禮書

The Grand Historian says: How magnificent is this virtue! To govern the myriad things and direct the masses — could this be achieved by human effort alone? When I visited the Grand Usher's office and examined the additions and subtractions made by the Three Dynasties, I understood that rites were fashioned in accordance with human feelings and ceremonies devised in accordance with human nature. Their origin reaches back into deep antiquity.

The Way of humankind runs through ten thousand strands of warp and weft, and its standards penetrate everything. People are guided forward by humanity and duty and held in check by punishments and penalties. Those rich in virtue hold high rank; those with great emoluments enjoy honor — this is how the realm within the seas is unified and the myriad people are brought into order. The body finds comfort in riding carriages, so gilded carriages with inlaid crossbars were made to enrich the ornament. The eyes delight in the five colors, so embroidered patterns and designs were created to display their skill. The ears take pleasure in bells and chime-stones, so the eight kinds of instruments were harmonized to stir the heart. The mouth savors the five flavors, so an abundance of delicacies, sour and salt, were prepared to bring out their beauty. The feelings crave what is rare and fine, so jade tablets and discs were carved and polished to convey their meaning. For this reason the Great Carriage had rush-mat seats, the leather cap was paired with a cloth skirt, the vermilion-stringed instrument had open sound-holes, and the grand broth was served with dark wine — all to guard against excess and extravagance, and to remedy decadence and decay. Thus from the hierarchy of ruler and minister, the sequence of high and low, noble and base at court, down to the distinctions among the common people regarding carriages and clothing, dwellings and food, marriage and mourning and sacrifice — every affair has its proper measure, and every object its pattern and restraint. Confucius said: 'From the point of the libation onward in the di sacrifice, I no longer wished to watch.'

When Zhou declined, rites were abandoned and music fell apart. Great and small overstepped one another's bounds. Even Guan Zhong's household maintained the 'three returns' — a privilege reserved for rulers. Those who followed the law and upheld what was right were scorned by the world, while those who indulged in extravagance and usurped rank above their station were called illustrious and honored. Even Zixia, one of the Master's foremost disciples, admitted: 'When I go out and see the dazzling splendor, I am delighted; when I come in and hear the Master's Way, I am pleased — the two wage war in my heart, and I cannot decide between them.' How much more so for those of middling or lesser capacity, who had gradually soaked in failed instruction and dressed themselves in established custom? Confucius said 'What is necessary is the rectification of names,' yet in Wei he found no agreement with the ruler. After Confucius died, his students sank into obscurity and could not carry on his work — some went to Qi or Chu, others vanished beyond the rivers and seas. Is this not a cause for grief?

When Qin gained the empire, it absorbed the ritual systems of the Six States and selected the best elements. Though these did not conform to the sages' standards, the principle of elevating the ruler and restraining ministers made the court dignified and orderly, following ancient precedent. When Gaozu came to possess all within the four seas, Shusun Tong made some additions and subtractions, but the essentials all followed Qin practice. From the emperor's titles down to subordinate officials, palace buildings, and office names, little was changed. When Emperor Wen took the throne, his officials proposed establishing formal ritual protocols. But Emperor Wen favored Daoist learning and considered elaborate rites and polished appearances useless for governance — personal transformation was what mattered, he said — and so he shelved the proposal. Under Emperor Jing, the Imperial Secretary Chao Cuo, astute in practical affairs and legalist statecraft, repeatedly pressed his remonstrance on Emperor Jing: 'That feudal lords serve as protective vassals and that ministers and sons are treated equally — this has been the system from ancient times to the present. Now the great kingdoms govern independently with separate policies and do not defer to the capital. I fear this cannot be passed on to future generations.' Emperor Jing adopted his plan, but the six kingdoms revolted, naming Cuo as their primary grievance, and the emperor executed Cuo to resolve the crisis. The details appear in the account of Yuan Ang. After this, officials merely cultivated connections and secured their salaries — none dared raise the matter again.

When the current emperor took the throne, he summoned scholars of the Confucian arts and ordered them to jointly establish the ceremonial system, but after more than ten years nothing was completed. Some argued that in antiquity, only when the Great Peace arrived and the people were content and auspicious omens appeared in abundance should folk customs be assessed and formal standards established. The emperor heard this and issued an edict to the Imperial Secretary: 'Those who receive the Mandate and become king each have their own reasons for rising — different paths that lead to the same destination. This means acting in accordance with the people and fashioning institutions from existing customs. The critics all invoke high antiquity — what can the common people hope from that? Han too is a dynasty in its own right. If we do not transmit our canonical laws, what will we say to our descendants? Where transformation runs deep, institutions are expansive; where governance is shallow, they are narrow and cramped. Should we not strive harder?' Thereupon, in the first year of the Taichu era, he reformed the calendar, changed the official colors, performed the Feng sacrifice on Mount Tai, and established the ceremonial protocols for the ancestral temples and the hundred officials — making these the permanent standards to be handed down to posterity.

