Shen (spirit) attaches itself to the physical form do flaws arise because of that form; if there were no such flaws, what could not be accomplished?

The Circle Dance

Watching someone perform the circle dance, one feels as if the palace halls themselves were all revolving; looking down upon swirling water, the head and the eyes also seem to spin. It is not the halls that delude a person, nor has the flowing water changed; it is the person who has become deluded and who has undergone a change. Thus a powdered cloth may be taken for a rabbit, and a medicinal stone for a horse, yet people do not doubt it; sweet words and a charming smile, a face adorned and eyebrows painted, can likewise keep the truth from being seen. Only a person whose mind is inwardly clear and still will not be deceived by external things.

Lead Elixir

There is a method of the arts that uses fire to refine lead elixir as a substitute for grain, so as to satisfy hunger; in principle it seems feasible. Yet in a year of abundant harvest a person can eat his fill, while in a year of poor harvest a person still goes hungry—and this people do not understand. Only a person whose mind is inwardly clear and still will not be deceived by external things.

Lead Elixir

There is a method of the arts that uses fire to refine lead elixir as a substitute for grain, so as to satisfy hunger; in principle it seems feasible. Yet eating one’s fill in a plentiful year and going hungry in a lean year is not a favor bestowed by the lead elixir; what matters is the sincerity of a person’s heart. And so, where one ought not to be hungry, one makes oneself feel hungry; the lead elixir cannot of itself make a person full, yet one makes oneself feel full. Hunger is a great delusion, and satiety is likewise a great illusion, because one has not brought one’s mind into accord with the Dao. Therefore, if one can regard being and non-being, death and life, emotion and innate nature, the inner and the outer, all as a single whole, one may slough off the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water, which constitute the myriad things) and transcend the three luminaries (the sun, the moon, and the stars). Why then worry about eating a hundred meals in a single day, or fret over eating only once in a hundred days?

Form and Shadow

Use one mirror to reflect a person’s bodily form, then use another mirror to reflect the image in the first. One mirror shines upon another, and the image is passed on layer by layer, yet the shape of the hat and the sword worn at the side is not altered, nor is the color of the patterns on the clothing taken away. Seen in this way, form and image do not differ, and image and form are not distinct. From this one may know that form is not solidly real, and the image is not sheer nothingness; if one does not fall into either solid reality or nothingness, one can accord with the Dao (the Way).

Hibernation (lying latent in concealment)

Some living things are skilled at hibernation (lying hidden and not showing activity). Some can thereby withstand severe cold, some can avoid hunger, and some can even remain long without dying. Their state of mind is deep and still, as if they know nothing; their spirit is at ease and peaceful, with no fixed direction; their Qi (vital energy) is gentle and relaxed, without deliberate action. No kind of thought can disturb them. Even if they wished to seek death, they would not necessarily die: they can withstand severe cold, avoid hunger, and even remain long without dying. Because their state of mind is deep and still, as if they know nothing; their spirit is at ease and peaceful, with no fixed direction; their Qi is gentle and unfurled, without deliberate action, and the myriad thoughts cannot bewilder them. Thus, though they seek death, it cannot be obtained.

Therefore, one who is truly penetrating observes the myriad things and thereby comes to know himself; knowing himself, he comes to know the spirit; knowing the spirit, he can realize what is true. This is the realm that the auspicious person can reach.

The Owl and the Chicken

The owl (a bird active at night) sees clearly at night, yet by day all is dim; the chicken sees clearly by day, yet at night all is dim. Their difference is of this kind. If someone says the owl differs from the rest, he will say the chicken accords with the ordinary; if someone says the chicken differs from the rest, he will say the owl accords with the ordinary. In the end, is it that the owl and the chicken each differ, or that day and night differ from the owl and the chicken? In the end, are day and night the same as the owl and the chicken, or are the owl and the chicken the same as day and night?

When the sound of the stone chime rings in the ear, it is I myself who hear it; when the shadow of flowers appears before the eyes, it is I myself who see it. My day and night are not the same as their day and night, and so one cannot say that daytime is in every case bright, nor that night is in every case dim. One who can regard dimness and brightness as equal and rise beyond distinction is, in all likelihood, none other than the great person (one of lofty attainment and thorough understanding)!

The Four Mirrors

The humble person keeps four kinds of mirrors at hand: the Bi (jade disc), the Zhu (pearl), the Di (whetstone), and the Yu (bowl). The jade disc mirror makes an image look large, while the pearl mirror makes it look small. The whetstone mirror shows it upright, and the bowl mirror shows it inverted. Looking at these objects, one can understand that one's own image changes with whatever reflects it, so size, length, beauty, ugliness, good and bad have no fixed standard.

One must therefore recognize that the body and Qi (vital energy) can lead one astray, that the Jing (essence) and the soul can do one harm, that treacherous ministers can inflate one's sense of self, and that ritual and music can make a person proud and self-important. So do not let the mind become your own ruler, and do not let a sovereign become your master. Guard against these influences as you would guard against fire or a tiger. Stay simple and frugal, and do not be drawn along by external things. Hold to stillness (the Song edition reads "purity") so that slights and insults cannot disturb you. In this way you can widen your path and your breadth of mind, and reach the state of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.

Shooting the Tiger

When an archer hits a stone that looks like a tiger, the eye sees only the tiger and not the stone. When someone slays a ferocious flood dragon, the eye sees only the dragon and not the water. From this we know that all things can dissolve into emptiness within the mind, and that the self need not cling to its own form. When one's own emptiness accords with the emptiness of other things, one can conceal or reveal oneself, die or live, without being bound.

Dust in the air swirls like flying snow, yet the eye may not see it. Ants fighting in their burrow clash like oxen in battle, yet the ear may not hear it. How much more is this true of things that lie beyond the reach of sight and hearing!

Dragon and Tiger

A dragon can transform into a tiger, and a tiger can transform into a dragon. It seems they can stride across the void, yet the void is not an absolute nothingness. It seems they can pass through metal and stone, yet metal and stone are not an absolute something. Being and non-being interpenetrate, and the myriad things and the self flow through one another. Life does not begin at a single moment, and death is not a final end. Those who understand this are not bound by the destruction of the body, and their Shen (spirit) never truly vanishes.

Wandering Clouds

Drifting clouds have no fixed form, and so they can display the five colors; a bright mirror is without flaw, and so it can reflect the myriad things. To say that water contains the image of heaven must be because heaven is reflected in the water. A hundred paces away, a mirror can make out a person, yet the person cannot see the image within the mirror—this is the proof. From this we know that within the vast void nothing is absent, and within the radiance of the myriad things nothing fails to be seen. People of the world often know only to lift their hearts toward the boundless sky, yet do not know that their own traces also lie within the void. The void is everywhere, and the shenming (the spirits and deities of Daoism) are not far off. Thus, if the gentleman constantly keeps his inner mind upright and his bearing solemn, he can roam at ease through the void and associate with the spirits without meeting calamity.

When someone hears a description of something rotten and foul, he retches at once; when he hears the name of a rare delicacy, he cannot help swallowing his saliva. Yet the appearance of rot is only imagined, and the delicacy may not truly exist, while the retching cannot be stopped and the swallowing cannot cease. Some fear fermented soybean paste, taking it for the larva of the longhorn beetle (qiuqi); some love abalone, even regarding it as the fat of the phoenix. One who understands this can look lightly upon luxury and thrift, not take honor and disgrace to heart, and not cling to disputes over right and wrong or to worries over fortune and misfortune.

The Great Transformation (Dahua, the vast transformations of the Dao [the Way]).

Emptiness transforms and gives rise to Shen (spirit); Shen transforms and gives rise to Qi (vital energy); Qi transforms and gives rise to bodily form; bodily form transforms and gives rise to Jing (essence) and Qi; and Jing and Qi turn into the expression of glancing about. Glancing about in turn becomes the courtesy of bowing and yielding; bowing and yielding becomes the etiquette of advancing and withdrawing between higher and lower stations; advancing and withdrawing in turn forms ranks of honor and baseness; ranks of honor and baseness produce all manner of distinctions; and all manner of distinctions bring ceremonial caps and robes, carriages and processional regalia, palaces and dwellings, attendants and guards, and then develop into feasting and pleasure. Feasting and pleasure gradually turns into extravagance and indulgence; extravagance and indulgence in turn leads to extraction and hoarding; hoarding brings deception and concealment; deception and concealment gives rise to punishment and killing; punishment and killing produces perversity and disorder; perversity and disorder in turn invites warfare; warfare sets people contending with one another; and contention ultimately leads to defeat and ruin. Once this process arises, its momentum is hard to stop; once it has taken shape, removing it is also extremely difficult.

Those who stand above therefore guide the people by the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), govern the people by benevolence and righteousness, and further restrain them with penal law and ritual institutions, and in this way preserve the state and safeguard their own wealth and rank. If, however, the Dao and De cannot be put into practice, benevolence and righteousness cannot be made complete, and penal law and ritual institutions are likewise inadequate, people will be taught cunning, led into deviance, the populace made rebellious, and the people driven toward theft and plunder. Those above are benighted and cannot see the defects in this, while the people are bewildered and do not understand where the calamity comes from—how, then, can this situation be saved?

Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity)

Everyone knows that amaranth and pickled vegetables can split open a soft-shelled turtle’s shell, yet no one knows that Vermilion Grass can also split open the human body. “Vermilion Grass” here refers to a kind of legendary immortal herb. Petty people thereby come to know that Shen can be divided, Qi can be dispersed, and bodily form can also dissipate. Scattered into the myriad things, it does not amount to any surplus; gathered into one, it does not amount to any lack. It is like a fierce wind stirring the hair, so that the hun and po souls seem to fly about as in a dream; or like the teeth of a shoe treading an earthworm in two, after which the earthworm’s head and tail still move. Why is this so?

The Great Void (the vast, formless emptiness) is originally one whole; the Great Shen is originally one whole; the Great Qi is originally one whole; the Great Form is originally one whole. In terms of names and functions, they may be distinguished as four; traced back to their source, however, they return to one. Holding to it does not enable one to possess it as one’s own; letting it go does not mean truly losing it. This is what is called Zhengyi.

Heaven and Earth

Heaven and Earth take up the Great Void and put it to use, and thereby come into being; human beings and other living things take up Heaven and Earth and put them to use, and thereby are born.

Heaven and Earth arise from the Great Void; living beings arise from Heaven and Earth; and the worms in the belly and intestines depend on the human body in order to live. What is called “yingding” is the parasites in the intestines. They consume a person’s Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), damage the person’s hun and po, and seize the person’s nourishment, and thus are able to survive. From this one can see that a person will in the end die, and one thereby knows that Heaven and Earth will in the end decline. If Heaven and Earth decline, where can I find a place to settle? If I die, on what will the worms in the intestines rely in order to live? This is like treacherous ministers stealing the power of the state: when the state is ruined, the clan declines along with it; and like borers gnawing at a tree: when the tree is eaten hollow, the insects die as well.

Therefore, a person who possesses the Dao (the Way) gathers in Jing and Qi, guards the hun and po, reduces the pleasures of the mouth and belly, restrains cravings and desires, and regards wealth and rank a little more lightly. In this way, even if Heaven and Earth grow old, one need not be overturned along with them; even if the worms in the intestines die, one may still live long; and when treacherous ministers depart, the state can be at peace.

A young child plays with a shadow, yet does not know that he himself is also being led along by the shadow; a reckless person mocks a painted image, yet does not know that he himself is also mirrored by that image. Those who govern a household often do not know that they themselves are also shaped by the prevailing ways of the household; those who govern a state often do not know that they themselves are also shaped by the prevailing ways of the state; and those who govern the world likewise often do not know that they themselves are shaped by the prevailing ways of the world.

