《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 17

This passage from Huainan Honglie Jie elucidates the evolutionary patterns of social morality. The commentator Xu Shen (a Han Dynasty Confucian scholar) posits that human nature in its primal state embodies the Dao (the Way), and aligning with this innate nature constitutes De (Virtue). Only when people lose their original purity does the need for benevolence (ren) arise; only when the great Dao declines does righteousness (yi) require emphasis. The emergence of ren and yi paradoxically signals moral decay—much like how the rise of ritual and music erodes simplicity, or how clearly defined standards of right and wrong confuse the common people. Valuing jewels and jade inevitably sparks competition among people.

Ritual (li) was originally meant to distinguish hierarchy and social status, while righteousness (yi) served to harmonize interpersonal relationships. Yet in practice, people of that era performed rituals with superficial reverence while harboring secret envy, and practiced righteousness as transactional charity—leading to mutual reproach between rulers and ministers, and estrangement among family members. This completely distorted the essence of li and yi. Just as stagnant water breeds fish that devour one another, and piled earth attracts burrowing beasts, excessive emphasis on ritual and righteousness instead cultivates hypocrisy.

The author employs vivid analogies: expecting to blow ashes without irritating one’s eyes or wade through water without wetting one’s feet is impossible. In antiquity, people lived in naive simplicity—their clothing sought warmth, not splendor; their weapons were blunt, not sharp; their songs expressed joy without affectation; their weeping conveyed grief without pretense. Self-sufficiency prevailed over greed, relatives refrained from slandering one another, and friends bore no grudges. But with the rise of ritual and righteousness, and the growing importance of material wealth, deceit and hypocrisy began to spread. Praise became entangled with slander, resentment coexisted with gratitude. While moral exemplars like Zeng Shen (the famed filial disciple) and Xiaoji (son of King Wuding of Shang) emerged, so too did villains like the legendary bandit Zhi and the rebel leader Zhuang Qiao of Chu.

A final contrast drives the point home: when the Son of Heaven rides in ornate chariots with dragon banners (dalü refers to imperial carriages; longqi are dragon-emblazoned flags), escorted by endless processions, wall-breaching thieves (chuanyu denotes tunneling; fuqian, lock-picking; chouji, digging holes; yubei, scaling walls) will inevitably appear. Where exquisite embroidered robes exist, fraudulence—passing off inferior goods as premium—will surely follow. These phenomena all signify the degeneration of an era.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Beside fine silk gauze, fine hemp cloth, and plain silk, there are always straw sandals, worn-out shoes, and coarse, short cloth garments—things incomplete and crude. Thus high and low are relative, and long and short reveal each other; the principle is very clear.

A frog can turn into a quail (plover), and a dragonfly nymph can become a dragonfly (damselfly). These are cases of being born into one kind and emerging transformed into another. Ordinary people merely find them strange; only sages understand this as the principle of Yin-Yang interpenetrating and species transforming into one another.

When the Hu people see the seeds of fen hemp (a hemp that can be woven into cloth), they do not know it can be woven into cloth; when the Yue people see coarse wool, they do not know it can be twisted into felt blankets. With people who have not penetrated things, it is very hard to discuss the principle of “transformation.”

In former times, after Jiang Taigong and Duke of Zhou Dan had received their fiefs, they met. Jiang Taigong asked, “How will you govern Lu?” The Duke of Zhou said, “I will honor the honorable and be affectionate to kin” (respect those who should be respected and be close to one’s kin—upholding ritual order and clan ties). Jiang Taigong said, “Lu will from this point grow weak.” (Note: An excess of benevolence, righteousness, and kinship feeling often makes a state’s power soft.)

The Duke of Zhou asked in turn, “How will you govern Qi?” Jiang Taigong said, “I will elevate the worthy and exalt merit” (promote the capable and reward according to achievement). The Duke of Zhou said, “In later generations there will likely be men who usurp and kill their rulers.” (Note: When everyone contends for merit and position, it easily leads to violent seizure of power.)

Later, Qi grew stronger day by day until it became hegemon; after twenty-four generations, the Tian clan usurped the ruler’s position. Lu grew weaker day by day; after thirty-two generations it perished. Hence the Yijing says, “Treading on frost, solid ice arrives”—when you tread on frost, you must think that solid ice will come. The sage can see the outcome from the first small sprout, and need not say everything to the full.

Therefore, the hill of wine dregs (zaoqiu) grew out of a climate like that of the “ivory baskets” (the extravagance of King Zhou’s long nights of drinking); the Paoluo punishment grew out of methods like “hot rising” (killing with boiling water and cruel torture).

Zilu pulled a drowning man out of the water, and the man’s household thanked him with an ox. Confucius said, “From now on Lu will surely have a vogue for risking danger to save people.”

Zi Gan (Zigong) redeemed people in other states and brought them back. Under Lu law he was entitled to take gold from the state treasury, but he would not. Confucius said… (What follows continues with the Confucian school’s discussion of how good governance can change popular customs.)

Note: In the original interlinear notes, the pronunciations of characters, variant forms (such as the rare characters read xi, ci, and fen), and the old interpretations of various schools have been integrated into the sentence meaning in this vernacular rendering according to common exegesis.

Huainan Honglie Jie: A Vernacular Interpretation

Confucius said that Lu later ceased to carry out the reward for ransoming people. Zilu accepted the reward and still encouraged people toward goodness, while Zigong declined it and would not accept. Confucius was clear-sighted in seeing the great through the small and inferring the distant from the near, and he understood the principles of the Analects. From this we see that a sense of integrity and shame has its proper occasions, but it cannot be applied everywhere. Conduct that accords with custom may be followed; matters within one’s capacity are easy to accomplish. To be pretentious and hypocritical in order to delude the world, or to stand apart and act independently in order to defy the crowd—the sage does not use such things to form the customs of the people.

Spacious halls and broad houses with connected doors and communicating rooms are places where people dwell securely, yet when birds fly into them they are not at ease. High mountains and perilous barriers, deep forests and dense thickets are places tigers and leopards delight in, yet when people enter them they are afraid. River valleys and broad plains, pools and deep springs are convenient for soft-shell turtles and crocodilians, yet people who enter them may drown. The Xianchi and Chengyun (both music of the Yellow Emperor), the Jiushao (music of Shun), and the Liuying (music of Emperor Zhuanxu) are what people love, yet when birds and beasts hear them they are frightened. Deep ravines with steep banks, tall and towering trees, and high long branches are where apes and monkeys delight, yet when people climb up they tremble. Since forms and appearances differ and natural endowments are each distinct, what can bring joy is also what can bring sorrow; what can bring security is also what can bring danger.

Indeed, within what Heaven and Earth cover and support and what the sun and moon shine upon, all things should be allowed to follow their own nature, be at peace in their dwelling, occupy what is fitting for them, and exercise their own capacities. Thus the foolish have capacities they can develop, and the wise also have their deficiencies: a pillar cannot serve as a rafter; a small basket cannot support a house (a basket is as small as a hairpin); a horse cannot carry heavy loads; an ox cannot pursue speed; lead cannot make a knife; copper cannot make a crossbow; iron cannot make a boat; wood cannot make a cauldron. When each is used in what is suitable for it and applied where it ought to be used, then the myriad things are all on one level, and none has grounds to surpass another.

A bright mirror is convenient for reflecting forms, but for holding food it is not as good as a bamboo basket. Pure white ox hair is suitable for temple sacrifices, but for praying for rain it is not as good as the black li (a divine snake that hides in a divine abyss and can raise clouds and rain). From this we see that things have no inherent noble or base status: if one values them according to what is valuable in them, then nothing is not valuable; if one demeans them according to what is base in them, then nothing is not base. Uncut jade does not object to being thick; the jiaoduan (a type of sword or blade) does not object to being thin.

