《尹文子》

The Yinwenzi consists of one volume and is attributed to Yin Wen of the Zhou dynasty. A preface at the beginning of the book bears the name of Zhongchang of Shanyang, from the end of the Huangchu era of the Wei dynasty. The preface says that the text was arranged and divided into two parts, upper and lower. The Wenxian Tongkao records it as two volumes. This edition is also titled “The Great Dao, Upper Part” and “The Great Dao, Lower Part,” in keeping with the preface. The two parts were later combined into one volume, probably by editors in a later age.

The “All Under Heaven” chapter of the Zhuangzi mentions Yin Wen alongside Tian Pian. Yan Shigu, in his commentary on the Book of Han, considered Yin Wen a contemporary of King Xuan of Qi, perhaps based on the account in Liu Xiang’s Shuoyuan of an exchange between Yin Wen and the king. The Lüshi Chunqiu, however, also records Yin Wen speaking with King Min of Qi. Yin Wen was therefore probably active by the time of King Xuan and still alive during King Min’s reign.

The Yinwenzi originally belonged to the School of Names and focuses mainly on the art of governing. It advocates that rulers keep their minds still and empty while examining each matter in turn and verifying the facts. Its ideas therefore show the influence of Huang-Lao thought, as well as the teachings of Shen Buhai and Han Fei. Zhou, in his Shebi, wrote that Yin Wen moves from the Dao to names, and from names to laws. This broadly captures the thread of his thought.

In the Junjai Reading Notes, Chao Gongwu argued that Yin Wen’s teachings followed Confucius. This claim goes too far, and was rightly criticized by Gao Sisun in his Weilüe. Yet Gao’s own judgment is also questionable: he assessed the book by Confucian standards and faulted it for mixing the ideas of Laozi, Shen Buhai, and Han Fei. The various philosophical schools each developed their own positions and had their own strengths. When reading the Yinwenzi, it is enough to appreciate its breadth of learning and wide-ranging argument; it should not be confined to a single standard.

The “Xibo” mentioned in the preface was probably Miao Xi’s courtesy name. The identity of “Zhongchang of Shanyang,” however, remains uncertain. Li Xianchen believed he was Zhongchang Tong, but Zhongchang Tong died in the final years of the Jian’an era, which does not accord with the preface’s reference to the end of the Huangchu era. Chao Gongwu therefore suspected that the historical records were mistaken, but this inference is somewhat strained.

The Yin Wenzi probably originated with the Yin clan of the Zhou dynasty. During the reign of King Xuan of Qi, Yin Wen lived in the Jixia Academy in Linzi, the capital of Qi. Along with Song Xing, Peng Meng, and Tian Pian, he studied under Gongsun Long, who praised him. He wrote a work covering many different subjects.

The Zhuangzi says that Yin Wen was not entangled by external things, did not treat others carelessly, and did not resent the crowd. He hoped that the world would be at peace and that the people could preserve their lives. Each person, himself included, should receive what sustains them; once content with that, they should seek no more. Through these principles he expressed his own resolve: even when insulted, he did not regard it as shameful. This was his teaching.

Liu Xiang believed that Yin Wen’s thought had its roots in Huang-Lao learning and belonged broadly to the School of Forms and Names, which emphasized social distinctions, the relationship between names and realities, and techniques of governance. In recent times, however, it seems inaccurate to classify him as belonging to that school.

When I first arrived in the capital, near the end of the Huangchu era, Miao Xibo showed me this book. I found many omissions and errors in it, so I tried to organize its sections and correct its wording, arranging it into two parts, upper and lower. Even so, I could not fully clarify every point. Written by Zhongchang of Shanyang.

The Great Dao, Part One

The Great Dao (the Way), the fundamental order, originally has no specific shape or name. Only when things take on specific shapes do corresponding names arise. A name serves to identify a thing’s shape accurately. A name is correct only when it matches the shape. That is why Confucius said, “We must first set the names right.” When names are inaccurate, speech becomes incoherent.

The Great Dao itself has no name, yet each of the myriad things has its own name. The myriad things come into being while the Dao remains nameless, and so each thing naturally takes on forms such as round or square. Names then arise from these forms, allowing each thing to be properly identified. When governance follows the Dao, the doctrines of the School of Names, the Legalists, the Confucians, and the Mohists will fade away on their own. But if governance relies on these doctrines, it cannot depart from the Dao. Laozi said, “The Dao is the hidden foundation of the myriad things, a treasure to the good, and something cherished even by those who are not good.” Those who govern by the Dao are called good; those who govern by relying on the School of Names, the Legalists, the Confucians, and the Mohists are called not good. The difference between good and not good grows clearer over time and can be seen without close scrutiny.

When the Dao is insufficient for governing, use laws. When laws are insufficient, use techniques—the methods and means of governance. When techniques are insufficient, use expedient measures. When these are insufficient, rely on power and authority. Once power and authority have taken effect, governance returns to expedient measures; from there it returns to techniques, then to laws, and from laws back to the Dao. When the Dao takes effect, there is no need for deliberate intervention, and everything governs itself. Thus, when things reach their end, they seek their origin; in seeking their origin, they return to their beginning. Beginning and end follow one another in a cycle without end.

Everything with a physical form has a name, but something with a name does not necessarily have a physical form. Even if something has form but no name, it does not necessarily lack its actual qualities, such as being square or round, white or black. Names must be examined because they can be used to test distinctions. We can therefore compare a name with a form, establish a name from a form, determine a matter through its name, and then use the matter to test the name. By examining why things are as they are, nothing about the relationships among forms, names, matters, and things remains hidden.

Names fall into three categories, and methods of judging things into four. The first category consists of names that designate things, such as “square,” “round,” “white,” and “black.” The second consists of names that express praise or blame, such as “good,” “bad,” “noble,” and “base.”

The third category names things according to their circumstances, such as the worthy and the foolish, love and hatred.

The first category consists of constant, unchanging principles, such as the distinction between ruler and minister and the difference between higher and lower ranks. The second consists of principles that coordinate social customs, such as distinguishing degrees of ability and clarifying similarities and differences. The third consists of principles for governing the people, such as rewarding achievements and punishing offenses. The fourth consists of principles for fair measurement, such as laws and regulations, systems of measure, weights and balances, and standards of capacity.

“Technique” refers to the ruler’s secret methods of political maneuvering, which ministers must not pry into at will. “Authority” is the force used to enforce laws, which ministers must not wield on their own. If the ruler has political techniques but lets ministers see their workings, or holds authority but lets ministers exercise equal power, then technique and authority lose their purpose. The key is to define each person’s role first, so that no one oversteps their bounds or confuses them with others. In this way, the ruler can keep political techniques concealed and authority exclusively in their own hands.

