《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 4

Some have argued that giving up wealth is the way to stop theft. The Yu clan yielded a jade disk to admonish the greedy; Shu Guang distributed his property so his descendants would not suffer ruin; Sun Shu’ao asked for poor, barren fiefs so desire and trouble would not gather around him. Niu Que was robbed because he carried precious things; Tao Gu brought calamity on himself because he stored too much. The lesson in each case is plain enough—should it not serve as a warning?

The questioner fell silent for a long time, mouth open but unable to speak, head bowed and unable to raise it. At last he sighed and said: “Now I see: someone who hopes to leave words that outlast him must not let estates and goods disturb his mind; someone who pursues the kind of achievement Dong Zhongshu won by studying behind closed doors must not let a glance at the garden scatter his attention. To praise the mandarin duck and phoenix with the scent of a foul nestling, or to pit a crab-splitting trick against a fierce tiger—is that not shallow and absurd? Alas—you should have understood this sooner.”

Baopuzi Waipian, fascicle 35, complete.

Baopuzi Waipian, fascicle 36

“An Pin” (Being Content with Poverty)

In the Baopu Zi, Ge Hong writes: When the Han dynasty waned, the realm was ravaged by war, the land split apart, and three rival powers contended for mastery. A man known as Master Letian, fleeing the chaos, wandered until he reached the country around Minshan and Yizhou. At first he sought the patronage of Wen Xiu, a follower of Liu Zhang, yet he never won the recognition of Zhuge Liang. His discourse was lofty and his conduct upright; he held to his own principles alone and stood apart from the crowd. People therefore regarded him with awe, and no one cared to draw near to him. Even Liu Zhang and Zhuge Liang, for all their power, could not go against the temper of the times, so Master Letian long languished in a mean dwelling, growing old year by year, still clad as a commoner. The ruler of the age wished to seek out talent, yet neither heard his name nor came to know him; those who held authority did not recommend him. He could only hide in remote lanes and humble thatched huts. Whether advancing or retreating, he had no way to fulfill the ambition to govern and bring order to the world, nor leisure to secure a livelihood; he often subsisted on wild greens until his larder was empty again and again, so destitute that he could barely think from morning to evening about how he would eat.

Then a young man who trimmed his sails to worldly opinion came to his door and challenged him, saying: “I have heard that one who has the talent of an Yi Yin or a Lü Shang to govern and save the state will not long remain trapped in poverty and low station; one who has the skill of a Xi Dun to enrich himself through enterprise will not long endure hunger and cold. The clear-sighted prize timely adaptation, and the wise also prove their ability by never lacking what they need for life. Fan Li, for example, in office assisted Yue in destroying Wu and winning hegemony, becoming a famous minister of his age; in retirement he traded and amassed wealth of ten thousand in gold. Poverty is counted among the greatest misfortunes of life, and plenty among its blessings. Ancient poetry praises a life of abundance, and the Yi Jing (Classic of Changes) values gathering people together. When the bait is fragrant, fish will come; when rewards are rich, brave men will spring into action.

“Sima Xiangru once cast off the rough trousers of his poverty and later rose to high office. Chen Ping was so poor that he slept on a door panel, yet afterward received a fief. Lü Buwei came to hold a domain of a hundred thousand households. Zhou Bo, the Marquis of Jiang, also went from prison to eminence. A Han marquis who visited the countryside brought remorse and disgrace upon himself through miserliness. The old washerwoman who once gave food to the impoverished Han Xin later received a reward of a thousand in gold.”

The gentleman had none of Shaobo’s (Fan Li’s) ingenious stratagems, yet devoted himself wholly to the Six Classics; he overlooked the calamities right before his eyes and chased only posthumous renown; he found it shameful to seek salary by improper means, and was embarrassed to win glory by showing off. He hoped King Wen of Zhou would seek him out as when he went hunting for worthies, and waited for the Yellow River to run clear; he would rather, like Liezi, wear a famished look and still pursue from afar the preservation of spirit and the casting off of bodily form. To act thus is like drawing a fine steed in place of walking on foot, pointing at the sea to slake thirst, spreading a net on a mountain peak, or fishing from the top of a tall tree. Even if one thinks one has found a fitting method, in the end it remains impractical. One cannot establish lasting achievement in the world, and the ten thousand things have no chance to flourish in accord with the times.

Today the realm is split and heroes vie for supremacy. Men like Gong and Xiang commit boundless wickedness; cunning villains harass the heartland and defy orders. Men of mediocre talent rush about like shooting stars, while wolfish ruffians snarl and contend with open jaws. Those in high office wave their sleeves arguing their grievances, while the pure and honest suffer disgrace and must walk the byways. Orthodox Confucians abandon reverence for the Great Dao and turn instead to the arts of the Five Hegemons; the broadly learned set aside the Four Categories of Confucius’s gate yet busy themselves with the “Monthly Dawn” style of character appraisal.

Those who offer gifts of wealth may rise from humble fields; those lacking wealth and pedigree are shut out from court. Whoever holds gold and silver can squeeze through palace gates and ascend the jade hall; those who only pore over the classics instead incur lifelong enmity and fall into distress. Those generous in lavish gifts can have even tile and stone taken for fine jade; those short in gifts and patronage see even fine steeds abandoned in the wild. Many partisans ride the swift wind to sudden success; narrow circles of acquaintance struggle in the water like lame tortoises.