Huainan Honglie Jie: A Vernacular Interpretation

Feathers and horn ornaments, and the like, each have their uses; lacquer does not shrink from being black, nor do powder and eyebrow-black shrink from being white—these four are opposite in nature, but when people have an immediate need, they will use whichever is required in due measure. It is like fur coats and straw rain capes: wearing a fur coat to go out in the rain is unsuitable, while wearing a straw rain cape to enter a hall is improper. This is a matter of changing ordinary rules according to time and place.

Again, consider travel: on water one uses a boat, on land a cart; on sandy ground it is suitable to use a si (a kind of easy-travel device), on muddy ground a dun (a kind of mudguard), and in grassy wilds or desolate places it is suitable to stay in a qionglu (a simple thatched hut). Thus when Laozi says “not exalting the worthy,” he does not mean that talent is unwanted; he means not to hang fish in trees or sink birds in deep pools—when the myriad things each rest in their place, there is no need to force “worthiness” into a position of universal applicability.

When Yao governed the world, Shun served as Minister of Education, Xie as Minister of War, Yu as Minister of Works, Hou Ji oversaw the great fields, and Xi Zhong was in charge of artisans. He guided the myriad people: those near water fished, those near mountains felled trees, those in valleys herded livestock, and those on plains farmed; where the land was suited to grow something, that is what was planted; for any task, whatever tool was suited to it was used; and whatever tool suited a particular person was assigned to that person. People in marshes and low wetlands wove hemp, while people on ridges and slopes cultivated fields. People exchanged what they had for what they lacked, and what they were skilled at for what they were poor at; thus there were few rebels and many who followed.

It is like scattering chess pieces on the ground: the round ones roll into hollows, the square ones stop on high ground, each settling in a stable place—where is there any fixed high and low, noble and base? It is also like wind blowing through flute pipes (xiao, lai, and similar instruments): they are suddenly moved together, each simply responding according to its clear or murky tone.

When apes and monkeys find a dense forest, they will not leave it and dwell in hollows; when huan and he (small badger-like beasts) encounter dikes and waterbanks, they will not leave but climb about them—there is no creature that does not pursue benefit and avoid harm. Thus neighboring states are within sight of one another and the sounds of chickens and dogs are heard across the border, yet footprints need not cross the borders of the feudal lords, nor need cart tracks join over a thousand li; people near and far each attain their security.

Therefore, a state in disorder seems very “full” (many people and tangled affairs), while a well-governed state seems instead very “empty” (quiet and little disturbed); a doomed state seems “insufficient” in everything, while a state that survives seems still to have “more than enough.” The so-called “empty” is not truly no people, but that each keeps to their duty; the so-called “flourishing” is not that people are especially numerous, but that all chase after minor details; “more than enough” is not piles of goods, but restrained desires and few affairs; “insufficient” is not absence of goods, but that the people are restless and expenses are many.

Thus the laws, measures, and registers of the former kings were not fabricated from nothing; they had something they followed and inherited. Prohibitions, executions, and punishments were not arbitrary; they had something they firmly upheld. In general, when governing things by means of things, one does not forcibly impose a single standard by human desire.

Huainan Honglie Jie: A Vernacular Interpretation

Governance and Returning to the Original State

In governing things, one cannot rely solely on the “harmony” approach of harmonizing them; in governing the multitude, one cannot regard people merely as people; in restraining a ruler, one cannot fixate only on the ruler’s position; in moderating desires, one cannot merely wrestle with desire; in cultivating original nature, one cannot just circle around original nature; in promoting moral transformation through De (Virtue/Power), one cannot simply use De as a tool—ultimately all must rely on Dao (the Way), enabling people to return to their original state.

Custom and Original Nature

Human original nature is turbid and difficult to clarify; it is often disturbed by external things. (Ke: dust, impurities.) Among the Qiang, Di, Bo, and Di peoples, when infants are born their cries are all the same. (Qiang: Western Qiang; Di: the Di people; Bo: the Southern Yi Bo; Di: the Northern Hu.) After they grow up, even with heavy carriages, elephant carriages, Di carriages, and Ti carriages (elephant, Di, and Ti: carriage systems and languages used by different tribes), they cannot understand one another’s speech, because their instruction and customs differ. If an infant born this month were immediately moved to another state, he would not understand its rules—this shows that clothing, ritual propriety, and customs are not innate in humans but are acquired from outside after birth.

External Things Alter Original Nature

Bamboo by nature is light; when cut into slips, tied together, and thrown into water, it sinks—because its physical form has been altered. Metal by nature is heavy; when supported on a boat, it can float—because its situation has something to rely on. Raw silk’s original color is white; dyed with nie (black earth), it turns black. Jian silk’s original color is yellowish; dyed with dan (cinnabar), it turns red. Human nature originally has no depravity; soaked for long in vulgar customs, it is easily changed, and after being changed for long one forgets the root, as if merged with another “nature.” (Ruo xing: refers to the condition after being pulled along and joined by external things; it is not the original self-nature.) Therefore, the sun and moon wish to be bright, but floating clouds obscure them; river water wishes to be clear, but sand and stones make it turbid; people wish for a peaceful mind, but cravings harm it—only the sage can set aside external things and reflect back upon himself.

The Dipper and Pole Star, and Self-Seeing

People who lose their bearings on a boat do not know east from west; when they see the Northern Dipper and the North Pole, they know their orientation. Original nature is likewise the “North Pole” in a person’s heart. Once one clings to the appearance of the “self,” one cannot grasp the true condition of things; if one cannot reflect back upon oneself, every action will become confused. It is like a traveler from the Longxi region who, the more anxious he becomes, the more he sinks. Confucius said to Yan Hui: “I am convinced by you, and so forget myself; you are convinced by me, and so also forget yourself.” (Confucius is speaking with self-deprecation, saying that he has no true knowledge and admires Yan Hui; “forget” here means not clinging to traces of conduct and names.) Even so, Confucius said: “Although you can forget, in my mind there is still something ‘unforgotten’ that remains”—what Confucius grasped was the root.

Losing Original Nature and Cultivating the Self and Governing the State

Indulging desires causes one to lose original nature, and conduct is hard to rectify. Cultivating oneself in this way brings danger; governing the state in this way brings disorder; employing it in military affairs brings defeat and ruin. Therefore those who do not understand Dao cannot return to original nature. The sage kings of antiquity could grasp the “root” of the myriad things, and so their governmental decrees were concise and clear; they attained Dao within, and the common people did not know their beneficence—this is called “spiritual transformation” (shenhua).

Note: The original text contains punctuation variants and variant characters (such as ke, ti, etc.); this interpretation follows the common philosophical meaning of Huainanzi-related literature to make it coherent.

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

In action there are standards; reputation can be passed down to later generations; virtue can be spread throughout the four seas. Therefore, whenever one undertakes a great affair, one must first settle the mind and clarify the spirit and consciousness. Only when the mind is balanced can affairs be set straight. It is like pressing a seal (xi) onto sealing clay (zhi): if the seal is upright, the impression is upright; if the seal is crooked, the impression is crooked.

Yao’s selection and use of Shun was determined by what he saw with his eyes; Duke Huan of Qi’s appointment of Ning Qi was settled by what he heard with his ears—that was all. If on this basis one discards techniques and methods and judges solely by ear and eye, disorder will only become worse. What the ears and eyes can determine often runs counter to people’s original nature and true feelings: hearing is easily skewed by praise and blame, sight is easily deluded by beauty. In such a state, to still want to set affairs right is very difficult.

