《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 25

Huainan honglie jie, Volume 24: “Instructions on Speaking of the Forest” — A Modern Interpretation

“Forest” refers to trees growing thickly together. The title “Speaking of the Forest” evokes the way all things gather on hillsides like a forest.

Governing the world by the measure of a single generation is like this: someone is traveling by boat and drops a sword into the middle of a river. In haste, he carves a mark on the side of the boat. When the boat reaches shore that evening, he searches for the sword at the mark. Such a person is utterly confused about how things change and depend on one another.

Clinging to a trace left in one place, without understanding how to respond to Heaven and Earth and roam freely through them, is the greatest kind of delusion. Even when such an approach happens to work, it is not worthy of esteem. It is like using a clay dragon to pray for rain during a drought, or praying for blessings with a straw dog—a grass effigy used in rituals—in a time of plague. These are expedient ways of making seasonal offerings to the Heavenly Emperor, not ways of addressing the root of a problem.

In Chu, people commonly call a certain kind of torn cloth “cao.” They also have a folk remedy for boils that involves tying cloth beside the affected spot and burning it as a poultice. The locals prize these practices, but they are ultimately no match for the half-ring jade huang handed down from the Xia rulers, a treasure of state. The Dao’s substance has neither past nor present, beginning nor end. Even before Heaven and Earth took shape, it could bring them into being. Its depth and subtlety, its vastness without limit, are beyond measure.

The ground one can tread is always shallow. To truly move forward, one must step where there is no ground to tread. What wisdom can grasp is always narrow. To truly become clear, one must awaken where knowledge ends.

A beginner learning to swim thrashes their legs and flails their arms, unable to find the way; the more they kick, the deeper they sink. Once they truly know how to swim, it is no longer just their hands and feet that carry them. Their whole body has become one with the water.

Note: The original contains many textual and editorial notes, such as discussions of how to read “wei” and the customary form of cao cloth. This interpretation follows Xu Shen’s explanation of the main text, incorporating relevant notes where needed to make it easier to read.

A shaft can do no more than this: it moves of its own accord, without hands or feet.

Birds fly back to their homeland; rabbits run back to their burrows; when foxes die, they face the hill. Wild geese flying over the water mourn the places where they were born. (Their cries over the water sound like sorrowful lamentation.)

Do not give a mirror to a blind person, shoes to someone with lame legs, or a Zhangfu cap to the people of Yue: these are things they cannot use. (The people of Yue cut their hair short, so caps are of no use to them.)

No matter how sturdy a wooden mallet is, even a hundred handles cannot drive in a nail. The eyes can see a hundred paces away, yet cannot see their own eyelashes. (This illustrates how people can act on behalf of others but cannot govern themselves.)

Pigs and dogs do not care which bowl they eat from. They only steal to fatten their bodies, bringing themselves close to death. (“Steal” means “take.” If they only grow fat, they will be slaughtered; hence they are not far from death.)

The phoenix flies a thousand ren above, so no one can summon it. (Seven feet make one ren. Only a ruler of sage-like virtue can summon it, hence the saying that no one can bring it down.)

The moon shines over all beneath heaven, yet is eclipsed by a toad. (The toad is the frog said to live in the moon and consume it, hence the phrase “eclipsed by a toad.”)

The soaring serpent travels through the mist, yet fears the jiju. (The jiju is a cricket; the Erya calls it the large-bellied qinglie. Even a snake dares not move when it sees one, hence the saying that the serpent is imperiled by the jiju.)

A crow has the power to overcome the sun, yet it submits to the zhuli. (The crow can be seen in sunlight, hence the saying that it “overcomes the sun.” “Submits” means that it fears the zhuli. The Erya calls this bird bile; the people of Qin call it si. Its dawn calls startle silkworms, and even the hong bird fears it. Hence the saying that it can determine what is long or short.)

No one lives longer than a child who dies young, while even Pengzu is counted as having died too soon. (Life is a temporary lodging; death is a return. A child who dies young leaves this lodging early and returns to its original home, hence the saying that the child lives long. Pengzu was an ancestor of Chu and lived for four hundred years; because he did not return early, he is said to have died too soon. The Analects says, “I privately compare myself to our elder Peng,” perhaps referring to this. Another account says Pengzu was a seeker of immortality in the time of the Yellow Emperor; the point is that the child returned to the spirits sooner.)

A short rope cannot draw water from a deep well, and a small vessel cannot hold a great quantity: they are not up to the task. (“Up to the task” here means “capable of bearing it.”)

Anger arises from not being angry; action arises from non-action. (Not being angry is what truly counts as anger; not acting is what truly counts as action.)

A person can see what is truly worth seeing amid the formless, and hear what is truly worth hearing amid the soundless. In other words, by refusing to cling to outward forms and sounds, one can instead reach genuine seeing and hearing.

The finest flavor need not make someone feel satisfied only after eating their fill (qian means satisfaction or fullness). The highest words need no piling up of literary flourishes; the greatest joy need not erupt in laughter; the finest music need not be loud and clamorous (jiao means noisy shouting). The master craftsperson need not chisel and cut at every turn; a great ritual vessel, such as a fu, gui, bian, or dou used in sacrifice, need not be fussed over in every detail; and the truly brave need not fight others head-on. When one’s courage is so formidable that others hear of it, feel awe, and abandon their quarrels, there is no need to fight.

Once one has attained the Dao (the Way), De (Virtue/Power) follows naturally. It is like the Huangzhong pitch paired with the gong tone, or the Taicu pitch paired with the shang tone: when the pitches are already in harmony, there is no need to change them.

A yoke made of earthenware remains whole and secure; one made of gold is liable to cause a stumble; one made of jade is liable to spur rash haste. Thus, if what one values is all external—gold and jade—the heart becomes unsettled, and the qi of the pitch pipes falls out of harmony.

A hunter chasing wild beasts sees only the animals, not Mount Tai. When every desire is fixed on external things, clear perception is clouded: one sees only gain, not harm.

Those who hear only “the sounds that have sound” are in truth deaf; those who can hear “the sound that has no sound” are truly discerning. Only by being neither deaf nor falsely discerning can one communicate with the spirits. A diviner holds a tortoise shell, and an augur holds the stalks, to inquire into the numbers of fortune and misfortune. But if the mind is already in turmoil, what can it learn by asking the numbers?

Dancers raise their clappers, and those seated fall into the beat together without planning to; all converge at one point, reaching their limit in unity. The sun rises at Tang Valley and sets in Yu Abyss. Its passage is hard to discern, yet in an instant it has turned past a person’s neck (fu means to turn or twist).

People do not wish to learn how to control dragons, yet all wish to learn how to ride horses; they do not wish to learn how to govern ghosts, yet all wish to learn how to govern people. This is because they are eager for abilities useful in the present world. Controlling dragons and governing ghosts offer no help in everyday life, so people consider riding horses and governing people more urgent.

Breaking down a door for firewood or filling a well to use as a mortar: people sometimes act just as absurdly as this. At times their actions resemble one another—and resemble foolishness.

Water and fire are naturally at odds; an iron vessel immersed in oil, too, can hardly remain in harmony with it. This illustrates how things that conflict within and without cannot be forced together.

The names of people and places, such as Tang Valley and Yu Abyss; musical pitches and tones, such as Huangzhong, Taicu, gong, and shang; and the names of ritual vessels, such as zhu, fu, gui, bian, and dou, are retained according to their original meanings. Brief explanations are given at their first appearance. “The formless,” “the soundless,” and “the spirits” are likewise retained in their original senses within the cultivation context.

