五蠹

In the age of high antiquity, people were few and wild beasts were many. Humans could not prevail against beasts, insects, and serpents. A sage arose who wove wood into nests to shelter the people from these dangers. The people were pleased and made him king over all under Heaven; he was called the Nest Builder.

The people ate fruits, berries, mussels, and clams -- rank, foul-smelling food that injured their stomachs, and many fell ill. A sage arose who drilled wood to make fire, transforming rank flesh into cooked food. The people were delighted and made him king over all under Heaven; he was called the Fire Maker.

In the age of middle antiquity, the world was engulfed by a great flood, and Gun and Yu opened channels to drain the waters. In the age of recent antiquity, Jie and Zhou ruled with violent disorder, and Tang and Wu launched punitive campaigns.

Now, if someone were to build nests and drill for fire in the age of the Xia dynasty, Gun and Yu would surely laugh at him. If someone were to open drainage channels in the age of Yin and Zhou, Tang and Wu would surely laugh at him. It follows that if someone today glorifies the ways of Yao, Shun, Tang, Wu, and Yu in the present age, the new sages would surely laugh at him.

This is why the sage does not seek to restore antiquity, does not take established custom as his standard, but examines the affairs of his own age and prepares accordingly.

There was a man of Song who was plowing his field. In the field stood a tree stump. A hare ran into the stump, broke its neck, and died. The farmer thereupon set aside his plow and kept watch by the stump, hoping to catch another hare. No second hare was ever caught, and the man became the laughingstock of the state of Song.

Those who wish to govern the people of today with the policies of the former kings are all of the stump-guarding sort.

In ancient times, men did not plow -- the fruits of plants and trees sufficed for food. Women did not weave -- the hides of beasts sufficed for clothing. Without laboring, sustenance was sufficient. The population was small and resources abundant, so the people did not contend. Therefore lavish rewards were not instituted, harsh punishments were not employed, and the people governed themselves.

Today a man has five sons and this is not considered many. Each son in turn has five sons, so that before the grandfather dies he has twenty-five grandsons. Thus the population grows large while goods and wealth grow scarce. People toil hard while provisions grow thin. Therefore the people contend. Even if rewards are doubled and punishments heaped upon punishments, disorder cannot be avoided.

When Yao ruled all under Heaven, his thatched roof was untrimmed and his rafters were unhewn. He ate coarse millet and drank bean-leaf broth. In winter he wore deerskin; in summer, hemp cloth. Even a gatekeeper's provisions and dress were no worse than this. When Yu ruled all under Heaven, he himself took up the plow and the hoe, leading the people by example. His thighs had no flesh on them and his shins grew no hair. Even a slave's toil was no more bitter than this.

Seen in this light, those who abdicated the throne in antiquity were merely giving up a gatekeeper's rations and leaving behind a slave's labor. That they passed on the throne is nothing to praise. But when a modern county magistrate dies, his sons and grandsons ride in carriages for generations. This is why people prize the office. Thus when it comes to abdication: men readily gave up the ancient throne yet find it hard to relinquish a modern magistracy. The difference lies in how meager or how rich the position is.

Those who live in the mountains and draw water from the valleys give each other gifts of water at the year-end festival. Those who live in the marshes and suffer from too much water hire laborers to dig drainage ditches. In a famine spring, a man will not feed his own younger brother. In a bumper autumn, even a casual stranger is given a meal. This is not because a man is cold to his own kin and loves passing guests -- it is because abundance and scarcity are different.

Therefore the ease with which the ancients gave away wealth was not benevolence -- it was because wealth was plentiful. The contention of the present is not baseness -- it is because wealth is scarce. The ease of abdicating the throne was not nobility of character -- it was because the position was meager. The fierceness of competition for office is not moral failing -- it is because the stakes are high.

Therefore the sage deliberates on scarcity and abundance, weighs meagerness and richness, and fashions his governance accordingly. Light punishments are not mercy; severe executions are not cruelty -- they are calibrated to the customs of the time. Affairs follow from the conditions of the age, and institutions must be suited to the affairs they address.