A lump of mud cannot hold back the surging rush of Lake Poyang; how can one lone worthy turn around an age adrift and out of true alignment? Now you, sir, have not a stone’s measure of grain stored at home, nor a bundle of dried meat to offer when you go out. Inwardly you harbor virtue, noble as dragon and phoenix; your writing blazes like tiger and leopard; your words pour forth like waves, your essays spread like brocade—yet in a cramped room you freeze and hunger. How can such a plight fail to sigh the heart? Why not take a light boat downstream, hoist sail to distant shores, barter rare goods north and south, gather gold and jade from the Jiuyi region, follow the old path of Cui Lie (who in the Eastern Han bought high rank with wealth), and in a peaceful age seek honored office? If you only wear yourself out burying yourself in books, where will be the chance to leave the dust of the world and rise far above it?

Seeking fame solely through harsh self-mortification of the body is precisely what the Yellow Emperor and Laozi mocked. Mr. Leyue replied: “The Six Classics have all been studied, and the eight categories of ancient writings are clear in my mind—that is wealth. Wielding the brush to compose and unfold literary grace, a fine reputation flows on without end—that is eminence. Pursue humaneness and you obtain humaneness; what is there to cast aside, and where else would you go to seek?”

Dwelling in deep valleys to nourish spirit and mind, treating external things lightly and finding joy in oneself; casting the turmoil of the dusty world beyond perilous, distant paths, and letting spirit settle in quiet clarity. Without peering out through the window, one can still survey things from afar; discerning subtle discourse, one is not confused. Even when high office and rich stipends are set before him, he remains unshaken. Why would he worry over poverty and wrangle with merchants for profit, or, in hardship, vie with ordinary petty people for success?

You know only that trade can amass wealth and farming can ward off hunger, yet you do not know that one who chases elk will not turn back for a hare; one whose road is long will arrive late. Jiang Shang (the worthy who assisted King Wen and King Wu of Zhou) in his early years worked as a cattle butcher and did not reveal his extraordinary talent until old age. A weight of ten thousand jun is exceedingly heavy; even a fierce whirlwind cannot move it. Until the Xiao Shao (the music ascribed to Shun’s time) has been played through nine times, the phoenix will not dance in flight. Therefore one who waits to ride the whirlwind straight up to the blue sky will not be thwarted on the tops of tangleweed; one who relies on the sinew of a fine steed to gallop in the far heights will not dispute the path with a lame donkey.

One who is truly filial must fear that his conduct will bring shame upon his parents, so Zichun trembled when stepping down from the hall. One who is truly wise does not prize rare goods, so Yao and Shun cast gold aside and threw away jade. The clear-sighted eliminate calamity before it arises; the far-seeing, at the first mention of gain, weigh the harm within it.

Yet you urge me with boating, bent only on increasing the household; you counsel me to use the pearl of Lord Sui to shoot at sparrows, and to snatch meat from the tiger’s mouth at risk of life. That is to place oneself in unforeseeable danger, to run great risk for distant gain, forgetting the plain instruction to cherish the body while chasing unlikely luck. As for when fierce winds rise, cliffs collapse, trees are uprooted, and stones are blown flying…

Yanghou Mountain rises steep and high; great waves surge like mountains, and a light boat drifts like dust. Human strength runs against one’s wishes, and one can only sigh and weep in vain, unable to save the situation. Only then does one understand that the perspicacious can detect subtle signs in advance.

In antiquity, Yan Hui and Yuan Xian were praised for keeping to poverty; Chen Ping, having no wealth for others to plunder, escaped disaster instead. Guang Han died for coveting profit; Niu Que was killed for carrying treasure. Ordinary men lost their lives innocently for hiding jade disks; the fat fox too brought calamity upon itself for the beauty of its pelt.

Now you urge me to take up the trade of luring thieves and press me to adopt methods that invite plunder. To offer poisoned wine to one another in encouragement is no counsel for preserving life. The scholar treats the “Three Tombs” (ancient classics) as gold and jade, the “Five Canons” as zither and lute, the hall of discourse as bells and drums, and the doctrines of the hundred schools as sheng and huang pipes; he lets those who savor principle seem to feed on words, and those intoxicated with virtue wake through righteousness. They transcend the vulgar world, dwell in lofty detachment, and their fame reaches later ages—about to stride forward alone—how could they set their hearts on goods and profit?

Those who hoard wealth in excess often cannot keep it long; those who delight in yielding do not fear fullness. One who hides a luminous pearl by night easily invites being cut open; to follow the ruts of overturned carts is sure to capsize; a boat overloaded sinks, and striving always to win harms oneself. These are what shallow minds chase with care; those of noble virtue do not pursue them.

Then the questioner was at a loss, begged to be listed among the disciples in the last seat, and recorded this formula worth long keeping— a fine prescription for nurturing life and extending years.

End of Baopuzi (Outer Chapters), Scroll Thirty-Six.

Baopuzi (Outer Chapters), Scroll Thirty-Seven: Renming (Benevolence and Perspicacity).