Rites originate from human beings. People are born with desires. When desires go unfulfilled, resentment inevitably follows. When resentment has no measure or limit, conflict follows. Conflict leads to chaos. The former kings detested this chaos, and so they established rites and duty to nourish people's desires, to supply their needs, ensuring that desire does not exhaust the supply of things and that things are not crushed under the weight of desire — the two sustaining each other in growth. This is how rites originated. Rites are nourishment. Rice, millet, and the five flavors nourish the mouth. Pepper, orchid, and fragrant angelica nourish the nose. Bells, drums, pipes, and strings nourish the ears. Carving, engraving, and decorative patterns nourish the eyes. Spacious rooms, beds, benches, and mats nourish the body. Rites are nourishment.

The gentleman, once nourished, also desires distinction. What is meant by distinction is that noble and base have their grades, elder and younger have their differences, and rich and poor, heavy and light all have their proper measure. The Son of Heaven's Great Carriage with its rush-mat seat nourishes the body. The fragrant herbs mounted beside it nourish the nose. The inlaid crossbar in front nourishes the eyes. The harmonious sound of carriage bells — stepping to the pace of the Wu and Xiang dances, galloping to the rhythm of the Shao and Hu — nourishes the ears. The dragon banner with nine streamers nourishes trust. The rhinoceros-hide and tiger-pelt accouterments, the sharkskin harness and dragon ornamentation nourish authority. The horses of the Great Carriage must be thoroughly trained and perfectly obedient before they are harnessed — this nourishes security. Who understands that risking death to uphold principle is what nourishes life? Who understands that spending freely is what nourishes wealth? Who understands that respectful deference is what nourishes peace? Who understands that the patterns and principles of rites and duty are what nourish the emotions?

If people see only survival, they will surely die. If they see only profit, they will surely suffer harm. If they take laziness as comfort, they will surely face danger. If they let impulse rule as contentment, they will surely perish. When the sage unifies conduct under rites and duty, both goals are achieved. When conduct is unified under raw impulse, both are lost. The Confucians aim to help people achieve both; the Mohists cause them to lose both. This is the divide between Confucianism and Mohism.

Rites are the ultimate instrument of orderly governance, the foundation of strength and security, the path by which authority is exercised, and the sum of achievement and reputation. When kings and dukes follow this path, they unite the realm and bring the feudal lords to submission. When they abandon it, they lose their altars of state. Hard leather and sharp weapons are not enough for victory. High walls and deep moats are not enough for security. Strict commands and harsh punishments are not enough for authority. Follow the Way, and they succeed; abandon it, and they fail. The Chu used sharkskin, rhinoceros, and buffalo hide for armor as hard as metal and stone. The great iron lances of Wan pierced like wasps and scorpions, light and swift as whirlwind. Yet their army was shattered at Chuishe, and Tang Mei died there. When Zhuang Qiao rose in revolt, Chu was split into three or four parts. Was it that they lacked hard armor and sharp weapons? The principle by which they governed was not the Way. They used the Ru and Ying Rivers as natural barriers, the Yangzi and Han as their moat, the Deng Forest as their rampart, and the Square Wall as their border. Yet when the Qin armies reached Yan and Ying, they swept through as easily as shaking dry leaves. Was it that they lacked strong fortifications and strategic obstacles? The principle by which they governed was not the Way. King Zhou cut open Bigan, imprisoned Jizi, devised the roasting pillar, and killed the innocent. His ministers trembled, none certain of their lives. Yet when the Zhou army arrived, his commands did not reach his subordinates and he could not mobilize his people. Was it that his orders were not strict, his punishments not severe? The principle by which he governed was not the Way.

The weapons of the ancients were merely halberds, spears, bows, and arrows, yet rival states submitted without being put to the test. City walls were not assembled, moats were not dug, fortifications were not erected, and military stratagems were not deployed — yet the state was serene, fearing no external threat and perfectly secure. There is no other reason for this: illuminate the Way and distribute resources fairly, employ the people at the right time and love them sincerely, and those below will respond as a shadow follows a form or an echo follows a sound. If any refuse to obey, then apply punishment — and the people will understand their guilt. Execute one person, and all under Heaven submit. The guilty do not blame their superiors, knowing that the fault lies in themselves. Thus punishments are few yet authority flows like a current. There is no other reason: it is because they follow the Way. Follow the Way, and it works; abandon the Way, and it fails. In antiquity, when Emperor Yao governed all under Heaven, he executed one person and punished two, and the realm was ordered. The tradition says: 'Authority was stern but never tested; punishments were set aside and never used.'