The five flavors must be brought into harmony. A kuai is a small cauldron without handles, also written kuai, with a sound close to “hui.” Water is held inside the cauldron and a fire burns beneath it so that food can be cooked; here, it is a metaphor for bringing things into harmony.

As for “in their midst”: close kin are naturally bound by affection, but malicious people who spread slander can sow discord between them, until even father and son turn against and harm one another. This is what happened in the cases of King Ping of Chu and Duke Xian of Jin.

What was meant to protect and nourish can instead harm what it was meant to protect, like cutting down one’s feet to make them fit a pair of shoes.

It is like cutting off one’s head to make it fit a hat. Slanderers who harm others are just like things that turn from nourishing into harmful. Cutting off the head or feet is a foolish response to a mismatch—a head too large for a small cap, or feet too large for shoes. The text may instead have the graph ze.

Using sweet flag, a plant like calamus, to drive away lice can attract qin qiong, an insect that enters the ear, also called a house centipede.

Getting rid of a small harm only to bring on a great calamity means that seeking immediate satisfaction can damage long-term interests.

Sometimes, a collapsed wall is no worse than having no wall at all. But when the wall’s earth returns to its natural state, building a house on top of it is like weighing down a ruined building with a roof. This is a case for Wuwei (non-action): when a wall collapses and a house is built over it, things are turned upside down.

Jade objects such as a bi disc or a yuan ring are shaped through the work of polishing them with jian zhu, a stone used to grind jade. As the Book of Songs says, “The stone from another mountain can serve as a whetstone.” The graph jian may also be read as lian.

The famous sword Moye can cut because of the work of sharpening it on a whetstone. Here, “work” means effort; this passage expresses a subtle meaning.

Once the clever hares are caught, the hunting dogs are boiled and eaten. Once the high-flying birds are shot down, the powerful crossbows are put away. “Boiled” means killed, and “put away” means discarded. The image suggests withdrawing from service once one’s work is done, rather than being used any longer.

Mosquitoes and horseflies can help a swift horse travel a thousand miles, though they cannot fly. And without stored provisions, one does not necessarily go hungry. Another image concerns a fire and rain: when a fire breaks out, that is misfortune; when rain falls, that is good fortune. Good fortune is often concealed within misfortune.

A coffin seller hopes people will fall ill; someone who stores grain hopes for a famine. “Famine” means severe hunger, when the grain does not ripen.

When water is still, it lies level; when level, it becomes clear. Clear water reflects the shapes of things, leaving nothing hidden. It can therefore serve as a standard of what is “upright.” To be hidden means to escape notice or take refuge from sight.

When rivers dry up, valleys become empty—that is, they have no water. When hills are leveled, deep pools are filled in: “leveled” means made flat, and “filled” means made full. When the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold. The Yellow River is deep because its soil originally came down from the mountains. None of these changes happens in a single day.

A length of fine, plain silk of a fixed measure can be made into a hat at one end and a shoe at the other. The hat is worn on the head, and the shoe on the foot; each is put to its proper use. This is what it means to “know oneself”: to know what one is suited for and where one should stop.

If the scripture still contains incomplete lines, they may be restored by consulting other editions. The central themes of this passage are harmony, sowing discord, nourishment turned to harm, small gains that bring great losses, fortune and misfortune intertwined, still water as a standard of uprightness, the lips and teeth depending on one another, and each thing serving its proper use.

This passage comes from the Huainan Honglie Jie. Its general meaning is as follows.

Not Being Shaken by External Things

A person who understands life and death cannot be frightened off by danger. A skilled swimmer cannot be frightened by having to wade through water; the water cannot drown them. Nothing is closer than one’s own flesh and bones: they are parts of a single body, so the limbs and bones are all joined together. If the heart loses its self-control, it harms the person who carries it first; how much less, then, can distant outsiders harm them? To the sage, the Dao is like the sun to a sunflower. They may not remain together from beginning to end, but the sunflower’s turning toward the sun is sincere—so too is the sage’s wholehearted orientation toward the Dao.

A Small Pond and the Source of a River

A palace pond fills and overflows when there is much rain, and dries up in a drought. But the deep spring at the source of the Yangtze does not run dry when water is drawn from it.

A Few Parts Alone Are Not Enough

Without rafters, a house cannot screen out the sun; without spokes, a cart cannot travel quickly. Yet rafters and spokes alone are not enough to make a house or a cart. Metal overcomes Wood, but that does not mean a single knife can cut down an entire forest. Earth overcomes Water, but that does not mean one clod of earth can block an entire river.

Circumstances and Mechanisms

A lame person who does not run when they see a tiger is not brave; their legs simply do not let them run. Something crooked is easy to topple, and something leaning is easy to tip over. Things close together readily affect one another, and damp conditions readily bring rain. To catch a mouse, one needs a trigger to set the trap in motion; to catch a fish, one needs the float to move so the hook can be taken. When the bearers move, the carriage they carry makes a sound.

Similar Names, Different Realities

A straw dog can stand but cannot walk. Snakebed, a foul-smelling herb, resembles fragrant sweetflag but has no fragrance. To say that Xu You had no virtue or that Wu Huo had no strength is simply to make an ugly face—whether from anger or shame. People tend to exert themselves most in the very areas where they fall short. If a hare’s speed were as great as a horse’s, it could catch up; this is called “returning wind,” a way of describing extreme speed. But if it were truly a horse, it might no longer run in that way.

Small Changes and the Larger Order

Thunder and lightning in winter, frost and snow in summer: none of these changes the larger order of cold and heat. Small changes cannot obstruct the greater pattern.

Creation in Myth

The Yellow Emperor, an ancient celestial deity said to have divided Yin and Yang when humanity was first created, brought forth Yin and Yang. Shangpian, an ancient deity, brought forth the ears and eyes.

Shanglin, together with Shang Pian, is the name of a god who could produce arms and hands. This explains why Nüwa was said to have undergone “seventy transformations.” Nüwa once ruled the world; the story of her making and transforming things in seventy different ways really means that governing the world and bringing things into being cannot be accomplished by one person alone.

People can spend all day talking about how there must be a Way of the sage, or how there must be an archer like Yi or the skill of Feng Meng. Yet they refuse to acknowledge it, because they cling stubbornly to “standards” that are not genuine standards—“not” here means unreal, inauthentic.

Ox hooves and pig heads are bones too, yet people do not burn them to seek divination. Instead, they ask the tortoise shell for good or ill, simply because tortoises live a long time. Those who live near Ao Granary, the legendary storehouse said to be perpetually full, north of Xingyang, do not thereby eat a few more bowls of rice. Nor do those who live beside rivers drink a few more mouthfuls of water. They simply fill their bellies.

Orchids and zhi plants are famed for their fragrance, but they may never have seen frost. In the custom of beating drums and making images on the fifteenth day of the fifth month to ward off weapons and seek long life, people burned owls, also called toads. This, too, shows that one should not be too quick to declare that something “ought not be used.”

Which wears away first, the tongue or the teeth? Which is damaged first, the copper butt of a spear shaft or its blade? The butt does not rust, but the blade grows dull first. Which is used up first by becoming “straight”—the rope or the arrow?

The sturgeon and the snake, the silkworm and the caterpillar, look alike, yet people feel opposite affection and aversion toward them: they love sturgeons and silkworms, but fear snakes and caterpillars. That is why they are called “different.”

The state of Jin once obtained Yu and Guo through the jade of Chui Ji, as described in the “Customs of Qi” chapter. The beauty from Li Rong, Li Ji, brought disorder to Jin. The deaf cannot sing for their own enjoyment, and the blind cannot look at and engage with things.

