VOLUME III, SEMESTER 4, CHAPTER 47, SECTION 1
That Fight Over Salt and Iron: When the Words Ended, No One Won All
The four commons are told to here: all four are there, they feed one another, each keeps its bound, and that share with no owner goes to the many. Yet all four joined together rest on one underlying ground: no single hand can grow so big as to hold the whole field to the end. If this ground is not held, all that was told in the four chapters before becomes empty words.
Chapter forty-three answered half of this matter: a single hand holding all cannot stand, for it will be pushed back by the very things it cannot measure. That line is true, yet it bears a hard flaw: waiting for it to be pushed back often takes time—sometimes tens of years—and through those tens of years, many a person’s whole life passes away. So the second half must still be asked: is there a strength that pushes it back on the spot? This chapter speaks of just this thing, called check and balance. This section begins with a fight two thousand one hundred years ago, to dig up its root first.
One, the root of check and balance begins on one single person
Before telling that fight, dig up the root of these two words, check and balance, lest one think of grand things right at the start. Chapter forty-one counted the five ropes on that boss’s back: the timber pulling from above, the buyer pulling from below, the bank pulling from behind, that master craftsman of nineteen years pulling at his side, and the order and the law pressing down from over his head. One weightiest line was pointed out back then: not one of these five ropes was designed by any man, nor did anyone hold a meeting to decide to tie five ropes on him.
They grew out of the position itself. He wants timber, so he takes the restraint of the upstream; he wants to sell goods, so he takes the restraint of the buyer; he wants to borrow money, so he takes the restraint of the bank; he wants men to work, so he takes the restraint of the worker. To want one thing is to take on one restraint. He wants to open shop and do business on this piece of ground, so he takes the restraint of the order and the law. To want one thing is to take on one restraint; this is brought by the position, not by anyone’s good heart, nor by anyone’s calculation.
So the first layer of check and balance needs no searching outside; it grows of itself where the four things need one another. As the four scales ask for the things in one another’s hands, they hold one another’s hands, and no one can let go and run away alone.
Two, yet leaning on position alone is not enough
A rope grown out of a position has one short point: the strength on its two ends is seldom equal. For a rope to hold tight, both ends must pull with force; if one end has strength and the other has none, that rope is as good as nothing. Can that boss hold back the board factory upstream? Not quite, for the board factory does not lack him as a single buyer. Can that young man who just came into the shop hold back the boss? Not quite either, for he holds no craft in his hand that others cannot replace; if he leaves, a second will come tomorrow.
One end strong and one end weak, that rope grows slack; where it grows slack, the stronger end begins to grow outward, an inch a year, growing on until it becomes that sole ruler spoken of in chapter forty-three. So leaning only on the ropes that grow on their own from positions is not enough.
Where it is not enough, one human act must be added: bring both ends to the same table, let them speak each their own words face to face, each pressing one end. This act does not grow of itself; it takes men to do it. And the earliest and finest sample of this thing was set two thousand one hundred years ago.
Three, that fight, both sides speaking each their own words
In the sixth year of Shiyuan under Emperor Zhao of Han, the court summoned the worthy scholars recommended from all places to the capital, to hold a face-to-face debate with Sang Hongyang’s side, who then held the state treasury. The topic of the debate was very real, and very grave: salt, iron, and liquor—should they be run solely by the official hand, or should they be let go back to the people to do?
Sang Hongyang’s side spoke a very hard reason. The north must be guarded, soldiers kept, and grain moved—where does the money come from? Salt and iron are things all people under heaven need every day; with the official hand holding this end, first the state treasury has a reliance, and second, in good years and bad, prices can be smoothed out, so a few big merchants cannot hoard them up and ask for wild prices.
The worthy scholars’ side spoke a reason just as hard. For the official hand to do business with one hand and collect tax with the other is competing with the people for gain; official-made iron tools are dear and ill-made, so a farmer buying them home cannot work a few mu of field, and must take them back to forge them a second time; when all above and below in a state fix their eyes on making money, the primary trade is left wild, and customs rot along with it.
Neither side spoke nonsense. One side spoke of state revenue and border defense, the top matter for the moment; the other side spoke of the people’s keep and customs, the top matter for the long run. That line from chapter forty-five fits just right here: standing in different positions, what they saw was different to begin with, and neither side lied.
