《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 16

The Miu Cheng Xun (The Treatise on Erroneous Analogies) in Huainan Honglie Jie, Volume 16, “Shen II (Spirit II)”

As recorded by Xu Shen, Libationer to the Grand Commandant (Part One)

Miu Cheng Xun (using erroneous and heterogeneous arguments to draw analogies with things, borrowing comparisons to communicate with spiritual clarity, and thereby knowing what is worthy)

Dao (the Way) is high without an upper limit and deep without a lower limit; it is level like a water level, straight like an ink line, round like a compass, and square like a carpenter’s square. It encompasses the cosmos without any distinction between inner and outer, surface and interior; it penetrates thoroughly, covers and supports all things without obstruction. Therefore, one who embodies and conforms to Dao does not grieve or rejoice, is not pleased or angry; when sitting at ease, there are no distracting thoughts in the mind; when sleeping, there are no dreams; when external things arrive, one names them; when affairs arrive, one responds to them.

The ruler is the heart of a state. When the heart is ordered, the hundred joints are all at peace; when the heart is disturbed, the hundred joints are all in disorder. Thus, when the heart is ordered, the limbs each rest in their place and do not interfere with one another; when the state is ordered, ruler and ministers each keep their proper share and do not contend with one another.

The Yellow Emperor said: Vast and obscure, follow the Heavenly Dao and be of one Qi (vital energy) with the primordial Qi. Therefore, the person of utmost De (Virtue/Power) speaks briefly but with the same purport, acts differently but points in the same direction; high and low are of one heart, with no divergence. When one sees people by the roadside, one should block them on crooked paths and guide them on the right path toward goodness, and the common people will turn toward the right path. Therefore the Changes says, “Fellow with others in the open field; it is favorable to cross the great river.” To be of one mind and one Dao with others and reach the open country, one can cross the great river; the great river is a metaphor for great hardship.

Dao is what guides all things; De is what supports nature; benevolence is the accumulation of kindness and its manifest verification; righteousness is what compares with the human heart and accords with what is fitting for the multitude. Therefore, when Dao recedes, De is used; when De declines, benevolence and righteousness arise. Thus in high antiquity people embodied Dao and did not advertise De; in middle antiquity they guarded De and did not destroy it; in the latter age they tremble with fear lest they lose benevolence and righteousness. The gentleman cannot establish himself without benevolence and righteousness; losing them, he loses the basis for establishing himself. The petty person cannot live without cravings; losing cravings, he loses the means by which he lives. Therefore the gentleman fears losing benevolence and righteousness, while the petty person fears losing profit; by seeing what they fear, one knows that they differ from one another. The Changes says, “Chasing deer without a forester, one only enters the forest. The gentleman, seeing the incipience, does better to let it go; going forward brings regret.” Ji means to chase; the deer is a metaphor for the people; Yu is the official in charge of mountains and forests. Chasing deer without a forester to guide one, one will only run into the deep forest. When the gentleman sees the subtle omen, he does better to abandon the chase; if he forces himself to go forward, there will surely be regret. When kindness bestowed is generous, the return is beautiful; when resentment is great, disaster is deep. To give thinly yet hope for much is like raising and nurturing something while expecting an immediate harvest.

To feel resentment and indignation yet suffer no harm from it is something that has never happened from ancient times to the present. Therefore the sage observes where things are about to go and thereby knows whence they have come.

The Dao (the Way) of the sage is like setting out a vessel of wine on a great thoroughfare: passersby pour themselves however much they choose, and each gets what suits him. Thus, to win one person’s heart is to be able to win the support of a hundred. When those above bestow on those below what they themselves desire in their dealings, who would not be willing to receive it? When those below offer to those above what they themselves desire in service, who would not be glad? The Shijing (Classic of Poetry) says, “Revere and love this person; respond in accord with careful De (Virtue/Power).” Being careful in De is a great matter; though a single person is small, only one who can do well in what is small can do well in what is great.

When the noble man sees another’s fault, he forgets the punishment, and thus he can remonstrate; when he sees worth, he forgets his own lowliness, and thus he can yield; when he sees insufficiency, he forgets his poverty, and thus he can give. When feeling is anchored within and takes form without, then whenever action comes from true feeling, even if it has flaws it occasions no resentment; if it does not come from true feeling, then even if it looks loyal and upright it invites aversion.

Hou Ji broadly benefited the world, yet did not boast; Yu did not neglect achievement and did not conceal wealth, yet still looked upon himself as insufficient. To be full as if deficient, solid as if empty—this is the realm of “exhausting it fully.” Ordinary people each take what they themselves like to be worthy and speak words that please their own hearts. In the world there is no one who does not recommend the worthy, yet some thereby bring order and others chaos; this is not self-deception but a seeking for those who are like themselves. If one is not necessarily worthy yet seeks those like oneself, then to wish to obtain true worth is nearly impossible. To have Yao measure Shun, or Jie measure Yao, is like using a sheng measure to measure a dan. Now if one says “fox and li,” one necessarily does not know the fox and also does not know the li (these two beasts are different); one who has never seen a fox must never have seen a li. The fox and the li are of the same kind yet different, but if they are conflated as “fox-li,” then neither fox nor li is known. Thus, to call those like oneself worthy is necessarily not to know worth; to say that the worthy are not like oneself is necessarily not to know the unworthy.

When the sage is above, the people delight in his rule; when he is below, the people admire his intent. One who occupies a high position is like someone lying on a moving cocoon or beside silk set out to dry (the cocoon stirs without cease; only when the silk is dead does it stop): he cannot be at peace for a single moment. Therefore the Yi (Changes) says, “Riding horses in hesitation, weeping blood in streams.”

(Note: In the phrase “setting out a zun in the middle of the thoroughfare,” zun is a wine vessel; “bearing feeling” refers to what the heart feels and the sincerity of emotion; “jue” means dissatisfaction; “sleeping at the gate and drying silk floss” figures the unease of high position.)

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

In the Yijing, the “Lianru” line—riding horses in disorder, unable to advance or retreat, with even the worry of weeping blood—speaks of petty people sitting in positions they should not occupy, which is why they are so wretched.

Nothing among the myriad things is absolutely useless. Although Tianxiong and Wutou are potent drugs, a good physician can use them to save people; dwarfs and blind musicians were originally meant to divert people when they are weary and stuck. Rulers keep them for amusement, and so the sage weighs and employs talents, arranging even seemingly useless people in suitable places, so that none are truly wasted.

A brave warrior’s single shout makes the three armies withdraw, and this relies on sincere intent. Thus when the leader sings and no one joins in, when minds do not accord and the crowd sighs, the root is that the hearts have not truly been twisted into one rope. Shun did not leave his mat yet became king over all under Heaven because he worked on himself; when superiors have many tricks and many arts of power, those below follow with much deceit.

A bent body with a straight shadow—such a thing has never been heard of. Where verbal persuasion cannot reach, expression and bearing can still move people; where even countenance cannot reach, a momentary felt touch can still enter the heart. When the heart is touched, wisdom becomes clear; when spirit is concentrated, it takes form outwardly. One can meet others through momentum and posture, but cannot force one’s way into their hearts by regulations and clever schemes.