Watching someone shoot an arrow can make you lose your own skill; watching someone read can make your own interest fade. When the mind turns elsewhere, one forgets the duty one should uphold.

If people cling without change to what the ancients established, then even though the method of building carts has been passed down to the present, they still cannot make a “chanju,” an ancient kind of cart whose name sounds like “jue,” the character used for the archery ritual at the Qu Xiang clan. Have a “dan”—someone who cannot play the mouth organ—play it, and have a Di person press the holes: the rhythm may be right, but the music will be unbearable, because it lacks the “governing form” that holds the whole performance together.

Source: Explanation of the Honglie of Huainan (commentary on the Huainanzi)

It is difficult to be a good physician when you suffer from the same illness as someone who is about to die; it is difficult to be a good adviser when you travel alongside someone whose state is falling.

(Mou, “to plan,” is sometimes written yu, “to anticipate.”) Preparing food for others while eating wild greens yourself means that reputation has eclipsed practical work—like honoring and enjoying the name of “benevolence and righteousness” more than the actual work of preparing a meal.

A nursing dog that goes to bite a tiger, or a hen that picks a fight with a wildcat, shows kindness offered without weighing the other’s strength. A bent body makes a bent shadow; a muffled voice makes a muffled echo. Those who let their desires spill outward are easy to read within: when feelings are not kept in check but exposed, their inner thoughts can be discerned.

Fruit that ripens out of season should not be eaten. (For example, eating late melons in the eighth or ninth lunar month can bring on malaria; this is the sort of thing meant by “should not be eaten.” The comparison is to people who speak at the wrong time: their words should not be trusted or adopted.)

In Yue, some travel by boat and others by cart. Their routes differ, yet they reach the same destination. (Ji can also mean “to arrive”; the two expressions complement each other and have the same sense.)

Beautiful bodies need not be alike, nor beautiful faces alike, yet each can please the eye. (Here, “fine” means “beautiful.”) Pears, oranges, dates, and chestnuts taste different, yet each suits the palate. (Here, “harmonize” means “suit.”)

Some become rich through theft; the rich are not necessarily all thieves. Some keep their integrity and remain poor; the poor are not necessarily all upright.

Plants such as shang and miao resemble floss but cannot be used as floss. (Shang is the flowering plume of the reed, called shang in Chu and pronounced like “di”; in You and Ji it is called ditiao.) Fen hemp does not look like cloth, yet it can be woven into cloth. (Fen is hemp bearing seeds; the character is pronounced like the one in the Zuo Tradition phrase “there was a gadfly, but it did no harm.”)

Once you leave the forest, it is hard to keep to a straight path; on dangerous ground, it is hard to tread a taut rope, even though the rope’s path is straight. Yi could shoot far and hit tiny targets through more than his bow and arrows alone; Zaofu could race swiftly and travel great distances through more than his horse’s bridle and bit.

The sea is where all waters flow together, and so it can become vast. (Thunderstorms rise from the sea, then return through ditches and channels; hence the saying, “it takes in what it sends forth.”) A wheel repeatedly rolls over the ground it travels, and so it can carry a vehicle far. (It keeps turning as it passes over the ground.)

Mutton does not summon ants, yet ants gather around it because of its gamey smell. Vinegar does not summon gnats, yet gnats gather around it because it is sour.

(The examples above show how things respond to one another through their scents and flavors. The comparison is to how each thing has its own attraction and its own cause.)

Tasting a single morsel reveals the flavor of the entire pot; hanging feathers and charcoal detects the air's humidity. Through small things we comprehend great matters, and from the near we understand the distant. A ten-acre pond can irrigate forty acres of fields, while a one-acre pond waters four—though their scales differ, the principle remains the same.

The radiance of the bright moon illuminates distant vistas yet fails to discern fine script; the dense fog of dawn aids calligraphy but obscures faraway views. When exceeding conventional bounds, the painter fixated on minutiae loses the spirit of the whole, just as the archer staring at small targets misses the greater mark. It's like exterminating rats only to demolish the entire alley, or treating a minor boil only to trigger a festering sore. Pearls may bear blemishes, and jade might harbor flaws—preserving them maintains wholeness, while removing them creates incompleteness.

Birds nest in dense forests for safety, and beasts burrow on high ground for convenience. Prince Qingji (son of King Liao of Wu) could chase deer and battle rhinos, yet confined to a dark chamber, he couldn't even catch a turtle—such are the constraints of environment. Tang of Shang earned praise for exiling the tyrant Jie (as a descendant of Qi, he overthrew the cruel Xia ruler for the people's sake), while Cui Zhu (son of Qi's minister Cui Ye) was reviled for regicide (murdering Duke Zhuang of Qi). Both slew monarchs, yet their motives differed entirely.

Jiang Ziya (Lü Wang) inspired elders by studying literature at seventy and advising King Wen of Zhou at ninety, while the child prodigy Xiang Tuo's brilliance filled youths with pride—such is the resonance of like with like.

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Some people make trouble for Confucius by forcing themselves on him as his teacher; in fact, this lets petty people of that sort inflate themselves. It is like the wind shaking leaves that are due to fall anyway, or fish stirring water that is already muddy.

Tigers and leopards attract people who shoot them precisely because of their striped markings; apes are captured and put to work precisely because of their agile limbs. These “strengths” instead become the root of disaster.

In chess, if only one move is made, you cannot tell whether the player is an expert; if only one string is plucked, you cannot hear whether it is mournful or joyous.

A three-cun-long tube, if its lower end is not sealed, cannot be filled even with all the things in the world; conversely, a ten-shi vat with a stopper is sufficient when it holds a hundred dou.

Using a punting pole to measure river water and, when the pole comes to an end, supposing that the water also ends—this is called taking a part for the whole; it is confusion.

Fishermen hurry to deep pools; woodcutters hurry to the mountains, because what they urgently need is there.

To hurry to the morning market one must run; after the market is over, one moves slowly, because what was wanted is already gone. (Here “go” is read like “zou” and means “to run.”)

Leopard skin pieced together from patches is not as good as fox skin that is pure and whole; a white jade disc with a blemish cannot be treated as a treasure—this speaks of how difficult utmost purity is.

Soldiers who die in battle become vengeful ghosts and often hate spirit shamans (shamans can pray and exorcise, so the ghosts both fear and hate them); thieves dislike barking dogs.

If there is no local community shrine of the soil (she), people will casually set out millet and meat for sacrifice; if there is no state altar of soil and grain (sheji), it too is easily taken up by people seeking blessings—where proper title and belonging are absent, things are readily misused.

The soft-shelled turtle has no outer ears, yet its eyes do not glance about at random; it is concentrated in seeing. The blind have no eyes, yet their ears do not listen about at random; they are concentrated in hearing.

A posthumous child has never seen his father, so he cannot retain his father’s appearance in his mind; nor will he see his father’s face in a dream, because that face was never in his eyes to begin with.

You cannot add feet to a pit viper, nor force a tiger or leopard to climb—such is their nature; to force them is contrary to it.

Note: Material in parentheses comes from the original annotations (pronunciation and meaning) and has been integrated into the text above; proper names such as she, ji, and shenwu have been retained and briefly explained.

A Plain Language Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Every viper is venomous and bites people; greed without limit causes even greater harm. You cannot expect a fierce beast like a tiger to climb trees like a monkey.

A horse does not eat animal fat, and a mulberry bunting (a blue bird) does not peck at millet. This does not mean they are showing off their “integrity”: a horse simply should not steal animal fat, and a bunting should not peck at millet. Each is only keeping to its proper place.

