《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 28

Huainan Honglie Jie, Scroll Twenty-Seven: “Lessons on the Great Clan” (excerpt), a Plain-Language Interpretation

Xu Shen’s commentary on “Lessons on the Great Clan”: This chapter discusses the Great Dao (the Way) and the essential principles of all things, past and present, and brings them together in a single principle, explaining what “Great” means: that which is vast and fundamental.

Heaven arranges the sun, moon, and stars, regulates Yin-Yang, and unfolds the four seasons. By day, the sun warms all things; by night, it lets them rest. The wind dries dampness, while rain and dew soak and nourish all things. Life is nurtured in this way: we cannot see how it is nurtured, yet all things grow day by day. All things are diminished in this way, too: we cannot see how they are taken away, yet they die. This is called the numinous workings of Heaven and Earth: their wondrous transformations, invisible yet all-powerful. The sage takes this as a model.

Thus the sage brings good fortune: we cannot see by which path it arrives, yet fortune comes. The sage dispels disaster: we cannot see what means were used, yet disaster is gone. The farther away one is from the sage, the closer one feels; the more one draws near, the more distant the sage seems. Ask questions, and the sage cannot be pinned down by an answer; watch in secret, and no flaw can be found. Count day by day, and the number cannot be reckoned; count by the year, and there is more than enough. When dampness is at its heaviest, its form cannot be seen, yet charcoal has already grown heavier. When the wind is at its strongest, it cannot be seen, yet trees are already swaying. The sun travels, though its movement cannot be seen; meanwhile, a swift horse covers the distance of two days in one, and plants and trees are blown flat. Before a beacon fire on the frontier can be relayed from post to post, the sun has already shone ahead. So, just as Heaven is about to grow windy, before the plants and trees move, birds have already taken flight (birds nesting in their nests can sense the coming wind). Just as Heaven is about to rain, before dark clouds have gathered, fish have already risen to the surface to gasp (fish living beneath the water can sense the coming rain). This is the mutual response of Yin-Yang Qi.

Thus cold and heat, dryness and dampness, follow their kind; sounds respond according to their pitch and tempo. For this reason, the Book of Changes says: “A crane calls in the shade, and its young answer.” In the Book of Songs, when King Gaozong observed three years of mourning in silence, all within the Four Seas fell quiet. Once he spoke, his voice resounded throughout the world. This is the Heart of Heaven breathing and speaking. When the root moves, all the branches respond—like spring rain falling on all things, flowing as one, pouring out abundantly, moistening every place and bringing every thing to life.

The sage holds the Heart of Heaven within. When his voice and Qi issue forth, he can transform the world. When sincerity and truth accumulate within, and their form and Qi move in Heaven above, an auspicious star appears, a yellow dragon descends, a phoenix of good omen arrives, sweet springs emerge, and fine grain grows. The Yellow River does not overflow, and the sea does not raise strange waves. Thus the Book of Songs says: “He embraces and soothes the hundred spirits, and extends this to the rivers and mountains.”

Note: The central idea of this passage is that Heaven and humanity are moved by a single Qi. The sun, moon, wind, and rain nourish and destroy through invisible workings; when the sage “holds the Heart of Heaven,” he transforms others without speaking, and his sincerity moves Heaven. Birds sensing wind and fish sensing rain are familiar ancient examples of beings detecting Qi before it takes visible form, illustrating how signs appear before Yin-Yang becomes manifest.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

When a ruler defies the Dao and harms living things, the sun and moon are eclipsed, the five planets stray from their courses, and the four seasons fall out of order. Day grows as dark as night, while night shines like day; mountains collapse and rivers dry up; thunder sounds in winter, and frost falls in summer. The Book of Songs says, “In the first month, frost and snow fall in profusion; my heart is filled with sorrow.” This shows that there is indeed a way in which Heaven and humanity respond to one another.

Thus, when a state is on the brink of ruin, celestial signs become abnormal; when the age is confused and chaotic, rainbows appear. All things are connected, and vital essences and ominous forces stir and respond to one another.

Therefore, matters involving the spirits and the Dao of Heaven cannot be accomplished through cleverness and scheming alone, nor attained through sheer physical force.

Heaven and Earth contain all things; Yin and Yang bring them forth, and rain and dew nourish them as they grow. Agate, jade, pearls, kingfisher feathers, and tortoiseshell have vivid patterns and a lustrous, moist sheen. They can be handled without wearing away and remain unchanged for years. Neither Xie Zhong, famed in legend for making chariots, nor Lu Ban, famed for his woodworking, could fashion such things. This is what is meant by “great skill”: the creative power of nature itself.

A craftsman in the state of Song carved a leaf from ivory for his ruler. It took him three years to finish. Its stalk, veins, and fine points were exquisitely detailed; its color and sheen blended among real paper mulberry leaves so completely that it could not be distinguished from them. Liezi said, “If Heaven and Earth took three years to make a single leaf, there would be few things with leaves.” Heaven and Earth bring things forth in a breath and let them fall with a breeze. How could their work be as painstaking as a person laboring over one leaf for three years?

Whatever can be measured is small; whatever can be counted is few. What is supremely vast cannot be encompassed by measurement, and what is supremely numerous cannot be grasped by counting. The Nine Provinces cannot be measured all at once in acres; the remotest reaches in the eight directions cannot be traversed all at once in miles. A great mountain cannot be measured in feet, and rivers and seas cannot be emptied with dipperfuls.

Thus, the Great Person shares Virtue with Heaven and Earth, brightness with the sun and moon, numinous power with the spirits, and constancy with the four seasons. The sage holds the Qi of Heaven within and embraces Heaven’s heart, maintaining the center and containing harmony. Without leaving the ancestral hall, the sage’s influence extends across the Four Seas. Customs are changed, the people are transformed and turn toward goodness, as though goodness were already part of their nature. This is achieved through numinous transformation. The Book of Songs says, “When the spirits hear, all at last is harmonious and peaceful.”

The spirits have no visible form and no audible sound. Yet people still offer sacrifices to Heaven in the suburbs, gaze toward the mountains and rivers, pray and make offerings for blessings, perform rainmaking rites and address Heaven with ritual words to ask for rain, and use divination to decide important matters. The Book of Songs says, “The spirits’ coming cannot be fathomed; how much less can they be treated with disrespect or mockery!” This is precisely the point.

The thick earth supports all things; the moon lights the night and the sun shines through the day. Yin and Yang alternate in their cycles, and the stars are arranged in their proper order. None of this happens because Heaven and Earth have some special intention. All things come into being naturally by following the Dao (the Way). So Yin and Yang and the four seasons do not deliberately “bring forth” the myriad things, and rain and dew do not fall in season with the special aim of “nourishing” plants and trees. When the vital energy of the spirits and Yin and Yang respond to one another and blend in harmony, the myriad things are born from this.

High mountains and deep forests were not made for tigers and leopards; great trees with luxuriant branches were not prepared for flying birds; thousand-mile headwaters and hundred-fathom abysses were not opened for flood dragons. Mountains rise high and spread wide; tigers and leopards dwell in the mountains, birds nest in trees, beasts hide in caves, flood dragons lurk in water, and animals roam the land. Each finds its place and is at ease. The great gives rise to the small, and the many give rise to the few: this is the Way of Heaven. Thus, low hills cannot produce clouds and rain, and shallow waters cannot produce fish and turtles, because their potential is too limited. The vapor rising from cattle and horses can give rise to lice, but the vapor rising from lice cannot give rise to cattle and horses. This shows that transformation and birth often come about through the prompting of external conditions, rather than through spontaneous generation within the body. Yet flood dragons—creatures such as the jiao dragon and the softshell turtle, which usually lie dormant in abysses—lay eggs in mountain heights, gestating within themselves and laying their eggs on high ground. The male and female flying serpents call to one another from the upper and lower winds, and take bodily form: this is the response of Jing and Qi at their utmost refinement. Therefore, when a sage nurtures the heart, nothing is better than sincerity. With utter sincerity, one can move and transform all things.

What is now called the Dao is that which stores Jing within and shelters Shen in the heart. It is clear, still, and untroubled; within the breast there is neither contention nor agitation. No evil energy can take root. The joints of the limbs, the hair, and the texture of the skin are open and unobstructed, so the vital pivots work smoothly and all the vessels and nine apertures flow freely. This is what it means for the Shen that dwells within to be in its proper place. How could it be achieved by trimming branches and tending one’s hair?

