《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 24

Huainan Honglie, “Discourse on Mountains”: A Plain-Language Interpretation

The chapter “Discourse on Mountains” compares the mountain to the root of the Dao (the Way) and the dwelling place of the benevolent. Its principles accumulate layer upon layer, like a mountain; hence the title “Discourse on Mountains.”

A Debate Between Po and Hun on the Dao

Po, the yin-leaning aspect of the human spirit, asked Hun, its yang-leaning aspect: “What, exactly, is the Dao’s form?”

Hun replied, “Its substance is nonbeing.” The Dao is formless, so its root lies in a state that is “without, yet present.”

Po asked again, “Can this ‘nonbeing’ have a shape?”

Hun said, “If it is nonbeing, how could it be heard or seen?” Without a fixed appearance, it cannot be grasped through the ordinary senses.

Hun added, “I simply encounter it directly and come to understand it.” The Dao must be met and realized inwardly; it cannot be depicted from the outside.

Po said, “I have heard and understood.” It then turned its gaze inward and sought the answer within itself.

Hun continued, “In general, those who attain the Dao cannot be seen in their outward appearance, and their reputation cannot be spread abroad. Some versions say, ‘They cannot be depicted.’ Now that you have a form and a name, how could the Dao truly belong to you?”

Po asked, “For whom are words meant? If you have no fixed appearance, why speak at all?” It then said, “I will return to my root.” The root means the fundamental source; Po meant that it would return to the level of nonbeing.

When Po looked back, Hun suddenly vanished. Po turned inward and settled in itself, and in doing so likewise sank into formlessness. Some versions read, “entered into nonbeing.”

Four Maxims

Those who do not build on elementary learning will lose their way on the Great Dao: without broad learning, it is difficult to understand the Way.

Those who do not rely on petty cleverness will not be foolish in great matters: a little craftiness cannot make sense of things as a whole and instead becomes a serious fault.

Nothing is worse than trying to see one’s reflection in rainwater churned with foam; in clear, still water, one can see oneself. “Rainwater churned with foam” refers to muddy, unsettled water, such as rain-filled pools or water covered with floating froth. “Clear water” is clean and still. One can see a reflection because the mind is at rest, without agitation.

Note: Through the debate between Po and Hun, this passage says that the Dao must not be grasped through fixed forms or names; one must turn inward and return to nonbeing. The final four lines shift from discussing the Dao to cultivating oneself: learn broadly, let go of petty cleverness, and make the mind still like undisturbed water. This connects with the chapter’s larger theme of the mountain as the root of the Dao.

A Plain-Language Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Zhan He Goes Fishing

Zhan He was an accomplished man of ancient times, skilled at fishing. When he cast his line, even a carp a thousand years old could not escape his hook. A skilled angler has subtle methods of his own, which is why he could catch a thousand-year-old carp.

Zengzi Attends His Father’s Funeral

Zeng Shen was deeply devoted to his parents. As he accompanied his father’s coffin, he clung to the funeral cart in grief. The men pulling it were moved by him and stopped, going no farther. (“Chun” is pronounced like “niu”; it refers to a funeral cart fitted with wheels beneath the coffin, moving like an ox cart.)

Shen Xi Finds His Mother

Shen Xi was from Chu. He lost his mother when he was young. Later, he heard a beggar singing as he walked along the road. The sound stirred something in him, so he went out to look and discovered that the beggar was his own mother. This is an example of how a single-minded heart can bring about the utmost resonance.

Hu Ba Plays the Se

Hu Ba was from Chu and was skilled at playing the se zither. When he played, “leaping fish,” which loved music, would lift their heads above the water to listen. These fish had long heads and bodies more than five feet long, white noses, black bodies, and mouths beneath their jaws. They resembled the ungelled fish called “liyu” but had no scales, and lived in the Yangtze River.

Bai Ya Plays the Qin

When Bai Ya played the qin zither, the four horses pulling a cart would raise their heads and smack their lips, as if entranced by the music and “smiling.”

Jie Zitui and Duke Wen

Jie Zitui once accompanied Chong’er, later Duke Wen of Jin, during his exile. When they ran out of food, Jie Zitui cut flesh from his own thigh and gave it to Chong’er to eat. After Duke Wen regained his state, he rewarded his followers but left Jie Zitui out. Jie Zitui then sang: “A proud dragon lost all that it possessed; a snake followed it and fed at its mouth. Now the dragon has risen into the clouds, while the snake is left alone in the mud.” The dragon stood for Duke Wen, and the snake for Jie Zitui. When Duke Wen realized what Jie Zitui meant, he went to look for him. He could not find him and could only weep aloud.

Jade and Pearls

Jade is Yin within Yang: in the mountains, it can moisten plants and trees. Pearls are Yang within Yin: in the depths, they can keep the nearby banks from drying out.

Earthworms

Earthworms have neither strong sinews and bones nor sharp claws and teeth, yet they can feed on dry soil and dust above—called ke in Chu—and drink from the Yellow Springs below. They can do so because their attention is single-minded.

Clarity, Turbidity, and Single-Mindedness

What is clear is bright: a cup of water can reflect the eyelashes. What is turbid is dim: when a river is deep, its bottom cannot be seen. Staring at the sun dazzles the eyes; listening to thunder deafens the ears. These are all examples of excessive concentration or sensory overload.

《Huainan Honglie Jie》: A Plain-Language Interpretation

With non-action, there is good order; with forced action, there is harm

The Dao (the Way) honors Wuwei (non-action), and so good governance can be achieved. When people give too much weight to deliberate action, they harm the Dao, which does not prize such action. “Deliberate action” means forcing things and acting recklessly. Reckless action is like an illness: it harms both the body and the Dao.

Governing through non-action means always holding to “nonbeing”

Those who achieve good governance through Wuwei keep “nonbeing” in mind and practice it constantly. This does not mean doing nothing at all. It means not acting rashly out of private desire, allowing good governance to arise naturally.

Those who act recklessly cannot truly practice non-action

People accustomed to deliberate action cannot truly practice Wuwei. Likes and dislikes, along with desires and passions, disturb them; their minds cannot remain tranquil and clear. That is why they “cannot practice non-action.”

Conversely, those who cannot practice tranquil non-action also find it hard to accomplish great things or establish great achievements. That is why they “cannot act”: both ways of being have departed from the Dao.

Silence nourishes the spirit; excessive speech harms it

When people speak little and accord with the principle that “the Dao transforms without speaking,” their spirit can remain clear and vigorous (Shen). Excessive speech and constant discussion harm the spirit. The Dao does not prize eloquence; too many words instead weaken the spirit.

Silence can reach the spiritual: this is the constant practice of teaching without words

The Dao prizes silence, yet can reach spiritual illumination. The sage, too, continually follows the Dao of silence, relying not on empty talk.

Emptiness at the center makes things useful: breathing through the nose and hearing through the ears

The nose can breathe and the ears can hear because the empty spaces within them—what is “of no use”—make these functions possible. “Of no use” here refers to the hollow passages in the nose and ears. Everything makes use of what it lacks, the empty space within it, by means of what it already has.

If this is hard to believe, look at the lai and the yu

If this seems difficult to believe, consider musical instruments: the lai, a three-holed wind instrument, and the yu both make sound through the empty spaces inside their pipes. That is why the scripture says, “Look at the lai and the yu.”

Too much worry and thought make sleep uneasy

When the mind is full of calculations and worries, sleep becomes difficult. The Book of Songs says, “Restless, I cannot sleep, as if weighed down by deep sorrow,” and “Tossing and turning on my pillow, awake or asleep, I sigh without end.” These lines describe just this condition.

Forcibly suppressing thoughts is still deliberate action

Forcefully pushing thoughts and worries away is itself a form of deliberate action; it is not true stillness. To be free of thoughts and worries is to live in natural harmony with all things, each remaining where it belongs, rather than struggling against oneself.

Only when both kinds of thought are emptied can the highest De be pure

The highest De (Virtue/Power) becomes pure and undivided only when both attachments have vanished: dwelling on thoughts and worries, and forcibly trying to stop them.

The sage speaks of governing throughout life, but does not rely on empty words

The sage speaks of governing the world throughout life, but does not rely on the familiar talk of the mouth. Instead, the sage relies on the Wuwei Dao that speech points toward and puts into practice. Good governance lies in action, not argument.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

Although a singer sings a poem, what makes it pleasant to hear is often not the poem’s words themselves. People praise the melody for being clear and pleasing; they are not praising the poem. Thus it is said, “What makes people appreciate it is not the poem.”

A parrot can learn to speak like a person, but it cannot be made the master who gives orders. Why? It knows only how to imitate what people say, not why they say it or why they give those commands. In other words, “It gets the words, but not what the words mean.”

Someone who only follows in another person’s footsteps cannot make a new path or establish new rules for themselves. This is like a parrot that can imitate human speech but cannot become a master and establish a teaching of its own.

A miraculous snake can live again after being cut in two, but it cannot stop others from cutting it. A divine tortoise could appear in a dream to warn King Yuan, but it could not escape the fisherman’s basket. (According to legend, King Yuan of Song dreamed of a divine tortoise but could not catch it. A fisherman named Yuqie caught the tortoise and presented it to the king, who killed it for divination. Hence the saying that it could warn him in a dream but could not escape the basket.)