The Three Sovereigns were people who possessed the Dao, yet they did not know that their Dao would be transformed into the De (Virtue/Power) of the Five Emperors; the Five Emperors were people who possessed De, yet they did not know that their De would be transformed into the benevolence and righteousness of the Three Kings; the Three Kings prized benevolence and righteousness, yet they did not know that benevolence and righteousness would later turn into the warfare of the Qin and Han ages. A drunken person carries his drunkenness on his back, and a person with scabies busies himself treating the scabies. The more one goes along with the momentum right before one’s eyes, the more inverted one’s situation becomes and the more severe the illness grows, yet no one turns back.

The yangsui is an implement for obtaining fire; the ancients used it to take fire from the sun. The fangzhu is an implement for obtaining water from the moon. The two can respond and thereby produce fire and water, from which one can see that the principle of sympathetic response is not remote.

When one looks at a person, a gaze directed upward appears overbearing; a gaze directed downward appears sinister; a sidelong look appears cunning; a level gaze appears kind and generous; staring with widened eyes appears angry; a faint, minute gaze appears fawning; looking far ahead appears wise; looking only at what is immediately before one appears clumsy; a gaze directed outward appears benighted; and turning the gaze inward in contemplation appears clear-sighted.

Therefore, what bears the “I” is the body, and what truly employs the “I” is Shen (spirit). When one employs spirit and accords with the true Dao, one may long continue to abide.

A person whose mind is inwardly empty and who sees nothing appears dull; one who looks only at external things is mentally benighted; only one who can turn the gaze inward and contemplate truly understands. Thus, what bears the “self” is the body, and what puts the “self” to use is spirit (Shen). When spirit accords with the true Dao (the Way), it can endure for a long time.

Life and Death

Emptiness transforms and gives rise to spirit; spirit transforms and gives rise to Qi (vital energy); Qi transforms and gives rise to blood; blood transforms and gives rise to bodily form. Bodily form then becomes, in succession, infant, child, youth, adult in the prime of life, and elder, and at last moves toward death. After death it transforms and returns to emptiness; emptiness again transforms into spirit, spirit into Qi, and Qi once more into the myriad things. Transformation follows upon transformation without cease, like a ring that has no end.

The myriad things do not themselves wish to be born; they are simply compelled to be born. Nor do they themselves wish to die; they are simply compelled to die. One who understands this principle can make mind and spirit empty and still, as if nurturing the myriad things by means of emptiness and stillness. In this way, spirit need no longer undergo transformation, and bodily form need no longer be born.

Nails and Hair

Nails and hair belong to my bodily form. Why is it that cutting off the nails does no harm, and cutting the hair short brings no pain? Because nutritive Qi and defensive Qi (Yingqi and Weiqi—the Qi that circulates within the body and protects it) do not reach these places. From this it can be seen that the true “self” is originally not subject to injury; it is only sinew and bone that cause it to be injured. The true “self” originally has no sensation of pain; it is only blood and flesh that bring pain.

Nails and hair belong to my bodily form. Why is it that cutting off the nails does no harm, and cutting the hair short brings no pain? Because nutritive Qi and defensive Qi do not reach these places. From this it can be seen that the true “self” is originally not subject to injury; it is only sinew and bone that cause it to be injured. The true “self” originally has no sensation of pain; it is only blood and flesh that bring pain. One can therefore understand that joy and anger are not initiated by the true “self,” nor are sorrow and delight set in motion by the true “self.” It is only that the “self” is obscured by bodily form, and remains attached to it. One who understands this principle can pass beyond the bonds of life and death.

The Way of Spirit

The supreme Taishang (the Most High) is the spirit of emptiness; heaven and earth are the spirits of Yin-Yang; human beings and insects are the spirits of blood and flesh. What they share is that all possess spirit; wherein they differ is bodily form. Thus, bodily form is not numinously subtle, while Qi is numinously subtle; speech itself is not numinously subtle, while sound is; the waking state is not numinously subtle, while dreams are; being alive is not numinously subtle, while being dead is. When water reaches the utmost clarity it freezes into ice, and the ice is no longer clear; when the luminosity of spirit reaches its utmost and congeals into bodily form, it likewise is no longer lucid. When ice melts, it returns to clear water; when bodily form disperses, lucidity likewise returns. One who can comprehend the principle of true death may roam freely in the capital of Taishang (the abode of the Most High).

Communion of Spirits

The resonance between female and male is like tortoises gazing at one another—this is the meeting of Shen (spirit) and intent; like cranes calling to one another—this is the meeting of Qi (vital energy). When feeling and intent communicate, Shen and Qi are able to respond to each other.

Therefore, a person who truly possesses De (Virtue/Power) extends his own Great Dao (the Way) so that it accords with Heaven and Earth; opens his heart so that it conforms to the supremely true; harmonizes his own Qi so that it transforms and gives birth to the myriad things; and harmonizes his own Shen so that it communicates with the people. When his heart is peaceful and harmonious, the people are joyful and at ease. The people’s minds are content, and they do not know what they themselves are thinking; their bodies are hazy and spontaneous, and they do not know what they themselves are doing. This is like Qi fusing into one and Shen blending without any gap; like one and the same sound that holds both sorrow and joy; and like one and the same bodily form that contains both adversity and unhindered passage.

Reaching this state, what further need is there of banners and flags, gongs and drums, rewards and punishments, or the organization of armies? Relying on this Dao of resonance, one can command the armies of the world and destroy the enemies of the world. This is what is called the “Dao of communion through Shen”—that is, using the resonance of Shen to communicate with the multitude and hold them under unified command.

Great Containment

Emptiness transforms and gives birth to Shen; Shen transforms and gives birth to Qi; Qi transforms and gives birth to form. When form and Qi act upon each other, sound arises. The ear does not actively listen for sound; sound enters of itself. The valley does not intentionally answer with an echo; the echo naturally fills it. The ear is a small aperture, and the valley is a large aperture. Mountains, rivers, lakes, and marshes are lesser valleys; Heaven and Earth are the greatest valley.

When one aperture gives forth sound, many apertures resound in response; when one valley hears a sound, many valleys can hear it as well. Sound issues from Qi, Qi issues from Shen, and Shen issues from emptiness. Emptiness contains Shen, Shen contains Qi, and Qi contains sound. Sound, Qi, and form interpenetrate and contain one another, and so even the soft sound of a mosquito in flight on an autumn day, or the buzzing of a fly as it circles, can travel to a distance.

From this one may know that even a thought as fine as a thread or a hair will certainly be perceived, and even the slightest speech will certainly be heard. Only the hidden subtleties of the great person are mysterious and hard to fathom. Heaven and Earth cannot see them, Yin-Yang cannot know them, and ghosts and spirits have no way to peer into them. Why is this? Because they come forth from Dao, De, humaneness, and righteousness.

Volume Two · The Transformation of Techniques

Clouds and Dragons

Dragons amid the clouds and tigers in the wind are the expression of having mastered the way of employing Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy). Shen is like the mother, and Qi like the child. To summon Qi by means of Shen is like a mother calling her child—who would dare not come? To clear away filth, one must summon the Qi of the Five Emperors (the spirit-Qi corresponding to the five directions and the Five Phases [Wuxing]); if it cannot be summoned, how can the filth be cleared away? To subdue a venomous snake, one must command the Jing (essence) of the Five Stars (the essence-Qi represented by the five planets); if it cannot be commanded, how can the snake be subdued? From this we may know that Yin-Yang can be set in motion, wind and cloud can be gathered, mountains and hills can be uprooted, and rivers and seas can be overturned. Yet rather than summoning from outside, it is better first to hold fast within the mind and only then apply this outwardly; in this way there is nothing that cannot be done.

The Fierce Tiger

When a fierce tiger walks, grasses and trees fall flat before it; when the poisonous zhen-bird flies into a rage, even earth and stone are flung up. Wherever its awe shines, and wherever its force strikes, even what is stubborn and dull is shaken. From this we may know that a sword can be made to fly, mountains and rivers can be made to move, and the myriad things can be made to stir at will. When Shen and Qi are complete, awe is mighty; when Jing and Qi are abundant, momentum is robust. No manner of delusion can drown a person, and the myriad things can all be put to use. Thus one person can stand against ten thousand not by skill with bow, arrow, or blade, but because awe has reached its utmost; and one person can win the glad submission of ten thousand not by favors bestowed through words and smiles, but because inner harmony has reached its utmost.

Employing Shen

Creatures without feet: the snake can bend, stretch, and wind; the leech can contract its body; the snail can draw its body in and hide it. When people see the mechanism by which they move, they gain insight from it, and even while seated can send the intent of their Shen ten thousand li away, without any need to rush about. What is called the foot is that by which one walks in order to reach a destination.

Among creatures without feet, the snake can advance by bending its body, the leech can curl its body up, and the snail can draw its body in. One who is skilled at observation discerns the working principle in this and takes it as a teacher, so that even while sitting quietly one may reach ten thousand li away, without any need to rush about. Thus, walking with the feet leaves places one cannot reach; flying with wings leaves places one cannot attain; looking with the eyes leaves things one cannot see; and listening with the ears leaves sounds one cannot hear. Why is this so? Because some people understand only the bodily form and do not understand the spirit (Shen); others understand the spirit yet do not understand the bodily form. If one employs the spirit solely by means of the body, the body will decline; if one governs the body by means of the spirit, the body can remain sound and at ease.

Shuidou (a water channel or drainage opening)

A water channel can be used to drain away foul water, and pestle chaff (the grain bran left when rice is pounded) can be used to treat choking and obstruction. These things are at first made by people, yet can in turn be put to use by people. Methods have no fixed ancestral source, and arts have no fixed form; one should grasp them within the mind and draw insight from concrete things. Yang is subdued by Yin (Yin-Yang), the male is constrained by the female, the firm and strong are overcome by the soft and weak, and even the clever may be employed by the dull. One who understands how to apply this can make bells and drums fall silent, and can turn the hub of a carriage wheel (the central part of the wheel through which the axle passes) into an instrument of attack and combat; one can change the minds of wives and children, and can cause rulers and ministers to part or to come together again. The myriad things are originally empty, and the myriad methods are originally unfixed; only by grasping the crux of emptiness and nothingness does one understand the essentials of the methods and arts.

Wangliang (legendary spirits of mountains and rivers)

The wangliang attaches itself to a shaman and, through the shaman, speaks of fortune and misfortune. While it is in possession, food, drink, and speech all appear numinous and extraordinary; after it departs, food, drink, and speech are again no different from those of ordinary people. People do not know whether it is the wangliang that has attached itself to the shaman, or the shaman who in turn makes use of the wangliang. From this, one skilled at observation understands that minds can resonate with one another, that Qi (vital energy) can be altered, that the spirit can be seized, and that the hun and po souls can also be gathered in. The bodily form is the dwelling in which the spirit lodges, while the spirit is the master of the bodily form. Seen in this light, what is there that cannot be accomplished?

Emptiness and Nothingness

Minds can resonate with one another, Qi can be altered, the spirit can be seized, and the hun and po souls can also be gathered in. The bodily form is the dwelling in which the spirit lodges, while the spirit is the master of the bodily form. Seen in this light, what is there that cannot be accomplished?

