《墨子》Vol. 5

Suppose a man sneaks into another's orchard to steal peaches and plums. When people find out, they all condemn him. If caught by the authorities, he'll be punished. Why? Because he harms others for personal gain. If someone steals dogs, pigs, chickens, or ducks from another's household, this is considered even more immoral than stealing fruit. Why? The greater the harm inflicted, the more it violates humaneness (ren), and the graver the offense. Should someone break into a stable to steal horses or oxen, this would be worse still—the deeper the harm, the greater the violation of humaneness, the heavier the crime. At its extreme, if one murders the innocent, strips them of clothing, or seizes their weapons, such acts become more reprehensible than stealing livestock.

Today, rulers across the land recognize these acts as immoral, calling them unjust (buyi). Yet strangely, when someone launches large-scale attacks against other states, they do not condemn it—instead, they praise it as righteous (yi). How can this be considered understanding the distinction between justice and injustice? Killing one person is unjust, warranting the death penalty; killing ten makes it tenfold injustice, deserving ten death sentences; a hundred lives demand a hundredfold retribution. All honorable men know this. But when it comes to the gravest crime—invading other states—they not only withhold condemnation but applaud it as righteous. This is like calling black white and bitter sweet, utterly inverting moral standards.

Minor wrongs draw universal criticism, yet the greatest crimes—waging war—escape censure and are even glorified as just. Can this be called understanding righteousness? Clearly, the so-called noblemen of our time are hopelessly confused in distinguishing justice from injustice.

Mozi, the founder of the Mohist school, stated: The ancient kings and ministers who governed the country well understood that to establish a good reputation, they must implement clear rewards and punishments while ensuring judicial and administrative decrees were free from error.

Quoting ancient wisdom, Mozi said: When planning affairs seems confusing, one can deduce the future by examining the past and perceive essence through surface phenomena. Only then can plans be made with certainty. Nowadays, some rulers recklessly wage war regardless of seasons—complaining of cold when campaigning in winter and heat in summer—when warfare should never be conducted in these seasons. Spring campaigns disrupt plowing, while autumn campaigns ruin harvests. Missing just one agricultural season condemns countless people to starvation and freezing deaths.

Consider the costs of war: Countless bamboo arrows, feathered banners, tents, armor, and shields are broken and abandoned; innumerable spears, halberds, dagger-axes, swords, and chariots are damaged beyond repair; oxen and horses depart well-fed but return emaciated or dead along the way; endless civilians perish from famine when supply lines fail during prolonged rains; troops suffer irregular meals and unstable lodgings, with diseases claiming countless lives. Heavy casualties and total annihilation of armies occur frequently. Even the ancestral spirits lose their sacrifices due to such devastation.

When states wage war, they plunder people’s wealth and harm their welfare on an immense scale. Why then do rulers persist? They claim: "We covet the glory of victory and the spoils of conquest." Yet Mozi counters: Calculate their so-called victories—they yield nothing useful; tally their gains—they pale against the losses.

Imagine capturing a small town with a three-li inner wall and seven-li outer wall without elite troops or casualties—this would be ideal. But reality demands tens of thousands slain for such minor conquests. Today’s great powers possess thousands of chariots and cities too numerous to capture, with territories so vast they can never be fully occupied. Land is thus superfluous, while people remain truly scarce. Yet rulers still sacrifice lives, aggravate societal strife, and fight over worthless empty cities.

This passage comes from Mozi, criticizing the rulers of his time for their obsession with waging war. Mozi argues that abandoning the insufficient resources of one's own state to compete for surplus resources elsewhere is not proper governance, but rather a glorification of warfare.

Mozi gives examples: the rulers of southern states like Chu and Wu, and northern states like Qi and Jin, initially had territories of only a few hundred li and populations of just several hundred thousand when first enfeoffed. Yet through constant warfare, their territories expanded to thousands of li, and their populations grew to millions. Though it may appear that four or five states profited from this, it was certainly not the right path. It's like a doctor prescribing medicine to treat illness—if a doctor gave the same prescription to all patients under heaven, and only four or five out of ten thousand showed improvement, could this be called a good prescription? Thus, a filial son would never let his parents take such medicine, nor would a loyal minister allow his ruler to employ such methods.

In ancient times, when feudal lords were enfeoffed, distant affairs were known by hearsay, while nearby events were witnessed directly. Countless states perished due to warfare. For instance, the eastern state of Ju, sandwiched between major powers, failed to respect its high officials. As a result, its eastern lands were seized by Yue, while its western territories were annexed by Qi. The southern states of Chen and Cai perished between Wu and Yue, and northern states were destroyed between Yan, Dai, and the Hu-Mo tribes—all because of war.

Mozi concludes that ancient kings and lords, desiring benefit and detesting loss, seeking stability and abhorring danger, must oppose warfare. Those who glorify war argue: "They failed to govern their people properly, hence they perished. I can govern my people and conquer the world through war—who would dare resist?" Mozi refutes this: Even if you can govern the people, can you compare to the ancient King Helü of Wu? Helü trained his army for seven years, with soldiers armored and armed....