Ge Hong said in the Baopuzi: When his disciples debated whether benevolence (ren) or discernment (ming) mattered more, each arguing from his own view, they asked me. I told them: When the sun, moon, and stars show their light, that is the way of Qian (Heaven); when the earth bears all things without end, that is the way of Kun (Earth). Qian has brightness and also holds benevolence; Kun holds benevolence but has no brightness. Heaven high and earth low, each in its place—is it not so?

Only the sage can align with the virtue of Heaven and Earth. Thus Tang Yao took reverent clarity as the foremost virtue for governing; Confucius also placed clear judgment at the opening of the Analects. “Bright and clear on high” names the lord’s exalted title; “wise discernment to preserve oneself” is the lofty conduct praised in the Da Ya section of the Book of Odes.

Flying insects and crawling creatures also have a heart of benevolence: their care shows in raising their young; their grief shows in their cries. Yet they rush into pits without guard and enter nets unaware. They have benevolence but lack discernment, so they often rush together toward disaster and lose their lives.

People build houses to leave nest-like dwellings; they choose grains to plant instead of poisonous or harmful food; they make clothes and leave naked life behind; they build boats to cross waters they cannot walk; they tame oxen and horses to ease carrying and walking; they set rank high and low to settle disorder; they make tools against accidents; they invent writing and contracts to manage officials; they fix ritual and law to straighten custom and teaching. All this is what great discernment does—not something a narrow view can grasp.

Not to betray benevolence in the heart yet lack the clear sight to govern a state cannot stop the calamity of ruin—that too is plain. To judge before rise and fall show, to probe changes before they take shape, to point to fortune and disaster turning hidden beyond the obvious, and to stop rumor and harm when they first grow—these are the work of ming (discernment).

Pity even insects, and though offended do not strike back; see an ox trembling in fear and change the beast for sacrifice; step aside from reeds by the road and do not trample them—these are ren (benevolence).

You should understand this: Ren is a moral virtue, while Ming is intellectual discernment. The act of giving up one’s life to fulfill Ren is something one can strive to achieve through effort; yet the discernment to penetrate what is hidden and distinguish right from wrong in affairs is hard to feign. The difference in rank between the two is plainly evident.

If one has only a Ren-like heart that cannot bear to harm others, but lacks the clear-sighted Ming that tells right from wrong, one will confuse the genuine with the false and mistake black for white. In deliberation and planning one cannot sort priorities; one cannot tell the crooked from the straight, nor foresee danger or safety. In such a state one cannot even preserve oneself—how much less could one establish oneself and benefit the world?

In antiquity, the Duke of Zhou (Jigong) was not without brotherly affection, yet he wept as he dealt with his kin according to duty; Shi Que was not without natural familial love, yet for the sake of righteousness he set private feeling aside. They understood the weight of affairs and were not bound by closeness of kin, and for that reason became loyal ministers. To decide in favor of righteousness and cut through entangling affection—sometimes one sets Ren aside and takes Ming instead, using weighing and strategy to restrain the heart of Ren: Ren may in particular circumstances be temporarily relinquished, but Ming must never be absent.

Tang and King Wu took the realm by force of arms—they were hardly models of Ren; yet in following Heaven’s mandate and overthrowing the old dynasty, they relied on Ming. Xu Dan prized Ren in conduct, but later acted together with his peers at court; outwardly he met the peril of cities falling, inwardly he had no armor or weapons in readiness, until state and family were ruined—calamity born of lacking Ming.

A disciple said: “Confucius praised Ren, saying its burden is heavy and its path long; he also said, if a person lacks Ren, what use is ritual? As for sagehood and Ren, how dare I claim them? Mencius said Ren is the dwelling-place and righteousness is the path; without a heart of compassion, one is not Ren. The Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties gained the realm through Ren and lost it through lack of Ren. These are all sayings of sages and clear evidence in the classics. The Master values Ming, yet I have not seen corresponding authority in the classics. My mind is dull and I am truly perplexed.”

Baopuzi replied: “The ancients said: to love Ren yet not study is to be afflicted with foolishness. You are exactly in that situation. In the past the six states swallowed one another and fought like wolves and tigers; the upper ranks valued power and stratagem, the lower ranks valued brute strength, and all slighted Ming.”

In former times the six states devoured one another, vying for supremacy like wolves and tigers. Those above prized stratagem and cunning, so those below slighted virtue; people valued killing and discarded humility. Mencius precisely wanted to check greed and cruelty and to praise humaneness and righteousness—how could he fail to speak of humaneness again and again with such earnestness? Yet he never said a single word to the effect that humaneness surpasses clarity. That is like an epidemic: physicians and shamans are held in esteem, and everyone talks in one voice about drugs and needles. Can one therefore say that the art of acupuncture surpasses the Way of long life and enduring vision (the Daoist pursuit of longevity and lasting preservation)? I hold that the principles of humaneness and clarity were recorded in the classics long ago. I only wish to hit the main points, set forth the general meaning, and offer a single illustration. You take these principles for granted without noticing them, yet you say there is no basis for the principle of clarity?