“Name” is the term used for a thing’s form and characteristics; “form” is the actual state of affairs corresponding to that name. But the actual state of affairs is not itself the name, and the name is not the actual state of affairs. Name and form are therefore clearly distinct: they must not be confused, and neither can be dispensed with. Before things have names, the Dao cannot be spoken of. Once they have names, those names can be used to verify their actual state. Since all things now exist, failing to distinguish them by name would lead to disorder. And since all kinds of names have been established, failing to confirm them against their corresponding actual states would lead to error. Names and forms must therefore be properly distinguished.

Names of goodness refer to what is good, and names of evil to what is evil. Thus goodness has its name, and evil has its name. “Sage,” “worthy,” “benevolent,” and “wise” are words that praise goodness; “stubborn,” “wicked,” “violent,” and “foolish” refer to evil. Yet when we seek people who match the names “sage,” “worthy,” “benevolent,” and “wise,” they often do not fit them entirely; nor do people we identify by the names “stubborn,” “wicked,” “violent,” and “foolish” always fit them entirely. As long as the boundary between good and evil remains clear, there is no need to fear serious errors of judgment, even if we cannot know the true circumstances of every person.

Therefore, the names of things must be clearly distinguished. Names serve to distinguish one thing from another and to verify what is real and what is false. Throughout history, people have gained by clarifying names and made mistakes by confusing them. Mistakes arise when distinctions between names are muddled; gains come when those distinctions are clear.

Today, people draw near to the worthy and distance themselves from the unworthy, reward good conduct, and punish evil conduct. The names “worthy,” “unworthy,” “good,” and “evil” describe the other person; the terms “draw near,” “distance,” “reward,” and “punish” describe the attitudes we take toward them. To confuse another person’s conduct with our own attitude toward that person, without distinguishing between them, is to muddle the distinctions between names. Names, then, must be examined carefully.

People often speak of a “good ox.” “Good” is a general term that can apply to many things, while “ox” names a specific kind of thing. A general term like “good” can be applied in turn to particular things: “good horse” applies it to a horse, and “good person” applies it to a person. Clearly, “good” cannot itself take the place of the specific names “ox,” “horse,” or “person.” The meanings of “good” and “ox,” “good” and “horse,” and “good” and “person” must each be kept distinct. Names and categories must not be confused with one another.

The five colors, five tones, five smells, and five flavors exist naturally between Heaven and Earth; they did not arise for human use. Although people encounter and use them throughout their lives, and each person has likes and dislikes, they often fail to distinguish the names of things from their own personal preferences. The names of things belong to the things themselves; whether I like them or not belongs to me.

I like white and dislike black, enjoy the Shang tone and reject the Zhi tone, like the muttony smell and dislike the scorched smell, and enjoy sweetness while rejecting bitterness. White and black, Shang and Zhi, muttony and scorched, sweet and bitter are names for qualities of the things themselves. Liking and disliking, enjoying and rejecting, preferring and turning away are my personal distinctions. Once names are separated from personal likes and dislikes, nothing will be confused.

People use a ruler to judge length and a measure to assess quantity. In the same way, they should distinguish the names of things from their own likes and dislikes.

When the names and standards for all things are established, affairs will not fall into disorder. People therefore use measures to determine length, quantities to gauge amount, balances to weigh heaviness, and pitch standards to calibrate the height and clarity of sounds. They use names to check whether things are genuine or false, laws and regulations to determine whether governance is proper, simple methods to deal with complexity and confusion, and easy-to-apply measures to handle danger and difficulty. In this way, all affairs are brought under a single principle, and every institution takes the law as its standard. Bringing all affairs under one principle is the ultimate simplification of reason; bringing institutions into accord with the law makes governance as easy to carry out as possible. Then even the foolish and dull-witted, the deaf and blind, can see things clearly, understand them fully, and take part in governing alongside everyone else.

The affairs of the world cannot all be mastered by one person. Expecting someone to possess every ability would be difficult even for the worthy and the sage. Suppose there really were a person capable of handling every affair in the world and adapting to differing needs on the left and right, before and behind, near and far, urgent and unhurried. There would still be something they failed to attend to. And once anything is overlooked, errors in governance follow.

The way to govern thoroughly, without omissions, is to ensure that matters of every size and number are suited to their needs, and that farmers, merchants, artisans, and officials each remain in their own occupations. Experienced farmers, capable merchants, skilled artisans, and seasoned scholars can each make full use of their abilities. What, then, must the ruler in the highest position personally take on?

Therefore, the gentleman does not speak of principles that do not benefit governance, and does not practice abilities that do not help get things done. He does not speak because he enjoys talking; he speaks only when his words benefit governance and he has no choice but to do so. Nor does he act because he enjoys doing things; he acts only when his actions benefit affairs. Thus, his words do not go beyond names, laws, measures, and methods of governance; his actions do not go beyond practical duties such as farming and military affairs. He seeks only to handle thoroughly the matters within his responsibility.

Thus, the enlightened ruler does not discuss principles unrelated to governance, while petty people are always boasting of abilities unrelated to practical affairs. Petty people know that empty talk harms governance, yet cannot stop themselves from speaking; they know that showing off their abilities obstructs the work, yet cannot stop themselves from doing so. And so, what they discuss…

Those who become absorbed in Confucian and Mohist disputes over right and wrong will ultimately grow stubborn and hypocritical, extreme and combative. They seek nothing but fame, so wise rulers punish them. An old saying goes: “Not knowing a particular matter does not hinder a gentleman; knowing it does not harm a petty person. A craftsman’s lack of knowledge about certain principles does not prevent him from being highly skilled; a gentleman’s lack of knowledge about certain matters does not prevent him from governing well.” These words are indeed sound.

Doing good in a way that others cannot follow is a goodness confined to one person. Being so skilled that others cannot learn is a skill confined to one person. The highest goodness and the finest skill lie in understanding what goodness and skill mean, then enabling everyone to do good and master the craft together. In governing the world, the sage values governing alongside the people, not ruling alone. The craft of Gongchui, the legendary master artisan, is valuable because he could help everyone master it, not because he alone was skilled.

Some people today always want to claim the credit for being virtuous, to make it seem that they alone can handle affairs, to outdo everyone in argument, and to surpass all others in valor. A lone display of virtue cannot advance moral teaching; relying on one person cannot manage every kind of affair; eloquence that rises above the crowd cannot persuade everyone from household to household; and valor greater than everyone else’s cannot serve in battle fought together. These four practices are all sources of disorder.