The supernatural powers of ghosts and Shen (spirits) can be brought under command; the transformations of dragons can be pressed into service; snakes and venomous insects can be made unable to bite; and dagger-axes and spears can be made unable to wound. Only a person who has reached the state of wuxin (no-mind) cannot be burned by fire, cannot be drowned by water, cannot be injured by weapons, and cannot be put to death even by Heaven’s mandate. Why is this? A person who single-mindedly pursues pleasure will forget even hunger; a person who single-mindedly broods in worry will forget even pain; and a person whose mind single-mindedly returns to emptiness can forget life and death.

Emptiness and Substance

A small wooden board one chi (a Chinese foot) on a side, laid on the ground, still feels roomy when a person steps onto it; a board one chi on a side, set atop a bamboo pole, feels too cramped when a person crouches on it. It is not that the boards differ in size, but that the mind is at ease in one case and tense in the other. Thus a person restless in the great heat of summer feels hotter still, and a person who receives moxibustion while afraid feels greater pain. The human state of mind is not fixed and unchanging, nor are the natures of the myriad things absolutely unchanging. The petty person therefore knows that water can keep a person from being wetted, and fire can keep a person from feeling dry heat.

The Fox

Fox spirits and the demon-sprites of sparrows and rats cannot beguile a bright mirror, because a bright mirror has no selfish motives or stray thoughts. Thus the empty void is without mind, yet there is nothing it cannot know; the Haotian (vast heaven) is without mind, and the myriad phenomena proceed of themselves. Command an army without revealing any trace, and the enemy will not dare to deceive; when the great person—one possessed of De (Virtue/Power) and the Dao (the Way)—harbors no deliberation, the yuanjing (primordial essence, the fundamental Jing and Qi) gathers of its own accord. One who can take “wu” (nothingness) as a teacher will find no place that cannot be reached.

Turning the Boat

What moves a great ship laden with ten thousand hu (a traditional measure of capacity) is a single short piece of wood; what releases a powerful crossbow of a thousand jun (a traditional unit of weight) is a trigger one cun (a Chinese inch) long. With a single eye one can survey the breadth of heaven and earth; with a single person one can govern hundreds of millions of the common people. The Taixu (Great Void, the vast cosmos) stretches on without bound, yet it has limits of its own; the Taishang (the supreme Dao) is infinitely vast, yet it manifests form. Grasp the guiding principles of the movement of heaven and earth, understand the pivot of Yin-Yang transformation, and see into the place where Shen is stored, and one can alter fixed destiny, allow life to be prolonged, and cause the order of heaven and earth to reverse and change.

The most dissolute and depraved of people will transform into women; the most savage and violent will transform into fierce tigers. As the thoughts of the mind change, a person’s form cannot but change along with them. Thus, in happiness the body opens and becomes yielding; in delight one’s bearing is light and at ease; in anger the body grows hard and rigid; in sorrow the countenance turns mournful. This, too, is the principle of transformation. From this we may know that although a person has only a body of six chi, one can yet transform into dragons and snakes, metal and stone, grasses and trees. How profound this principle is!

Pearls and Jade

In sorrow, tears fall; in toil, mucus runs from the nose. Anger raises swellings on the neck; violent rage brings sores out upon the body. What the mind conceives affects the movement of Qi (vital energy); wherever Qi gathers, all is nourished. If deviant thoughts develop in this way, right thoughts must turn to the other side. Therefore, one who cultivates the Dao (the Way) should restrain grief and anxious sorrow, and caution oneself against anger; one should find the portal that opens onto clear and harmonious Qi, so as to gather in the root of thought; one should understand where the primordial spirit—a person’s original Shen (spirit)—lies hidden, so as to draw the spirit’s light inward. Only by keeping like a mussel within its shell, or like stone concealing jade inside, can one become a place in which pearls and jade are nurtured.

The Yeweng

The yeweng (a kind of wasp of which the ancients spoke) can transform the mingling (a kind of green larva of which the ancients spoke) into its own young: it transmits feeling and intent, joins Jing (essence) with Qi, mingles their breaths and unites their spirits, and lets the mingling change along with the yeweng’s radiant Qi.

All things, great or small, each obtain their original nature. The dispositions of insects are not fixed, nor do the forms of the myriad things have any set shape. From this we may know that a horse can be made to fly, a fish made to gallop, and an image fashioned of earth and wood can be given awareness; an infant’s appearance may also come to resemble the wet nurse. This Dao of transformation is not remote.

The Hu Man

When a man of the Hu lands unites with a woman of Yue, the child will have a beard and a full face, yet short legs; when a man of the Man lands unites with a woman of the Qiang, the child will have a crooked nose and hold the head high. When a pear tree is grafted with a peach branch, if the rootstock is vigorous, the skin of the fruit will be downy; when a plum tree is grafted with an apricot branch, if the rootstock is vigorous, the fruit will be sweet.

Yin can gestate Yang, the yielding can gestate the firm, the curved can gestate the straight, the short can gestate the long, the vast can gestate the minute, the round can gestate the square, water can gestate fire, and red can gestate yellow. From this we may know that the myriad things can transform into metal and stone, pearls and jade, beings of another kind, and even strange and extraordinary shapes. This is the principle of creative transformation.

Yin-Yang

When Yin-Yang interact and respond to one another, even without a root they can give rise to mushrooms and fungi; when dryness and moisture nourish one another, even without a mother they can give rise to the qiuqi (white larvae that live as parasites in trees). Thus people of the world observe the principle of Yin-Yang and supply a root for the myriad things; they model themselves on the mutual engendering of dryness and moisture and supply a mother for the myriad things, and there is nothing that cannot be accomplished. From this we may know that tempering and refining the Five Phases (wuxing)—bringing the Qi (vital energy) of the Five Phases into fusion and transformation—is the principle of fire; circulating and flowing without end is the principle of water; the cyclic revolution of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) is the principle of Heaven and Earth; and the arising from this of things subtle and wondrous is the principle of transformation. Therefore the superior person observes the myriad things and comes to know himself, and observes himself and awakens to the Dao (the Way). As for the principle of the great person, it is deep and subtle, and so people find it difficult to judge what is right and what is wrong.

Sea Fish

There is a kind of sea fish that uses a shrimp for its eyes, and everyone laughs at it. Yet they do not know that the ancients once used a bag of fireflies (fireflies placed in a bag to give light) as a lamp; nor do they know that by day, without the light of the sun, one cannot see things clearly, and by night, without the brightness of a candle, one is easily misled. People look upon the falseness of puppets (wooden figures manipulated by human hands), yet do not suspect that they themselves may also be misled; they sigh over the passing of a discerning friend (a wise companion), yet do not grieve their own loss; whether the worthy rise or the foolish gain the upper hand, people have no way of knowing. Only one who preserves pure genuineness and nurtures the Taixuan (the profound and subtle Dao) will not fall into the cunning devices and confusions within all this.

Ravine Pine

The ravine pine (a pine that grows in a mountain stream gorge) can endure frost and cold because it harbors upright Qi; fine jade can withstand burning by fire because it has accumulated the Qi of utmost Jing (essence). Therefore the great person, by day deploying the spirit banner (a banner symbolizing divine power) and by night recording the divine zhi (a numinous lingzhi; the Song and Yuan editions read, “by day employing living beings, and by night recording ghosts and spirits”), can perceive what others have not perceived and ponder principles others have not pondered, and thus in winter may ride the wind without feeling cold, and in summer draw near fire without feeling heat. So if the superior person stores and nurtures upright Qi, he can keep far from the harassment of ghosts and spirits and subdue the treacherous, the wicked, and the fawning; if he accumulates the Qi of utmost Jing, he can bring blessing to all living beings and preserve wealth, sufficiency, and long life. Why is this so? Because how much one understands and how much one accumulates each has its own cause.

Movement and Stillness

When movement and stillness rub against each other, change takes place. If the noble person holds fast to upright Qi (vital energy), he can stay far from the harassment of ghosts and spirits and subdue treacherous, wicked petty men; if he stores and nourishes a full measure of Jing (essence) and Qi, he can benefit all living beings and preserve wealth, honor, and long life. Why is this so? The reason lies in how much of the principle one has grasped and how much of it one puts to use.

Movement and Stillness

When movement and stillness rub against each other, they transform and give rise to fire; when dryness and moisture steam against each other, they transform and give rise to water; when water and fire surge against each other, they transform and give rise to clouds; pour hot water into a well, and hail is produced; drink water in the rain while sunlight shines, and a rainbow appears. On this basis, petty people suppose that Yin-Yang can be summoned, that the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) can be commanded, that Heaven and Earth can be constructed anew, and that the sun and moon can likewise be made by oneself. Anyone who hears such a claim will surely find it absurd. In fact, the human form is also constructed by Heaven and Earth: the head is round and the feet are square; the upper body is active and the lower body rests secure; the Five Phases circulate within the body, and the sun and moon—that is, the eyes—shine brightly and appear outside the body. This likewise expresses the principle that Heaven and Earth may be fashioned in yet another form.

Sound and Qi

Play the qin and the se, and a person grows leisurely and at ease; perform the music of the Deng and Wei regions, and a person becomes joyful and unrestrained; smash bricks, tiles, and potsherds, and a chill runs down the spine; strike the war drum, and birds like wild geese start and leap in alarm. All of these are the effects of sound stirring things. When sound is harmonious, it can summon Yang Qi, which turns into a gentle spring wind and nourishes the myriad things; when sound is discordant, Yin Qi arises and becomes a fierce, destructive wind that harms the myriad things. Qi is manifested through sound, and sound in turn arises from Qi: as soon as Qi stirs, sound is emitted; once sound is emitted, Qi is set vibrating; once Qi vibrates, wind begins to move, and the myriad things change along with it. Thus wind and clouds can be summoned, frost and hail can be drawn forth, the phoenix can arrive in response to song, bears can rise and dance to the music, and one can commune with spirits and divinities—such is the vast efficacy of the art of music.

Great Unity

Emptiness can contain emptiness, Shen (spirit) can contain Shen, Qi (vital energy) can contain Qi, light can contain light, and the myriad things can likewise contain the myriad things. One who thoroughly understands this principle can have feelings and intentions communicate with one another, and bodily forms can also unite. Uniting with fire, one transforms into fire; uniting with water, one transforms into water; uniting with the sun and moon, one transforms into the sun and moon; uniting with metal and stone, one transforms into metal and stone. Only the “great person” (a person of lofty virtue and wisdom) has nothing that cannot be united with and nothing that cannot be transformed into, and is thus able to stand abreast of the “Void Sovereign” (an honorific in Daoism for the supreme celestial deity).

A mirror does not actively seek to reflect the myriad things, yet the myriad things naturally appear within it; a bellows does not actively draw in air, yet air naturally fills it. Thus the nose receives scent by means of emptiness, the ear receives sound by means of emptiness, the eye receives color by means of emptiness, and the tongue receives flavor by means of emptiness. When the state of mind is like a deep and silent void, there is nothing that cannot be contained; when Shen unites with emptiness, there is nothing that cannot be known. Therefore the great person can grasp the crux of things and keep guarded what is subtle and minute, master mysterious arts such as feather talismans, and employ wondrous yin fluids (the special saliva, or Jing (essence) and Qi, spoken of in Daoist cultivation), and is able both to protect the state and rescue the times and to become a teacher of emperors.

Amber cannot attract rotten bits of grass, cinnabar cannot enter scorched metal, a lodestone cannot attract weak and powerless iron, and primordial Qi cannot kindle a pottery furnace. Therefore the great person is skilled at employing the quintessence of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), skilled at seizing the spiritual nature of the myriad things, partakes of the blessings and fortunes of Heaven, Earth, and humankind, and commands a glory like that of wind-horses. Their Dao (the Way) lies in forgetting the bodily form while seeking the inner conditions and principles of things.