When a sage ruler presides, he is vast and without form, silent and without sound. The offices seem to have nothing to do, and the court seems empty. There are no recluses or wandering refugees, no forced labor or unjust punishments. Within the four seas, none fails to look up to his De, as the many stars gather around the North Star. Foreign lands come from afar, passing through interpreters in succession. This is not achieved by persuading every household and arguing at every gate; it comes simply from extending a sincere heart to all under Heaven. The Book of Songs says, “Benefit this Central State, and bring peace to the four quarters”: when the inner realm is in accord, the outer realm is at peace. King Tai Bo of Zhou lived in Bin. When the Di people attacked, he left with his staff; the people carried their young and supported their elders, bearing their pots and cooking vessels as they crossed Mount Liang and established their state at Qizhou. No written decree could have brought them together in this way.

Duke Mu of Qin became hegemon…

A man of the hills may harm his health by eating the flesh of a fine horse, and feel ill after drinking good wine. In the Battle of Han, some repaid a kindness with their very lives; no contract could have forced them to do so.

When Mi Zi governed Danfu, a place name, Wu Maqi went to observe the effects of his teaching. He saw people fishing at night who immediately released any small fish they caught. Even punishments could not have stopped such conduct. When Confucius served as Minister of Justice in the state of Lu, no one picked up lost goods on the road, buyers and sellers in the marketplace did not haggle, and in hunting and fishing the older people were given the greater share. White-haired elders did not have to carry heavy loads. None of this could have been achieved by laws alone.

A powerful crossbow can send an arrow far and pierce what is hard; but to strike the center of a target and pierce something tiny depends on the archer’s centered mind. Rewards for good conduct and punishments for violence depend on government orders; for those orders to be carried out in practice depends on the sincerity of those who govern. However powerful the crossbow, it cannot hit its mark by itself. However clear the laws, they cannot enforce themselves. Those who govern must meet them with sincerity and apply the Great Dao among the people. If they merely speak of teaching the people through the Great Dao and the people do not follow, it is because their sincerity has not truly been put into practice.

The four seasons of Heaven and Earth do not themselves “produce” the myriad things. Only when the divine and Yin-Yang meet and Yin-Yang harmonize can the myriad things grow. A sage governing the realm does not lightly alter the people’s nature, but guides and purifies them by following the endowments they already possess. Thus, to “follow” brings teaching to a broad reach, while to “transform” by force makes it narrow and petty. Yu cut through Longmen and opened the Yi Que pass, channeling the rivers eastward into the sea; he followed the course of the water. Hou Ji cleared wasteland, enriched the soil, and planted crops, allowing each of the Five Grains to thrive where it belonged; he followed the lay of the land. Tang and Wu led three hundred war chariots and three thousand armored soldiers to put down disorder and overthrow the Xia and Shang; they followed the people’s wishes. One who knows how to follow will be invincible under Heaven.

The natural tendencies of the myriad things come first; human arrangements follow. A master craftsman cannot carve metal, and a skilled smelter cannot refine wood: metal’s nature does not lend itself to carving, and wood’s nature does not lend itself to smelting. Kneading clay into vessels, hollowing wood into boats, forging iron into blades, and casting metal into bells all follow what their materials can do by nature. So too, harnessing horses and yoking oxen, having chickens herald the dawn, and having dogs guard the gate all follow their natures. People have a natural inclination toward beauty, and so there are grand wedding rites; they have a natural inclination toward food and drink, and so there are grand banquets; they have a joyful disposition, and so there is music made with bells, drums, pipes, and strings. All these follow what is natural to them.

Humans have an inherent capacity for grief; that is why there are mourning rites such as wearing mourning clothes, weeping, and stamping one’s feet. The ancient kings established ritual and law by following the people’s natural inclinations, then restraining and refining them. Because people are drawn to beauty, they established marriage rites to define the proper relations between men and women. Because people love music, they brought the sounds of the Ya and Song hymns into proper form, so that customs would not become dissipated. Because people are devoted to their households and love their wives and children, they taught them to live together in harmony, and so parents and children became close. Because people enjoy making friends, they taught them the way of respect between older and younger, and so proper order among generations was established. They then refined the rites for court audiences and diplomatic visits to clarify distinctions of rank; arranged banquets and archery practice to clarify distinctions of seniority; and held seasonal hunts and military reviews to train the troops. (“Hunt” here means inspecting chariots and horses; when troops set out, it is called “putting the army in order,” and when they return, “assembling the troops.”) They entered schools and district academies to cultivate human relationships. These are all inclinations already present in human nature, which the sages brought to completion and gave form.

Thus, human nature must be guided through teaching. If people possess their nature but receive no cultivation, they cannot follow the right path. A silkworm cocoon has the potential to become silk, but unless a woman boils it in hot water and draws out its filaments, it cannot become thread. An egg has the potential to become a chick, but unless a hen broods over it with the warmth of her crop, day after day and month after month, it cannot hatch. Human nature contains the seeds of benevolence and righteousness, but without sage kings to establish laws and standards and provide instruction, people cannot be led toward the right path.

Therefore, the ancient kings’ teaching followed what people liked in order to encourage goodness, and what they disliked in order to forbid wrongdoing. Punishments consequently needed little use, yet their authority flowed everywhere like water. Their government orders were simple, yet their transformative influence shone like that of spirits. When people’s nature was followed, all under Heaven obeyed; when it was opposed, even laws posted for all to see went unheeded.

In the past, when the Five Emperors and Three Kings governed all under Heaven and put their teachings into practice, they always used the method of “taking three into account and measuring by five.” What does this mean? They took their model from Heaven above, took their measure from Earth below, and took human beings as their model in between. They then established the court of the Bright Hall and issued the Bright Hall’s decrees. (The Bright Hall was the palace from which government orders were issued; it contained decrees for each of the twelve months.) In this way, they harmonized the Qi of Yin and Yang and brought the seasons into accord, preventing the harm caused by illness. They looked down at the lay of the land to set measures and standards, and observed the suitability of hills and plains, waterways and marshes, fertile and barren soils, and high and low ground. They organized productive work and generated wealth to put an end to hunger and cold. Taking human virtue as their model, they established ritual and music, and governed human relationships through the way of benevolence and righteousness, dispelling the calamities of violence and disorder. They also clarified and arranged Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth...

The nature of Earth is clear and pure; thus it can establish the affection between father and son and enable families and livelihoods to be formed, and it separates the clear from the turbid. The Five Tones and Six Pitch-Standards, according to the numbers of mutual generation, establish the righteousness between ruler and minister and form the state and its institutions; by observing the four seasons and the order of the first, middle, and last months, they establish the rites between elder and younger and complete the order of offices—this is called Canzhi (threefold regulation). The righteousness between ruler and minister, the affection between father and son, the distinction between husband and wife, the order between elder and younger, and the fellowship between friends are together called the Five Relations (wulun). Thereupon they divided the land and apportioned provinces, divided duties and governed, built cities and dwelt in them, partitioned residences and differentiated them, distributed goods, clothing, and food, established the Great Learning for instruction, and rose early and slept late in diligent toil—these are the guiding cords and norms of a well-governed age. Yet when they obtain the right people, these things are raised up; when they lose them, they fall into ruin.

Yao governed all under heaven; government and teaching were balanced, and virtue moistened and harmonized all. After seventy years on the throne, he sought one to whom the succession of all under heaven could be transmitted, and ordered the Four Mountains (Siyue) to recommend someone from humble and obscure circumstances. The Four Mountains selected Shun and recommended him to Yao. Yao gave him his two daughters as wives to observe his inner conduct (the two daughters were Ehuang and Nüying), and appointed him to the hundred offices to observe his outer conduct. Shun entered the Great Forest; violent winds and thunderstorms did not confuse him (a forest at the foot of a mountain is called lu; Yao sent Shun into the forest, and he did not lose his bearings amid great wind and rain). Then he entrusted his nine sons to him (Yao had nine sons), presented him with the jade of Zhaohua (the name of a jade), and transmitted all under heaven to him. He considered that although there were laws and measures, Zhu could not govern it (Zhu was Yao’s son).

Now, no thing has ever been stretched without slackening, or completed without decaying; only the sage can be flourishing without declining, full without waning.

When Shennong first made the qin, it was to return the spirit to its source; when he became excessive, it turned against the Heavenly mind. When Kui first made music (Kui was Yao’s minister in charge of music), he harmonized it entirely with the six pitch-standards and tuned the five tones in order to communicate with the eight winds; when this declined, people sank into indulgence and licentious ease, paid no heed to government, and came to destruction. When Cangjie first made writing, it was to distinguish and govern the hundred officials and to manage the myriad affairs, so that the foolish would not forget and the wise could record far-reaching things; when it declined, it was used for treachery, carving false documents to exonerate the guilty and kill the innocent. When Tang first made parks and enclosures, it was to supply the ancestral temple with fresh sacrificial offerings; …

(If the scriptural text has further continuation below, it may be supplemented in translation later.)

