XV. The Moistening of Wind and Rain: True Completion of Things So Often Happens in Silence

Both wind and rain have the nature of pervading everywhere. Wind travels and the grass bends before it, entering every crevice; rain falls from Heaven and moistens the soil. Their power does not depend entirely on violence. Gentle breeze and fine rain do not strive to astonish, and yet they let roots and sprouts unfurl. From this one can see that Heaven and Earth do not always bring things to completion through spectacular means. So many of the most fundamental transformations occur precisely amid the unnoticed course of daily life.

Moral instruction is likewise so. Ritual and music, schools, family upbringing, and local custom, steeping a person day after day, form him over long duration. A single command can change behavior for a moment; only sustained custom can change what a person is ashamed of and what he esteems. The Master said, "The virtue of the noble person is like wind, the virtue of the small man is like grass; when the wind passes over the grass, the grass is sure to bend" -- the wind here is no violent overthrow, but those below following the example of those above. When those above are themselves frugal, extravagance among the people naturally eases somewhat; when those above contend for profit, no number of prohibitions can stop the people below from competing after it too.

The effect of the teaching carried by the wind is often underestimated precisely because it is invisible. People easily esteem visible, great achievements and overlook the tiny choices made every day. In truth, the customs of a state are never formed suddenly in a single day; a person's virtue, too, is never suddenly completed by a single word. "Words must always be kept, deeds must always be carried through" has its own limits, but it is sustained honesty even in private, unseen places, and cautious self-watchfulness in solitude, that gradually earns others' trust. Trust is like soil receiving rain: at first its depth is unseen, but over time it can grow the hundred grains; once exhausted, it cannot be restored by a single downpour either.

The gentle, sincere instruction of the Book of Songs likewise cultivates a person's disposition through repeated chanting. Poetry does not always compel through direct command, but uses things to evoke feeling, letting good and ill, gain and loss, enter into a person's own sentiment and will. Ritual propriety realizes reverence and yielding in bowing, ceding, advancing, and withdrawing; music lets grief and joy each find its proper measure. Together, the three constitute a moistening that does not wait until punishment falls upon a person before teaching him restraint. Master Xun's emphasis on accumulated practice is precisely because disposition can be shaped through long, sustained practice. Piling up earth makes a mountain; gathering water makes a deep pool; accumulating good makes virtue -- none of these can be hurried.

The Most High used "governing a great state is like cooking a small fish" to warn against frequent disturbance. A fish, turned over and over, falls apart; the people, if constantly disturbed by governmental command, grow weary. Good governance is at times like the moistening rain -- it does not show off its own action, and yet lets the people each pursue their own occupation. The Most High also said, "I take no action, and the people transform themselves; I love stillness, and the people rectify themselves" -- non-action (wuwei) is not the abandonment of governance, but the reduction of forcing the myriad things by private cleverness, letting fitting institutions and the personal example set by those above form a stable environment. Though its language differs from the Confucian idea of transformation through virtue, both are wary of governmental commands, too numerous and too harsh, destroying the order that things naturally generate for themselves.

Wind and rain also have their excess and their insufficiency. A violent storm topples trees; excessive rain harms the crops. Kindness without measure likewise nurtures indolence and harms the public good. Hence moistening is not unconditional satisfaction, but must fit the time and the measure. If parents, loving their children, do everything for them and indulge every desire without limit, this appears to be moistening on the surface, but in fact leaves the children unable to stand on their own. If a ruler bestows rewards without measure, this may cause his ministers to contend for favor, emptying the state's resources. The virtue of the yielding must be balanced by decisive firmness; kindness and nurturing must be regulated by ritual propriety and righteousness.

The wind and rain of Heaven and Earth favor no single thing. When rain falls, all things receive its bounty, yet different grasses and trees absorb it each according to their own nature. Virtuous governance, too, should be extended fairly, not altered by private favor toward kin, while allowing different talents each to reach their own completion within a shared instruction. So-called equality does not mean identical outcomes, but giving each thing its own path to life. That the great tree can grow to its full greatness and the small grass can fulfill its own smallness, neither hindering the other -- this is the true scene of Kun bringing things to completion.