The Confucians expound the Dao (the Way) of the Five Constants—benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—dividing it into five principles of affairs and assigning them to the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water). They unfold these as the five colors, transform them into the five tones, correlate them downward with the Five Sacred Mountains and upward with the five planets; applied to the myriad things, they become the five metals, are allotted among the five numinous beings, are matched with the five flavors, and stir the five emotions. Those who hear this are thus like tiny insects from a vinegar jar wandering through the great void, or a frog from the bottom of a well adrift on the vast sea: they can neither see the bounds where heaven and earth began, nor measure the boundless span of the infinite. When evening falls and the road is long, people concern themselves only with pressing ahead by walking backward.

They do not know that the Dao of the Five Constants is originally one. Only by forgetting the names can one grasp its principle; only by forgetting the distinctions among principles can one apprehend its true condition. One then nourishes it with clarity and stillness, and settles it in deep seclusion and quiet, so that one’s Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) fuse into a single whole and join with the mind. It is like water merging into water, so that clear and turbid cannot be told apart, or fire merging into fire, so that one radiance cannot be distinguished from another. This is called taking in the essential purity of the Five Phases and obtaining the quintessence of the Five Constants: gathered together, even a single mustard seed can contain the myriad things; spread out, the ten thousand affairs all proceed without obstruction. In handling affairs, it is like pouring wine into vessels, each finding its proper place; in responding to external things, it is like a bright mirror hung in place, reflecting every form. Thus it can transform into countless appearances, give birth to the myriad kinds of living beings, and run through Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang). In emptiness and stillness it can contain spiritual luminosity; when dispersed, it lets all affairs flow freely. Therefore, the one able to plan the governance of emperors and kings and to exercise the balance of measure on behalf of heaven and earth is, in all likelihood, Zhongni (Confucius).

Moths

Throughout the world, whether wise or foolish, all hurry and bustle, like moths flinging themselves at a candle flame in the night, or flies striking a window at dawn. They know how to go forward, but not how to turn back; they know how to advance, but not how to yield. They know only how to avoid the harm immediately before them and pursue the profit immediately before them, yet they do not know that the very gathering of profit may also bring on harm. To be wiser than others and yet not know how to cultivate oneself—can this be called wisdom? To know much about external things and yet not understand oneself—can this be called broad learning? Thus the great person—one of moral virtue and penetrating insight—regards both profit and harm lightly, and wherever they go, they can rest at ease.

A Different Mind

Tigers crouch in the woods, and snakes glide through the marshes; these are not, in themselves, the enemies of owls and kites. Yet owls and kites pursue them with their cries, because their hearts conceal strange intentions. Oxen graze in the fields, and pigs sleep in the vegetable gardens; these are not, in themselves, creatures for crows and magpies to ride. Yet crows and magpies settle upon them, because they harbor no alien intent.

Therefore, though the qilin has sharp horns, the beasts will not submit to it; though the phoenix has a sharp beak, the birds will not come and attach themselves to it. If a ruler possesses stratagems unlike those of ordinary people, the people of the world will not submit. One who excels at racing will in the end stumble; one who excels at contention will in the end be defeated. Whatever has a fixed measure will at last reach its end; to rely on cleverness alone is to fall into difficulty. Those who are cunning are put to use by those who are not; those who are crafty are governed by those who are not.

Bows and Arrows

The Son of Heaven makes bows and arrows in order to overawe the world; yet the people of the world may also seize those bows and arrows and use them to humiliate the Son of Heaven. The gentleman establishes rites and music in order to restrain the petty man; yet the petty man may also appropriate rites and music and pass himself off as a gentleman. A ruler who possesses a state delights in amassing wealth, storing grain and cloth, and making ready arms and armor, intending thereby to defend against bandits; yet bandits may seize the arms and armor, take the grain and cloth, and go on to usurp his state. Some say, “Whether a state is safe or in peril depends on De (Virtue/Power).” Others say, “Whether a state rises or falls has its own fixed measure.” If De can truly be relied upon, why store grain and cloth in such abundance? If a fixed measure can truly be relied upon, why stockpile arms and armor in such abundance?

Cleverness

Even one who can do all things still has great matters he cannot accomplish; even one who knows all things still does not know the great Dao (the Way). Only by forgetting the bow and arrow can one understand the principle of archery; only by forgetting the whip and the reins can one understand the principle of driving a carriage; only by forgetting instruments such as the qin and the se can one understand the principle of music; only by forgetting cunning and calculation can one understand the “Dao of the great person” (the fundamental principle of those of superior wisdom). Therefore, if the ruler of the world accords with Dao and De, the Dao and De of the people of the world will become manifest; if the ruler who governs a state accords with right principle, the benevolence and righteousness of the people of the world will become manifest; if a ruler who loses his state relies solely on cleverness, cleverness and artifice will appear among the people of the world.

Possessing a State

When the state performs its sacrifices, it offers them to Heaven and Earth and to the ancestors, thereby showing reverence for ghosts and spirits; it also repeatedly divines with tortoise shells and yarrow stalks in order to judge good and ill fortune. To revere ghosts and spirits is to believe that blessings and calamities each have their own source; to divine good and ill fortune is to believe that the rise and fall of the state follow a fixed allotment of their own.

Yet why do some states so utterly disbelieve these principles, exhausting the strength of the common people to build walls and ramparts, and seizing the people’s grain to store it away? It is as though they hold that blessings can be seized by force, and that calamities can be warded off by force. To act in this way is at once to harbor doubt toward ghosts and spirits, to use the business of divination to deceive and bewilder the people, and, still more, to disbelieve the judgment of all under Heaven. Govern a state like this, and rewards will not suffice to encourage anyone, nor punishments to make anyone fear; the state then becomes hard to hold.

The Yellow Sparrow

The yellow sparrow often moves about in the courtyard and often draws near to people, yet it is always afraid of them; and people, for their part, often startle and disturb it. The swallow (known in antiquity as the dark bird, xuanniao) sometimes moves about beside the gate and sometimes also draws near to people, yet it does not fear them, and people do not startle or disturb it.

The yellow sparrow’s movements are hurried and cramped; the swallow’s bearing is leisurely and composed. The yellow sparrow’s call is thin and broken; the swallow’s song is clear and bright. When the yellow sparrow looks at people it is alarmed and uneasy; the swallow’s gaze is calm and steady. The yellow sparrow’s heart is full of worry and fear; the swallow’s inner mind is open and at ease. Therefore, one who suspects others will in turn be suspected by others; one who guards against others at every turn will in turn be guarded against by others. When the gentleman follows humaneness, rightness, and the Way (Dao) of centered uprightness, what remains for him to worry over, or to suffer harm from?

The Caged Ape

However the ape in the cage leaps and changes, it cannot escape the cage; however the tiger in the chest rages and changes, it cannot burst out of the chest. Even if the petty person is endlessly cunning and his calculations shift a hundred ways, he still cannot go beyond the Dao of the great person—the upright way practiced by those who possess De (Virtue/Power).

The Dao of the great person is as vast as the earth that bears the myriad things and the sky that covers the myriad things. However much resentment and deceit one meets, one does not grow angry on that account, nor is one crushed by insult and oppression. Only thus do the myriad things come to understand where, in the end, they ought to turn.

Benevolence and righteousness are norms people commonly follow, yet if one does not understand how to put them into practice, they may even bring the state to ruin. Loyalty and trustworthiness are likewise norms in common use; if they cannot be applied in the proper way, others will be unable to bully or slight us, and the myriad things will know where each of them ought to turn.

Benevolence and righteousness are the norms of everyday conduct; if they are carried out without the right method, they may lead to the ruin of the state. Loyalty and trustworthiness are the norms of everyday dealings; applied amiss, they may incur blame. Integrity is the norm one upholds from day to day; if one does not understand how to uphold it, the people may instead grow violent. Wealth and words are means commonly used in the conduct of affairs; used improperly, they invite misfortune. The gist is this: in handling the affairs of others one must know how to adapt, while in handling one’s own affairs one must be cautious. Set the people to tilling the fields themselves, and they may come to resent it; urge the people to eat less, and they may grow angry. Fish are fond of bait, and ants love to gather beside what is rank and gamy; yet if the bait is thrown directly at the fish, the fish take fright instead, and if what is rank and gamy is thrown at the ants, the ants leave instead. This is because the way moral instruction is carried out runs counter to the inherent pattern of things.

Gratitude and Joy

To feel gratitude because one is moved by a father’s loving kindness is not yet filial piety; to rejoice because one delights in a ruler’s favor is not yet loyalty. Gratitude begins where one does not deliberately set out to be grateful, and joy begins where one does not deliberately set out to rejoice. When gratitude is too great, resentment also increases; when joy is too great, anger also increases. Gratitude and joy stored up in the heart are like poison concealed in an object, or fire hidden in a tangle of weeds: one cannot fail to be on guard. Thus, when the noble person (junzi) takes his stand and conducts himself, he does not regard rank as something exalted, nor courteous favor as something grand; when he draws near, he does not let others notice, and when he keeps his distance, he arouses no suspicion; even if he is insulted, he does not let the insult wound him. In this way, what gratitude or joy is there left to cling to?

The way of the great physician is to harmonize Qi (vital energy) and blood so that the pulse becomes full and substantial. One who possesses a pulse of this kind is a noble person; this is the way of nurturing life. The danger of fire must not go unguarded. Thus, when the noble person takes his stand and conducts himself, he does not regard rank as something exalted, nor courteous favor as something grand; when he draws near, he does not let others notice, and when he keeps his distance, he arouses no suspicion; even if he is insulted, he does not let the insult wound him. In this way, what gratitude or joy is there left to cling to?

When the imperial physician—the official who in antiquity oversaw the art of medicine—examines a patient, a person whose pulse is calm, even, and forceful is a gentleman, which means that vitality is abundant; a person whose pulse is disordered, floating, and scattered is a petty person, which means that vitality is failing. When the imperial diviner—the official in charge of divination—casts an oracle, hexagram stalks that lie level, upright, and unhurried signify good fortune; a hexagram image that is bent and appears sharp and hasty signifies misfortune. From this it can be seen that the principles of the world are of one piece: observe a state, and one comes to know its ministers; observe the ministers, and one comes to know the ruler; observe the ruler, and one knows whether the state will flourish or decline. A minister may choose a ruler to serve, and a ruler may likewise choose ministers to employ. Bowing and modest yielding can be put on for show, but agitation or composure cannot; clothing, caps, and outward bearing can be feigned, but a person’s bodily form and the implements he uses cannot; words can be embellished, but the voice cannot.

Slanderous Speech

To hide in the heart what others do not know is called cunning; to devise plans that others do not anticipate is called stratagem. What people fail to realize, however, is that the cunning of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) is in fact understood by everyone, whereas stratagems of humaneness and righteousness are precisely what the multitude lack. Thus, when rewards and punishments are established in order to instruct and transform, crooked and deviant ways instead proliferate; when lines of intimacy and distance, near and far, are drawn, petty persons find their opening. Cast gold into the marketplace, and thieves dare not take it, because everyone knows that to do so is wrong; deliberate affairs of state at court, and those who would offer slander dare not open their mouths, because the world holds to the principle of perfect impartiality.

(In the original text, the passage from “stratagems of humaneness and righteousness are what the multitude lack” through “thieves dare not take” is repeated; here it is interpreted continuously according to the sense of the original.)