The horses of the Rong and Di can all run, but their distances vary; only Zao Fu could exhaust a horse’s strength. The people of Sanmiao can all be made loyal and trustworthy; worthy and unworthy each have their own qualities, and only Tang and Yu could bring their strengths into order—in this there must be something transmitted orally and by heart, something that cannot be written into books.

Zhonghang Miu Bo of Jin could fight a live tiger with his bare hands, yet could not keep it or tame it; probably, though his strength was strong, his power to subdue by benevolence did not reach far enough.

Use the particular skills of a hundred people, and you gather the strength of a hundred people; raise up one whom a thousand people love, and you win the hearts of a thousand. It is like felling a tree: one must first pull at the roots, and none of the thousand branches and ten thousand leaves will fail to follow.

A loving father loves his son not for repayment, and in his heart there is no way to shut off this love; the sage king nourishes the people not in order to “use them”—his nature is thus, like fire heating by itself and ice chilling by itself; what further cultivation is needed? As for those who rely only on brute force and boast only of merit, they are like a boat that has caught fire—they burn themselves away first.

Note: In the text, cuo is glossed as to kill or to cut/judge; yi er bu dai is mostly interpreted as dissatisfaction in the heart and sighing; ke here is paired in contrast with “superior strength” and takes the sense of ability and benevolent virtue.

A Vernacular Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

(Note: “Huainan Honglie” is the Huainanzi, compiled by Liu An and others in the Han dynasty, an important classic of Daoism and the miscellaneous school.)

People in the same boat putting out a fire together rely on shared purpose, not on exchanging gifts and currying favor with one another. Thus the gentleman sees the subtle and knows the evident, inferring the outcome from the beginning.

A matchmaker may praise someone, yet that person is not necessarily grateful; if one hires an ordinary man and force-feeds him, he is not necessarily devoted. Even for one’s own father and mother, once they reach the point of “giving benefits only on conditions,” the bond of grace cannot be sustained. To see off those who leave is not to curry favor with those who will come later; to bestow benefits on the dead is not only to seek repayment from the living. Only when sincerity issues from one’s own heart can its influence reach far.

Brocade and embroidery are brought into the temple to honor adornment (“deng” means “to enter”); gui and zhang tablets are placed in front to honor plain substance (in sacrificing to spirits with jade, what is valued is substance). Only when adornment does not overwhelm plain substance is one called a gentleman. To spend a whole year making a cart but lack a three-inch linchpin, the cart will not run; a craftsman makes a door but lacks a one-foot bolt, the door will not close tightly or keep things hidden. The gentleman, too, should exert effort at the crucial “knot” (jie, the vital point or final outcome).

The subtle essence of the heart can resonate and transform, but one cannot rely on it alone to teach others; the subtle essence of the eye can moisten and enliven what is seen, but one cannot rely on it to admonish people clearly. What is hidden and obscure (hunming: dark and unclear) in the heart cannot be explained to others with complete clarity.

Thus Shun did not leave his mat, and the world was at peace; Jie did not leave the steps, and the world was in great chaos. Sincere feeling is probably more effective than loud shouting. (Even shouting and grand words are not as good as an upright heart and conduct.) To fail to reflect on oneself yet demand things of others—from ancient times to the present, no one has heard of such a thing succeeding. The words may be the same, yet the people believe them, because trust precedes the words; the orders may be the same, yet the people are transformed, because sincerity lies beyond the orders. When the sage is above, the people turn to goodness and follow transformation because feeling is moved first. If there is movement above but no response below, feeling and command are not in accord. Therefore the Yijing says, “The arrogant dragon has regrets”—if a benevolent ruler moves to the extreme and occupies too high a position, regret follows.

A three-month-old infant does not understand benefit and harm, yet a loving mother’s love can move him; this depends on feeling. Thus the effect of “speaking” is clear but small; the effect of “not speaking” is vast but great. To “embody” the gentleman’s words is to put into practice what the gentleman says; to “match” the gentleman’s intent is to be loyal and sincere within. When loyalty and trust take form within, emotional response answers without. Thus Yu held the shield and axe and danced (an allusion to moving the people by dancing virtue, controlling the waters, and the like), …

(The original final sentence is incomplete; a common continuation conveys the sense of moving the multitude to follow in toil.)

Note: The parenthetical material gives original annotations or textual-collation senses; proper names such as Shun, Jie, Yu, guizhang, and the Yijing phrase “The arrogant dragon has regrets” retain their original meanings.

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Yu carried out a government of ritual and music between the two stairways, and the Sanmiao (an ancient southern tribe) submitted. Legend has it that the Sanmiao had once rebelled against Yu, and Yu transformed them through ritual and music, causing them to submit. This is like a hawk flying over a river: the fish and soft-shelled turtles in the stream all sink to the bottom, and the birds too fly high away—the birds leave as soon as they see the hawk in order to avoid harm. The hawk harbors the intent to kill, and the birds and fish can sense its true intent, so they keep far away.

There are indeed people in the world who die for their fathers as sons and die for their rulers as ministers. They do not deliberately go to their deaths to win a reputation; rather, affection is stored in their hearts, and when danger comes they cannot defy that heart. Thus, however sweet people’s words may be, they are not necessarily for the sake of Zhi (the legendary great robber); however joyful people’s appearance may be, it is not necessarily for the sake of Zhi. That ministers die for rulers and sons for fathers is not to curry favor with Zhi either, yet things of Zhi’s kind still occur in the world—this shows that the true feeling in the human heart is not forcibly poured in from outside but naturally arises from within.

Righteousness places the ruler in an honored position; benevolence brings father and son into mutual affection. A ruler can decide a minister’s life or death, but cannot force the minister to perform a merely expedient and easily performed “righteousness”; a father can guide and rouse his son, but cannot make his son entirely free of worries and cares (“youxun” means long-lasting worry, arising from benevolent concern). Parents do not delight to see their child so anxious, yet they cannot stop it. Therefore, only when righteousness surpasses fear of the ruler and benevolence surpasses fear of the father do we get a ruler honored and ministers loyal, a father kind and sons filial.

When the sage is in high position, he transforms and nurtures the people like a spirit or deity. The Supreme (referring to a ruler of the highest virtue) says: “In governing, I follow nature.” The next level (as in the age of the Five Emperors) says: “The people are already thus; that is why I govern them as I do.” Therefore the Odes says, “Hold the reins as if weaving ribbons” (holding the reins as steadily as braiding silk ribbons), and the Changes says, “Containing one’s brilliance, one may be steadfast” (inner beauty and uprightness bring good fortune). Only by attending to what is near can one accomplish civilized governance far away.

If one observes the path traveled at night, the Duke of Zhou (Dan) would feel ashamed when looking in a mirror; therefore the junzi is cautious even when alone (“cautious in solitude”). When near matters are made clear, distant matters will not be obstructed; it is easy to listen to good words, but truly rectifying oneself is difficult.

Confucius saw the “three transformations” of grain (first as grain, then as sprouts, then as ears) and sighed, saying: “The fox dies at Xiangqiu; I would rather be the first ear of the grain.” In these words he uses natural growth and keeping to one’s proper lot to contrast with the human need to hold fast to righteousness and one’s proper station, rather than resorting to false display or evasion.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

(Note: The inline annotations in the text are mostly old commentaries; the translation merges them into the sense of the sentence as much as possible.)