One whose heart is filled with grief will weep even on hearing a song; one whose heart is filled with joy will laugh even on seeing another weep. Grief can turn into joy, and laughter can turn into grief—all because the heart has first been “filled” with something. Therefore what is valued lies in “emptiness”—the heart is not filled up by grief and joy, nor stuffed in advance with emotions.

Strike water and waves rise; once the Qi (vital energy) is disturbed, the intelligence grows clouded. When intelligence is clouded, one cannot govern the state; a water surface with surging waves cannot be called level. When the sage king holds fast to the “One” without losing it, the natures of the myriad things each find their place, and the Four Barbarians and Nine Provinces will submit and comply. The “One” is most precious; in all under Heaven nothing surpasses it. The sage abides where there is neither partiality nor bias, and only then are the people’s destinies tied to the right way.

To speak of benevolence, one cannot depart from the true feelings of grief and joy; to speak of righteousness, one cannot depart from the proper measure of taking and giving. The eye sees no more than ten li, yet if one wishes to illumine all the people within the seas, grief and joy cannot provide such “universal illumination”; without the vast resources of all under Heaven, yet wishing to support and relieve the myriad people, benefit cannot fill the need either. Moreover, joy, anger, grief, and delight are originally stirred by external things and arise naturally: wailing from the mouth and tears from the eyes are both inner feeling agitated and taking form outwardly, like water flowing downward and smoke rising upward—what need is there for anyone to push them?

Therefore, if one forces oneself to weep, the heart may not truly grieve; if one forces intimacy, the smile will not be harmonious. True feeling issues from within, and sound echoes outwardly. Li Fuji’s one meal of coarse food surpassed Duke Xian of Jin’s jade of Chuiji (the Duke used Chuiji to destroy Yu and Guo); Zhao Xuanmeng’s bundle of dried meat surpassed Zhi Bo’s great bell (Zhi Bo used the great bell to destroy Chouyou). However abundant ritual propriety may be, it is not enough to express true love; but sincerity of heart can move and summon people from afar. Thus Gongxi Hua… (the original text continues below).

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

How did Zeng Shen serve his parents? Some say he associated with them as with friends (Confucius’s disciple Gongxi Hua got along harmoniously with friends but showed little reverence); others say he was as respectful as if serving a stern master or a violent ruler (in Zeng Shen’s service of his parents, the element of reverence was greater). The accounts differ, but on the point of “filial support of parents,” the principle is the same.

Making covenants and keeping trust: The Hu people formed alliances by setting out wine and striking human bones as a covenant; the Yue cut their arms and let blood as an oath; the Central Plains killed livestock and smeared blood as a pledge. The practices differed, but on the point of “keeping faith,” they were the same.

Clothing: The Sanmiao around Pengli and Dongting bound up their hair with hemp; the Qiang tied their collars; the Central Plains wore caps and hairpins; the Yue cut their hair short. The forms differed, but on the point of “wearing clothes and caps, each with its own rules,” they were the same.

Rites between men and women: Under the ancient law of Zhuanxu’s time, women on the road did not avoid men; if they met on a great thoroughfare open in all directions, they would turn aside and make a gesture of bowing to yield the way. Today in the capital men and women brush shoulders and tread on one another’s heels. Though customs have changed, this is still human relation and the way of dealing with one another; the principle can still be understood in common.

The ritual propriety of the Four Yi differed, yet all honored their own rulers, loved their own parents, and respected their own elder brothers. The customs of the Xianyun (northern Hu) outwardly ran contrary to those of the Central Plains, but in fact they too were kind to children and strict toward elders.

Birds fly in rows and beasts gather in herds—who specially taught them? This is their natural disposition.

Lu practiced the rites of the Confucians and Confucius’s art of governing, yet its territory was pared away and its reputation was low; it could not draw close to allied states or overawe distant regions. King Goujian of Yue cut his hair, tattooed his body, and lacked court dress such as the leather cap and the tablet thrust in the sash, and also lacked the constrained, stiff ceremonial bearings of “juba” and “juzhe”; yet he was able to defeat the powerful Qiang in the region of the Five Lakes, face south and become hegemon, and the twelve feudal lords around the Si River all led the Nine Yi to come to court; even the Hu-Mo and Xiongnu submitted. The Xiongnu let their hair hang loose, let their bodies sprawl, squatted with legs splayed, and spoke contrary words, yet their state did not perish—it was not necessarily because they had no rites.

King Zhuang of Chu wore loose robes and broad sleeves, yet his commands circulated throughout the world.

Summary: External ritual rules, clothing, and forms of oath-taking may differ in a thousand ways; the fundamentals—honoring the ruler, being filial to parents, respecting elder brothers, and keeping faith—need not be confined to a single form. Clinging to Confucian rites weakened the state, while those with different customs sometimes became hegemons; this shows that “rites” lie in their substantive meaning, not in surface sameness or difference.

Duke Wen of Jin relied on great power to dominate the feudal lords. He wore coarse cloth and sheepskin, girded his sword with a leather strap, and still awed the world. This shows that ritual need not match what places like Zou and Lu insist on to count as ritual. So when you enter a state, follow its local customs; when you enter someone’s home, avoid what they taboo. Observe prohibitions and do not violate taboos; in dealing with people, do not go against local practice—even if you travel far to lands of barbarians who wear no clothes, you can still move freely.

Ritual is the outward expression of inner reality and reason; benevolence is the outpouring of affection from the heart. Thus ritual should set appropriate measure and form according to human feeling; benevolence should come from within and show in a harmonious countenance. Ritual should not exceed what is really needed; benevolence should not go beyond genuine feeling—this is the principle of governing the world.

Observing three years of mourning forces people to do what is hard to bear and uses empty form to inflate emotion. Wearing mourning for only three months suppresses grief and goes against the urgent pain of human nature. Confucians and Mohists do not examine how human feeling runs from start to finish in actual life, yet they push institutions that run counter to feeling. The five grades of mourning dress include periods of three years, one year, nine months, five months, and three months. Grief should follow the heart; funeral rites should match the intent of honoring the dead. Do not force what people cannot do; do not forbid what they can. When measure is right, blame and praise have nowhere to arise.

The ancients were not ignorant of elaborate advance-and-retreat and circling etiquette, nor of splendid dress with pieces like “Cai Qi” and “Si Xia”—they simply thought such things wasted time, troubled the people, and had no real use. So in making ritual, it was enough that it support actual reason and express the mind. The ancients were not unable to array bells and drums, play pipes and flutes, wave shields and battle-axes, and dance with feather banners—they thought this squandered wealth and disrupted government. So in making music, it was enough that it deepen joy and express the mind; delight does not depend on having more and more music.

The ancients were not unable to drain the state’s wealth and exhaust the people, empty the treasuries, adorn corpses with pearls and jade, wrap and bind them with silk, and bury them with great pomp—they thought this would impoverish the people, ruin their livelihoods, and do the dry bones and rotting flesh no good. So burial was enough to gather and cover the dead. Tradition says that when Shun was buried at Cangwu, the market kept trading as before, unchanged in its business.

Yu was buried at Mount Kuaiji. The common people went on farming as usual; no fields were changed and no agricultural work was disturbed because a tomb was being built. When the ministers and officials went to the burial site and moved about on the shady and sunny sides of the mountain, they likewise did not occupy or throw into disorder the peasants’ fields. This shows that they clearly distinguished the boundary between the living and the dead, and that they understood when to be lavish and when frugal, when to be simple and when elaborate, so that they did not turn funeral affairs into a burden that harmed the living.

