《墨子》

This passage comes from the "Esteeming Virtuous Men" chapter of Mozi, primarily discussing the principle that rulers must value capable and virtuous individuals in governance.

If a state is governed without valuing virtuous men (xian shi), it will inevitably perish. When encountering worthy talents but failing to employ them promptly, the ruler's great affairs will be delayed. Without virtuous men, there will be no one to handle emergencies; without scholars, there will be no one to deliberate on state policies. Historically, Duke Wen of Jin rose to hegemony after his exile, Duke Huan of Qi became the leader of feudal lords after leaving his country, and King Goujian of Yue, despite suffering humiliation from the King of Wu, still became a wise ruler of the Central Plains. The reason these three rulers achieved fame under heaven was because they knew to employ virtuous men during times of national crisis.

A truly enlightened ruler does not fail, and even if he does, he can turn defeat into victory—this is the wisdom of employing talent well. A noble man (junzi) does not seek a life of ease but maintains an enterprising spirit; he does not crave excessive wealth but remains content. The noble man takes initiative in facing difficulties, while ordinary people flee from them. Even when living among commoners, the noble man retains self-confidence without harboring resentment.

If ministers care only about rank and dare not remonstrate, if close advisors remain silent while distant ones complain, if flatterers surround the ruler while good counsel is obstructed, then the state is in danger. Did not the tyrants Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang perish precisely because they failed to employ the virtuous men of the world? Thus, it is better to recommend worthy men than to offer treasures.

The text uses five metaphors to illustrate: the sharpest awl wears out first, the keenest blade dulls fastest, the sweetest well dries up earliest, the tallest tree is felled first, and the most divinely accurate tortoise shell is always scorched, just as the miraculous snake is often exposed to the sun. Similarly, Bi Gan was killed for his integrity, Meng Ben met his end for his bravery, Xi Shi was drowned for her beauty, and Wu Qi was dismembered for his talent. Thus, excessive excellence makes preservation difficult.

A wise ruler does not favor ministers without merit, nor does a loving father cherish useless sons. This serves as a warning to rulers: they must appoint men based on virtue and ability, not personal favoritism.

This passage primarily elucidates the principles of self-cultivation and state governance, particularly the selection and employment of worthy talents.

Regarding talent selection: When an incapable person occupies a high position, they prove unworthy of that station; when someone lacking virtue enjoys generous emoluments, they prove undeserving of such rewards. Just as a fine bow, though difficult to draw, can shoot arrows high and far; or a superior steed, though challenging to tame, can bear heavy loads over great distances; so too do worthy talents, though demanding to employ, assist rulers in achieving meritorious deeds. Therefore, great rivers never spurn tributary streams—only thus do they become vast; sages never reject small matters nor violate natural principles—only thus do they become pillars of the world. Like river waters that never flow from a single source, or a thousand-gold fox-fur robe that isn't made from one fox's white hairs.

On state governance: Heaven and Earth never conspicuously display themselves, great floods never intentionally overflow, massive fires never deliberately spread, and true kingly virtue never ostentatiously manifests grandeur. Being arrow-straight or whetstone-flat actually prevents encompassing all things. Just as narrow streams dry quickly, shallow waters exhaust easily, and barren land yields no crops—if these three conditions befall a ruler, their beneficence cannot reach the common people.

The self-cultivation section emphasizes: Though gentlemen employ formations in battle, courage remains fundamental; though rituals govern mourning, genuine grief is essential; though scholars pursue learning, moral character forms the foundation. Without firm roots, don't seek luxuriant foliage; without close associates' loyalty, don't recruit distant talents; without relatives' support, don't befriend outsiders. Begin what you can finish, never grasping for more than you can manage.

True gentlemen cultivate themselves through nearby examples—when seeing others' moral failings, they examine themselves, thus naturally reducing resentment while daily increasing virtue. They achieve this by: not listening to slander, not speaking hurtful words, not harboring harmful intentions. Thus even slanderers find no handle. The gentleman's characteristics include: growing diligence in actions, expanding ambition in purpose, and increasing magnanimity in spirit.