A Plain-Language Reading of “Fayan” in the Huainan Honglie Jie

A noble person lives and acts in accordance with the laws of the Dao, transforming and influencing people like a divine dragon changing its form. In this way, even the poor, lowly, and foolish need not be suspicious, and the virtuous and benevolent need not worry. When the age is on the brink of disorder, one must observe the rules and take care with things at their beginnings. One must meet the times and adapt to circumstances: actions need not remain fixed, but one must not cling stubbornly to failing methods. Change when change is called for.

When faced with limits, exhaustion, or hardship, one should stop when it is time to stop and act when it is time to act; one must not follow blindly. Putting affairs right through the kingly way has great significance. Heaven covers the lands, and the people shift with circumstances as if engaged in a contest. Choose what is essential, nurture the Shen (spirit), and hold to unity with clear insight, thereby harmonizing with the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). The Eight Trigrams form the directions and accord with the eight seasonal divisions; the seasonal divisions follow their proper order and respond to the times of the year.

At the beginning, ritual flourishes and people draw near; bells join together in sound, and Yin-Yang stir one another. A son listens to music and, by listening, comes to understand readily. He puts what is right into practice through poetry; doing good accords with the ruler’s sense of what is right. Those who have long been trusted—their associates and the clerks—teach one another. A person who bears a burden should not be shut away and left to perish alone. Through Wuwei (non-action), things become accessible. Reckless action leads to mistakes. If one does not know how to gather and retain knowledge, or recognize opportunities, but merely applies old practices as circumstances change, then one acts only when change arrives and fails to understand what has no seams. Reciting praises and arguing forcefully may seem impressive; rules and standards may be as clear as a diagram of a fortress. Yet the laws remain embodied in the person, and when a pledge is heard, its meaning becomes manifest.

(The middle section discusses correspondences among Heaven, Earth, and humanity.) In Heaven, there are the host of stars; on Earth, the myriad things. In Heaven, there are the four seasons; on Earth, the five musical notes. In Heaven, there are wind and rain; on Earth, nourishing dew. In Heaven, there are the radiance of the constellations; on Earth, branches flourish and leaves grow thick. Examples of this kind show how the Dao of Heaven, human affairs, and the qualities of things resonate with one another. Ritual and law instruct people; poetry and song teach with patient repetition; reputation and writing are displayed in the hall. With a mind as open as level ground, one wins the joyful support of the people.

The Palace tone spreads and takes effect; the moon changes through its phases from new moon to full moon and back; the Six Pitch-Pipes govern clarity; warm torches kindle fire, and warmth brings things forth and makes them thrive. Things that cannot remain long on Earth are found everywhere alongside capability, work, intention, the Dao, refinement, appearances, methods, standards, trust, letters, civil and martial qualities, preparedness, weakness, flourishing, strength, goodness, length and shortness, coming and going, rise and decline, right and wrong, benevolence and righteousness, arts and methods, admonition and deference, patience and virtue, trustworthiness, honesty, loyalty and generosity, and the reliance placed on guiding principles. The cultivated person returns to these and must have rules and standards.

(On how the “five” take shape.) The five must be brought into proper relation for them to form a set. If they are unequal and dissimilar, they cannot be forced into sameness as a set of five. The five have their own limits, which must not be crossed recklessly; they cannot be exhausted by naming or explanation. If one insists on speaking of the Dao, one might say, “This is one Dao among them.” This is this Dao, but one must not cling to a single aspect and treat it as the whole.

From “One of the Ways the Five Take Shape” to the end, the text contains many strings of syllables such as “hehe” and “yaya” that do not appear in standard editions of the Huainanzi or commonly used compilations. They seem likely to be copying errors, marginal notes accidentally incorporated into the text, or later insertions, and cannot be reliably interpreted from their meaning.

The sage draws on different approaches and uses them together, while also using resources to keep them in check. When the root is lost, disorder follows; when the root is grasped, order follows. The subtle art lies in harmonizing; the danger lies in overreliance on expediency, depending on flexible adjustments until all measure is lost.

Water, fire, metal, wood, earth, and grain belong to different kinds of things, yet all are shaped by compasses, squares, scales, and straightedges. Scales and straightedges differ in form, yet both must be secured with pigments, glue, and lacquer to serve their purpose. Things differ, but each has its use; each thing has what suits it, and they cannot all be treated alike.

A wheel must be round, a carriage body square, and the shafts must follow the line of the crossbar and yoke for the carriage to travel well. The outer horses may want to gallop, while the two horses in the middle should keep a steady pace: each has its proper place. A belt need not be new, and a hook need not be old: each should simply serve its purpose.

The “Guanju” comes from a song about birds, yet the gentleman esteems it because the male and female birds dwell together without discord. The “Luming” comes from a song about animals, yet the gentleman esteems it because they call to one another when they find food. The Spring and Autumn Annals praise the Battle of Hong, in which Duke Xiang of Song fought Chu, was defeated, and was captured, because he refused to attack an army that had not yet formed its ranks. They also praise Lady Boji of Song, who remained seated and died in a fire—she would not leave the hall because her attendant had not arrived—because she did not act in breach of ritual.

Can achievements and meritorious deeds really be judged by only one standard? In each case, one should take what is appropriate to the matter at hand.

Wang Qiao and Red Pine, legendary immortals, withdrew from worldly life and escaped its evils. They breathed in the harmony of Yin-Yang, took in the essence of Heaven and Earth, exhaled stale Qi and inhaled fresh Qi, rose lightly into the clouds, and wandered through the mist. They may be said to have nurtured their nature, but not necessarily to have been filial sons. The Duke of Zhou executed Guan Shu and Cai Shu, bringing peace to the state and ending disorder. He may be called a loyal minister, but not necessarily a dutiful younger brother. Tang drove out Jie, and King Wu killed Zhou, removing tyrants and criminals for the sake of the realm. They may be called benevolent rulers, but not necessarily loyal ministers, judged by the duties of a minister. Yue Yang besieged Zhongshan without capturing it; the people of Zhongshan boiled his son and ate him to intimidate him. Yue Yang may be called a good general, but not necessarily a loving father.

Thus: what ought to be affirmed should be affirmed, and what ought to be denied should be denied; what ought to be denied should be denied, and what ought to be affirmed should be affirmed. One must not cling to a single perspective and mistake it for the whole.

Shun and Xu You followed different ways, yet both were sages. Yi Yin and Bo Yi followed different paths, yet both were benevolent. Jizi and Bi Gan pursued different courses, yet both were worthy. In warfare, too, some are bold and some cautious, some acquisitive and some unselfish. These four approaches are opposites, yet each may make sense in its own circumstances.

Therefore, in warfare—and in handling affairs—one must not cling to a single course: sometimes bold, sometimes cautious; sometimes acquisitive, sometimes unselfish. One must adapt to the circumstances and choose what suits each case, rather than impose one universal rule on all things.

People’s temperaments differ, and they cannot be forced into uniformity. The impulsive are quick to act on a whim; the steady are good at restraining themselves. The greedy are always seeking to gain, while the incorruptible refuse to possess what is not theirs. The brave are suited to charging into battle, but cannot be relied upon to hold a position; the steady can be trusted to defend a position, but not to charge forward and fight. The greedy can be sent to attack and seize, but not to remain at their posts and fulfill their duties. The incorruptible can be trusted to keep to their proper place, but not to press ahead and break new ground. The honest can be relied upon to keep their promises, but not to adapt flexibly to changing circumstances. These five temperaments oppose one another, yet the sage can make use of all of them, assigning each according to the situation.

Heaven and Earth do not contain only one kind of thing, and Yin-Yang does not generate only one kind of being. The sea achieves its vastness by refusing no stream; the mountain reaches its great height by refusing no accumulation of earth and stone. If one clings to a single corner and rejects everything else, taking one thing and casting away the rest, one will gain little and govern only within narrow bounds.

