《文子纘義》Vol. 11

Laozi (founder of Daoism) said: Those who pursue learning must understand the distinction between heavenly Dao and human affairs, comprehend the root causes of order and chaos, and maintain inner clarity and purity. Only then can they perceive the underlying patterns of all things and return to the origin of emptiness—this constitutes true mastery. The foundation of governing the world lies in benevolence and righteousness, with laws and regulations being secondary. In human life, the most fundamental is Dao and De (Virtue/Power), while external forms are of lesser importance. The root and branches are originally one—both deserve attention. The noble person values the root while attending to the branches, whereas the petty person focuses solely on branches while neglecting the root. Laws exist to support benevolence and righteousness. To emphasize laws while abandoning benevolence and righteousness is as absurd as valuing hats and shoes while forgetting one's head and feet.

Benevolence and righteousness are like grand architecture—if one expands the structure without first reinforcing its foundation, the building will collapse; if one increases height without broadening the base, the edifice will topple. Just as beams too slender cannot bear heavy loads, the most essential quality for shouldering national responsibility is De (Virtue/Power). The relationship between ruler and people resembles city walls needing deep foundations and trees requiring strong roots—only with deep roots can the trunk stand firm, only with thick foundations can walls remain secure. Therefore, governance strategies lacking Dao and De as their foundation cannot serve as constant principles, nor can doctrines inconsistent with the ways of ancient sage-kings be called true teachings. Those fragmented, hastily assembled techniques seeking quick results are certainly not the eternal methods for ordering the world.

Du Daojian's commentary states: Understanding "supreme righteousness" means distinguishing heavenly Dao from human affairs and grasping the roots of order and chaos. Governing requires knowing what is fundamental and what is secondary—only then can one approach the true essence of Dao and De. How could mere techniques alone properly govern the world?

Laozi uses charioteering as a metaphor for governance: Skillfully governing people is like Zaofu (legendary charioteer) driving a four-horse war chariot—coordinating the horses' strides through the reins while maintaining proper rhythm in one's heart, aligning inner intention with the horses' nature. Thus one can gallop long distances with energy to spare, making turns and maneuvers with perfect ease—this is true mastery of charioteering. Power is like the ruler's chariot, ministers are the draught horses—the ruler cannot abandon the stable chariot nor lose control of his ministers. If the four horses lack coordination, even Zaofu couldn't make progress; if ruler and ministers are discordant, even sages couldn't govern well. By upholding the correct Dao to guide affairs, those of average ability can prove effective; by clarifying respective duties in administration, cunning schemers find no opening. Thus all things can find their proper place.

When observing the transformations of phenomena, one should respond promptly as changes arise. By properly managing immediate affairs, distant matters will naturally fall into order. There's no need for deliberate human instruction—grasping the natural patterns of operation ensures that no mistakes will be made in any endeavor.

All things between heaven and earth are like a single horse (symbolizing wholeness), with all phenomena pointing to the same origin. The sage attains the highest state by studying the essence of things, using charioteering as a metaphor for governance: authority is like the reins of a chariot, ministers are the horses pulling it, and the ruler need only steer with the flow, expending little mental effort. Distant lands will naturally submit—this is the method of governance. Why must one debate these principles with the charioteer (the executor) in detail?

Laozi said: Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) must block unorthodox paths and prevent problems before they arise. They should not value self-promotion but rather emphasize avoiding errors. Thus it is said: Do not let people develop covetous desires, and they will not chase after things daily; do not give them objects of contention, and strife will not arise. In this way, selfish desires dissolve, and public virtue prevails. What is abundant should be moderated; what is lacking should be properly allocated—then the world can be unified. If officials abandon their duties, chasing empty reputations; if they neglect real achievements and only appoint cronies, then the capable will be lost, the diligent will not advance, social customs will decay, and meritorious officials will vie for power in court. Therefore, those who grasp the Dao can govern others, while those who lose it will be governed by others.

