《韓非子》Vol. 6

This passage from Han Feizi: Explaining Laozi elucidates the Daoist concept of "De" (Virtue/Power) and the essence of humaneness, righteousness, and ritual propriety. Let me explain it layer by layer:

Regarding "De": True De is internal cultivation, while external manifestations are merely its appearance. The highest form of De (superior De) doesn't deliberately display virtue because the spirit doesn't scatter outward. When the spirit is preserved internally, one maintains wholeness—this is the essence of De: the attainment of physical and spiritual integrity. The cultivation of De follows natural spontaneity (Wuwei), eliminating desires without forced effort or external compulsion. Deliberately pursuing De actually causes one to lose its foundation, resulting in fragmentation. Overexerting the mind leads to instability and ineffectiveness. Thus, the highest De appears to lack virtue, yet precisely because of this, it truly possesses it.

The value of Wuwei (non-action) and thoughtlessness lies in the mind's freedom from constraints. However, those who misunderstand the method treat Wuwei and thoughtlessness as deliberate pursuits, becoming bound by their "quest for emptiness." True emptiness is a state where the mind is naturally unconstrained. Deliberately seeking emptiness is not true emptiness. Those who attain this state don't treat Wuwei as a fixed rule—only then is it genuine emptiness, and De becomes abundant. Therefore, the highest De appears inactive yet accomplishes everything.

Regarding "humaneness": Humaneness is loving others sincerely, rejoicing in their happiness and grieving in their misfortune—this emotion arises spontaneously without seeking reward. Thus, the highest humaneness (superior humaneness) acts without utilitarian motives.

Regarding "righteousness": Righteousness manifests in the rituals between ruler and subject, the distinctions between father and son, the propriety in friendships, and the differentiation between close and distant relationships. A minister serves the ruler with humility, a child serves parents with reverence, friends support one another, and intimacy is shown to those within while distance is maintained with those outside. Righteousness means doing what ought to be done—thus, the highest righteousness (superior righteousness) acts with clear purpose.

Regarding "ritual propriety": Ritual propriety is the external form that expresses genuine feelings, the refinement of righteous principles. It distinguishes the relationships between ruler and subject, father and child, and discerns differences in status and worthiness. When one harbors sincere feelings but cannot express them directly, rituals like quick steps forward or reverent bows are used to convey them; when genuine affection is difficult to articulate, refined words communicate it. Ritual propriety is the means of expressing inner emotions through outward ceremonies.

(Note: In the original text, "superior De," "superior humaneness," and "superior righteousness" refer to the highest manifestations of these virtues. The parenthetical explanations are provided upon first mention.)

This passage discusses the essence of "ritual propriety" (礼) and people's differing attitudes toward it. The core idea is that genuine ritual should stem from inner sincerity rather than superficial performance.

The author first points out that ordinary people perform rituals to show respect for others, so their observance is intermittent, while noble individuals (君子) practice ritual to cultivate their own character, maintaining consistency. The highest form of ritual (上礼) is as pure as divine presence, but ordinary people, being distracted and inconsistent, cannot truly align with it.

A metaphor follows: The He Shi jade needs no adornment because its innate beauty is sufficient; things requiring embellishment are inherently flawed. The ritual between father and son may seem simple, yet this very simplicity reflects deep affection. Excessive formality, by contrast, reveals emotional distance.

When ordinary people perform rituals, they are pleased if others reciprocate but resentful if they do not. If ritual becomes a tool for mutual demands, it leads to contention and disorder. Thus, when society begins emphasizing ritual propriety, it signals that loyalty and trust (忠信) have weakened, and chaos is imminent.

Finally, the passage criticizes those who pride themselves on foresight (前识), comparing them to Zhan He sitting and guessing a cow’s color—mere baseless speculation. True wisdom lies in aligning with the natural order (道, Dao), not in subjective conjecture.

This passage from Han Feizi conveys several profound philosophical insights:

Regarding "precognition" (qianshi), the text provides an illustrative example: A disciple outside the gate reported seeing a black ox with white markings on its forehead, but Zhan He (a Daoist scholar of the Warring States period) insisted it was a black ox with white cloth wrapped around its horns. Upon verification, this proved correct. Han Feizi critiques Zhan He's laborious observation method as ultimately no more effective than having a child simply look at the ox directly, arguing that such "precognition" represents only superficial ornamentation of the Dao (the Way) while marking the beginning of foolishness.