Great matters cannot be managed by petty methods; broad territories cannot be governed by narrow systems. The affairs of those in high positions should not be made needlessly complicated, and the instruction of a large population must not be careless. Matters that are too detailed are hard to govern; laws that are too complicated are hard to enforce; demands that are too numerous are hard to meet. Measuring a zhang with a cun is bound to produce error; weighing a shi with a zhu is bound to produce excess. Measuring a diameter with a stone weight invites mistakes, while counting grains of rice to cook a meal is so tedious that one loses sight of what matters. In carrying out affairs, one should follow the great principles: inspecting every thread and counting every grain of rice is excessive detail that accomplishes nothing. Grasping the essentials easily leads to wisdom; convoluted argument and sophistry do not make one perceptive. The sage does not pursue what contributes nothing to good governance but adds to complication; the wise do not undertake what serves no practical purpose but adds to expense. Thus, achievements need not be elaborate, affairs need not be complicated, and demands need not be numerous. Simple achievements are easy to accomplish, streamlined affairs are easy to govern, and few demands are easy to satisfy. When what people find easy is used to appoint capable people, appointing them becomes easy as well.

Confucius said: “Minor disputes undermine discourse; petty gains undermine righteousness; narrow righteousness undermines the Great Dao; narrow views cannot reach understanding and must be set aside.” The Yellow River flows far because it winds and turns; mountains rise high because their slopes ascend gradually. Yin-Yang achieves harmony through Wuwei (non-action), and the Great Dao nurtures and transforms the myriad things through its unhurried ease. Thoroughly understanding one matter, discerning one statement, or examining one detail may enable one to argue a particular point, but does not yet equip one to respond broadly. Planting water pepper in rows, leaving gaps in a clay pot, splitting wood for fuel, and counting grains of rice to cook a meal may suffice for managing small matters, but not for governing great ones. A circle conforms to the compass, and a square to the set square: these are fundamental principles.

Classic: An Explanation of the Honglie of Huainan

When wild animals have grown, their coats and markings are complete. They may be used to delight people and accompany a dance, but they cannot be arranged into battle formations. A cup must be washed before it can be used for eating, a wine goblet before it can be used for drinking, and hands before food is served. This is enough to provide for a few people, but not enough to host a great banquet.

At a sacrifice today, the cook slaughters and boils meat, skins dogs and roasts pigs, and blends the five flavors. The ritual officer arranges the fu and gui—the fu is square, the gui round—sets out the wine vessels and meat stands, and lays out the bamboo and wooden dishes. The person who fasts and purifies himself, dresses properly, keeps silent, and serves as the vessel for the spirit is the impersonator of the deceased. Even if the cook and the ritual officer are unfit for their roles, the impersonator cannot step past the vessels and stands to do their work for them.

Thus, when a zither is tuned, the small strings are tightened and the large strings loosened. When great affairs are managed, those of low rank do the work, while those of high rank remain at ease. When Shun was Son of Heaven, he played a five-stringed zither and sang the “Southern Breeze” poem, and peace prevailed throughout the realm. Before the Duke of Zhou, meat broth was always served and the racks of bells and drums were never taken down, yet the peoples of the four directions came to submit. Zhao Zheng—that is, the First Emperor of Qin—heard legal cases by day and reviewed documents by night. The canopies of the censors’ carriages followed one another without end through the commanderies and counties. Troops were stationed in the Five Ranges to defend against the Yue, and the Great Wall was built to keep out the Hu. Yet treachery multiplied, and thieves gathered in bands: the more affairs were burdened with rules, the more disorder arose.

Law is an instrument for governing a state, but it is not governance itself, just as bow and arrow are instruments for hitting a target, but are not the act of hitting. The Yellow Emperor said: “Vast and indistinct, one follows Heaven’s might and shares its original Qi. Those who share the same Qi are emperors; those who share the same righteousness are kings; those who share the same strength are hegemons. Without any one of these, a ruler perishes.” When a ruler intends to attack another state, dogs in the lanes may bark together—an attack defies Heaven and is often preceded by ill omens. A rooster may crow at night; the armory may tremble and the warhorses startle. These are signs of martial Qi responding to events, as people in ancient times believed.

If, today, grievances are resolved and weapons laid aside, elders sleep peacefully at home, no crowds gather in the lanes, and no strange calamities or disasters arise, this is the response that follows when the “unlawful” has vanished: vital essence and Qi have naturally begun to move again. To inspire trust without speaking, to show benevolence without making a display of it, and to command awe without anger—these are Heaven’s mind at work, transforming and nurturing the myriad things. To make a display of benevolence, speak words that are trusted, and show anger that commands respect, yet still win people over, is to move them through sincerity. To make a display without benevolence, speak without trustworthiness, or grow angry without inspiring awe is mere outward pretence. Thus, when the Dao governs, even few laws are enough to bring order. Without the Dao, many laws only make disorder worse the more one tries to govern.

Vernacular Interpretation

Education and transformation have already been put into practice, yet without the Dao to guide people’s conduct, however numerous the laws and decrees, they are enough to throw the realm into disorder. In cultivating oneself, nourishing the spirit comes first and nourishing the body second. In governing a state, nurturing transformation—guiding and cultivating the people—comes first, and enforcing the law second.

When the spirit is clear, the will calm, and every joint at ease, this is the foundation of nourishing one’s nature. Making the flesh plump, filling the belly, and indulging the appetite are merely the lesser ends of preserving life. When people yield to one another, vie to take the humbler position, vie to claim fewer benefits, and vie to shoulder hardship, becoming better day by day without knowing why, this is the highest state of governance. Persuading people to do good with benefits and rewards, using punishment to deter wrongdoing, and having upright laws above and obedient people below—this is only the lesser end of governance. In ancient times, people valued the nourishment of what is fundamental; later generations busied themselves with what is secondary. That is why an age of peace is so hard to attain.

Rulers capable of bringing about good government do not appear in every generation; ministers able to help them advance the Way of governance are one in ten thousand. When one in ten thousand meets someone who appears only once in a thousand years, such a meeting may take a thousand years to come about.

Water is naturally turbid, yet it can become clear. Pools in deep ravines collect moss and grime, not because water has changed its nature, but because no one has cleared its course. Deepen the channels where it flows and raise the banks where they have broken, so the water follows the slope downhill. Then even rotting flesh, broken bones, and stagnant, dirty water cannot foul it. Its nature has not changed; the difference lies only in whether its course is open or obstructed. Customs work the same way. If people sincerely clear a path for good intentions and guard against wrongful ones, open the way to goodness and block the roads to corruption, and lead everyone along a common path, human nature can become good and customs can become admirable.

That is why Bian Que is esteemed: not because he adjusts medicines to suit each illness, but because he can tell from a person’s breathing and pulse where the illness began. The sage is esteemed not because he assigns punishments to fit each crime, but because he knows where disorder and calamity arise. If customs are left uncultivated and people are allowed to indulge in excess and perversity, then severe punishments and strict laws cannot keep the realm in check, however harsh they may be. Yu came to rule through the Xia dynasty, while Jie brought the Xia to ruin; Tang came to rule through the Yin dynasty, while Zhou brought the Yin to ruin. It was not that laws and institutions were absent, but that the guiding principles had fallen into disuse and customs had decayed. The laws of the Three Dynasties survived, yet the world was not well governed because people lacked the wisdom of those dynasties. The six pitch standards were all in place, yet they could not bring musical tones into harmony. The principle is the same: when institutions do not reach people’s hearts and customs, good governance cannot be achieved.

Notes on proper names and terms

• Dao: Here it refers to the principles and path of guidance that run through personal cultivation, state governance, and social customs; it is not limited to abstract philosophy.
• Nurturing transformation / enforcing the law: The former emphasizes guiding and cultivating people; the latter emphasizes laws and institutions.
• Bian Que: A renowned physician of the Warring States period, skilled in pulse diagnosis.
• The six pitch standards: The ancient system of musical pitches, used here to illustrate that even complete laws and institutions must accord with social customs and people’s hearts.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of The Huainan Honglie Explained

If the ears lack the ability to distinguish sounds as Master Kuang did, even the most complete laws will not be understood. Thus, although laws are written down, they still depend on a sage to govern; although statutes are comprehensive, they still depend on someone who can distinguish right from wrong to hear and judge cases. A state survives not because it “has laws,” but because it “has worthy people.” A state perishes not because it “has no laws,” but because it “has no sage.”