This is like how a good physician does not treat illness after it arises but prevents it beforehand. Are not those who cultivate the Dao by blocking unorthodox paths and preventing problems acting as good physicians? By not valuing self-promotion but focusing on avoiding errors, there will be nothing to covet or contend over. Thus, those who grasp the Dao can lead others, while those who lose it will be controlled by others.

Laozi said: Governing a state has constant principles, with benefiting the people as the foundation; policies and teachings have methods, with enforcing prohibitions as the key. If it benefits the people, there is no need to rigidly adhere to ancient ways; if it suits reality, there is no need to follow old customs. Thus, the sage’s laws adapt with the times, rituals adjust with customs, clothing and tools prioritize utility, and decrees are formulated according to circumstances. Therefore, altering ancient institutions is not necessarily wrong, and clinging to old customs is not necessarily valuable. Reciting the classics of past kings is inferior to understanding their ideas; understanding their ideas is inferior to grasping the source of those ideas. Those who grasp the source have attained a state beyond words. Thus it is said: The Dao (Way) that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. The Dao followed by sages is like tuned bells and chimes—once set, they cannot be altered. Concrete affairs, however, are like zithers and lutes—after one melody ends, they can be retuned.

This passage from Wenzi Zuanyi primarily discusses the relationship between legal governance and moral principles, as well as how laws should adapt to changing circumstances.

The text states that establishing rituals and institutions are merely tools of governance, not the fundamental essence. Those rigidly bound by worldly conventions cannot comprehend the profoundest truth (the Dao). The Dao is the root of law, while law is the practical application of the Dao. Governing a state must prioritize benefiting the people—this embodies the Dao; policies and teachings must align with righteousness to be effective—this is the principle of law. The laws of sages change with the times, and rituals adjust to customs, which is why one cannot discuss the Great Dao with those of inflexible thinking.

Laozi said there are no eternal, unchanging laws under heaven—the key lies in conforming to worldly affairs, accommodating human sentiment, and following the Dao of Heaven (or "Heaven and Earth"). In the era of the Three Sovereigns, there were no laws yet the people naturally obeyed; during the Five Emperors, laws existed but punishments were unnecessary; by the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou), systems of covenants gradually emerged. Only in ages of decline, when people became shamelessly greedy, were comprehensive legal systems required. Laws must adjust their severity according to popular sentiment, and tools must improve with the times. Those clinging to outdated laws cannot achieve great things; those rigidly adhering to ancient rituals cannot adapt to change—only with independent insight can one truly grasp the Dao.

Some scholars today stubbornly adhere to classical texts hoping to govern states, like forcing a square peg into a round hole—utterly impractical. Resolving crises requires wisdom, yet even the dullest can parrot ancient laws. Thus, sages discard obsolete laws, and enlightened rulers ignore useless talk.

The Zuanyi supplement explains: sages establish laws to prohibit evil, redress injustice, and protect the people. From the Three Sovereigns to the Five Emperors, the methods of laws and punishments differed—all reflecting the changes of their times, a truth enlightened rulers must understand.

Wenzi asks where laws originate. Laozi replies: laws stem from justice, justice arises from collective needs, and these must align with human hearts—this is the key to governance. Laws do not descend from the void; they must conform to popular sentiment and temporal conditions.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of governance and law. When Laozi (the founder of Daoism) responded to questions from Wenzi (a representative Daoist figure), he pointed out that laws originate from "righteousness" (yi) — the principle of appropriateness and suitability. When ancient sage-kings established laws, their primary consideration was alignment with the people's needs, and rulers themselves had to lead by example first.

Law functions like a carpenter's square, serving as the ruler's standard for governing the world. Laws are established to regulate behavior that violates proper measure. Once laws are instituted, compliance is rewarded and violations punished. The text particularly emphasizes equality before the law — the noble receive no leniency for crimes, while the humble face no excessive punishment for lawful conduct. Only thus can the Dao of fairness prevail and selfish desires be restrained.