The true gentleman should pursue substance over appearance: He should establish himself in solid, substantial character rather than shallow ostentation; act according to objective principles rather than taking shortcuts; choose to follow natural laws and value authentic circumstances while discarding flashy appearances and opportunistic methods.

The text also expounds the interdependence of misfortune and fortune: When encountering adversity, people develop reverential caution, leading to upright conduct and careful consideration that ultimately enables achievement and self-preservation. Conversely, prosperity and wealth often breed arrogance and improper behavior that invites disaster. Thus misfortune contains the seeds of fortune, while fortune harbors potential misfortune.

Finally, the passage emphasizes the paramount importance of following objective principles: Those who act in accordance with natural laws invariably succeed, achieving everything from imperial sovereignty to ministerial positions. Conversely, those who violate these principles will ultimately fail, even if they possess the authority of rulers or the wealth of magnates.

This passage elucidates the principle that people often fail to achieve their aspirations due to losing their way. Ordinary individuals tend to disregard the laws governing heaven and earth, acting recklessly without understanding the profound consequences of fortune and misfortune. Just as everyone desires wealth, honor, and longevity, they inevitably fall into the predicaments of poverty, low status, and premature death—all because they have taken the wrong path to fulfill their wishes. This state of persisting in error while remaining unaware is called "delusion," and those lost in delusion will never reach their destination.

The text presents four standards of virtue: "Fang" (squareness) refers to consistency between inner and outer selves, aligning words with deeds; "Lian" (integrity) means treating life and death lightly and not valuing material possessions; "Zhi" (uprightness) involves upholding fairness without forming cliques for personal gain; and "Guang" (radiance) denotes noble status and dignified appearance. However, those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way), even if they possess these qualities, do not use them to flaunt or oppress others.

The author points out that the root cause of people's failures lies in their ignorance of principles and unwillingness to learn or seek guidance. Though sages may wish to warn the masses through calamities, the wise are few while the foolish are many, and forceful correction would only invite resentment. Thus, the wise approach is to act according to norms, maintaining squareness without harming others, integrity without harshness, uprightness without arrogance, and radiance without glaring. Human intelligence is innate, but it must be applied through contemplation—overuse will instead damage oneself (just as excessive strain on the eyes leads to blurred vision).

Hearing too much dulls the ears, overthinking confuses the mind, and seeing too much blurs the vision. Eyes that cannot distinguish black from white are like those of the blind; ears that fail to discern clarity from noise resemble those of the deaf; a heart incapable of judging gain and loss belongs to the mad. The blind cannot avoid danger even in daylight, the deaf remain unaware of thunder's warning, and the mad inevitably transgress human laws.

Those truly skilled in managing human affairs understand the balance between action and stillness, conserving their mental energy. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) of heaven do not overtax their intellect. Excessive expenditure damages the Shen (spirit), and severe damage to the Shen invites calamities of blindness, deafness, and madness. Thus, moderation is essential. "Frugality" here means cherishing the Shen and conserving wisdom. Therefore, in governing human affairs and aligning with the Dao of heaven, nothing surpasses the importance of restraint.

Ordinary people expend their Shen (spiritual energy) recklessly—this haste leads to waste, which is extravagance. Sages use their Shen with calmness—this tranquility results in minimal expenditure, which is frugality. This principle of restraint originates from the natural order. Those who practice restraint follow the Great Dao and accord with heavenly principles. Ordinary people, when faced with misfortune, refuse to yield and disregard reason. Sages, even before signs of calamity appear, maintain an open and receptive mind in harmony with the Dao—this is called "early compliance" (preemptive alignment).

Those skilled in managing affairs keep their thoughts serene; those attuned to the Dao keep their senses tranquil. Serene thoughts ensure De (Virtue) does not dissipate; tranquil senses allow harmonious Qi (vital energy) to grow daily—this is "accumulating De abundantly." Those who preserve old De while continuously welcoming new harmonious Qi understand "early compliance." Thus, "early compliance" means "accumulating De abundantly."

After accumulating De, the Shen becomes tranquil; with tranquility, the Qi harmonizes; with harmony, strategies become apt; with apt strategies, one can master all things. Mastery over all things ensures victory in battle; easy victories lend authority to words; authoritative words bring universal success. The root of this universal success lies in "accumulating De abundantly." Therefore, continuous accumulation of De ensures invincibility. Easy victories in battle enable the unification of the world; influential words inspire the people to follow, leading to the consolidation of all under heaven.