Duke Xian of Jin wanted to attack the state of Yu. As long as Gong Zhiqi remained there, the duke was so uneasy that he could neither sit nor sleep in peace, and his food tasted bland. He did not dare send his troops out lightly. Later, Duke Xian offered gifts of precious jade and fine horses. Gong Zhiqi urged Yu’s ruler to refuse, but his advice went unheeded. His words were ignored, so he left Yu. Xun Xi then attacked Yu and withdrew without a drop of blood being shed, carrying off the precious jade and leading away the fine horses. Thus, a defense need not wait for deep moats and high walls to be secure, and an attack need not wait for battering rams and siege ladders to take a city. The difference lies in gaining or losing worthy people. Zang Wuzhong used his wisdom to protect the state of Lu, and no power in the world could destroy it. Qu Boyu used his benevolence to bring stability to the state of Wei, and no power in the world could endanger it.

The Classic of Changes says: “He enlarges his house, but curtains cover his home. He peers through the doorway, and it is dark, as though no one were there.” “No one” here does not mean that the people have disappeared; it means that no sage is there to govern them. A people without a sense of shame cannot be governed. Yet it is also not enough merely to cultivate ritual and righteousness without establishing a sense of shame. If people do not understand ritual and righteousness, laws alone cannot correct them. But a state cannot be governed by praising goodness, rejecting ugliness, and admiring ritual and righteousness while failing to enforce the law. The law can execute the unfilial, but it cannot make everyone filial like Confucius. It can punish thieves, but it cannot make everyone honest and incorruptible like Boyi.

Confucius had seventy disciples and three thousand followers. Their filial conduct at home and respect for elders outside it, their eloquent words and exemplary behavior, were the result of moral teaching. Mozi had one hundred and eighty people in his service, all willing to run into fire or tread on blades without turning back; this was the result of moral influence. People who carved their skin and pierced it with bamboo, enduring injury and bleeding, did so in great pain. Yet the people of Yue practiced this to win honor: they tattooed their skin with bamboo to resemble dragons and display their prestige. When a sage king rules, he makes clear what is loved and hated, setting standards for the people. He uses praise and blame to honor the worthy, drawing worthy people close and promoting them, while disdaining the unworthy and removing them from office. The people need not suffer wounds and bleeding, yet they can gain a name of outstanding honor and distinction. Who would not follow such a ruler? In ancient times, laws were established and not broken; the sage kings taught the people, and the people followed.

A Plain Language Interpretation of Commentary on the Honglie of Huainan

Those who have committed crimes and deserve punishment should be punished; those who do not deserve it must not be punished arbitrarily. This is what punishment should be. The various craftspeople work at the proper times, and public affairs are all handled well because ritual and righteousness are clearly upheld and capable, worthy people are appointed.

Thus, the most outstanding people in the realm serve as the Three Ministers; the most outstanding people in a state serve as the Nine Ministers; the most outstanding people in a county serve as its twenty-seven Grand Masters; and the most outstanding people in a township serve as its eighty-one Primordial Officers.

From this we can see that someone able to lead more than ten thousand people is called an “exemplar”; someone able to lead more than a thousand is called a “talent”; someone able to lead more than a hundred is called a “leader”; and someone able to lead more than ten is called a “worthy.”

An “exemplar” understands the Dao of Heaven, sees the patterns of the Earth, and understands human affairs. Their heart can make room for everyone; their De can win the loyalty of people far away; their trustworthiness can bring differing views together; and their wisdom can meet changing circumstances.

A “talent” has De sufficient to teach and transform others, acts in ways that embody righteousness, wins the people’s hearts through kindness, and sees clearly what is happening below.

A “leader” has conduct worthy of imitation, wisdom to resolve difficult questions, integrity in dividing wealth, and trustworthiness in keeping agreements. Their actions follow rules, and their words make sense.

A “worthy” carries out their duties without neglect, upholds what is right without favoritism, does not flee in the face of danger, and does not greedily seize opportunities for profit.

Exemplars, talents, leaders, and worthies each occupy positions suited to the scale of their abilities and thereby find their proper place. From those at the top down to those below, the important guide the less important. When those above set an example, the people respond in harmony; when those above act, those below follow. All within the Four Seas turn their hearts toward the same purpose, reject greed and pettiness, and pursue righteousness. When the people are taught and transformed, they are like plants swept by the wind: none fail to bend with it.

If foolish people are made to teach other foolish people, or unworthy people are placed above the worthy, then even the harshest punishments will not make the people obey. The small cannot control the great, and the weak cannot command the strong. Therefore, a wise ruler raises up the worthy and establishes achievements, while an unworthy ruler appoints only people like themselves.

King Wen raised up Taigong Wang and the Duke of Shao, and ruled the realm. Duke Huan of Qi employed Guan Zhong and Xi Peng, and became hegemon. These are examples of raising up the worthy to achieve success. Fuchai employed the Grand Steward Pi and brought about his own ruin; the Qin state employed Li Si and Zhao Gao and was destroyed. These are examples of appointing people like oneself. Thus, by observing whom a ruler appoints, one can tell whether the realm will be well governed or in disorder. By examining a person’s associates, one can judge whether they are worthy or unworthy.

A sage accepts a temporary setback in order to advance, and bends in order to become straight. So even when taking a crooked road or traveling through a dark passage, the aim is to follow the great straight Way and accomplish great things—just as one must pass out of the woods to reach open country.

This passage says that those who truly walk the straight path and rescue people from drowning cannot help getting their feet wet. Yi Yin worried that the world was badly governed. He harmonized the five flavors and went seeking employment with a cauldron and chopping board on his back. (At the age of seventy, Yi Yin tried to persuade Tang of Shang to appoint him, but was turned down. He then carried his cooking utensils with him and prepared the five flavors; only then was he appointed.) He went five times to Jie and five times to Tang, hoping to clear the muddied age and make a perilous situation safe.

The Duke of Zhou assisted the Zhou house and safeguarded King Cheng. When Guan Shu and Cai Shu backed Prince Lufu in an attempt to rebel, the Duke of Zhou had them executed to pacify the realm; he had no other choice. Guan Zhong worried that the Zhou house was in decline, the feudal lords were waging war against one another, the Yi and Di were attacking the Chinese states, and the people could find no peace. He endured humiliation rather than die because he hoped to remove the threat from the Yi and Di and quell their incursions. Confucius hoped to put the royal way into practice. He traveled east, west, north, and south, trying to persuade seventy states, but none accepted his counsel. He then sought to open a path for his advice through Lady Nanzi, wife of Duke Ling of Wei, and the favored minister Mi Zixia. (Nanzi was Duke Ling of Wei’s wife, and Mi Zixia was a favored minister of Wei.) All these figures hoped to overcome dangers and remove corruption, to move from darkness into the light, and to bring their use of expedient means to a good end.

To judge someone who is pursuing a goal, see whether he turns back; to judge someone who is on a course, see where it leads. Thus Shun’s banishment of his younger brother and the Duke of Zhou’s killing of his elder brother could still be called humane. Jin Wen Gong’s “planting rice” in hopes that it would grow, and Zengzi’s “setting up a sheep” as a means of preparing to understand, could still be called wise. People today use a good name to excuse their shameful deeds and claim the right path to evade responsibility for their wrongful ones. They travel everywhere without choosing their country, take office without choosing their position, and act without avoiding what is corrupt, yet claim to be following Yi Yin’s way. They fight over wealth, divide their households, turn relatives and brothers against one another, and set kin against kin, yet claim to be acting in the spirit of the Duke of Zhou. They behave without a shred of shame or dignity and refuse to die for their principles, yet claim to follow Guan Zhong’s example. They use bribery to court the powerful, advance private interests at the expense of the public good, and form factions to win favor, yet claim to be practicing Confucius’s methods. This leaves noble people and petty people hopelessly confused, with no way to tell right from wrong.

So rivers and streams may run together, but unless they flow into the sea, they do not become a river valley. Likewise, those who hurry and stumble along their way do not become noble people unless their course leads to goodness. Good words must lead to what can be put into practice, and good deeds must lead to benevolence and righteousness. Tian Zifang and Duan Ganmu, who valued the Way and righteousness above rank and wealth, were true noble people.

Li Ke devoted all his strength to his duties, led the officials, and brought harmony among the people. He ensured that the ruler had neglected nothing in life and had no unfinished concerns in death. Such men stood apart from others yet followed the good way. Tian Zifang, Duan Ganmu, and Li Ke were all ministers of Marquis Wen of Wei, so they are all classed among those who follow the good.

Zhang Yi and Su Qin had no fixed home and served no fixed ruler. They devoted themselves to forming alliances and turning states against one another, plotting to overturn the order of things, throwing the world into turmoil and disturbing the feudal lords, so that the people could not live in peace. At times they united the weaker states; at others they assisted the stronger. Such men stood apart from others yet belonged to the ugly and wicked.

