《韓非子》Vol. 17

Shen Dao (a prominent Legalist philosopher of the Warring States period) said: "The flying dragon relies on clouds and mist to soar, while the soaring serpent depends on vapor to glide. Once the clouds disperse and the mist clears, these creatures become no different from earthworms and ants—for they have lost what supported them. Similarly, when worthy men are subjugated by the incompetent, it is because they lack authority and status; when the incompetent control the worthy, it is because they hold power and high position. Were Yao an ordinary commoner, he couldn't govern even three people properly; yet as the Son of Heaven, the tyrant Jie could throw the entire world into chaos. This shows that power and status are what one can truly rely upon, while worthiness and talent are not worthy of admiration."

"Just as an arrow shot from a weak bow flies high by riding the wind's force, so the commands of incompetent rulers are obeyed through the support of the masses. When Yao taught the common people at the grassroots level, none would listen; but when he faced south as ruler of the world, his decrees were instantly implemented and prohibitions immediately enforced. This demonstrates that worthiness and talent alone cannot command obedience, whereas power and status can constrain even the worthy."

In response to Shen Dao's argument: While it's true that dragons and serpents need clouds and mist to ride upon, the crucial question remains—can the world truly be well-governed by relying solely on power without selecting worthy individuals? I have yet to witness such a case. Dragons and serpents can ride clouds and mist precisely because they inherently possess this capability. No matter how thick the clouds, earthworms cannot fly; no matter how dense the mist, ants cannot glide. Jie and Zhou possessed the "clouds and mist" of imperial authority, yet brought chaos to the world precisely because of their inferior capabilities. Moreover, when Yao used the same authority to govern the world and Jie used the same authority to plunge it into chaos, what difference was there in the nature of power itself?

Power is something that cannot guarantee its use by the worthy while preventing its use by the wicked. When the worthy wield power, the world is well-governed; when the wicked wield power, the world falls into chaos. But human nature being what it is—with few worthy individuals and many mediocre ones—if we facilitate the convenience of power to embolden mediocre troublemakers, then those who use power to create chaos will multiply while those who use it to govern will dwindle. Therefore, power serves both orderly governance and chaotic disruption equally. As the Book of Zhou states: "Do not give wings to tigers, lest they fly into cities and devour people." To place power in the hands of mediocre men is precisely like giving wings to tigers.

This passage examines how "power and position" (shi) influence state governance. The author employs vivid analogies to illustrate that power is like giving wings to a tiger—tyrants such as Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, when armed with authority, become even more ferocious, akin to winged tigers. They exhaust the people's strength by constructing towering terraces and deep pools, inflict suffering through cruel tortures like the "roasting pillar," and all these atrocities are enabled by the supreme power at their disposal.

The author draws a parallel: if we liken the state to a chariot, power is the horse that pulls it, commands are the reins, and punishments the whip. When virtuous rulers like Yao and Shun take the reins, the world enjoys peace; but when tyrants like Jie and Zhou drive, chaos ensues. It is the same chariot and horse—if handled by an inept driver (like the servant Zang Huo), they become objects of ridicule, yet in the hands of a master like Wang Liang, they cover a thousand miles in a day.

The text emphasizes a critical point: some mistakenly believe that power alone can ensure good governance, but this view is superficial. Power itself is neutral, much like natural forces—what matters is who wields it. If Yao and Shun had been born into positions of authority, even ten Jies or Zhous could not have thrown the world into chaos. Conversely, when Jie and Zhou ruled, even ten Yaos or Shuns would have struggled to restore order. This is the principle that "orderly power cannot be disrupted, and chaotic power cannot be governed."

The passage concludes with the classic "spear-and-shield" paradox: just as a merchant boasts that his shield can block any spear and his spear can pierce any shield, the claims contradict each other. This serves as a metaphor—relying solely on power for governance is as untenable as this self-contradictory tale.

This passage expounds the principle of "contradiction" and the importance of utilizing "strategic advantage" (shi) in governance.