The practice of a disorderly state is the opposite. What is said does not match what is done; what is in the heart does not match what is displayed on the face. Cumbersome rituals are used to adorn appearances, and performers’ songs and dances are used to indulge in licentious pleasure. The dead are exalted too highly, and the living are harmed instead. Mourning periods are deliberately prolonged and grand displays staged in order to advertise one’s own “virtue.” As a result, public morals become muddied, and slander and mutual abuse also emerge in the court. Therefore the sage abolishes these practices and does not use them.

“Righteousness” (yi) is doing what should be done according to the nature of things; this is called “fittingness” (yi, appropriateness). “Ritual propriety” (li) is first settling people’s true feelings and then establishing external ceremonial forms; this is called “embodiment” (ti, manifesting and implementing). The Youhu clan spoke only of “righteousness” and lost its state: it knew righteousness but did not know fittingness. The state of Lu clung rigidly to ritual institutions and was weakened: it knew ritual propriety but did not know embodiment.

Examples of sacrificial rites in the various ages follow (the earth-god altar, burial regulations, music and dance, and clothing colors were mostly matched to the De (Virtue/Power) cycles and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) as understood at the time). For the Youyu clan (Shun), the earth-god altar used earth; sacrifice was made to Zhongliu, the soil deity beneath the central hall of the house; burials were placed among the fields; the music used was Xianchi, Chengyun, and Jiushao (also employing the music of the Yellow Emperor); and the favored clothing color was yellow (the De of Earth). For the Xiahou clan, pines were planted beside the earth-god altar; in the spring sacrifice the shi, the personator of the dead, was presented first, in accordance with the De of Wood; burials used brick-lined tomb passages and other “wall” regulations, and coffin ornaments used feather fans (shao); the music included the Xia yue, Jiucheng, Liulie, and Liuying (Yu also employed the music of Zhuanxu); and the favored clothing color was blue-green (the De of Wood). For the Yin people, the earth-god altar used stone; in the autumn sacrifice the gate god was sacrificed to, in accordance with the De of Metal; pines were planted at burials; the music included Dahu and Chenlu (made by Tang); and the favored clothing color was white (the De of Metal). For the Zhou people, the earth-god altar used chestnut; in the summer sacrifice the stove god was sacrificed to, in accordance with the De of Fire; pines were also planted at burials; their music, clothing colors, and so on were likewise according to the Zhou house’s De of Fire and favored red (the unfinished portion on Zhou rites in the text means, in general, that each determined its rites according to its “De”).

Note: The parenthetical material consists of sentence divisions, textual collations, and explanations of terms from the original text or its commentators (such as Yu’s burial at Kuaiji, the dispute between Youhu and Qi, the use of earth, stone, or chestnut for the earth-god tablet, and the precedence of the shi, the gate, and the stove); in this paraphrase it has been integrated as far as possible and is no longer annotated item by item.

Zouzi said: The rank of my De has from this point become difficult to surpass (that of earlier generations); therefore the Yu dynasty honored Earth, the Xia honored Wood, the Yin honored Metal, and the Zhou honored Fire. For burial they used cypress, and their music was the Great Wu; the Wu Xiang was the music of the martial dance, and their ceremonial dress favored red—because Zhou belonged to the De of Fire, it honored red. Ritual and music were at odds with each other, and the dress regulations were also contrary; yet none of them lost the kindness due to close and distant relations or the order of high and low.

Now, however, to grasp the laws and records of a certain ruler and use them to censure the customs of an age one does not inherit is like gluing the tuning pegs in place and then tuning the strings. Thus the enlightened ruler establishes ritual propriety as clothing and regulates conduct by measures as a belt: clothing need only cover the body and follow the classical standards; the belt need only be light, supple, and convenient for the body and footsteps, not sought for strange beauty or angular ornament; the belt need only tie the knot, gather the lapel, bind firmly, and hold together, not be rushed into elaborate patterns and short, sparse stitching for shoes. Therefore he establishes ritual propriety, practices the highest De, and does not cling to the doctrines of the Confucians and Mohists. The so-called “clear-sighted” is not seeing external things clearly but seeing oneself clearly; the so-called “keen-eared” is not hearing external things clearly but hearing oneself clearly; the so-called “penetrating” is not knowing external things thoroughly but knowing oneself thoroughly. Thus the body is where the Dao lodges; when the body has De, the Dao is obtained in the body. Once the Dao is obtained in the body, when used for seeing it is clear, when used for hearing it is acute, when used for speaking it is impartial, and when used for action it accords. Therefore the sage regulates the myriad things as a craftsman chops, whittles, chisels, and carves, or as a cook cuts and separates: crooked and straight each attain what is fitting, and things are not injured. The clumsy craftsman is not like this: if the piece is too large it cannot be inserted; if too small it is hollow and does not fit around; his hand is stirred by impulse, and the more he handles it the uglier it becomes. The sage regulates the myriad things: he splits, divides, separates, and disperses them; when they have already exceeded bounds and lost their measure, he again weighs them by a single standard; when they have left their root, they again return to their gate; when they have been carved and polished, they return to plainness. Joined, they become one and are called Dao and De; separated, they disperse into ritual propriety and laws and measures. When condensed, they enter the dark mystery; when dispersed, they respond to the formless. How can ritual propriety and regulated conduct exhaust the root of perfect governance? Those in the world who discuss clear understanding mostly depart from the root of Dao and De and say that ritual propriety is sufficient to govern the world—with such people one still cannot discuss the art of governance. What is called ritual propriety was originally the laws and records of the Five Emperors and Three Kings, the traces left by the customs of one age, like straw dogs and clay dragons at the moment they are first made (useful only for the occasion, not to be held as constant).

Vernacular Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

The sacrificial straw dogs (chugou, grass bound into the shape of a dog and used to apologize for faults and seek blessings) and earth dragons (tulong, clay molded into dragon form and used to pray for rain)—some were made only with blue and yellow cloth and silk, others with fine patterned embroidery, and then wrapped with crimson silk threads. The shizhu (the one who presides over the sacrifice and recites the invocations) wore quxuan (a pure sacrificial robe, a black fasting garment), and the high officials wore duanmian (proper ceremonial caps and robes), as the objects were solemnly welcomed and sent off. Once the ritual was over, these things were thrown on the ground, leaving only clods of earth and broken grass; who would still treasure them? The commentary says: the meaning is that once used, they are discarded and no longer valued.

Thus in Shun’s time, when the Sanmiao did not submit, Shun cultivated the virtue of government and ceased military force; holding shields and axes, he danced in order to transform them. In Yu’s time, when great floods covered the world, Yu had the common people gather earth and pile up firewood and move to live on hills and mounds. When King Wu attacked the Shang tyrant Zhou, he “carried the corpse and set out” (he sent troops before his father was buried; Boyi once questioned whether this accorded with filial piety), because the world was not yet settled and he could not immediately observe the three-year mourning. Because Yu faced the calamities of floods and broken dikes and ponds, there was the practice of “dying in the morning and being buried in the evening.” These are all examples of sages responding to the times and matching change (adapting to the age and cooperating with change), and seeing the circumstances and applying what is fitting (taking appropriate action according to the concrete situation).

Today some people single-mindedly exalt the shield-and-axe dance while mocking the hoe and plow; they know that three years of mourning cannot be completed in a single day, yet—like saying an ox is not a horse—they deliberately distort things in order to mock Yu. To use such a rigid attitude to cope with change is as absurd as “plucking a single string and expecting it to match the entire set of chime stones at Jixia”—one string cannot produce the harmony of a whole set of musical stones.