Finally, four essential qualities are presented: integrity in poverty, benevolence in wealth, compassion in life, and being mourned in death. These cannot be feigned—they must spring from the heart. The mind should overflow with humaneness, conduct should maintain reverence, and speech should observe discretion.

This passage from Mozi conveys two essential teachings: personal cultivation and the influence of one's environment.

First, regarding personal cultivation, only sages possess unwavering perseverance. Those with unstable willpower cannot attain true wisdom, and those who break promises will never see their actions bear fruit. The wealthy who refuse to share are unworthy of friendship, just as those who abandon righteous principles, lack discernment, or confuse right and wrong make poor companions. When roots are weak, branches cannot thrive; when a source is muddy, its waters remain turbid. Those whose conduct lacks integrity will inevitably ruin their reputation. Fame does not emerge from emptiness, nor does honor grow spontaneously—both must be earned through tangible deeds. Eloquent speakers who act sluggishly gain no trust, just as those who labor yet boast receive no recognition. The truly wise understand without verbosity and accomplish without self-praise—this is how one's name spreads throughout the world. Speech should value precision over quantity, clarity over ornamentation.

Concerning environmental influence, Mozi observed silk dyeing and remarked: "Silk turns green in green dye and yellow in yellow dye—its color changes with each vat." This principle extends beyond dyeing to statecraft. Emperor Shun was influenced by Xu You and Bo Yang; Yu the Great by Gao Yao and Bo Yi; Tang of Shang by Yi Yin and Zhong Hui; King Wu of Zhou by Jiang Ziya and the Duke of Zhou. These four sage kings thrived because of virtuous mentors. Conversely, Jie of Xia was corrupted by Gan Xin and Tui Duo; Zhou of Shang by Chong Hou and E Lai; King Li of Zhou by Li Gong Changfu and Rong Yi Zhong; King You of Zhou by Fu Gong Yi and Cai Gong Gu—these four rulers met ruin through harmful influences.

Duke Huan of Qi's example further proves how a ruler's character mirrors his advisors. Therefore, choosing one's associates demands utmost prudence, for this decision shapes both personal destiny and a nation's future.

This passage from Mozi discusses how rulers and scholars are influenced ("dyed") by those around them, leading to different outcomes.

The first part illustrates the principle that "one takes on the color of one's company" through historical examples. Duke Huan of Qi was influenced by Guan Zhong and Bao Shuya; Duke Wen of Jin by Jiu Fan and Gao Yan; King Zhuang of Chu by Sunshu Ao and Shen Yin; King Helü of Wu by Wu Zixu and Wen Yi; and King Goujian of Yue by Fan Li and Wen Zhong. These five rulers, properly guided by virtuous ministers ("correctly dyed"), achieved hegemony among feudal lords and left lasting legacies. Conversely, Fan Jishe, Zhonghang Yin, King Fuchai of Wu, Zhi Bo Yao, Zhongshan Shang, and Duke Kang of Song—misled by treacherous ministers ("improperly dyed")—met with national ruin and personal calamity.

The second part emphasizes that the key to a ruler's successful governance lies in selecting capable individuals ("laboring in evaluating people") rather than micromanaging affairs. Inept rulers exhaust themselves yet drive their states toward peril precisely because they fail to grasp this essential principle.

The third part extends this logic to ordinary individuals. Associating with friends who uphold benevolence, righteousness, prudence, and lawfulness brings familial prosperity and personal security; keeping company with the arrogant, cliquish, and self-serving leads to household decline and personal jeopardy. Positive examples include worthies like Duan Ganmu, Qinzi, and Fu Yue, while negative models feature sycophants like Zi Xi, Yi Ya, and Jian Diao.

Concluding with a Book of Songs citation, the text stresses cautious selection of associates. Just as craftsmen require compasses, squares, and other tools ("standards and measures") for their work, governing the world demands guiding principles. Mozi asserts that all endeavors—from statecraft to craftsmanship—require standards. Artisans use squares for rectangles, compasses for circles, strings for straight lines, and plumb lines for perpendicularity. Even the most skilled must adhere to these five fundamental methods.

