《文子缵义》Vol. 4

When swords and blades clash and arrows and stones fall like rain, soldiers still press forward because rewards are given faithfully and punishments are clearly defined. If a ruler regards his people as his children, they will serve him as they would their father; if he regards them as younger brothers, they will serve him as they would an elder brother. If a ruler truly treats his people as his children, he can govern all under Heaven; if the people truly regard their ruler as their father, the realm can be at peace. When a ruler treats his people as younger brothers, they will willingly die for him; when the people regard their ruler as an elder brother, they will willingly give their lives for him. Therefore, people bound by the affection of parent and child, elder and younger brother, cannot treat one another as enemies.

Thus, a ruler who follows the Way should put his domestic affairs in order and build up De (Virtue/Power), while defending against hostile forces abroad and making his state’s strength known. He should observe whether his soldiers are weary or at ease, and know whether they are hungry or well fed. When the appointed day for battle arrives, the soldiers face death without fear. This is the result of the ruler’s kindness reaching everyone.

The Zuanyi commentary explains: There is a proper way to govern the realm; why resort to military force? Armies should be used only when there is no other choice. The reason soldiers of a powerful state willingly face death is that a sense of righteousness makes them courageous. But would a ruler who follows the Way really bear to put his people in mortal danger just to make his state powerful? The ruler should treat his people as children, and they should serve him as they would their father. Therefore, a ruler who follows the Way should put his affairs in order and build up De, and the state will naturally grow stronger over time. Such a state of affairs does indeed exist in the world.

The labels “Wenzi Zuanyi, Volumes Eleven and Twelve” and “On Ritual” and others indicate the volume numbers and chapter titles of the text. “Imperially Commissioned Complete Library of the Four Treasuries” identifies the work as one included in the officially compiled Complete Library of the Four Treasuries.

Laozi said: The perfected people of ancient times—those who realized the Great Dao and followed the course of nature—harmonized Yin and Yang through their breathing. All beings revered their De, and so became gentle and harmonious. In those days, people governed affairs by keeping them deeply rooted in Wuwei (non-action), and an atmosphere of unadorned simplicity arose of its own accord. While this simple way of life remained intact, all things could dwell in ease and freedom.

As the age declined, in the time of Fuxi, people began to leave behind their unknowing innocence and sought to understand the things between Heaven and Earth. Their De grew complicated and divided. Later, in the time of Shennong and the Yellow Emperor, people closely examined and ordered the world, established rules and principles, and brought the seasons and Yin-Yang into harmony. The people all stood up to admire them, leaning in to listen and raising their eyes to watch. Thus the world was governed, but true harmony did not arise.

Later still, in the Xia and Shang periods, people’s desires spread to external things, and their intelligence was enticed by the world around them. Their nature and life lost their original truth. By the Zhou dynasty, the simple and generous way had steadily deteriorated, and the path of simplicity had gradually fallen apart. People turned away from the Great Dao and manufactured falsehood, treating cunning as De. Scheming minds began to grow; people imitated and studied others to pass themselves off as sages, and used ornate, hollow words to browbeat the crowd. They carved and embellished the Book of Poetry and the Book of Documents to win fame and praise. Everyone wanted to make a place for themselves in the world through cleverness and deceit, and so they lost the fundamental Great Dao. The tendency for people to damage their nature and let their life decline has therefore existed for a very long time.

What the perfected person studies, then, is how to return nature to emptiness, letting the mind and spirit roam at ease in a realm of stillness and openness. Conventional learning, by contrast, exalts De and harms nature, filling the heart and the five organs with distress, indulging in unrestrained conduct, and showing off one’s talents to compete for worldly fame. None of this is what the perfected person does. “Exalting De” means boasting of oneself; “harming nature” means severing the root of life.

The perfected person can regard life and death with equanimity and understand the nature of honor and disgrace. If the whole world praises them, they do not become more eager to strive; if the whole world condemns them, they do not become more disheartened. This is what it means to grasp the essentials of the Great Dao.