This passage explains how both governing a nation and cultivating one's person must follow the Dao (the natural laws and fundamental principles). Those who can truly preserve their state and safeguard themselves are invariably those who have realized the Dao. Because those who embody the Dao possess profound wisdom, ordinary people cannot discern the boundaries of their actions, just as humans cannot perceive the limits of heaven.

"The mother that preserves the state" refers precisely to the Dao—the fundamental method of governance. Like a tree that has both taproots and fibrous roots, the taproot serves as the foundation for growth while the fibrous roots provide life-sustaining nourishment. For humans, De (Virtue/Power) forms the root of personal cultivation, while material provisions sustain daily life. Only those established upon correct principles can maintain blessings and prosperity long-term; only those who realize the great Dao can experience daily growth in vitality. Thus we must plant deep roots and secure our foundation—this is the Dao of long life and enduring vision.

The subsequent craftsman metaphor illustrates this principle: When artisans frequently change trades, they lose their skills; when laborers constantly shift tasks, they waste their efforts. If one wastes half a day daily, ten days equal the loss of five people's labor. For ten thousand people wasting half a day each, ten days mean fifty thousand workdays lost. Similarly, when policies and decrees change frequently, the people must constantly adjust their livelihoods, creating even greater losses. Viewed through this principle, frequently altering policies when managing multitudes results in tremendous waste.

This passage elucidates principles of state governance and self-cultivation. The core message conveys:

Governing a large state resembles frying small fish—excessive flipping will ruin them. Laws and decrees should not be altered frequently, lest the people suffer. Wise rulers uphold Wuwei (non-action) and maintain policy consistency.

People value physicians only when ill, and fear ghosts and deities only during calamities. When sages govern, the people harbor fewer desires, maintain balanced Qi (vital energy), act reasonably, and disasters naturally diminish. Without internal ailments or external penal misfortunes, people won't excessively indulge in superstitious beliefs. When the Dao (the Way) governs the world, even ghosts and spirits lose their power to haunt.

When citizens don't break laws, governments needn't enforce punishments; when officials don't harass people, citizens thrive in peace and multiply. So-called "hauntings" actually stem from mental disturbances. With stabilized Shen (spirit), even ghosts cannot intrude. When rulers and subjects don't harm each other, De (Virtue/Power) benefits all.

A Daoist ruler maintains harmonious foreign relations while bestowing kindness domestically. They observe ritual propriety with feudal lords and address civil affairs fundamentally. Thus wars rarely occur, allowing people to focus on farming. With abundant national reserves and minds undisturbed by spirits, De manifests fully among the populace. Mutual non-harm between rulers and ruled allows De to flourish reciprocally.

Note: Here "Dao" refers to natural laws and governance principles; "De" denotes the ruler's benevolence and the people's welfare. These ideas embody the Daoist philosophy of governance through Wuwei and natural harmony.

This passage elucidates principles of state governance and personal cultivation. First regarding statecraft: A wise ruler rarely mobilizes armies externally and prohibits extravagance internally. When the sovereign refrains from using horses for military pursuits and the people don't employ them for long-distance luxury trade, all efforts can focus on farming. With fields fully fertilized and irrigated, it's said that "when the Dao prevails under heaven, warhorses manure the fields."

Conversely, an unenlightened ruler oppresses the people domestically and invades neighboring states abroad. Internal tyranny depletes livelihoods and reduces livestock, while external warfare decimates troops. When warhorses become scarce, even generals' steeds are conscripted; when armies face crisis, even close ministers are drafted. Hence the saying "when Dao is absent under heaven, warhorses breed in the suburbs."

Regarding personal cultivation: Human greed disrupts plans—the stronger the desire, the more perverse thoughts arise. Perverse thoughts lead to reckless actions, which invite calamity. Disaster stems from twisted thoughts, which are lured by greed. When greed swells, it makes good people commit evil; when it wanes, it makes virtuous souls suffer. This greed that harms both rulers and commoners is the greatest affliction.

Therefore, sages aren't beguiled by the Five Colors nor addicted to music; enlightened rulers disdain playthings and shun extravagance. Humans wear clothes though featherless, for warmth; survival depends on eating, as empty stomachs bring death. While profit-seeking is inevitable, unbridled desire breeds sorrow. Sages dress merely for warmth and eat just for sustenance, thus remaining carefree. Ordinary people, however, are insatiable—lords crave vast territories, the wealthy hoard fortunes—and unfulfilled desires bring perpetual anxiety. Prisoners may eventually be pardoned, but the discontented remain shackled for life. Thus it's said: "No disaster surpasses insatiable desire."

