《文子纘義》Vol. 12

This passage comes from Du Daojian's Wenzi Zuanyi: Shangli Chapter from the Song Dynasty, which discusses the transformation of social morality from ancient times to the Zhou Dynasty, as well as the differing pursuits of sages and ordinary people.

In the earliest antiquity, those who attained the Dao (the Way)—known as zhenren (perfected beings who reached the highest state of cultivation)—could harmonize the two energies of Yin-Yang, and all beings revered their De (Virtue/Power). The world was in perfect harmony, society was naturally simple, and all things flourished. By the time of Fuxi, people began awakening from ignorance, but their De became fragmented and inconsistent. When Shennong and the Yellow Emperor ruled the world, they could regulate the cycles of the seasons and balance Yin-Yang, and the people respectfully followed their teachings—yet governance was no longer as perfect as in antiquity.

During the Xia and Shang dynasties, people indulged their desires, became deluded by external things, and lost their innate nature. By the Zhou Dynasty, the pure and simple customs had completely faded. People turned away from the Dao, feigned De, played with cleverness, and imitated the sages. They used ornate words to deceive the masses and even embellished the Classics of Poetry and Documents to seek fame. Everyone employed cunning disguises to conform to worldly trends, yet they lost the root of the Dao.

Thus, those who truly attain the Dao seek to return to their innate nature and cultivate a mind of serene emptiness (the state of clarity and non-action pursued in Daoism). Ordinary people, however, flaunt their De while suppressing their true nature, their hearts restless and anxious, resorting to extreme behavior to gain reputation—something the Dao-attained would never do. Those who embody the Dao see through life and death, understand honor and disgrace, and are neither elated by praise nor disheartened by criticism, for they have grasped the essence of the great Dao.

Laozi said that in the most ancient times, people wore their hair loose and robes ungathered (symbolizing a simple, unadorned life), yet they could govern the world. In those days, rulers possessed benevolent De—they did not kill or plunder. Though people dressed differently, all were moved by their Virtue. Yin and Yang were in harmony, all things thrived, and birds and beasts were docile and friendly. But when the world declined, even birds and beasts became threats, forcing people to forge weapons for self-defense. When the people faced hardship, they sought solutions; when disaster struck, they prepared tools to guard against it, using wisdom to pursue benefit and avoid harm. Thus, one cannot rigidly cling to old ways, nor can tools remain unchanging—this is why the ancient kings established laws and institutions.

This scripture primarily discusses the changing patterns of the Dao and the wisdom of sages in governing the world.

It first points out that all things are in constant flux, so any names or forms that can be expressed through language are not eternal or unchanging. The governing methods of the Five Emperors (legendary sage rulers of antiquity) differed, yet all could cover the world with their De (Virtue/Power). The policies of the Three Kings (founding rulers of Xia, Shang and Zhou dynasties) each had unique characteristics, yet their reputations endured through later ages—this demonstrates the principle of adapting to changing circumstances. Like the famous musician Shi Kuang performing music: though the pitch variations followed no fixed pattern, when measured by proper standards they were perfectly harmonious. Only those who truly understand music can compose it, just as only those with principles in their hearts can govern well.

The ancient sage-kings established ritual and musical systems without becoming constrained by them; they created implements without becoming limited by them; they instituted laws without becoming bound by them. This embodies the profound meaning of "the Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao."

Laozi said the ancient sage-kings observed the patterns of heaven, earth and all things: they looked upward to celestial phenomena, downward to geographical features, and between them to human affairs. They harmonized the Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang, followed the seasonal transformations, and examined the suitability of mountain and river formations to develop production and solve livelihood problems. They established ritual and music systems based on human relationships and governed society through the Dao of benevolence and righteousness. Family ethics were established according to the characteristics of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), national order was built through musical principles, official positions were arranged according to seasonal sequences, administrative regions were divided for governance, and schools were established for education. These all represent fundamental principles of statecraft.

Yet the law of development dictates that expansion must be followed by contraction, prosperity by decline. Only sages can maintain perpetual prosperity without decline. Originally created to purify the mind, music in its decline becomes indulgence in sensual pleasure; writing, first invented to record affairs, later becomes a tool for the wicked to evade punishment; royal parks, initially built for sacrificial ceremonies and military training, eventually become venues for rulers to hunt and harass the people. Even the original intent of promoting worthy individuals can become distorted. This shows how any system inevitably changes in essence as times transform.

This passage elucidates principles of governance and talent utilization. During times of peace and prosperity, virtuous and capable individuals fulfill their respective roles, extending benevolence to the common people. In periods of decline, however, people form factions for personal gain, allowing the cunning to dominate while the worthy withdraw. The Dao of heaven and earth follows the principle of reversal at the extreme—thus sages reform institutions when malpractices emerge.