The Book of Changes, Hexagram Qian, says: “Great clarity completes beginning and end; the six positions are formed in season.” This uses heaven’s signs to explain clarity—it embraces everything. The Kun hexagram says: “Supremely sublime is Kun’s origin; the myriad things receive life from it.” This means that the virtue of earth lies in humaneness and thickness, bearing and yielding to the myriad things. Is the sequence in which heaven and earth operate not perfectly clear? The Book of Poetry says: “Bright bright is the high heaven, shining upon the lower realm; bright bright is the Son of Heaven, his fair fame unceasing.” The Book of Changes says: “When the king is clear, all receive its blessing.” It also says that the divine is deep and hard to fathom, yet one may rely on wisdom to assist and clarify it; when wondrous principle is made manifest, that is “spiritual, and clarified thereby.” These words show that clarity joins with the spiritual—indeed it is not something that speaking of humaneness alone can match.

Confucius said “intelligent, clear, spiritual, and martial”—he did not say “intelligent and humane”; he also said “in antiquity the clear kings governed the realm”—he did not say “humane kings.” The Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals says “clear virtue alone is fragrant”—it does not say “humane virtue”; the Book of Documents says “the chief is clear”—it does not say “the chief is humane.” Laozi praises the highest kind of person as “clear and penetrating in the four directions”; when he speaks of the age’s decline, he says that after the Dao is lost there is De, and after De is lost there is humaneness. The Book of Changes says the king faces south and stands toward the light—it does not say he faces toward humaneness.

Confucius also said “If I desire humaneness, humaneness is at hand,” and “Humaneness is achieved through oneself.” This shows that everyone can attain humaneness. As for intelligence and clarity—how could one demand that everyone achieve them?

Therefore Mencius said: “When people see a child about to fall into a well, there is no one who would not hurry to save him.” From this it is clear that everyone possesses a heart of benevolence (ren), only with greater or lesser depth; differences in intelligence and talent also show themselves as circumstances change. In the past, before Cui Zhu had killed Yan Ying, Yan Ying said that Cui Zhu still had “a little benevolence within great lack of benevolence.” Thus even treacherous ministers and wicked men may have a benevolent heart.

A disciple also said: “The Book of Changes states that the way of being human lies in benevolence and righteousness.” On this view, benevolent virtue is the most important thing in human life. Baopuzi replied: The reason for saying so is that benevolent virtue appears in concrete action. Action can be pursued through deliberate effort; but clarity that reaches into the subtle and numinous must rely on endowment from Heaven—it cannot be acquired through instruction alone.

—End of Outer Chapters of Baopuzi, juan 37—

Outer Chapters of Baopuzi, juan 38

Broad Analogies

Baopuzi said: A weight of ten thousand jun must accumulate from increments as small as a zhu or a zhao; a peak that rises into the clouds likewise begins from the most minute point. Thus puddles along the road, when they gather, can form the Southern Sea (Nanhai, the boundless ocean); ordinary earth and stone, piled up without cease, can build the Mysterious Garden (Xuanyuan, the legendary height of the immortals).

Baopuzi said: One who is skilled at driving horses at full gallop does not feel wearied even when leaving his shadow far behind; one who rides the waves aided by the wind does not capsize even when crossing perilous waters. Thus when the Eight Worthies of Yu and Kai each took up his office, great undertakings were accomplished; when Yi Yin and Lü Shang were put to use, the great enterprise of changing the dynasty succeeded.

Baopuzi said: A boat and oars adorned with fine jade do not thereby acquire the ability to cross a river; a bow of gold and a string of jade do not thereby shoot a powerful arrow. Thus one whose conduct is lofty but who does not understand affairs of government is not the kind of talent who can settle a chaotic age; one who is learned and refined in the classics but lacks strategies for ordering the state is not the kind of talent who can assist a ruler and bring affairs to completion.

Baopuzi said: Mount Langfeng and the Mysterious Garden need no little hillock to appear high; gems such as Xuanli and Jielü need no common jade to prove their worth. Thus an outstanding and uncommon talent, even in hidden retirement, will still startle others like the fragrance of orchids and iris in a deep valley; one whose integrity is lofty and who stands apart from the crowd will likewise draw the eye, as the cry of birds in a flock draws attention.

Ice and charcoal need not boast that they can chill or heat; fine jade need not prove how precious it is—its worth does not depend on being set beside common stone to become visible. Thus those who are outstanding and singular do not go with the crowd, much as the fragrance of a hidden orchid can startle those who notice it; people of lofty integrity who stand apart resemble a strange note among a flock of birds, especially striking to the ear.

Ice and charcoal need not boast that they can chill or heat; the preciousness of fine jade reveals itself on its own. Thus the junzi (noble person) holds himself upright and does not worry that no one will draw near; the zhiren (person of the highest attainment) may seem to sit in stillness and non-doing, yet inwardly is not swayed by blame or praise.

A gale can blow down a mountain, yet it cannot display its force by uprooting a single hair; fierce fire can melt metal and stone, yet it cannot show its power by burning something damp. Thus Huaiyin Hou Han Xin excelled at campaigning and holding cities but was not skilled at running civil affairs; Jianghou Zhou Bo could stabilize the realm but was not adept at fielding questions in debate.

Those who chase reputation do not treat giving up their lives as a hardship; those who cherish their own person do not let immediate desires tug at their mind. Thus Ji Xin went willingly to be burned and felt no regret; Yang Zhu held that he would not trade even one hair on his body for a city worth a thousand in gold.