Carving and Depiction

A painter does not dare alter an image at will; if he changes it on his own, disaster is sure to follow. A carver does not dare treat the original wooden figure with contempt; if he slights it, misfortune is likewise sure to come. A thing begins with my making it; later I am required to revere it; and in the end the calamity is laid upon me as well. Therefore, one who sets a mechanism will be used by that mechanism; one who arranges a place of peril will die within that peril; one who establishes achievements may be disgraced by those achievements; and one who frames laws may also be bound by those laws. Open a single aperture, and many apertures become entangled with one another; raise a single matter, and many matters may be harmed because of it. Hence a mechanism is valued when it is plain and easy to see, perilous ground when it is level and harmless, achievement when it leaves no trace, and law when it shows no outward form. One who can pass beyond the realm of deliberate carving and human contrivance may be called the “Great Image” (the highest realm in which the Dao is without form).

Wine and Sweet Wine

Wine and sweet wine.

Wine and sweet wine: the more people are pressed to drink, the less willing they are to drink; the more they are treated with tolerance, the more willing they become. Thus one who suppresses others will in turn be suppressed by others, and one who is tolerant of others will in turn receive their tolerance. Relax the term appointed for death, and people will readily face death; relax the term appointed for rendering dues, and people will readily render them. So the people draw favor from the ruler, and the ruler draws strength from the people. Only one who understands this principle of mutual return is fit to undertake the duty of governing the people.

Rewards and Favors

A marquisate is what people prize, and gold is what people treasure. If everyone were enfeoffed as a duke, the one who received a marquisate would not feel honored; if everyone were given jade, the one who received gold would feel no delight. Rewards, therefore, must not be bestowed at will, nor favors granted without restraint. A fitting reward becomes the beginning of contention; an unfitting reward becomes the root of disorder and ruin. Hence, if I keep myself lowly, rewards will not seem excessive; if I esteem frugality, favors will not slide into the strange and extravagant. Looking over the history of turmoil and collapse through the ages, most of it has arisen from pride and extravagance; the institution of rewards and favors was established precisely for this reason.

Nurturing the People

The people do not resent fire; they resent the one who forbids them to use it. The people do not resent theft; they resent the one who forces them to guard against it. To relieve the people, then, is not as good as to spare them hardship, and to cherish the people is not as good as not to hinder them. Heaven sends down rain and dew, and yet thereby draws complaint; the spirits accept prayers and invocations, and yet thereby draw slander. Rather than forbid the people the use of fire, better to extinguish the fire of desire in their hearts; rather than guard against another’s theft, better to keep oneself from greedy taking. This is how the people ought to be nurtured.

Volume Four: Transformation through Benevolence

Obtaining the One

Vast emptiness and Wuwei (non-action) are called the Dao (the Way). The Dao’s capacity to maintain itself is called De (Virtue/Power). De’s transforming and bringing forth of the myriad things is called benevolence. Benevolence’s capacity to rescue those in peril and settle them in peace is called righteousness. Righteousness, when it chooses between taking and yielding, advancing and withdrawing, is called theft.

The Dao (the Way) is a state of lucid emptiness and Wuwei (non-action), free of all attachment. The working of holding fast to the Dao is called De (Virtue/Power). When De transforms and gives birth to the myriad things, this is called humaneness (ren); when humaneness can rescue those in peril and settle people in peace, this is called righteousness (yi); when righteousness must judge what to take up and what to set aside, this is called ritual propriety (li); when ritual propriety must adapt with flexibility, this is called wisdom (zhi); and when wisdom must still be honest and keep faith, this is called trustworthiness (xin). To penetrate these principles and put them to use is to be a sage.

The Dao is originally empty and characterized by Wuwei, and it cannot fix itself in place by its own power, so De receives it and carries it forward. De is pure, still, and characterized by Wuwei, and it cannot exercise its working alone, so humaneness receives it and carries it forward. When humaneness comes into play, the myriad things are able to grow; and once the myriad things grow, there is both security and peril, so righteousness is needed. Righteousness is used to secure favorable conditions and to rescue those in peril, and this requires distinguishing good from bad and right from wrong, so ritual propriety is needed. Ritual propriety follows rules and upholds norms, yet it may also meet with doubts and obstructions, so wisdom is needed. Once wisdom has become fully penetrating, changes multiply, and so trustworthiness is still needed. Trustworthiness is the principle by which the myriad things are brought to completion.

Five Phases

The Dao and De are like Heaven and Earth; the Five Constants (wuchang)—humaneness, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—are like the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth). Humaneness generates and brings forth the myriad things, and so it principally belongs to Wood; righteousness rescues those in peril, and so it principally belongs to Metal; ritual propriety clearly discerns the principles of affairs, and so it principally belongs to Fire; wisdom adapts with flexibility, and so it principally belongs to Water; trustworthiness is solid and sincere, and so it principally belongs to Earth.

Where humaneness falls short, righteousness supplies the remedy, just as Metal can cut down Wood. Where righteousness falls short, ritual propriety supplies the remedy, just as Fire can smelt Metal. Where ritual propriety falls short, wisdom supplies the remedy, just as Water can extinguish Fire. Where wisdom falls short, trustworthiness supplies the remedy, just as Earth can restrain Water. At first the Five Constants support one another and bring one another to completion; later the Five Constants also restrain one another and attack one another. This is the pattern by which cosmic creation moves and transforms.

Hunting and Fishing (Field Hunting and Catching Fish)

How do birds and beasts differ from human beings? They have their own nests and dens, they have mates, they have affection between parent and child, and they have feelings about life and death. A crow turns back to feed its parents—this is benevolence (ren). A falcon cherishes the young still in the womb—this is righteousness (yi). Bees have a queen and thus embody the order of high and low—this is ritual propriety (li). A lamb kneels to nurse, showing that it knows gratitude—this is wisdom (zhi). A pheasant will not mate with a second partner, keeping faith—this is trustworthiness (xin).

Who can truly inquire into these principles? Among the myriad things, the Five Constants (wuchang)—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—and every kind of moral conduct are present everywhere. Yet people teach hunting and fishing as ordinary practice, training others expressly to capture and kill living beings. To burn their nests is to lack benevolence; to seize their kin and mates is to lack righteousness; to turn them into banquet fare is to lack propriety; to teach people to harm living beings is to lack wisdom; to make all creatures live in fear of humankind is to lack trustworthiness.

Human desire for the rank taste of flesh knows no limit, and the impulse to kill living beings never ceases. Though birds cannot speak, they will surely regard us as greedy wolves and fierce wild boars; though the creatures of the water lack human intelligence, they will surely call us giant whales and great serpents. On what grounds can we feel at ease, and how can we not feel shame? Alas—I truly doubt whether, from ancient times to the present, there has ever really been a gentleman (junzi).

Sacrificial Animals

To sacrifice with offerings of livestock, presenting lambs and wild geese, was an ancient rite. The gentlemen of old were not unaware that feelings of sorrow and joy, and the sounds of grief and delight, can move heaven and earth and stir a response from ghosts and spirits. Yet once knives and axes are set before the sacrificial animals, their dread and suffering are plain to see.

Offering livestock in sacrifice and presenting lambs and wild geese as gifts was the ritual order of ancient times. The gentlemen of antiquity were by no means unaware that human feelings of anxiety and joy, and the sounds of grief and delight, can move Heaven and Earth and call forth a response from ghosts and spirits. When instruments of punishment are set before the eyes, people’s fear or pleasure is revealed; when hawks and hounds appear together, the sounds of people’s sorrow or joy arise with them. If, under such conditions, one sacrifices to Heaven and Earth and prays to the deities, Heaven and Earth will certainly not partake of the offerings; even if they do partake, disaster is sure to follow. The deities will not accept the offerings either; even if they accept them, lasting harm is sure to remain.

Therefore, the so-called appearance of the divine dragon signifies that wind and cloud have lost their proper course; the coming of the phoenix signifies that the exalted station has lost those who uphold it; the appearance of the qilin signifies that the realm is about to perish. As I understand the principle, the appearance of birds and beasts is not in itself in accord with what is right; if they are taken for auspicious omens, they are no longer truly auspicious.

Taihe (the Greatest Harmony)

The rabbit is not cunning by nature; the hunter forces it into cunning. The common people are not deceitful by nature; officials force them into deceit. Do not only blame thieves, for thieves are drawn in by us; do not only blame rebellion, for rebellion is taught by us. If there were no harmony, from where would enmity come? If there were no rewards and encouragement, from where would contention come? Therefore, one who truly possesses De (Virtue/Power) neither draws some close out of partiality nor holds others at a distance, and neither loves some out of partiality nor detests others. This is what is called “Taihe” (the greatest harmony).

The Ink Fish

In the sea there is a kind of fish that spits out ink to screen and protect itself, then seizes the moment to swim on; people use that ink to catch it. The clever often meet with setbacks, the eloquent often suffer humiliation, the sharp-sighted are often deceived, and the brave often die young. The more secure the bolts and locks are made, the more pleased the thieves; the stricter the prohibitions, the more advantageous the enemy state finds them. If a ban can be transgressed, it is only a name; if a military tally can be seized, it is as good as empty. Shu was defeated by its mountainous terrain; Jin was defeated by its horses. For one who truly possesses De, what is essential lies only in morality and in humaneness and righteousness.

The Divine Bow

Praise others, and others will praise you; malign others, and others will malign you. Thus only when a person of noble character can first reproach himself is he in a position to reproach others; and only by not retaliating against resentment is resentment truly dissolved. This is like a wondrous bow and arrows shot by ghosts and spirits: the arrow is released without the bow being drawn, and it strikes the mark without being aimed. When Heaven attains this principle, it carries it out through human beings; when a person grasps it, he too can thereby influence the world.

Aiding Others

Rescue others and then call yourself righteous, and people will instead take you to be unrighteous; bestow kindness while looking for a return, and people will instead not repay you. This is the ordinary way of human feeling: yield, and what you gain is instead greater; contend, and what you gain is instead less; draw near of your own accord, and others instead withdraw; know how to step back, and others instead come forward. Give without stinting, and the thing seems cheap; once you treasure it and will not let it go, it is instead easily taken away.

Thus true great righteousness has no fixed form, and profound great kindness leaves no obvious trace. When great righteousness is accomplished, even those who benefit without knowing it have received it; when great kindness is completed, even those who do not know they have been favored repay it in their actions.

The Dao (the Way) of Calligraphy

When the mind does not doubt the hand, and the hand does not doubt the brush—when even hand and brush are forgotten—only then does one understand the Dao of calligraphy.

Writing that is harmonious and fluent does not come from a deliberate pursuit of cleverness; a rich, antique elegance is not an intentional pursuit of rustic simplicity; gentleness and modest withdrawal are not the same as weakness; firmness and strength are not the same as a display of force. Calligraphy holds within it the cultivation of Shen (spirit), and it is steeped in the nourishment of Qi (vital energy). Therefore every dot and stroke must gather Qi and blood, and feeling and nature must also dwell in the turns of glance and response. The traces of brush and ink, and the devices of deliberate contrivance, do not show themselves; nor do the outward appearances of hardness or softness, or postures of ranging freely in every direction, stand out. It is as harmonious, joyful, and easy as the Dao of the Yellow Emperor (the ideal way of governing spoken of in legend), and as warm, generous, and peaceful as the bearing of a person of noble character.

Thus those who view such calligraphy feel their mood delighted, their spirit at peace, and their Qi flowing in harmony; the way of the age likewise seems peaceful and secure, and the principle embodied in the writing leaves no visible trace. Why is this so? See a mountain and one thinks of stillness; see water and one thinks of flowing; see clouds and one thinks of change; see stone and one thinks of steadfastness. This is ordinary human feeling.