The foundation of governance lies in promoting ritual propriety (li), righteousness (yi), integrity (lian), and moral shame (chi). Those without a sense of shame are difficult to govern, just as those ignorant of ritual propriety remain beyond the reach of laws. Harsh punishments alone prove insufficient—while laws can penalize the unfilial, they cannot inspire filial devotion; they may punish thieves but cannot cultivate integrity. Enlightened rulers establish clear standards of right and wrong, drawing near the worthy while distancing petty men, employing fewer punishments and emphasizing ritual propriety and virtue (De).

Talents should be appointed according to hierarchical competence: those with extraordinary wisdom are called "heroes" (ying, the most outstanding among ten thousand); those with exceptional ability are "talents" (jun, one in a thousand); those combining virtue and capability are "outstanding persons" (jie, one in a hundred); and those with noble conduct are "local worthies" (hao, one in ten). True heroes comprehend the patterns of heaven and earth as well as human affairs, embodying tolerance, benevolence, and wisdom. Talents and outstanding persons should set examples, discern right from wrong, and maintain trustworthiness and integrity. Local worthies must fulfill their duties with dedication, act courageously for justice, and refrain from selfish pursuits.

Positioning talents appropriately resembles using roots to control branches or balancing light objects with heavy ones—when superiors and subordinates unite in purpose, people naturally abandon greed and aspire to righteousness. Transforming the populace occurs as effortlessly as wind bending grass. Conversely, placing the unvirtuous over the worthy ensures chaos despite severe punishments, just as slender timber cannot bear heavy loads nor the weak command the strong.

Heaven and Earth follow their natural patterns, thus enlightened rulers select virtuous talents to establish achievements, while foolish rulers only appoint those who share their personal tastes. By observing whom a ruler promotes, one can discern whether the realm is well-governed or in chaos; by examining the factions they associate with, one can judge whether they are wise or incompetent.

Laozi said: Those who excessively emphasize ritual propriety are like artificially carving human nature, forcibly distorting people's innate dispositions. Eyes long to see but are restrained by rules; hearts desire joy but are fettered by etiquette. It is like birds forced to circle endlessly or humans compelled to bow and scrape—facing delicacies yet forbidden to eat, encountering fine wine yet unable to drink freely. Externally, the body is bound; internally, one's innate virtue (De, the natural goodness of human nature) is stifled. This violates the harmony of Yin-Yang and damages the essence of life, leaving one trapped in lifelong suffering. Why is this so? Because instead of investigating the root of desires, they merely suppress them; instead of seeking the source of joy, they only obstruct it. It is like raising wild beasts without building enclosures yet expecting to tame their nature, or attempting to dam a river with bare hands. Thus it is said: If you release the floodgates without restraint, the consequences will be uncontrollable.

Ritual propriety, in its true form, should moderate emotions and desires through moral principles. But if one forcibly starves their natural needs—like hunger or thirst—just to comply with rituals, no one can live out their natural lifespan. Rituals cannot eliminate human desires, only regulate them; music cannot stop people from seeking joy, only guide it. If the world refrains from theft only out of fear of punishment, how does that compare to having no desire to steal in the first place? Thus, when people recognize something as utterly useless, even the greedy will reject it; when they fail to grasp its value, even the virtuous will not yield.

Every ruler who lost their state and life, becoming a laughingstock of the world, fell victim to unchecked desires. Like a fan in winter or a fur coat in summer, such things serve no purpose—all things eventually return to dust. Trying to stop boiling water by stirring it only makes it boil harder; those who understand the root simply remove the firewood.

Laozi said: Acting in accordance with one's innate nature is the "Dao"; preserving one's heavenly endowment is "De." When human nature is lost, righteousness and benevolence must be emphasized; when these virtues are artificially promoted, the Dao and De decline. Once primal simplicity fades, rituals and music are used as ornamentation; when standards of right and wrong are confused, the people grow bewildered. The moment pearls and jade are treasured, contention arises in the world. Rituals serve to distinguish noble from humble; righteousness harmonizes relationships between ruler and subject, parent and child, elder and younger siblings, husband and wife. But in decadent times, rituals become hollow displays of deference masking mutual scheming, and righteousness degrades into bribery and favor-trading. Rulers and ministers blame one another; flesh-and-blood kin breed resentment.

This scripture reveals the fundamental principles of social governance by contrasting the conditions of orderly and chaotic eras.

Where water accumulates, it breeds insects that kill one another; where earth piles up, it nurtures beasts that devour each other. Excessive emphasis on rituals and music gives rise to hypocrisy and deceit. In chaotic times, governance neglects the root of nourishing the people, instead eroding the world’s simple and honest customs and destroying humanity’s pure nature. Rulers muddy the clear waters, unsettling the lives of the people, trampling integrity and trust until they lie in fragments, and all lose their innate nature. At such times, laws contradict the Dao (the Way), actions clash with interests, disparities between rich and poor lead to mutual oppression, and the distinction between ruler and servant becomes blurred.