Just as when grain ears ripen their heads droop and point toward the root—a metaphor for the noble man not forgetting his roots. Therefore, when the noble man sees good conduct, he first turns inward and examines himself, using goodness to reproach himself and evil as a warning; if he can rectify his own conduct, then to transform people from distant places is not difficult. (Old commentary: “huai” is sometimes written “lai,” meaning people from afar come to submit.)

The Shi says: If the ruler does not personally attend to affairs and does not draw close to his people, the people will not trust him. Petty persons often say in doing things, “As long as I can grab some benefit, that is enough”; the noble man says, “As long as it accords with righteousness, that is enough.” What they pursue is the same on the surface, but what they expect in their hearts differs—like striking once on a boat: the fish in the water sink, the birds in the air fly up; the sound is the same, but the results differ; the underlying principle is similar, yet the manifestations can be completely different.

Xi Fuji, a grandee of Cao, once entertained the exiled Jin prince Chong’er with a pot of food; later, when Chong’er returned home, took power, and attacked Cao, he ordered the army not to enter Xi Fuji’s village. Zhao Xuanzi (Zhao Dun, a minister of Jin) once saved Ling Zhe with a bundle of dried meat; later Ling Zhe repaid him and preserved him in danger. These were not cases of carrying out ritual with extreme magnificence, but of virtue being more than sufficient: a benevolent heart makes people grateful, and upon contact it produces feelings of tender concern and compassion, so it can enter deeply into people’s hearts. At home, in relation to elders, one appears generous in kindness; outside, once one owes a debt of human feeling, disputes easily arise. Therefore it is said: however sharp weapons may be, they are not as deeply wounding as “intent”; even the famous sword Moye cannot be counted the sharpest; the greatest “cap and crown” is the way of Yin-Yang; drum-beating and the like are only minor matters; and if the sage inflicts “harm” (punishment or deterrence), it is not to seek fame, yet fame naturally follows; nor does he calculate for profit, yet profit returns to him.

People’s sorrow and joy are not produced merely by hurrying about to “try their luck and seize advantages.” Therefore the person of ultimate Dao is utterly still and utterly simple, not deliberately adorning his appearance; just as when chaff gets into the eye, one simply rubs it out from within, not in order to show others one’s deportment; just as after falling, one props against the ground to rise—this too is a natural response.

When the sage governs a state, outwardly it is plain and quiet, and one cannot see him “parading his worthiness”; only when the work is done does one realize that his achievements are great. It is like the sun in motion: people do not feel it moving; a thousand-li steed cannot catch up with how far it has gone.

Suppose at night one seeks help from others, yet waits with the blind master for the east to brighten—when day breaks there will naturally be light. (This is a metaphor: people clearly can rely on “brightness” to accomplish things, yet insist on groping in the dark and bustling blindly like the blind; in employing people and managing affairs, if one does not use the clear discernment that should be used, but relies solely on much anxious thinking, this too is a kind of confusion.) As soon as one moves with the desire to grab advantage, loss follows. (Therefore the Yi says “Bo” must not be stripped away to the very end; when it is fully stripped, it must connect to “Fu.”)

Brief Notes on Proper Names: Xi Fuji was a grandee of Cao who once provided food to Chong’er; Chong’er is Duke Wen of Jin; Zhao Xuanmeng / Zhao Xuanzi is Zhao Dun; Ling Zhe was a warrior who once received the kindness of a meal from Zhao Dun; and Moye was a famous sword in ancient legend.

Plain-Language Interpretation

(This speaks of things being renewed after they have fallen away.) What is thin grows thick when it accumulates over time; what is low grows high in the same way. So the gentleman says: work diligently and without tiring, and you can achieve distinction. The petty person says: act hastily and carelessly, and the result is disgrace. The waxing and waning, gathering and dispersing of things follow this cycle.

When King Wen heard of something good, he feared he would not catch up with it. When he heard of something bad, he could not set it aside, as though he had heard an ill omen. It was not that he thought a day was too short; rather, his concern reached far into the future. (Far-reaching concern is what is meant here.) Thus the Book of Songs says: “Although Zhou is an ancient state, its Mandate of Heaven is ever renewed.” This speaks of a new spirit in an old state. Those who hold genuine feeling within and remain true to their simple nature cannot be killed by Heaven or buried by Earth. Their fame spreads between Heaven and Earth and shines alongside the sun and moon. This is sweetness and joy. Xun Kuang (Xunzi) said: “Learn from good people, and even if you make mistakes, you will not incur resentment. Do not learn from good people, and even if you are loyal, you may still bring disaster upon yourself.” So it is better to blame yourself than others, and better to seek from yourself than from others.

Gain and loss are both called forth by one’s own reputation. One’s appearance is what one shows; one’s name is what one takes; one’s adornment is what one adds to oneself. None of these things comes from anyone else. If you take a sharp blade and stab another person, or take a knife and strike them, you have brought disaster upon yourself. How, then, can you blame others for your appearance?

Thus Guan Zhong’s guan—a fine brocade-like garment—could be worn in the ancestral temple even if it was thought ugly. (Guan Zhong served the state of Qi, clarified its laws and examined its criminal cases. Though he was not a sage, he was still fit to enter the temple, just as brocade, even if judged unattractive, is fit to be worn there.) Zichan’s bleached and dyed cloth was beautiful but unsuited to the dignity of the ancestral temple. (Zichan served the state of Zheng, first showing kindness and then enforcing the law. His work was like cloth that had been bleached and dyed: soft and gentle, but unsuitable for ritual robes.) To be empty yet able to be filled, plain yet full of flavor, is to be someone who wears coarse clothes while carrying jade within. When two people are of two minds, they cannot win the heart of even one person; when they are wholly devoted, they can win the hearts of a hundred.

A man plants orchids, but though the orchids are beautiful, they have no fragrance. (Orchids here may refer to fragrant herbs such as mugwort; perhaps when a man plants them, they do not give off their scent.) A stepson gets food to eat, but though the meat is fatty, it lacks richness. (The stepson has a stepmother.) When feelings are not in accord, a relationship cannot last. Life is a temporary lodging; death is the final destination. So Hong Yan, an officer of Wei, died to uphold benevolence. (When the Di people attacked Wei and killed Duke Yi, Hong Yan cut open his own belly and placed the duke’s liver inside it.) Wang Zilu, a prince of Chu, opened his robes and accepted the blade. (When Bai Gong wanted to make Wang Zilu king, he refused. Bai Gong threatened him with troops, but Zilu still would not yield.) They did not let the things entrusted to them in life damage the righteousness toward which they were bound. When the world is at peace, one uses righteousness to protect oneself; when the world is in disorder, one uses one’s life to protect righteousness. Even at the moment of death, one carries righteousness through to the end.

Mozi and his disciples, if a hundred of them were of one mind, could bring order to the world. The followers of Zengzi and Mozi, if a thousand of them were of one mind, could bring peace to the world. If the chief steward and the household steward each had divided loyalties, the household could not be governed—how much less the world? So an enlightened ruler chooses worthy people by considering not only their abilities, but also whether their hearts are single-minded. The Duke of Zhou served his father as he would serve Heaven and his elder brother as he would serve Earth; his Virtue was worthy to match Heaven and Earth.