Mozi expounds his legal philosophy in this passage. He observes that craftsmen have clear standards to follow in their work, yet rulers who govern the world and states lack definitive principles—falling short even of craftsmen in this regard. What then should serve as the guiding principle for state governance?

Mozi first dismisses three conventional options: emulating parents, teachers, or rulers. Though numerous individuals serve as parents, teachers, and sovereigns, truly benevolent ones are rare. Taking such non-benevolent figures as models would establish unvirtuous standards, making such principles unacceptable.

He then proposes modeling governance after "Heaven" (the natural order or the Dao of Heaven). Heaven's operation is vast and impartial, bestowing abundance without seeking reward, its radiance enduring without decline. Sage-kings take Heaven as their standard. Mozi asserts Heaven desires mutual love and benefit among people, not mutual hatred and harm. How do we know Heaven's will? Because Heaven universally nurtures all humanity—every state, whether large or small, constitutes Heaven's domain; every person, whether noble or common, serves as Heaven's subject. When people offer oxen, sheep, pigs, dogs, fine wine, and grains in sacrifice to Heaven, does this not demonstrate Heaven's universal ownership and nourishment of all things?

Mozi concludes: Heaven surely blesses those who love and benefit others, while bringing misfortune upon those who harm and injure others. Killing the innocent inevitably invites calamity. He rhetorically asks: If people slaughter each other, how could Heaven possibly approve? This clearly reveals Heaven's desire for mutual love and assistance among humanity.

This passage from Mozi presents two core doctrines: Heaven's reward and punishment, and the seven perils of governance.

Regarding Heaven's reward and punishment, Mozi asserts that Heaven desires mutual love and benefit (xiang ai xiang li) among people, while abhorring mutual harm and injury (xiang e xiang zei). Ancient sage-kings like Yu the Great, Tang of Shang, King Wen and King Wu of Zhou treated their people kindly and revered Heaven, Earth and spirits, thus receiving Heaven's blessing to become Sons of Heaven. Conversely, tyrants like Jie of Xia, Zhou of Shang, King You and King Li of Zhou oppressed their people and defied cosmic powers, ultimately losing their kingdoms and lives, becoming objects of eternal condemnation. This demonstrates the cosmic principle that good deeds bring blessings while wickedness invites calamity.

Concerning the seven perils of governance, Mozi systematically enumerates the fatal flaws that endanger states: First, building lavish palaces while neglecting city walls; Second, neighboring states refusing aid during border crises; Third, exhausting people's labor on useless projects while rewarding incompetence; Fourth, officials coveting salaries, traveling scholars fearing return, and harsh laws silencing remonstrance; Fifth, rulers assuming sagacity while ignoring governance, or presuming security without defense preparations; Sixth, trusted ministers proving disloyal while loyal ones remain distrusted; Seventh, insufficient grain reserves, incapable ministers, and ineffective rewards/punishments. Mozi warns that any state harboring these seven perils inevitably courts disaster.

The text emphasizes grain as the foundation of livelihood, insisting rulers must prioritize agriculture (food cannot be neglected), utilize land wisely (land cannot be untilled), and practice frugality (expenses cannot be unregulated). It defines famine severity: one season's crop failure constitutes "scarcity" (jin), two seasons "drought" (han), three seasons "calamity" (xiong). These ideas embody Mozi's core principles of "universal love" (jian ai) and "condemnation of offensive war" (fei gong), reflecting his governance wisdom valuing people's welfare and preparedness in times of peace.

This passage primarily discusses a state's measures for coping with famine and the importance of reserves.

When grain harvests are poor, officials should reduce their stipends according to the severity of the disaster: a one-fifth reduction when four staple crops fail, two-fifths when five crops fail, three-fifths during major disasters, four-fifths during severe famines, and complete suspension of stipends—providing only basic rations—in the most extreme cases. The ruler should forgo lavish feasts, high officials should remove their hanging musical instruments, scholars should suspend their studies, the ruler should refrain from making new court robes, entertain envoys from other states with simple meals, reduce carriage and horse expenses, and maids and concubines should not wear silk. These are all measures taken when state resources are insufficient.