When resources are abundant, people yield to one another; when scarce, they contend. Yielding gives rise to ritual and righteousness, while contention breeds violence and disorder. Excessive desires obscure discernment, and insatiable greed leads to endless strife. In times of peace, even petty men uphold virtue without being swayed by profit, but in chaotic eras, even noble men commit crimes that laws cannot prevent.

Laozi said that rulers of decadent ages quarry mountains for jade and gold, smelt copper and iron, disrupting the growth of all things. They slit open the wombs of beasts, scorch the wilderness, destroy nests, and crush eggs, so that phoenixes no longer fly and qilin (auspicious beasts) no longer appear. They fell trees to build towering platforms, burn forests for hunting, drain lakes to catch fish, pile earth into mountains for dwellings, dig deep for water to drink, divert rivers to create ponds, and fortify city walls for security, confining wild beasts as livestock. These actions disturb Yin-Yang, throwing the seasons into disarray—thunderbolts destroy, hail and frost bring calamity, all things wither and die prematurely, most creatures perish, plants wither in summer, and rivers run dry. They carve boundaries through mountains and valleys, tally populations to establish hierarchies, forge weapons and set up barriers for defense, dictate clothing colors to distinguish noble from base, and employ rewards and punishments that incite war and breed resentment. Innocents are slaughtered, and the blameless are punished.

Laozi pointed out that in times of decline, human life is as precarious as the rise of Yin energy. Rulers are benighted and ignorant, the great Dao (the Way) is abandoned, De (Virtue) is extinguished, actions defy heavenly principles, and decrees violate the rhythms of the seasons. Spring and autumn lose their harmony, and heaven and earth withdraw their blessings. The ruler’s position is unstable, ministers retreat in silence, officials flatter and subvert norms, families grow distant in self-preservation, and schemers whisper plots, indulging the ruler’s arrogance to fuel chaos for personal gain. Thus, ruler and minister become estranged, kin grow cold, fields lie barren, roads stand empty of travelers, heaps of gold corrupt integrity, and halls filled with jade erode righteousness.

The Wenzi Zuanyi passage primarily discusses principles of governance and military strategy.

It first depicts an era of chaos: rulers enact harsh laws with cruel punishments, bringing suffering to the people. Wars rage incessantly, leaving countless dead and wounded, plunging the world into turmoil. Then sages emerge, governing through Dao (the Way), De (Virtue), benevolence, and righteousness, reuniting the realm. They abolish oppressive laws, eliminate burdensome policies, suppress rumors, and discard petty cunning, allowing all things to return to their natural state. The sage does not create the times but adapts to them.

The text then uses metaphors to illustrate governance: just as the mythical Feng River, though crystal clear, harbors no fish, turtles, or dragons, and barren mountains cannot retain deer for lack of shelter, so too will excessive strictness and micromanagement in governance tear society apart like overstretched leather. Lenient policies foster simple, honest customs, while harsh scrutiny breeds cunning among the people.

Finally, it discusses military strategy: governance requires upright methods, but warfare demands unorthodox tactics. First, secure an unassailable position before seeking victory over the enemy. Attacking another's disorder while in chaos oneself is like extinguishing fire with fire or stopping water with water—it solves nothing. Instead, counter opposites with opposites: stillness against agitation, order against chaos, satiety against hunger, ease against exhaustion. The interplay of orthodox and unorthodox resembles the mutual conquest of water and fire or metal and wood. When strength is equal, numbers prevail; when capability is matched, wisdom triumphs over folly; when wisdom is comparable, strategy defeats its absence.

(Note: "Wenzi" is a key Daoist figure; "Zuanyi" means "elucidating essential principles." "Feng River" refers to a mythical abyss; "Five Punishments" denote ancient penal codes; "Great Constancy" signifies fundamental laws; "Primordial Chaos" describes the undifferentiated state of existence.)

The Wenzi Zuanyi is a crucial Daoist scripture, with its twelfth scroll primarily elucidating the essence of the Dao (the Way) and the essentials of cultivation. Here, the Dao (referring to the cosmic origin and supreme truth) is formless and without shape, yet it gives birth to all things. Those who truly comprehend the Great Dao do not cling to external forms but maintain inner emptiness and stillness, aligning with the natural order. Just as water always flows downward, practitioners of the Dao should eliminate selfish thoughts and return to their simple, innate nature.

The text emphasizes that sages (those who have attained the Dao) govern the world not through forceful intervention but by following the natural principle of wuwei (non-action), much like heaven and earth nourish all beings effortlessly. Ordinary people, however, are often blinded by desires; in chasing fame and profit, they lose their true essence. If one understands the principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong" and maintains an innocent state like an infant, they come closer to the Great Dao.

Regarding cultivation methods, the text particularly highlights harmonizing the two qi (vital energies) of yin and yang (the complementary and opposing forces within the body). Through seated meditation and breath regulation, one purifies body and mind. When the spirit reaches a state of profound tranquility, one can perceive subtle transformations beyond ordinary awareness—a state known as "mysterious observation" (xuanlan, referring to deep intuitive insight).