Thus, when a gentleman makes a mistake, it is like an eclipse of the sun or moon: their brightness is not lost. When a petty person has ability, it is like a dog barking wildly by day or an owl appearing at night: it brings no benefit to the good way.

The wise do not act recklessly. They choose what is good and act accordingly, weighing their actions against righteousness. In this way, they bring matters to completion and establish achievements that endure; when they die, their names remain worthy of praise. However much wisdom and ability they possess, they must take benevolence and righteousness as their foundation before they can establish themselves. A person may range widely in wisdom and ability, pursuing many undertakings at once, but the sage takes benevolence and righteousness as the sole standard. Those who meet that standard are called gentlemen; those who do not are called petty people. Though gentlemen die, their names do not perish; though petty people gain power, their crimes are not erased.

If someone placed a map of the whole world in a person’s left hand and gripped their throat with the right, even a fool would refuse to take it, because one’s own life is more precious than the world. But people will die for their ruler or their parents, regarding death as a homecoming, because moral duty is weightier than one’s own life. The greatest gain in the world is small beside one’s own life, which one values; beside moral duty, it is slight, for moral duty is what one preserves.

The Book of Songs says, “The harmonious and easygoing gentleman seeks blessings without crookedness.” This speaks of taking trustworthiness and righteousness as one’s standard.

To establish the rule of a hegemon, one must be able to win. To win, one must be strong; to be strong, one must be able to make use of people’s efforts; to make use of their efforts, one must win their hearts; to win their hearts, one must first be at ease with oneself. The heart is therefore the root of the person, and the person is the root of the state. No one has ever first secured himself and then lost the people, nor first lost himself and then gained the people.

Therefore, the foremost task in governing a state is to bring peace to the people. The foundation for bringing peace to the people is an adequate supply of resources. The foundation for ensuring an adequate supply of resources lies in… (The text continues with “not encroaching on the agricultural seasons” and related matters; the original passage appears to break off here.)

A Plain-Language Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Do not disrupt the seasons—do not upset the timing of farm work, the seasonal rhythms, or the pace of ordinary people’s lives. The key to not disrupting the seasons is to reduce burdensome affairs—at root, this means not launching excessive and vexatious undertakings. The key to reducing affairs is to use resources sparingly—reducing affairs comes down to restraining expenditure. The foundation of frugality is returning to one’s nature—bringing one’s spending back in line with one’s original nature and proper needs, without indulging in desires beyond one’s due.

No one has ever been able to shake the root and keep the branches still, or muddy the source and make the stream run clear—no one can disturb the foundation yet leave its outer reaches at peace, or pollute the source while expecting the downstream waters to remain clear. The principles of governing a state and cultivating oneself are the same: first set the root right and clear the source, and the flow downstream will follow.

Those who understand the nature of human nature do not strive for what it does not contain; those who understand the reality of one’s allotted life do not grieve over what fate makes impossible—people who truly understand the workings of their nature do not force themselves to pursue what their nature never possessed. Those who understand the conditions of their allotted life do not waste their grief on what it was never theirs to have. Thus, those who do not build tall palaces do not do so because they love timber any less; those who do not cast enormous bells and tripods do not do so because they love metal any less—they simply follow the natural course of nature and life. Their institutions are simple, yet can still serve as a model for the people.

The eyes delight in the five colors, the mouth savors rich flavors, and the ears become absorbed in the five tones; the seven apertures contend with one another and harm one’s nature, while each day they draw in corrupt desires that weaken the body—the eyes crave colors, the mouth craves flavors, and the ears are captivated by sounds. All seven apertures compete for advantage, harming one’s nature; day after day they invite improper desires, diluting one’s inner substance. If you cannot bring your own body into balance, what can you do for the world? If you cannot regulate yourself, how can you govern all under Heaven? Hence the saying: When a ruler nourishes himself with due restraint, he can nourish the people’s hearts—only when the ruler practices measured self-care can the people’s hearts be sustained.

To say that someone possesses all under Heaven does not mean that he occupies a position of power, receives the registers of succession, or bears an honorific title—possessing all under Heaven does not mean merely sitting on the throne, receiving the records of succession, or carrying an exalted title. It means being able to put the strength of all under Heaven to work and win the hearts of all under Heaven.

The territory of Zhou: to the east, the Eastern Sea; to the west, the Flowing Sands; to the south, Jiaozhi; to the north, Youdu. The army set out from Rong Pass and reached the Pu River, with more than a hundred million troops—the force marched from Rong Pass to the Pu River, with troops numbering in the hundreds of millions. Yet they turned their arrows around and shot, and fought with their halberds aimed sideways—they turned their arrows against King Zhou and pointed their halberds at him. The ruler held a yellow battle-axe in his left hand and a white command pennant in his right, waving it to direct them; but they scattered and fled like shattered tiles, collapsing like earth giving way. King Zhou had the title of facing south as ruler, but not the virtue of a single person. This was how he lost all under Heaven.

Thus Jie and Zhou were not true kings, while Tang and Wu were not usurpers—Jie and Zhou were kings in name but not in reality; Tang and Wu were called rebels but did not truly usurp the throne, because they had won the people’s hearts. The Zhou ruler’s territory around Feng and Hao was no more than a hundred li. Yet at Muye he swore an oath to his troops and defeated Zhou; he entered and occupied the Yin state, paid his respects at King Tang’s temple, honored Shang Rong’s neighborhood with a commemorative gate, sealed Bi Gan’s tomb, and released Jizi from prison. He then broke his staff, destroyed the war drums, laid down the five weapons, let the cattle and horses go free, and went to court holding his tablet upright. The people throughout the realm sang his praises and rejoiced, while the feudal lords came to court bearing tribute—this was how he won the people’s hearts.

King Helü of Wu attacked Chu and entered Ying after five battles—King Helü of Wu invaded Chu and captured Ying, its capital, after five battles. He burned the grain in the Gao Storehouse, destroyed the Nine-Dragon Bell (Chu suspended its bells from Nine-Dragon bell frames), and flogged King Ping of Chu’s tomb (King Ping had killed Wu Zixu’s father, so Wu Zixu whipped the tomb to avenge his father). He took over King Zhao’s palace (when Wu entered Chu, the ruler occupied the ruler’s residence and the high officials occupied the high officials’ residences). King Zhao fled to the state of Sui.

Note: The passage’s quotations mix the character “Zhou” in references to Jie and King Wu of Zhou. Following the Qing explanatory edition, the phrase is commonly read as referring to King Wu of Zhou and his control of a hundred-li area around Feng and Hao. The place names “Rong Pass” and “Pu River” vary across editions.

An Explanatory Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

The fathers and elder brothers among the people brought the children along and supported the elderly as they followed behind him. They gathered in groups and volunteered to serve as his death-defying troops. Everyone turned, waved their arms, and fought for him. At the time, no generals or commanders arranged the ranks or directed the battle, yet each person fought with all his strength. They drove back the Wu army and recovered the lost lands of Chu.

King Ling, ruler of Chu, built the Zhanghua Terrace and imposed forced labor on a vast scale at Qianxi. He had attacked the state of Xu to intimidate Wu, and his army was stationed at Qianxi. The court and the country were in turmoil, and the people were exhausted and suffering. Qiji took advantage of their resentment and installed Prince Bi on the throne. Qiji and King Ling were brothers. The people threw down their weapons and scattered. King Ling starved to death at Qianxi, eating wild grass and drinking untreated water, with a clod of earth for a pillow.

Chu’s mountains and rivers remained as before; its land had not changed, nor had its customs. In the time of King Zhao, a worthy ruler, people willingly followed him even to their deaths. In the time of King Ling, they turned against him and deserted him. This is the difference between winning the people’s support and losing it.

Thus, when a Son of Heaven follows the Dao, his authority extends beyond the Four Yi peoples. When he loses the Dao, he can only hold on to his place among the feudal lords. When a feudal lord follows the Dao, his authority reaches his neighbors on every side. When he loses the Dao, he can only defend his borders. King Tang of Shang ruled from Bo, with a domain seventy li across; King Wen of Zhou ruled from Feng, with a domain one hundred li across. Both could command the world, and their orders were obeyed. When the Zhou dynasty declined, the Rong attacked Fanbo at Qiuchu and captured him. Fanbo was a Zhou minister on a mission to Lu when the Rong attacked him. This shows that with the Dao, a territory of one hundred li can command the feudal lords; without it, even someone who possesses all under Heaven will fear the region around Jizhou. So do not count on others being unable to take what is yours; make yourself impossible to dispossess. If the way you govern can be taken away, rather than being a crooked path such as usurpation and murder, then even possession of all under Heaven cannot be trusted to last.