One thing must be remembered here: those summoned to the capital that year were scholars recommended from all places; they held no official post, managed no money or grain, and commanded not a single soldier. If counted by strength, their end was weak—so weak as to be left unheeded. Yet the court invited them in, letting them finish their words face to face with the one who managed the state treasury, and that weak hand held down one end by leaning on that table. This layer will be used again and again later: that rope which position cannot grow is made up by a table.
Four, the outcome was: no one won all
That fight went on for a long time, debating from spring to summer, and the final outcome was: the liquor monopoly was dropped, the iron officers inside the pass were withdrawn, while the official running of salt and iron largely remained. Did Sang Hongyang’s side win? Not all; one corner was shaved off. Did the worthy scholars’ side win? Not all either; what they asked for was done only a small half.
This outcome, if looked at by winning or losing, made neither side pleased, nor was it easy for either side to give an account back home; it looked like a matter left half-done and put down. Yet turning to another view, it becomes wholly different: that year, neither end was able to press the other end down.The state revenue end was not pushed all the way to the end, nor did the people’s keep end empty the state treasury. Two hands each pressing one end, the structure held firm.
When chapter six of the first semester spoke of this fight, a line was set: where one side grows into a sole ruler, the harm on the other end comes; parallel without clash is not without debate. This section pushes that line one step forward: the shape of parallel without clash is just this shape where no one wins all.
One more line must be said here, lest this fight be read as a light matter. That debate was fought very harshly, words spoken very heavily on both sides without sparing face; Sang Hongyang, having worked in court for tens of years, was counted down to his face by a crowd of scholars without official post; the worthy scholars were also mocked as ones who knew only empty talk, not knowing how much freight it takes to move one picul of grain to the border. Yet precisely because both sides spoke their words to the very end, that year’s measure was able to land firm. Chapter forty-five said: harmony is not without debate; sameness without harmony is superficial agreement with different hearts underneath. This fight was harmony, not sameness.
Five, this fight left three things behind
Look one layer further down: why is this fight worth bringing up two thousand one hundred years later? Because it left three things behind, and these three are the very footing on which check and balance stands firm. First, the accounts on both sides were set in the open. How big a gap the treasury had, how much border defense cost in a year, how dear iron tools were, and whether farmers could pay for them—each and every thing was spoken out face to face. Chapter forty-four set the line: the books can be seen, so neither end needs to guess; what is guessed out of thin air is mostly the worst kind.
Second, there was a place for words to be spoken. Those worthy scholars were not court officials, but scholars recommended from all places; the court brought them from all places to the capital, letting them speak their words line by line face to face with the one who managed the treasury, without fear. This is just the second thing from chapter forty-four: words can be reasoned out, both ends having a table.
Third, the words spoken were left on record. Later someone gathered that debate into a book, recording section by section for both sides; the reasons of both sides were there, and neither was deleted. So people two thousand one hundred years later can still turn the pages and see how both sides spoke back then. Only words that stay can hold back those who come later. A fight debated and scattered, with no one keeping record, leaves the next generation to fight it all over from the start, and they may not fight out the same measure.
One more line must be made clear, lest this fight be heard as a rare thing from old times. Today, setting wages in a factory, setting rules in a trade, or setting a matter that touches everyone in a city still walks the very same path: bring both ends to one place, let each speak their own words, set the accounts in the open, fight it out, and at last land on a measure where no one wins all. The names have changed tens of times, yet what is done is still that same thing from two thousand one hundred years ago. So this section tells no old story; it is a set of methods still used everywhere today.
Six, what this section sets firm
What this section sets firm is one line: check and balance is not who wins, but that no one can win all.The root of check and balance grows first on position: to want one thing is to take on one restraint, which is born of itself. Yet the strength on the two ends of a position-grown rope is seldom equal; where it grows slack, a sole ruler begins to rise, so a human act must be added: bring both ends to the table, let each press one end.
That fight two thousand one hundred years ago is the earliest sample of this matter. The three things it left behind are the footing of check and balance: the accounts set in the open, a place for words to be spoken, and the words spoken left on record. The next section looks at another kind of check and balance, one that relies not on men sitting down to speak, but on another kind of strength: someone opening another road from the side, filling away that wall built up.
Credit to the ancestors; the mistakes are mine: Tiger Lyon.