When Qin opened up the main route through the Xiao Pass, Wei built walls for defense. After moving its capital to Daliang, Wei heard that Qin was repairing the Xiao Pass and guessed that Qin intended to advance east and annex its territory. So Wei built walls and prepared its defenses.

A horse goes hungry in its stable without making a sound. Only when fodder is tossed nearby does the urge to fight over food arise. A bow cannot send an arrow without a bowstring (“drawing” means pulling the bow; “releasing” means shooting). The string is only one small part of archery. De can be maintained steadily over time, but tactics for adapting to changing circumstances cannot simply be reused. A route through a pass that has helped someone escape cannot be taken a second time; a prisoner who has escaped from jail cannot be allowed to escape again. A ring can represent a circle, but it cannot serve as a wheel. A cord can be twisted into a tether, though it need not be made from xun, a kind of tether that can be wrapped flexibly from several strands. The sun and moon do not appear at the same time; foxes do not form pairs of rival males; divine dragons do not pair up casually; fierce beasts do not live in groups; and birds of prey do not fly in pairs.

Cut along the inked line and you will not cut too far; use a hanging scale and you will not mismeasure; set up a gnomon to measure the shadow and you will not lose your way. To subtract years is like treating a younger brother unfairly; to add years is like doubting an older brother. It is better to follow the nature of things and let each thing be as it should be (“fitting” means appropriate and true to the facts). People cannot see how a dragon rises into the sky, yet it can fly high because wind and rain help it along (“support” means help). When woodworms multiply, the wood breaks; when cracks widen, the wall collapses. Something hanging down may sometimes fall (“fall” means drop); structures such as branch supports may sometimes come loose (“come loose” means detach). What does not freeze to death in bitter cold has not lost its proper condition; what does not perish under the scorching sun has not lost its fitting circumstances. It is not that what is “fitting” disappears by itself: if someone does not freeze or suffer from the sun, there is no “fitting” condition to lose. The bathwater is ready, yet the lice lament together; the mansion is built, yet the swallows and sparrows celebrate together (“mansion” means house). Their joys and sorrows differ, so each sees things in its own way. When Liu Xiahui saw malt sugar, he said it could help sustain an old person; when Zhi the Bandit saw malt sugar, he said it could be used to stick a door shut. They saw the same thing, but had entirely different uses for it.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

Liuxiahui: The son of Zhan Wuhai, a minister of the state of Lu. His given name was Huo and his courtesy name was Qin. There was a large willow tree at his home, and people called him Liuxiahui because of his virtue. Another account says “Liuxia” was a place name, namely Mumen.

A door bolt (the male part of the door latch): Silkworms eat but do not drink, and after about twenty-two days they transform into cicadas. Cicadas drink but do not eat, and after about thirty days they shed their shells. Mayflies neither eat nor drink, and die after three days. Arsenic stone kills people, but silkworms can eat it without going hungry; croton kills fish, but mice grow fat on it. The effects of things of the same kind cannot always be inferred in the same way. Here, “infer” means something close to “know” or “deduce.”

Tiles are made by firing clay, but one cannot draw fire from a tile. Bamboo grows beside water, but one cannot draw water from bamboo: when fired again, a tile will crack, and bamboo will rot if left submerged for a long time. Trying to settle dust with poplar-wood ash—ke, the Chu word for dust—while wearing a fur coat and using a fan—sha, the Chu word for fan—as though it were a wing is more trouble than simply wearing well-fitting clothes.

Though dried bamboo contains the potential for fire, it will not ignite unless rubbed with a fire drill. Though there is water underground, one will not find a spring without digging all the way down. The flaw in a clam—long, a large shellfish with a pearl inside—and the flaw in ivory are treasured as precious things. But who would cherish a person’s defects, especially the sickness of greed and desire?

If someone seeks only the benefit of brewing wine but does not sell it, he will be the first to run out of resources. If someone seeks only the benefit of building carts but will not rent them out, the road will be impassable. It is like holding a torch out to help another person and burning yourself first. In each case, someone clings tightly to a small gain, refusing to let the wine seller or cart owner benefit: he neither sells nor rents, and ends up exhausting himself or making his own journey impossible. It is like trying to help with fire and burning oneself to a crisp first.

He went to mourn when his neighbor’s mother died, but did not mourn when his own wife died. This was because he had other concerns in his heart and was held back by other matters, not because he lacked feeling. Here, “restraint” refers to holding back from sexual or romantic feeling; thus the text says that he acted this way because he was constrained by other pressures.

In the west there is the Land of the Naked People, said to lie in the southwest. Its people do not avoid birds or beasts, but live among them as one, without distinction.

A single piece of charcoal, when burning, will blister a finger if one reaches out to pick it up. But if ten thousand shi of charcoal—one shi being 120 jin—are all burning together, someone standing ten paces away may be suffocated by the waves of heat. The “fire energy” is the same, but its quantity differs. This is much like the difference between great courage and small courage.

Likewise, a six-foot sword—or a weapon with a broad blade—can cause someone’s death if it is fitted with shackles or restraints improperly. The principle is much the same.

When a low piece of timber is laid crosswise, a person can get over it while lying down; when a tall piece is set upright, it is not easy to get over it. This is because their circumstances differ.

A hundred plums are enough for a hundred people to taste sourness; a single plum is not enough to season one person’s meal. This shows that many forces together can accomplish great things, while thin, weak forces can hardly accomplish anything. If someone chokes to death while eating, to forbid everyone in the world to eat; if someone meets disaster while riding in a carriage, to forbid everyone in the world to ride in carriages—doing so would be absurd.

When Shensheng hanged himself, the rope used for hanging did not break; when Wu Zixu threw himself into the river, the river did not stop flowing. The angler fishes quietly; the one using brushwood fish traps strikes the boat; the one using a fish cover lowers it; the one using a net raises it. Though their methods differ, catching fish is the same. What is meant by “using brushwood to make a fish trap” is piling brushwood in the water to catch fish: one strikes the boat so that the fish, hearing the sound, hide beneath the brushwood, and then one surrounds and catches them. This kind of fish trap is called gu in Yanzhou and cen in Youzhou.

Seeing an elephant’s tusk, one knows that the elephant is larger than an ox; seeing a tiger’s tail, one knows that the tiger is larger than a leopard cat. From one part, one can infer the whole. When Wu attacked Yue and reached Kuaiji, they found only a single large bone, which filled a whole cart. From this one bone people inferred that the other joints were all large as well.

Small states will not fight among great states, because they fear bringing disaster upon themselves; two deer will not fight beside a crouching rhinoceros, because they fear being eaten. Those who help at sacrifices can receive a share of the offerings; one who intervenes to stop a fight may instead be injured. Sheltering under an inauspicious tree, one may be struck by lightning.

Zhong and long can both mean grave; li and deng are both rain hats. “Head wind” and “a se made of hollow wood” — a stringed instrument made from hollow wood — share the same name but are in reality not the same thing.

The sun and moon wish to be bright, but floating clouds obscure them; orchids and lingzhi wish to grow tall, but the autumn wind breaks them. When a tiger has cubs, if it finds that one cannot strike and seize prey, it will kill it, because it fears the cub will lose its intimidating power.

A seal with a tortoise-shaped knob is an ornament worn by the worthy; land is spread across the fields, and those able to cultivate it can thereby obtain prosperity. To save a drowning person, gold and jade are not as good as a length of rope within easy reach.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie

Though gold and jade are precious, they cannot save someone from drowning; an ordinary rope is better.