Therefore, the sage follows the Dao to smooth out obstacles and establishes laws to regulate differences, so that neither the wise nor the foolish are cast aside, and neither the capable nor the less capable are forgotten. When people of different abilities can all put their strengths to use, they can achieve things together. When people of different levels of understanding can all take part in deliberation, they can plan together. This is the way to bring about great order.

Once social roles are established, things no longer compete with one another. Once responsibilities are clearly divided, private desires no longer run wild. Things do not compete, not because people have no thoughts, but because their roles are settled and their thoughts have no room to act. Private desires do not run unchecked, not because people have no desires, but because responsibilities are clearly divided and desire has no opening to cause disorder. Everyone naturally has thoughts and desires, yet they can appear to have neither because proper institutions keep them in check.

Tian Pian, a thinker of the Warring States period, said: “Among the scholars under Heaven, none is willing to stay at home and have his wife and children serve him as subjects. They are bound to seek office at the courts of the feudal lords, because the prospect of gain draws them there.” As for persuading the feudal lords…

In this way, one can reach the same state as those who are free of thought and desire.

Tian Pian said, “Among the scholars of the realm, none wishes to stay in his hometown and serve his wife and children. They must seek office under the feudal lords because profit lures them. Those who serve at a lord’s court all hope to become ministers and grandees, yet none plans to replace the lord. This is because formal ranks constrain their ambitions.”

Peng Meng said, “In the wild, pheasants and rabbits are pursued by everyone because no one’s claim to them has yet been settled. In the marketplace, chickens and pigs are packed together, yet no one covets them, because their ownership has already been settled. When goods are too abundant, they set the benevolent and the wise against one another in competition. Once formal ranks are established, even the greedy and base stop fighting over them.

“Round things roll—not because they intend to, but because they cannot help it. Square things stay still—not because they intend to, but because they cannot help it. Follow the natural tendency of round things to roll, so they cannot stop; follow the natural tendency of square things to remain still, so they cannot turn. If we do this, why worry that things will lose their proper bounds?

“Follow the useful qualities of the worthy, so they cannot help being appointed; follow the useless qualities of the foolish, so they cannot be appointed. Whether someone is appointed is not forced by me. Instead, I let each person’s qualities determine whether they should be appointed. Then I can act naturally. Why, then, worry that things will fall into disorder?

“Things cannot make themselves what they are, nor can they know themselves. The clever do not become clever by their own doing, and the foolish do not become foolish by their own doing. The same is true of beauty and ugliness. Since no one can make or know themselves, what is there to prize in cleverness and beauty, or to despise in foolishness and ugliness? The clever cannot boast of being superior to the foolish, nor can the beautiful mock the ugly. This is how to grasp the patterns that govern things.

“When the Dao—the principle of following things’ inherent natures and proper bounds—is put into practice in the world, the poor and lowly do not resent others, the rich and noble do not act arrogantly, the foolish and weak do not live in fear, and the wise and brave do not bully others, because everyone’s proper place is settled. When laws and commands are put into practice in the world, the poor and lowly dare not resent the rich and noble, and the rich and noble dare not bully the poor and lowly. The foolish and weak dare not presume they can become wise and brave, and the wise and brave dare not look down on the foolish and weak. From this we can see that laws and commands are less comprehensive than the principles of the Dao.

“What the people of the world regard as precious is what they all agree to regard as precious. This is called the customs of the world.”

What people use in common is called “things.” If someone acts contrary to the habits of the majority, society will not accept him; if he goes against the public, people will unite to reject him. What people collectively value becomes the fashion of the age.

People’s inner lives differ, yet their behavior often converges. Their preferences vary, yet they often rely on and use the same things. This is the result of social customs making people alike, and also the way external things are used to adorn the self. For this reason, the customs that guide people toward conformity must be handled with care, and the ways in which external things are used and displayed must be chosen with discernment.

In the past, Duke Huan of Qi liked wearing purple, and it became difficult to find cloth of any other color throughout Qi. King Zhuang of Chu admired slender waists, so people across Chu began restricting their food until everyone in the state looked hungry. The conduct of those in high positions influences their subordinates; this is one reason a state is well governed or thrown into disorder. Thus, when customs stray from the proper way, they should be corrected through governance; when material consumption becomes excessive, it should be restrained through regulations. Those who are led about by social custom and concern themselves only with adorning external things cannot be entrusted with governing a state.

In the past, extravagance prevailed in Jin, so Duke Wen of Jin used frugality to correct the trend. He wore no layers of silk clothing and paid little attention to the kinds of meat served at meals. Before long, the people were wearing coarse cloth and eating plain rice.

King Goujian of Yue planned to avenge himself on Wu and wanted his people to be brave in battle. Once, he encountered an angry frog and bowed to it from his carriage, hoping to inspire the people to fight bravely. Several years later, people of every age faced the enemy without retreating, even when it was like walking into boiling water or fire. These examples show how difficult it is for those in high positions to guide the people.

A wise ruler understands how easily people’s hearts are influenced. He therefore creates music to harmonize their hearts and establishes rites to regulate their conduct. Those below cannot simply act on their private desires, and so rites and music take effect. Once they have taken effect, private desires gradually subside. When private desires have subsided, the people can maintain a relatively stable order whether they encounter a wise ruler or a foolish one.

If good governance is possible under a worthy ruler but disorder follows under a foolish one, then order and disorder depend on whether the ruler is wise, rather than on rites and music. In that case, the Sages’ methods of governing would disappear when wise rulers passed away, and the institutions for governing the world would go unused after dynasties changed. The result would be more disorder and less stability. When disorder is common and stability rare, there is little chance for the worth of capable and virtuous people to become apparent.

There is no particular reason to despise even the ignorant. A person may hold a prominent position yet be mediocre in talent and virtue, foolish and base, and others may still not shun him. Whom people draw near to and whom they avoid depends on power and profit, not on whether someone is foolish and inferior or benevolent, virtuous, and wise. I would not dare call this the order of Heaven; I believe only that it arises naturally from the circumstances of the world.

Among people in the world today, those of mediocre talent and virtue are indeed many, while the benevolent, virtuous, and wise are indeed few. The desire to pursue profit is more widespread among mediocre people; integrity and a sense of shame are more common among the benevolent and worthy. If you use ritual and righteousness to attract the benevolent and worthy, you will scarcely find one among ten thousand; if you use reputation and profit to attract the mediocre, they will come from everywhere. Thus ritual and righteousness can make a gentleman, though a gentleman need not be made by ritual and righteousness; fame and profit can govern petty people, though petty people cannot do without them.