East, south, west, and north are all gateways through which the Dao enters and exits. The directions of doors and windows differ; what matters is which side one uses to understand and observe. So fishing techniques can be used to teach horseback riding, horseback riding can teach chariot driving, and chariot driving can in turn teach boating. Each skill must be learned respectfully by following its own way, and only then can it be taught through analogy to another.

The people of Yue are skilled in the water and adept at boating, but they are not versed in archery. Someone learning to shoot at a distant target raises their head and fires an arrow into the sky. When its force is spent, the arrow falls, landing within five paces of the archer. (Shooting into the sky is the wrong method.) Yet the archer refuses to change their technique. (“Yi” means the rules of archery; someone who does not understand archery will not know to abandon the practice of shooting upward.)

When the ways of the world have changed, stubbornly clinging to old rules is like the archery practiced by the people of Yue: holding to an old method without knowing how to adapt.

On the night of the full moon, the sun takes away the moon’s light; Yin cannot overcome Yang. (On the fifteenth day of the lunar month, the sun and moon face each other on opposite sides of the Earth, which causes a lunar eclipse and obscures the moonlight. The situation differs when their alignment is imperfect.)

A Plain-Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

Yin cannot overcome Yang

When Yin reaches its darkest and most obscure point, it has also reached its limit. Thus it is said that Yin cannot rise above Yang. When the sun appears, the stars can no longer be seen; their light cannot compete with sunlight. Stars belong to Yin, yet they cannot take away the sun’s radiance.

Root and branch, light and heavy, must not be reversed

A branch cannot be stronger than its root, and a finger cannot be larger than an arm. When the bottom is light and the top is heavy, the whole thing will topple at the slightest turn. This means that everything has its proper place and that root and branch must not be reversed.

One deep pool cannot hold two flood dragons

A single deep pool cannot contain two great flood dragons. (One account says a flood dragon is a large fish, weighing up to a thousand jin and bearing pearls on its skin; in ancient times, people often used its hide for the cutting edges of swords.) When water is still, it is clear and balanced; once it moves, its balance is lost. Thus only by taking “stillness” as the foundation can one move without limit.

Only by being low can one rise

Rivers can nourish the hundred valleys because they occupy low ground and are able to be “below.” Precisely because they can be low, they can also rise: they receive what comes down from Heaven and gather the waters of a hundred streams. No one under Heaven is like glue and lacquer, which “hinder one another”: mixed together, they spoil each other. (One account says that if glue gets into lacquer, the lacquer is ruined, and if lacquer gets into glue, the glue is ruined. Depending on which is present in greater quantity, each harms the other; hence they are said to loathe one another.) Nor is anyone like ice and charcoal, which “help one another”: ice encountering charcoal melts back into water and returns to its original nature, while charcoal encountering ice keeps its own nature. Hence they are said to love one another. Glue and lacquer harm each other; ice and charcoal assist each other.

Returning to the root

When a wall collapses, its earth returns to the ground. In this sense, its “ruin” brings it closer to the state it was in before it was built. When ice melts, it becomes water again, bringing it closer to its source than it was when frozen. (Pan means “to melt,” returning to water; zong means “root” or “source.”)

The far, the small, and the great

Mount Tai is immense and tall, yet it cannot be seen from a thousand li away because hills and earthen ridges block the view. (Duoke refers to something like a mat-screen obstructing the eyes; the word is pronounced roughly like “wang” and is used this way in the Jiang-Huai region.) The tip of an autumn hair can sink into a depth beyond measure. Thus what is so small that it can be contained no further—smaller even than the tip of an autumn hair—is equivalent to nothing, without form; and what is so great that it can extend no further beyond itself is without anything outside it.

One’s nature does not change because no one knows it

An orchid growing in a dim palace room does not lose its fragrance because no one wears it; fragrance is its nature. A boat on rivers and seas does not cease to float because no one rides in it; floating is its nature. A noble person does not stop acting righteously because no one knows about it; benevolence and righteousness are that person’s nature.

Jade

Jade is lustrous and radiant, and when struck it gives out a mellow, resonant sound.

A Plain Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

“Yang” has the sense of unfolding or rising and falling in a measured way. “Huanhuan” seems to resemble something: like a noble person, dispersed yet still retaining the form of a distinct character. (Note: One explanation reads “huan” as “ren,” referring to a prominent household using the “waist pivot” as its central point.)

The “waist pivot” makes no distinction between inside and outside; it is the same within and without, concealing neither flaw nor impurity. (Having no inside or outside means being transparent through and through; “conceal” means to hide.) Seen up close, it is moist; from afar, it seems like a deep, shadowy passage. A mirror can reflect the pupils and discern the finest details; its brightness can illuminate even the darkest depths.

Thus the He Shi jade and the Sui Marquis’s pearl come from the essence of mountains and abysses. A noble person wears them to embody auspicious harmony and find security in life. (“Wear” means to use as an ornament. The noble person wears them and follows the qualities they represent, seeking ability not through desire but through harmony and goodness, and so rests securely.) Lords and kings treasure them as standards for all under Heaven. (“Treasure” means to value highly. What lords and kings prize is innate nature, just as ordinary people prize pearls and jade; thus they can serve as impartial standards for all under Heaven.)

Chen Chengzi and Tian Chang coerced Ziyuan Jie: Chen Chengzi intended to kill Duke Jian of Qi, and sent sixteen brave men to threaten his minister, Ziyuan Jie, hoping to divide the state with him. Jie refused, hence the description “coerced him.” Zihan declined what he did not wish to acquire—the king’s precious jade—and gained what he did desire: not coveting wealth. Confucius observed a man catching cicadas with great concentration. Bai Gong Sheng turned his staff upside down and struck his forehead; blood ran down to his shoes, yet he did not notice. (This describes the spirit focused on a single thing.) Lady Wei (a woman from Wei and wife of Duke Huan of Qi) asked Duke Huan to punish her. Duke Huan intended to attack Wei, and Lady Wei saw it in his expression; she therefore asked him to kill her in atonement for Wei’s offense. Disciples saw Zixia and asked, “Why have you grown so stout?” (When the Dao prevails, desire falls away, and so one can grow stout.) Marquis Wen of Wei saw him and turned his fur coat inside out, carrying fodder on his back. (He understood that when the hide wears away, the fur has nothing to hold it.) Er Yue explained to the King of Song how to undo a tangled knot—one that seemed impossible to untie—by undoing it through not forcing it. These are all principles that can be observed and discussed through subtle details. (“Subtle and minute” means beginning with what one sees and knowing what will follow.)

A person marrying off a child said to them, “Go on your way, and be careful not to do good.” The child replied, “If I do no good, then I will do wrong.”

Huainan Honglie interprets this passage as follows.

One should not respond in a crooked or improper way, yet merely claim to be good and refuse to act. What kind of goodness would that be? This refers to preserving one’s original nature: “vessel” means nature, and since Mencius held that human nature is good, the phrase means to preserve one’s inborn nature. A person locked in prison feels that the days drag on unbearably; a condemned prisoner awaiting execution in the marketplace feels that a single day is too short. Days may seem long or short, but each has its allotted measure and its particular circumstances. If the mind cannot remain even, then forcibly treating what is uneven as even still leaves it uneven.

If a daughter is married to a man suffering from consumption, and her husband dies, she will find it difficult to marry again. People may think she brings misfortune on her husbands and dare not marry her; or they may think that every man in the world who marries her will die, so she herself refuses to marry again. In either case, she will “find it difficult to settle again.” For the same reason, one should not sit beneath a collapsing, dilapidated house or lean against a slanted wall, for fear of being crushed or falling. Those who oversee prisons, by contrast, are said to fall ill less often. One explanation is that the authority of their office frightens even malevolent spirits; another is that the saying refers to prison officials generally. Those whose sentence of death has been decided sometimes appear unusually well nourished: perhaps their resolve is settled and no other concerns weigh on them, or perhaps they have nothing to worry about once their sentence has been fixed. Those who have been castrated often live long, since they are free of the burdens of desire and do not exhaust their spirit. A good physician often treats “illness” before it has become a real illness, by nurturing one’s proper nature and keeping the spirit within; thus the body remains free of disease. A sage often addresses “trouble” before it has become a calamity, preventing it in advance; thus the world is spared great calamities.

A person of supreme skill need not rely on a sword. One who knows how to close something well need not depend on a bolt: if the mind is well closed, it closes of itself, and no latch is needed. Chunyu Kun, a man of Qi in the Warring States period, urged a neighbor to guard against fire and advised him to bend the chimney and move the firewood. The neighbor ignored him, and later a fire broke out. Those who put it out, their hair scorched and faces blackened, were welcomed as honored guests. This illustrates the same point: people fail to close off desire in advance, then count on others to rescue them from disaster.

When the pure enters the polluted, it is bound to suffer hardship and humiliation; when the polluted enters the pure, it is bound to bring about ruin. A gentleman’s practice of goodness is like a woodcutter’s work: when he sees a good piece of wood, he picks it up; when he sees a lush, green patch, he knows what to gather. The text may have lost a line here, perhaps continuing with the image of “seeing lush greenery.” The sense is that choosing goodness is like choosing firewood: what matters is recognizing what is worth taking and not overlooking even a small good.