Laozi said: “Heaven and Earth endure because they do not contend, do not act selfishly, and do not put themselves first. Therefore the sage puts himself last and yet comes first; he sets himself aside and yet remains. Is this not because he is without selfishness? That is why he can fulfill himself.” This means that by not contending, acting selfishly, or putting oneself first, one can in fact fulfill oneself.

Zhuangzi said: “The Perfect Person’s mind is like a mirror. It neither pursues what has gone nor welcomes what is coming; it responds to things but keeps nothing. Thus it can prevail over things without being harmed by them.” This means that the mind is like a mirror: it responds when things arrive and holds nothing when they pass. In this way, one can transcend external things without being injured by them.

(The following discusses the Eight Trigrams and emptiness and fullness.) Qian (Heaven) and Kun (Earth) take their places; Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) sustain one another; Zhen (Thunder) and Xun (Wind) press against one another; Gen (Mountain) and Dui (Lake) communicate with one another. The Eight Trigrams interweave, and the myriad things come into being. Within emptiness there is fullness; within fullness there is emptiness. Plainness contains flavor; flavor contains plainness. Thus the gentleman wears coarse clothes while carrying jade within, and does not let outward adornment damage his inner substance.

The stories of Hong Yan and Wang Zilu exemplify “using one’s life to protect righteousness.” When the world is in disorder, righteousness matters more than life: life may be surrendered, but righteousness must not be lost. This runs in the same vein as “those who hold genuine feeling and embrace their true nature cannot be killed by Heaven or buried by Earth”: genuine feeling and simplicity cannot truly be destroyed by external things.

Xunzi’s saying, “It is better to blame oneself than others, and better to seek from oneself than from others,” expresses the same idea as “one’s reputation is called forth by oneself; one’s appearance is what one shows.” Good fortune, misfortune, and reputation are largely shaped by one’s own actions. The gentleman works diligently and achieves distinction; the petty person acts hastily and brings disgrace. The difference lies in whether one can remain single-minded and turn inward in self-examination.

The text begins with “things falling away and being renewed” and “what is thin accumulating into what is thick,” and ends with “using one’s life to protect righteousness.” It discusses self-cultivation, conduct in the world, and the selection of worthy people. Drawing on Confucian, Daoist, and Mohist ideas, it uses historical figures such as Guan Zhong, Zichan, Hong Yan, and Wang Zilu to illustrate what it means to “hold genuine feeling and embrace one’s true nature,” and how “one mind can win the hearts of a hundred.”

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Therefore the noble person is cautious and single-minded. When put to use, he does not display bravery—not because he fears in advance, but because it is hard to attain and easy to lose hold of. The greedy do not desire beforehand; it is that on seeing profit they forget harm. Duke Yu saw the jade disk of Chuiji but did not know that the disaster of Guo would reach him. Thus the person who has reached the utmost cannot be blocked or robbed (meaning: one who has attained the ultimate Dao has his mind settled beforehand; one cannot confront him with profit and rob him of his resolve).

When people desire glory, they think it is for themselves—how does it benefit others? When the sage practices righteousness, his worry and seeking emerge from within—how is it profitable to himself? Therefore there have been many emperors and kings, yet only the Three Kings are praised; there have been many poor and lowly people, yet only Boyi is singled out. If one takes high status as sageliness, then there are many sages. If one takes low status as benevolence, then there are many lowly people. Why are sages so few? The joy of single-minded dedication—how great! Unmindful, they say, like a rushing torrent they renew themselves, forgetting that old age is reaching them. Beginning as a youngest and ending as an eldest, it must be through this accumulation (meaning: from youth to old age).

If one does not hide oneself, then one also does not hide from others (Dun means to hide. Since one does not hide one's conduct from oneself, one also does not hide it from others). Thus, like walking on a single-plank bridge, even if no one is there, he does not let his bearing become careless (a single-plank bridge is a single log over water; walking on it one is always trembling with caution, fearing falling in). Therefore it is easy to make others trust oneself, but difficult to make oneself trust oneself under cover (when it comes to one's own person, one does not trust, hence the difficulty).

Feeling moves first (meaning: the ruler uses his essence to move and guide the people); when he moves, nothing is not obtained (meaning: by moving he fully wins people's hearts). If nothing is not obtained, then there is no tangled outburst (meaning: no knotting arises and stirs); only after knotting is there pleasure (meaning: even if knotting occurs, it pleases the people's hearts). Therefore the measures of Tang and Yu were not for accommodating feelings; they pleased themselves and the world was governed. Jie and Zhou were not upright but preyed upon the realm; they pleased themselves, and all affairs were ruined. With likes and dislikes in deliberation, order and disorder are distinguished (meaning: if there are pleasing deliberations below, the state is governed; if there are hateful deliberations, the state is disordered).

The sage's conduct has nothing it joins and nothing it departs from; it is like a drum: there is nothing with which it is not tuned, nothing with which it is not matched. Silk, bamboo, metal, and stone—small and large, long and short have their order; different sounds yet harmonize. Ruler and minister, above and below,

A Vernacular Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Official posts have their separate duties, and their tasks are not the same: the one in charge of weaving advances the process day by day, while the one in charge of farming retreats along the furrows day by day. Their actions are opposite, yet both accomplish the work. The underlying principle is one.

Shen Xi heard a beggar singing by the roadside and was moved to sadness. He went out to look, and it was precisely his mother, lost to him for many years—she was begging on the road to survive.

At the Battle of Ailing, King Fuchai of Wu said: “The accents of the Yi region—those around Gouwu are probably much the same, are they not?” (“Yi” refers to the Wu region; “yang” is an affirmative particle; “Gouwu” is a name in the Wu-Yi language containing the sound “gou,” meaning “one may probably regard it so.”) In speaking as well, whether one can inspire trust depends on whether there is genuine feeling. Thus, when there is grief in the heart, the song sung is not joyful; when there is joy in the heart, the sound of weeping is not bitter.

Confucius said: “The strings are plucked correctly, but the sound is not right.” (After Min Ziqian completed three years of mourning, he took up the qin and played; the fingering was correct, but the tone was sorrowful and grieving, for his heart was still within filial remembrance.)

“Wen” is what is used to engage with people and things and to express meaning; emotion is tethered in the heart and seeks to issue outward. To use refinement alone to suppress feeling is to lose feeling; to use emotion alone to wash away refinement is to lose refinement. When wen, feeling, and principle are joined through, one reaches the state described in the Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals) as “the phoenix and qilin arrive.” This means that the highest De (Virtue/Power) can move what is far away.

Shu Ziyang said to his son: “A good craftsman can master his craft within the rules of the compass and square—the compass and square contain no particular object, yet nothing is not encompassed by them. The sage king relies on this to govern the people, Zaofu relies on it to drive horses, and Yiluo, a famous physician of Yue, relies on it to heal illness. With the same ‘material’ and the same standards, each person selects one aspect and applies it: some govern people, some drive horses, some heal illness—the material is the same; only the use differs.”