This passage recounts two historical anecdotes illustrating how warmongering ultimately leads to self-destruction.

The first story concerns King Fuchai of Wu. After defeating Qi forces by besieging them near Mount Tai, he crossed multiple rivers and lakes to attack Yue, trapping King Goujian at Mount Kuaiji and subjugating neighboring states. Yet upon victory, consumed by arrogance, he neglected his people while obsessively building the extravagant Gusu Terrace—a project unfinished after seven years. Seizing this opportunity, King Goujian counterattacked, penetrated the Wu capital, and ultimately destroyed the kingdom.

The second episode involves Zhi Bo of Jin. Relying on vast territories and military might, he successively annihilated the Zhonghang and Fan clans before attempting to annex Zhao, besieging Lord Xiangzi at Jinyang. Realizing the principle that "when lips perish, teeth feel cold," the Han and Wei clans awakened to their peril. Allying with Zhao in a coordinated strike, they crushed Zhi Bo's forces.

Mozi concludes by invoking an ancient saying: "The nobleman uses not water but people as his mirror." While water reflects one's appearance, others' experiences reveal fortune and misfortune. Those who view war as profitable should carefully consider Zhi Bo's fate. Such bellicosity brings not blessings but calamity—a truth now abundantly clear.

In his essay "Against Offensive Warfare," Mozi further questions: What exactly do people nowadays praise as "virtuous deeds"? Only actions aligning with celestial will above, spiritual forces in the middle realm, and human hearts below can truly be called good.

This passage from the Mozi discusses the essence of "righteousness" (yi) and the principles of sage-kings' governance. Mozi argues that true "righteousness" must align with the interests of Heaven, the spirits, and the common people—all three are indispensable. Although the feudal lords of today verbally praise "righteousness," they fail to examine its essence, much like how the blind can name black and white but cannot distinguish actual objects.

The wise rulers of antiquity, when governing the world, first evaluated whether their actions met the standard of "righteousness" before acting. By doing so, they could act decisively, swiftly achieve their goals, and align with both the will of Heaven and the spirits, as well as the welfare of the people. The benevolent rulers of old opposed the oppression of small states by large ones, dedicated themselves to maintaining peace in the world, guided the people in agriculture, revered the Lord-on-High (Shangdi), the mountains and rivers, and the spirits, and worked for the benefit of the people. As a result, they received blessings from Heaven, praise from the people, and ultimately became honored Sons of Heaven (Tianzi). Their wealth spread throughout the world, their fame stood alongside Heaven and Earth, and their achievements are still celebrated today.

In contrast, the rulers and feudal lords of today act contrary to these principles. They assemble elite troops, equip them with sturdy armor and sharp weapons, and attack innocent states. When invading other countries, they destroy crops, fell trees, demolish city walls, fill in moats, slaughter livestock, burn ancestral temples, massacre the populace—sparing neither the elderly, the weak, women, nor children—and plunder valuable artifacts. In battle, they regard dying in combat as the highest merit, killing many as secondary, and being wounded as the lowest. Even worse, they force defeated soldiers to form ranks and kill each other, threatening, "If you do not surrender, you will be executed," using such methods to intimidate the masses. These acts of annexing other states, destroying armies, and harming the people completely violate the sage-kings' way of governance. Can such actions truly align with the interests of Heaven? To use the people bestowed by Heaven to attack cities protected by Heaven is tantamount to assassinating Heaven itself!

This passage from Mozi: Against Offensive Warfare critiques the threefold harm of war to Heaven, spirits, and humanity. Mozi (founder of Mohism) employs a cascading logical argument to expose how warmongering states violate cosmic principles and human ethics.

First, the violation of cosmic order: When commoners destroy spirit tablets, overturn altars of soil and grain, and slaughter sacrificial animals, they undermine the interests of Heaven. Can this be called pleasing the spirits? Killing deities, extinguishing their sacrifices, abandoning ancestral traditions, and harming multitudes—causing people to become displaced—fundamentally contradict the interests of spirits and deities.

Regarding harm to humanity: Claiming that killing people benefits them is absurd! Calculating war expenditures exhausts the people's livelihood, plundering immeasurable wealth from the populace—this utterly damages human welfare. Modern military campaigns often face multiple dilemmas: cowardly generals, uneven troop distribution, dull weapons, inadequate training, insufficient forces, disunity, weak deterrence, unsustainable operations, sluggish attacks, indecisive retreats, and demoralization. Add to this mutual suspicion among allies, and enemies will exploit these weaknesses.

Observe warmongering states: Each campaign mobilizes at least thousands of nobles and hundreds of thousands of commoners, lasting years at longest and months at shortest. The consequences? Rulers neglect governance, officials abandon administration, farmers desert fields, women stop weaving—total national dysfunction. Include the losses of chariots, horses, tents, and military equipment: actual spoils recovered amount to less than one-fifth, making war a losing venture.