To want to use one fixed method to deal with the myriad changes of an age is like wearing hemp cloth in winter and fur in summer. The archer’s yi (aiming posture) cannot make every shot hit the center at both near and far distances; nor can a single garment be worn through all four seasons. The posture must change with the height of the target, and clothing must change with cold and heat. Thus when the way of the world is different, affairs change; when times shift, customs change. For this reason sages establish laws by assessing the age (setting standards according to the way of the world) and undertake affairs according to the times (acting as the age requires).

The ancient emperors performed the Feng and Shan sacrifices at Mount Tai and sacrificed to Heaven at Liangfu; the laws and standards of more than seventy sage kings were not the same. They did not deliberately oppose one another; rather, the times were different. Therefore one should not mechanically copy the concrete statutes they “had already completed,” but should learn their very practice of “establishing laws”—the way of establishing laws is to move together with change.

Only one who can establish himself and act while moving together with change can be called supremely noble.

Note: The interlinear glosses in the original (such as chugou, tulong, quxuan, duanmian, King Wu carrying the corpse, one string at Jixia, and so on) have been integrated into the parenthetical explanations above; the final sentence “gu huliang” may have textual variants in current editions. Here it has been translated coherently according to the surrounding theme of “responding to the times and changing methods,” without offering a separate interpretation.

This passage teaches that the sage’s practices can be observed, but the source that produced those practices cannot be recovered; the words of a disputer can be heard, but the principle behind the words cannot be delineated. The Chunjun sword is not valuable in itself; what is precious is Ou Yezi’s craftsmanship. Wang Qiao and Chi Songzi attained the Dao and became immortals through daoyin and breathing exercises, but if one merely imitates the superficial movements of each inhale and exhale, of now bending and now stretching, without nourishing Qi and settling Shen, it is utterly impossible to ride the clouds and ascend to heaven. The Five Emperors and Three Kings governed the world, examined the myriad things, treated life and death as equal, and held the heart of a great sage to mirror the dispositions of the myriad things; above they communicated with spiritual intelligences, below they harmonized with creation and transformation. Yet if they merely guarded legal records and statutes without attaining the clear and bright Dao of the mysterious sage, they still could not govern the world. Therefore it is said: to obtain ten sharp swords is not as good as to obtain Ou Yezi’s art of casting swords; to obtain a hundred fine horses is not as good as to obtain Bo Le’s art of judging horses. The supremely great has no form; the supremely wondrous has no measure. Heaven is round and earth is square; past and present constitute zhou, time, while the four directions and above and below constitute yu, space. The Dao is within them, yet no one knows where it is. With those whose insight does not reach far, one cannot discuss the Great Dao; with those whose wisdom is not broad, one cannot discuss the ultimate principle. Feng Yi attained the Dao and could dive into the great rivers; Qian Ju attained the Dao and could dwell on Kunlun; Bian Que could cure illness; Zao Fu could drive horses; Yi could shoot; Chui could carve. Their undertakings differed, but the principle they followed was the same. Those who are endowed with the Dao and comprehend the myriad things do not condemn one another; it is like the same qin: the players differ, yet the tones are harmonious.

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

When water is channeled from a hillside to irrigate fields, each place receives roughly the same amount. Now if an ox is slaughtered and cooked, one person may make it sour, another sweet; some fry it, some boil it, some roast it, some grill it—the flavors differ in a thousand ways, yet their source is this one ox. When great trees such as the pian, nan, yu, and zhang are felled, split open, and divided into blocks, some are made into coffins, some into pillars and beams; they are split, smoothed, and used according to their grain—their uses are countless, yet the substance is still one uncarved piece of wood.

Therefore the doctrines of the Hundred Schools, as they lay out their arguments and replies, often stand sharply opposed, yet what accords with the Dao is fundamentally one body. It is like an ensemble of silk, bamboo, metal, and stone: the principles of music are the same, though the melodies of each school differ, and none departs from the basic substance of music. Bole, Han Feng, Qin Ya, and Guan Qing (all ancients skilled in judging horses) used different criteria, but the way of recognizing a horse was one. The Three August Ones and Five Emperors had different laws and canonical records, but the way of winning the people’s hearts was the same. Thus when Tang of Shang entered Xia, he still used Xia law; when Wu of Zhou entered Yin, he still practiced Yin rites—this is precisely the key to why Jie and Zhou perished and why Tang and Wu brought order to the realm.

Carving knives, files, and saws, when laid out, cannot cut wood into vessels unless there is a good craftsman; furnaces, bellows (wind bags), casting blocks, and clay molds (the latter two are implements for smelting and casting; fang refers to an earthen mold) cannot smelt metal into implements unless there is a skilled artisan. Tu Niutu (a famous butcher of Qi) could dismember nine oxen in a single morning, yet his knife could still be used to shave hair and cut fur; Cook Ding (a butcher of Qi) used his knife for nineteen years, and the blade was still like one newly sharpened on a whetstone—why? Because he moved through the gaps among the patterns, following the spaces in muscle and sinew and not striking hard bone, so the blade was not damaged. As for the compass and square, the hook and marking cord, they are instruments for accomplishing skill, not “skill” itself. If a se zither has no strings, even Music Master Shi Wen cannot make a tune; with strings alone but no fingering, one cannot produce mournful sounds either—strings are the means to produce sorrow, but not sorrow itself.

As for the craftsman’s handling of linked shafts and opening mechanisms (referring to devices that interconnect and open and close in concert), hidden closures, and dazzling intricacies (complex, shifting transformations), penetrating into the dark and subtly hidden, reaching the utmost point where spirit and intention attune, roaming between mind and hand and amid all emptiness without coming into conflict with things—such a state a father cannot teach his son by oral transmission alone; a blind music master can only let his intention go and comprehend it in his mind, observing things and giving form to his heart.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Even if Shen (spirit) is numinous and form is ingenious, when it comes to what rests on the qin strings, an elder brother may still be unable to explain it to his younger brother. When speaking of “level,” one relies on the water level (a tool for testing levelness); when speaking of “straight,” one relies on the ink cord (a taut guideline). If someone does not work within the system of cord and level, yet can still make people believe something is both level and straight, then what he uses is not a method shared by all.

Thus, when the Gong note is struck, the Gong sound responds; when the Jue note is plucked, the Jue sound stirs—this is like responding to like in pitch. Among the five notes there seems nothing to match, yet the twenty-five strings all resonate together; this is the Dao (the Way) that cannot be fully spoken or fully transmitted. Deep stillness and desolate openness (deep stillness) are the masters of physical form; silent and soundless solitude (subtle sounds arise from silence) is the master of sound. Right and wrong in the world originally have no fixed standard; each person affirms what he approves and denies what he disapproves. What they call right and wrong differs from one to another, each believing himself correct and others wrong.

From this we see: what suits my mind is not necessarily truly “right”; what goes against my mind is not necessarily truly “wrong.” Therefore, those who seek “right” are not seeking principle; they seek what suits their own minds. Those who remove “wrong” are not removing crookedness (shi means crooked); they are removing what goes against their own minds. What goes against me is not necessarily at odds with others; what agrees with me may still be regarded by the world as wrong.

The rightness of the ultimate right admits no wrong; the wrongness of the ultimate wrong admits no right—this is true right and wrong. If something is “right” here and “wrong” there, “wrong” here and “right” there, this is called “one right and one wrong” (a relative right and wrong). This sort of one right and one wrong is only a corner, a one-sided view; but the “one right and one wrong” within the cosmos has a vastly different scope. Now I wish to choose “right” and abide in it, choose “wrong” and depart from it, yet I do not know what the right and wrong people speak of actually refers to, nor do I know which is right and which is wrong.

Laozi said: Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish. The generous person will say: Do not turn it over frequently (be ample and forgiving); the harsh person, however, merely adds salt and sour every day.