Phoenix and Owl (fengchi, fèng chī: the phoenix and the owl)

The phoenix does not know its own beauty, nor does the owl know its own ugliness. The Taotang (the legendary Yao) did not know his own sagely wisdom, nor did the Youmiao (an ancient tribal name) know their own tyranny. If the Taotang had prided himself on being sagely wise, he would not truly have been sagely wise; if the Youmiao had known themselves to be tyrannical, they would not have persisted in tyranny alone. People can all depict the appearance of others, yet cannot depict their own; they can all seek out the faults of others, yet cannot seek out their own; they can all discern the calamities of others, yet cannot foresee their own.

Thus, a person of penetrating understanding will listen to someone’s voice, observe his countenance, attend to his bearing, examine his Qi (vital energy), and from these judge his true condition.

Knowing Others

Observe a person’s writings, and one can tell whether his station is high or low; observe his calligraphy and seal carving, and one can tell his temperament; listen to him play the qin and the se, and one can tell the depth of his moral cultivation; listen to the instructions and commands he issues, and one can tell whether the circumstances in which he stands are auspicious or inauspicious.

Therefore even ordinary people can, from what has been handed down, come to know the bearing of the ancient sages: Tang Yao was warm, generous, and plain; Yu Shun was genial and serene; Boyu was open and expansive; Tang of Yin was dignified and upright; King Wen of Zhou was tall and solemn; King Wu of Zhou was firm, upright, and forthright; and Confucius was radiant and penetrating in understanding. In this way the people of the world may also come to recognize whether they themselves are foolish or worthy.

Mole Crickets and Ants

Mole crickets and ants, too, have their leaders. They dwell in a nest no larger than a fist and live together with the multitude of ants; upon a clod of earth they raise a terrace and ascend it together with the multitude of ants; they store a single grain of food and share it with the multitude of ants; coming upon the flesh of an insect, they sip and eat it together; and if a companion is suspected of wrongdoing, the multitude of ants together decide the matter.

Therefore heart and mind must first be in communion before the intent of Shen (spirit) can be in communion; only after the intent of Shen is in communion can Qi be in communion; and only after Qi is in communion can bodily form be in communion. Then, when I fall ill, the multitude of ants seem to fall ill as well; when I feel pain, the multitude of ants seem to feel pain as well. This being so, from where would resentment arise, and from where would rebellion begin? Such was the way in which, in highest antiquity, the myriad things were taught and transformed.

Song and Dance

Those who can sing, sing; those who cannot sing, listen. Those who can dance, dance; those who are unable to dance, watch.

Those who can sing perform, and those who cannot sing listen; those who can dance perform, and those who cannot dance watch; those with ability display their talents, and those without ability discern and appraise; the worthy take up official duties, and the unworthy follow what is arranged. One who nurtures a tree will in the end certainly fell it; one who treats men of learning with courtesy will in the end also have them serve him until they die. Crowns and caps are used to tether people, and noble rank and stipend are used to hook them in. A horse draws a splendid carriage yet never gains honor for itself; a pig eats bran and chaff yet cannot claim as its own the fatness into which it has been raised. Therefore, one who truly possesses the Dao (the Way) does not pursue honor out of nothing, nor hold fast to De (Virtue/Power) with nothing to rely on. In poverty there is something to depend upon; in seeking advancement there is something to lean upon. Those who withdraw from the world do not love poverty and lowliness; they are willing to be set aside.

Zhizhu

Wine of zhizhu (a poisonous plant), dried meat of the wuzhuo (a kind of bird), paste of langdang (a poisonous medicinal herb), and juice of yege (a poisonous plant): at first, when swallowed, they seem like mustard greens; eaten again, they seem like millet; then they seem like pills; and at last they even seem like dried meat. From this, even a petty person comes to understand that a strong bow can be drawn little by little, a great cauldron can be lifted little by little, water and fire can be grown accustomed to little by little, and tigers and rhinoceroses can also be gradually tamed and kept as companions.

Those who go against me are those I seek to transform; those who disgrace me are those I seek to receive; those who do not respond to me are those I seek to guide; those who refuse to submit are those I seek to take in and bring under my control. Thus one may trust that a weak and yielding horse is hard to drive, and that what gradually turns fierce is also hard to resist. Once this principle is grasped, it can be taken as the root for meeting every kind of change.

Stopping Strife

To stop others from fighting, let them fight; to press down others’ anger, let them vent their anger. One skilled at calming strife deals with it beforehand by following the momentum of the contest; one skilled at dissolving anger first lets the anger find an outlet. Therefore the human heart cannot be forcibly subdued: the more it is pressed, the more disordered it becomes. The people cannot be forcibly regulated: the more they are governed by force, the more resentful they become. Water is easily stirred, yet it can clarify itself; the people readily change, yet they can also settle themselves. The principle of governance lies in not going against the inherent nature and the natural pattern of the myriad things.

There is a kind of art that can reveal the hidden subtleties within all things: by postures such as crossing the arms and crooking the fingers, one models the corresponding signs. Thus, forms that wind and coil like dragons and snakes may be represented by signs of the scaly kind; forms that soar and leap like birds and beasts may be represented by signs of the feathered kind; forms that lie prone and bent may be represented by signs of the furred kind; and forms that curl up and cluster together may be represented by signs of the shelled kind. From this it can be known that folding the hands and bowing at the waist are the signs of the human being.

When you greet with folded hands, others will fold their hands toward you; when you bow at the waist in greeting, others will bow toward you. This is the root of ritual. When ritual is further classified, it gives rise to myriad ceremonies and differing modes of bearing. To teach people to stamp and move in dance is not necessarily for them truly to be dancing; to have people pray and offer invocations is not necessarily for there to be any genuine intent of prayer and invocation. For what people do is seldom genuine, and among them there is much empty display. To blame others for lacking true feeling is, from the outset, to find it hard to obtain true feeling through ritual; to blame ritual for lacking efficacy is, from the outset, to find that ritual may not produce any actual effect.

Good and Evil

Those who do evil fear being seen through, which shows that there is always someone who can see through them; those who do good hope that others will know of it, which shows that there is also always someone who does not know of their good deeds. Therefore, only evil that goes undetected deserves to be called great evil, and only good that remains unknown deserves to be called the highest good. Those zealous in bestowing favors often cannot extend their kindness widely; those bent wholly on pursuing the extraordinary often achieve no great merit; those skilled at games of strategy do not necessarily possess far-reaching wisdom; and those whose writing is ornate find it hard for their fame to endure. Thus the noble person prizes only the Dao (the Way) and guards himself by means of De (Virtue/Power), and so can be transmitted through ten thousand generations without perishing.

Volume Five: Transformations of Food

Seven Deprivations

Go a single day without food and one grows weary; go two days without food and one falls ill; go three days without food and one dies. Of all the common people’s most urgent needs, none is more important than eating. Yet the sovereign exacts one share, the ministers and grandees (senior officials) exact one share, the military officers (officials in the army) exact one share, and war seizes yet another. Unable to eat their fill, the people grow weary, fall ill, and even die. Beyond this, artisans, merchants, Daoist priests, and Buddhist monks each take a share of their own: even in a good harvest a share must be handed over, and even in thrift a share must still be borne. Thus, when the season of silkworms and mulberries is over, people can wear only clothes of kudzu cloth and ramie; when the crops have been harvested, they must still eat the fruits of oak and chestnut oak.

If the sovereign cannot enforce the law with impartiality, this injustice has already reached its extreme. Those possessed of De (Virtue) and public esteem ought to come to the aid of what is unjust; if instead they act in this way, that is the greatest injustice of all. At such a moment, to practice petty, fragmentary benevolence and to insist on rites that fill people with sorrow and grief—how could that ever make amends?

Shamans and Images

One who serves as a shaman will surely have a ghost attach itself to him. Set up an image of a deity, and a Shen (spirit) will surely come to dwell in it, for spirits partake of sacrificial offerings. The customs of the Rong, the Jie, and kindred peoples honor the mother alone and do not honor the father. Birds and beasts cling to the mother and do not cling to the father. Ordinary people, in grief, cry out for their mother and do not cry out for their father. All this is because the mother nursed and raised them.

Tigers and wolves crave nothing more than meat to eat; flood dragons crave nothing more than blood to drink; human beings, however, crave nearly everything. Thus, the moment they are not satisfied they contend, and if others will not give they turn hostile. From this the resentment of all under Heaven accumulates, and from this the anger of the stern and resolute is aroused. The Way (Dao) of food and sustenance is by no means a small matter.

Raising Horses

The one who keeps a horse is its master, yet the one who pastures it grows close to it. The one who bears a child is its mother, and the one who nurses and raises the child likewise grows close to it. The relation of ruler and minister cannot, in itself, be compared with these; yet sovereign and subject are bound together by salary and stipend. Between mother and child there is love from the start, and that love too is sustained by feeding and nurture. A poor horse does not stir anger of the kind felt by the stern and resolute. The Way of food and sustenance is by no means a small matter.

The one who keeps horses is their master, yet the one truly close to them is the herdsman. A mother gives birth to the child, yet the one who feeds the child is closest to the child. Between ruler and minister there is, to begin with, no real closeness; they depend on one another only because of salary and emolument. Between mother and child, without the feeling of nurture, love is likewise hard to form, for it is feeding that establishes affection. An inferior horse originally has little perception, and an infant originally has no scheming mind; yet human perception sprouts from this, and the scheming mind arises from this as well. Thus come love and aversion, intimacy and distance, and contention and deceit gradually grow.

Silk and Cord

When the ruler demands silk, the officials demand cord; when the ruler demands cord, the officials demand thick rope. When exaction knows no end, it proceeds to deception and concealment; when deception knows no end, it proceeds to flogging; when flogging knows no end, it proceeds to theft; when theft knows no end, it proceeds to killing; when killing knows no end, it proceeds to execution under severe punishment.

The common people are not by nature fond of deceit; those who strip them of their wealth drive them to it. Nor are the people willing to kill; those who apply the whip drive them to it. It is like a great fire drawing near: someone is cast into the water and, knowing death can still hardly be escaped, hopes only to delay it a moment longer. When a tiger is about to devour a person, someone is pushed into a ravine and, knowing survival is uncertain, still looks for a thread of hope. When the people are driven to the last extremity, it is just so—truly lamentable.

Extravagance and Overstepping

A gentleman will not tell others that he goes hungry, because he feels shame; nor will he boast to others that he has eaten his fill, because he feels abashed. To make people feel shame and abashment is sure to stir resentment and reproach. The harm wrought by food and drink has come to such a pass.

Vessels of gold and ritual ware of jade are ostentation in eating and drinking; the sounding of bells and the striking of chimes are pleasure at the feast; the spreading of colored ribbons and the display of brocade are the beguilement that food and drink bring; the taking of every bird and the hunting of every beast are cruelty in eating and drinking. Fastidiousness about flavors, strong or mild, gives rise to discontent; distinctions of noble and base, fine and coarse, give rise to contention. The less desire is restrained, the more demands know no end. The poor grow ever less able to eat their fill, and the rich ever more feel that their food is not delicious enough. Thus extravagance and the overstepping of station arise from this, and wars of conquest begin from this as well. If the food and drink of all under Heaven can be shared out evenly, the world can be brought to order.