A weapon vendor first boasted that his shield was impenetrable by any weapon, then claimed his spear could pierce through anything. When asked, "What would happen if your spear struck your shield?" he was left speechless. This illustrates how the claims of "the sturdiest shield" and "the sharpest spear" cannot logically coexist simultaneously.

Talented individuals are like that all-piercing spear, while political authority resembles that unbreakable shield. These two—merit and power—are similarly incompatible. Sage rulers like Yao and Shun or tyrants like Jie and Zhou appear perhaps once in a millennium, while most rulers possess only average capabilities. My proposed method of governance emphasizes reliance on "laws" and "strategic advantage"—establishing legal systems and wielding authority effectively. This enables rulers of ordinary ability to govern successfully.

To abandon strategic advantage and disregard laws while waiting for sage rulers like Yao and Shun would mean enduring a millennium of chaos for one brief moment of order. Conversely, by upholding legal systems and skillfully employing authority, even encountering tyrants like Jie and Zhou would constitute merely temporary disorder within a millennium of stability. The difference between these approaches grows as dramatically as galloping steeds racing in opposite directions.

Just as even the master wheelwright Xi Zhong couldn't craft a single wheel without compass and square, so too would Yao and Shun fail to govern even three households without reward incentives and punishment deterrents. The efficacy of strategic advantage is evident—insisting on waiting for virtuous rulers would be like telling starving people to wait a hundred days for fine cuisine while they perish from hunger.

Some argue: "With fine horses and chariots, slave drivers invite ridicule while masters like Wang Liang (ancient charioteer extraordinaire) could cover a thousand li daily." I disagree. This resembles expecting expert swimmers from Yue to rescue drowning people in the Central Plains—even their skill arrives too late. Similarly, hoping ancient Wang Liang could drive contemporary horses is as unrealistic as Yue swimmers saving distant drowning victims. In reality, with quality horses and chariots, changing steeds every fifty li and employing drivers of average skill can achieve both speed and distance.

Through the spear-and-shield analogy, this passage demonstrates that governance cannot depend on rare sage rulers but must establish legal systems and skillfully wield strategic advantage—this constitutes the true path to enduring stability.

This passage comes from Han Feizi Chapter 41 "On Disputation," primarily discussing the root causes of debate and the principles of governance.

Han Feizi argues that the emergence of debates stems from the ruler's lack of wisdom. Under an enlightened ruler, laws and decrees serve as the supreme standard, and all discourse must align with them. While the ruler may adopt suggestions not explicitly covered by existing laws—particularly those addressing unforeseen circumstances or generating benefits—the proposer must bear the consequences: generous rewards for effective proposals and severe penalties for misguided ones. This system ensures fools dare not speak recklessly while leaving the wise no room for contention, naturally eliminating frivolous debates.

Chaotic times present the opposite scenario: when rulers issue decrees, the people challenge them using classical texts like the Book of Songs and Book of Rites; when authorities establish regulations, citizens oppose them through individual conduct. Worse still, rulers themselves belittle legal statutes while glorifying scholars' clever arguments—precisely why literary sophistry flourishes in turbulent eras.

Han Feizi employs archery as a metaphor: Without fixed targets, hitting a hair's breadth counts as no marksmanship. But set a five-inch target ten paces away, and only legendary archers like Houyi or Pengmeng could strike it. Similarly, evaluating speech and action without pragmatic utility as the standard renders even the most eloquent arguments and resolute behaviors as pointless as shooting without a target. Yet chaotic times mistake obscurity for profundity, erudition for eloquence, eccentricity for virtue, and defiance for integrity—such twisted standards inevitably lead to social disorder.

(Notes: Wang Liang was a legendary charioteer; Zang Huo refers to slaves. Yao and Shun exemplify sage rulers while Jie and Zhou represent tyrants. Yi-mi denotes sweet foods while Lai Tingli signifies bitter herbs. Houyi and Pengmeng were mythical archers.)