A Brief Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

“Pulling something out” means having no fixed foothold to cling to or lean on. A noble person should act virtuously in the same way: without attachment to one side or confinement to one corner.

When two kinds of Qi mix in the sky, a rainbow forms. When two kinds of Qi mix on earth, things may either seep out or remain hidden. This describes Yin and Yang Qi interfering and contending with each other. When the Yin and Yang Qi in the human body mix, illness arises: harmful Qi invades healthy Qi, causing disease. Yin and Yang cannot make it winter and summer at the same time. Yin cannot take the place of Yang, nor Yang the place of Yin; winter remains winter, and summer remains summer.

The moon governs only its own waxing and waning, not the daylight; the sun governs only its own rising and setting, not the night. This means that each keeps to its own place and cannot take the other’s place.

A skilled archer can hit the target, but may not understand what he is shooting at. The target is lifeless, so this does not count as fully virtuous in a higher sense. A skilled angler may make no mistakes in technique, but may not understand what he is catching. What he catches is a fish, and from the fish’s perspective this is not “good.” Thus, being “good” in one respect may mean being bad in another.

As for bells and stone chimes: heard nearby, the bell’s sound is full and resonant; heard from afar, the stone chime’s clear tone carries farther. The chime is made of stone, and its sound is clearer and more noticeable at a distance. Things naturally differ: one may be less suited to what is near than to what is far, while another may be less suited to what is far than to what is near.

Rice grows in water, but cannot grow on a shallow bank where the current runs swift. Purple lingzhi grows in the mountains, but cannot grow on bare rock, where its roots have nothing to cling to. Magnetite attracts iron, but has no effect on copper; it cannot make copper follow it.

Where waters spread wide, fish grow large; where mountains rise high, trees grow tall. Expanding one’s territory while neglecting one’s De is like a potter making a vessel: if the clay is kneaded but not made thicker, the vessel becomes more likely to break. Here, “more” means increasingly, and “quickly” means fast; the character “die” is read as in the term for taking the pulse.

A sage does not rush to harness the wind to build momentum, nor rush to use thunder to frighten others. He acts only when compelled, and so is not dragged along by external things.

The moon waxes and wanes above, and creatures such as snails and clams respond below. Things with the same Qi resonate with one another; this is resonance. One cannot say that resonance follows a fixed distinction between what is near and what is far. When the moon is full, snails and clams become full inside, which is why this is called “fullness”; they respond below. The moon is Yin essence, and snails and clams also belong to Yin, so they share the same Qi. Though they resonate with one another, distance cannot be treated as a fixed rule.

If you hold a pellet hoping to attract birds, or wave a short stick hoping to call a dog, the creatures you mean to summon will instead flee. So fishing requires both bait and a hook.

Note: Readings and pronunciations included in the original annotations, such as “die” and “magnetite,” have been incorporated into the parentheses where appropriate.

Plain-Language Commentary on the Huainan Honglie Jie

Wild animals are not drawn in by empty vessels. (“To summon” means to attract or bring something in.) Skinning an ox and making its hide into a drum lets someone command three armies. But for the ox, being properly yoked is far more to its liking. An emperor wearing a white fox-fur robe and seated in the ancestral hall may look imposing; but for the fox, running freely through the marsh is much more comfortable. (The point is that all things value living in a way suited to them more than being turned into tools for others.)

Losing a sheep but gaining an ox is the best bargain there is. Cutting off a finger to save one’s head is also the right thing to do. So, when people face a benefit, they compete for the greater one; when they face harm, they compete to take the lesser one.

A general dares not ride a white horse. (One explanation is that white resembles mourning dress, so he avoids it. In the “Tradition,” Duke Xiang of Jin wore black mourning clothes, called “ink-colored mourning dress,” when he defeated Qin’s army at Xiao. This was a change into mourning attire, which explains why a general would avoid riding a white horse.) A fugitive dares not carry a torch at night, for fear of being seen. A defender of a city dares not keep a dog that bites, for fear it might injure people. (The term “defender” means someone guarding a city or its walls.) A rooster crows as dawn approaches, and a crane cries in the middle of the night, yet both may still end up boiled in a cauldron. (Though the crane calls out at midnight, it cannot avoid being cooked because it cannot calculate or scheme. This serves as a warning that a general must be capable in several ways and cannot lack strategy or adaptability.)

Where there are fierce beasts in the mountains, people dare not cut down trees recklessly; where there are stinging insects in a garden, they dare not gather plants like mugwort and goosefoot at will. (The point is that people restrain themselves when they have reason to fear.) Someone who claims to be a Confucian but squats in a back alley acts against the propriety Confucians uphold. Someone who claims to be a Mohist but plays the reed pipe in Chaoge acts against the Mohist preference for frugality and dislike of music. (Chaoge is a place name; Mozi did not enter Chaoge.) Wanting to walk on snow without leaving footprints, while also wanting to rescue someone from drowning without getting wet, means taking the wrong path and turning the right one upside down.

Someone drinking in the dark can still taste the wine he has spilled. If he were to steady the cup himself, even the most foolish person would not spill it. So there is no one in the world who can succeed while acting against what is fitting and harmonious. Those who pursue a “good reputation” relentlessly fail to gain one; only by accepting losses and holding themselves back can they earn a good name. (Thus Laozi says that carrying the pursuit of ornate carriage decorations to excess leaves you with no carriage decorations at all: “pursuing many carriage ornaments, you end up with no carriage.”) The same applies to pursuing an “ugly reputation” … (This passage contrasts with the preceding statement. Its general meaning is that names and realities can reverse when pursued too intensely; one should keep to the middle and avoid becoming fixated.)

Classic: Explanation and Commentary on the Honglie of Huainan (an explanatory commentary on the Huainanzi)

If you devote yourself to pursuing what is “not ugly,” you are still being led by ugliness. If you neither deliberately seek beauty nor deliberately avoid ugliness, then beauty and ugliness no longer stand opposed in your mind. This is called Mystic Unity (Xuántóng). “Mystic” refers to Heaven, which seeks nothing. If people can seek nothing, they can accord with the Way of Heaven.

Shentu Di, a worthy man of the late Shang who could not bear to witness the disorder under King Zhou, tied a stone to himself and drowned in a deep abyss. This does not mean he should be called “lofty and defiant of the age” (defiant here means standing apart and looking down on the world). Xian Gao falsely claimed to carry an order from the ruler of Zheng, then used twelve oxen to reward the Qin army and drive it off, thereby saving Zheng. But such “deceptive expediency” (improvising through false pretenses) is not a method to imitate as a matter of course. Some people talk a great deal, like the hundred-tongued bird, which can imitate the calls of many birds; the comparison suggests that much talk often accomplishes little. Others say little, like a door pivot that has not been greased. One explanation is that an ungreased door is hard to open and close, a metaphor for speaking little; another is that it evokes quiet and stillness.

Among the six domestic animals, those with extra ears or eyes are often regarded as ill omens, as omen texts also record. Here, “extra” means “auspicious”: an animal with many ears and eyes may invite talk of demons and calamity, just as a person who talks much but is not sincere is regarded as inauspicious. A hundred people carrying a boat together are less effective than one person towing it along. In some cases, less is indeed better than more: drawing a cart requires two people to steady the shafts and six to pull the harness. One account places three people on each side of the shafts, making six in all; another says there are twelve altogether. Other tasks require people to work together. If two people are drowning, neither can rescue the other; if one is on shore, that person can save them. Thus, those who are the same cannot govern one another; things can be accomplished only when there is difference. “The same” means that both ruler and minister agree—when the ruler says yes, the minister says yes, and when the ruler says no, the minister says no. This is like trying to make water palatable by adding more water: who could swallow it? Such sameness cannot bring about good government. “Difference” means that the minister can correct the ruler’s approval or speak against the ruler’s disapproval, guiding the ruler toward the proper course. This is difference, and so things can be accomplished only through difference.

(One who can accomplish things can also recognize this.) Beneath a thousand-year-old pine, poria grows; on its branches, dodder clings as a parasite. (Poria is formed from the resin of a thousand-year-old pine. Dodder, also called nǚluó, has no roots of its own and lives as a parasite on the tree.) Clusters of divination yarrow grow on the pine, and a tortoise lies beneath it. A sage can know what is within from what is without, discerning the hidden and subtle through what is plain to see.

A fondness for martial arts does not necessarily make one a hero (a hero here means someone who risks life heedlessly and acts on impulse); a love of fine writing does not necessarily make one a Confucian; a love of spells and techniques does not necessarily make one a physician; a love of horses does not necessarily make one a horse handler (a groom is someone who tends horses and drives chariots); an understanding of music does not necessarily make one a blind musician; and a refined palate does not necessarily make one a cook. These are merely broad interests, without mastery of a particular craft or its true tradition.