In ancient times, officials were appointed to prevent the people from acting recklessly, rulers were established to prevent officials from abusing power, while laws and Daoist methods (daoshu) served to restrain rulers from autocratic rule. When no one can act arbitrarily, the Great Dao (Da Dao) becomes manifest, affairs proceed smoothly, ultimately returning to the state of "governing through non-action" (wuwei). Here "non-action" does not mean doing nothing, but rather acting from one's essential nature.

Those truly skilled in governance: bestow rewards that are modest yet inspire multitudes, administer punishments that are simple yet deter wrongdoing, give with frugality yet spread abundant virtue, take substantial revenues yet incur no resentment. Therefore, sages always govern according to the people's will and guide them according to their preferences. Such governance aligns with natural laws while bringing peace to the world.

This passage elucidates the core principles of governance. Encouraging virtuous conduct through rewards that bring joy, while prohibiting wickedness by addressing what the people detest. Rewarding a single individual can inspire emulation throughout the realm, while punishing one can instill universal caution. Thus, the most enlightened rewards need not be extravagant, nor the most effective punishments excessive. When sages grasp these fundamental principles, they achieve comprehensive governance—this is the essence of the Dao.

The natural order of heaven and earth manifests through the cyclical alternation of growth and decline among all things, while human governance hinges on balanced rewards and punishments, measured giving and taking. Sages emulate celestial patterns and align with the people's will—this constitutes the foundation for establishing universal peace. Rulers who skillfully employ these four instruments of reward, punishment, giving and taking, handling each matter appropriately, will find that rewarding one person unifies the realm's hearts, while punishing one commands universal reverence.

Laozi teaches that the minister's Dao lies in handling affairs with propriety, leading by personal example, and clarifying their fundamental duties to establish merit. Only when ruler and minister follow distinct principles can the state be well-governed; confusion between their respective Daos leads to chaos. Each maintaining their proper position allows superior and subordinate to cooperate harmoniously. Just as branches must not outweigh the trunk nor twigs surpass the root in strength, all things require mutual counterbalance of weight and measure. Those wielding authority rely on minimal foundations to control vast domains—a ten-span timber supports a thousand-weight roof by occupying the pivotal position; a five-inch bolt controls massive gates by securing the crucial point. Decrees that must be obeyed, where compliance brings benefit and defiance invites calamity, command universal obedience because they accord with celestial principle. The power to enforce commands derives from collective strength channeled through authority.

Practitioners of benevolence and righteousness cannot benefit all under heaven simultaneously, but benefiting even one person inspires universal following. Tyrants cannot harm everyone at once, but harming even one provokes universal rebellion. Therefore, the establishment or abolition of policies demands prudent deliberation.

Rulers rely on ministers to accomplish deeds; ministers depend on rulers to manifest their abilities. The ruler maintains serene Wuwei (non-action) above, while ministers practice vigorous action below. Handling affairs with propriety and maintaining fundamental duties constitute the minister's proper function. When ruler and minister each occupy their correct positions, superior and subordinate cooperate, and all things find their proper balance. Thus governance requires adherence to distinct principles, and the establishment or abolition of policies determines order or chaos—a matter the ruler must treat with utmost gravity.

Laozi says: By bending one inch, one may extend a foot; small concessions yield great rectitude—this is how sages operate. As for contemporary rulers...

This scripture primarily discusses the proper evaluation and selection of talents. Its core principle is: no person is perfect—when selecting individuals, focus on their major virtues rather than demanding flawlessness in minor details.

The text points out that if one evaluates officials by fixating on trivial faults, obsessing over minutiae while overlooking their significant achievements, worthy talents will inevitably be missed. Truly virtuous individuals may have minor shortcomings, but these do not detract from their worth; those capable of great accomplishments should not be harshly judged for slight imperfections. Just as a craftsman selecting timber for a beam does not discard it for minor blemishes, a ruler choosing talent must understand the principle of "prioritizing the major while overlooking the minor."