This passage from Han Feizi conveys two profound teachings:

The first layer reveals the calamities brought by human desires. The greatest disaster lies in insatiability, where excessive pursuit of profit proves more dangerous than sorrow itself. Sorrow leads to illness, illness diminishes wisdom, diminished wisdom causes loss of proper measure, this loss prompts reckless action, and recklessness invites misfortune. When misfortune arrives, physical suffering from disease combines with external disasters to create compounded misery. When pain fills the space between one's organs, it severely damages both body and mind—only then does a person retreat to self-reflection. This introspection originates precisely from coveting gain, hence the greatest fault lies in greed for profit.

The second layer expounds the philosophical essence of the Dao (the Way). Dao constitutes the fundamental principle behind all creation and serves as the basis for all phenomena. "Pattern" (Li) refers to the specific laws governing individual things, while Dao represents the ultimate source from which all things emerge. Since all phenomena maintain their distinct patterns without conflict, these patterns become the governing laws of existence. Dao manifests through diverse patterns, necessitating its own perpetual transformation. Precisely because Dao remains ever-changing, it governs life and death, accommodates wisdom, and determines the rise and fall of all affairs. Heaven and earth, sun and moon, stars and constellations, the four seasons—all rely on Dao for their proper operation. Sage-kings like the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan) and immortals like Chisongzi achieved their accomplishments through Dao. Dao resides equally in enlightened rulers like Yao and Shun as in eccentrics like Jieyu; it caused the downfall of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, yet facilitated the rise of virtuous kings like Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou.

Dao appears distant yet exists close at hand; seemingly obscure yet brilliantly luminous. Like water—those drowning perish from drinking too much, while the thirsty survive by drinking appropriately. Like swords—fools inviting disaster by venting anger, while sages create blessings by eliminating tyranny. Thus Dao both gives death and grants life, causes failure and brings success. Its essence neither compels nor reveals form, remaining pliant to circumstance while harmonizing with patterns. All things die through Dao yet are born through Dao; all affairs fail through Dao yet succeed through Dao.

This passage discusses the essence of the Dao (the Way) and the principles of life and death. Han Feizi uses the elephant as a metaphor: people rarely see live elephants, but through the bones of dead elephants, they can envision what a living elephant looks like. Similarly, although the Dao cannot be seen or touched, sages comprehend it by observing its manifestations. The true "eternal Dao" (changdao) is born and extinguished together with heaven and earth—it neither dies nor decays. Having no fixed form, it defies description.

Regarding life and death, from birth to death, the human body possesses thirteen major organs: four limbs and nine orifices. While alive, these organs serve life; after death, they all return to death. Ordinary people only know to exhaust themselves in activity, unaware that excessive depletion leads to the withering of life. Just as rhinoceroses and tigers, though fierce, can be avoided by steering clear of their habitats and active hours, all things in the world actually conceal dangers like these beasts—yet people often overlook this truth.

Thus, sages treasure spiritual cultivation (shen) and value stillness and non-action (wuwei). For the harm caused by the depletion of spirit is even graver than encountering wild beasts. Here, the passage reveals the dangers of excessively expending vital energy (qi) and underscores the importance of tranquil self-cultivation.

This passage from Han Feizi primarily discusses how to avoid various calamities and preserve oneself. The author uses the horns and claws of rhinoceroses and tigers as metaphors for the dangers in human society, illustrating that all misfortunes have their roots—avoid these roots, and one can escape harm.

Though rhinoceroses and tigers are fierce, they have their own domains of activity. Similarly, all misfortunes in human life have their origins. If those in high positions are disloyal and recklessly violate prohibitions, they will face legal punishment. If one lacks restraint in local communities, indulging in excessive likes and dislikes, they will fall into conflict. Indulging desires without moderation in movement and stillness invites illness. Relying on petty cleverness and defying reason leads one into traps. By avoiding these roots of misfortune, one can remain unharmed.

Weapons exist to guard against calamity. Those who truly value life do not harbor a combative mind even when joining the military. Without a combative mind, there is no need to guard against others harming them. This principle applies not only to the military but also to how sages conduct themselves in the world. They have no intention to harm others, so others do not harm them—thus, they need no defenses. Hence it is said: "On land, one does not encounter rhinoceroses or tigers; entering the mountains, one need not rely on defenses to avoid harm. Joining the army, one need not don armor or helmets—simply stay clear of all sources of misfortune." The rhinoceros finds no place to use its horn, the tiger no place to extend its claws, and weapons no place to wield their blades. To remain unharmed without defenses is the principle of heaven and earth. Understanding this principle, one will have no "land of death" (a place of inevitable demise). Moving through the world with safety at every step—this is called true mastery of nurturing life.