In ancient times, King Tai dwelt between Feng and Hao, with a territory of only a hundred li square. He practiced benevolence and righteousness, won over the Western Rong tribes, and ultimately became king of all under Heaven. King Yan of Xu dwelt east of the Han River, with a territory of five hundred li square. He practiced benevolence and righteousness, and thirty-six states ceded territory and paid court to him. King Wen of Chu, fearing that Xu would threaten him, raised an army, attacked Xu, and destroyed it.

Thus King Wen practiced benevolence and righteousness and became king of all under Heaven; King Yan practiced benevolence and righteousness and lost his state. This shows that benevolence and righteousness worked in the past but do not work in the present. Therefore it is said: when the age changes, affairs change.

In the time of Shun, the Miao tribes would not submit. Yu wished to attack them. Shun said: 'It cannot be done. To resort to force when one's virtue is not yet ample is not the Way.' So he cultivated moral instruction for three years and performed the shield-and-axe dance, and the Miao submitted. But in the battle against Gonggong, those with sharp iron weapons reached the enemy, while those with flimsy armor were wounded. The shield dance worked in antiquity; it does not work in the present. Therefore it is said: when affairs change, methods must change.

In high antiquity, men competed through moral virtue. In the middle age, they contended through wit and strategy. In the present age, they struggle through brute force.

When Qi was about to attack Lu, Lu sent Zi Gong to dissuade them. The men of Qi said: 'Your words are not unpersuasive, but what we want is territory, not the sort of thing you are talking about.' They thereupon raised an army, attacked Lu, and set their border ten li from the city gate.

Thus King Yan's benevolence led to the destruction of Xu, and Zi Gong's eloquence led to the diminishment of Lu. Seen in this light, benevolence, righteousness, eloquence, and wisdom are not the means by which to preserve a state. Had Xu abandoned King Yan's benevolence and Lu dispensed with Zi Gong's cleverness, and instead marshaled their military strength to confront ten-thousand-chariot states, then the ambitions of Qi and Chu could never have been carried out against them.

Ancient and modern customs differ; old and new conditions require different measures. To try to govern the people of a turbulent age with lenient and indulgent policies is like trying to drive a horse without bit or whip -- this is the affliction of ignorance.

Now the Confucians and the Mohists both claim that the former kings loved all under Heaven impartially and regarded the people as parents regard their children. How do they demonstrate this? They say: 'When the Minister of Justice carried out punishments, the ruler refrained from music; when he heard the report of an execution, the ruler wept.' This is the former king they hold up.

If the relationship between ruler and minister could truly be made like that of father and son, then order would be assured. But to push this argument to its conclusion is to claim that there are no disorderly father-son relationships. In human nature, no bond is prior to that of parent and child. All children receive love, yet families are not necessarily well-ordered. However deep the love, how can one guarantee there will be no disorder? Now, the former kings' love for their people did not exceed a parent's love for a child. Since children are not necessarily well-ordered, how can the people be expected to be well-governed?

Moreover, when the ruler wept as the law carried out its punishments, this was a display of benevolence, not a method of governance. To weep and wish not to punish -- that is benevolence. But to punish nonetheless because one must -- that is law. The former kings let their law prevail and did not heed their own tears. That benevolence alone cannot produce order is thus perfectly clear.

Moreover, the people are by nature submissive to power and rarely capable of being won over by righteousness. Confucius was a sage recognized throughout all under Heaven. He cultivated virtue and illuminated the Way as he traveled the realm. All under Heaven admired his benevolence and praised his righteousness -- yet those who entered his service numbered only seventy. For those who value benevolence are few, and those capable of righteousness are rare. Thus in all the vastness of the world, his followers numbered seventy, and the man of benevolence and righteousness was but one.

Duke Ai of Lu was an inferior ruler. Yet he faced south and governed a state, and not a single person within his borders dared refuse to serve as his subject. The people are by nature submissive to power, and power is truly effective at securing obedience. Thus Confucius was the subject, and Duke Ai was the sovereign. Confucius did not submit to Duke Ai's righteousness -- he submitted to his power.