When those in high position have a resolve in mind but have not yet spoken, the people have already taken it up in a sincere and reverent heart; before words are spoken they already trust one another; without summons they come, and sometimes they arrive even before orders. Those anxious lest others not know them often do not even know themselves. Arrogance and self-satisfaction often grow from inner insufficiency; superficiality and deceitful adornment often grow from a love of display. People genuine at heart take pleasure in what they do and are not fretful, just as the owl naturally loves its own cry—not something forced.

Note: The words in parentheses are reading divisions and glosses from old commentaries (for example, “weaving silk / one advances,” “plowing / one retreats”), and in the vernacular rendering they have as far as possible been integrated into the sense of the sentences. Proper names (Shen Xi, Ailing, Fuchai, Min Ziqian, Zaofu, Yiluo, Shu Ziyang, and others) are retained as original names, with brief explanation at first occurrence.

This passage discusses how all things possess their inherent nature, and harmony arises from following natural patterns. Just as owls naturally hoot and bears instinctively roam, these behaviors stem from their innate dispositions, not deliberate performances.

In spring, young women often feel sentimental, while in autumn, scholars tend to feel melancholy. This occurs because spring's burgeoning Yang Qi stirs contemplation, while autumn's waxing Yin Qi induces somber moods. Observing these phenomena reveals the patterns of universal transformation. Hearing wailing signals grief, observing facial expressions distinguishes genuine from feigned emotions. Thus, sages maintain constant reverence within to attain the highest state.

Achievement and fame depend on heavenly will, while aligning with natural laws constitutes human effort. Worthies like Jiang Taigong (founder of the Zhou dynasty) and the Duke of Zhou (King Wu's brother) weren't specially created for King Wu; villains like Marquis Chonghou (Shang dynasty vassal) and Elai (King Zhou's favorite minister) weren't intentionally sent to King Zhou. Each era produces its corresponding figures.

The foundation of education lies with noble persons, yet commoners also benefit; prosperity originates with commoners, yet nobles share in it. During the legendary rule of Donghu Jizi, lost items remained untouched in the roads, farming tools and surplus grain were left in fields—both nobles and commoners found their proper places. Thus when rulers possess De (Virtue), the people live in peace.

Regarding ritual propriety: The Dao of heaven rotates leftward, so ministers address rulers using "left" to show humility; the Dao of earth turns rightward, so rulers address ministers using "right" to demonstrate deference. If rulers turn left they lose dignity; if ministers turn right they forsake their duty. Minor indulgences harm the great Dao; small errors undermine ritual.

When Zichan (renowned Zheng statesman) established penal codes, litigation increased yet people harbored no wicked thoughts. Acting contrary to reality invites public censure. The essence of governance lies in: artisans avoiding deception, farmers avoiding idleness, scholars...

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Officials in their conduct must abide by the law and must not secretly undermine legal standards. It is like spreading a net to catch fish: once the main cord is lifted, all the myriad mesh openings open.

Shun and Yu were not cases of “Heaven bestowing the mandate once again”; their authority came from the human heart, from human entrustment, not from a repeated coronation by the heavenly mandate.

When Yao and Shun passed on the great enterprise, they always first revealed traces in the smallest matters—first letting people see them in small things and near at hand; only by perceiving the evident from the subtle can one know the great.

Transformation through De (Virtue/Power) begins with the primary wife and brothers, then extends to the family and state; shanrang (abdication—passing the position to another rather than to one’s own descendants) proceeds from family to state, and the people of the world submit as if following the wind. This precisely describes the situation in which Yao, Shun, and Yu passed the throne in succession and the world turned its heart to them.

Thus in military matters one can “know the small by the great,” as when Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou attacked the unrighteous with righteousness—deciding small matters from the great perspective. Ordinary people, by contrast, “know the great by the small”—referring to those in the world who follow the wind and submit to the mandate; the people of Yao and Shun saw the greatness of Yao and Shun in tiny, everyday matters.

The way of the noble person seems close at hand, yet one must not rashly assume it can be “summoned at a word”; it seems lowly, yet one must not recklessly climb to high station. The myriad things are all entrusted to him to bear, and there is none he cannot bear—he is capable in every part.

The Dao (the Way) is both vast and brightly manifest, and also deep, distant, and lofty. Understanding this, one knows that this Dao cannot be begged from others; it can only be realized in oneself.

To abandon one’s own cultivation and instead seek it in others—that is to be even farther from the Dao.

The noble person takes “having surplus” as joy—De (Virtue/Power) and inner fullness are surplus, yet he feels his reputation is insufficient. The petty person, by contrast, is inwardly insufficient but greedy for reputation in excess. Set surplus and insufficiency side by side, and high and low, far and near, become perfectly clear.

To keep feeling and intention contained in the heart and never speak them, to have emotions yet never let them sprout or show—I have never heard that this can truly be so. The meaning is: harbored feeling will surely sprout and manifest outwardly.

The noble person thinks of righteousness and does not calculate profit; the petty person covets profit and disregards righteousness. Confucius wept for the death of his disciple Jing and others; the same cry, “What can I do?” the same lament, “How sorrowful it is to ride with me”—the outward appearance of grief was the same, but the reasons for grief differed. Thus one sees that sorrow and joy penetrate human feeling very deeply.

Some dig into the ground, others fill in ponds (one digs through, one fills level—their intentions differ); this is not merely to wear out the common people, but each follows his own will, and so disorder arises. The burdens and obsessions in their hearts are actually the same; once these are applied to others, good and evil divide. (In what is applied to others, there is good and there is evil.)

Therefore Tang Yao and Yu Shun were diligent day after day and came to be kings; Jie and Zhou indulged themselves day after day and came to lose their lives, never knowing that later ages would mock them.

Human feeling is often like this: when speaking of what is bitter, people instead treat it as a pleasure; once they lose what they enjoy, it turns into grief. Therefore one who knows the joy of life must also know the grief of death.

A person of righteousness cannot be deceived with profit.

Those who have courage cannot be coerced by intimidation; just as those who are hungry or thirsty cannot be fobbed off with empty words or hollow things.

As for human capacity and conduct: when desires are excessive, righteousness is harmed; when worries are excessive, wisdom is obstructed—greed and anxiety shut a person in, and wisdom suffers. When fear is excessive, courage is weakened. Arrogance and contempt often appear in petty people (haughty disdain is the way of small-minded men), and people in barbarian lands often act likewise (disrespect and rudeness border on barbarian conduct). Virtue arises in the gentleman: bright and good, rivaling sun and moon in splendor (“you” here carries the sense of the beautiful and praiseworthy); the world cannot block or take away such radiance.

Therefore those who govern the state should take “how the state may endure” as their joy; when the state perishes, people likewise take “how the state perishes” as their joy—survival and ruin each have their causes, and these must not go unexamined. Until gold and tin melt and dissolve, they will not flow; when punishments and laws rest with those above, if investigation is not sincere and solid, the laws cannot stand. If the people’s worries and appeals are not answered among the people themselves, the bond that ties the people is cut (“xi” means to bind and hold the people together). When the ruler returns to the root, the people’s bond is firm.