Laozi teaches that since ancient times, there has never been a person of absolute perfection. A wise gentleman does not demand flawlessness in others: they are upright but not harsh, incorruptible but not hurtful, forthright but not unrestrained, erudite but not disparaging. True cultivation lies in strict self-discipline rather than excessive criticism of others. Like the jade disks of the Xia dynasty, which inevitably had flaws, or the luminous pearls that bore specks—yet people still treasured them, never negating their overall value due to minor imperfections.

Many today judge others by fixating on their shortcomings while forgetting their strengths, making it exceedingly difficult to find true talent in the world. Ordinary people often see only a person's lowly status or dire circumstances, failing to recognize their grand aspirations. Therefore, the proper way to discern character is this: observe whom those of high rank recommend; observe how the wealthy give; observe what the impoverished refuse; observe what the humble decline to do. By examining the hardships a person endures, one can perceive their courage and integrity.

The Wenzi Zuanyi passage primarily discusses the wisdom of noble conduct and the importance of benevolence and righteousness (renyi). When facing adversity, one's true character can be discerned by observing their reactions to joy, material wealth, and fear. The truly wise understand that we cannot demand others to be as flawless as the legendary sage-kings Yao and Shun, nor should we completely dismiss talented individuals for minor faults.

Laozi teaches that temporary humility allows for greater expansion, just as small bends enable ultimate straightness. Like the hundred rivers that flow ceaselessly—only those reaching the ocean deserve to be called great, while those stopping short remain mere streams. People follow various paths, but those not oriented toward goodness cannot be considered noble. A noble person's faults are like solar or lunar eclipses—they do not diminish their inherent radiance. The wise refrain from reckless action, the courageous avoid wanton violence, and by adhering to ritual propriety (li) and righteousness (yi), they establish enduring achievements and everlasting reputations.

True wisdom must be rooted in benevolence and righteousness. Sages use these virtues as their measure: those who embody them are noble, while those who violate them remain petty. Even in death, a noble person's reputation remains untarnished; even when powerful, a petty person's transgressions cannot be erased. Though fools recognize life as more precious than the empire, they face death for sovereign or parent as naturally as returning home—for benevolence and righteousness surpass mere survival.

The text employs the metaphor of dragons and snakes lying dormant to illustrate how noble individuals endure temporary compromise (minor bends) to achieve ultimate integrity (great straightness). Benevolent words and deeds nourish all beings, flowing from humble self-cultivation of virtue (De). Sages know life surpasses worldly power, yet benevenolence and righteousness surpass life itself—hence they face mortal danger for ruler and kin, ensuring their names endure beyond death. Like the sun and moon whose radiance cannot be altered by the barbarian tribes of distant lands, the noble person's fundamental principles remain unshaken. Reputation depends on worldly opinion, proper conduct relies on circumstance, but true accomplishment requires alignment with the needs of the age.

Achieving great undertakings requires aligning with the currents of time to establish merit and reputation. Those who accomplish remarkable deeds live with simplicity yet excel at seizing opportune moments. Opportunities vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving not even a breath's pause. In ancient times, those who waged war did not do so to expand territories or plunder treasures, but to rescue the imperiled, quell chaos, and eradicate harm for the people.

When greedy and tyrannical rulers bring calamity upon the world, causing the people unbearable suffering, sages rise to challenge the oppressors, pacify the turmoil, and remove the scourge from the land—turning turbidity into clarity and peril into peace. This is an unavoidable intervention necessitated by circumstances.

Human virtue (De) resembles the sun and moon in heaven, while the five inherent virtues (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness) mirror the five planets. Even barbarian lands cannot alter this principle. Progress depends on oneself, while judgment of worth lies with others. Being employed depends on timing, and implementation hinges on destiny. Thus, when opportunity arises, the noble person acts without hesitation—not a moment is to be wasted.