Therefore, by the standard of righteousness, Confucius would never have submitted to Duke Ai. But through the leverage of political power, Duke Ai made Confucius his minister. Now the scholars who counsel rulers tell them to ignore the leverage of assured victory and instead devote themselves to benevolence and righteousness in order to become kings. This is to demand that every ruler match Confucius, and to assume that every commoner in the world is like Confucius's own disciples. This is a calculation that is certain to fail.

Suppose there is a worthless son. His parents scold him, but he does not reform. His neighbors rebuke him, but he is not moved. His teachers instruct him, but he does not change. With the love of his parents, the pressure of his neighbors, and the wisdom of his teachers -- three admirable influences applied to him -- he remains unmoved, not changing a hair on his shin. But when the magistrate of the district dispatches officers armed with official weapons to enforce the public law and hunt down offenders, only then does he feel fear, alter his principles, and change his conduct.

Thus the love of parents is insufficient to teach a child. The harsh penalties of the district magistrate are needed, because the people are by nature insolent under indulgence and obedient under authority.

A wall of ten ren: even Lou Ji cannot scale it, because it is sheer. A mountain of a thousand ren: even a lame ewe can graze on it, because the slope is gradual. Therefore the enlightened ruler makes his laws sheer and his punishments severe.

A bolt of ordinary cloth: a common man will not let go of it. A hundred yi of molten gold: even Robber Zhi will not snatch it. When there is no certain harm, a man will not release a piece of cloth. When harm to the hand is certain, he will not grab a hundred measures of gold. Therefore the enlightened ruler makes his punishments certain.

Thus: no reward is better than one that is generous and reliable, so that the people are drawn to it. No penalty is better than one that is heavy and certain, so that the people fear it. No law is better than one that is uniform and stable, so that the people understand it. Therefore when the ruler bestows rewards without caprice and carries out punishments without pardons, when praise reinforces his rewards and censure accompanies his punishments, then both the worthy and the unworthy will exert themselves to the utmost.

Today the situation is otherwise. The state ennobles men for their meritorious service, yet looks down on those who hold military office. It rewards men for their farming, yet diminishes their household enterprises. It ostracizes men for not amassing wealth, yet extols those who disdain the world. It punishes men for violating prohibitions, yet praises those who show daring.

When censure and praise, reward and punishment, point in contradictory directions, law and prohibitions collapse and the people grow ever more disordered.

Today, when a man's brothers are attacked and he strikes back, this is called integrity. When a man's friends are insulted and he pursues the offender, this is called loyalty. But when the conduct of integrity and loyalty is established, the laws of the sovereign are violated. The ruler honors such integrity and loyalty while forgetting the crime of breaking his prohibitions. Thus the people set their sights on personal valor, and the officials cannot control them.

When a man who does not labor can eat and dress well, this is called talent. When a man who has no military merit is honored, this is called worthiness. But when the conduct of worthiness and talent is established, the army weakens and the fields go fallow. The ruler delights in worthiness and talent while forgetting the disasters of a weak army and barren land. Thus private reputations are built up while the public interest is destroyed.

Scholars subvert the law with their writings; knights-errant violate prohibitions with their swords. Yet the ruler honors both -- this is the root of disorder.

Those who depart from the law should be punished, yet scholars are advanced through their literary arts. Those who break prohibitions should be executed, yet knights-errant are maintained by their private swords. Thus what the law condemns, the ruler selects; what the officials punish, the sovereign sustains. Law and inclination, sovereign and subordinate -- all four point in opposite directions, with nothing settled. Even ten Yellow Emperors could not govern under such conditions.

Therefore those who practice benevolence and righteousness should not be praised -- to praise them is to undermine merit. Literary scholars should not be employed -- to employ them is to subvert the law.

In Chu there was a man called Straight Body. His father stole a sheep, and the son reported him to the authorities. The Chief Minister said: 'Execute him!' -- considering the son upright toward his ruler but crooked toward his father, and so the informer was convicted and punished. Seen in this light, a ruler's upright subject is a father's cruel son.

A man of Lu followed his lord into battle and fled three times in three engagements. Confucius asked the reason. The man replied: 'I have an aged father. If I die, there is no one to care for him.' Confucius deemed this filial piety and promoted him. Seen in this light, a father's filial son is a ruler's treasonous subject.