This passage comes from the chapter "Questioning Tian" in Han Feizi, primarily discussing governance through talent selection and the risks of political reform. Here's a modern interpretation:

Xu Qu asked Tian Ju (a Warring States period thinker): "Why are renowned generals like Yangcheng Yiqu assigned to minor positions, while virtuous ministers like Gongsun Danhui remain in grassroots roles?" Tian Ju replied: "This demonstrates the ruler's understanding of talent assessment methods. The state of Chu's appointment of Song Gu and Wei's promotion of Feng Li led to their downfall precisely because they only listened to eloquent rhetoric, appointing people to high positions without grassroots experience. A wise ruler must evaluate talent through practical experience at the basic levels."

Tangxi Gong advised Han Feizi: "Following ancient rites and practicing humble deference are the ways to preserve oneself. Your current legal reforms are as dangerous as Wu Qi being torn apart or Shang Yang suffering dismemberment." Han Feizi responded: "I appreciate your goodwill. But the essence of governing the world and establishing laws to regulate the people isn't easily grasped. My abolition of ancient kings' outdated systems and establishment of new laws aim to benefit the people. Not fearing calamities from foolish rulers while persisting in public welfare—this is the conduct of truly benevolent and wise scholars. If we avoid reform for fear of death, even if we preserve personal wisdom, what contribution does that make to the state?"

This dialogue reveals core Legalist thought: advocating strict legal systems and practical evaluations for talent selection, emphasizing that reformers should prioritize public welfare even when facing personal danger. It also reflects the ideological clash between reformers and conservatives of that era.

This passage comes from Han Feizi's chapter "Establishing Standards," primarily discussing the relationship between "technique" (shu) and "law" (fa) in state governance.

Someone asked: Between Shen Buhai's advocacy of "technique" (strategic statecraft) and Gongsun Yang's emphasis on "law" (legal institutions), which is more crucial for a state? The response compares this to asking whether clothing or food is more essential—both are indispensable tools for governance. "Technique" refers to the ruler's method of appointing officials based on ability, evaluating performance according to responsibilities, and wielding the power over life and death—it is what the sovereign must master. "Law" consists of the statutes explicitly promulgated by the government, making penalty standards clear to the people, rewarding the law-abiding while punishing offenders—it is what subjects must follow. Without technique, a ruler becomes vulnerable to deception; without law, ministers invite chaos.

The discussion then examines the pitfalls of relying solely on one approach: When Shen Buhai served Marquis Zhao of Han, the coexistence of old and new laws allowed corrupt officials to exploit loopholes—invoking whichever law served their interests. Thus, despite Shen's skillful application of statecraft, Han failed to achieve hegemony for seventy years due to inconsistent legal standards. Conversely, when Gongsun Yang governed Qin, he established collective responsibility systems to enforce laws, using heavy rewards and strict punishments to make citizens bold in battle, thereby enriching the state. Yet lacking techniques to identify treacherous ministers, Qin's newfound prosperity was ultimately exploited by them.

This analysis reveals Han Feizi's core philosophy of "combining technique and law": Legal institutions must be complemented by the ruler's strategic statecraft, as the two reinforce each other for effective governance. Through the contrasting examples of Han and Qin, he demonstrates that neglecting either aspect creates vulnerabilities in state administration.

This passage comes from Han Feizi's "Shuoyi" chapter, which primarily discusses the ruler's techniques for controlling ministers and the issues of rule by law. Through analyzing cases of several Qin state ministers, Han Feizi points out the shortcomings of relying solely on legalism without understanding statecraft.

After the reforms of Shang Yang, Qin became powerful. However, after Duke Xiao's death, during the successive reigns of Kings Hui, Wu, and Zhaoxiang, ministers like Zhang Yi, Gan Mao, Marquis Rang, and Marquis Ying all exploited Qin's resources for personal gain. When they won battles, they enhanced their own status; when they expanded territories, they established private fiefdoms. This occurred because the rulers lacked the statecraft to discern treacherous ministers, and the laws established by Shang Yang were instead used by officials as tools for personal profit.

Someone might ask: What if the ruler employed Shen Buhai's statecraft while officials implemented Shang Yang's legal system? Han Feizi considers both approaches flawed. Shen Buhai advocated that officials shouldn't exceed their authority, and that they shouldn't report problems in other departments - which would leave the ruler without sources of information. Shang Yang's military merit system also had issues: while it stipulated promotion ranks based on enemy kills, it would be inappropriate to make battle-hardened warriors serve as doctors or craftsmen, since governance requires administrative talent rather than martial prowess.