The Red Emperor (Chidi, god of fire) ignited conflagrations, so the Yellow Emperor subdued him; Gonggong (water deity) unleashed floods, so Zhuanxu executed him. First, they were admonished with virtue (De); if unheeded, they were intimidated with force; if still defiant, they were suppressed by arms. To slaughter innocent people to sustain an unjust ruler is the gravest crime; to exhaust the world's wealth to satisfy one man's desires is the deepest calamity. Indulging a single person's cravings while amplifying the world's suffering is intolerable to the heavenly order (Dao).

Rulers are established to curb violence, yet when they exploit the people's strength to instead harm them, it is like adding wings to a tiger—how can such rulers not be removed? Fish breeders must eliminate otters, and animal keepers must eradicate wolves—how much more so must those who govern people? Herein lies the origin of warfare.

A nation's cyclical destiny through the Five Phases (Wuxing) has deep roots. When the fire-ruling Red Emperor's era sees rulers lose virtue (De), fires erupt; when the water-ruling Gonggong's era witnesses moral failure, floods ensue. Thus, a ruler's loss of virtue invites corresponding disasters. How can any sovereign ruling over lands remain unalarmed after losing virtue and summoning calamity?

Laozi said: The principle of governing a state is this—the court issues no harsh decrees, officials enforce no burdensome regulations, scholars commit no hypocritical acts, and craftsmen produce no...

This passage expounds on the ancient sage-kings' governance principles, the social ills of chaotic times, and how to conduct righteous military campaigns.

First, it describes the various disorders of turbulent eras: people pursue superficial extravagance and clever techniques, artisans excessively embellish their crafts; merchants hoard rare goods to drive up prices; scholars chase ornate rhetoric while neglecting practical matters; officials employ sophistry to delay decisions; craftsmen spend years creating elaborate but useless curiosities. None of these contribute to proper governance—they only fuel chaos.

Next, it invokes the governing laws of the Shennong (Divine Farmer) era: if able-bodied men do not plow, people will starve; if women do not weave, people will freeze. Thus, the ruler personally tills the soil, and the queen personally spins and weaves, setting an example for all under heaven. In governing the people, they neither prize rare objects nor value useless things. With farming and weaving each fulfilling their roles, food and clothing are abundant, wickedness does not arise, and the world is at peace—so much so that neither the wise nor the brave find any use for their talents.

The text then contrasts ancient and modern governance: in antiquity, people were simple and honest, decrees were straightforward, officials did not harass the populace, scholars were not hypocritical, and artisans did not pursue bizarre craftsmanship. Thus, the people were easily content, and ruling the state was effortless. But in later ages, customs changed—both high and low imitated extravagance, insatiable greed spread, and the people became impossible to satisfy, making governance increasingly difficult.

Finally, it cites Laozi’s discourse on the way of true kingship: a genuine hegemon plans with strategy and acts with righteousness. When a ruler of another state tyrannizes the people, armies are raised to punish him—but they must not harm trees, tombs, crops, or property, nor plunder the people or livestock. The crimes of the offending ruler—his defiance of heavenly principle and oppression of the innocent—must be proclaimed, making clear that the campaign seeks only to abolish tyranny and install a virtuous ruler. Those who dare oppose heaven’s will and bring suffering to the people will perish, their clans extinguished.

This passage embodies the Daoist political ideal of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)," rejecting extravagance in favor of simplicity and practicality, while emphasizing the necessity of righteous military action.

This passage expounds the principles of governance and military strategy, with "righteousness" (yi) as its core. First regarding statecraft: Officials should be enfeoffed according to their administrative capacity—those capable of governing clans receive clan stipends, those managing villages well gain village honors, and those administering counties successfully are made marquises. When conquering enemy states, spare the common people while only deposing tyrants and reforming corrupt systems. Honor the virtuous, care for orphans and widows, relieve the impoverished, release wrongfully imprisoned individuals, and reward the meritorious. Thus the people will voluntarily open their gates, prepare provisions, and eagerly await such benevolent forces.