Duke Ping of Jin spoke improperly; Master Kuang raised his qin and rammed him, tearing his robe and striking the palace wall (he struck all the way into Duke Ping’s robe lapel and then into the palace wall). The attendants wanted to repair the wall (to plaster over the wall damaged by Master Kuang). Duke Ping said: Do not repair it; let it show that this was my fault. Confucius, hearing of it, said: Duke Ping was not indifferent to his own body; he wanted people to come forward with remonstrance. Han Feizi (Han Gongzi Fei), hearing of it, said: When the assembled ministers breach ritual propriety and are not punished, this is to indulge their faults.

There are also cases like this: Duke Ping’s failure to become hegemon was connected with the following affair. A guest saw someone at Mi Zi’s place (Mi Zi being a man of low station). After the guest left, Mi Zi said: “That guest of yours was guilty of three breaches of propriety: he looked at me and smiled—that is disrespect; in conversation he did not choose a suitable audience—that is contrary to ritual; our acquaintance was shallow yet he spoke deeply—that is muddling.” The guest, however, said: “Looking at you and smiling is open-heartedness; in conversation not treating you as a teacher is understanding; shallow acquaintance yet deep speech is wholeheartedness.” Of the same person’s conduct, some say he is a gentleman, others say he is a petty man—each has different standards by which he judges. Therefore when aspirations accord, loyal words become more intimate; when relations are distant, even well-conceived plans are suspected.

A mother treating her son’s scabies, with blood flowing to her ears—those who see it feel she loves him deeply; if a stepmother did the same, passersby would take it as jealousy. The thing itself is the same, but the onlooker’s standpoint differs, and so the conclusion differs. Looking down from a city wall, oxen look like sheep and sheep like pigs—because one stands high. Looking at one’s face in plate water, the reflection is round; looking in a cup, it is distorted—the face has not changed, but the vessel differs, and so the image differs. Now even if I wish to rectify myself and treat others, how can I immediately know from what angle the people of the world are looking at me?

If one single-mindedly seeks change and races with the world, it is like escaping the rain: there is no place that is not wet. Always wanting to abide in the state of “emptiness,” one instead fails to be empty. (Clinging to “making empty” loses emptiness; grasping “emptiness” ruins it.) As for those who are not deliberately empty but naturally empty and still (this being their nature), this is precisely what people long for but find hard to force.

Therefore one who penetrates the Dao is like the hub that does not itself turn, yet with the wheel travels a thousand li and turns in the endless wilds; one who does not penetrate the Dao is like a lost traveler: tell him east, south, west, and north, and for a moment he seems to understand, but at the next turn he is confused again. Thus all his life he is used like a servant, like Ni Hou watching the wind (Ni Hou being one who observes the wind and predicts rain, of the sort traditionally called the “five rains”), never stable for a moment.

Hence the sage embodies the Dao and returns to nature, using non-transformation to await transformation (using Wuwei, non-action, and stillness to await transformative action). He does not nail himself fixedly to one posture, yet within change he preserves his original self.

This passage expounds the wisdom of governance, with its core principle being the appropriate utilization of talents and proper placement of individuals.

The key to governing a peaceful and prosperous society lies in simple and practicable systems: clearly defined responsibilities, easily followed ritual norms, and readily fulfilled duties. With distinct social divisions, scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants each attend to their proper functions—farmers discuss cultivation techniques, scholars cultivate moral virtues, artisans exchange craft secrets, and merchants deliberate business strategies. Thus each profession can fully employ its specialized skills without mutual interference.

The text cites the example of Yi Yin (renowned minister of the Shang dynasty) in employing people: those with long legs handled shovel work, those with strong backs carried earth, the near-sighted conducted measurements, and the hunchbacked took charge of plastering. Just as northerners excel at horsemanship while southerners are adept at boating, people's natural endowments determine their most suitable roles. The sage's way of governing follows the same principle—never demanding extraordinary abilities like "precognitive foresight" from common people, nor exacting exceptional wisdom like "encyclopedic knowledge."

Talents like Chang Hong and Shi Kuang who could foresee fortune and misfortune, or debaters like Gongsun Long with their special rhetorical skills—such extraordinary abilities are unsuitable for ordinary official posts. The ancient recluse Beiren Wuze who drowned himself to protest Emperor Shun's virtue cannot serve as a model for society; nor should the marvelous wooden birds crafted by Lu Ban and Mozi that flew for three days without landing be promoted as common technology.

The passage emphasizes that governance must respect both natural human endowments and social divisions of labor. Neither should it demand universal competence, nor should it exalt overly specialized talents. The true way of governance lies in allowing everyone to function in their appropriate position.

This passage discusses the principles of governing the state and employing people, of measures and expedient adaptation, and of legal standards and the way of Dao and De in an age of disorder. The following explains it section by section in plain language.

The first passage concerns employing people and measures. One cannot require people to do only one kind of thing. Thus “too high to reach” cannot be taken as the standard for people, and “conduct beyond reach” cannot be taken as the measure for customs. A measuring vessel for lightness and heaviness makes no error by a hair; the sage does not use it himself, but hangs it on the balance. In observing heights and lows without the slightest difference in inches, the enlightened ruler does not measure in person but relies on the water level—that is, a leveling instrument used to test flatness. Why is this? Talent cannot be employed by relying solely on one standard, whereas measures can be handed down for generations. Therefore the state can be kept in order and achievements preserved together with the “simple,” and military regulations can be applied together with expedient adaptation. If one insisted on fine horses like Yaoniao and Feitu to drive a carriage—Yaoniao was a fine horse and Feitu its foal, both said to travel ten thousand li in a day—no one in the world could ride; if one insisted on beauties like Xi Shi and Mao Qiang to make a marriage—Xi Shi and Mao Qiang were famous beauties of antiquity—one would never establish a household in a lifetime. But this is not to say that only the outstanding talents of antiquity will do; people themselves are sufficient, provided each is used according to what he has and all are employed together. A thoroughbred can go a thousand li in a day; a nag can arrive in ten days. From this we see that talent cannot be relied on by a single standard, while the art of governing can be openly practiced.

The second passage concerns the laws of an age of disorder and the people’s distress. In the laws of a disordered age, standards are set very high, yet offenses do not reach them; responsibilities are made very heavy, yet punishments cannot be borne; prohibitions are made very perilous, yet execution is not dared to be incurred. When the people are trapped by these three burdens, they will adorn themselves with cleverness and practice fraud; those above commit evil, while those below exploit loopholes—gan means to seek or curry favor. Therefore even harsh laws and severe punishments cannot prohibit villainy, because their force is insufficient. Hence the proverb says: when birds are exhausted they peck, when beasts are exhausted they fight, when people are exhausted they cheat—this is what it means.

The third passage concerns the discourse on Dao and De and the direction of choices. The discourse on Dao and De is like the sun and moon: in Jiangnan or north of the Yellow River, one cannot change their direction; galloping a thousand li, one cannot change their place. Choices and ritual customs are like the house in which one lives: the eastern household calls it the western household, and the western household calls it the eastern household; even if Gao Yao were to adjudicate, he could not determine “where one lives.” Therefore when choices are the same, praise and blame lie in custom; when intentions and conduct are like the steelyard, poverty and eminence lie in timing. Tang and Wu accumulated deeds and goodness, and people can catch up with them; that they encountered the ages of Jie and Zhou was bestowed by Heaven. Now if one has the hearts of Tang and Wu but lacks circumstances like those of Jie and Zhou, wanting to achieve the enterprise of hegemon or king would also fall far short. Formerly King Wu grasped the dagger-axe and held the battle-axe to attack Zhou and overcame Yin; then, with the tablet tucked in his sash and holding the staff and shu, he held court—jin hu zhang shu means holding court with ceremonial implements such as the tablet, staff, and shu.