Those who love their children are kind to them; those who value life are kind to their bodies; those who prize achievement are kind to their endeavors. A loving mother, caring for her young child, will surely seek to bring them happiness. To bring happiness, she must remove misfortune; to remove misfortune, she must deliberate deeply. Deep deliberation leads to clarity of principle; clarity of principle ensures success. With success assured, action proceeds without hesitation—and this lack of hesitation is courage. The sage approaches all matters with the same consideration as a loving mother planning for her child. Thus, they discern the path that must succeed and, knowing what to do, act without hesitation. This lack of hesitation is courage, and courage arises from kindness. Hence it is said, "Kindness gives rise to courage."

The Duke of Zhou said: "If winter's freeze is not solid, spring and summer's plants will not flourish." Even heaven and earth cannot long sustain extravagance—how much less can humans? Therefore, all things must have their waxing and waning; all affairs must have their tension and relaxation.

The art of governance requires balancing tension and relaxation; a state must employ both civil and military strategies, and officials must be managed with clear rewards and punishments. When the wise practice frugality, their households prosper; when sages cherish their Shen (spirit), their vitality flourishes; when rulers value their soldiers, the populace grows, and a populous state becomes strong. Thus, frugality strengthens the nation.

All things with form are easily measured and divided. Why is this so? Because form implies length, length implies size, size implies shape (round or square), shape implies texture (hard or soft), texture implies weight, and weight implies color (black or white). These relationships—length, size, shape, texture, weight, and color—constitute the natural order. By understanding this order, managing affairs becomes effortless. Therefore, in court deliberations, standards must first be established; those who comprehend balance grasp this principle. To craft round or square objects, one must follow the compass and square—all things adhere to their inherent patterns. Sages fully align with the natural order of all things, hence the saying, "Dare not be first in the world" (refraining from forceful dominance). By not forcing their way, they achieve greatness, and their insights surpass the ordinary. How could such individuals not occupy high positions? Holding key offices means becoming the master of affairs. Thus, "daring not to be first" allows one to become the ruler of endeavors.

Loving one’s children means never depriving them of food and clothing; cherishing oneself means never defying the law; crafting round or square objects means never abandoning the compass and square. In leading troops, caring for soldiers ensures victory; valuing weapons and fortifications ensures strong defenses. Thus, fighting with compassion brings victory, and defending with it ensures stability. Those who preserve themselves while fully adhering to the natural order will surely receive heaven’s favor. Heaven’s favor nurtures the growth of wisdom. All principles under heaven converge on growth; when guarded with compassion, actions become thorough and flawless—this is the most precious treasure. Hence, "I have three treasures, which I hold and cherish" (compassion, frugality, and daring not to be first). The "great Dao" mentioned in texts refers to the true path, while "superficial displays" (mere appearances) signify deviation. "Shortcuts" may seem appealing but are manifestations of false paths. An overly adorned court indicates rampant litigation; rampant litigation leads to neglected fields; neglected fields result in an empty treasury.

When a nation is impoverished yet its people indulge in extravagance and waste, the fundamental tasks of growing food and making clothing—the very basis of livelihood—are neglected. Once these essentials are abandoned, the people inevitably resort to cunning and deceit. When everyone pursues superficial glamour, lawsuits multiply, granaries empty, and the entire country takes pride in lavishness—this is as dangerous as stabbing the nation with a sharp sword.

Those who harm the state through petty cleverness will inevitably amass sudden wealth for themselves. When the common people witness this, they will imitate such behavior, leading to the spread of petty theft. It is like the ancient yu (a reed pipe instrument) leading the orchestra—once it plays, the other instruments follow in harmony. When great villains take the lead in wrongdoing, ordinary people will follow their example. Those who dress in fine silks, wear ornate swords, feast lavishly, and hoard vast wealth are, in truth, the leaders of thieves.

Whether wise or foolish, all people understand the principle of seeking benefit and avoiding harm. Yet once deluded by desire, they are led astray by external temptations and lose their true nature. Only sages can remain steadfast in their principles, unswayed by material allure. Their minds are focused and unified, and even in the face of temptation, their spirit remains unshaken.