The person of supreme virtue: small matters are complete, great matters can be accomplished. Duke Huan of Qi was strong in great matters but loose in small ones (Duke Huan had large scope, smaller details were thin); Duke Wen of Jin was meticulous in small matters but could not lift great ones (Duke Wen had small details, great scope was neglected). Duke Wen of Jin’s strength lay within the inner household, his failure abroad (well ordered within, chaotic beyond the borders); Duke Huan of Qi failed within the inner household yet succeeded in the court and capital (turmoil within, order in the court). Water that runs downward becomes vast; a ruler who stands below his ministers becomes wise. When the ruler does not contend with ministers for credit, the way of governance is open. Guan Zhong and Baili Xi (Baili Xi was a forest officer of Yu, later minister of Qin) built up strategy until affairs succeeded; Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Mu of Qin took them in and followed their counsel (employing the two ministers’ plans).

To enlighten the confused: taking east for west is confusion (“zhao” here means to clarify and discern); one wakes only after seeing the sun. Duke Wu of Wei said to his ministers: My young men, do not say I am old (Duke Wu was nearly ninety-five), and do not treat me as weak and failing (lei: weak, dull, spent). When there is fault, you must come and tell me—had Duke Wu not treated himself as failing, he could have avoided decline; thus in old age he still did not give up accepting remonstrance: this is one who understands the principles of survival and ruin.

Human beings have no power to “create from nothing”; they only have the side that can act and exert force—one can act, yet cannot necessarily accomplish by oneself. What people do must be completed by Heaven: doing good all one’s life, if Heaven does not permit it, will not succeed; doing evil all one’s life, if Heaven does not decree ruin, will not ruin. Thus judgment of good and bad lies with me; fortune and misfortune do not lie with me alone.

A Vernacular Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

What we call the “I” is not entirely something “I” can decide; much of it is arranged by Heaven’s will. Therefore the noble person (junzi) does his utmost in the part he can control and lets the rest follow nature.

Nature and Destiny: One’s original nature is given by Heaven; one’s circumstances are given by the times. To have talent but not meet a good age—that is Heaven’s mandate. Jiang Ziya’s ability to accomplish things did not rest on his own strength alone; Bi Gan’s disaster was not necessarily because he had truly committed some great crime. Acting in accordance with one’s nature, the result may be benefit or harm; there is a method for how to seek and how to guard, but whether it finally succeeds still lies in fate. Thus the noble person can persist in doing good but cannot guarantee that he will enjoy blessings; he can be unable to bear doing evil but cannot guarantee that he will escape disaster.

Ruler and Minister as Root and Leaves: The ruler is the root; the minister is the branches and leaves. No one has ever heard of a rotten root while the branches and leaves still flourish. In an age with the Dao, the worthy man is entrusted with the whole world (as Yao ceded the world to Shun); in an age without the Dao, the state is handed to someone who should not receive it. When Yao was Son of Heaven, he was troubled that his illness was not cured; only after handing the world to Shun did his heart settle. He worried while guarding the world and rejoiced when giving it to a worthy man—in the end he did not privately keep its benefits.

All Things Have Their Use: All things have their use; no matter how small, one cannot say “there is no way to use it.” There is no truly “useless” thing; people simply do not know how to use it. If fine jade is not recognized, it is the same as dung and earth (“yu” means jade; if one does not know its use, it equals dung and earth). Human feelings are often like this: amid disaster people vie to bear a little less; amid benefit they vie to take a little more.

Sweetness and Joy: At one table, the one who loves thick-cut slices of meat must find that mouthful especially fragrant; in the same school, the one who can stand out must truly love this learning. To find no sweetness and no joy, yet be able to become an exemplar—I have never heard of it. The noble person: when the time arrives, he advances and, relying on righteousness, attains his proper place—what is there to rejoice over excessively? When the time does not arrive, he withdraws and, relying on righteousness, lets go—what “misfortune” is there to speak of? Bo Yi (son of the lord of Guzhu, who yielded the state to his younger brother and refused to eat Zhou grain) starved to death at the foot of Shouyang Mountain and still did not regret it—he discarded what he slighted and gained what he valued (goodness lies in seeking and obtaining what one ought to obtain).

The Sprouting of Misfortune and Blessing: Blessing sprouts quietly like a fine thread; disaster also grows gradually like a strand of silk. The beginning is extremely subtle, and ordinary people neglect it; only the sage sees the beginning and knows the end. Hence the ancient book says, “When Lu’s wine was thin, Handan was besieged.” Lu and Zhao went together to pay court to Chu and presented wine to the King of Chu; Lu’s wine was weak. The Chu official in charge of wine asked Zhao for wine and, failing to get it, secretly replaced Lu’s wine with inferior stuff. The King of Chu was angry and attacked Zhao; Zhao sought help from Wei, and the Wei general besieged Handan. One small matter drew out a great war; disaster is born from the neglected and subtle.

Brief Notes on Proper Nouns: Yao and Shun—sage kings of antiquity; Taigong (Jiang Ziya) and Bi Gan—one rose and one perished, each according to Heaven’s timing; Bo Yi—yielded the state and refused to eat Zhou grain until death; Shouyang Mountain—traditionally the place where Bo Yi and Shu Qi starved to death; the Siege of Handan—a Warring States allusion found in the Huainanzi and other works, used to illustrate that misfortune and blessing arise from the subtle.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

(The wine of Zhao was strong. The Chu officer in charge of wine asked Zhao for some, and Zhao refused. Fearing the consequences, the Chu officer swapped the fine wine that Zhao had presented to the king of Chu for the thin wine presented by Lu. The king of Chu thought Zhao’s wine was bland and sent troops to besiege Handan. Another account says this was a matter of Zhao and Lu presenting wine to the king of Zhou; see the Zhuangzi.)

Because the mutton stew did not reach the chariot driver’s hands, the state of Song fell into peril. (Song general Hua Yuan fought with Zheng and killed sheep to reward his soldiers, but did not give any to his driver. When the battle began, the driver drove his chariot into the Zheng army, and Hua Yuan was captured as a result.)

The enlightened ruler’s rewards and punishments are not for himself but for the state. If something accords with his own wishes but harms the state, he does not bestow a reward; if something goes against his own wishes but benefits the state, he does not apply a punishment.

King Zhuang of Chu said to Gong Yong (a Chu minister): “Those with virtue enjoy my stipends, and those with merit are granted fields and dwellings—you have neither, yet I am about to give them to you; would this not be contrary to principle?” His manner of declining was like “there being no one who could be compelled”—that is, his refusal simply dismissed Gong Yong and sent him home, and no one could press him further.

Zhou governance reached the utmost (it reached Dao); Yin governance could still be called good (its civilizing teaching had not yet reached Dao); Xia governance practiced only rough governance (it esteemed plain simplicity). Governance that deserves to be called “good” does not necessarily reach “the utmost.” The perfected person need not admire any particular traces, nor feel ashamed of “goodness”; embracing De and treading Dao, the common people rejoice together without knowing why. Many were those who established states, but only Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin were especially renowned. On Mount Tai there are seventy altars (for the Feng and Shan sacrifices on the mountain, about twelve rulers), yet the Three Kings alone acted for the Great Dao. Rulers did not make demands on ministers, and ministers did not borrow the ruler’s authority to cultivate themselves; cultivated near at hand, it became penetrating; far away, it manifested of itself; later generations praised their greatness. No one could match them in achieving fame without crossing into neighboring territory.