Rewards and punishments are the ruler’s responsibility; faithfully observing one’s duties and doing one’s utmost are the minister’s. The ruler reviews achievements and decides promotions and demotions, and therefore wields rewards and punishments. Ministers, each carefully carrying out the tasks within their own remit, must fulfill their duties and apply their abilities. The ruler must not interfere in the ministers’ responsibilities, nor may ministers usurp the ruler’s authority. When those above and below do not encroach upon one another, the proper distinctions of office are maintained; when those distinctions are maintained, the laws and institutions can function smoothly.

To order the myriad things so that each has its own distinction; to govern the realm so that things are not confused; to suffer insult without feeling shame, and to be recommended by others without boasting; to suppress disorder, end warfare, and resolve conflict in the world—these are the qualities of a benevolent and virtuous ruler. Whoever possesses them may serve as ruler. To keep to one’s duties so that affairs do not fall into disorder; to carry out entrusted tasks carefully and without favoritism; to remain steadfast in purpose through both hunger and plenty; to judge fairly in the face of both slander and praise; to receive rewards without forgetting one’s origins, and punishments without resentment—these are the principles that those in subordinate positions should uphold, and they can serve as a standard for ministers.

Some people gain material advantage through their reputation; others lose material advantage because of it. King Xuan of Qi enjoyed archery and liked to hear people say that he could draw a powerful bow. In fact, the bow he used had a draw weight of only three shi, a unit for measuring a bow’s strength. He showed it to the attendants around him, who each took turns drawing and testing it.

After it had caught at the middle of the bow, it stopped there. Everyone said, “The strength of this bow is no less than nine shi” (a shi was an ancient unit for measuring the force of a bow). “Who but the king could draw such a bow?” King Xuan of Qi was delighted to hear this. In fact, the bow he used was only three shi in strength, but he spent his whole life believing he could draw one of nine shi. Three shi was the reality; nine shi was only a reputation. The king liked this empty reputation and, as a result, did not know the truth.

There was a man in Qi named Huang Gong who liked to be modest and keep a low profile. He had two daughters, both of them outstandingly beautiful. Yet he often modestly put them down, saying they were ugly. Their reputation for ugliness spread far and wide. They passed the age for marriage, but no one in the whole country came to seek their hand. Later, a widower from Wei (a man whose wife had died) boldly married one of them, only to discover that she was indeed exceptionally beautiful. When people heard that Huang Gong was always modest, they assumed he had deliberately made his daughters sound unattractive, and so they rushed to offer gifts and seek their hand in marriage. The women’s beauty was the reality; “ugliness” was only a reputation. Here, reputation and fact were at odds, but in the end the truth came to light.

A man from Chu was traveling with a pheasant slung over his shoulder. A passerby asked what kind of bird he was carrying. The man lied: “It’s a phoenix.” The passerby said, “I’ve heard of the phoenix, and at last I’ve seen one with my own eyes. Will you sell it?” The man replied, “Yes—for ten jin.” The passerby thought it too expensive and asked him to double the price. He then bought the bird, intending to present it to the king of Chu. After one night, the bird died. The passerby did not regret the money he had spent; he regretted only that he had not been able to present the phoenix to the king. When people in Chu heard about it, they all believed it had really been a phoenix, and many offered high prices to buy one and present it to the king. In time, the story reached the king himself. Moved by the man’s wholehearted wish to offer him a phoenix, the king summoned him and gave him a reward ten times greater than the price he had paid for the bird.

A farmer in Wei was working in his field when he found a precious jade disc a foot in diameter, though he did not know it was jade. He told his neighbor. The neighbor secretly wanted to keep the jade for himself, so he deceived the farmer, saying, “That’s a strange stone. Keeping it will bring bad luck to your household. You’d be better off throwing it away.” Though doubtful, the farmer still took the jade home and placed it under the eaves. That night, it gave off a bright light, illuminating the whole house. The farmer and his family were terrified.

He then told a neighbor about the matter, saying, “This is an ill omen. Quickly throw the jade away; perhaps the disaster can be averted.” So he immediately cast it far away into the wilderness. Before long, the neighbor stole the jade and presented it to the King of Wei.

The king summoned a jade worker, an artisan who appraised jade, to examine it. At the sight of the jade, the artisan bowed twice. Then he rose and offered his respectful congratulations: “Your Majesty has obtained a treasure unequaled under Heaven. I have never seen jade like this.” The king asked how much it was worth. The artisan replied, “This jade cannot be priced. Even if five cities were offered in exchange, that would buy someone only a single look at it.” The king at once rewarded the person who had presented the jade with a thousand pieces of gold and granted him the stipend of a senior grandee for life.

In all things under Heaven, there are right and wrong; I would not dare make an unfounded claim about this. What is right is, in the end, right, and what is wrong is, in the end, wrong. This, too, is what I believe. Yet even what is right may sometimes go unadopted, while what is wrong may sometimes have to be carried out. Thus, adopting the right course may bring loss, while following the wrong course may bring gain. The principles of right and wrong do not change for this reason, but circumstances rise and fall and turn repeatedly. If we judge only by outcomes and treat right and wrong as things to use for our own ends, where, then, do right and wrong lie?

Consider the achievements of Yao, Shun, Tang of Shang, and King Wu of Zhou: some acted in keeping with the usual order, others took an unconventional course. When the time was right, they prospered. Jie of Xia, Zhou of Shang, King You of Zhou, and King Li of Zhou failed: some of what they did seemed to accord with the usual order, while some seemed not to. They lost their kingdoms because they missed the moment. The rulers of the Five Hegemons in the Spring and Autumn period were the same.

Duke Xiang of Song fought Chu at the River Hong. Prince Muyi said, “The Chu army is larger than ours. Let us attack while they have not yet all crossed the river.” Duke Xiang replied, “No. I have heard that one should not begin a battle before the enemy has formed its ranks. Though I am descended from a fallen house, I would not dare do such a thing.” As a result, the Song army was defeated, and Duke Xiang was captured by the people of Chu.

The people of Qi killed Duke Xiang of Qi and installed Gongsun Wuzhi as ruler. Shao Hu and Guan Zhong accompanied Prince Jiu in fleeing to Lu; Bao Shuya accompanied Prince Xiaobai in fleeing to Ju. Before long, Gongsun Wuzhi was killed, and the two princes contended for the throne. Prince Jiu had the stronger claim to succeed, but in the end he was defeated. Prince Xiaobai returned to Qi first, so the people of Qi enthroned him.