Laozi said: In ancient times, people wore their hair loose and their garments had no turned-up collars, yet they were able to govern all under Heaven. Their De nurtured life without causing harm; they gave to the people without taking from them. Though the people of the world wore different clothes, they all honored and remembered these rulers’ De. In those days, Yin and Yang were in harmony and all things flourished. One could bend down and reach into a bird’s nest to take its eggs, and wild beasts could be tethered and led along.

Later, the world fell into decline. Birds, beasts, insects, and snakes all became a danger to the people, so they cast iron and forged blades to defend against these threats. When people faced hardship, they sought practical ways to respond; when calamity struck, they made preparations against it. Each used their own wisdom to remove what was harmful and pursue what was beneficial. Thus old customs cannot always be followed unchanged, nor can tools be used forever without alteration. The laws laid down by the former kings, too, must change with circumstances. As the saying goes, only when difficulty is recognized do people seek a way to meet it; only when calamity strikes do they prepare against it; people use their wisdom to remove harm and pursue benefit. Old customs cannot be followed blindly, tools cannot be used forever, and the laws of the former kings may also be changed. This is the meaning of “A name that can be named is not the constant name”—a name that can be spoken is not an eternal, unchanging name.

The Five Emperors each had a different way of governing, yet all spread the benefits of their De throughout the world. The Three Kings followed different practices, but their reputations endured in later generations. They all changed in response to the times. This is like Master Kuang, the celebrated musician of the Spring and Autumn period, tuning the five-note scale: pitch and placement shift, with no fixed, unchanging measure, yet the result is always just right. Those who truly understand the principles of music rely on their inner understanding and can therefore create melodies. Those who understand how to use standards such as the carpenter’s square, measuring rule, compass, and ink line can govern the people.

Therefore, systems established by former kings should be abolished if they no longer suit the times; practices that arise in later generations should be adopted if they truly bring benefit. The sage establishes ritual and music without being bound by ritual and music themselves; governs things without being constrained by them; and sets laws without being confined by those laws. This is the meaning of “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao”—the Dao that can be put into words is not an unchanging, eternal Dao.

Laozi said: The sage kings of old took their models above from the patterns of Heaven, below from the order of the Earth, and between them from the principles of human feeling. They harmonized the Qi of Yin and Yang and brought the seasons into accord. They understood that the Dao is not fixed and unchanging.

Laozi says: In ancient times, sage kings took their models from the signs of Heaven above, the contours of the earth below, and the affairs of human society. They harmonized the Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang and followed the seasons. They studied the forms of mountains, hills, plains, and marshes, as well as the differences in the fertility, barrenness, and elevation of the land. On this basis, they organized affairs and developed production so that the people would be spared hunger and cold and kept clear of illness and disaster.

From human relationships, they established the rites and music, promoted the way of benevolence and righteousness, and regulated human conduct. Drawing on the qualities of Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth, they established the bonds of affection between fathers and sons, enabling families to take shape. By examining the clear and murky tones of the five notes and the patterns of mutual generation among the six pitch pipes, they established the principles of duty between ruler and minister, enabling states to be founded. They also set the rites governing rank and respect according to the order of the early, middle, and late months of each season, and appointed official positions. They divided the land into regions, enfeoffed lords to govern each territory, and established academies to educate the people. These were the guiding principles of statecraft. When governance follows the Dao (the Way), affairs can proceed; when it departs from the Dao, they fall into disuse.

Nothing expands without ever contracting, or flourishes without ever declining. Only the sage can flourish without meeting ruin. The sages first created music to communicate with the spirits, prevent excessive indulgence, and bring people back to their original nature. But as the age declined, music became debauched. People gave themselves over to sensual pleasures and ignored the right way; the effects spread to later generations and ultimately brought states to ruin.

The sages created writing to bring order to the myriad affairs of life. For the foolish, writing helped them remember things; for the wise, it helped them record matters. But as the age declined, writing came to be used for deception: to exonerate the guilty and kill the innocent.

The sages built parks and enclosures—gardens for purposes such as sacrifices and military training—to prepare the offerings needed for ancestral temple rites, train soldiers, and guard against emergencies. But as the age declined, these grounds became places for riding and hunting, disrupting the people’s farming seasons and exhausting their strength.