Thus when the Chief Minister punished the informer, offenses in Chu went unreported. When Confucius rewarded the deserter, the people of Lu readily surrendered and fled. The interests of superior and inferior diverge to this extent. Yet the ruler tries to adopt the standards of private individuals while seeking blessings for the altars of state -- this is certain to fail.

In ancient times, when Cangjie invented writing, the character for 'private' (私) depicted a person encircling himself; the character for 'public' (公) was the reversal of 'private.' That public and private stand in opposition to each other -- Cangjie already understood this.

To think that they can share the same interest is the affliction of those who do not examine closely. For the private individual, the best course is to cultivate righteousness and master literary learning. Cultivate righteousness and you will be trusted; be trusted and you will receive office. Master literary learning and you will become an esteemed teacher; become an esteemed teacher and you will enjoy honor and glory. This is the beauty of being a private individual. But when men receive office without merit and enjoy honor without rank, if this is how governance operates, then the state will surely fall into disorder and the ruler will surely be endangered.

Therefore things that are incompatible cannot coexist. You cannot reward those who slay the enemy while exalting charitable and merciful conduct. You cannot grant rank and salary to those who storm fortifications while crediting doctrines of restraint and benevolence. You cannot harden armor and sharpen weapons to prepare for crisis while admiring the ornamental robes of scholars. You cannot enrich the state through agriculture and rely on soldiers to resist the enemy while honoring literary scholars. You cannot abandon the people who respect superiors and fear the law while maintaining wandering knights and private swordsmen.

If this is how governance operates, strength and order cannot be attained. In peacetime the state nurtures Confucians and knights-errant; in crisis it must rely on armored soldiers. Those it benefits are not those it uses; those it uses are not those it benefits. Thus those who serve the state neglect their duties, while those who pursue wandering scholarship grow daily more numerous. This is why the world falls into disorder.

What the world calls a worthy man is one who practices constancy and good faith. What the world calls a wise man is one who speaks in subtle and profound terms. But subtle and profound speech is difficult even for the most brilliant minds to understand. If you make laws for the common people based on what even the most brilliant find difficult, the people will have no way to comprehend them.

A man who cannot fill his belly with chaff and husks does not occupy himself with fine millet and meat. A man whose coarse shirt is in tatters does not wait for embroidered silk. When the urgent affairs of governing the world cannot be accomplished, lesser matters are not worth attending to. If the governance of states and the affairs of the people -- things that any husband and wife can plainly understand -- are set aside in favor of the most esoteric doctrines, then governance is turned on its head. Therefore subtle doctrines are not the people's business.

As for the conduct of the worthy and trustworthy: it means one must prize men who do not deceive. But men who do not deceive possess no technique for ensuring that others will not deceive. Commoners deal with one another without wealth to exchange as benefits, without authority to wield as threats. Therefore they seek out trustworthy men. But the ruler occupies a position of command over others, possesses the wealth of an entire state, and holds the handles of lavish reward and severe punishment. If he employs the illumination of administrative technique, then even ministers of the caliber of Tian Chang and Zi Han would not dare deceive him. Why then would he need to wait for inherently trustworthy men?

Today, men of constancy and good faith number fewer than ten, while the offices within the realm are counted in the hundreds. If you insist on appointing only men of constancy and good faith, there will not be enough men for the offices. When offices go unfilled, those who govern are few and those who create disorder are many.

Therefore the way of the enlightened ruler is: unify the law and do not seek cleverness; secure the administrative techniques and do not yearn for trustworthiness. Then the law will not be defeated, and the officials as a whole will be free from treachery and fraud.

Today the ruler, when it comes to words, delights in eloquence without demanding substance. When it comes to conduct, he admires reputation without holding men accountable for results. Thus among the masses of the realm, those who talk strive for eloquence without concern for practical use. The court is filled with men who invoke the former kings and preach benevolence and righteousness, yet governance is not spared from disorder. Those who cultivate their conduct compete to appear lofty without contributing to practical achievement. Wise men retire to caves and cliffs, returning their salaries and refusing office, yet the army is not spared from weakness and governance is not spared from disorder.