Han Feizi concludes that governing a state well doesn't primarily depend on superficial matters like proper rewards and punishments. Rewarding the undeserving or punishing innocent people doesn't constitute wise rule. What truly matters is that rewards and punishments align with the spirit of the law, while the ruler must master the statecraft to control ministers. Both Shen Buhai's and Shang Yang's doctrines remain incomplete regarding the proper integration of law (fa) and statecraft (shu).

This passage from Han Feizi primarily discusses principles of governance and personnel selection. Han Feizi argues that ruling a state fundamentally requires controlling people's minds, followed by regulating speech, with managing concrete actions being the least priority. Contemporary scholars advocate using benevolence, righteousness, and wisdom to honor rulers and stabilize states, yet fail to recognize that excessive emphasis on these virtues can actually harm the state. A truly Dao-governed ruler should distance himself from empty talk of benevolence and righteousness, discard superficial wisdom, and instead rely on laws to administer the state. Only through this approach can he earn a reputable name, bring stability to the people, and ensure the state's security.

Han Feizi emphasizes that statecraft is the ruler's essential tool for governance, while laws serve as the officials' guiding principles. He cites six notorious treacherous ministers from history (such as those from the Youhu, Huandou, and Sanmiao tribes, along with Jie, Zhou, and corrupt Jin officials) who practiced duplicity, using honeyed words to deceive their rulers. Historical rulers achieved varying results in personnel selection—some brought stability through wise appointments, while others caused their states' downfall through poor choices. This demonstrates the critical importance of caution when selecting close advisors.

The text concludes by mentioning twelve ancient sages (including Xu You, Bo Yi, and Shu Qi) who remained unmoved by profit and unafraid of danger, refusing even the offer of rulership over the realm. Han Feizi considers such individuals—unaffected by rewards or punishments—to be "unruly subjects" difficult to command. Some of these worthies retreated to mountain forests, while others starved in valleys, illustrating that overly aloof recluses hold no practical value for state governance.

This passage elucidates the principles of which types of ministers deserve trust and which should be guarded against, drawing comparisons between historical examples of different kinds of officials.

First, it lists six loyal ministers like Guan Longfeng and Bi Gan, who consistently offered blunt remonstrations, hoping the ruler would heed their advice. If the ruler listened, they acted like teachers guiding a student; if not, they would risk offending the ruler, even to the point of family ruin and personal martyrdom. However, the author argues that even ancient sage-kings would have struggled to tolerate such ministers, let alone in the present age.

Next, it mentions nine treacherous ministers like Tian Heng and Zi Han, who formed factions for personal gain, deceived superiors and subordinates, disrupted governance internally, and colluded with external forces solely for their own benefit. Only sagacious rulers could restrain such individuals, while foolish rulers would fail to see their true nature.

Then, it praises fifteen virtuous ministers like Hou Ji, Gao Yao, and Yi Yin, who worked diligently with humility and caution, upheld laws, and served the state loyally. Even after achieving great merit, they refrained from boasting and were willing to sacrifice themselves to protect the ruler. Such ministers could guide even incompetent rulers toward better governance—how much more effective they would be under wise rulers! These are the true "aides of hegemons and kings."

Finally, it criticizes twelve petty individuals like Hua Zhi and Wang Sunshen, who pursued trivial gains while disregarding laws and principles. Through these contrasting examples, the passage illustrates that rulers should employ the virtuous and distance themselves from the treacherous.

The text discusses the perils of treacherous ministers and the principles of wise rulership in employing officials.

Flattering and sycophantic ministers, when in power, suppress the virtuous and deceive their rulers; when out of favor, they sow discord among officials and create chaos. Their sole concern is catering to the ruler’s selfish desires—pleasing the sovereign is their only aim, even if it means ruining the state and bringing suffering to the people. Such treacherous ministers are feared even by sagely rulers for their potential to usurp authority, let alone by incompetent monarchs. Historical figures like Duke Wei of Zhou, Ziyang of Zheng, Duke Ling of Chen, and King Ling of Chu all met their downfall and saw their states collapse due to their misplaced trust in such deceitful ministers.