The author uses the analogy of a mother saving her child from a well to illustrate the importance of aiding the starving during famine. The moral character of the people is directly influenced by the year's harvest: in bountiful years, they are kind and generous, while in years of scarcity, they are prone to wickedness. The crux lies in too few producers and too many consumers, which is why the state must prioritize reserves.

Ancient sage-kings like Yu the Great endured seven years of floods, and Tang of Shang faced five years of drought, yet their people did not starve because they emphasized production, storage, and frugality. Without grain reserves, there is no way to survive famine; without weapons stockpiles, there is no means to punish the unjust; with incomplete city walls, there is no defense; and without forethought, one cannot handle emergencies.

Finally, the examples of Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang illustrate that even as Sons of Heaven, possessing all under heaven, failure to prepare leads to ruin. Thus, reserves are a matter of state importance: grain is the treasure of the nation, the military its claws, and fortified walls its means of self-defense.

In this passage, Mozi criticizes rulers for their extravagant and wasteful behavior, identifying it as the root cause of national decline.

Rulers squander vast sums rewarding those without merit, deplete state coffers to acquire luxurious carriages and exotic garments, and force commoners into corvée labor to construct palatial towers. In life they indulge in extreme luxury; in death they demand lavish burials with ornate coffins and copious grave goods. They build towering pavilions while alive and extravagant tombs for their afterlife. The consequence? The people suffer externally while the state treasury empties internally. When the upper classes revel without restraint and the lower classes endure unbearable hardship, such nations crumble when facing foreign threats and collapse during famines—all due to insufficient reserves.

Grain is the treasure of governance. As the Zhou Documents state: "A state without three years' grain reserves cannot be considered a true state; a household without three years' provisions cannot properly fulfill filial duties." This constitutes true national preparedness.

Mozi continues: When ancient people lacked housing skills, they dwelled in mountain caves where underground dampness harmed health, prompting sage-kings to initiate construction. Their building principles were simple: height sufficient to avoid dampness, walls thick enough to block wind, roofs sturdy enough to repel rain and snow, with partition heights merely ensuring gender separation. These sage-kings built solely for utility, not pleasure; crafted clothing and footwear solely for warmth, not novelty. Through personal frugality and public instruction, they brought order and abundance to all under heaven.

Contemporary rulers differ radically. They impose exorbitant taxes, plundering the people's food and clothing resources to erect palaces with carved beams and painted pillars. When ministers emulate this extravagance, the state becomes incapable of handling disasters or aiding widows and orphans, culminating in national poverty and civil unrest. If rulers truly desire stable governance, palace construction must be restrained.

Before clothing skills developed, ancient people wore animal hides tied with grass ropes—inadequate for winter warmth or summer coolness. Sage-kings deemed this unsuitable for human needs, thus teaching women weaving techniques. When constructing city walls, they levied labor moderately without exhausting the people, following standard corvée protocols that prevented resentment despite the toil.

This passage from Mozi critiques the extravagant excesses of contemporary rulers who exploit the common people, advocating instead for emulating the frugal governance of ancient sages.

When the ancient sages established clothing standards for the people, they sought only warmth in winter and coolness in summer—nothing more. There was no wasteful display for vanity’s sake. In those times, people did not value lavish carriages or ornate decorations, because the sages’ way of governance ensured households had surplus grain to withstand famine. When the people practiced frugality, they were easier to govern; when rulers minimized expenditures, state coffers remained full. Only with ample reserves could sudden military crises be met, laying the foundation for true hegemony.

Yet modern rulers have entirely different priorities for clothing: they demand warmth in winter and coolness in summer, but even after these needs are met, they impose heavy taxes, seizing the people’s food and clothing to craft extravagant garments and ornaments. Women exhaust themselves in embroidery, men in intricate carvings—all squandering resources on decorations that serve no practical purpose. Clothing is no longer for utility but vanity. The result is a people unrestrained and ungovernable, and rulers so indulgent they reject counsel. How can the world not descend into chaos under such rulership?