Therefore Xiaoji’s ritual propriety can be imitated (Xiaoji was a son of the Yin royal clan; though exiled, he still did not lose ritual propriety), yet no one could take away his name—necessarily, one cannot obtain what he harbored in his heart (those who cannot contend with Xiaoji for fame cannot obtain what Xiaoji guarded within). Righteousness borne out in what is fitting is called being a junzi; departing from righteousness is called being a xiaoren. Those who penetrate wisdom—those who comprehend Dao—labor without being wearied; the next labor without falling ill; the lowest are afflicted without laboring. The ancients savored it and ... (the original text continues below).

A Vernacular Interpretation of Passages from the Huainan Honglie Jie

On “Greed” and “Taste”

This passage discusses the difference between greed and truly knowing how to taste. The ancients understood flavors but did not gorge themselves; people today crave quantity and thereby fail to taste true flavor. When Confucius studied in the state of Lu, what he emphasized was precisely this cultivation of being able to savor without indulging in greed.

Music and Moral Transformation

Only zhen—maintaining uprightness and single-mindedness—enables one truly to “taste”; singing, by contrast, requires cultivating its pitch and rhythm. The point is that music can transform customs, but if one merely prolongs notes and piles up sounds, the beauty of sound alone is still insufficient to complete moral transformation. Even if metal, stone, bamboo, and other instruments are played together, one still has not reached the state of the utmost moral transformation and universal harmony.

Revering the Dao and Practicing Righteousness Surpasses Musical Sound

If people can revere the Dao (the Way) and practice righteousness, so that in anger and joy, in taking and giving, they all accord with righteousness, then transforming the people in this way is more profound than relying on ritual and music alone. Its efficacy is like grass that must bend when the wind strikes: when De (Virtue/Power) and righteousness arrive, the people’s hearts naturally submit.

Duke Shao and King Wen

Duke Shao, the Grand Protector of Zhou, died in prison at a time when the people were busy with sericulture and farming; later the court opened the prisons and released the prisoners, allowing the people each to return to their original occupations and attend to their duties. When King Wen was imprisoned by King Zhou, Zhou offered him a thousand li of territory as a reward; King Wen did not want the land and asked only for the abolition of the Paolao torture of roasting on a heated pillar. The sage acts so that advancing and withdrawing both accord with the times, like wearing fine silk in summer and, when mounting a carriage, tying the carriage strap: every movement is timely.

Laozi, Liezi, and “Guarding Softness” and “Dwelling Behind”

Laozi studied under Shang Rong, a legendary figure said to have attained the Dao. Shang Rong stuck out his tongue to show him—the tongue is soft while the teeth are hard—and from this Laozi awakened to “guarding softness.” Liezi studied the Dao under Huzi. By observing the shadow on a pillar, he awakened to the principle of “keeping to the rear” and “dwelling behind”: first comes the form, then comes the shadow; the form may perish, but the shadow is not easily injured. Therefore the sage does not rush ahead of things, yet can always govern the myriad things; it is like stacking firewood: the pieces piled later often end up on top.

Righteousness, Factions, and the Power of De

People love one another through righteousness, gather through factions, and strengthen themselves through groups. Thus: when De is bestowed, it reaches broadly; when awe is exercised, it travels far. If righteousness is applied only to the surface, the scope that military force can control is small.

Metaphors for How Talent and Cleverness Can Harm the Self

Bells and hand-bells damage themselves through their sound; oil candles consume themselves through their light; tigers and leopards have gorgeous pelts and thus attract archers and hunters; apes and monkeys are nimble and clever and thus attract capture and stabbing (cuo means to pierce or capture). Therefore Zilu relied on bravery and died in the disorder of Duke Zhe of Wei; Chang Hong relied on wisdom and came to grief, for he wished to assist Zhou with his arts but was instead killed. Thus it can be seen that relying solely on a single wisdom or a single courage does not necessarily allow one to “use wisdom to guard wisdom” and preserve oneself intact—if talent and virtue are used one-sidedly or displayed openly, they instead become the root of calamity.

Note: The parenthetical remarks are from the original annotations, such as persons, word meanings, and sources of allusions; they have been incorporated as appropriate into the vernacular explanation, and proper nouns have been briefly explained when first appearing.

Not yet able to use wisdom as non-wisdom—this is why one who takes dangerous roads cannot keep to the inked line, one who leaves the forest cannot walk a straight path; at night, with eyes closed, he gropes forward by hand. In affairs there is a point of exhaustion, and clear discernment lies precisely therein. “Not harming others” can run through the dark and reach the bright; only then may one be said to be capable of discussing “the ultimate” with him.

The magpie’s nest knows from where the wind rises (in years of much wind, magpies build their nests low); the otter’s burrow knows the rise and fall of the water (where the water rises, the otter avoids it and digs another burrow); the hui-ri bird knows the sky is about to clear (the hui-ri is a dove; when clear there are no clouds, and when the sky is about to clear, the hui-ri calls first); the yin-xie knows rain (the yin-xie is the female of the hui-ri; when the sky is about to turn overcast and rainy, it calls). If on this account one says that human wisdom is inferior to that of birds and beasts, that is not so. To be versed in one skill and discerning in one phrase may allow for a partial explanation, but it is insufficient for broad response.

Ning Qi struck an ox horn and sang, and Duke Huan entrusted him with state affairs; Yongmenzi obtained an audience with Lord Mengchang by weeping, his tears soaking the tassels of his cap—singing and weeping are things everyone can do, yet a single sound entering the ear moves the heart when feeling reaches its utmost. Thus the laws of Tang and Yu can be imitated, but their penetrating deeply into people’s hearts cannot be equaled.

Duke Jian was killed because of softness and weakness (Duke Jian of Qi, through a government of softness and leniency, was ultimately killed by Tian Chengzi), while Ziyang relied on fierceness and severity and met with violent death (Ziyang was chancellor of Zheng; he upheld punishment and thereby died)—neither attained the Dao. Singing without matching the pitch: clear and muddy tones, though made one, fail (clear and muddy lose harmony, and so it is not in tune); outside the inked line and inside the inked line, both lose straightness.

King Zhou made ivory chopsticks, and Jizi sighed (he sighed at the omen at the beginning: once there are ivory chopsticks, there must be jade cups; once there are cups, there must be the utmost in flavors); Lu used effigies in burial, and Confucius sighed (wooden figures of paulownia; he sighed that they resembled humans and yet were used). Seeing what begins, one knows what ends: water emerges from the mountains and enters the sea; crops are born in the fields and stored in the granaries. When the sage sees what is born, he knows where it returns.

When the water is muddy, fish float up and gasp at the surface; when decrees are harsh, the people become disorderly. City walls that are too steep must collapse; banks that are too precipitous must fall (steep and towering, they will topple and fall). Thus Shang Yang established laws and was torn apart (he made laws for Duke Xiao of Qin); all alike failed to attain the Dao.

(Note: This piece belongs to the explanatory style of the Huainanzi; its focus is on using the foreknowledge of birds and beasts and historical allusions to discuss “examining beginnings to know endings” and the warnings concerning governance and the use of wisdom; it is not specifically about cultivation rituals.)