As descendants, we should uphold this principle to safeguard the ancestral temple (the shrine of our forebears). The key to preserving the ancestral temple lies in this: individuals must accumulate Jing (essence) and cultivate De (virtue/power); families must accumulate wealth and nurture moral character; villages and nations must prioritize nourishing the people as their foundation. Those who cultivate their nature will not have their spirit disturbed by external things—this is true De (virtue). In managing a household, if one avoids useless distractions, wealth will naturally abound. If this principle is upheld in governing a community, prosperous families will multiply.

This passage illustrates the core Daoist concept of "contentment brings happiness" through multiple historical anecdotes.

When governing a state, if the ruler adheres to the principles of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue), virtuous individuals will naturally flourish in local communities. Extending this to the entire realm, all people will benefit from this benevolent influence. By observing how a person cultivates their character, one can distinguish between noble individuals and petty ones; by examining the governance of families, villages, and nations, one can discern their rise or decline. This embodies the wisdom of "understanding others through oneself, and comprehending society through the family."

In times of peace, warhorses are used for plowing fields; in times of chaos, they give birth to foals in the wilderness. Just as prized foxes and leopards are hunted for their exquisite fur, nations invite calamity through their pursuit of fame and territory. King Xu Yan perished due to his obsession with reputation, while the states of Yu and Guo fell because of their greed for land.

After annexing the Fan and Zhonghang clans, the Jin minister Zhi Bo remained unsatisfied and attacked Zhao, only to be defeated by the combined forces of Han and Wei—his skull was even turned into a wine vessel. The ruler of Yu, coveting Jin’s fine horses and precious jade, ignored the warnings of Gong Zhiqi, leading to the destruction of his state and his own demise. These examples all demonstrate that no disaster is greater than discontent, and no fault is more severe than insatiable greed.

King Zhuang of Chu granted Sunshu Ao a barren stretch of land in Hanjian. Precisely because the land was infertile (according to Chu law, a minister’s fief would be reclaimed after two generations), Sunshu Ao’s lineage maintained their ancestral rites for nine generations without interruption. This confirms the principle that "what is well-established cannot be uprooted, and what is well-preserved cannot be lost"—true wisdom lies in knowing contentment.

This passage primarily discusses principles of state governance and political strategy. The example of Sunshu Ao (a renowned chancellor of the Chu state during the Spring and Autumn period) illustrates that wielding power requires steadiness, not recklessness. The steady can govern the frivolous, and the composed can control the impulsive. Thus, steadiness is the root of frivolity, and composure is the master of impetuosity. The ruler is like the foundation of the state and must not lightly depart from their position.

The text cites the example of Lord Father (King Wuling of Zhao), who abdicated to his son but subsequently lost his authority and was eventually imprisoned to death. This demonstrates that if a ruler acts rashly, they will lose their ministers; if they act hastily, they will lose their throne. Authority is as vital to a ruler as deep water is to fish—once lost, it is difficult to regain. Historical lessons include Duke Jian of Qi, who lost his authority and was killed by Tian Chengzi, and the rulers of Jin, who were sidelined by the Six Ministers.

Rewards and punishments are the sharp tools of the state and must remain in the ruler's hands. If a ruler delegates these powers to ministers, the ministers will use them to control the ruler instead. Thus, the core authority of the state must never be lightly revealed.

The example of King Goujian of Yue illustrates strategic deception: the Yue king deliberately provoked Wu into attacking Qi to exhaust Wu's strength. After Wu's victory at Ailing, Yue then flaunted its military might at the Huangchi conference, ultimately leading to Wu's destruction. This embodies the principle: "To contract something, one must first expand it; to weaken something, one must first strengthen it." Similarly, Duke Xian of Jin gifted jade and fine horses before attacking Yu, and Zhi Bo presented chariots before destroying Chouyou—both employed the same tactic.

Finally, the text emphasizes that great undertakings must begin with small details: a thousand-mile dike may collapse due to an ant hole. Therefore, to address difficulties, start with what is easy; to accomplish great things, begin with what is small. To master something, one must act while it is still in its nascent stage.

This passage illustrates the importance of nipping problems in the bud through several historical anecdotes.

The first story tells of Bai Gui, a hydraulic expert from the Warring States period, who plugged ant holes while building dikes, and an old man who sealed wall cracks to prevent fires—both avoiding major disasters. This shows that carefully addressing minor issues can prevent greater calamities.