Later, Qi sent men from Lu to kill Prince Jiu, and Shao Hu died for him. Qi then recalled Yiwu and made him chief minister. Duke Wen of Jin fled after Li Ji slandered him, spending nineteen years in exile. After Duke Hui died, he bribed Qin to help him return, killed the son of Duke Huai, and took the throne himself.

Of these three, one ruler acted uprightly yet was still taken prisoner; the other two acted improperly yet went on to achieve hegemony. If someone believes himself right while everyone under Heaven believes him wrong, he cannot know whether he is truly right. If someone believes himself wrong while everyone under Heaven believes him right, he likewise cannot know where he has truly gone wrong. It follows that right and wrong are often determined by the judgments of the many, and are not something an individual can settle alone. Thus, whoever goes against the many is deemed wrong, and whoever follows them is deemed right.

Therefore, when a ruler holds power and commands the situation, occupying the position that the many recognize as right, no one dares criticize him. When he sits, the people honor him; when he acts, they follow him; when he speaks, they believe him; when he governs, they take him as their standard. This is why he can stand above the people and direct his ministers.

There are three ways a state falls into disorder. When the harvest fails, the people scatter; if there is no grain to gather them, the state falls into disorder. When a state is governed without laws and standards, it falls into disorder; and when laws and standards exist but cannot be enforced, it falls into disorder as well. There has never been a case in which a state could not be governed despite having grain to gather the people and laws and standards that it could put into effect.

Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, music, names, law, punishments, and rewards are the eight means by which the Five Emperors and Three Kings governed the world. Benevolence guides people; righteousness makes conduct proper; ritual regulates actions; music harmonizes feelings; names rectifies status and distinctions; law standardizes rules; punishments deter; and rewards encourage.

Benevolence can extend generous kindness, but it can also lead to favoritism and private attachments. Righteousness can establish integrity, but it can also encourage empty pretence and deceit. Ritual can make people respectful and cautious, but it can also make them lax and disrespectful. Music can harmonize feelings, but it can also lead people to indulge without restraint. Names can clarify distinctions between high and low, but they can also provoke arrogance and usurpation. Law can standardize different rules of conduct, but it can also throw social distinctions into confusion. Punishments can deter the disobedient, but they can also give rise to abuse and violence. Rewards can encourage loyalty and ability, but they can also provoke base competition.

These eight means of governance are openly present in the world. They did not appear only in the times of Yao and King Tang of Shang, nor were they absent from the eras of Jie and Zhou. When applied well, the world is at peace; when applied poorly, it falls into disorder. Even if one speaks of principles that encompass Heaven and Earth and contain all things, those that do not pertain to the way of governing are not essential to people’s lives. For this reason, the sages set them aside and did not discuss them.

There are six signs of a state’s survival or decline: a declining state, a doomed state, a flourishing state, a powerful state, a well-governed state, and a disordered state. The disordered and doomed states mentioned here do not refer to cases of cruelty and brutality; the powerful and well-governed states do not refer to rule based on force or benevolence and righteousness.

When the ruler is old, has many concubines but few descendants, and keeps his clan at a distance, these are signs that the state is declining. When the ruler trusts and favors his ministers, and the ministers in turn are devoted to him, yet public law falls into disuse and private desires prevail, these are signs that the state is disordered. When the state is poor, weak, and small, while the houses of the powerful are wealthy and vast…

When the ruler’s authority is weak and his ministers’ influence is strong, this is a sign that the state is headed for ruin. When these three signs appear, there is no need to wait until the ruler becomes cruel and tyrannical before the state begins to decline. Even if it still exists in name, I would certainly consider it on the brink of destruction.

A state prospers when no one in the palace enjoys exclusive favor, no private confidants of the ruler hold sway outside the court, and the many members of the royal house observe the proper order of seniority. A state is powerful when farming and sericulture follow the seasons, granaries are full, weapons and armor are strong and sharp, and border defenses are well maintained. When those above do not overreach those below, and those below do not offend those above, neither side transgresses its proper bounds. Prohibitions can then be enforced, and no one acts from private motives. Even amid hardship and danger, as long as farming and sericulture follow the seasons, granaries are full, weapons and armor are strong and sharp, border defenses are well maintained, people above and below keep to their proper roles, prohibitions are enforced, and no one acts selfishly, the state will suffer no harm. Such a state is well governed.

A state need not wait for its ruler to rely on coercive power or to practice benevolence and righteousness before it can become strong. Even if it appears weak, I would certainly consider it capable of survival.

When a ruler skilled at governing establishes himself, he must first eliminate a certain kind of threat. “Eliminate” here does not mean suppressing thieves or wicked people. Such wrongdoing is a great but temporary harm; it is not the root cause of political disorder. The root cause is ministers usurping the ruler’s authority and officials wielding the ruler’s statecraft for themselves. They feel no fear of the prohibitions in force and do not abide by the laws of the day. This is the path that leads to great disorder.

When Confucius served as acting chief minister of Lu, he executed Shaozheng Mao after just seven days. His disciples approached him and asked, “Shaozheng Mao was a prominent figure in Lu. Was it not wrong for you to execute him as soon as you took office?” Confucius replied, “Sit down, and I will tell you why. There are five kinds of wickedness in people, apart from thievery, depravity, and selfishness: first, they are perceptive yet devious; second, their conduct is perverse yet stubborn; third, their words are false yet they are skilled at argument; fourth, they have strong memories and extensive knowledge; fifth, they embellish mistaken views and make them seem convincing. A gentleman will not let anyone who possesses even one of these traits go unchallenged. Shaozheng Mao possessed all five. Wherever he lived, he could gather disciples and form a faction; in debate, he could disguise heretical doctrines and mislead the people; with his broad knowledge, he could distort right and wrong and set himself apart. Such a person is a leader among petty men…”

A person’s residence can become a gathering place for followers and a base for forming a faction. Their speech can dress up heretical doctrines and mislead the crowd. Their memory is strong enough to turn right and wrong upside down, yet they still regard themselves as independent and unaligned. Such a person is an outstandingly forceful sort among petty men and must be put to death. Thus Tang of Shang killed Yin Xie, King Wen of Zhou killed Pan Zheng, Jiang Taigong killed Hua Shi, Guan Zhong killed Fu Liyi, and Zichan killed Deng Xi and Shi Fu. Though these six lived in different times, they shared the same intentions, and each had to be put to death. The Book of Odes says, “My heart is burdened with grief; I resent those petty men.” When petty men form a faction, they are indeed fearsome.