A Vernacular Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

The Calamity of Wu Qi

Wu Qi, a famous military strategist of the Warring States period, carried out reforms in Chu and established the “law of mutual implication among noble ministers,” a harsh system that made nobles supervise one another. In the end, however, because of harsh exactions and excessive exploitation, he suffered the punishment of being torn apart by chariots.

The way of governing a state is like tuning a zither: if the large strings are pulled too tight, the small strings will snap. Therefore, one who frequently whips his horse and urges it onward is not someone who can drive a thousand-li horse; a sound with voice does not travel beyond a hundred li, while a sound without voice can spread across the four seas.

When Name and Reality Correspond

When salary exceeds merit, reputation is harmed; when reputation exceeds reality, the true situation is obscured.

When conduct corresponds to one’s name and station, misfortune and blessing do not arrive without cause. A person’s own nightmares cannot block upright conduct; a state’s anomalous portents cannot block good government and moral instruction.

Therefore, with high office and generous salary held out before one, one should not take them without merit; with axes, halberds, and legal punishments behind one, one should not suffer them without guilt.

Accumulating Good and Accumulating Evil

A person of upright conduct does not depart from the right way. A noble person does not abandon a good deed because it is too small—small good, accumulated, becomes great good—nor does he commit an evil deed because it is too small—small evil, accumulated, becomes great evil.

Thus: accumulated feathers can sink a boat; accumulated light objects can break an axle.

A noble person must guard against things in their subtle beginnings. A moment’s pleasure is not enough to accomplish good conduct, but when pleasures accumulate they can accomplish virtue; a moment’s resentment is not enough to create a great fault, but when resentments accumulate they breed venomous grievance.

The praise of the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou was a good name accumulated over a thousand years; the infamy of Jie and Zhou was accumulated defamation over a thousand years.

The Four Uses of a Person

Heaven has four seasons; humans have “four uses.” What are the four uses?

The eye sees and makes forms manifest; nothing is brighter than the eye. The ear listens and distinguishes the refined; nothing is keener than the ear. The mouth is guarded and closed, storing within; nothing is more secure than the mouth. The mind takes in and stores; nothing is deeper than the mind.

The eyes see forms, the ears hear sounds, the mouth speaks sincerity, and the mind reaches essence—thus the principles of the transformations of the myriad things can all be exhausted and fully understood.

De (Virtue/Power), Righteousness, Force, and the Phoenix

Earth becomes broad through De; a ruler becomes honored through De and occupies the highest place. Earth becomes broad through righteousness; a ruler becomes honored through righteousness and occupies the next place. Earth becomes broad through force; a ruler becomes honored through force and occupies the lowest place.

Therefore: the pure become kings, the mixed become hegemons, and those who have none of these perish.

In former times, when the phoenix flew twice into the courtyard, the Three Dynasties flourished; when the phoenix flew to the gates and chambers, virtuous government was already becoming coarse; when the phoenix flew to the marshes, virtuous government was already far away.

The purer one’s De, the deeper and farther its influence; the coarser one’s De, the shallower and nearer its influence.

When a noble person sincerely puts benevolent government into practice, this is benevolence; even when he does not put it into practice, it is still benevolence—because the Dao (the Way) governs through Wuwei (non-action), and the people naturally receive simple and unadorned De.

Core meaning: governing a state is like tuning a zither—one must not be too hasty; when name and reality correspond, misfortune and blessing have causes; small good and small evil, accumulated over time, become character; only by establishing oneself through De, righteousness, and strength can one bring the phoenix to appear.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

As for the saying “Not giving alms can still count as benevolence”: for a petty person, if he is inherently lacking in benevolence, giving alms does not make him benevolent, and not giving alms does not make him benevolent. Whether goodness comes from oneself or from others differs as much as whether benevolent virtue is thick or thin. Therefore: when inner feeling can prevail over desire, there is flourishing; when desire overwhelms inner feeling, there is ruin.

To understand the Dao of Heaven, one must examine its “numbers” (the numerology of pitch pipes and calendrical systems). To understand the Dao of Earth, one must examine how the myriad things are planted (the five kinds of soil each have crops suited to grow in them). To understand the Dao of Humanity, one must see what each person desires (the noble seek the Dao; the petty seek profit).

Do not disturb and do not frighten, and the myriad things will settle themselves; do not confuse and do not bind (“ying” means to bind), and the myriad things will become clear of themselves—this means that in governing the world one should let each thing follow its own nature.

One who understands only one thing cannot be spoken with about transformative nurturing; one who knows only one season cannot be spoken with about the great Dao (like a cicada that does not know cold). The sun does not know night, the moon does not know day; sun and moon can give light, but they cannot illuminate everything at once. Only Heaven and Earth can contain and encompass all; that which can contain Heaven and Earth is called the Formless.

An arrogant and overflowing ruler has no loyal ministers; one who gives verbal favors but whose substance does not arrive cannot be deeply trusted. A trunk that requires both arms to embrace has no branches one can grasp; ordinary ditches cannot hold a fish large enough to swallow a boat. When roots are shallow, branches are short; when the root is injured, branches wither.

Blessing arises from Wuwei (non-action); misfortune arises from many desires. Harm arises from lack of precaution; filth arises from not sweeping. The sage practices goodness as if fearing he will not do enough; he guards against misfortune as if fearing he cannot guard against it. To be covered in dust yet still wish not to squint, or to wade through water yet still wish not to get wet—this cannot be done. Therefore: one who knows himself does not resent others; one who knows his fate does not resent Heaven. Blessing is invited by oneself; misfortune is brought about by oneself.

The sage does not seek praise and does not avoid slander; he rectifies himself and walks straight, and all evils cease of themselves. Nowadays people turn their backs on the upright and chase the crooked, betraying what is true and following the crowd; outwardly they rush along with custom, while inwardly they have no measuring line (the inked line is used to test straightness and crookedness). Therefore the sage turns back to seek within himself and does not let external things drag him along.

If the Dao were fixed into chapters and displayed traces or omens, it would not be the ultimate Dao. Tasted, it has no flavor; looked at, it has no form; it cannot be directly taught to others by word of mouth.

(For another example:) a great euphorbia taken from water, or a frog on land puffing itself up more and more—use without measure turns into harm instead; there are many similar cases, not just one.

Note: The original interlinear glosses (such as those for “ying” and for “form/omen traces”) are ancient annotations explaining one graph by another; the above has incorporated them into the sentence meaning.

The sage can perceive subtle distinctions: one who is good at driving a chariot does not forget the horse; one who is good at archery does not forget the crossbow; one who is good at occupying a superior position does not forget those below. If one truly cares for and benefits the people, all under Heaven will follow; if one does not care for and benefit them, even a son born of one’s own flesh will betray his father.

In the world there is supreme nobility, but it does not lie in power and status; there is supreme wealth, but it does not lie in gold, jade, and treasures; there is supreme longevity, but it does not lie in living a full thousand years. To return to the root and restore the origin, to accord with one’s innate nature—this is nobility. To be at ease with one’s inclinations and know contentment—this is wealth. To understand the boundary between life and death—this is longevity.

One whose words lack a constant standard and whose actions lack constant fitness is a petty person; one who understands only one matter and is skilled in only one technique is an average person; only one who can embrace and accommodate all, weigh talents, and regulate and employ them is a sage. (Caizhi: to assess their skills and abilities, regulate and appoint them.)