The second is the famous story of Bian Que meeting Duke Huan of Cai. The physician warned the ruler three times as his illness progressed from the skin to the internal organs, but the duke ignored him. When the disease reached the bone marrow, Bian Que declared it incurable. Five days later, the duke died as predicted. This demonstrates that both illnesses and problems must be addressed early.

The third story recounts how Duke Wen of Jin (Chong'er), during his exile, was neither warmly received nor executed by the ruler of Zheng, despite advisor Shu Zhan’s warnings. Later, after Chong'er returned to power, he attacked Zheng and seized eight cities. This shows how mishandling small issues can lead to major consequences.

The fourth story is the classic "lips gone, teeth cold" parable. When Jin sought passage through Yu to attack Guo, minister Gong Zhiqi warned Yu’s ruler that allowing it would doom Yu after Guo’s fall. Ignoring the advice, Yu was indeed conquered by Jin afterward. This again proves that neglecting small dangers invites disaster.

Together, these stories teach that wise people address problems early, acting at the first sign of trouble to avert future catastrophes. Just as illnesses must be treated in their initial stages, governance too requires vigilance against small beginnings—for great harms grow from unchecked neglect.

This passage illustrates core Daoist principles like "discerning the great from the subtle" and "strength through softness" through historical parables.

The stories of Zheng and Yu states first demonstrate how virtuous ministers like Shuzhan and Gong Zhiqi—acting as skilled physicians (metaphor for wise counselors)—were ignored by their rulers, leading to Zheng's invasion and Yu's destruction. This shows how situations are easiest to manage when stable, and crises easiest to prevent when nascent.

The tale of King Zhou of Shang reveals the principle "discerning small signs brings clarity": When Zhou began using ivory chopsticks, Jizi foresaw disaster, reasoning they'd necessitate rhinoceros-horn cups, exotic delicacies, fine silks, and grand palaces. Five years later, Zhou indeed built his infamous meat forests and torture pillars, bringing dynastic collapse. True wisdom lies in perceiving grand trends from tiny omens.

King Goujian of Yue and King Wen exemplify "strength through softness": Goujian endured humiliation as a groom for the Wu king, ultimately defeating him at Gusu; Wen remained composed when insulted by Zhou, enabling his son's victory at Muye. Real strength manifests through forbearance and yielding.

Zihan's rejection of jade embodies "desiring the undesired": When a farmer offered precious jade, the minister declared, "I treasure my refusal more than your gift." This epitomizes the virtue of spurning coveted objects.

Lastly, Wang Shou's book-burning illustrates "learning the unlearned": Philosopher Xu Feng declared true wisdom transcends book knowledge, prompting Wang to burn his texts and dance. Genuine learning means surpassing rote memorization.

Together these stories reveal how true sages avoid calamity by perceiving subtle omens, embracing softness, purifying desires, and transcending forms—embodying why "the sage is without fault."

In the state of Song, a man spent three years carving a mulberry leaf from ivory, with veins and textures so lifelike that it could not be distinguished from real leaves when placed among them. For this, he was granted an official position and salary. When Liezi heard of this, he remarked: If Heaven and Earth took three years to grow a single leaf, there would be very few leafy plants in the world. To defy the patterns of nature by imitating the skill of one man, or to disregard the laws of the Dao (the Way) while studying the cleverness of an individual—these are shallow acts akin to obsessing over "a single leaf."

Even Hou Ji (the ancient god of agriculture) could not grow crops successfully in winter, and even servants could not ruin the harvest in a bountiful year. Relying solely on human effort, even Hou Ji would find himself powerless; yet by following nature’s course, even servants could achieve abundance effortlessly. Thus, one must align with the natural patterns of all things and refrain from forcing outcomes.

The seven orifices (eyes, ears, mouth, nose, etc.) are the windows through which the Shen (spirit) enters and exits. If the eyes and ears are drowned in sensual pleasures, the spirit is exhausted on external appearances, and the inner self loses its mastery. Once the inner self loses control, even calamities or blessings as vast as mountains may go unnoticed. Therefore, the Daodejing states: "Without going out the door, one knows the world; without peering through the window, one perceives the Dao of Heaven." This speaks to the principle of not allowing the spirit to stray from its root.

When Lord Xiang of Zhao learned charioteering from Wangzi Qi, he lost three consecutive races. Complaining that his teacher had withheld essential techniques, Wangzi Qi explained: The key to charioteering lies in harmonizing the horses with the carriage and aligning the mind with the horses. Yet when you fell behind, you strained to overtake me, and when ahead, you feared I would catch up—your thoughts were entirely fixed on me. How could you then coordinate with the horses? This is why you lost.