Those who chew charred bones feel no pain even when their lips are scorched and their tongues burned raw; those who drink strong liquor feel no bitterness even when their stomachs churn and they vomit without cease. The glutton forgets the discomfort of food that does not suit the palate. From this arises extravagance that oversteps one’s proper station, and from this too begin wars of conquest. If the food of all under Heaven can be distributed evenly, all under Heaven can be brought to order.

Charred Bones

Those who chew charred bones feel no pain even when their lips are scorched and their tongues burned raw; those who drink strong liquor feel no bitterness even when their stomachs churn and they vomit without cease. The glutton forgets suffering, and those who are hungry and hard-pressed come to hold life cheap. Once suffering can be forgotten, a person may practice every deceit; once life can be held cheap, a person may stop at nothing. Therefore the ruler should understand the desires of the people through his own desires, and understand the hunger of the people through his own hunger. When the ruler grows angry, the people will surely grow angry; when the ruler harbors resentment, the people will surely harbor resentment. If this principle is understood, how could the people under Heaven ever rebel?

Deluded by Food

Among the common people, some gorge themselves until they die of surfeit, some choke to death as they wolf down their food, some, out of gratitude for food, give their lives to uphold what is right, some go indignantly to their deaths because they have been humiliated, and some fight to the death over food; people sometimes ridicule them. Yet they fail to see that one takes office for the sake of a salary, and a salary is for the sake of food; one engages in trade for the sake of wealth, and wealth too is for the sake of food. An official may perish under criminal charge through falsification, flattery, and deceit; a merchant may drown by risking voyages upon the rivers and seas. They do not understand the root of what they pursue, nor the cause of their deaths; instead they turn their resentment upon their peers and lay the blame upon the rivers and seas. This is to be deluded by food.

When a person merely thinks of the taste of food—salt or plums, for instance—the throat swallows of its own accord; at the sight of a platter heaped with fine dishes, one cannot help wanting to eat. Hunger makes one long to devour an ox; thirst makes one long to drink a sea dry. Desire is to a person what a thief is, and between a person and desire it is as if a war were being fought. When the fighting is at its fiercest, embroidered silks, pearls, and jade do not count as wealth; caps, crowns, and banners do not count as honor; the music of bells, stone chimes, and the zithers qin and se does not enter the ear; and palaces and towers show no beauty. How much more is this so when the common people are often hungry and hard-pressed in their livelihood? If one then instructs them with benevolence and righteousness, will they believe? If one restrains them with punishments and official decrees, will they be afraid?

The Glued Pole

Someone takes a bamboo pole coated with glue to catch yellow sparrows, and the sparrows follow, clamoring; someone holds out food from a dish to feed crows, and the crows follow, calling. This shows that even the most ferocious animals will change their ordinary ways because of food, and that the greediest animals are all alike in this respect. Thus snakes and pigs can live together in a herd, tigers and rhinoceroses can be approached and tamed, and distant foreign peoples can be brought under command and made to come in submission. If even creatures of another kind are like this, how much more so among human beings?

Geng and Xin

The Geng family dug a hollow at the edge of a pond and built a railing of bamboo. When someone stepped on it, the railing sounded “cece.” The Xin family likewise dug a hollow at the edge of a pond and built a railing of wood; when stepped on, it sounded “tangtang.” Both households raised fish in their ponds, and each time they leaned on the railing and cast in food, the fish leaped from the water. Later, as soon as the fish heard “cece” or “tangtang,” they leaped from the water even when no food was given. The fish of the Geng family could be called “cece,” and the fish of the Xin family could be called “tangtang.” This is the habit formed by the teaching power of food.

Hunger makes people suffer as if sores had broken out on the body, and it drives them into a corner as if a fierce fire were burning them. This is because what a person feels is immediate and urgent. Salted fish smells close to a rotting corpse, and fish sauce differs little from the grime of the feet, yet in ordinary life people still eat fish sauce. They do so even when full; what hunger will bring is not hard to imagine. If people are truly hungry, they may eat anything; if driven to the last extremity, they may do anything. This is precisely the key to whether a state flourishes or falls.

Sparrows and Mice

People detest sparrows and mice because they steal; sparrows and mice are wary of people because they are convinced that the human heart harbors a thief’s intent. Those above use food to humiliate those below, and those below deceive those above for the sake of food. Those above therefore cannot help but loathe those below, and those below cannot help but suspect those above. Each side has its own reasons, felt at close hand.

When flesh is carved away and blood and meat are eaten, a person cannot help but weep; when the throat is seized and the grain ration is taken, a person cannot help but grow angry. The common people grow more hard-pressed day by day because it is as if their flesh were being gouged out; they go hungry because their rations have been seized. Alas—how truly regrettable this is!

Wuwei (non-action)

Oxen can be trained to draw carts, horses can be trained to carry loads, dogs can be trained to keep watch, and hawks can be trained to hunt; all of these are the results of food’s transforming influence upon them. Macaques can be trained to dance, parrots can be trained to speak, kites and owls (chi-yuan, raptors of this kind) can be trained to fight one another to the death, and mole crickets and ants can be driven to join forces in combat; in all of these, food has done the work of instruction. Fish can be lured into swallowing the hook, tigers can be lured into the trap, wild geese can be lured into striking the net, and even enemy states can be drawn into aiding one another—all because food brings benefit.

By this means Heaven and Earth may be brought into harmonious communion, the spirits and gods may extend their protection, people of lofty character may yield and humble themselves, and the Yi and Di (an ancient designation for the peoples of the remote frontiers) may be brought to submit. Thus it is clear that food can give all things and all affairs something upon which to depend. From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, and on to every kind of living creature, all may be brought into rapport and transformed through food. If I wear plain cloth, the people will of themselves not seek luxury; if I eat coarse fare, the people will of themselves not seek rich abundance. One who is skilled in applying this principle can take up the teaching of governance by Wuwei (non-action).

The King

A hunter kills the mother beast and leaves the young; if the young are to be preserved, the mother must be killed. The mother does not know that the young are implicated on her account, and the young do not know what suffering the mother has borne for them. The king’s expenditure on robes, caps, and food comes to no more than a million in a year, and yet the people are able together to bear the teaching of governance by Wuwei.

The King

A hunter kills the mother beast and leaves the young; if the young are to be preserved, the mother must be killed. The mother does not know that the young are implicated on her account, and the young do not know what suffering the mother has borne for them. The king’s expenditure on robes, caps, and food comes to no more than a million in a year; but the cost of granting lands and bestowing wealth and rank upon the people is a million times that sum. The people are as if sucking the king’s flesh and drinking the king’s blood: the enjoyment all falls upon the people, while the resentment is laid upon the king; the benefit goes to the many, and the blame goes to the king. If the king does not regard himself as noble, how would the people of the world dare to regard themselves as noble? If the king does not seek wealth for himself, how would the people of the world dare to seek wealth for themselves?

Kites and Owls

People of wisdom pity the kite and the owl—birds that feed on carrion—when they seize upon rotten rats, and they sigh to see ants hauling dead insects, supposing that these creatures, being what they are, are less noble than human beings. Yet they do not realize that in a year of famine people will fight over stinking corpses, and that under a tight siege they may even eat the flesh of fathers, sons, and their own kin. What even jackals and wolves cannot bear to do, human beings have done. Seen in this light, people fall short even of such creatures.

From this it can be known that a ruler without food can hardly practice benevolence, a minister without food can hardly uphold righteousness, a scholar without food can hardly observe propriety, the common people without food can hardly attain wisdom, and the myriad things without food can hardly maintain good faith. Food, therefore, is the root of the five constant virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and good faith—while the Five Constants are the results that food brings about.

If the ruler can see that the people are equally and adequately clothed, and that they are willing to yield food to one another, the people will live in mutual harmony and gladness: this is benevolence at its utmost. Fathers and sons cherishing one another is righteousness at its utmost. Yielding to one another in hunger and in fullness is propriety at its utmost. Matching one another in advancing and withdrawing is wisdom at its utmost. Keeping among themselves what they have promised is good faith at its utmost. When moral transformation succeeds, its root lies in giving people food; when moral transformation fails, the trouble likewise lies in food. Food may seem lowly, yet its working is supremely exalted; its name is small, yet the changes it produces are great. This is a treasure without price.

Volume Six: Transformations of Frugality

Great Peace

Water and fire are things of daily use, yet if they are used improperly they may ruin a household, because restraint is lacking. Food and drink are likewise daily necessities; if they are taken improperly they may harm the body or even cost one’s life, because restraint is lacking. Ritual is easily spoiled by extravagance, and music easily loses its measure through excessive indulgence. Extravagance and indulgence are like flowing water: once they have run off, they are hard to recover. The best remedy for this condition is frugality.

Frugality is the means of distributing food in equal shares. When food is shared equally, benevolence and righteousness will grow; when benevolence and righteousness grow, ritual and music can be set in order; when ritual and music are in order, the people will bear no resentment; and when the people bear no resentment, the spirits will not grow angry. This is the foundation of Great Peace throughout the world.

Balance One who wears coarse hemp and kudzu cloth does not feel the cold, yet after putting on finer cloth and silk may instead feel not warm enough. One who eats wild greens and coarse fare does not feel hunger, yet after eating millet and other refined foods…

A person dressed in coarse cloth does not feel the cold; yet, once changed into finer cloth and silk, that person is all the more apt to feel cold. One who eats goosefoot and bean leaves does not feel hunger; yet, once turned to broomcorn millet and foxtail millet, that person is all the more apt to feel hungry. Therefore, one cannot fail to give careful thought to one’s own desires, nor fail to be on guard against the minds of the people.

In general, when the people see someone carrying stones, they feel that carrying earth themselves is light work; when they see someone carrying earth, they feel that carrying firewood themselves is light work. Hunger and cold have no fixed, unchanging form, and the weight of affairs has no absolute standard. They are usually settled by comparing abundance and scarcity from one person to another. If my heart feels a burden to be heavy, the people too will feel it heavy; if I feel a burden to be light, the people too will feel it light. Only one who can practice frugality can serve as the measure by which the people weigh what is heavy and what is light.

The Dao (the Way) of Ritual

Ritual prizes grandeur; frugality does not seek grandeur. Ritual prizes completeness; frugality does not seek completeness. Ritual prizes the wearing of hairpins, ribbons of office, and similar ornaments; frugality esteems plain cloth. Ritual prizes brilliant display; frugality rests content in quiet simplicity.

The more wealth one has, the harder it is to be satisfied; the higher one’s station, the more one feels it falls short of true honor; the more rewards one receives, the more one feels they are not enough; the more care one is shown, the less one knows how to show respect. Gold and jade are what people ordinarily use to display wealth, and offices and noble ranks are what they ordinarily use to display honor. Water tastes sweet when one is thirsty, and food tastes fragrant when one is hungry. Only frugality can make a person understand that such things are not better simply because one has more of them.

Accustomed to Eating Elephant

One who is used to eating elephant meat will find even beef insufficient; one who is used to wearing the ceremonial crown will find even an ordinary cap insufficient. From this comes the sense that human desire is never satisfied; from this also begins greed without restraint.

Thus, if the ruler delights in extravagance, his ministers will feel that what they have is not enough; if the ministers delight in extravagance, the scholars will feel that what they have is not enough; if the scholars delight in extravagance, the common people will feel that what they have is not enough; and if the common people all delight in extravagance, the goods of the world will likewise seem insufficient. The sum of things under Heaven is limited. If the ruler consumes one share, the people will consume one share as well; if the ruler consumes five shares, the people will consume five; if the ruler consumes ten shares, the people will consume ten. Reckoned by tens, it is as though the goods of ten households suffice to support only one household, the goods of ten states suffice for only one state, and the goods of the whole world suffice for the indulgence of only one person. How could this fail to end in hardship and exhaustion?