The same applies to food. In antiquity, before cooking was known, people ate plainly and lived simply. The sages taught men to farm and provide sustenance, so that eating served only to satisfy hunger and strengthen the body. But today’s rulers plunder the people to amass delicacies—great states setting out a hundred dishes, small states ten—pushing waste to its extreme. Mozi’s argument is clear: if one truly wishes to govern and bring stability to the realm, it must begin with restraint in the most basic necessities—food and clothing.

The eyes cannot behold all things at once, nor can the hands grasp every object simultaneously, just as the mouth cannot taste all flavors in a single moment. In winter, water freezes into ice; in summer, food spoils easily. If a ruler indulges excessively in culinary pleasures, those around him will follow suit. The wealthy grow ever more extravagant, while the orphaned and widowed suffer hunger and cold—how could such a state avoid chaos? If a ruler truly desires peace under heaven, he must moderate his appetites.

In ancient times, before carts and boats were invented, heavy objects could not be transported far, and distant journeys were impossible. Thus, the sage-kings created vehicles and vessels to benefit the people. Their carts and boats were sturdy yet lightweight, capable of bearing heavy loads over long distances—costing little but serving greatly. The people naturally embraced them. Laws were followed without coercion, the populace prospered without exhaustion, and hearts turned to the ruler of their own accord.

Modern rulers, however, approach carts and boats differently: though they achieve sturdiness and lightness, they further impose heavy taxes to adorn them. Chariots are carved with intricate patterns; boats are engraved with elaborate designs. Women abandon weaving for embroidery, leaving the people cold; men neglect farming for carving, leaving the people hungry. When rulers treat vehicles this way, their attendants emulate them, and soon the masses suffer hunger and cold while crime proliferates. The harsher the punishments, the greater the chaos. If true peace is desired, rulers must restrain their extravagance in vehicles and vessels.

Heaven and earth operate by their inherent principles: the heavens above, the earth below; the four seasons alternate between yin and yang; humans divide into male and female, beasts into male and female. These are eternal truths, immutable even by the sage-kings of old. Though ancient sage-rulers had personal desires, they never allowed them to corrupt their virtue (De), so the people bore no resentment. No imprisoned maidens filled the palaces, no bachelors languished among the commoners. When men and women married in due season, the population flourished naturally.

But what of modern rulers? The palaces of great states confine thousands of maidens; even small states hold hundreds. Consequently, countless men remain unwed, while multitudes of women are confined without husbands. When the time for marriage and childbearing passes, the population dwindles. If rulers truly desire prosperity, they must restrain their private desires.

This passage expounds the Dao of moderation. The sages advocated practicing restraint in five key areas, whereas petty individuals indulge without limits. Where there is restraint, prosperity follows; where there is indulgence, destruction ensues. These five aspects requiring moderation are: marital relations (when moderated, heaven and earth harmonize), wind and rain (when moderated, the Five Grains flourish), and clothing (when moderated, bodily health is preserved).

In the seventh debate of "Three Critiques," Cheng Fan questions Mozi: "Did not the ancient sage-kings create music?" He cites examples: feudal lords listening to bell-and-drum music after weary governance, scholar-officials enjoying reed-organ and zither melodies, and farmers striking earthen pots in seasonal celebrations. "Yet you claim sage-kings made no music," Cheng Fan argues, "This would be like forcing horses to gallop without rest or bows to remain drawn without release—surely beyond mortal endurance!"

Mozi responds that Yao and Shun's era employed only minimal ritual music. Only after King Tang overthrew the tyrant Jie did he compose the "Nine Summons" during peace; King Wu of Zhou created the "Xiang" music after conquering Shang while preserving earlier traditions; King Cheng later introduced the "Zouyu" melody. Yet comparing their reigns: Cheng's governance paled before Wu's, Wu's before Tang's, and Tang's before Yao and Shun's. Paradoxically, as musical complexity increased, governance declined. Thus music cannot be fundamental to ordering the world.

Cheng Fan counters: "You claim sage-kings had no music, yet these examples prove otherwise!" Mozi clarifies: The sage-kings' priority was ensuring people's sustenance. While knowing to eat when hungry seems obvious, many fail even at this. Though sage-kings permitted some music, its scarcity rendered it virtually nonexistent—the crux lies in distinguishing primary from secondary. Governing must center on people's livelihood.