People stay alive by relying on food and clothing. If they are locked in a dark prison, even fine food and brocade clothing cannot make them happy, because they cannot see with their eyes or hear with their ears. When they glimpse raindrops through a crack in the wall, they let out a sigh of delight. How much more so when the doors and windows are opened and they leave the darkness for the light! If they can rejoice so freely at a glimpse from the darkness, how much more when they leave the prison, sit in a hall, and see the radiance of the sun and moon? Seeing the sun and moon already brings spacious joy. How much greater still to climb Mount Tai, stand upon its stone summit, and gaze out over the distant lands in all eight directions, seeing the sky as small as a pot lid and the rivers as thin as a sash! And what of all the myriad things within them? How immense that joy must be!

Note: The text sets King Zhao and King Ling against each other to show the difference between the people’s feelings toward a worthy ruler of Chu and a tyrant. The final passage builds through successive stages—from the prison, to glimpsing rain through a crack, to opening the window, to stepping outside and seeing the sun, and finally to climbing Mount Tai. This progression evokes the delight of one who follows the Dao, moving from confinement toward a vast and unrestricted vision of Heaven and Earth, in keeping with the Huainanzi’s frequent discussions of the Way of governance and human nature.

How great it is! The ears of the deaf are complete in form, yet they cannot hear; the eyes of the blind are still there, yet they cannot see. Speech is how we make ourselves understood by others, and hearing is how we take others in. The mute cannot speak, the deaf cannot hear: when both afflictions are present, communication between people is cut off. Those who are deaf or mute will spare no expense in seeking a cure. Is deafness and muteness found only in the body? They can afflict the mind as well. When a finger is cramped, everyone tries to straighten it; when the mind is blocked, no one thinks to clear the obstruction. This is because they do not understand the categories to which things belong.

Consider the breadth of the Six Arts and probe the depths of Dao and De (the Way and Virtue). Reach upward beyond the infinite, descend below the infinite, move through the infinite, and soar in the realm beyond form. Be as broad as the Four Seas, as lofty as Mount Tai, and as abundant as the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers. Open and unobstructed, bright and clear, free of all constraints between Heaven and Earth—used to observe and examine the world, how great would that be! What people know is shallow, while the transformations of things are without end. To have been ignorant before and know now does not mean one was born more intelligent; it means learning has added to one’s knowledge. Things become familiar through repeated encounters and can be mastered through repeated practice. So one can follow a danger to devise a safeguard, or face a difficulty and find a way through it. With a single lifetime, one can look upon the wisdom of a thousand years. Though one has not personally lived through the debates of past and present, their principles are already available. Can this not be called having a method?

A person may wish to know what is high and what is low but be unable to judge unaided. Show them how to use a level and an inkline, and they will understand. They may wish to know what is heavy and what is light but have no means to judge; give them a balance beam and weights, and they will be pleased. They may wish to know what is near and what is far but be unable to judge unaided; show them how to aim and shoot with a “deep-sighted instrument” for seeing at a distance, and they will be quick to grasp it. How much more so with a wisdom that adapts without limit and can be put to inexhaustible use! To face great danger without fear, to see confusion and error without becoming bewildered, and to remain at ease—that is joy. Is it merely the pleasure of a clever turn of phrase?

The Dao: all things with form are born from it; even those who are closest to us are bound by its ties. All who take in the vital energy of grain receive it from it; even rulers are subject to its afflictions. All who possess intelligence learn from it; even teachers pass it on. An archer who shoots several times without hitting the mark will be glad when taught the proper method. How much more so for those born with the “method” within them? No one fails to know that learning benefits them, yet people do not follow through because amusement and play distract and harm them. People often let useless pursuits damage the mind’s capacity for what is useful.

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

If the effort spent digging ornamental ponds were put into farming, fields would naturally be brought under cultivation. If the earth piled up to make hills were used to build embankments, there would be enough water for use. If the expense of feeding dogs, horses, and geese were spent on supporting worthy people, one’s reputation would naturally become illustrious. If the days spent hunting with bow and arrow or playing games were spent reciting poetry and reading books, one’s knowledge and experience would naturally grow broad. Thus, the difference between not learning and learning is like the difference between the deaf and mute and ordinary people.

Those who seek learning and can understand the divisions and relations of the world, grasp the roots of good and bad governance, clear their minds and intentions and hold to what is right, and see things from beginning to end may be called wise and strategic. Heaven’s work is to produce birds and beasts, plants and trees; human beings’ work is to establish rites and laws, build palaces and houses, and make boats and carts. That is all. The root of governance lies in benevolence and righteousness; its secondary concerns lie in laws and regulations. Ordinary people regard sustaining the living as fundamental and tending to the dead as secondary, yet these belong together as one whole: both are cherished by the same nature. To put what is fundamental first and what is secondary afterward is the way of the gentleman; to harm what is fundamental for the sake of what is secondary is the way of the petty person. Gentlemen and petty people do not differ in their nature; they differ only in what they put first. For plants, flourishing is fundamental and withering is secondary. Among animals, the larger parts are foremost and the smaller parts are the tail. If the secondary becomes greater than the root, the plant breaks; if the tail is larger than the waist, it cannot move. Food enters through the mouth and nourishes the whole body; water the roots and the branches and leaves grow beautiful. This is the nature of Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth bring forth things with roots and branches, and nourish them in a particular order. How, then, could governing the world by human means have no beginning and end? Benevolence and righteousness are therefore the root of governance. To neglect the root and busy oneself with secondary concerns is like abandoning the roots and watering the branches.

What is more, laws and regulations were originally established to support benevolence and righteousness. To value laws now while abandoning righteousness is like valuing hats and shoes while forgetting the head and feet. Benevolence and righteousness are a firm foundation. If one tries to make it wider without strengthening it, it will collapse; if one makes it higher without widening its base, it will topple. Zhao Zheng, the First Emperor of Qin, failed to increase his virtue while piling height upon height, and so his dynasty fell. Zhi Bo failed to practice benevolence and righteousness and instead sought to expand his territory, and so his state perished. An old saying goes: “A beam cannot bear a heavy load unless it is large enough. Nothing is weightier than De.” A ruler’s relationship to the people is like a tree’s dependence on its roots. When a ruler deepens his De and makes his care sincere, the people will gather around him.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Classical Text

A city needs a foundation, and a tree needs roots. When its roots grow deep, the trunk stands firm; when its foundation is solid, the buildings above it are secure.

The ways in which the Five Emperors and Three Kings governed were the guiding principles of the realm and the standards and models for governing a state.

Today, Shang Yang’s “opening the way to profit and closing off prohibitions,” Shen Buhai’s “methods of testing with three tallies,” Han Fei’s Lone Indignation, and Zhang Yi’s and Su Qin’s strategies of alliance and division are all expedient techniques and temporary adjustments. They are not the enduring foundations of good government, and cannot serve as proper methods to be practiced over the long term and passed down through generations.

Zinan led an army north and preserved the state of Chu, but “going north” cannot be treated as a standing rule. Xian Gao used deception to preserve the state of Zheng, but “deception” cannot be treated as a constant method.

Songs such as the Ya and Song arose from fine words and were rooted in genuine feeling. Through them, rulers and ministers could live in harmony, and fathers and sons could be close. This is the great music of the Shao and Xia: its sound permeates metal and stone and nourishes plants and trees.

Today, however, when sounds of resentment, anger, grief, and longing are played on strings and pipes, listeners become either licentious or sorrowful. Licentiousness brings disorder between men and women; sorrow fills the heart with resentment and longing. Can this still be called “music”?

When the King of Zhao was moved to Fangling after Qin conquered Zhao, he longed for his homeland and composed songs like “The Song of Mountains and Waters.” Everyone who heard them wept.

Jing Ke traveled west to assassinate the King of Qin. Gao Jianli, Song Yi, and the others struck the zhu and sang above the Yi River. Everyone who heard them glared with rage, their eyes seeming ready to burst and their hair standing up beneath their caps.

If such sounds are called “music” and brought into the ancestral temple, can they truly be the music spoken of by the ancients?

Therefore, ceremonial caps and robes and carriage ornaments may be worn, but should not become objects of indulgence. The plain, mild soup used in sacrifice may be eaten, but should not be greedily prized as a delicacy.

Note: The material in parentheses in the Chinese text consists of original annotations or common explanations to clarify names, places, and specialized terms. The text argues that governing should be rooted in the enduring ways of the Five Emperors and Three Kings. It criticizes political tactics and deception, as well as treating sorrowful, resentful sounds as “music.” Ceremonial dress and sacrificial soup serve as examples of ritual and music that may be observed without becoming objects of indulgence.