In summary, governing the state depends on transmissible measures—weight and height—and cannot rely solely on “too high to reach” or “conduct beyond reach” in employing people; talent must be used according to each person’s capacities and all employed together, not by a single standard. In an age of disorder, standards, responsibilities, and prohibitions are all raised too high; when the people are trapped by these “three burdens,” they become fraudulent and commit evil, and no severity of law can restrain them, because force is insufficient. The discourse on Dao and De is like the sun and moon, unchanged by region; choices and ritual customs are like a dwelling, with praise and blame depending on custom and poverty or eminence on timing. The virtue of Tang and Wu can be matched, but their achieving hegemonic rule depended on a time bestowed by Heaven; without a Jie or Zhou era, even with the intention of Tang and Wu, hegemonic-kingly enterprise is hard to accomplish.

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

After King Wu (King Wu of Zhou) died, the remnants of Yin-Shang launched a rebellion. The Duke of Zhou (Zhou Gongdan) ascended the East Palace (the palace where the crown prince resided), stepped onto the mounting stone used for boarding a carriage (the footstool a ruler stepped on when mounting a chariot), acted as regent for the Son of Heaven, and presided over court audiences with his back to a screen, while the feudal lords all came to pay homage. He exiled Cai Shu (Cai Shudu) and executed Guan Shu (Guan Shuxian, both elder brothers of the Duke of Zhou), pacified the Yin rebellion, put to death the Shang scion (Lu Fu, son of King Zhou), sacrificed to King Wen in the Mingtang (the great hall where the Son of Heaven proclaimed his teachings and government), and after seven years in power returned the government to King Cheng.

King Wu first used military force and afterward employed civil governance; this was not because his intentions changed, but because he was complying with the times. The Duke of Zhou exiled an elder brother and executed a younger brother; this was not because he lacked benevolence, but because he was rectifying a chaotic age. Therefore, in action one must accord with the ways of the age for achievements to be accomplished; in measures one must fit the times for reputation to be established.

Formerly, Duke Huan of Qi (head of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period), when convening the feudal lords, rode in an ordinary carriage and team, but after returning home he used axes and halberds to execute criminals within the state; Duke Wen of Jin (one of the Five Hegemons), when convening the feudal lords, rode in a war chariot, but after returning home he acted according to ritual and righteousness. Duke Huan was first soft and then hard; Duke Wen was first hard and then soft. Yet their commands circulated throughout the world and their authority restrained the feudal lords—the key lay in assessing the times and adapting to circumstances.

Yan He (a recluse of Lu)—the ruler of Lu wanted to make him chief minister, but he was unwilling; before the ruler sent someone with recruitment gifts to seek him, he had already bored through the back wall and fled. The people of the world admired his courage and martial spirit (the people of Chu called a scholar “wu”), but if Yan He had encountered men like Shang Yang (a representative Legalist thinker of the Warring States) and Shen Buhai (a representative Legalist thinker of the Warring States), not only would his three clans have been implicated, he himself would hardly have escaped death.

Most people in the world praise the ancients and esteem their conduct, yet when there are people of their own age similar to them, they do not know how to prize them. This is not because their talent is inferior, but because the age is unsuitable. Thus the six famous horses—Qi, Ji, Si, and Jueti (Jueti being a fine horse produced by the northern Di)—when used to cross rivers, are not as convenient as a single hollow log (yumu). So it is also in conducting oneself in the world.

Therefore, those who establish merit and build a career may act in a simple and abbreviated way, but they must be cautious about the times. Nowadays worldly people regard success in achievements and enterprises as worthiness, overcoming disasters as wisdom, encountering danger as dullness, and dying to hold fast to integrity as foolish simplicity. I believe each person merely reaches the limit of what he himself can reach.

Prince Bi Gan (uncle of King Zhou of Shang) was not unintelligent—Ji Zi (also an uncle of King Zhou of Shang) let down his hair and feigned madness to preserve his life; but Bi Gan took pleasure in acting uprightly, exhausting his loyalty, and dying to uphold integrity, so he was unwilling to do as Ji Zi did. Bo Yi and Shu Qi (two sons of the lord of Guzhu at the end of the Shang) were not incapable of accepting salary and taking office to achieve merit, but they took pleasure in withdrawing from the world and standing apart to cut themselves off from the crowd, so they were unwilling to do that.

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Those who do not take office but withdraw into reclusion, such as Xu You and Shan Juan (worthies of ancient legend who refused the thrones offered by Yao and Shun and preferred to keep to poverty), were not incapable of using De (Virtue/Power) to soothe all under heaven and settle the seas within; they were simply ashamed to let external things disturb the peace of their inner hearts, and so would not accept power and position.

Yu Rang (a retainer of Zhibo in the Spring and Autumn period who disfigured himself to avenge his master) and Yao Li (a minister of King Helü of Wu who gave up his family and braved danger to repay his state) were not ignorant of the pleasure of staying by household and enjoying wife and children in ignoble survival; but they took delight in the sincerity of striking their breasts, disfiguring their faces, and resolving to die to repay their lord, and so would not live on ignobly in ease.

From the standpoint of Ji Zi (a worthy minister at the end of Shang who feigned madness to avoid disaster), Bi Gan (who remonstrated directly with King Zhou and was killed) would seem foolish; from Bi Gan’s standpoint, Ji Zi would seem base. From the perspective of Guan Zhong and Yan Ying (famous chancellors of Qi who were practical and strengthened the state), Bo Yi (an ancient worthy who kept righteousness and would not eat Zhou grain) would seem foolishly stubborn; from Bo Yi’s perspective, Guan Zhong and Yan Ying would seem greedy. Their pursuits and avoidances criticized one another; their desires were opposite, yet each was at peace in his own calling—who, after all, should adjudicate right and wrong?

Zengzi (a disciple of Confucius) once struck a boat in the water; the birds heard the sound and flew high, the fish heard it and dove into the deep. What they hastened toward differed, yet each found what suited it. Thus when Huizi (named Shi, chancellor of Liang, fond of fame and profit) passed through Mengzhu (a great marsh of Song) with a hundred carriages, Zhuangzi (named Zhou, a recluse of Song who did not serve) saw him and threw away the surplus fish in his cart—what Huizi sought, Zhuangzi disdained. Pelicans and hu birds (water-marsh birds) drink several dou of water and still are not satisfied; eels and sturgeons (kinds of fish), once taken into the mouth, die like dew—their bodily capacities differ, and their needs are utterly different. Zhibo held the territory of the three Jin states and still felt it was not enough; Lin Lei and Rong Qiji (ancient recluses) wore clothes like hanging tattered rags, yet in their hearts bore no resentment. From this we see that aspirations and conduct differ; why must people condemn one another?

Those who value life do not harm themselves for profit or loss; those who keep integrity do not ignobly evade danger when they see it; those greedy for salary do not spare themselves when they see profit; those fond of reputation do not improperly take ill-gotten wealth. If these types discuss one another, they are like ice and charcoal, hook and plumb line—their natures are opposite; when could they ever agree? If one observes from the central standpoint of the sage’s Dao (the Way), then it is all-embracing and all-inclusive; fundamentally there is no fixed right and wrong to be distinguished.

Flying birds take the nest as their dwelling, foxes take the burrow as their dwelling: once the nest is made they can roost; once the burrow is made they can lodge. What one pursues and avoids, the rightness of what one practices—these too are dwelling places in the human heart; when each person rests in what he finds restful and walks where he treads, then each has already found what suits him.