Heaven and Earth are the root of life. Ancestors are the root of the lineage. Ruler and teacher are the root of governance. Without Heaven and Earth, how could there be life? Without ancestors, how could one come into being? Without ruler and teacher, how could there be order? If any of the three is absent, there can be no peace among the people. Rites serve Heaven above and Earth below, honor the ancestors and elevate the ruler and teacher. These are the three roots of rites.

The king takes Heaven as his grand ancestor; the feudal lords do not presume to do the same. The grand masters and officers have their established lineage temples — this is how noble and base are distinguished. When the distinction between noble and base is maintained, the root of governance is secured. The suburban sacrifice to Heaven is reserved for the Son of Heaven; the altar of soil extends to the feudal lords; the enclosed offerings reach down to officers and grand masters — distinguishing that those of high rank serve what is high, those of low rank serve what is low, what should be great is great, and what should be small is small. Thus he who possesses all under Heaven sacrifices to seven generations; he who possesses one state, to five; he who holds a domain of five chariots' capacity, to three; he who holds three chariots' capacity, to two. He whose offering is a single animal and who eats from it may not establish an ancestral temple. This distinguishes those whose accumulated virtue is deep, whose flowing bounty reaches wide, from those whose accumulation is thin and whose bounty reaches only a narrow span.

At the grand feast, the dark wine is placed highest; on the sacrificial stand, raw fish is placed on top; the grand broth is served first — honoring the root of food and drink. At the grand feast the dark wine is placed highest yet thin wine is actually drunk; millet and panicled millet are served first yet rice and sorghum are the meal; in the sacrificial tasting the grand broth comes first yet the abundant delicacies provide satiety — honoring the root while relying on the practical. Honoring the root is called 'pattern'; relying on the practical is called 'principle.' When the two are united they form complete civilization, returning to the Great Unity — this is called the Grand Exaltation. Thus the dark wine is placed highest among the vessels, the raw fish atop the sacrificial stand, the grand broth first among the ritual dishes — these embody one and the same principle. The sharp-edged cup is not sipped from; the completed offering on the stand is not tasted; the three urgings to eat are not accepted; at the great marriage the fasting period has not yet ended; at the grand temple the spirit-representative has not yet entered; at the moment of death the minor shrouding has not yet begun — all these embody one and the same principle. The plain canopy of the Great Carriage, the hemp cap at the suburban sacrifice, and the loose hemp that comes first in mourning dress — all one principle. The three-year mourning wail that does not turn back, the Pure Temple hymn sung once with three sighs, the single bell hung with hand-drum accompaniment, and the vermilion string with open sound-hole — all one principle.

All rites begin in simplicity, achieve fullness in pattern, and end in contentment. At their most complete, feeling and form are both fully expressed. At the next level, feeling and form alternate in predominance. At the lowest level, feeling returns to the Great Unity. Through rites, Heaven and Earth are joined, sun and moon shine, the four seasons proceed in order, the stars and planets move in their courses, the rivers flow, the myriad things flourish, likes and dislikes are moderated, and joy and anger are kept appropriate. Applied below, they produce obedience; applied above, they produce clarity.

The Grand Historian says: How perfect this is! Rites establish the Grand Exaltation as the ultimate standard, and nothing in the world can add to or subtract from it. Root and branch accord with each other; beginning and end answer one another. The most refined pattern offers a basis for distinction; the most penetrating analysis offers a basis for understanding. Those in the world who follow rites are well governed; those who do not fall into chaos. Those who follow them are secure; those who do not face danger. Petty men cannot take rites as their model.

The appearance of rites is truly profound — the sophistries of 'hard and white' and 'same and different' enter this realm and grow feeble. Their appearance is truly vast — the narrow and petty theories of those who arbitrarily create regulations enter and are left gazing upward in defeat. Their appearance is truly lofty — the brutal, contemptuous, and self-indulgent who affect disdain for convention and consider themselves elevated enter and plummet. When the ink-line is truly laid out, one cannot be deceived about straight and crooked. When the balance is truly hung, one cannot be deceived about heavy and light. When compass and square are truly applied, one cannot be deceived about round and angular. When the gentleman examines rites carefully, he cannot be deceived by fraud and falsehood. The ink-line is the perfection of straightness; the balance is the perfection of levelness; the compass and square are the perfection of roundness and angularity; rites are the perfection of the human Way. Yet those who do not model themselves on rites and fail to fulfill rites are called people without direction; those who model themselves on rites and fulfill rites are called scholars of direction. Within rites, to be able to reflect and inquire is called being able to deliberate. To deliberate without wavering is called being steadfast. To be able to deliberate, to be steadfast, and in addition to love rites — that is to be a sage. Heaven is the ultimate of height; Earth is the ultimate of depth; sun and moon are the ultimate of brightness; the infinite is the ultimate of vastness; the sage is the ultimate of the Way.