There is an idiom in Chinese that every schoolchild learns: 老马识途 (lǎo mǎ shí tú) – “the old horse knows the way.”
It is usually explained as a piece of folk wisdom: listen to your elders, trust experience, respect the people who have been around longer than you. The English equivalent might be “an old hand knows the ropes,” or “experience is the best teacher.” It sounds like advice your grandmother would give you.
But the story comes from the Han Feizi, and Han Fei was not in the business of grandmotherly advice. The original passage is sharper, stranger, and more useful than the idiom suggests.
The Story: Two Geniuses and a Horse
The story appears in Chapter 22 of the Han Feizi, “The Forest of Sayings, Part One” (说林上). It is set during a military campaign.
Duke Huan of Qi (齐桓公), one of the great hegemon-rulers of the Spring and Autumn period, led an expedition against the state of Gu Zhu (孤竹). His two most capable ministers accompanied him: Guan Zhong (管仲), the famous statesman and strategist, and Xi Peng (隰朋), a senior adviser known for his intelligence.
The army set out in spring and returned in winter. By the time they were heading home, the landscape had changed. They were lost.
Guan Zhong did not panic. He did not pretend to know the way. He did not issue a confident proclamation to reassure the troops. He said something that a proud man would find humiliating:
老马之智可用也。
The wisdom of old horses can be used.
The classical English translation renders the scene plainly: “Guan Zhong said: ‘The wisdom of old horses can be used.’ They therefore let loose some old horses and followed them, and thus found their way” .
Later, deep in the mountains with no water, Xi Peng did the same thing – but with ants:
蚁冬居山之阳，夏居山之阴。蚁壤一寸而仞有水。
Ants live on the sunny side of a mountain in winter and on the shady side in summer. If ant soil is one cun thick, there will be water at a depth of a ren.
They dug where the ants had built, and found water .
Then Han Fei delivers the line that makes the story more than a charming anecdote:
以管仲之圣而隰朋之智，至其所不知，不难师于老马与蚁。
With Guan Zhong’s wisdom and Xi Peng’s intelligence, when they encountered something unknown, it was not difficult for them to take old horses and ants as their teachers.
And then the sting:
今人不知以其愚心而师圣人之智，不亦过乎？
Now, if people do not use their limited understanding to learn from the wisdom of sages, is this not a mistake?
What Han Fei Is Actually Saying
The idiom’s popular meaning – listen to your elders – is not wrong, but it is not the point Han Fei is making.
The point is about the relationship between intelligence and the admission of ignorance.
Guan Zhong and Xi Peng are not ordinary people. Guan Zhong is traditionally credited with making Qi the dominant power of his age; Xi Peng is described in the sources as a minister of “great wisdom” . These are men whose entire reputation rests on knowing things. And yet, when they do not know something, they do not bluff. They do not perform confidence. They do not protect their status by pretending to have an answer they do not have.
They ask the horse. They ask the ants.
Han Fei’s target is the human tendency to refuse to be seen not knowing. The fool, in his reading, is not the person who lacks knowledge. The fool is the person who cannot tolerate the experience of being ignorant in front of others, and therefore fabricates certainty rather than seeking a real answer.
This connects directly to Han Fei’s broader epistemology. In the Yu Lao (喻老) chapter, he glosses Laozi’s line “自见之谓明” – to see oneself is called clarity – by observing that “知之难，不在见人，在自见” – the difficulty of knowing is not in seeing others, but in seeing oneself . The hardest thing to see is your own ignorance, because your ego is invested in not seeing it.
The Two Modern Translations
Han Fei’s insight can be translated into two practical strategies for people who want to avoid the “fool’s mistake” of pretending to know.
1. Shift the Muzzle
When Guan Zhong says “The wisdom of old horses can be used,” he does something subtle. He does not make himself the protagonist of the solution. He makes the horse the protagonist.
If he had said, “I have a plan,” every eye in the army would have been on him. If the plan failed, every accusation would have landed on him. By attributing the insight to the horse, he transfers the focus – and the risk – away from his own person.
The modern version is not about literal horses. It is about how you frame a suggestion when you are not certain it will work. “I read somewhere that…” “Someone once told me…” “There’s a story about…” The idea is still transmitted. But the spotlight – and the liability – is diffused.
This is not deception. It is risk management in a social environment where being wrong is punished more severely than being unoriginal.
2. Shift the Frame
The second strategy is about avoiding the trap of self-justification.
Once you become invested in proving that you are right, the conversation stops being about the problem. It becomes about you. And as Han Fei’s framework implies, no one survives sustained scrutiny. The more you defend your position, the more you invite others to examine you rather than the issue.
The Daodejing states the principle that Han Fei himself commented on: “不自见，故明；不自伐，故有功” – not displaying oneself, one therefore becomes clear; not praising oneself, one therefore has merit . The person who does not make themselves the center of the answer is the person who can actually solve the problem.
The Historical Irony
There is a final layer to this story that Han Fei’s original readers would have felt.
Guan Zhong and Xi Peng are remembered as successful ministers – men who served a hegemon, built a strong state, and died in honor. Han Fei, the author who tells their story, died in a Qin prison, destroyed by the slander of Li Si and Yao Jia.
The story of the old horse is not a story about people who were always right. It is a story about people who were willing to be wrong in a way that allowed them to keep moving. Guan Zhong did not know the way. He knew how to find someone who did. That is a different kind of intelligence – and it is the kind that Han Fei is recommending.
The person who cannot say “I don’t know” is not strong. They are stuck. The person who can say it, and then look for the horse, is the one who gets home.
The Takeaway
“The old horse knows the way (老马识途)” is not advice to defer to the elderly. It is a case study in the strategic value of admitting ignorance.
The old horse knows the way because the old horse has walked it before. The wise minister knows the way because the wise minister knows when to stop pretending to know.
The next time you are lost – in a conversation, a project, a decision – the question is not “How do I appear competent?” The question is: “Where is the horse?”
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