The Condition of the People

If a husband is fond of wine, his wife is sure to live in poverty; if a son is fond of going out to hunt with hawks, his household is sure to be in straits. Should the fashion of extravagance keep spreading, the goods of the world will be exhausted by the desires of the few. How can this fail to end in hardship and exhaustion?

A husband fond of wine will cast his wife into poverty; if a son delights in hawking and hunting, the whole family will be reduced to hardship on that account. Even if one merely keeps a single extra servant and gives him three bowls of food a day, more than a thousand bowls will be consumed over the year. Reckoned against a year’s supply of grain, these rations would be enough to feed a thousand soldiers. Should a ruler enjoy himself in this way year after year, he will inevitably cause the people to labor and to store up resentment. The trouble lies in enjoying too much, not in being sparing.

If the ruler rides in an ox cart, the people will gradually take pride in traveling with pomp and display; if the ruler dwells upon high terraces, the people will come to regard ordinary dwellings as mean. One must therefore check a matter as soon as it first shows itself, and guide custom by means of thrift. When people see that coarse cloth woven from kudzu is not lacking in use, they will gladly wear plain cloth; when they see meals taken from crude cups, they will also readily use pottery and gourd vessels (vessels made from gourds). Such is the common feeling of the people.

A Reputation for Stinginess

There are people in the world who are called qianhao—“a reputation for stinginess.” Others regard this as a great disgrace, yet they do not realize that it may be precisely the beginning of the Way (Dao) of pure frugality. Such a person does not spend the fat and marrow of the people upon himself, nor does he exact anything from the common folk. He tills the fields himself and eats what he grows; he raises silkworms himself and wears what he produces. His wife and children do not suffer cold, and his maids and servants do not go hungry. The people bear him no resentment, and the gods and spirits send down no punishment upon him.

Thus, when a person understands thrift, the whole family can enjoy abundance; when the ruler understands thrift, the people of the realm can enjoy abundance as well.

Ruler and People

Although ruler and people differ in title, the things they love are the same. The ruler likes to ride and gallop, and so do the people; the ruler loves music and beautiful women, and so do the people; the ruler likes pearls and jade, and so do the people; the ruler craves fine flavors, and the people are no different. Status and station may differ, but desire is the same.

Therefore, one dressed in plain cloth will envy the scholar who wears the hairpin and cap-cords (cap ornaments that mark rank); the scholar who wears the hairpin and cap-cords will envy the sword and pendants of the dukes and ministers; and one arrayed in the dress of dukes and ministers will in turn envy the ruler’s liu-mian (the ritual crown of the sovereign). The ruler occupies the place to which the myriad people aspire, and so he cannot but weigh his own conduct with care.

What is more, carriages of gold and jade (splendidly ornamented vehicles) will drain the wealth of the people, and high terraces and storied towers will consume the labor of the people. To act in this way is to invite the people’s resentment, and it is also to teach the people to pursue extravagance. Thus, while the people store up firewood and rice and reckon their livelihood for the year, the ruler treats gold and jade as the outlay of a single day. The state can scarcely avoid falling into want, and the ruler too must practice thrift.

The Nursing Child

When an infant cups his hands in greeting, who could bear to trifle with him? It is not because he wears splendid ceremonial robes. When a herdboy bends low in salute, who could bear to go against him? It is not because penal laws and official decrees compel compliance. If respect exists between host and guest, then even a serving of chicken and millet may count as a grand banquet—why must there be music and dance such as the Xiaoshao? If a woman has a gentle and worthy bearing, then even cloth woven of thorn and hemp allows her to fulfill the way of a wife—why must there be exquisite embroidery?

In establishing institutions, a ruler digs moats for defense, arrays weapons for guard, stores grain and cloth to sustain the people, and sets up railings to keep a distance. Because the sovereign calculates his interests against the people, he cannot but hold something back; because he is partial toward himself, he cannot but be on guard at every turn. If the principle of frugality can be applied, the people will of themselves not deceive; if private affairs are handled with a frugal heart, one will oneself be free of suspicion. The way of frugality can serve as a teacher to the great.

The Handle of Transformation

Hearing little can nurture the emptiness and stillness within; seeing little can nurture the spirit (Shen); speaking little can nurture primordial Qi (vital energy); frugality in private use can accumulate wealth; frugality in public affairs can preserve an exalted station; simplifying the defenses of gates and doors can mean there are no thieves; simplifying the deployment of guards can mean there is no rebellion; simplifying the appointment of officials can mean there are no treacherous flatterers; reducing the number of consorts can preserve one’s lifespan; reducing the desires of the heart can carry one beyond life and death. From this one may know that frugality is the key that sets the transformation of all things in motion.

Mastering the One

Ancient rulers all knew that mastering the “One” made it possible to govern the world, yet they did not understand what this “One” actually was. Every principle has its own “One”: benevolence has the root of benevolence, righteousness has the root of righteousness, and ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness each have their own roots as well. The “One” runs through benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness, and all five take the “One” as their root. Once this root is grasped, the world can be governed.

The principle is in itself quite plain, yet it unfolds from that plainness; its words are not abstruse, but people take them to be abstruse. Thus they forever miss the essential point and in the end become lost in its mysteries. It is therefore said that nothing matters more for holding to the root than frugality. Restrain yourself through frugality, and benevolence will not run to excess, the practice of righteousness will not go astray, ritual propriety will not become extravagant, wisdom will not abandon its principles, and trustworthiness will not fall into confusion. Then the mind has a master within, government has a basis on which to act, and the people have something on which to rely.

The Three Sovereigns

When the ruler is frugal, the ministers learn contentment; when the ministers are frugal, the scholars learn contentment; when the scholars are frugal, the common people learn contentment; and when the common people are content, all under Heaven are content. When all under Heaven are content, they neither covet wealth nor contend for fame, and no one does evil and harms others, deceives and misleads, or practices hypocrisy and flattery. Ritual and righteousness then arise of themselves, punishments and administrative orders settle of themselves, ditches, canals, and ramparts are set in order of themselves, arms and armor fall out of use of themselves, and those who wander without occupation turn to tilling the fields. In this way the transforming teaching of the Three Sovereigns can be carried out.

The Heavenly Herdsman

An extravagant person uses three years’ income for only a single year’s expenses; a frugal person, with one year’s income, can sustain three years of expenses. Even the most extravagant person often cannot make ends meet, while even the most frugal person still has something left over. The extravagant person, though wealthy, feels it is not enough; the frugal person, though poor, feels there is a surplus. The extravagant person’s heart always feels impoverished; the frugal person’s heart always feels abundant.

The extravagant person likes to draw close to others and therefore easily invites fault; the frugal person knows how to keep a distance from others and therefore meets with fewer calamities. When an extravagant person serves a ruler, he is bound to suffer humiliation; only when a frugal person serves a ruler can he preserve his stipend. The extravagant person has many worries; the frugal person has much good fortune. One who can maintain frugality to the end can become the sovereign who governs all under Heaven.

The Carved Cage

Hang a carved cage high and feed the yellow sparrow with fine grain, and the yellow sparrow will never be happy. Restrain the people with rites and music and instruct them through rewards and punishments, and the people will never find peace thereby. The human heart need not be forcibly settled, yet it can come to rest of itself; the Great Dao (the Way) need not be deliberately clung to, yet it can be maintained of itself; the people need not be forcibly instructed, yet they can change of themselves.

Therefore, if palaces and towers are built with frugality, the people can spare their labor; if treasures and wealth are used with frugality, the people can retain their property; if wars are seldom launched, the people can have more time for productive work. Not forcibly giving things away is, on the contrary, like having given them; not taking from the people is, on the contrary, like having gained something. When Haibo (the god of the sea) loses his fish, the fish have not left the sea; when the ruler loses his horses, the horses have not left the borders of the state.

Essentials of Ritual

Ritual is established by the ruler, yet the ruler himself does not understand its root. If the ruler can be frugal with wealth, the people will have surplus property; if he is frugal in warfare and campaigns, the people will have surplus leisure. Not forcibly giving is, on the contrary, like having given; not taking from the people is, on the contrary, like having gained something. When Haibo loses his fish, the fish have not left the sea; when the ruler loses his horses, the horses have not left the borders of the state.

Although systems of ritual are established by the ruler, the ruler may not truly understand the principles of ritual. Affairs of state are entrusted to offices at every rank, yet the officials may not clearly grasp the purpose behind them. Confucian scholars live among the mountains and forests, respect their teachers and friends, study the principles of things and delight in teaching, and they also distinguish what is fundamental from what is secondary. Yet the moment they see lavishly decorated carriages, or hear the music of bells, drums, and the Shao pipes, they grow flustered and their faces light up with pleasure—startled like deer, gleeful like pigs, as if drunk or drowning. They forget the root of ritual and do not understand its true aim.

Call a bow an “arc,” and the common people will not understand; call a single horse “a team of four,” and they will find it hard to believe. When the number of things is too great, confusion arises easily; when the number is smaller, disorder is less likely. When ritual institutions are too grand and elaborate, they bewilder people; when they are simpler, they are less apt to mislead. Only by taking frugality as one’s teacher can one grasp the essentials of ritual.

Clarity and Stillness

Those given to extravagance delight in restlessness; those who practice frugality delight in quiet. The extravagant love to seek what is difficult; the frugal love to seek what is easy. The extravagant prefer complexity; the frugal prefer simplicity. The extravagant crave pleasure; the frugal rest content in tranquil plainness.

Some use a single vessel all their lives without ever breaking it; some use one fur robe for ten years without wearing it out. Such people can draw close to the common people, can manage grain and cloth, can take charge of tallies and seals, and can also come to understand the Dao (the Way) of clarity and stillness. The tallies and seals spoken of here were credentials used by ancient government offices to indicate status, transmit commands, and confirm authority.

Increase and Decrease

If benevolence knows nothing of frugality, unbenevolent conduct will appear. If the practice of righteousness knows nothing of frugality, unrighteous deeds may be done. If one speaks of ritual without knowing frugality, one will lapse into what fails to accord with ritual. If wisdom is employed without knowing frugality, it will show itself as folly. If trustworthiness is kept without knowing frugality, it too will become untrustworthy. Frugality, therefore, is the root of the five constant virtues—benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—while the five constants are the outward expression of frugality.

Ritual is the principle of increase and expansion; frugality is the principle of decrease and restraint. Knowing how to keep increase within bounds is the true key to increase; knowing how to decrease in due measure allows decrease itself to bring benefit. When ritual goes too far, it slides into indulgence; when frugality goes too far, it appears excessively crude and plain. From ancient times to the present, no state has ever perished because of frugality.

Dispelling Doubt

The humble are respected; the frugal are cherished. If a person is compelled to be humble, he may not truly be humble; if a person is compelled to be frugal, he may not truly be frugal. When the ruler himself is humble, the people naturally follow in humility; when the ruler himself is frugal, the people naturally become frugal as well. What matters lies in the ruler himself, not in others; authority rests in the ruler’s hands, not in the hands of the people. Those who corrupt custom are precisely those who refuse to practice frugality.

Those who are humble win respect, and those who are frugal are cherished by others. If one forces others to be humble and frugal, they will on the contrary be unable to do so. When one is humble oneself, the people naturally follow in humility; when one is frugal oneself, the people likewise naturally follow in frugality.

The key lies here and nowhere else: the guiding role rests in the hands of the ruler, not with the people. Those who act contrary to this principle fall into confusion, and so these words have been set down expressly by way of explanation.