People put on armor and go to battle, but the contest is not confined to a range of ten paces. At a hundred paces, they compete over how deeply a weapon pierces: a deep wound reaches the five organs; a shallow one stops at the skin. The difference between life and death cannot be measured in paces. (This is a metaphor for the vast difference between benefit and harm.) When the king of Chu lost his monkey, he destroyed the trees of the forest in search of it. (The king was King Zhuang of Chu, who went hunting; monkeys are agile climbers, so he had the forest cut down to find one.) When the lord of Song lost a pearl, the fish in the pond were caught until none remained. (The word means “to exhaust.”) Hence the saying that when fire breaks out in a marsh, the trees in the forest grow anxious, fearing it will spread to them. When those above seek fine timber, they ruin the forests; when they seek fish, they drain the marshes; when they seek boats and oars, they build boats on dry land. A word from above may be as fine as silk thread, while a word from below is as thick as a hawser. When those above show one good quality, those below praise them twice over; when those above display three failings, those below suffer ninefold harm. (Both “failings” and “harm” here mean going beyond one’s proper bounds. As the saying goes, “What those above delight in, those below will pursue even more intensely”; hence the ninefold harm.) Wen Zhong, a great minister of Yue, knew how to make the state powerful, but not how to save himself; in the end, the people of Yue killed him. Chang Hong knew how to sustain the Zhou court, but not how he himself would perish; he was killed by the people of Zhou. He knew what was far away, but not what was near: “far” means strengthening Yue and preserving Zhou, while “near” means his own person. If you fear being kicked by a horse, you will not dare ride; if you fear a carriage overturning, you will not dare travel in one. This is rejecting a public benefit because of an unreal danger. (“Unreal” means empty and without substance.)

Some people who are unfilial and disrespectful will even curse their parents. Those who give birth to a child cannot guarantee that the child will be filial, yet they still raise the child to adulthood. (The word means “to guarantee” or “to vouch for.”) In the downfall of the Fan clan, there was blame to be found within…

A thief who was carrying off a great bell ran away with it, and the bell rang out with a clear, resonant sound. Afraid that others would hear, he hurried to cover his own ears. To fear that others might hear is understandable, but to cover one's own ears is absurd. (The annotation says that this thief was a descendant of the Fan family of the state of Jin, and that he entered the house to steal the bell only after Zhao Jianzi attacked the Fan family and chaos ensued.)

A small "sheng" measure contained within a large "dan" measure cannot make the "dan" larger, and the unit of "ye," a night, contained within a "sui," a year, cannot change the length of the year. By the same principle, benevolence and righteousness are the lesser Dao, while Dao and De are the greater, and benevolence and righteousness are contained within Dao and De and cannot exceed their bounds.

If one threads the needle before drawing the thread through, one can sew a curtain; if one draws the thread through before threading the needle, one cannot sew a garment. Stitching one stitch at a time can produce a curtain, and carrying earth one basket at a time can build a city wall. The success or failure of any undertaking must always accumulate from small beginnings.

A dyer who dyes cloth blue first and then black will succeed, but one who dyes it black first and then blue will not. A craftsman who applies lacquer first and then red pigment will succeed, but one who applies red first and then lacquer will not. All affairs in the world are like this: the order of precedence and the sequence of levels must be carefully examined.

When water becomes muddy, fish rise to the surface and gasp for air, because they feel short of breath. When the body is wearied, the spirit becomes disordered, because the body cannot rest and the mind therefore cannot be settled.

Thus, when a state has a wise ruler, he can defeat the enemy's chariots a thousand li away. This is because the ruler's virtue is sufficient to make the enemy dare not attack. When Marquis Wen of Wei treated the worthy Duan Ganmu with courtesy, the armies of Qin did not dare to invade Wei; this is what the principle means.

A marriage is accomplished only when a match is arranged through a go-between; without a go-between arranging it according to ritual, the union is hard to establish. In associating with others, one must look at their virtue, for only through virtue can one truly draw close to them. People who share the same aspirations and act alike will draw near one another even at a distance of a thousand li; people whose aspirations differ and whose conduct is opposed will find it hard to come together even when they are right before each other.

A Plain-Language Reading of Huainan Honglie Jie

Unable to reach one another across the doorway (The Book of Songs says, “The house is near, but the person is far away,” hence the phrase “unable to reach one another across the doorway”): However vast the sea, it cannot contain a rotting corpse; though a mustard seed is tiny, it can float on water. The sun and moon do not respond to Qi (vital energy) that is not their own. (The fire mirror draws fire and the moon mirror draws water because their Qi responds in kind; they do not respond to other kinds of Qi. Hence the saying, “They do not respond to Qi that is not their own.”) A noble person does not accept those who are not of the same kind.

People do not prize the hands of Chui, but they prize their own fingers. (Chui, pronounced like the “zhui” in the Book of Songs phrase “trembling with fear,” was a master craftsman in the time of Yao. However skillful Chui’s hands might be, no one else could use them as their own; they were of no use to another person, who therefore prized their own fingers instead.) People do not prize the fine pearls of the Yangtze and Han rivers, but they prize their own fishhooks. (Although those rivers have beautiful pearls, they cannot put them to personal use, so they do not prize them; a hook can catch fish, so they do.)

Mistaking a bundle of firewood for a ghost, or cooking smoke for an omen of good or ill fortune: someone who sees a bundle of firewood at night and thinks it is a ghost runs away in terror; someone who takes cooking smoke for an omen kills a pig and cooks a dog to ward it off. Both are cases of being deceived. Acting this way at the outset is worse than coming afterward (This describes people who act too hastily. It is better to follow along gradually and respond at ease).

The skillful are good at measuring; the wise are good at preparing in advance (“preparing” means making ready). Yi died at Taobu before he had time to draw his bow and shoot; Qingji died before his sword could be put to use in combat. (Taobu is a place name. Yi was the lord of the state of Qiong, a vassal of the Xia, and was killed by his disciple Feng Meng before he could take up his bow. “Combat” here means swift action and agility. Qingji was the son of King Liao of Wu; he was assassinated by Yao Li before his sword could show its speed and force.)

A person who has been wronged goes from door to door declaring, “I truly had no part in it; I was wrongly accused”—but the slander only grows worse. Trying to stop words with words and actions with actions is like scattering dirt to settle dust or carrying firewood to put out a fire. (Silence should be used to stop words, and divination to settle matters. Using words to stop words and actions to stop actions is like scattering dirt so the dust rises even more, or carrying firewood to a fire so that it burns more fiercely.) Rumors are like snow and sweat: trying to wipe them away is like using black dye to clean white cloth. (“Snow” means to banish or clear away; “dye” here means black, and “plain cloth” means white.)

Main idea: However vast the sea, it does not take in a rotting corpse; the sun and moon do not respond to Qi that is not their own—each keeps to its proper sphere. People prize their own fingers over Chui’s hands, and their own hooks over the pearls of the Yangtze and Han—what matters is practical use to oneself. Mistaking bundled firewood for a ghost or smoke for an omen, then killing pigs and cooking dogs to ward it off, is delusion. The skillful measure well, and the wise prepare in advance; Yi died at Taobu, and Qingji died before his sword could be used—even heroes have their moment of vulnerability. A person who goes from door to door denying accusations only invites more slander. Trying to stop words with words and actions with actions is like scattering dirt to settle dust or carrying firewood to put out a fire; rumors are like snow and sweat, and trying to wipe them away with black dye only makes things worse. When the method is wrong, the more one tries, the worse things become.

Interpretive Reading of the Huainan Honglie

The Arrow and the Horse

Within ten paces, an arrow can pierce armor. At three hundred paces, it cannot even pierce fine Lu silk. A fine steed can travel a thousand li in a day, but if it is let loose to run at full speed, it will eventually exhaust itself and collapse, stiff and still—just as the arrow cannot pierce Lu silk from three hundred paces away. This is what it means for strength to be spent and momentum to run out.

Great and Small, Worthy and Violent

When a great state attacks a small one, people call it violent. When a great state swallows up a small one, however, people call it worthy. In the Xia dynasty, people could not honor virtue; they would only put others to work, expand their territory, and annex other states, yet they still regarded such deeds as worthy.

A small horse and a large horse are not of the same kind: a small horse cannot travel far or run a thousand li, so it cannot be classed with a large horse. Small wisdom and great wisdom are likewise not of the same kind: small wisdom cannot govern the world and nurture the people, so it cannot be classed with great wisdom.

The Strange Reversal of Means and Ends

It makes sense to wear a sheepskin coat while working as a hired laborer. But wearing sable fur while carrying a basket of earth is very strange. (A “basket” here means a container for carrying earth.)

Treating cleanliness as a disgrace is like emptying a dung bucket right after bathing. Using incense wood—which the people of Chu called xun-sui and which gives off a fragrant scent when burned—while carrying a pig is just as strange. When treating an abscess, cutting away the healthy flesh along with the rotten is failing to tell good from bad. When a farmer hoes up both seedlings and weeds, unable to distinguish them, is that not a waste of effort?

Destroy a pond to catch a turtle, tear down a house to catch a wildcat, dig up a room to catch a rat, or cut off the lips to treat a tooth cavity: acting this way is much like Jie or Zhi, and a gentleman would have no dealings with such people.

Kill a warhorse to catch a fox; carry off two softshell turtles but lose a sacred turtle; sever your right arm to fight over a single hair; break a Moye sword to contend for an awl—does wisdom put to such use deserve praise? (Here, “high” means worthy of esteem.)

Better to prick a hundred times with a needle than to prick once with a knife; better to carry a heavy load once than to keep carrying a light one; better to go hungry for a month than to suffer hunger for ten days. (Here, “hungry” means not having enough to eat, while “starving” means being so deprived that one can no longer endure it.)