Gold, silver, and fine jade may be very valuable, but they are no help in rescuing someone who is drowning. As the saying goes, when someone’s life is at stake, an ordinary rope is more useful.

Where a text has “wine” above, there will be “meat” below; where it has “year” above, there will be “month” below. Infer and select things by their kind.

Written words follow patterns: “meat” often goes with “wine,” and “month” often goes with “year.” This means making inferences and choices according to categories of related things, rather than treating each thing as unrelated to the others.

When dust gets into the eyes, they squint shut; that is only natural. But if someone stays indoors and rubs the grit deeper into their eyes, that is no way to proceed.

It is natural for the eyes to close when dust gets in them. But someone who stays inside and keeps rubbing their eyes, driving the grit deeper, is making matters worse. The image illustrates how the wrong approach can make a problem worse the more one tries to fix it.

The butcher eats a soup of wild greens; the cart maker walks; the potter uses a broken basin; the craftsman lives in a cramped hut. Those who make things cannot use them, while those who use them refuse to make them.

The person who slaughters cattle eats wild greens; the person who makes carts walks; the potter uses a broken basin; the craftsman lives in a cramped hut. Those who make things cannot enjoy the fine products, while those who use them are unwilling to do the hard work of making them. Everyone has their eye on wealth and comfort, and no one wants to do the difficult work of their own trade.

Thirty spokes meet at the wheel’s hub, each doing its part without hindering the others. If a single spoke had to bear the load alone while all the others were left idle, could the cart travel a thousand miles?

Thirty spokes are fitted to the wheel’s hub. Each contributes its strength without holding the others back. If only one spoke bore the load and the rest did nothing, could the cart travel a thousand miles? The image shows that people must each fulfill their responsibilities and work together to get things done; no one person can do it all.

A person walking at night covers their eyes and feels their way forward; someone crossing water unbridles their horse and takes a boat instead.

A person walking at night covers their eyes and feels their way forward; someone crossing water unbridles their horse and travels by boat. Some methods suit a situation and others do not; one approach cannot be applied to everything.

Some things are suitable in one situation but not in another. Oranges and pomelos grow where they belong; reeds grow in clusters. Animals with the same kind of feet travel together, and birds with the same kind of wings fly together.

Oranges and pomelos grow in suitable places, and reeds grow in clusters. Animals with the same kind of feet travel together, and birds with the same kind of wings fly together. Like things gather together, each finding its proper place.

Water pooled in the fields eventually flows into the sea; words whispered in someone’s ear can be heard a thousand miles away.

Water that gathers in the fields eventually runs into the sea. A private whisper, meant only for the person beside you, can end up spreading a thousand miles. As the saying goes, if you do not want people to know, it is best not to say it.

Su Qin walked slowly, and people asked, “Why so slow?” He hurried, and they asked, “Why hurry?” Whatever one does, people will criticize; those who meddle find fault everywhere.

Su Qin walked slowly, and people asked why he was so slow. Someone else ran, and they asked why he was in such a hurry. Whatever anyone does, someone will have something to say. Those who meddle in everything are criticized and treated harshly at every turn.

If the hide is not safe, why worry about the hair? If you fear for your head and your tail, what part of your body is left that you do not fear for?

If the hide itself is not protected, what is the point of worrying about the hair? If you fear for your head and your tail, will you not fear for the body between them as well? There is only this one body; to fear both ends is to fear all of it.

If you want to see the lands of the Nine Provinces but will not walk a thousand miles, you will not succeed. If you lack a grasp of the foundations of governance and instruction but want to rule over the people, that too will be difficult.

If you want to see all the lands of the Nine Provinces but are unwilling to walk a thousand miles, you will not get there. And if you do not understand the foundations of governance and instruction but want to stand above the people, that will be difficult.

A conspicuous target gets hit; a bird that flies gently and a beast that stays still are easy to shoot.

A clearly marked target is easy to hit. A bird that glides gently and a beast that does not move are also easy for a hunter to shoot. The image warns that drawing too much attention or becoming too comfortable can invite trouble.

Thus Laozi says: “Great whiteness seems stained; great De seems insufficient.”

Laozi says that what is most white can seem stained, and great De (Virtue/Power) can seem insufficient. What is truly great does not show off or consider itself complete; this is what accords with the Dao (the Way).

A Plain Language Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Explained

(The preceding sentence means:) One is willing to share in the common lot even when it brings disgrace, and presents oneself as though lacking even when one has little. This is an attitude of humility and restraint, of not showing off one’s sharpness.

One has never planted crops, yet the granary is full; one has never raised silkworms, yet the silk pouch is full. (This means that a person of virtue need not do everything personally for results to come of their own accord. It may also suggest that Heaven’s Way rewards diligence unseen.) If what one obtains comes by improper means, using it will lead to indulgence and ruin.

The sea can contain rotting flesh and bones swept downstream (zi: a skeleton with flesh still attached; the ancients believed that when ill-omened things entered the sea, the sea god would cleanse and expel them, hence the saying that the sea “does not accept” them). Mount Tai (the Eastern Mountain, where emperors performed the Feng and Shan sacrifices) does not allow petty people’s filth to pile up on its summit.

Pangguang (a kind of afterbirth, or scraps unsuitable for the dining table) cannot be placed on the sacrificial stand; only proper cuts such as shoulder, thigh, and ribs belong there. A mottled horse, liubo (with an uneven coat), cannot serve as a sacrificial animal, which must be a solid color. In the Central Plain, people use a sha (fan) in summer to keep cool. If they do not know to put it away when winter comes, they do not know how to adapt. Lifting one’s robe to wade through water, then not knowing to climb ashore upon reaching higher ground, is also a failure to adapt.

A mountain may have no forest; a valley may have no wind; a rock may yield no gold. (This suggests that sages emerge from among the people, but not everyone among the people is necessarily a sage.) In a hall full of people, the fasteners on their belts are all shaped differently. Yet the hooks, rings, and belts follow the same principles: their forms vary, but their use is the same.

The wisdom of Duke Xian of Jin was clouded by Li Ji, leading to the disaster that killed Shensheng. Shusun (Shusun Wushu) was outwitted by Jian Niu, who starved him for three days until he died. Thus, when Zheng Zhan entered Lu, the Spring and Autumn Annals recorded, “A flatterer came; a man who waits came.” (Zheng Zhan was a minister of Duke Wen of Zheng. After Duke Huan of Qi died, the ruler of Zheng failed to pay court to Qi and instead paid court to Chu. Qi seized him, but he escaped from Qi to Lu. The people of Lu denounced him as a flatterer—like Li Ji and Jian Niu—and this is why the Spring and Autumn Annals records the matter in those terms.)

A gentleman has wine, while a rustic taps a clay fou (a ceramic musical instrument). Though it may not be good, it is not bad either. Each person has their own way of being comfortable: someone accustomed to wearing silk will resist if forced to wear armor, because it is uncomfortable. Each person should have what suits them (bian: suitable and convenient).

The spokes of a wheel fit into the hub, each aligned with its own mortise; they cannot be inserted at random. This is like ministers each keeping to their own duties and not interfering with one another (gan: to disrupt).

One may once have worn armor and escaped being struck by arrows. This also suggests that one must keep to one’s role and know how to adapt, rather than clinging rigidly to a single course.

A Plain-Language Reading of the Huainan Honglie Commentary

Wearing a fur coat while jumping into water, carrying a pot in one’s arms while crossing a river, or covering a fire with something one is holding—these all show a failure to distinguish which method suits which task, and a complete inability to reason by analogy.