Small fish do not grasp the far-reaching designs of the spiritual dragon (lingqiu); birds by the water’s edge do not understand that the great swan (honghu) is not of their kind. Thus fellow field hands mocked Chen Sheng for laying aside his farm tools to rise in revolt; men of shallow view ridiculed Zhuge Liang for sitting with folded knees, chanting while he waited for the right moment.

The edge of the ancient sword Chunjun showed itself only after cutting rhinoceros and fierce beasts; whether an official is humane and capable must be tested through clear assessment. Thus if no distinction is made, worthy men such as Yuan Kai and those of low talent appear the same; if the same duties are assigned, steeds like Luqi and poor nags like Nutai cannot show what they truly are.

When one’s capacity has not reached the level of the ritual vessels hu and gui (symbols of office fit for great responsibility), progress is often swift at first and collapse just as quick; when breadth and talent match Yi Yin or Lü Shang, even a late start can still bring early achievement. Thus a wren, though already weary, cannot fly beyond the twig of a grass clump; the legendary fledgling yuanchu, rising at ease, can in a glance of its flight reach the blue sky.

When the fortune of obstruction (pi) is exhausted, the fortune of ease (tai) follows; when darkness is at its depth, clear light appears at dawn. Thus the horse that once hung its head and drooped its ears at Wuban later ran with the speed of a thousand-li steed; the fish that coiled in the deep abyss later leaped high enough to cross the rainbow.

Plants like Gerui (waterweed) may be broken again and again and their leaves torn, yet they still show a refined vitality; angelica and orchid-grass, even when their stems are snapped and leaves shattered, give off a stronger fragrance. For this reason Guan Zhong was once imprisoned and still went on to assist Duke Huan of Qi in rectifying the feudal lords; Fan Ju suffered humiliation and constraint, yet later rendered great service to Qin.

When people contend only for small gains, they become enemies because their interests align; when good and evil or talent and mediocrity are far apart, they also grow suspicious because their conduct differs. Thus Mogong and Suliu (legendary plain women) hated to look upon Xishi’s beauty; Shangchen (King Mu of Chu) and Xiaobai (Duke Huan of Qi) did not wish to hear of Yanzhou Laijizi declining the throne to farm in seclusion.

Where wisdom ranks high or low, paths diverge; the dull-witted, shamed and resentful at the gap, turn against the able. Where strength varies, one who can lift the great cauldron may still be envied. Thus when Huaiyin Hou Han Xin was raised to eminence, common servants nursed resentment and jealousy at his rise; when Lord Wu’an Bai Qi won towering merit, Fan Ju used words to drive a wedge and undo his achievements. The text also mentions Yanzhou Laijizi’s withdrawal to farming.

When illness has entered the marrow, bitter medicine can no longer be taken; when timber is rotten, it cannot bear carving or ornament. Thus Bigan served the state with all his heart and was cut open for his loyalty; Tian Feng saw the situation clearly and spoke frankly in remonstrance, and was killed for telling the truth.

The lone paulownia of Yiyang, without strings, cannot sound a mournful tune; the lone bamboo of Great Xia, without a player, cannot give a clear, piercing note. Thus one in low office, though possessing the talent of Ji or Qi, cannot govern the multitude of affairs; one without sufficient power, though having the ability of Yi Yin or the Duke of Zhou, can hardly bring about an age of great peace.

One who climbs a high mountain must beware the danger of the utmost height; one who crosses deep water, if the boat is overloaded, invites disaster. Thus Li Si of Qin, at the end of his life, longed for his native Shangcai; Wen Zhong of Yue also regretted that his achievements were too great and his position too hard to keep.

Hard or soft is a nature not easily changed; steadfast or yielding each has an inborn character. Thus southern fine gold, hammered a hundred times, does not lose its true color; even in peril and want, the resolute do not abandon upright conduct.

Wealth and honor not gained by the proper Way are not worth possessing; to cling to life against benevolence and righteousness, even to a hundred years, is not worth it. Thus Bian Sui died by casting himself into the river with a stone on his back; Zhong You chose to face the blade rather than change his resolve.

Status high or low cannot be judged by a single standard, and fine food and clothing cannot be used to talk someone out of his chosen path. Wealth and rank are not worth clinging to; if one goes against benevolence and righteousness, even a life of a hundred years is not too much to give up. That is why Bian Sui strapped a stone to his back and threw himself into the depths, and Zhong You willingly met the blade and died.

Status high and low likewise cannot be judged by one measure, and plenty of food and clothing cannot sway a person’s resolve. Huishi worried that his escort had too few carriages; Zhuang Zhou worried that he had caught too many fish.

Taking office and withdrawing from the world are as far apart as ice and fire; a hasty temperament and a calm one differ as much as rising flight and sinking down. Mozi could walk until his feet were calloused and still be at ease; the Old Man of Ji was content to live apart from society.

People who suit your heart can be deeply close even when you have not known them long; those who go against your heart can spend years together and only grow more at odds. Kindred spirits may feel like old friends the first time they meet; those whose Way diverges may grow old side by side without true fellowship.