The footprints of ten thousand people are better than one person falling into a pit. (In Chu, the word “fall” was called “footprint”; “better” means surpassing, and “pit” refers to sinking down.)

Someone praised a man named Lijian for pounding rice evenly. When he pounded until dawn without making it even, they scolded him. Upon looking into it, they discovered that he had been pounding his own mother. (To “rebuke” means to blame or become angry. They praised the man Lijian, then rebuked him when he failed to pound evenly; upon investigation, they found it was his mother.)

A Plain-Language Reading of Huainan Honglie Jie (Excerpt)

When one’s status changes, the rites need not be altered in confusion; the Great Dao remains constant from beginning to end. When a woman marries, she should understand that she has a mother-in-law to honor, as everyone has elders deserving of respect. After prolonged exposure to the sun, the skin becomes damp, sticky, and greasy—as it naturally tends to do—and the longer the exposure, the worse it gets; nothing is worse than this. “Shan yi kou” means feeling ashamed or embarrassed. The Yellow Emperor said, “My words are not yet fully matured, like wine that has not fermented enough to bear its own weight.” When a hundred kinds of medicinal ingredients are stirred together, even the strings on a zither’s bridge will snap. This is a metaphor: words that have not matured are not worth listening to. “Not matured” may also mean “mixed”: when a disinfectant is mixed with other things, the music ends and the strings break. Thus, a settled conclusion reached through long discussion is always fully matured. This refers to the point above: words settled upon after years of discussion are invariably well considered.

…There is no delicacy called “Yili” in these words. The missing character was a country name; “Yili” refers to the allure of licentious beauty, and serves as a metaphor for words that are not pleasing to the ear. Forcibly bringing together things that a gentleman does not consider compatible is like mixing glue and lacquer. The phrase means that things of different weights should not be treated as though they were the same; using cunning to satisfy desire and blur distinctions is no different from mixing glue and lacquer.

…Mencius said—the following are his words when he met King Hui of Liang: A compass and a square have no fixed circle or square of their own; measure things with them, and nothing in the world will be out of place. To make things round with the compass and square with the carpenter’s square, so that nothing is misplaced, is what a sage does. Thus, the Analects says that the sage models himself on the Dao of Heaven. “Clumsy fire” has no fixed way of taking or giving. Use clumsy fire to take and give, and nothing in the world will be out of place. This means that, having listened carefully to Mencius, one hears an argument like “the compass and square have no circle or square of their own”: the compass and square determine the roundness and squareness of all things, while clumsy fire replenishes and draws from them. This reading follows the Shu edition. Thus, bending oneself and twisting one’s purpose to please the people is something a gentleman does not do; a gentleman does not win the people over with clever words. The aim is to keep the people from being charmed by words that encourage them to yield and comply. Thus, names are set straight and things named; explanations are given in words, then verified by facts. This is like the example of Geng shooting at a target. The ruler and father hold authority, while the officials each have their duties. This is like Yi’s arrow reaching a thousand li. Words that strike the meaning precisely, and spiritual transformation: such is their power. A father who cannot teach his son, and a wooden puppet that cannot explain the turbid, are both incapable of instruction. “Turbid” here means clear and still in appearance. Before one becomes a sage, things must be explained by examples; this is not yet instruction through words alone. Many speak, few listen, and so things are brought to completion; once a rule is established, it can be put into practice. Many speak and few listen before matters are settled; each must have its fixed rule, which can then be applied. This refers to the regulations on punishment and the established laws that follow. Thus, when punishments are properly ordered, rewards follow; when statutes are established, the law is applied appropriately and judgments are heard. The wording “yi” and “zhe” is probably redundant. This is the law of the sage. Here, “statutes” means the established ordinances.

Duke Jing proclaimed rain; worthy men discussed the proper laws of the state with him. Bai Gong rebelled: this concerns repaying private wrongs and serving the public good. The following passage begins with Zhuang Ju. One who gains something after being struck in the back calls the back a dragon—or, as another reading has it, calls the dragon a back. “Punish the guilty and reject the crooked; strike those who do wrong with beasts.” This is connected with the ritual treatment of Jiangnan’s “eyes.” Jiangnan shamans used to chant, “Strike wrongdoers with beasts”; the phrase was jokingly called a talisman. Those who administer affairs do not pardon; words must not be spoken carelessly. Too much pardon leads to careless speech. The Analects says, “Words must not be spoken carelessly,” a phrase recorded from Confucius’ words.

Note: The source text is incomplete in places (marked □), contains variant characters, and has commentaries inserted within it. This plain-language reading follows the most common interpretations as far as possible. For comparison with a particular edition or a more detailed explanation of a specific passage, the relevant section can be identified for further translation.

A Plain-Language Reading of The Huainan Honglie

(Within the limits of the cosmos, between Heaven and Earth, all under Heaven draws on the light of the sun and moon. This is the commentator’s explanation; the main text begins by describing the rivers and their sources.)

The Yangtze River rises in Mount Min; the Yellow River rises in the Kunlun Mountains; the Ji River rises at Mount Wangwu; the Ying River rises at Mount Shaoshi; and the Han River rises at Mount Bozhong. These have already been discussed in the “Terrain” chapter.

The rivers’ tributaries branch off and flow in different directions, but in the end they all empty into the Eastern Sea: they take different paths, yet have only one destination.

A person well versed in learning is like someone at the turning hub of a wheel. The axle’s center does not move along with the wheel, yet through its rotation the cart can travel a thousand miles. The cycle repeats, turning without end.

A person who does not understand learning is like someone who has lost the way. Tell them east, west, north, south, and where they should go to find a place to stay, and they hear it perfectly clearly (“lingling” means hearing and understanding). But as soon as they turn around, they cannot find the way and still do not arrive. They cannot grasp what matters.

Cold cannot produce more cold, and heat cannot produce more heat. From what is neither cold nor hot, cold and heat can arise. Thus the formed comes from the formless. Before Heaven and Earth existed, that which could bring them forth had no form like theirs. This principle is profound and subtle, and immensely vast. (Note: The state in which Heaven and Earth did not yet exist came first; Heaven and Earth then emerged from it. The formless gives rise to the formed.)

When rain first begins to fall, it cannot yet soak the ground. Only after the rain has stopped and enough has accumulated can it truly moisten the earth. When an arrow has just been shot, it cannot yet pierce through. Only when its force has come to rest—or when it has reached its mark—can it penetrate.

Only “rest” can bring all kinds of movement to rest. (One interpretation: as an arrow must come to rest before it pierces something. Another: by restraining one’s desires, one allows all things to return to their proper places and prevents disorder.)

Build a terrace on high ground and dig a pool in low ground: follow the lay of the land instead of forcing it against its shape.

The sage makes use of things as one might tie a straw dog with red silk, or fashion an earthen dragon to pray for rain: in each case, use it for the purpose at hand, then set it aside. Do not take it as something real in itself.

Some people hold on to a straw dog and wait for good fortune. (Note: They take “seeking” to mean “obtaining,” and suppose that they will gain good fortune by waiting for the straw dog to prove effective. That is a misunderstanding.) Others make an earthen dragon and then wait for food. (Note: An earthen dragon is used to pray for rain, and the rain produces the grain; so people may imagine they get food because they have acquired the dragon’s spiritual power. Another interpretation: At a rainmaking sacrifice, an earthen dragon is set out, and after the rite the participants receive wine, meat, and food.)

A man from Lu was skilled at making hats, and his wife was skilled at weaving shoes. They moved to Yue, but fell into dire poverty, because no one there had any use for the skills they had cultivated.

Note: “Straw dogs” and “earthen dragons” are common Daoist metaphors (as in the Zhuangzi, “the straw dogs have been discarded” and “the earthen dragon brings rain”). They suggest that ritual forms and names may be put to use, but should not be clung to as real things. The final line about “the people of Lu moving to Yue” is found in works such as the Huainanzi and teaches adapting to local conditions and applying what one has learned. It follows the same thread as “different streams, one destination” and “only rest can bring rest”: learning should reach back to its source, and practice should suit its setting. Do not cling to one part and turn away from the Dao.

It is like planting a lotus on a mountain. The lotus is an aquatic plant: its stem is called qie, its root ou, its flower furong, its bud handan, its fruit lian, and the center of the lotus pod yi. In the Youzhou region, all of these are called “guanghe”—pronounced roughly like the way people in the Yan region say “hu” for “qiang.” The setting is wrong, so the task is hard to accomplish. It is like trying to keep a fire burning in a well, carrying a fishing rod up a mountain, or taking an axe down into a deep pool: obtaining what one seeks is naturally very difficult.

Taking a cart with square wheels through Yue, or entering Hu territory on a wooden raft—neither is the right means—will not get one to what is “endless and inexhaustible.” There is nowhere to seek it in the first place.

The King of Chu had a white ape. When the king himself shot at it, the ape played with the arrows. But when he sent the master archer Yang Youji—one of the king’s subjects, whose surname was Yang—to shoot, the moment Yang raised his bow and straightened the arrow, before he had even released it, the ape clung to a pillar and cried out in anguish. The You Tong Fu says, “Yang Youji gazed, and the ape cried.” This is “hitting the mark before the shot”: the mind and its target had already resonated, and the subtle power of a true hit was present.