When a gentleman governs the realm from above the people, he must be as cautious as someone trying to rein in a galloping horse with a rotten rope, acting rashly yet wavering for fear of losing the people’s support. He must also feel as if he were walking on thin ice, knowing that a jiao—a legendary water creature said to have a pearl beneath its skin and to be dangerous—lurks below; or as if he had entered a forest and come upon a tigress with her cubs. His mind must remain on alert, always mindful of danger. Otherwise, instruction will not truly reach the people, and they will not rally to him.

Those skilled at employing people are like the many feet of a millipede: numerous, yet never getting in one another’s way. They are also like lips and teeth, one soft and one hard: though they rub against each other, neither is harmed.

The sweetness of fine wine begins with grain grown using the plow and hoe. The beauty of ceremonial embroidery comes from the shuttle and loom. New cloth is not necessarily better than hemp fabric, and worn hemp fabric is not necessarily worse than cloth. Some people are skilled at making things anew, while others are not, so the results differ.

A decorative patch worn on the cheek looks attractive there, but ugly when placed on the forehead, where it covers a hollow. Embroidery suits a lower garment; made into a hat, it would invite ridicule. As the Book of Odes says, embroidered robes and skirts each belong in their proper place. Put embroidery on the head, where it does not belong, and people will criticize it.

A horse’s teeth are not a cow’s hooves, and sandalwood roots are not the branches of the chair tree. Thus, the sage “sees one and knows ten thousand”: from one example, the sage recognizes its kind and reasons by analogy. Stone is hard by nature, and orchids are fragrant by nature; these qualities are present from youth and become more evident as they grow. The point is that when something’s nature is like this, its qualities become ever clearer.

“Support” and “lift,” “thank” and “yield,” “old” and “first,” “promise” and “already,” “zhi” and “yi”—a difference of a single word can send the meaning a thousand miles astray. One may powder a forehead that is already sweaty, leave a dead rat on the central altar, burn incense in the palace yet complain of dampness when entering the water, or carry a foul smell in one’s arms while hoping to obtain fragrance. However skillful one may be, one cannot make what is unsuitable fit.

A second crop of rice cannot be harvested again. In a year of severe drought, flowers may bloom, but one cannot expect them to bear fruit and fall at the usual time; they need not wait for autumn to drop. Do not be quick to call something a misfortune: a bottomless cooking pot will not, after all, fall into a well. This is a way of saying that things have their natural limits, so there is no need for groundless worry.

Note: The original text and some older annotations in parentheses contain gaps and corrupted characters. This translation follows commonly accepted readings.

This passage from the Huainan Honglie Jie explains that trying to summon phosphorescent fire with a hairpin—said to arise from the transformation of blood essence and to leap forth like a wild flame when called, as though answering a summons—will not actually bring it, so why be alarmed? You cannot order someone to cross a river “without measure,” or tell them to cross midstream without measure; some things simply cannot be forced.

Seeing one stripe on a tiger does not reveal its ferocity, and seeing one hair from a thousand-mile horse does not show how fast it can run. A water scorpion transforms into a cong (a kind of dragonfly), and a mosquito larva into a jie (a kind of gnat). The spirit within grass chewed by a rabbit transforms into a nai (pronounced like “neng”; one explanation identifies it as an insect that feeds on rabbit-bitten plants). Things often change in unexpected ways. Those who do not understand are astonished; those who do are not.

Copper has a green bloom, gold a yellow bloom, and jade a white bloom. A carved and painted lamp shines brightly and lustrously, like a luminous pearl. The subtle can reveal the evident, and the outward can reveal the inward. The taste of meat, for instance, need not be known only through the tongue; nor must the forms of spirits and deities be seen only with the eyes.

The claim of “capturing shadows” has no real basis in the mind; it all concerns things never personally seen or tested. Winter ice can be broken, and summer wood can be joined: the right moment is hard to find and easy to lose. When trees are in full leaf, people can gather from them all day without noticing the change; once autumn winds blow and frost falls, they are stripped bare in a single night. If someone has a fever and you insist on making them eat their fill, give a cold drink to quench their thirst, pull the rope to save someone who is hanging, or throw a stone to rescue someone who is drowning, you mean to help but end up causing harm.

To guard carefully against a horse escaping, you need not bolt the threshold every night—lin means a threshold, and people in Chu called it lin. To have wine ready in advance, you need not keep it tucked in your bedding (a metaphor for foul air, suggesting that this is what one would have to do). If a warrior as brave as Meng Ben reaches into a mousehole, the mouse may not kill him, but it will certainly bite his finger: he has lost the advantage of the situation. Mountain clouds moisten the pillar’s stone base; when the fuling fungus is dug up, the dodder dies, for it perishes when its support is gone. If one household catches fire, a hundred households may burn. When slanderers plot in secret, the people lie dead in the wilderness, as the Analects warns that a sharp tongue can bring ruin upon a state and its ruling house.

In short, many things cannot be judged rashly from a mere fragment, rescued by going against the time and the circumstances, or handled so that a small concern causes a great loss and deceit is mistaken for caution. Those who understand observe the circumstances and follow the underlying principle; then they will neither be astonished nor bring harm upon themselves.

Huainan Honglie Jie in Plain Language

“Thus it is said: the people’s bodies lie exposed…” When millet gets wet, it heats up; when a rice steamer meets fire, vapor and water come out. Fire exists within water, and water within fire. A fierce thunderbolt can split stone. These are all natural effects of Yin-Yang forces clashing.

Bathing in a river does little to increase its waters. A torrential rain flowing into the sea does not visibly swell it either, but that is still better than having no rain at all and letting matters end there.

A net with only one opening cannot catch birds; a fishhook without bait cannot catch fish. Treat scholars without respect, and you will not gain people of real talent. Dodder can live without roots, snakes can move without feet, fish can “hear” without ears, and cicadas can sing without mouths. The world contains things that are simply so, as reason would lead us to expect.

A crane lives a thousand years, completing the full span of its life in movement and rest; a mayfly is born at dawn and dies at dusk, yet enjoys its whole day. Each receives its proper share, whether life is long or short. King Zhou had Mei Bo minced into meat paste, while King Wen plotted with the other lords against Zhou. Jie cruelly killed those who remonstrated with him; King Tang sent people to mourn them. A runaway horse does not deliberately crash into a tree, and a mad dog does not leap into a river of its own accord. Even ignorant creatures do not put themselves in mortal danger—how could people do worse?

To love a bear but feed it salt, or love an otter but give it wine, is to try to keep it alive by the wrong means. Salt harms bears, and wine harms otters. When the heart favors something, it may turn a boat into a walking stick or change a bell into a handbell. A large bell with a wooden clapper is a wooden bell; one with a metal clapper is a metal bell. The word di in “the di tree” comes from the Book of Songs phrase “a solitary du tree”; here it evokes changing the nature of a thing.

Guan Zhong turned a small disgrace into great honor. He had first served Prince Jiu but failed to die for him, and was then imprisoned by Lu—this was the disgrace. Later, he became prime minister to Duke Huan of Qi and helped him achieve hegemony—this was the honor. Su Qin exchanged a hundred falsehoods for one act of sincerity. When a target is set up, bows and arrows gather around it; when a forest grows thick, axes enter it. No one deliberately summons them; the circumstances bring them about.

If someone waits for profit before rescuing a person who has fallen into the water, that rescuer will also let people fall in for profit. A boat can sink or float; the foolish cannot change this fact.

(Nota bene: If you load it too heavily, the boat may sink. This is what the Book of Songs means when it says, “The boat floats upon the water, now sinking, now rising.”) A fine steed, when driven, will not advance; when pulled, it will not stop.