There is a saying: “Those skilled in flattery and argument can even mislead ghosts and spirits.” Someone objects, “Ghosts and spirits are wise and upright. Who could mislead them?” The reply is: “Ghosts and spirits indeed cannot be misled, but the saying reveals just how cunning flatterers and clever talkers are: there is nothing they cannot make its way into a person’s heart.” Though such people cannot mislead ghosts and spirits, they can plainly mislead human beings. They probe others’ thoughts and gauge their desires, accommodating their preferences and never daring to oppose them. They lead people toward wickedness, then profit from it. Everyone likes hearing praise, so these people are skilled at proclaiming others’ good qualities. No one likes hearing criticism, so they are skilled at concealing others’ faults. They read people’s expressions and seize the moment to accommodate them before they speak or act.

There is a saying: “We loathe purple for taking the place of vermilion, and we loathe clever, glib speech for ruining the state.” These words should be enough to make people vigilant. Yet they remain unaware throughout their lives, and calamities and ruin follow one after another.

Laozi says, “Govern the state by the regular way, wage war by the unorthodox, and gain the world through Wuwei (non-action).” Here, “governance” refers to names and standards, and laws. When a state is governed through names, standards, and laws, the myriad affairs cannot throw it into disorder. “Unorthodox” refers to expedient stratagems. When armies are directed through strategic cunning, the many forces arrayed against them are hard to withstand. If one can apply names, standards, laws, and stratagems to correct and restrain violent impulses, one can then govern through Wuwei. And if one can govern through Wuwei, one can gain the world. Thus, when governance fails, one relies on laws; when laws fail, one relies on military force. In the end, all are means to achieving governance through Wuwei. But if one relies only on names, standards, laws, and stratagems, without correcting and restraining violent impulses, one cannot truly govern through Wuwei and therefore cannot gain the world.

When political rule loses its order, it can rely only on laws and decrees. When laws and decrees lose their force, it can rely only on military power. This is done to keep society peaceful and free of trouble, not to flaunt strength. If one pursues toughness without restraint, the weak may instead overcome the strong.

Laozi said, “If the people do not fear death, how can they be threatened with it?” The people do not fear death because the punishments are too severe. When punishments are excessive, people feel they have nothing to rely on in life. If life holds no hope, they will not take the ruler’s authority seriously. Only when punishments are appropriate will people fear death; they fear it because they feel life is worth cherishing. Only when they know life is precious can the death penalty serve as a warning. This is a principle rulers should understand and one their ministers should handle with care.

While Tianzi was reading, he said, “In the time of Yao, all under Heaven was at peace.” Songzi asked, “Was this the state of affairs achieved by a sage ruling the world?” Pengmeng, standing nearby, broke in out of turn: “This was achieved by the governance of sage laws, not by a sage personally ruling.”

Songzi asked, “What is the difference between a sage’s rule and the rule of sage laws?” Pengmeng said, “You are making a muddle of the distinctions. A sage is rooted in the individual self; sage laws are rooted in the principles of things. If principles arise from the self, then the self is not the same as those principles. If a person can establish rules of governance in accordance with them, then peace is not the personal achievement of the sage. A sage can articulate principles, but the principles are not the same as the sage. Thus, when a sage rules in person, he can govern only what lies within his reach; when sage laws govern, they can bring order everywhere. Only a sage can fully grasp this kind of governance that benefits all things.”

Songzi still did not understand, so he asked Tianzi for guidance. Tianzi said, “Pengmeng is right.”

In a village there was an old man who named his elder son “Thief” and his younger son “Strike.” When the elder son went out, his father chased after him, shouting, “Thief! Thief!” The officials heard and seized the boy. In a panic, his father shouted “Strike!” to explain the mistake to them, but could not make himself understood and kept crying, “Strike! Strike!” The officials thought he was telling someone to beat the boy, so they struck him until he was nearly beaten to death.

In Kangqu there was an elder who named a child in his household “Good at Fighting.” He chased after the child, shouting, “Thief! Thief!” The officials heard and seized the child. In a panic, the father shouted “Strike!” to explain the mistake, but could not make himself understood and kept crying, “Strike! Strike!” The officials then beat the child, nearly killing him.

Some people named a child “Skilled Fighter,” meaning skilled at fighting, and named a dog “Skilled Biter,” meaning skilled at biting. As a result, for three years no guests came to their home. The elders of the family found this strange and asked why. He told them the truth. Later, he changed the names, and guests began visiting again.

People in Zheng called unworked jade “pu,” while people in Zhou used “pu” to mean a rat that had not yet been cured. A man from Zhou brought a rat and asked a Zheng merchant, “Would you like to buy pu?” The merchant said, “Yes.” The man from Zhou showed him what he called “pu”; it turned out to be a rat. The merchant then politely declined and did not buy it.

When a father gives his son an order, some things can certainly be done, while others cannot. For example, if he orders his son to divorce his cherished wife and sell his beloved concubine, the son will certainly obey. But if he then orders him, “Do not resent this, and do not dwell on it,” the son will certainly be unable to comply. Those in positions of authority must therefore be careful in issuing commands.

If the people are prosperous, they will not envy official rank and salary. If they are poor, they will not fear punishment. The prosperous consider their lives comfortable enough and no longer depend on official rank and salary. Those so poor that they no longer care about preserving their own lives will not be restrained by the threat of punishment either. These are precisely the two conditions a state most needs to guard against. If it does not know how to prevent them, its orders will go unheeded and its prohibitions will fail to prohibit. The state will then be impossible to govern. Though the ruler remains in place, he will possess only the title of ruler, and disorder and ruin will soon follow.

If the people can prosper only through official rank and salary, they will compete to serve the ruler with all their strength. If the people will fall into poverty through punishment, they will all fear committing crimes and strive to do good. Thus, the rulers of antiquity did not let the people determine their own wealth or poverty entirely, but made these depend on the ruler. In this way, the ruler held control over rewards and punishments, and the people knew whom they should obey.

When people are poor, they blame others; when their status is low, they blame their circumstances. Few blame themselves. This is a common human tendency. But the fact that it is common does not mean it should be condemned in every case. There may be grounds for sympathy, and these must be examined carefully.

Suppose two people have equal ability and judge things by the same standards, yet one is wealthy and the other poor. If the poor person can feel no resentment, that is certainly admirable; even if resentment arises, it cannot be called wrong. Suppose two people have equal intelligence, yet one holds an honored position and the other a lowly one. If the lowly person can feel no resentment, that is certainly admirable; even if resentment arises, it cannot be called wrong. The problem is that people do not understand how power, the times, and circumstances differ. Even to say that both sides are equally intelligent is to have failed to see reality clearly. Though this is a failing of the gentleman, it is still a form of anger a gentleman may feel.