Yufang and Yishou were stout vessels fit to cross rivers; put in the hands of northern tribesmen, they would break up and sink in the current. Binsao and Hanxue were swift horses famed for speed; without a driver like Zaofu, they would come to grief on dangerous roads. Qingping and Haocao were sharp, fine swords; unless wielded by masters of the blade from Yu and Yue, they could cut their own holder. A crack army is the tool that quells disorder; in the hands of the unwise, it quickly brings ruin.

The ranks fixed by Heaven’s mandate follow a constant order of high and low that must not be lightly overturned; disregard ritual and punishment follows soon and heavily. Beasts on the immortal isle of Xuanzhou may speak, yet they cannot be offered among the honored sacrificial animals; the paired creatures qiong and jue may rely on each other for shelter, yet that does not count as living benevolence and righteousness.

Slander and complaints cannot be stilled with fine words; genuine resentment cannot be dispelled with pretense. If one does not resolve matters by fitting means, and in seeking calm refuses to reason, it is like hugging a block of ice to drive off cold, feeding a blazing fire to banish summer heat, running toward the light to escape one’s shadow, or boring holes in the hull to stop a leak.

A wise ruler assigns offices so that officials are not loaded with work beyond their capacity; loyal ministers in post likewise dare not take on what exceeds their duty and ability. To give rank to the unfit, or to put someone in a role they cannot bear, is like serving boiling soup in a bowl of ice, wrapping fire in reed down, tying ten thousand jun to a rotting cord, or loading a small boat to more than twice its limit.

Robes of leopard or fox fur are not for wearing while carrying firewood; the elaborate variations of the ancient nine-part music are not for performing to the deaf; lofty words and designs are not for speaking to the mediocre and dull; deeds of risking one’s life to build merit are not for doing on behalf of those of shallow virtue.

When the people’s goods are already depleted, exactions do not cease; when local strength is already spent, forced labor still does not stop. To hope nonetheless that people will feel no resentment and endure in peace is like cutting the root to graft new branches, slicing flesh from one’s own back to fill the belly, wounding the eyes to sharpen sight, or gouging the ears to improve hearing—things that simply cannot work.

When laws have no steady principle and one only chases opportune change; when achievements do not surpass the past yet one delights in repeated revisions to please the times—it is like shortening a tall horse to match a low cart, cutting off the ankles to wear tight shoes, trimming a long sword to fit short greaves, or carving a full foot-wide jade disk to cram into a narrow case.

The long fish that can calm the waves does not appear in cramped mountain valleys; the high tree where luan birds roost does not grow on low earthen knolls; the adages of the Nine Categories do not issue from vulgar, shallow mouths; the subtle plans of the Golden Board do not spring from ordinary people’s breasts. When one sees a tree with stout branches, one knows its roots are not small; when one reads writing broad and deep, one sees how far the author’s insight reaches.

A dense mulberry grove cannot dispel the cool austerity of the cypress; fertile soil beside the city walls cannot relieve the poverty and distress of Qie’ao. Yet silk wound and woven into fabric begins with raising silkworms; the food people eat and the grain that fills their storehouses are all accumulated from such beginnings. Those with far-sighted vision therefore value the root; those who look only at what lies before them chase endlessly after branch tips.

When understanding stays on the crude surface, it remains bound by the physical form; those who grasp subtle principles can grasp the spirit. Inferring an outcome from a beginning provides the thread of reasoning; comprehending things before signs appear means one need not rely on outward things to judge. Seeing heaven and earth by day is not especially clear-sighted; seeing fine detail at night is what counts as outstanding.

Bright spring flowers and grasses cannot stay fresh for long once cut from their stems; a fish large enough to swallow a boat cannot live apart from water. A good name that the person does not deserve will not long endure in memory; high rank without matching talent and virtue invites disaster.

Enduring the pain of medicine and needles is meant to cure a life-threatening illness; wearing heavy, cold armor is meant to turn aside dense blades and arrows; keeping strict conduct and willingly accepting restraint and hardship is meant to accomplish great work; heeding unwelcome loyal counsel is meant to wake up and set a wrong course right.

If the luan and phoenix compete for food with chickens and ducks in the courtyard, they will be treated with contempt; if dragons and qilin are mixed among common livestock, they will be slighted along with them. The Four Elders of Mount Shang chose to live on lofty peaks to show an aspiration beyond the world; Bian Sui drowned himself to preserve a name for not clinging to worldly things.

A well dug deep but never cleared fills with more mire; good fields left unweeded let weeds spread. Learning without thinking only increases doubt; teaching and discussion pursued without care deepen confusion and waste effort.

Baopuzi said: If you lock up great wealth in chests and cabinets and, even though you spend sparingly, never draw on it, you will look no different from someone who is poor. If you carry outstanding literary gifts in your heart yet never commit your thoughts to writing, you will look no different from the vulgar and mediocre.

Baopuzi said: Nanwei and Qingqin were women of supreme beauty, yet they still needed full adornment before their loveliness could shine all the more. Yan Hui, Zigong, Zixia, and Ziyou were endowed with exceptional talent, yet they still had to pore over the classics of antiquity before their understanding could deepen.