A ruler does not use these things to measure the length of a road. Those who criticize my character wish to befriend me; those who disparage my goods wish to trade with me. (To “criticize” means to find fault; to “disparage” means to speak ill.)

Water cannot be made drinkable by mixing it with more water, and a zither with only one string cannot be heard. (It cannot be heard because it lacks harmony; playing only one string will not do.) A fine horse dies when restrained; an upright man falls into hardship for keeping to what is right; the worthy are cast aside at court, and beautiful women neglected in the palace. (To “cast aside” means to abandon.)

A traveler thinks of the great Dao; one at home dreams of the bed. A loving mother sings and sighs in the lanes, while her son, traveling far away in the land of Jing and Chu, longs for her. (Here, “essence” means that their thoughts remain linked across distance.) When fresh meat is hung out, crows and magpies gather; when a fierce hawk or falcon appears, the birds scatter. All things gather and disperse through mutual response.

Those who eat the meat do not damage the dish that holds it; those who eat the fruit do not break the branch. Block the source, and the water runs dry; turn from the root, and the plants wither. Interwoven patterns do not flow freely, and linked jade rings do not come apart. If one says they cannot be undone, then De must be used to undo them. (“Flow freely” means to move without obstruction; the linked rings cannot be forced apart, but can be released through the transforming power of De.)

Longing for fish beside the river is not as good as going home to weave a net. (“Longing” means to gaze at and desire.) The bright pearl is an affliction to the freshwater mussel, yet a benefit to people; a tiger’s claws and an elephant’s tusks benefit the animals, yet harm people. (“I” here refers to people.)

A smooth road and a fine horse make one want to ride; wine and merrymaking make one want to sing. To act when it is fitting is called “deciding”—that is, bringing things into order. To force an action when it is not fitting is surely to bring disorder. (“Deciding” here means to govern.)

An arrow flies swiftly, but no farther than two li. Walking is slow, yet if one travels a hundred relay stations without stopping, one can reach a thousand li.

The sage dwells in the yielding, Yin position; ordinary people dwell in the firm, Yang position. The sage walks on water, leaving no trace; ordinary people walk on frost and snow, leaving footprints. (Water has form but cannot be damaged, so the sage leaves no trace upon it. Frost and snow retain the marks of those who tread on them, so ordinary people leave traces.)

Different pitches cannot be heard together on a single string, and different forms cannot be joined into one body. (“Joined” means made one.)

Farmers labor, while the ruler sustains the people through instruction. (Here “gentleman” means the ruler, who nurtures the people through his benevolence.) The foolish speak; the wise select what is useful from their words.

Abandoning a lush forest to gather on a dead branch…

The foolish speak; the wise select what is useful from their words. (“Select” means to choose for use.) They abandon a lush forest and gather on a dead branch.

(Here the text rejoins the wording found in common compilations; the following translation continues from the text provided.)

When fresh meat is hung out, crows and magpies gather; when a fierce hawk or falcon appears, the birds scatter. Things gather and disperse through mutual response. Those who eat the food do not damage the vessel; those who eat the fruit do not break its branch. Block the source, and it runs dry; turn from the root, and it withers. Interwoven patterns do not flow freely, and linked rings do not come apart. If they cannot be undone, then De must be used to release them. (“Flow freely” means to move without obstruction; the linked rings cannot be broken apart by force, but can be transformed through De.)

Longing for fish beside the river is not as good as going home to weave a net. (“Longing” means to gaze at and desire.) The bright pearl is an affliction to the mussel, yet a benefit to people; a tiger’s claws and an elephant’s tusks benefit the animals, yet harm people. (“I” refers to people.) A smooth road and fine horse make one want to ride; wine and merrymaking make one want to sing. To act when it is fitting is called “deciding”; to act when it is not fitting is called “disorder.” (“Deciding” means bringing things into order.)

An arrow flies swiftly, but no farther than two li. Walking is slow, yet if one travels a hundred relay stations without stopping, one can reach a thousand li. The sage dwells in Yin; ordinary people dwell in Yang. The sage walks on water; ordinary people walk on frost. (Water has form but cannot be damaged, so the sage leaves no trace upon it. Frost and snow retain the marks of those who tread on them, so ordinary people leave traces.)

Different sounds cannot be heard through a single pitch; different forms cannot be joined into one body. (“Joined” means made one.) Farmers labor, while the ruler sustains them. (The ruler nurtures the people through instruction and benevolence.) The foolish speak; the wise select what is useful from their words.

They abandon the lush forest and gather on a dead branch. This follows the same principle as “the worthy are cast aside at court, and beautiful women neglected in the palace”: what is rejected and what is gathered each follow their own suitability.

A Plain-Language Reading of Huainan Honglie Jie

A person who passes over a swan to shoot a crow is difficult to join in planning anything important with. (In the commentary, “plan” means to scheme or deliberate; the point is that such a person is foolish.)

If a hill like Yin Hill has no deep ravines, its springs will not gush forth in abundance or flow far. (“Spread” means to flow widely; another explanation is that Yin Hill is a low hill without deep ravines, so its spring water cannot spread far.) An ordinary stream cannot fill a vast marsh of a thousand qing. The point is that a source and a foundation must be large enough.

When a matter is perfectly clear, deal with it as carefully as you would distinguish jade from stone. If things remain murky and uncertain, do not act rashly: think it over again and again, and hold your decision in reserve. (“Keep the plan” means to consider it repeatedly without reaching a conclusion too soon.)

Entrusting the whole world to one person’s ability is like hanging a weight of a thousand jun on a slender branch: it simply cannot bear the load. Climbing a wall with a child on your back is an ill omen, because if you fall, both you and the child may die. (“Carry” means to bear on one’s back; “fall” means to tumble down; “die young” means to lose one’s life prematurely.)

Those who are good at getting things done are like someone leading a mournful song aboard a boat: one person sings, and a thousand join in. The point is that they can move people’s hearts and bring them together. (Here “mournful song” refers to leading and inspiring others; there is no need to take the sadness literally.)

Those who cannot farm yet want millet and fine grain, who cannot weave yet delight in splendid clothes, or who have nothing to rely on but insist on establishing great achievements will find it difficult. Prosperity is always followed by decline; silk and brocade are always accompanied by coarse hemp and ramie. Every rise is followed by a fall: this is the natural order.

There is a kind of bird that churns the water’s surface into bubbling waves, fanning even great fish out of the water. Even the River Earl, the spirit who rules the Yellow River, dives deep and will not emerge, for fear of the bird’s fierce, single-minded resolve. (Some say it is a fierce bird like the great Peng; others identify it as a fish-eating bird such as the jue. The central point is that utter sincerity and resolve can make even spirits withdraw.)

Thus, if one person is prepared to die, even an opponent with a thousand chariots will not dare to treat him lightly. This echoes the idea in “The Art of Rulership” that no force is stronger than resolve: a common person who holds firm and is ready to die for a just cause cannot be dismissed even by a great state.

When a venomous snake bites someone, applying hejin, a plant like the poisonous kudzu vine that can also be used medicinally, may cure the wound. Things that seem harmful or burdensome can sometimes turn out to be beneficial. A sage living through troubled times is like enduring the heat of midsummer while waiting for the cool of evening. When the sun has slanted westward into the mulberry and elm branches, dusk is near; the turmoil is nearly over, so it becomes easier to endure. (“Easier to endure” means that it is increasingly possible to bear it through.)

Even the smoothest water has ripples, and even the fairest balance has slight errors. Measurements that seem exact will always differ in some small way. (“Deviate” means to differ or depart from what is expected.) Without a carpenter’s square and compass, one cannot establish what is square or round. In matters of state and the appointment of officials, one cannot expect everything to be without error; still less should one hang a weight of ten thousand jun on a single branch.