Why is this? What the people praise and the sovereign honors is the very art of bringing a state to ruin.

Today, everyone within the borders talks about governance. Every household possesses the writings of Shang Yang and Guan Zhong, yet the state grows poor -- those who talk about farming are many, but those who hold the plow are few. Everyone within the borders talks about warfare. Every household possesses the writings of Sunzi and Wu Qi, yet the army grows ever weaker -- those who talk about war are many, but those who don armor are few.

Therefore the enlightened ruler employs men's strength and does not listen to their words. He rewards their achievements and prohibits what is useless. Thus the people exhaust their strength in service to their sovereign.

Farming is toilsome labor, yet the people do it because they say: 'Through this we can grow rich.' Warfare is dangerous, yet the people undertake it because they say: 'Through this we can win honor.' Now, if one pursues literary learning and practices the art of speech, one gains the wealth of farming without its toil and the honor of warfare without its danger. Then who would not choose that path? Thus for every hundred men who pursue cleverness, only one exerts himself in labor. When those who pursue cleverness are many, the law collapses. When those who labor are few, the state grows poor. This is why the world falls into disorder.

Therefore in the state of an enlightened ruler: there are no texts written on bamboo strips -- the law serves as instruction. There are no words of the former kings -- officials serve as teachers. There are no private swords for personal valor -- slaying the enemy in battle serves as courage.

Thus the people within the borders, when they speak, must conform to the law. When they act, their actions are directed toward merit. When they display bravery, it is devoted entirely to the army. Therefore in peace the state grows rich; in war the army grows strong. This is called the capital of kingship.

Once the capital of kingship has been accumulated and then deployed against rival states -- to surpass the Five Emperors and equal the Three Kings -- this is necessarily the method.

Today the situation is otherwise. Officers and commoners act without restraint at home, while persuaders build their influence abroad. Internal and external alike accumulate evils -- and then they await a powerful enemy. Is this not perilous?

When ministers speak on foreign affairs, they either have stakes in the vertical or horizontal alliance factions, or they harbor private enmities and borrow the state's power to pursue them. The vertical alliance joins many states to attack one; the horizontal alliance serves one great power to attack many. Neither is the way to preserve a state.

Today those ministers who advocate the horizontal alliance all say: 'If we do not serve the great power, we will face the enemy and suffer disaster.' But serving the great power may yield no real benefit. Instead, the state presents its maps and submits, offers up its seal and begs for troops. To present maps is to lose territory; to offer the seal is to diminish sovereignty. Lost territory means a shrunken state; diminished sovereignty means disordered governance. Serving the great power through the horizontal alliance -- its benefits are nowhere to be seen, yet territory is lost and governance disordered.

Those ministers who advocate the vertical alliance all say: 'If we do not rescue the small states and oppose the great power, we will lose the world. If we lose the world, the state is endangered and the ruler is diminished.' But rescuing small states may yield no real benefit -- instead, it means raising armies to oppose a great power. The small state may not be saved after all, and relations with the great power may well be damaged. Once relations sour, the state is at the mercy of the stronger. Sending armies leads to military defeat; falling back leads to sieges. Rescuing the small through the vertical alliance -- its benefits are nowhere to be seen, yet territory is lost and armies are broken.

Thus: serving the strong means using foreign influence to secure domestic offices. Seeking the small means using domestic weight to pursue foreign advantage. The state's benefit has not yet been established, yet enfeoffments and lavish salaries have already arrived. Though the sovereign is diminished, the ministers are exalted. Though the state's territory is reduced, their private households are enriched. If the venture succeeds, they use their influence to increase their power. If it fails, they retire in wealth. When the ruler listens to his ministers' advice, rank and salary are already elevated before the venture has succeeded. When the venture fails and no one is punished, what itinerant persuader would not concoct entangling arguments and gamble on the outcome?

Thus states are ruined and sovereigns destroyed by heeding the empty rhetoric of talkers. Why is this? Because the ruler does not understand the difference between public and private interests, does not scrutinize whether arguments are sound, and does not ensure that punishment follows failure.