When people are poor, they are prone to resent others; when they are wealthy, they are prone to arrogance. Resentment arises because others have not bestowed good fortune and rank upon them. Their hearts cannot be at ease, yet they cannot accept their situation; this feeling can still be forgiven. The arrogant person has suffered no hardship, yet looks down on others for no reason. This feeling should be easy to restrain, but the person cannot restrain it, and so it cannot be forgiven.

Ordinary people, when they see those who are poor and lowly, neglect and keep their distance from them; when they see those who are rich and powerful, they honor and draw close to them. If the poor and lowly ask them for money or goods, perhaps it is understandable to keep away: such people may not harm them, but people still avoid them because they have nothing to offer in return. If the rich and powerful benefit them, perhaps it is understandable to draw close: those people may not actually bring them any gain, yet people still seek their company. As a result, the rich and powerful, in turn, dare not draw close to them. Even if everyone could stand on their own and made no deliberate effort to attract either closeness or distance, people’s ordinary feelings would still change their judgment according to wealth or poverty, rank or low status. This confusion may be called “great delusion.”

In times of peace, people generally pity those who are poor, isolated, and low in status; in times of disorder, they generally despise them. But peace does not come about in order to pity them: pity is merely one part of governing well. Nor does disorder arise because people despise them: contempt, too, is merely one part of a disordered age. When everything is properly governed, society will not fall into disorder; when disorder is everywhere, there can be no talk of good governance. The rise and decline of the Xia and Shang dynasties offer clear evidence of this.

The poor and lowly ask little of the rich and powerful, yet the rich and powerful may still fail to meet even those modest expectations. What the poor dislike is what the rich value; what the high-ranking dismiss is what the lowly take pride in. Yet the rich and powerful refuse to repay or give because their experiences of suffering and pleasure differ. Even if they offer nothing in return, they themselves suffer no harm. The people’s expectations of their ruler today are just like those of the poor and lowly toward the rich and powerful.

People generally ask only that the ruler assess the needs of the old and the young, levy taxes fairly, promptly attend to the people’s hunger and cold, be mindful of their illnesses and suffering, ensure that rewards and punishments are fair, and call up laborers at the proper seasons. Doing these things costs the ruler nothing.

Yet although the people ask only for these things, the ruler cannot treat them merely as favors bestowed without anything in return. The ruler must share both hardship and good fortune with the people. Thus, the wealthy and eminent need not repay the poor and lowly, but a ruler must repay the people as a whole. If he does not repay the people, they will not wish to support him; if they do not wish to support him, his position will be taken from him. Nothing is more dangerous, nor is there any greater calamity.

Collation Notes on the Yinwenzi

The “Treatise on Arts and Letters” in the Book of Han records that the Yinwenzi consisted of only one chapter. Toward the end of the Huangchu era of Wei, Zhongchang of Shanyang divided it into two parts, upper and lower. The “Treatise on Classics and Books” in the Book of Sui therefore lists it in two volumes, as does the present Daoist Canon edition. However, quotations from the Yinwenzi by Tang writers often include passages absent from the text as it survives today. After repeated examination, I suspect that some bamboo and wooden slips were lost, and that all the missing material belonged to the lower part. Unfortunately, the text has been divided so severely that the scattered remnants can no longer be placed. I have therefore followed the Siku Quanshu edition in keeping it as one volume, with notes appended separately, in the hope that someone like Zhongchang may appear in the future to determine the matter. Recorded by Xizuo.

Preface

In the phrase “having fulfilled one’s needs, one should stop,” the Daoist Canon edition lacks the word zhi. The sense of this sentence accords with that of the “Tianxia” chapter of the Zhuangzi. In the phrase “how he delights in it,” the Daoist Canon edition reads “how greatly he values it.”

What people overlook and regard as bad, Laozi values, because under changing circumstances it can turn power against itself; when power is insufficient, it may also constrain power in return. An old saying goes, “A good ox…” It also says, “One must examine things carefully.” The point is that the function and value of things require close observation.

The ancients used measuring rods to determine length and instruments to measure capacity. To govern affairs mired in disorder and confusion, they brought all matters under a common order. By this means, even when dealing with stubborn, foolish people who cannot hear or see clearly, one can distinguish whether they are wise.

If a person possessed every skill in the world and could handle the work of every trade and occupation—farming, commerce, crafts, and scholarship—what would those in high positions have left to do? A gentleman does not speak of his abilities beyond his assigned role, nor does he act beyond his proper bounds. A wise ruler does not take all these tasks upon himself, but entrusts them to suitable people.

Petty people are always eager to speak of abilities beyond their role and to take on tasks outside their proper bounds. They know that excessive talk obstructs good governance and that meddling in extra matters obstructs the work, yet they cannot restrain themselves. An old saying goes: “To know that certain things do no harm to governance, yet fail to act accordingly; to know that certain methods are skillful, yet fail to become skillful oneself—this does not exhaust the principles of goodness and skill.”

In governing the world, the sage prizes the ability to govern together with others. The skill of Gongchui, the legendary master craftsman, was likewise valuable because he could pass it on. As for those who practice goodness alone, relying only on their own personal conduct does not necessarily bring peace to the world. Disorder often begins when those who govern fail to adapt to circumstances and clear away obstacles. The key to good governance lies in adjusting to the situation at hand. In this way, one can draw on the strengths of others, enable each person to fulfill their role, and become skilled at employing capable people.

Things differ from one another, and people differ too. The wise and the brave should not try to dominate each other, but should each keep to their proper place. Otherwise, those who govern must use rules and standards to correct the imbalance. People’s minds are easily influenced by circumstances, so rulers must know how to assign positions, assess achievements, and promote, demote, reward, and punish. When someone holds a high position, others are likely to draw near even if that person lacks virtue; when someone is poor and lowly, others may keep their distance even if that person is good. Such closeness and distance often have to do with power and profit. This is a principle that a benevolent ruler can use to govern the state.

King Xuan of Qi liked archery. In fact, the bow he used required a force of only three shi, yet he told people, “The bow I use takes at least nine shi of force.” He spent his whole life believing he could truly draw a nine-shi bow, and no one in the state dared to employ him. Another story tells how King Goujian of Yue planned his revenge against Wu. Goujian treated the people with courtesy and stirred their resolve. After several years, they would not retreat in battle even when faced with dangers as fierce as boiling water or fire, and they ultimately destroyed Wu.