A truly enlightened ruler appoints officials based solely on merit, without regard for personal ties. They promote the worthy regardless of background—whether reclusive scholars in the mountains, prisoners in jails, or even lowly cowherds and cooks—so long as they benefit the state and its people. In contrast, foolish rulers entrust power without understanding their ministers' true character, leading to minor consequences like tarnished reputations and territorial losses, or catastrophic ones like the destruction of the state and the ruler’s own demise.

The text cites examples of sage rulers like Yao, Shun, Tang of Shang, and King Wu of Zhou, who did not hesitate to punish even their closest kin when they harmed the state or oppressed the people. Foolish rulers, however, judge their ministers solely by public opinion, unwittingly giving treacherous officials the opportunity to form factions, engage in cronyism, and shield each other’s misdeeds.

This passage explains how treacherous ministers seize power through political machinations, ultimately endangering the state. Several key tactics are outlined:

Noble ranks and emoluments were originally meant to inspire virtue, but these ministers exploit them to recruit factions. Those who refuse allegiance face persecution, while the masses, coveting benefits, submit to their intimidation. Outwardly gracious when pleased, they turn vicious when slighted. By drawing the populace to their side and spreading false reputations nationwide, they deceive rulers who mistake them for worthy ministers.

These schemers also dispatch crafty agents who feign favor with feudal lords. Equipped with carriages, insignia, jade tokens (ancient credentials), and adorned with eloquent rhetoric, they buy loyalty with wealth. Through these proxies, they influence rulers with honeyed words—ostensibly discussing state affairs while advancing private agendas. Though the envoys come from other states, the political discourse actually serves the treacherous ministers' domestic allies. Bewitched by silver tongues, rulers mistakenly deem these agents paragons of virtue.

When courtiers and commoners echo identical views—with the mighty stooping to befriend conspirators and the lowly seduced by promises of rank—the faction grows until dark ambitions emerge. They twist historical narratives, claiming ancient sage-kings like Shun, Yu, Tang of Shang, and King Wu of Zhou didn't inherit thrones through proper succession, but by forming factions, overthrowing rulers (Shun forcing Yao's abdication, Yu pressuring Shun, Tang exiling Jie of Xia, King Wu attacking Zhou of Shang), yet being praised as paragons.

Contemporary examples are weaponized: Tian Chengzi seizing Qi, Sicheng Zihan usurping Song, Grand Steward Xin taking Zheng, the Shan clan controlling Zhou royalty, Yi Ya dominating Wey, and the Han/Zhao/Wei triumvirate partitioning Jin. Hearing these precedents, conspirators prick up their ears in approval. Thus they consolidate internal factions while externally colluding with powerful allies, biding time for the coup. Ultimately, they murder rulers domestically through their cabal, leverage foreign lords to destabilize the state, and manipulate sovereigns through calculated schemes.

This passage, through historical case studies, reveals that the key to a ruler's governance lies not in superficial conduct but in the ability to properly appoint ministers.

After King Xuan of Zhou, dozens of states perished, many due to ministers assassinating their rulers and usurping power. A nation's crises may arise equally from within or without. Those rulers who exhausted their people's strength and brought ruin to their states might still be considered relatively virtuous. Far worse were those who abandoned laws, altered the Dao (Way) of governance, and sought only self-preservation.

If a ruler understands how to employ ministers wisely, even indulgence in hunting and pleasure will not endanger the state. Conversely, without this understanding, frugality and diligence will still lead to ruin. Take, for example, Lord Jing of Zhao (Zhao Jinghou), whose conduct was far from exemplary—given to pleasure-seeking, hunting in winter, roaming in summer, drinking through the night, and executing ministers who showed disrespect. Yet his state remained secure for decades, precisely because he knew how to appoint capable ministers.