Military strategy operates on three levels: The highest is the righteous army that gains submission before crossing borders; unrighteous forces must fight to the death. Those waging war for private gain cannot achieve true kingship, nor can self-serving actions establish lasting merit. Those acting for the people gain universal support, while the self-interested face universal abandonment. With popular support, the weak become strong; without it, great states perish.

The manifestation of "supreme righteousness" (shangyi) includes: implementing benevolent governance domestically, establishing impartial laws, and blocking corrupt practices. When rulers and ministers maintain close bonds, the people live in harmony, and all unite as one, neighboring states naturally show reverence and distant lands admire their virtue (De). Simply by cultivating enlightened governance at court, such rulers deter enemies a thousand miles away—their commands resonate throughout the realm. This represents the pinnacle of statecraft.

Second-tier states, though vast in territory and population with wise rulers, capable generals, abundant resources, and disciplined troops, still rely on military deterrence when confronting enemies. The lowest tier requires knowledge of terrain advantages, mastery of tactical formations, and bloody battlefield engagements causing heavy casualties.

The ultimate truth: Victory or defeat in war depends on governance. Clear-sighted governance wins popular support, strengthening armies; corrupt governance provokes resistance, weakening them. True "supreme righteousness" means: winning hearts through benevolence, addressing urgent needs through public works, gaining worthy officials through merit-based selection, and making judicious decisions. This constitutes the highest wisdom in statecraft and military affairs.

(Note: The text references "Wenzi," a Daoist figure traditionally regarded as Laozi's disciple; "zuanyi" denotes classical exegesis. This passage integrates Daoist philosophy with statecraft and military strategy, reflecting characteristics of the Huang-Lao school.)

This passage from Wenzi Zuanyi discusses the relationship between military strategy and state governance. It first distinguishes between the "host" (主), who initiates warfare, and the "guest" (客), who responds defensively. True masters of military arts would say, "I dare not be the host but would rather be the guest," meaning one should never lightly provoke war. When armed conflict becomes unavoidable, the optimal scenario is fighting for a just cause; the next best is causing the enemy to collapse on their own; direct confrontation is the least desirable option.

Laozi teaches that a nation's true strength lies in its people's willingness to die for their country—a resolve born from moral righteousness (德). Such righteousness flourishes through authoritative virtue (威信). Thus, governance requires both civil cultivation through De (德) and military deterrence to ensure victory. When authority and righteousness align, the state inevitably prospers. Even amid flying arrows and clashing blades, soldiers will charge forward courageously when rewards and punishments are justly administered.

When rulers treat citizens as their children, the people serve them as devoted fathers; when leaders regard subordinates as brothers, their followers demonstrate fraternal loyalty. A sovereign who genuinely treats subjects as offspring can become a true king; citizens who regard their ruler as a father bring stability to the realm. Such familial bonds leave no opening for enemies. Therefore, enlightened rulers cultivate internal governance and accumulate virtue while externally guarding against wickedness and demonstrating might, attentively observing their people's toil and understanding their hardships. On the battlefield, soldiers then face death with equanimity—a testament to accumulated benevolence.

Governing the world follows the natural Dao—why resort to arms? Military action is truly a last resort. The reason strong armies face death unflinchingly lies in righteousness' transformative power. Yet how could a truly righteous ruler bear to drive his people into mortal peril for national strength? When sovereign and citizens share this father-child bond, when governance is enlightened and virtue amassed, the state naturally grows powerful—history attests to this truth.

(Note: Wenzi was a pivotal Daoist figure, and Wenzi Zuanyi elucidates his philosophy, blending the Daoist principle of Wuwei (无为) governance with statecraft and military strategy.)