The He family’s jade disc and the jade tablet of the Xiahou clan could be presented with a bow by day, bringing joy to both sides. Toss them to someone at night, however, and they would become a cause of resentment. This is the difference between the right time and the wrong time. Here, “wrong time” means night; gua is an old form of the character he, “harmony.”

Though a portrait of Xi Shi may be beautiful, it cannot make people wholeheartedly admire and submit to her. Though a portrait of the strongman Meng Ben may show enormous eyes, it cannot make people fear him. This is because the “ruler” of human form is its vital energy. A painting copies the form but lacks that energy; hence, its “ruler of form” is gone.

When brothers divided their household, the property was beyond counting, yet everyone called the division “just.” It was precisely because there was so much that it could not be measured by number.

Climbing to a height makes people want to look far into the distance; standing beside a deep pool makes them want to peer down. This is due to where they are. Archery calls for a steady posture, and fishing calls for reverence. This is due to what they are doing.

Someone said that killing an exhausted ox could compensate for the death of a fine horse, but no one was willing to do it. Killing an ox is bound to bring ruin: oxen are used for farming and people’s livelihoods depend on them, so the king’s law forbids their slaughter and condemns offenders to death.

The examples above show that an action must accord with its proper time, place, and the nature of the things involved. Otherwise, even if it seems reasonable, it will be hard to achieve the desired result.

A Plain Language Interpretation of The Honglie Explanations of the Huainanzi

Thus, no one has ever truly managed to use a number of people “destined to perish” to compensate for people who “may not deserve to die.”

Ji Huanzi, also known as Ji Kangzi, a high official of Lu, was corpulent, held Duke Ding under his control, and monopolized state affairs. The old books speak of “rank and office departing from the ducal house”; this is the sort of situation they mean. Confucius once advised him to begin by going along with his approach, then to take part in government alongside him. After entering government, Confucius said: If you mix what is crooked with what is straight, how can you avoid ending up with something crooked? Put what is straight together with what is crooked, but do not simply follow along; only then can you act. “Straight” means going along with his plans and cooperating. “Do not follow through” means agreeing on major matters while differing on minor ones. This is what is meant by “sharing a current without following the same way.”

When crooked people are numerous, they leave no room for the straight. When the corrupt are numerous, they leave no room for the upright. So when there are many people, wolves eat people; when there are many wolves, they too eat people. Those who want to do wrong must make themselves appear upright and honorable; those who want to take a crooked path must appear honest and forthright. From ancient times to the present, there has been no case in which public justice could not be established but private desires were allowed to flourish.

This is using “goodness” to prop up and conceal what is “ugly.” It is like when Li Ji wanted to kill Crown Prince Shensheng: she first praised him before Duke Xian, then moved against him. That is the same kind of thing.

People’s talk can “grow into a forest,” and things without wings can “take flight.” When everyone says it, it seems as if a forest has sprung up on level ground; even wingless birds seem able to fly, and ordinary people believe it. If three people all say there is a tiger in the marketplace, though there is no tiger there, people come to believe that one is there. That is why the saying “three people make a tiger in the marketplace” came about. If everyone within a mile says there is someone who can bend a vertebra, and each person claims they can do it, people will believe that too.

Those who can swim and dive need no separate place to bathe; the water itself is enough. Grazing animals do not object to moving to another patch of grass, and creatures that live in water do not mind moving to another stretch of it. A small change of course while traveling does not mean losing the proper way.

“Faithfulness” can also violate ritual propriety and become improper. Weisheng, a man of Lu, had arranged to meet a woman beneath a bridge and kept his promise rather than leave; when the water rose, he drowned. This is misplaced “faithfulness.” The Kong family did not hold a funeral for a mother who had been divorced. This was a failure of “ritual propriety.”

A Plain-Language Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

The material in parentheses below consists of notes added by ancient commentators alongside the text. It has been incorporated into the translation to make the original meaning easier to follow.

1. Did Confucius’s School Hold a Funeral for a Divorced Mother?

Someone said: “According to ritual rules, a son of a secondary wife should observe the full mourning period for his mother if she has been divorced and sent away. This matter is recorded in the Book of Rites.”

Confucius’s grandson, named Bai, was the son of Kong Ji, known as Zisi. Bai’s mother died in another region, and records say that Bai did not hold a funeral for her. Someone came to ask about this. Zisi said, “Did your late lord”—meaning Confucius—“hold a funeral for a divorced mother?” The visitor replied, “Why, then, did you not let Bai hold one?” Zisi answered, “In the past, our late lord did not stray from the Way. When the Way was flourishing, he followed its flourishing; when it was in decline, he followed its decline. How could I go against him? If I held the funeral, I would no longer be recognized as your father’s wife, nor would Bai be recognized as your son.”

The Kong family’s refusal to hold funerals for divorced mothers began with Zisi. This, then, was a failing of the Kong family.

2. Zengzi, Mozi, and “Nurturing One’s Aspiration”

Zengzi upheld filial conduct and would not enter the lane called “Defeating One’s Mother” (according to legend, a woman of poor virtue lived there). Mozi opposed music and would not enter the town of Chaoge, the former capital of the Yin under King Zhou, which Mozi considered a place of decadent music. Zengzi upheld integrity and would not drink from the Spring of the Thief, a spring said to have that name.

This is what is called nurturing one’s aspiration: fulfilling one’s purpose through small acts of self-discipline, without compromising one’s principles over minor matters.

3. Jizi’s Sigh at the Ivory Chopsticks

When King Zhou made chopsticks of ivory, Jizi grieved. Seeing the ivory chopsticks, he knew that before long the king would want jade cups as well; and with jade cups would come a desire for extravagant foods such as bear paws and leopard fetuses. So Jizi cried out and sighed in alarm.

When people in the state of Lu buried wooden figures with the dead, Confucius sighed. He abhorred using figures made in human likeness, knowing that later generations would come to bury living people as attendants. So Confucius let out a long sigh.

4. Seeing the Small to Understand What Is Coming

Thus, a sage sees frost and knows that ice will form: seeing a light frost, he knows that severe cold is coming and the ice will soon grow firm. When a bird is about to arrive, a net is spread to catch it; a bird can be caught so long as the net has even one mesh. But if the entire net had only one mesh, it would never catch a bird. People wear armor to guard against unexpected arrows. If they had to know exactly where each arrow would land, a small target hung up in its place would be enough.

Some things cannot be fully calculated in advance, and some changes cannot be entirely anticipated. They arrive suddenly, when one is unprepared. Therefore, the sage nurtures the Way and waits for the right time: the Way can bring all things into balance, and the sage cultivates it, ready to respond when the moment comes, as King Wu did when he attacked King Zhou.

5. The Ugly Ox and the River Offering

A cow with tangled hair, mottled coloring, no horns, no tail, and a pierced nose held by a halter—these are descriptions of an extremely ugly animal. It gives birth to a calf, yet the calf is killed first as an offering to the gods. After purification rites, it is sunk into the river, as offerings to the River God were made by drowning them. Would the River God find such an offering acceptable? The point is that this mocks the gods: the ritual is only an empty show.

Note: The first part of this section uses the Kong family’s refusal to mourn a divorced mother to discuss ritual and the flourishing or decline of the Way. The middle part cites Zengzi, Mozi, Jizi, and Confucius as examples of seeing subtle signs and taking precautions early. The final part uses “a net with one mesh” and “a single target hung up” to illustrate the folly of fixating on one narrow point; the ugly ox sunk into the river ridicules sacrifices that have ritual form but no substance. Terms such as “divorced mother,” “nurturing one’s aspiration,” and “nurturing the Way and waiting for the right time” are translated according to their customary meanings in classical texts.

This passage employs multiple analogies to illustrate how things that appear similar on the surface may differ fundamentally in essence, emphasizing the importance of discerning intrinsic value rather than external form.

The text states: Gaining command of ten thousand soldiers is not as valuable as understanding a single true saying (referring to wisdom that comprehends the harmony of heaven, earth, and humanity, enabling victory without battle). Obtaining the Marquis of Sui's pearl (a legendary precious gem) pales in comparison to grasping the principles of success, and acquiring the He Shi jade (a famous ancient treasure) matters less than understanding the laws governing all things. Just as training fine horses isn't for chasing foxes but for hunting deer, and sharpening swords isn't for cutting cloth but for slaying rhinoceroses.

Several everyday metaphors follow: Seeing a slingshot and immediately imagining roasted owl meat, spotting an egg and expecting it to crow at dawn, or finding hemp seeds and rushing to demand finished cloth—while logically connected, these demonstrate undue haste. The text then observes how elephants don't resent people taking their tusks, nor do the dead begrudge others removing burial goods, showing that truly valuable things need not fear being utilized.

Finally, contrasting examples reveal identical actions with different motivations: When a madman runs east and his pursuers give chase, both are running; when a drowning person and their rescuer enter the water, their surface movements appear identical yet their purposes differ completely. Similarly, both sages and fools may claim life and death hold no distinction—but sages transcend attachment while fools merely confuse the matter through ignorance. This reminds us to look beyond appearances to grasp the true meaning of things.