Baopuzi said: Red hangings and woven curtains, layer upon layer of screens shutting out the light, can hide an ugly face; dead wood painted with cinnabar and bright colors can dazzle the eye and conceal its dry, withered look. Thus, thorough training in the Six Arts can turn a coarse person into a gentleman; when many voices praise someone together, even one who was obscure and alone can rise among the honored.

A thick, flourishing forest draws birds in flocks; a wide, deep marsh draws fish of every kind. Where virtue runs deep and undertakings are broad, many people willingly gather. Whoever can overlook others’ faults and use their strengths will attract the distant to turn toward him and the near to come in crowds.

Baopuzi said: A horse so swift it seems to outrun the sun’s shadow cannot be let loose to gallop at Lüliang; creatures that ride the waves and plunge into the depths cannot climb sheer heights. Li Zhu can make out the finest detail a hundred paces away, yet cannot tell refined from coarse among the eight kinds of music; Shi Kuang can hear the subtlest music, yet cannot tell black from white at close range.

Baopuzi said: When ears are open on every side, Xihe can bring the daylight; when vessels stand empty, water from the ditches flows in to fill them. When the habit of gathering many opinions flourishes, strange and new knowledge collects; when the court lights the great torches, able recluses come to speak; when the board for reporting faults is erected, errors become known; when the drum for bold remonstrance is hung, straight talk is offered.

Those skilled in speech and debate all praise Yao, yet Yao’s rule was not necessarily right in every respect. Everyone under heaven denounces Jie, yet what Jie did was not necessarily wholly without merit. When one branch withers, it does not ruin the lushness of the whole grove; weeds and wheat that still grow in winter cannot dispel the austere chill of universal decline.

Xi Shi had features that were not beautiful, yet they did not lessen her overall beauty, because her beautiful traits were so many. Mogwu had points worth noting, yet they could not make up for her overall ugliness, because her ugly traits stood out too sharply.

Fame and personal safety are hard to secure together; achievement and preserving one’s innate nature are rarely combined. Those who deliberately hold back their talents and keep a low profile often live in hardship yet find stability; those who deploy their abilities to please the world may enjoy themselves but often face danger. For this reason, fierce birds of prey are caught because they fight with all their might; birds prized for song are caged because they are clever and agile. Fine jade is split open for its outstanding patterns; precious metal is cast because it suits delicate work. Orchid and angelica are cut for their fragrance; catalpa with fine grain and good resonance is felled for the same reason. Then the azure dragon, seeing Huayi, rises into the heights; the spirit phoenix, meeting Mengxi, returns to the red nest. Ziyong lamented how precious natural kinship is; Zhuangzi grieved that livestock, draped in brocade, were slaughtered for sacrifice.

When herds of elk raise their horns together, even the tiger sheathes its fangs; when hundreds and thousands of birds flock together, even a bound bird retracts its claws. Thus, when feudal lords in all directions spread slander, even the Duke of Zhou could not stop it; when calumniators filled the roads, even Zichu could not silence the crowd’s talk.

Weishi’s looks could not be enhanced by any amount of powder; the yin-yang qi at the winter and summer solstices could not be increased by blowing on them. Therefore, those who harbor outstanding talent do not deliberately display a special air to set themselves apart; those of extraordinary bearing do not chase petty reputation to flatter the world.

When the qilin appears and the phoenix shows auspicious signs, what people worry about is that there are too few; when foxes howl and owls cry, what people dread is that there are too many. Thus, even when the court teems with worthy men, those who seek talent are still not satisfied; even when slanderers and flatterers wield power and throw their weight around, loyal and upright men still burn with indignation.

Those who possess great strength are not limited to warriors such as Meng Ben and Wu Huo; those of outstanding beauty are not limited to famed beauties such as Zheng Dan and Mao Qiang; horses that run swift are not limited to Yiliu and Susuang; swords that can cut through at a single stroke are not limited to Chenlu and Ganjiang. Likewise, those who can establish the work of a sage king need not be Confucius of Lu alone; those who can practice benevolent policies such as burying exposed bones and relieving the dead need not be the Chang of the western neighbor alone.

The spirit phoenix calls on Chaoyang Mountain without conferring any practical benefit on the ten thousand things, yet everyone still listens attentively to its cry; the chixiao gathers at night on walls and eaves without causing the slightest harm, yet everyone covers their ears and takes up arrows to guard against it. Thus good report, even from far away, brings delight; ill report, even close at hand, is unwelcome. This is like the sun and moon, which remain bright and do not lose their light because they are briefly obscured; wangshi—a star name, also used for comets and other abnormal appearances in the sky—may show itself for a time, yet in the end people forget it.

A shadow cannot contradict the body; a name cannot be severed from what is real. Water that turns away from its source cannot gather into a long stream flowing eastward; flowers that open out of season cannot long keep their brilliance under ice, snow, and frost.

A beast with sharp teeth, even when it crouches low, still inspires fear; an insect that brandishes an axe, even when it coils up, has no real authority. Therefore a gentleman, though he wears coarse cloth and lives in hardship, must not be treated lightly; a petty man, though he wears noble robes and holds high rank, is not worth honoring.

The miraculous qilin roams freely beyond the great wilderness, and so does not fall into traps and snares; the spirit bird wings its flight on the peaks of the Mysterious Garden (Xuanyuan), and so avoids the harm of nets and cords. Why hide in a cave and live in constant dread? Why hold a reed in the mouth and wear a face of fear? The livestock that are slaughtered and used are often those the master loves to raise; those stewed and cooked for the pot are often the fowl standing calmly in the courtyard.