This passage elucidates principles of governance and self-cultivation, using everyday analogies to demonstrate that truly precious things often appear simple yet contain profound depth.

Just as the finest broth requires no excessive seasoning, the best zither strings (vermilion strings), though plain, produce clear and elevated tones. Such music may not dazzle the ears but leaves an enduring resonance; seemingly bland flavors are precisely the most mellow. Boisterous sounds may seem exciting, and mixed flavors may delight the palate momentarily, yet neither represents genuine value.

Thus, the Dao of governance must be rooted in virtue (De), speech should align with the standards of ancient sage-kings, and music must conform to the norms of classical elegance (Ya and Song). Though the words of figures like Shang Yang and Han Feizi might temporarily please rulers, they deviate from the universal Dao.

When sage-kings establish policies and implement teachings, they thoroughly examine the origins and consequences of matters. In setting laws and norms, they probe their fundamental purpose, never judging by appearances alone. Just as observing a river’s source reveals its course, and watching crops grow anticipates the harvest, Emperor Shun concealed gold in remote mountains to curb human greed. After tasting the fine wine brewed by Yi Di, Emperor Yu distanced himself from the brewer and prohibited excessive drinking to prevent indulgence.

When musician Shi Yan performed the decadent "Northern Tunes" of King Zhou’s era for Duke Ling of Wei, the master musician Shi Kuang immediately recognized them as the music of a doomed state. These examples illustrate how true sage-kings nip problems in the bud, restraining harmful tendencies before they spread.

The passage concludes by noting how excessive pursuit of knowledge and skill erodes innate simplicity: mastery of contracts diminishes trust, and proficiency in mechanics empties the heart. When cunning and deceit dwell within, one loses their pure nature, and spiritual virtue (De) becomes incomplete. Like zithers that need no ornate decoration—their value lies in tone—or carriages that require no lavish carvings—their worth is in utility.

When the strings sound, the twenty-five strings each produce a different note as their pegs are turned; although the cart axle does not turn, the thirty spokes each bear force. The strings are sometimes slack and sometimes taut, sometimes high and sometimes low; only together do they form a melody. The cart has its labor and rest, its motion and stillness; only thus can it travel far. The strings that make sound rely precisely on the soundless body of the instrument to resonate; the cart that can go a thousand li relies precisely on the unmoving axle for support.

Therefore, only when superior and inferior each follow their own proper way can the state be secure; if all take the same road, there will instead be disorder. Those in high position should have broad methods and breadth of vision; if they manage great affairs while harboring only narrow methods, they will invite danger. Coveting small gains harms the great righteousness; showing off petty cleverness harms the Great Dao; indulging in verbal disputation obstructs governance; harsh exploitation injures De (Virtue/Power). When governing affairs, if one does not set steep, harsh, and complicated regulations, the people will easily follow the right way. When governance reaches a broad and generous condition, officials and people will not harm one another. When governance returns to simplicity and honesty, the people will not conceal the facts.

Shang Yang established the law of collective punishment in Qin (if one person in a household committed a crime, the three neighboring households were also punished), and the people therefore resented it. Wu Qi promoted laws in Chu to reduce noble ranks and stipends (cutting the ranks and stipends of the assembled ministers), and meritorious officials therefore betrayed him. Shang Yang’s legislation and Wu Qi’s use of troops were both once regarded by the world as brilliant; yet Shang Yang valued only legal statutes and did not understand the root of order and disorder, ultimately causing Qin to decline and perish because its laws were inappropriate. Wu Qi was familiar with battlefield array and combat but did not understand the court’s flexible planning of war; as a result, Chu was weakened by military campaigns.

When Duke Xian of Jin attacked the Li Rong and took Li Ji, on the surface it did not seem a bad thing, but Shi Su had already sighed over it, because he foresaw that four generations of Jin would suffer disaster. King Fuchai of Wu defeated the Qi army at Ailing and then prevailed over Jin at Huangchi; both campaigns were victorious, yet Wu Zixu worried over it, because he saw that Wu would ultimately be captured and destroyed by Yue. Xiaobai (that is, Duke Huan of Qi) fled to Ju, and Chong’er fled to Cao; their circumstances were both dire. Yet Bao Shuya and Hu Yan (courtesy name Zifan) still followed and assisted them, because they knew the two had hope of achieving hegemony. After King Goujian of Yue retreated to Kuaiji, he diligently rectified government affairs and planned without pause, understanding that disaster might also turn into blessing. Zhao Xiangzi, after winning twice, still wore a worried expression, because he was alert that blessing might turn into misfortune. From this it can be seen that immediate gain and loss are often insufficient to judge final fortune or misfortune.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of Huainan Honglie Jie

Duke Zhuang of Lu once sent Cao Mo, a warrior of Lu during the Spring and Autumn period, to force Duke Huan of Qi to honor an alliance and return the fields of Wenyang. Duke Huan later kept his word and attended the gathering of the feudal lords; he did not break the treaty. This shows that even those who seize the lands of the three families of Jin may still bring their state to ruin. A sage keeps watch over fortune and calamity within “the inner gates,” yet looks for danger beyond “the Nine Bends”—the nine treacherous, winding passes of Jin, where arrows cannot reach and ambushes are hard to detect.

There is an insect called the “yuan silkworm” that can be harvested twice a year, which might seem profitable. Yet the law forbids raising it because it damages the mulberry trees used to feed silkworms. In rice paddies, a weed called “li rice” sprouts first. It resembles ordinary rice but bears little grain, so farmers must pull it out rather than risk a small gain at the cost of the full harvest.

In a household, senior retainers are served separate meals in different vessels. A daughter-in-law climbs the stairs barefoot and kneels to pour the soup. This is not a matter of sparing no expense: to omit these customs would damage ritual propriety and moral order. Marriage must be arranged through a matchmaker, sealed with betrothal gifts, and brought to the home with the bride wearing a “mian” headdress. Though these customs are cumbersome, they cannot be changed, because they guard against sexual disorder. Having neighbors watch one another and report each other’s crimes is not simply a way to spare officials effort; it can damage harmony and breed resentment.

Thus, make one extra hole in a vessel, and a hundred cracks may spread through it; plant one kind of tree out of place, and countless pests may follow. The hole brings little convenience, while the cracks can ruin the vessel. The tree brings little profit, while the harm it causes can undo the larger undertaking. Foolish people often grasp at small gains and forget the greater damage. Removing fleas and lice from a sheep earns no praise, since the lice eggs, called ling, will hatch again. A civet cat can catch mice, but it cannot be allowed to roam the courtyard, because it will catch chickens too. Some things bring a small benefit here but great harm elsewhere: one gains in one place and loses in another. A player of Go may sometimes capture two stones only to leave himself with no way forward; at other times, deliberately giving up one stone, called qi, can lead to victory. Small gains should not be treated as a guiding principle, but the art of adapting to changing circumstances can serve as a basis for laws and institutions.

Benevolence lies in recognizing people’s abilities and strengths. To be benevolent is to love people; to be wise is to understand them. Loving people means fewer harsh punishments, and understanding them means fewer failures in government. When a state is governed according to established patterns, principles, and laws, there are fewer errors and abuses.

When punishments are neither excessive nor abused, acts of tyranny do not arise. When those above govern without turmoil or disorder, and those below harbor no resentment, acts of cruelty can be eliminated and the Way of harmony and balance can flourish. This was why the three dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou prospered. As the Book says: “If one can be both wise and benevolent, the common people will rally to one. What is there left to worry about? Whom is there left to resent?”

Huandou and Youmiao were treacherous men whom Shun banished. Zhibo had five outstanding abilities: a fine, long beard was one; skill and strength in archery and charioteering, two; complete mastery of practical arts, three; eloquence and intelligence in matters of achievement and writing, four; and resolve and courage, five. Yet he still died at another’s hands because he did not love people.

King Jian of Qi had three exceptional skills: the strength to draw a powerful bow, the speed to outrun a galloping horse, and the ability to leap over great heights. Yet he was captured by Qin because he did not recognize the worthy. (Both rulers entrusted office to Housheng and ignored Chunyu Yue’s advice.)

Therefore, nothing is greater in benevolence than loving people, and nothing is greater in wisdom than recognizing people. Without these two qualities, even the observant and quick-witted, the clever and agile, the diligent and industrious, and the swift and strong cannot escape disorder.