In contrast, King Kuai of Yan (Yan Wang Kuai), a descendant of the renowned Zhou minister Duke Shao, ruled over vast lands with a powerful army. He abstained from women, avoided music, personally tilled the fields, and governed with greater diligence and care for the people than even the ancient sage-kings. Yet he was ultimately overthrown by his minister Zi Zhi, dying with his state in ruins and becoming a laughingstock of the world. This was because he failed to grasp the proper use of ministers.

The text identifies five treacherous behaviors (wujian, "five evils") among ministers: using wealth to buy reputation, using rewards to win favor, forming factions to elevate themselves, pardoning criminals to establish authority, and flattering subordinates. If a ruler cannot discern these, the state will face ruin.

This passage from Han Feizi: Guishi discusses the fundamental principles of governance that rulers should uphold and the disruptive phenomena they must guard against.

The text first identifies five behaviors that mislead the common people (bizarre theories, extravagant clothing, exaggerated rhetoric, etc.), which wise rulers should prohibit. By eliminating these practices, those who engage in empty talk and improper conduct will no longer dare to speak recklessly at court. Thus, ministers will focus on self-cultivation in daily life, devote themselves fully to executing orders, and refrain from acting arbitrarily or distorting facts—this is the sage king's method of governing officials.

The text particularly emphasizes four phenomena that endanger the state: illegitimate sons attempting to replace the rightful heir, concubines aspiring to equal status with the primary wife, ministers coveting the prime minister's position, and favored courtiers scheming to usurp the ruler's authority. These four transgressions will lead to national peril. Quoting The Records of Zhou, it states: "Do not elevate concubines to demean the primary wife, do not honor illegitimate sons above the rightful heir, do not favor close attendants to rival high ministers, and do not allow powerful officials to threaten the ruler's authority." Only by eliminating these four oversteps can the state achieve stability; otherwise, it will face the calamity of collapse.

The latter section presents three essential elements of governance: benefit, authority, and proper titles. Benefit is used to win popular support, authority to enforce policies, and proper titles serve as the shared standard between superiors and subordinates. Though these three elements exist in reality, periods of order and chaos still alternate because what rulers praise contradicts actual governance principles: for instance, those who disdain proper titles are paradoxically praised by society as noble, those who do not seek office are called virtuous, those who disregard benefit and authority are seen as valuing the rule of law, those who bypass legal codes to grant private favors are considered loyal, and those who reject official positions are deemed morally lofty. This dislocation of value standards lies at the root of a state's alternation between order and chaos.

People today regard those who dare to violate laws and scorn regulations as "martyrs," while calling those unafraid of capital punishment "brave warriors." The common folk pursue empty fame more eagerly than material gain—how can impoverished scholars avoid retreating to remote mountains to torment themselves in pursuit of worldly renown? Thus, when a nation is poorly governed, the fault lies not with the people but with the rulers' misguided approach to statecraft.

Contemporary society esteems behaviors that lead to chaos while disparaging those that truly bring order and stability. What the people pursue often directly contradicts the principles rulers employ to govern. If citizens obediently follow their superiors' commands—the very outcome rulers most desire—reality shows us the opposite: loyal, honest, and diligent individuals are mocked as "country bumpkins"; those strictly adhering to laws are scorned as "inflexible fools"; while people who revere authority and fear wrongdoing are ridiculed as "cowards."

Those who speak appropriately and act with perfect timing are dismissed as "unambitious." Individuals who avoid factions to focus on learning from officials are belittled as "provincial rustics." The incorruptible are labeled "stubborn," those refusing bribes called "puritanical," while the unruly paradoxically earn praise for "maintaining standards." Disobedience becomes "courage," neglecting the ruler's interests passes for "integrity," and ascetic magnanimity gets branded as "hypocritical virtue."

Self-possessed dignity is dismissed as "pretentiousness," while private lectures attracting crowds elevate one to "master teacher." Solitary contemplation gets praised as "profound thought." Exploiting others becomes "competence," and treacherous volatility masquerades as "brilliance." Those prioritizing public good over personal gain—while spouting empty universal love—are hailed as "sages." Peddlers of impractical grand theories who flout social norms get revered as "great men," and those disdaining official salaries while refusing to flatter superiors somehow become "heroes."