This passage from the Huainan Honglie Jie explains that names and appearances may be the same while the underlying circumstances are different. One cannot judge “benevolence and righteousness,” “loyalty,” or “nobility and lowliness” by their names alone.

Life and death, benefit and harm

A good life depends on distinguishing the facts of a situation. The foolish treat life and death as though they were the same and cannot tell what is beneficial from what is harmful.

Benevolence and righteousness do not always save a state

King Yan of Xu, posthumously known as Yan, advocated benevolence and righteousness amid the turmoil of his time, yet King Wen of Chu destroyed his state. A state’s fall, then, is not necessarily caused by benevolence and righteousness. Sometimes it falls precisely because its benevolence and righteousness are out of step with the times.

Loyalty does not always save one from death

Bi Gan, King Zhou of Shang’s uncle, was disemboweled for remonstrating with the king out of loyalty. Yet those executed in the world are not necessarily all truly loyal. People also mistake disloyal remonstrants for loyal ones and put them to death. So one cannot infer from “being executed” that someone must have been loyal.

The same name can refer to different things

Shivering from cold is called “trembling,” and shivering from fear is also called “trembling.” The word is the same, but one is caused by cold and the other by fear; the circumstances are entirely different.

Nobility and lowliness, beauty and ugliness, do not lie in outward appearance

The luminous moon pearl comes from shellfish; the Zhou dynasty’s Jian Gui, a fine jade scepter, comes from dirty stone; and the famous tortoise Da Cai comes from a ditch. The ruler of ten thousand chariots may wear a cheap crown weighing only six zhu and eight liang (zhu and liang are units of weight), yet ride in a carriage worth a hundred gold pieces—or, according to a variant reading noted by commentators, wear footwear of that value. Oxhide may be cheap, but a drum made from it can thunder across three armies. The drum moves people through its sound and so brings order to the troops.

Learning an art requires starting from its foundations

To learn singing, one must first understand zhi and yu, two of the Five Tones (zhi corresponds to the south and Fire; yu to the north and Water). Music is connected with moral influence and remonstrance: “music as influence” means that those above shape those below, while those below use song to admonish those above. To sing in harmony, one should not immediately pursue “skilled harmony,” but begin with basic melodies such as “Yang’a” and “Gathering Water Chestnuts.” These are titles of songs and represent the beginnings of harmony, not harmony perfected. If one skips what must be learned and tries to reach the desired level at once, it is like a firefly catcher who cares only about making the light brighter, or a fisher who cares only about making the bait smell sweeter. The means must suit the aim: the bright light is meant to reveal the cicada, and the fragrant bait to attract fish. One must not confuse what is primary with what is secondary.

An attractive bait is used to draw others in, so that they will willingly come near and gain a benefit. (In the same way, when rulers make virtue and government clear and admirable, people throughout the realm gather around them like fish drawn to fragrant bait or cicadas flying toward a bright flame.)

To attract fish, first clear the waterways; to attract birds, first plant trees. Fish come when water gathers, and birds settle when woods grow thick. A skilled archer must first prepare the cords and short arrows used to catch birds; a skilled fisher must first prepare fishing nets and fine-meshed traps. Without the proper tools, one cannot obtain the benefit. In other words, no one has ever seen a ruler who governs without the Way truly win the people’s hearts.

To lead away someone else’s horse but remove its bridle, or to take someone else’s carriage but dismantle the fittings that secure the shafts to the crossbar—this means preserving very little while ruining a great deal. That is why a village saying goes: “To cook beef without salt is to spoil the dish.” (Without salt, broth is no longer broth; hence the phrase “spoil what one is doing.”)

Even Jie did some things well—for instance, he knew how to roof houses with tiles, leaving this practice for later generations. Even Yao had shortcomings. One account says he failed to banish the Four Evildoers and appoint worthy ministers; another says that, by yielding the throne to Shun instead of passing it to his son Danzhu, he could sometimes be judged by the people as lacking in filial compassion. Hence the phrase “left something undone.” Even ugly Momu had a beauty worth recognizing: though famed in antiquity for her plain looks, she was upright in conduct. Beautiful Xishi, too, had faults that could be criticized: though dazzling in appearance, she may not have been upright in every respect. Thus, even the laws of rulers whose states fell may sometimes be worth retaining, while some customs of well-governed states may deserve rejection. What is “worth following” is like Momu’s beauty; what is “worth rejecting” is like Xishi’s fault.

If jade as beautiful as wan and yan falls into mud, even an honest person will not casually throw it away. But if broken bamboo trays, cracked earthen pots, and chipped jars are placed on embroidered cushions, even a greedy person will not take them. (Good and bad, valuable and worthless, are determined by what things are in themselves, not by their outward display. In governing, one should draw on sound principles and choose people for their virtue, rather than relying on empty reputation and ornament.)

A Plain-Language Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Bo (the character bo is read here as mian and refers to the softshell turtle, a kind of large turtle): Where beauty is found, people cannot regard it as base, even in a filthy, lowly place. Where ugliness is found, people cannot regard it as noble, even in a lofty and prominent position.

“People cannot regard it as base” alludes to a worthy person living below, in a degraded position; “people cannot regard it as noble” alludes to a petty person living above, in a high position.

When grain is lent in spring and collected in autumn, the people are glad. Grain is lent during the spring famine and repaid after the autumn harvest, so people welcome the arrangement. When grain is collected in spring and lent in autumn, people resent it. The gain and loss are the same, but joy and anger are opposite because the seasons differ.

Showing kindness to a fish does not mean lifting it up and tossing it into the depths; giving a benefit to a monkey does not mean carrying it up a tree on your back. It means following their natures and placing them where they belong. This is an analogy for governing: appoint those skilled in civil affairs to civil offices and those skilled in military affairs to military offices; each should be put to use according to their abilities.

A sable coat made of mismatched patches is not as good as a fox-fur coat of a single, uniform color. Here, “mixed” means variegated, while “pure” means uniform. What people fear most, then, is conduct without constancy—being fickle and inconsistent. “Conduct without constancy” echoes the Analects: “If a person has no constancy, they cannot be a shaman or a physician.” Lacking steadfastness and changing one’s mind from morning to evening is especially loathsome.

Someone may know how to judge horses yet fail to recognize a fine horse. But the fine horse is still among the herd. Fine horses differ in lifespan and bone structure, and a horse judge cannot know everything about them; hence the saying that the horse is “among those being judged.”

When someone starts a fire, one person may add more fuel while another pours water on it to put it out. Neither has yet demonstrated their merit, but the resentment and gratitude others feel toward them are very different.

In Ying, the capital of Chu, in what is now north of Jiangling in Hubei, someone wanted to buy a roof beam made from timber three armspans in girth, but was given a wheel hub instead. He knelt down to measure it: its girth was sufficient, but it was too short. “Large” refers to its girth; “too short” means it lacked the required length.

Qu Boyu, a senior official of the state of Wei, transformed the world through his virtue. When Zhao Jianzi planned to attack Wei, he sent Shi Mo to inspect the situation. Shi Mo reported that Qu Boyu was governing the state and that it should not be attacked. Hence the claim that Qu Boyu transformed the world through virtue.

Gongsun Yang, the son of Prince Shuzuo of Wei, fled Wei for Qin, served Duke Xiao of Qin, and instituted the system of collective liability. The ends achieved were the same, though the means differed.

A Plain-Language Reading of the Explanation to the Huainan Honglie

The Qin state enfeoffed him as Lord of Shang, so he came to be called Shang Yang. Shang was southeast of Jingzhao. Some people govern the people through Virtue; Shang Yang governed through punishment. Each took an extreme approach. A sick person should lie quietly on a mat and bedding. Physicians use stone needles to treat illness, while shamans use sacrificial rice, mats, and bedding to pray to the spirits for blessings. All these methods aim to help people and bring balance to life and destiny.

Among ritual specialists, men are called xi and women wu. Stone needles are used to lance boils and ulcers and release bad blood. Xu is rice offered to the spirits; reeds, sedges, and thatch are also often used in healing and in prayers for blessings. That is why these practices are said to “rescue and balance.”

A civet’s head can treat wounds from rat bites, while the head of a chicken—water caltrop, called “wild goose head” in Youzhou—can treat fistulas, or swellings of the neck. Gadflies can disperse stagnant blood, and a piece of chopped wood can treat tooth decay. These are treatments based on reasoning from resemblance: using something similar to address a condition. Fat can kill a turtle, and magpie droppings can poison a hedgehog; the creature struck by them dies. Rotten ash can produce worms, while lacquer will not dry if it comes into contact with a crab. These cases cannot be explained by reasoning from resemblance, and should not be forced into that pattern. When can an analogy be drawn, and when can it not? When things seem alike but are not, or seem unlike but are, who can grasp their subtle workings?

There is no fox in the world that is entirely white, yet garments of pure white fur exist. This is because many white hairs are gathered together. A good learner is like the King of Qi eating chicken: he has to eat many chicken heels—the fleshy part at the back of the foot—before he feels satisfied. This is a metaphor for learning thoroughly by drawing repeatedly from many sources. A knife is suited to shaving hair; to fell a large tree, only an axe can cut through it. Things naturally have uses that fit or do not fit them. Forcing a fit will not work.