More tragic are the marches: Distant campaigns exhaust supplies, soldiers starve, and countless perish in ditches from cold, hunger, or disease. Yet lords and ministers delight in inflicting such massive suffering—do they take pleasure in harming multitudes? Today's warlike states—Qi, Jin, Chu, and Yue—could conquer the world yet lack enough people to farm the seized lands. This inversion of priorities—coveting territory while lacking population—reveals their fundamental confusion.

This passage elucidates the fundamental distinction between "righteous punitive expeditions" (诛 zhu) and "unjust aggression" (攻 gong) through Mozi's debate with his opponents. Mozi points out that historical actions like Yu the Great's campaign against the Sanmiao tribes, Tang of Shang's overthrow of Jie of Xia, and King Wu of Zhou's defeat of King Zhou of Shang, though appearing as warfare on the surface, were in fact righteous acts of carrying out the Mandate of Heaven (天命 tianming).

Mozi meticulously documents the ominous celestial phenomena during these tyrants' reigns: during the Sanmiao rebellion, there occurred bloody rains, dragons appearing in ancestral temples, and wailing in marketplaces; under Jie of Xia, the sun and moon behaved abnormally, crops withered, and ghosts wept while cranes cried; during King Zhou's rule, day and night reversed, flesh rained from heaven, and genders transformed. These supernatural portents were Heaven's warnings, signifying the rulers had lost the celestial mandate.

In such circumstances, figures like Yu the Great, Tang of Shang, and King Wu of Zhou were executing Heaven's will through "righteous punishment" (诛 zhu), not waging self-interested wars (攻 gong). For instance, Yu the Great held the celestial mandate's tally when subduing the Sanmiao, while Tang of Shang destroyed Xia cities under divine guidance, ultimately restoring cosmic order. Mozi emphasizes this crucial difference between heaven-sanctioned justice and predatory warfare, insisting they must not be conflated. The text presents these historical interventions as cosmological corrections rather than mere political conquests, framed within the Daoist-influenced concept of resonant harmony between human governance and celestial patterns.

This passage documents the historical event of King Wu of Zhou overthrowing King Zhou of Shang, while exploring the distinction between "aggressive warfare" and "righteous punitive campaigns." The text mentions that a red crow (a divine crimson bird) descended at the Qishan ancestral temple of Zhou carrying a jade tablet—a celestial sign mandating King Wen of Zhou to punish the Shang dynasty. Later, King Wu dreamed of three deities who revealed that King Zhou's debauchery made it the opportune moment for rebellion.

After successfully toppling the Shang, King Wu continued the governance traditions of Tang of Shang, enfeoffing nobles, honoring ancestral rites, and attracting the submission of surrounding tribes. Mozi argues that when sage-kings like Wen and Wu waged war against tyrants, it shouldn't be termed "aggressive warfare" but "righteous punitive campaigns" (justified punishment).

The text records warlike rulers challenging Mozi by citing examples like Chu, Yue, Qi, and Jin expanding through conquest. Mozi counters that ancient emperors enfeoffed ten thousand states, yet only four major powers remain—like a physician treating thousands but curing only four, which hardly qualifies as skill.

Finally, Mozi asserts that rulers genuinely seeking to unite the world through benevolence must: collectively oppose major states committing injustice, jointly rescue small states under attack, assist in fortifying defenses, and supply material shortages. Only thus can the enduring chaos of warfare cease.

(Note: "Taidian" was a virtuous minister under King Wen; "Chenghuang" refers to mythical steeds; the "Yellow Bird Banner" was an auspicious omen during King Wu's rebellion.)

By employing this method to influence major states, the rulers of smaller states will rejoice. While others exhaust themselves, we remain at ease, thus maintaining the formidable strength of our military equipment. Implementing policies of generosity and benevolence, easing tensions, will naturally draw the people to our side. By shifting from aggressive strategies to governance, our combat effectiveness will multiply. Calculating the costs of our military actions against the losses suffered by rival lords will surely yield orderly benefits. Overseeing affairs with righteousness will undoubtedly elevate our reputation.

Treat our people with leniency and earn the trust of our troops—this is the way to guide the armies of the feudal lords and become invincible under heaven. The advantages of this approach are countless, for it benefits all under heaven. Yet the kings, dukes, and high ministers fail to understand or adopt it—truly, they do not comprehend the duties of a minister who seeks the welfare of the world.

Thus, Mozi said: If the kings, dukes, and noble-minded scholars of today truly desire to promote the benefits of the world and eliminate its harms, they must not frequently wage war, for it is indeed the greatest calamity in the world. Those who now seek to practice benevolence and righteousness, aspiring to become noble scholars—who above emulate the Way of the sage-kings and below align with the interests of the state and its people—must adopt the doctrine of "non-aggression" (feigong). Those who fail to understand this principle do so precisely for this reason.

(Note: "Non-aggression" [feigong] is one of Mozi's core teachings, advocating against wars of conquest and emphasizing the profound suffering they inflict on the people. Mozi believed true benevolence and righteousness lie in "universal love" [jian'ai] and non-aggression, resolving conflicts through peaceful means.)