These perverse trends spread among the populace, internally corrupting minds and externally undermining the state. Rulers who should suppress such harmful influences instead endorse them—effectively teaching rebellion while calling it governance. A well-ordered state requires laws, yet now rewards novelty-seekers; national stability depends on Wuwei (non-action), yet scheming sycophants hold power.

A nation's cohesion relies on sincerity and De (Virtue), yet cunning manipulators prosper. Decree enforcement and authority demand reverence and restraint, yet eccentrics gain prominence. Granaries fill through farming—the fundamental occupation—yet embroiderers and carvers of luxuries grow wealthy first. Honor should go to those excelling in agriculture and defense, yet empty rhetoricians claim the glory.

This passage presents Han Feizi's scathing critique of the sociopolitical ills of his time. He exposes several glaring contradictions in state governance:

While soldiers who defended city walls perish in battle, their orphaned children starve and beg by the roadside, yet fawning courtiers ride in lavish carriages clad in silk, enjoying generous stipends. Battlefield heroes receive no due recognition, while diviners and sycophants bask in daily rewards.

Virtuous scholars who uphold laws and serve the state loyally remain neglected, while silver-tongued opportunists repeatedly ascend to high positions. Though tax systems were established to fund military preparedness and replenish state coffers, soldiers desert en masse, seeking refuge with powerful families to evade conscription and taxation.

Prime lands and fine residences should motivate warriors, yet those who die in battle—their bodies broken and left to rot—possess no burial grounds, while their fields get confiscated. Meanwhile, meritless ministers and court favorites casually select the finest estates and farmland.

Han Feizi laments: True warriors gain no official posts while idle bureaucrats enjoy prestige and prominence. How can a state governed thus avoid decline? How can its position remain secure? He further condemns scholar-officials who feel no shame in corruption, rising rapidly through nepotism while genuine war heroes languish in poverty.

His concluding analysis reveals how ministers form factions—though operating outside the law, they wield oppressive power. This renders rulers increasingly impotent while ministerial authority grows excessive. All these phenomena stem from grave errors in governance by those in power.

The purpose of establishing laws is to eliminate selfish desires. Once laws are enforced, crooked paths seeking personal gain will be abolished. Selfishness is the root cause of undermining legal order, and those scholars with divided loyalties—who retreat to remote mountains and forests, secretly plotting while eloquently criticizing governance—mislead the common people in minor cases and slander the court in major ones. If the ruler fails to prohibit such behavior and instead honors them with empty titles and lures them with material benefits, it will result in the unworthy attaining high status and the idle becoming wealthy. Under such circumstances, how could these disloyal scholars not scheme tirelessly, using sophistry and slander to attack the law, striving to achieve ends contrary to societal norms? Those who disrupt the ruler’s governance and oppose social order are often precisely these duplicitous scholars. Hence the ancient saying: "Order is maintained through law; chaos stems from selfishness." Once laws are firmly established, no one can pursue private interests. Therefore, it is said: "Exalting selfishness leads to disorder; adhering to law brings governance." If the ruler does not govern by this principle, then the clever will use glib words for personal gain, and the worthy will harbor selfish motives. When the ruler bestows favor based on personal bias, ministers will breed selfish desires. Those who proclaim themselves sages form factions, crafting arguments to denounce the law and presenting them to the ruler. If the ruler does not suppress and block such actions but instead honors them, he effectively teaches his ministers to disobey him and disregard the law. The consequence is so-called "worthy men" attaining high positions through empty reputations, while unscrupulous individuals grow rich through undeserved rewards. In this way, the ruler will find it increasingly difficult to control his subjects.

(Note: This passage reflects the core Legalist principle of "governing through law," emphasizing the necessity of strict legal codes to curb selfish desires—particularly condemning those "private scholars" who avoid productive labor and mislead through empty rhetoric. Han Feizi argues that if the ruler tolerates such behavior, social order will collapse, and sovereign authority will be threatened.)