This passage uses many metaphors to express several ideas: ability is limited, so the whole world cannot be entrusted to one person; one must judge whether things are clear or obscure before making plans; a single person’s resolve can awe a state with a thousand chariots; poison can be turned into medicine; in troubled times, one should endure and await change; and since every measure has some margin of error, rules and standards are needed to keep things in check. These ideas align with the Huainanzi’s discussions of rulership, employing people, and conducting oneself in the world. Yin Hill, hejin, the River Earl, and other terms are briefly explained in the notes when they first appear.

This passage elucidates fundamental principles for human conduct through vivid analogies.

First, it emphasizes the importance of standards and measurements: just as measuring tools correct the shape of objects, individuals must follow moral guidelines (rules and measures). True capability reveals itself in crisis - like recognizing skilled swimmers during a shipwreck or identifying expert charioteers amidst runaway horses.

Several contrasts illustrate the art of prioritization: when chased by rhinos or tigers, one wouldn't stop to pick up the legendary Suihou Pearl, teaching us safety precedes profit; deer hunters ignore rabbits, and precious goods traders disregard petty sums, demonstrating the wisdom of focusing on what truly matters.

The text underscores foundational importance: a bow must first be properly adjusted before seeking power, horses must be tamed before demanding speed, and trust must be established before cultivating talent. Different professions value objects differently - a potter's discarded rope may be a cart driver's treasure, a butcher's cast-off knife might serve a blacksmith, showing how needs create value.

Natural phenomena demonstrate qualitative change through accumulation: a hundred stars pale beside one moon's brightness, ten open windows admit less light than one doorway. An arrow piercing rhino hide loses force at maximum range, failing to penetrate thin silk. Though Mount Tai towers high, turning away renders it invisible; though autumn down is tiny, focus makes it clear.

Finally, it reveals nature's inherent laws: mining gold destroys mountains, tree-born insects consume their hosts, and troublemakers ultimately harm themselves. Just as master craftsmen can't cast wood into vessels nor carvers sculpt metal - materials dictate possibilities. True jade needs no carving, precious pearls require no adornment - intrinsic excellence suffices.

The conclusion cites the "lame turtle's thousand-mile journey" to emphasize perseverance: a crippled turtle covering vast distances through continuous effort, as accumulated silt eventually forms hills. Towering city walls and straight-growing trees aren't single-day achievements - all greatness requires sustained dedication.

The way things turn out is always shaped by a combination of conditions. The art of employing people is like striking flint to make a fire: rub too lightly, and no spark will catch; rub too forcefully, and you may lose your grip. The key is to find just the right balance of pressure and speed so the fire can be lit.

Watch someone from morning until evening, and their appearance will change. Measure something with a crooked ruler, and even the most precise measurement will be wrong. The sage deals with all things as a mirror reflects a form: only without distortion can the truth be seen.

Yangzi wept when he saw a road branching in every direction, because it could lead south or north, leaving one unsure which way to choose. Mozi wept when he saw a piece of white silk, because it could be dyed yellow or black: both possibilities were open, yet the outcomes could be completely opposite. These cases are like the tuning of bells and stone chimes: even a thousand years apart, they can still sound the same note if properly adjusted.

A bird perched on a sturdy iron cage is not readily shot by a hunter, however close it may be, because that is not where the bird belongs. A bird blocking a road that needs to be used will not be spared, even from far away, because it is in the way. So to find something, go to the place closest to it and best suited to it.

When wine turns sour or meat goes bad, the cause must be sought where the wine is made or the meat is sold. Meeting deceit with deceit, or using tattered clothes to put out a fire or plug a flood, only makes the problem grow. It is like Xi Shi and Maoqiang: their features may not have been exactly alike, yet people praised both for their beauty by the same standard. Or like Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang: their methods of governing differed, but each won the people’s hearts. Sages respond to the times and act according to circumstances, achieving results in keeping with their abilities: when floods come, they prepare vessels for storing water; in a severe drought, they build earthen dragons to pray for rain.

A woman in Linzi, Qi, weaves silk at home while thinking of someone who has gone on a journey. Her longing to travel draws her thoughts away, so her weaving comes out coarse and loose. A beautiful woman in her inner chamber, by contrast, spins cotton into fine, close-woven cloth. Common folk cannot appreciate the proper tones of zhi and yu. Once you grasp the principle, finding the right person and the right place is more effective than searching blindly nearby.

A Plain-Language Reading of Huainan Honglie Jie

Main Ideas of the Text

Music and the human heart

Take harmonious melodies, twist and alter them into hurried tunes, and their sorrowful sound is no longer proper music—yet people sit and applaud. This shows how easily the human heart is drawn to things that are strange and stimulating, without discerning what is “proper” and in keeping with accepted standards.

Storehouses and the urge to steal

Few people pass a storehouse full of goods with their hands behind their backs and have no thought of stealing. When valuables are right there, temptation naturally arises. This does not make everyone a thief, but circumstances can stir up greed.

Harassing others and shaking the community tree

A person who “harasses others like a ghost” will even shake the branches of the tree by a community shrine as they pass. Here, “harass” means to harm or torment others. To act viciously even before the spirits shows utter disregard for restraint.

Chu’s rescue of Jiang by Jinyang Chufu

An historical example: Jinyang Chufu once claimed to act on behalf of Chu in order to rescue Jiang. This shows that, in an emergency, one sometimes cannot cling rigidly to formal propriety; what matters is the practical outcome.

The lesson of splitting firewood

When splitting wood, the key is not to force open a crack, but to aim the axe at the grain and the vulnerable point—to strike or press at the key point or gap. The same applies to getting things done: find the crucial point instead of relying on brute force.

Great trees and high mountains

A large tree must have deep roots, and a high mountain must have a broad foundation: what lies below must be able to bear the weight. People of great stature often have far-reaching ambitions, but their joints and rhythms may also be “looser.” They should not be held to the same standards as those who are small and nimble.

The mad and the infant

People generally do not hold it against a mad person who harms them; nor does anyone take deep offense when an infant insults an elder. They know the person means no harm and lacks understanding. Matters of intention and circumstance cannot all be judged by the same measure.

Weisheng’s fidelity and Xian Gao’s expedient deception

A person harboring murderous intent who rigidly upholds the kind of fidelity shown by Weisheng, who died embracing a bridge pillar while waiting for a woman, is less worthy than Xian Gao, who used cattle and a false decree to improvise and save his state. Here “deception” means expedient action that does not adhere to ordinary rules of fidelity. It is debatable when an ordinary person fails to keep faith or act expediently; how much more so when someone bent on harm uses “fidelity” as a pretext.

Worrying over a father’s illness

The Analects says that what parents worry about most is illness. It is the son who truly worries when his father is sick; it is the physician who treats him. Their roles differ: worry belongs to the heart, treatment to the hands.

The division of duties in sacrifice

The ritual officiant presents the offerings, while the cook prepares the sacrificial rites. Each must fulfill their own role for the ceremony to be properly conducted.

Volume: Huainan Honglie Jie, Volume 24.

Note: Explanatory notes in the original, such as “harass means harm” and “a storehouse is where goods are kept,” have been incorporated into the reading above. Weisheng, Xian Gao, and Jinyang Chufu are figures from Warring States anecdotes. Here, the examples are read through two themes—“fidelity versus expedient action to save the state” and “names and realities, and finding the crucial point”—in keeping with the Huainanzi’s frequent focus on circumstances and practical application.