While plotting rebellion, Duke Bai Sheng accidentally stabbed his own chin with an inverted staff, bleeding profusely without even noticing. A man of Zheng commented: If he could forget his own pierced chin, what else might he forget? Thus, the farther one strays from the root, the less wisdom one retains. The sage has no fixed method of action but can attend to both the near and the far. As the Daodejing says: "Without traveling, one knows; without seeing, one understands"—acting in accordance with the moment, succeeding by relying on conditions, and benefiting by skillfully utilizing the nature of all things.

When King Zhuang of Chu first ascended the throne, he neglected state affairs for three years without issuing any decrees. A minister named Right Marshal (You Sima) advised him using an allegory: "There is a bird on the southern mountain ridge that neither spreads its wings, flies, nor sings for three years, remaining completely silent. What kind of bird is this?" King Zhuang replied: "Not spreading its wings for three years allows its feathers to grow fuller; neither flying nor singing enables it to observe the people's condition. Though it does not fly now, once it does, it will soar to the heavens; though it does not sing now, when it does, its voice will startle all." Half a year later, King Zhuang began governing personally, abolishing ten harmful policies, implementing nine new reforms, punishing five corrupt ministers, and promoting six reclusive scholars, bringing great order to Chu. Later, he defeated Qi and Jin in battle, convened a meeting of feudal lords at Song, and ultimately became hegemon of the realm. King Zhuang achieved great fame because he never sacrificed major goals for petty gains; he accomplished great deeds because he never rushed to display his abilities. Thus it is said: Precious vessels take time to craft, and the grandest sounds seem faint at first.

Later, when King Zhuang planned to attack Yue, his minister Du Zi dissuaded him: "Why does Your Majesty wish to attack Yue?" The king replied: "Because Yue's governance is chaotic and its military weak." Du Zi said: "I fear Your Majesty's wisdom is like the eyes—able to see clearly a hundred paces ahead but unable to see one's own eyelashes. Our armies were defeated by Qin and Jin, losing hundreds of miles of territory—this is true military weakness. The bandit Zhuang Qiao runs rampant within our borders, yet officials cannot stop him—this is true governance in chaos. Chu's weakness and disorder are no less than Yue's, yet you seek to attack Yue. This is the wisdom of 'eyes that cannot see their own lashes.'" King Zhuang then abandoned the campaign. Thus, the difficulty of understanding things lies not in seeing others clearly but in seeing oneself clearly. Only those who can see themselves are truly wise.

When Confucius's disciple Zixia visited Zengzi, Zengzi asked: "Why have you grown plump?" Zixia replied: "Because I won a battle." Puzzled, Zengzi pressed further. Zixia explained: "At home, I studied the Dao of the ancient kings and found it lofty; outside, I saw the allure of wealth and pleasure. These two thoughts warred within me without resolution, so I grew thin. Now the Dao of the ancient kings has triumphed over material desires, so my heart is at ease and my body full." This illustrates that the challenge of self-cultivation lies not in conquering others but in conquering oneself. Only those who can conquer themselves are truly strong.

The Zhou royal house possessed a precious jade tablet. King Zhou of Shang first sent his virtuous minister Jiao Ge to demand it, but King Wen of Zhou refused. Later, he sent the corrupt minister Fei Zhong, and King Wen handed it over. This was because Zhou did not wish to empower a virtuous man, deliberately giving the tablet to a villain instead. Later, King Wen promoted Jiang Taigong (Lü Shang) by the Wei River—a true act of valuing worth and ability.

This passage elucidates the principles of governance and the employment of talent. If a ruler fails to honor virtuous mentors (referring to ministers with De [Virtue/Power]) or value capable advisors (those who provide genuine assistance), even while considering themselves wise, they are in fact deluded. This constitutes the most essential subtlety in statecraft.

Han Feizi illustrates this point with the example of King Zhou of Shang, who favored the treacherous minister Fei Zhong and coveted jade tablets (symbolizing extravagance and indulgence). Superficially, it may appear as valuing certain individuals (esteeming them) or cherishing certain objects (loving them), but in reality, it amounts to promoting petty men and indulging in pleasures. A truly enlightened ruler must discern who are the genuine mentors worthy of respect and what are the true resources essential for governing the state.