Sage kings honored the worthy in order to establish sound instruction and hear legal cases fairly, placing the worthy in high positions and assigning offices to the capable. In this way, their beneficence reached the people, and the people everywhere felt grateful for their kindness. But as the age declined, factions formed for private gain and people colluded with one another. Each recommended those close to them, abandoning public duty in pursuit of personal advantage. People inside and outside the court recommended one another, wicked men occupied official posts, and the worthy withdrew.

The way Heaven and Earth operate is this: when development reaches its limit, it turns in the opposite direction; when increase goes too far, something is diminished. Therefore, the sage corrects abuses and changes institutions. When one course of action has run its course, another is put in its place. The strength of institutions lies in balance; their flaw lies in losing that balance.

The sage’s way of governing is this: without cultivating propriety, righteousness, integrity, and a sense of shame, a person cannot establish themselves; without a sense of shame among the people, they cannot be governed. If people do not understand propriety and righteousness, laws and orders cannot set them right. Unless good conduct is honored and what is base is cast off, people will not turn toward propriety and righteousness. Without laws and orders, a state cannot be governed; yet someone who understands laws and orders but not propriety and righteousness cannot administer them properly. The law can punish the unfilial, but it cannot make people truly filial; it can punish thieves, but it cannot make people honest at heart.

When sage kings held the highest positions, they made their likes and dislikes clear, guiding people to distinguish right from wrong, honor from disgrace. They drew near to the worthy and promoted them, while looking down on the unworthy and removing them from office. In this way, punishments could be set aside, propriety and righteousness could be made clear, and the virtuous could be entrusted with office. Thus, the most outstanding people in the realm could serve as the Three Dukes; the most outstanding in a province could serve as the Nine Ministers; the most outstanding in a state could serve as the twenty-seven senior officers; and the most outstanding in a district could serve as the eighty-one junior officials.

Those whose ability surpasses that of ten thousand people are called “heroes”; those who surpass a thousand are called “talents”; those who surpass a hundred are called “exemplars”; and those who surpass ten are called “leaders.” A hero understands the way of Heaven and Earth and human affairs, has a heart broad enough to embrace the multitude, shows kindness deep enough to win the loyalty of people far away, and has the intelligence to respond to change. A talent has the virtue to teach others, acts in accordance with righteousness, has the integrity to win the trust of the people, and the insight to understand what is happening among them. An exemplar’s conduct can serve as a model; their intelligence can resolve difficult questions; they keep their promises, are honest and fair in sharing wealth, act in ways others can follow, and speak in ways that lead people toward goodness. A leader holds firmly to their duties without slackening, upholds righteousness without forming factions, does not evade danger by acting dishonorably, and does not seek unjust gain when faced with profit.

Heroes, talents, leaders, and exemplars should each hold positions suited to the extent of their abilities. Governance should extend from the roots to the branches, with important offices directing subordinate ones; those above set the example, and those below respond. Then all within the Four Seas can unite, turn away from greed and baseness, and turn toward benevolence and righteousness. Teaching the people will be as effortless as wind bending grass. If the unworthy are made to rule the worthy, even harsh punishments cannot stop wickedness. The small cannot restrain the great, and the weak cannot command the strong: this is a constant principle of Heaven and Earth. Therefore, the sage appoints the worthy to establish achievements, while an unworthy ruler appoints people like himself. Look at whom he recommends, and you can distinguish order from disorder; examine his faction, and you can judge who is worthy and who is not.

Laozi says: Those who establish rites and laws often carve away at human nature and correct people’s feelings. Though the eyes want to look, rules and standards restrict them; though the heart feels joy, ritual constrains it. People must follow prescribed movements, advance and retreat, bow and bend; even when their bodies are stiff with hunger, they cannot eat, and even when the wine is clear, they cannot drink. Rites and laws bind the body from outside and distress the heart; they suppress the harmony of Yin-Yang and constrain people’s inborn nature and life instincts, so that people suffer throughout their lives. Why is this so? Because they do not investigate why people develop desires, but merely forbid desire; they do not investigate why people feel joy, but merely prevent pleasure. It is like keeping a wild animal in an enclosure without repairing the fence, while letting it continue to long for escape; or like trying to block a breach in a river with one’s hands. Thus, if the channels of desire are left open and matters are allowed to run their course, in the end nothing can be done to save the situation.