If you look only at a square inch of an ox, you cannot tell that it is larger than a sheep. Look at its whole body, and the difference becomes clear. Folk belief holds that if a pregnant woman sees a rabbit, her child will be born with a cleft lip; if she sees a deer, the child will have four eyes. Both are baseless tales. A small horse’s eyes are large, but that does not make it a large horse. A large horse’s eyes are small; the term “small-eyed horse” refers to a horse with small eyes. Things may look alike without being alike in reality. A wounded finger may prove fatal, while a severed arm may leave someone alive. Analogies cannot be applied across the board.

A soft, moist whetstone is needed to sharpen a sword; a damp wooden mallet is needed to strike bells and chimes. A cart’s hub must be strong, while its spokes must be flexible. Two hard things cannot join; two strong things cannot yield to one another. Hence the saying that the soft can overcome the hard: plane wood can break a horn, and mali wood, which is hard, can cut jade. Matters such as matchmaking and guiding people, too, must be judged according to whether they are appropriate; one must not cling rigidly to a single approach.

This passage says that one should act sincerely and never put on a show to deceive others. A gentleman should not go where people compete to outdo one another and refuse to yield even an inch. A gentleman does not enter a prison, because it damages human ties and obligations; nor does he enter a marketplace, where one’s sense of shame and integrity can easily be disgraced. Habits accumulate and become character, so one must be vigilant.

Animals can run swiftly without their limbs being bound together, and birds can fly far without bending and twisting their tails. The functions of all things rely on what “seems to have no use.” When people are made to see only one thing, they cannot see anything else. When a drum is made to sound, it ceases to be silent—yet only through its silence is silence made perceptible. Taste a piece of meat and you know the flavor of the whole pot: a tripod with legs can be used for cooking, while a legless vessel can serve as a cauldron. Hang a feather and a piece of charcoal to tell whether the air is dry or damp: the charcoal grows lighter when dry and heavier when damp. From the small, one can understand the large: see a leaf fall and know the year is drawing to a close; see ice in a bottle and know that the world is cold. From what is near, infer what is far.

Three people walking abreast cannot get through a doorway, because it is too narrow; one person walking alone, however, can travel throughout the world, because not everything can be expressed together. A footprint forms when a foot touches the ground, and a shadow appears when someone walks beneath the sun—these things happen easily. But making the footprint true and the shadow straight is difficult.

King Zhuang executed Li Shi, while Sun Shuao made himself a hat and washed his clothes in preparation for office. Li Shi was a sycophantic and wicked official; Sun Shuao knew he would be appointed, so he prepared his hat and clothes. Duke Wen discarded a sleeping mat, and the objects beneath it had already grown moldy and black. Jiu Fan took this as a sign that the duke would cast off old things and resigned, saying: “I have followed you through many turns, and I have committed many faults. I know this myself—how much more must you know? Please let me leave from this day on.” When the mulberry leaves fell, the long-lived man grieved, fearing that his own life was nearing its end. A small tripod, though used every day, is not precious, for it cannot harmonize the five flavors; the Zhou royal cauldron, though it does not cook food, must not be treated lightly, for it is a treasured ritual vessel of the Zhou house.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

A great cauldron need not be fired up every day to cook and “refresh the palate,” yet it can blend the five flavors. That is why it should not be treated lightly. In the world, things often seem useless but are useful in practice: the cauldron is not regularly used for cooking—that is its “non-use”—yet it can blend the five flavors—that is its “use.”

When the ground is level, water does not flow; when the weight on a balance is too heavy, the beam tilts. (“Flow” and “tilt” both mean to lean to one side and lose balance.) Whenever something goes too far, it is bound to produce a response: too much weight or too little will throw a balance out of line, making one side rise and the other fall. Thus “bound to produce a response” means being moved or affected. There is also a kind of “non-use that is great use”: the beam and weights of a balance are not used to weigh things all the time, but only when they are used can one know what is heavy and what is light. So “not being used” can itself amount to “great use.”

It is acceptable to take off your clothes before bathing, but not to bathe before taking them off. It is acceptable to make a sacrifice before eating at a feast: according to ritual, the sacrifice comes before the meal, marking the proper order. “Feasting” here means eating. It is not acceptable to eat before making the sacrifice, because that would show disrespect. Things each have their proper order and place in time.

On the day of a sun sacrifice, speaking of killing a dog; on the day of a wedding, speaking of putting on mourning clothes; and at a banquet, speaking of visiting a grave—all are words ill suited to the occasion.

While crossing a river, mentioning the waves of Yang Hou (Yang Hou, a lord of Yangling who drowned and became a spirit said to raise great waves and harm people, was a name boatmen preferred not to speak) is ill judged. Some people, hearing that a general amnesty is about to be declared, kill more people—an act of cruelty. Others save more people—an act of benevolence. Both look forward to a pardon, but their actions have opposite effects. It is like blowing on a fire: one person blows to make it catch, another to put it out. The action is the same, but the intention differs.

You cook an ox and invite your neighbors, yet curse the host’s mother. You fail to repay kindness and bring harm upon yourself (“peril” means being endangered or harmed).

Wen Wang (Xiong Ci, son of King Wu of Chu), Wu Ying, Bao Shen, and the hunchbacked people helped bring about good governance in Chu. This may mean that worthy ministers, despite unusual appearances, can govern a state well. Bi Chen, a senior official of Zheng who could devise successful plans outside the city, helped Zichan accomplish his work. When Zheng faced a crisis, Zichan took him into the countryside to discuss the affairs of the four states. The Analects also says that “Bi Chen drafted the plans.”

This passage conveys a profound truth through vivid analogies: all things have their inherent characteristics, and the key lies in utilizing them appropriately.

A tall man once remarked, "Though you don't grasp profound principles, you're still better than me." It's like when facing danger—a lame man can sound the alarm while a blind man carries others to safety, each playing to their strengths to survive. But if you had the blind man lead the way and the lame man carry others, disaster would strike.

In the Chu capital of Ying, a man selling his mother still instructed the buyer, "She’s elderly—please care for her well." Such a profoundly unrighteous man still sought to display minor benevolence, much like armored creatures (介虫) relying on their shells for protection, venomous wasps (贞虫) using their stingers to defend themselves, bears (熊羆) relying on brute strength to hunt, and rhinoceroses (兕牛) thrusting with their sharp horns—all leveraging their innate traits. If they abandoned their strengths for weaknesses, chaos would ensue.

Governing a state is like weeding a field—just remove the harmful growth. Losing a few hairs while washing your head is insignificant, for the gain far outweighs the loss. A whetstone (砥石) may not be sharp itself, yet it hones blades; a bow-straightening tool (檠) may be crooked, yet it corrects bows—imperfect things often perfect others.

The passage concludes by emphasizing: strength lies in swiftness (齐), wisdom in agility (捷). The famed sword Mo Ye (鏌邪) is treasured precisely because it cuts swiftly through all things. Just as oxcarts leave ruts (轔) in their wake, these are simply the workings of natural law.

(Note: "Ying" was the capital of Chu; "selling" (鬻) refers to the act of selling; "armored creatures" (介虫) include turtles and tortoises; "venomous wasps" (贞虫) refers to stinging insects; "rhinoceros" (兕) denotes a one-horned variety; "bow-straightening tool" (檠) adjusts bows and crossbows; "Mo Ye" (鏌邪) was an ancient legendary sword.)

This passage comes from Huainan Honglie Jie. It uses counterexamples to show that temporary hardship or an isolated anomaly is no reason to reject an entire field of learning or a general principle.

The general meaning is this:

If someone says that because Confucius fell into hardship between the states of Chen and Cai, he therefore abandoned the Six Arts—ritual, music, archery, charioteering, writing, and mathematics—that is a mistake. Confucius’s desperate circumstances do not mean the Six Arts were useless, nor do they justify the conclusion that the Six Arts should be discarded.

Likewise, a doctor may be unable to cure his own illness, or may refuse to take medicine when sick. If someone uses this to claim that medicine cannot be trusted and treating illness is pointless, that is bo—rashly, stubbornly, and irrationally jumping to conclusions. The commentary also uses bo to mean reacting blindly to a situation without distinguishing right from wrong.

In plain terms:

Some people like to argue: “Confucius nearly starved to death in Chen and Cai. Weren’t the Six Arts useless after all?” That is like saying: “Doctors get sick too. Sometimes they cannot cure themselves, or even refuse to take medicine. So medicine is a fraud.”

This reasoning does not hold. A person’s circumstances or a temporary exception cannot overturn the value of an entire field of learning or a sound practice. Confucius was trapped by the harshness of his circumstances; this does not mean the Six Arts had failed. A doctor’s failure to treat an illness, or refusal to take medicine, reflects personal choice or limitation; it does not show that medicine itself is ineffective. Treating an accident as a rule and generalizing from one case is called huo, “confusion.” Rejecting everything in a stubborn, irrational outburst is called bo.

Brief notes on terms:

The Six Arts are the six forms of cultivation and skill commonly associated with Confucian learning: ritual, music, archery, charioteering, writing, and mathematics.

“Confucius’s hardship in Chen and Cai” refers to the well-known episode in which Confucius, while traveling among the states, ran out of food and was trapped in the area of Chen and Cai.