In the state of Wei, a widower was asked by a passerby what kind of bird he was looking at. At first he called it an unusual bird. Later, someone offered ten gold pieces for it. The passerby did not begrudge the money and began calling it a precious object, something like a strange stone. When someone heard of it and came to demand the bird, the farmer was terrified and hurriedly threw it far away. Later, when the ruler heard about the matter, he asked what it was worth. Someone bowed twice, then stepped back and congratulated him: “Your Majesty has obtained a treasure of the realm.” The ruler then rewarded him with the stipend of a senior minister.

Rulers who govern a country must use rites and laws to regulate society, just as ropes are woven and tied to gather and bind all things. When the Way of governance is lost, the realm falls into disorder and the state declines. If a ruler grows old and has many concubines—women brought into the household as part of a marriage or serving the ruler—the collateral branches of the clan will flourish. The distinction between principal and secondary lines may then easily fall into disorder, leaving those above unable to restrain those below, while those below refuse to obey those above.

It is human nature to feel pleased when praised and troubled when criticized; we rejoice when others agree with us and grow angry when they disagree. Those skilled at flattery therefore speak in keeping with people’s likes and dislikes: if others say something is right, they say it is right too; if others say it is wrong, they follow suit. An enlightened ruler may accept upright counsel, yet not necessarily draw close to upright people. He may know that he should distance himself from sycophants—those who ingratiate themselves with and mislead the ruler—yet not necessarily manage to keep them away. Shun and Yu could refrain from employing sycophants, but that does not mean they necessarily hated them. An old saying holds that sycophants are skilled at using clever arguments to mislead people. Even Shun and Yu could not necessarily make them disappear, so one must remain on guard.

When governing a country through politics, how could one use the threat of death to intimidate people? Shaozi replied, “That is indeed so.” When guests met and talked, the people of Zheng called uncarved jade “pu,” a rough jade stone. A merchant from Zheng asked, “What should a father do for his son?”

Tianzi said, “Everyone looks out for themselves, but cannot look out for others. Therefore, when rulers assign people work, they should make it serve those people’s interests rather than merely benefit the ruler.”

Mr. Wei said, “Tianzi spoke well. In ancient times, rulers appointed ministers and expected them to set aside private interests and serve the ruler loyally. Those who took office had to be willing to stand firm on the battlefield. Stipends and rewards were used to encourage people; titles and laws were used to keep them in check. These matters could not be decided solely according to the ruler’s personal wishes, nor solely by whether they benefited the ruler himself. An old saying goes: ‘Do not entrust a person on a meager stipend with the task of restoring order amid chaos; do not expect someone given too little reward to face danger.’ Those in positions of authority must consider this with care.”

Orders, too, must be issued with caution. If an order cannot be carried out, it is empty in effect; therefore, a ruler should think carefully about the commands he gives. The proud do not see themselves as suffering, just as the poor and lowly hope for wealth and status. Whether the wealthy and powerful should repay the poor and lowly must also be understood in light of this common human nature.

Yin Wenzi paid a visit to King Xuan of Qi. The king said nothing, but sighed. Yin Wenzi asked, “Why does Your Majesty sigh?” The king replied, “I sigh because there are so few capable and virtuous people in my state.” Yin Wenzi said, “If everyone in the state were capable and virtuous, who would stand below Your Majesty?” The king asked, “Would it be acceptable if no one in the state were capable and virtuous?” Yin Wenzi replied, “If no one in the state were capable and virtuous, who would govern the court?” The king said, “Can we not do without both capable and virtuous people and those who are not?” Yin Wenzi answered, “Indeed. It is precisely because there is a distinction between the capable and virtuous and the incapable that Your Majesty can occupy the honored position above, while ministers take their place below. By appointing the capable and virtuous and dismissing the unworthy, the order between those above and below is established.”

A tiger went in search of various beasts, intending to prey on them, and caught a fox. The fox said, “You must not eat me. The Emperor of Heaven has commanded me to rule over all the beasts. If you eat me, you will defy his command. If you do not believe me, let me walk ahead while you follow, and see whether all the beasts flee when they see me.” The tiger thought this sounded reasonable and followed the fox. When the beasts saw them, they all ran away. The tiger did not realize that they were fleeing because they feared him, and instead believed they were afraid of the fox.

Though a blind person cannot see, their hearing is not impaired by their lack of sight, so they can use it to discern things in detail.

A deaf person cannot sing and so cannot amuse themselves in that way; a blind person cannot watch, and so cannot encounter things in the outside world through sight.

Numbers run from ten, hundred, thousand, and ten thousand to a hundred million, and then count back down from a hundred million to ten. In the end, they all begin with “one.” Counting upward from “one” to a hundred million does not cause the numbers to become inaccurate.

Among a thousand people, someone of outstanding talent is called “outstanding”; among ten thousand, someone who excels is called “preeminent.” The annotations to the “Biography of Qu Yuan” in the Records of the Grand Historian and the commentary on “Fen Ju Ru” in the Book of Songs also contain related statements; one passage reads, “Among ten thousand, one is a hero.”

Seeking victory through wisdom and strength, as in a game of chess, is like competing across a board: the pieces gather and scatter; the game advances and retreats, takes and yields, attacks and kills, or lets the opponent pass. The commentator explains that “let pass” may also mean “kill”: it is up to the player to decide whether to spare the opponent.

A player can judge the situation, know when to block or open a route, and find a path through. But the player cannot determine the number that comes up on the dice; the outcome still depends on chance.

When Yao was Son of Heaven, he wore no layers of silk clothing and sought no variety of flavors in his food. He lived on an earthen platform three feet high, beneath a thatched roof whose grass was left untrimmed.

Yao’s virtue and teaching spread throughout the four seas, and his benevolence and favors reached the people.

Two wise people cannot control one another; two people of high rank cannot lord it over one another; and two eloquent speakers cannot make one another yield. This is because their strengths are equal and their positions matched.

If one acts solely through cleverness, it is hard to accomplish anything; if one is wholly dull and confused, things are bound to go against reason. Only when discernment is joined with reserve, keeping one’s sharpness concealed, can people find something to rely on.

The four directions, together with above and below, are called “the cosmos.”

Before battle, the officials in charge first read out the warnings and oaths, then repeat the military orders. Only after the reading is finished do they face the enemy.

The sound of bells and drums changes with the feelings of the person playing them. Struck in anger, the drum sounds fierce; played in sorrow, it sounds mournful; when the heart is joyful, it sounds cheerful. As the player’s feelings change, so does the sound. Sincere feeling can move metal and stone—how much more so can it move people?