Rites and laws try to suppress feelings and shut off desires, making people restrain themselves through righteousness. Even when their spirits are oppressed and their bodies endure hunger and thirst, they must force themselves to hold back. In this way, people cannot live out the full span of their lives. Rites and laws cannot make people free of desire; they can only prevent desire from being fulfilled. Music cannot make people feel no joy; it can only limit their pleasure.

How can it be better to make everyone in the realm afraid of punishment and thus afraid to steal than to have people entirely free of the thought of stealing? If people know something is of no use to them, even the greedy will refuse it. If they do not know what use it has, even the honest may not be willing to give it to others. People bring states to ruin, die at the hands of others, and become a laughingstock to the world, often because of desire. It is like a fan in winter or a fur coat in summer: neither is of any use to you. When all things have turned to dust, nothing can be put right. Splashing hot water in an attempt to stop boiling water only makes it boil more fiercely. Those who understand the root cause need only remove the source of the fire.

Laozi says that acting in accordance with one’s nature is called the Dao (the Way), while receiving and preserving one’s inborn nature is called De (Virtue/Power). Only after people lose their nature do they begin to prize benevolence and righteousness. Once benevolence and righteousness are established, the Dao and De decline instead. When the ways of simplicity and sincerity have been lost, ritual and music are used to decorate the surface. Disputes over right and wrong then emerge, confusing the people. When pearls and jade are treasured, people throughout the world begin to fight over them.

Ritual distinguishes high from low and noble from humble; righteousness harmonizes the relationships between ruler and minister, father and son, elder and younger brother, and husband and wife. In the age of decline, ritual pays outward attention to reverence, while people treat giving alms in their dealings with others as righteousness, hoping to win a ruler’s favor. Rulers and ministers blame one another, and resentment grows even among close relatives. When water gathers, creatures that devour one another breed in it; when earth piles up, beasts that gnaw at one another appear. The more deliberately ritual and music are adorned, the more deceit and hypocrisy they give rise to.

In the age of decline, those who govern fail to store enough of what the people need to sustain their lives. Instead, they ruin the world’s sincere and simple ways, undo its unadorned nature, and disturb the people. They take clarity for murkiness, unsettle people’s lives and nature, and breed resentment among close relatives. People become busy scheming and making plans, and sincere, trustworthy ways disappear. When people lose their nature, laws and principles fall out of accord with one another, and actions conflict with self-interest. The poor and the rich struggle against one another; distinctions between rulers and servants, or between masters and slaves, no longer need to be maintained. When people have more than enough goods, they yield to one another; when they have too little, they fight over them. Yielding gives rise to ritual and righteousness, while fighting leads to disorder. The more desires there are, the harder it is to set things in order. If everyone seeks fulfillment, rivalry will never cease. Thus, when society is at peace, even petty people can keep to what is right, and profit cannot lure them away. When society is in disorder, even exemplary people may act wickedly, and laws cannot restrain them.

Laozi says that rulers in times of decline cut into mountains to quarry stone and extract gold and jade; they mine stone for inkstones and gather shells, and smelt copper and iron. As a result, the myriad things cannot flourish. They cut open the wombs of animals, burn hunting grounds, overturn nests, and destroy eggs. The phoenix no longer comes, and the qilin no longer appears. They build raised platforms, burn trees to hunt, drain pools and marshes to catch fish, heap up earth to make mounds for their dwellings, dig wells for water, dredge rivers to make ponds, and build walls and defenses. They also capture wild animals and keep them penned. These actions throw Yin-Yang out of balance and disrupt the seasons. Thunder and lightning destroy things, while hail and frost bring disaster. Most living things wither and die young; by summer, plants and trees are already dried up, and the three great rivers run dry.