A Vernacular Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Gist of the Scripture

What is meant by “the completed person” is that one takes the Great Dao as the comprehensive and unifying basis for discussing the principles of governing.

An Age of Great Peace: Simple Government and Practicality

In the ideal condition, above there need be no piled-up laws and decrees, and officials need not be burdened with multifarious affairs. Scholars do not affect false goodness, and artisans do not engage in bizarre skills and clever artifices. Government affairs follow constant norms and do not disturb the people; utensils are fit for use and are not excessively ornamented.

A Troubled Age: Emulation, Hypocrisy, and Extravagance

In a troubled age it is otherwise. Those who act raise one another up and compete to be higher; those who speak of ritual propriety show off to one another and are hypocritical; carriages are carved to the utmost, and utensils are overly engraved; those seeking goods compete for “hard-to-obtain things” and treat them as treasures; those fond of ornate words take vexatious complication as intelligence and contend in sophistry, leaving matters unresolved for years, with no benefit to governing; artisans make strange devices that take years to complete yet are impractical.

The Method of Shennong: Farming and Weaving as the Foundation

The method of Shennong says: if a man in his prime does not plow, someone in the world will go hungry; if a woman does not weave in the proper season, someone in the world will suffer cold. Therefore he plowed the fields himself and his wife wove cloth, setting an example for the world. In guiding the people, he did not prize hard-to-obtain goods or exalt useless things. If farming is not diligent, one cannot nourish the body; if weaving is not diligent, one cannot cover the body. Surplus and deficiency each returned to the person concerned; when food and clothing sufficed, wickedness did not arise, and there was peace and ease without trouble, so the world was equal and level. For this reason Confucius and Zeng Shen had no place to display their goodness, and Meng Ben and Cheng Jing, ancient warriors, had no place to display their prowess—the order of the age was already too equal and level.

Customs of a Declining Age: Cleverness, Remote Goods, and Loss of Nature

In the customs of a declining age, people use cleverness and deceit to gloss over the multitude and exalt uselessness; they prize rare goods from afar and hard-to-obtain wealth, and do not accumulate the means for nourishing life; they make thin the world’s thickness and break apart the world’s uncarved simplicity; they put yokes and fetters on horses and oxen as if into cages, and disturb the myriad people; they treat clarity as turbidity; nature and life are set flying about, and all are thrown into disorder in their integrity and trustworthiness. Sincerity and trust scatter and dissipate, and people lose their original nature. Thereupon kingfisher feathers, rhinoceros horn and ivory, and embroidered patterns confuse their eyes; fodder-fed animals, millet and fine grain, and the fragrant delicacies of Jing, Chu, Wu, and Yue make their mouths greedy; bells and drums, pipes and flutes, silk and bamboo, metal and stone overindulge their bodies; choices of advance and retreat, conduct and righteousness, ritual propriety, and slanderous discussions entangle their minds. Thus the common people were like boiling porridge, in great disorder; at dusk they went about pursuing profit, troubled and entangled; they became shallow and thin, and law and righteousness turned their backs on each other.

Brief Explanation of Terms

In the original wording, “jie” means to lift up or raise high; “Cheng Jing” was an ancient warrior; “jiao” and “chun” mean thin and thick; “the fragrance of Jing and Wu” refers to the delicacies of Jing, Chu, Wu, and Yue; “lan” means greedily to seek; “jiaoqian” means thin and shallow, and moreover esteeming superficiality.

The Main Point of the Whole Passage

To discuss governing by the Dao values constant norms without disturbing the people, and complete utensils without ornamentation; a troubled age prizes reputation, goods, rhetorical disputation, and strange devices. Shennong and plowing and weaving oneself are the foundation for nourishing life; in great peace, both the worthy and the brave have no place to use their abilities. In a declining age, remote goods, carving and ornament, music, and ritual disputation entangle the mind, causing people to lose their nature, law and righteousness to turn against each other, and the world to seethe like boiling porridge.

Source: Huainan Honglie Jie

Improper practices run counter to true benefit; even with ten men as capable of governing as Guan Zhong, they could not govern well. The rich go out in carriages, wear embroidered brocade, adorn their horses with yak-tail and ivory, curtain their carriages, and use cushions of embroidered fine silk; tassels, belts, and woven pendants are interlaced with blue and yellow—luxurious beyond measure. The poor in summer wear coarse cloth tied with hemp rope, eat bean leaves, and drink cold water to stave off hunger and heat; in winter they wear sheepskin coats, tattered furs, and short coarse garments that do not cover the body, and must still draw near the stove mouth for warmth. Yet they are all equally registered commoners, with no difference in status; the gulf between rich and poor is like that between a ruler and a servant, and they cannot be compared.

Those who get by through strange skills, cunning, and heterodox paths can be self-sufficient for a lifetime; those who uphold the right Way, cultivate conduct, and do not take what is not rightfully theirs cannot escape hunger and cold. Under such conditions, to still wish to make the people abandon the secondary and return to the root, while cutting them off upstream and damming them downstream—this is like carving and engraving harming farming, and brocade and braided ornaments harming women’s work; when farming is neglected and women’s work is injured, these are the sources of hunger and cold. When hunger and cold press in together, to still avoid breaking the law and incurring punishment has never been heard of from ancient times to the present. Therefore whether one serves in office or remains lowly, whether noble or base, often depends on circumstances, not only on conduct; benefit and harm, misfortune and blessing, often lie in fate, not only in intelligence.

Soldiers of a defeated army, however brave, will flee, and generals cannot hold them back; in the ranks of a victorious army, even the timid will press forward desperately, and fear cannot make them run away. When a river bursts its banks and floods a village, fathers, sons, and brothers only care about fleeing to high ground; the nimble-footed climb the hills first, and no one can look after anyone else. When the times are peaceful and one’s mind is calm, seeing a person from a neighboring state fall into water, one would still feel pity—how much more for relatives? When oneself is secure, kindness and righteousness can reach neighboring states; when oneself is in danger, even relatives become suspicious, and others find it hard to resolve it for him. One who cannot swim cannot save a drowning person, because his hands and feet cannot even look after themselves; one who has been burned cannot fight fire, because his body is in pain. When the people have surplus, they yield; when they lack enough, they contend. Yielding gives rise to ritual propriety and righteousness; contention gives rise to violence and disorder. Knock on a door to ask for water, and no one refuses, because the household has enough water; in the forest no one sells firewood, and on the lake no one sells fish, because they have surplus of their own. When goods are abundant, desires are few; when demands are satisfied, contention ceases.

In the time of King Zheng of Qin, some people salted their own sons and sold them—not because the profit was great, but because the profit was so thin that they could not survive. The Liu clan did the same (this sentence may refer to comparable extreme cases of hunger and cold; the meaning of “Liu” in the original is uncertain, so here, following the sense of “the same as the Qin case,” it is rendered as: under similar circumstances people would also commit such extreme acts).

This passage elucidates principles of political governance. When the Liu clan (referring to the Han dynasty) held power, even a solitary individual could amass considerable wealth—a testament to social stability. In times of peace and prosperity, even if petty men were entrusted with administrative duties, temptations of personal gain couldn't sway them; whereas in chaotic eras, even noble gentlemen might turn to corruption, with laws proving powerless to restrain them.

Through contrasting governance during orderly and disorderly periods, the text demonstrates how social environments shape human behavior. During well-governed eras with sound institutions, people's conduct remains properly constrained; when laws collapse in turbulent times, even inherently upright individuals may become corrupt. The vivid phrase "a solitary man gathers lone wealth in abundance" illustrates how personal prosperity naturally flourishes within effective political frameworks.