All say: 'In foreign affairs, the great outcome is to become king, the small outcome is to be secure.' But to become king means to be capable of attacking others; to be secure means to be unassailable. To be strong is to be capable of attacking others; to be well-governed is to be unassailable. Good governance and strength cannot be obtained from abroad -- they come from domestic policy. If one does not practice law and technique at home but pursues cleverness abroad, good governance and strength will never be attained.

A rustic proverb says: 'Long sleeves make for graceful dancing; much capital makes for good trading.' This is to say that abundant resources make work easy.

A well-governed, strong state is easy to plan for; a weak, disordered state is hard to devise strategies for. Thus those who served Qin could change course ten times and rarely fail; those who served Yan could change course once and rarely succeed. This is not because those who served Qin were necessarily wise and those who served Yan were necessarily foolish -- it is because the resources of order and disorder differ.

Thus Zhou joined the vertical alliance against Qin and was destroyed within a year. Wei left Wey and joined the horizontal alliance and perished within half a year. Zhou was destroyed by the vertical alliance; Wey was destroyed by the horizontal. Had Zhou and Wey set aside their alliance schemes and instead enforced strict governance within their borders -- making their laws and prohibitions clear, ensuring their rewards and punishments, exhausting the productive capacity of their land to build up reserves, and inspiring their people to fight to the death to strengthen their defenses -- then any state that seized their territory would gain little, and any state that attacked them would suffer greatly. Not even a state of ten thousand chariots would batter itself against fortified walls and expose itself to a powerful enemy's counterattack. This is the art of certain survival.

To abandon the art of certain survival and pursue the path of certain destruction -- this is the error of those who govern states. When wisdom is exhausted domestically and governance disintegrates abroad, then ruin cannot be reversed.

When the people calculate their interests, they invariably seek safety and profit while avoiding danger and poverty. Now consider: if they are sent to war, advancing means death at the hands of the enemy and retreating means death by execution -- this is danger. If they abandon their private affairs for the inevitable hardship of military campaigning and their families fall into poverty with no consideration from above -- this is destitution. When danger and destitution lie in that direction, how can the people not flee from it?

Therefore they attach themselves to powerful private patrons and keep their quarters secure. When their quarters are secure, they are far from war. When they are far from war, they are safe. They offer bribes and gifts to ingratiate themselves with those in power, and their petitions are granted. When petitions are granted, they are privately secure. Since private security lies in that direction, how can they not flock to it?

Thus the state's public citizens grow few while private dependents grow numerous.

The governance of an enlightened king reduces the number of merchants, artisans, and idle consumers while keeping their status low, so that few are drawn to these peripheral occupations and many pursue the fundamental work of farming. But in the present age, when the requests of court favorites are carried out, offices and ranks can be purchased. When offices and ranks can be purchased, merchants and artisans are no longer of low status. When illicit fortunes and commercial profits can be freely employed in the marketplace, merchants do not diminish. When the wealth amassed through commerce yields more honor than that of soldiers and farmers, upright men grow scarce while profiteers multiply.

These, then, are the customs of a disordered state:

Its scholars invoke the way of the former kings, trade on benevolence and righteousness, adorn themselves in fine robes, embellish their speech with eloquence, cast doubt on the laws of the present age, and divide the ruler's mind.

Its itinerant persuaders fabricate fraudulent claims, borrow foreign power to advance their private interests, and abandon the interests of the altars of state.

Its swordsmen gather bands of followers, establish codes of honor to make their names renowned, and violate the prohibitions of the five ministries.

Its draft-evaders attach themselves to the households of the powerful, exhaust their wealth in bribes, exploit the patronage of influential men, and thereby escape the toil of military service.

Its merchants and artisans produce implements of dubious necessity, accumulate wealth that is never consumed, hoard their stores to exploit market timing, and thereby encroach upon the profits of the farmer.

These five are the vermin of the state. If the ruler does not eliminate these five classes of vermin and does not nurture upright men of straightforward character, then if within the four seas there are states that crumble and fall, dynasties that are reduced to ruin -- one should not be surprised.