They divide mountains, rivers, and valleys and mark out boundaries. They count the population and assign each group its allotted share. They set up devices, weapons, and strategic defenses to guard against others. They use the colors of clothing to distinguish rank, divide people into noble and humble, judge who is worthy and unworthy, and impose rewards and punishments. Thus weapons are raised, resentment and conflict arise, and the killing of the innocent and punishment of the guiltless follow.

Laozi says that when the world is about to endanger people’s lives, it is like Yin energy rising. The ruler is benighted and unclear, does not follow the Great Dao, and has allowed his De to decline. His actions violate the Way of Heaven, and his commands run counter to the four seasons. The energies of spring and autumn thus lose their harmony, and the nourishing De of Heaven and Earth wanes with them. Though the ruler holds his position, he finds no peace. The high ministers withdraw into silence; the officials read the ruler’s intentions and undermine the established order, distancing themselves from their own kin to protect themselves. Treacherous people flatter and ingratiate themselves, plotting in secret. Eager to appease an arrogant ruler, they imitate his disorder to advance their own aims. As a result, ruler and ministers fall out, and kin become estranged.

The fields yield no crops, and travelers cannot walk in peace along the roads. Metal vessels are broken, jade disks are plundered, and grain and divination instruments are in short supply. Government orders can no longer unite the realm. The feudal lords each make their own laws, customs come into conflict, and people turn away from their roots. The rulers impose harsh punishments, while the people fight over the slightest gain; more than half the population is put to death.

When war breaks out, armies storm cities and kill, destroy high places and threaten places of refuge. They build massive battering rams and raise towering fortifications, array their battle lines, and force soldiers to charge into mortal danger and face powerful enemies. Of a hundred who set out to fight, often only one returns. The ruler seeks nothing but the empty distinction of renown, annexing other states and seizing their lands. The result is corpses strewn across the fields, with hundreds of thousands dead. Countless old and young perish from hunger and cold. From then on, people throughout the realm can no longer live out their nature and life in peace, or remain settled in their customary ways.

At such a time, worthy people and sages rise up, taking Dao and De as their standard and supporting them with benevolence and righteousness. Those nearby display their abilities, while those far away are moved by their De; the realm is therefore brought into unity, and the throne passes from one generation of descendants to the next. The ministers who assist in governing dismiss slanderers and put an end to confused and obscure talk. They abolish harsh laws, do away with burdensome administration, suppress rumors, and close off avenues for factional self-interest. They stop showing off petty cleverness and instead follow the constant Way. The sages remove excess and partiality, set aside displays of cleverness, and enable all things to flow together and return to their roots.

Sages cannot create their own age. When the time comes, they simply do not miss the opportunity; thus the transmission of the Great Dao does not break off midway.

Laozi said: The Feng River is ten fathoms deep, yet it cannot hold dust or filth; even the gold and stone in its waters can be seen from the surface. It is not that the river is insufficiently deep or clear. Rather, fish, turtles, and dragons do not wish to dwell there. Plants cannot grow on bare rock, and deer do not roam on barren hills, because there is nowhere to shelter their bodies.

When governing, if one is excessively harsh and scrutinizes everything too closely, treating the cruel handling of the people as loyalty and an abundance of schemes as achievement, it is like stretching leather too tightly: in the end, it will fail and split apart. When decrees are lenient, the people remain simple and honest. When decrees are strict and exacting, the people are harmed and become cunning.

Laozi also said: Govern the state by the right way, and direct the army with unconventional tactics. First establish conditions in which you cannot be defeated by the enemy; then seek to defeat the enemy. To attack others amid their disorder before putting your own affairs in order is like using fire against fire or water against water. Things of the same kind cannot overcome one another, so victory comes from using different methods and taking the enemy by surprise.

The “unconventional” means using calm to overcome agitation, order to overcome chaos, fullness to overcome hunger, and rest to overcome fatigue. Unconventional and conventional methods work together, just as Water, Fire, Metal, and Wood restrain one another. This makes victory possible in every situation. Thus, when virtue is equal, the larger force prevails over the smaller; when strength is equal, the more intelligent overcomes the foolish. When intelligence, too, is equal, victory goes to whoever holds the advantage and can capture the opponent.