Baopuzi said: The intelligent prize tracing principles a thousand years away in surviving voices and words, and so grasp the traces of rise, fall, success, and failure; the wise prize finding outstanding people amid hardship and disappointment, and so choose those who can set the age right. To hear splendid music yet ask mediocre players about it is not the clear hearing of Yanzhou (Ji Zha of Wu, famed for judging music); to bury far-sighted excellence yet seek counsel from ordinary folk is not singular, penetrating judgment. To discuss talents that outshine one’s peers with someone who cannot recognize worth is like asking the blind to tell the five colors apart; to consult with the envious about promoting the worthy and removing the corrupt is like asking a fox how to tan fur for a robe.

Baopuzi said: Zilibo, the legendary steed, would rather struggle on steep ground than wear the yoke of a carriage; Jiguang, the legendary beast, would rather hunger and thirst in ice and snow than be fed fat and slaughtered like a sacrificial victim. Boyi and Shuqi, the two sons of the Lord of Guzhu, would not trade death by fasting for the riches of Lutai; one like Zilian would not trade poverty and want for the hoard of Tongshan.

Baopuzi said: When hearts aim the same way, mountains and seas do not feel far; when paths diverge, nearness does not feel close. Some cross mountains and rivers to meet; others hide their tracks and never keep company.

Baopuzi said: Grand ceremonial dress shines with more than color alone; Song and Tai tower high with more than one basket of earth. When nine worthy ministers take office to assist, the work of securing peace flourishes; when four or seven worthies receive charge to aid the ruler, the merit of upholding Heaven’s mandate and building achievement stands out.

Baopuzi said: The green hornless dragon (cuilong) mounts the sky without wings; the Teng serpent races like lightning without feet; the turtle has no ears yet hears well; the earthworm has no mouth yet gives voice. Gao Yao could not speak, yet matched the eloquent in effect; the blind man of Jin’s outskirts could not see, yet matched Li Zhu in clarity of perception.

Baopuzi said: Rank may outrun ability; a fair name may outrun conduct. A saw cannot chew; a winnowing-basket tongue cannot taste; a pot-shaped ear cannot hear; a clog-shaped nose cannot smell; cauldron-shaped eyes cannot take in the moon; bed-shaped feet cannot walk like human feet.

Ordinary people cannot draw a bow and hit the mark, yet they can recognize the archery of Yang Youji, the famed shooter of the Spring and Autumn era. Yan Hui, disciple of Confucius, could not drive a chariot or crack the whip, yet he knew that Dongye Ji, a master charioteer, would fail through mishandling the reins. Thus someone who cannot play weiqi may still glance at a board and judge who wins or loses; someone who cannot play the zither may still listen once and tell Zheng music from the refined ya music.

A tree whose shade covers ten thousand mu must grow on a lofty peak; a flood that surges over the banks and runs wild must rise from the deep source of a great river. Achievements that surpass the world must spring from extraordinary talent; stratagems that can save a desperate situation must come from outstanding insight. Therefore in the nest of the minuscule jiaoming insect there are no wings that ride the wind; in ditches and brooks there are no gems that light the night.

A gale can whirl a cart wheel; a prairie fire burns hotter as it spreads—both can stir transcendent insight. Thus in the nest of the jiaoming there are no wings that ride the wind; in ditches and brooks there are no gems that light the night.

When a gale whirls the wheel and wildfire feeds on the blaze, fireflies and candle flames are extinguished instead. Sweet dew makes crops flourish but makes dead wood rot faster. Splendid carriages are treasures fit for outstanding men; if the base and talentless steal them, disaster follows. Generous stipends are rewards due to meritorious ministers; if those lacking in virtue and capacity receive them, they invite ruin as if the tripod’s contents were overturned.

Armor fashioned from rhinoceros horn can equip a commander on campaign; ornaments plucked from kingfisher feathers can adorn a consort’s hair. Though these creatures thus leave dark valleys and move to high branches, for them it is worse than hiding in woods and grass to preserve life. The spirit tortoise would rather drag its tail through mud than be boxed up as a treasure; the marsh pheasant would rather peck once every ten steps in the wild than be kept among chickens and ducks and meet harm.

Human capacity is unevenly distributed: excellence in one line cannot meet every task; strength in a single skill cannot make up for many shortcomings. The cock knows dawn is near but cannot fathom the calendar of yin and yang; the swan knows midnight but cannot exhaust the rules of the sun’s shadow length. The mountain dove can foretell rain and clear weather, yet fowl need not grasp that logic.

Only talent in one area cannot handle every kind of affair; skill in a single thing cannot make up for many kinds of deficiency. A rooster knows dawn is near, yet cannot investigate the laws of yin-yang and the calendar; a swan knows midnight has come, yet cannot master the art of measuring shadows. A mountain dove can foretell rain and clear weather, yet does not understand celestial signs; snakes and ants can sense where underground springs lie, yet know nothing of geography.

When prohibitions are unclear, yet harsh punishments are used to quell disorder; when plans are not thorough, yet great armies are sent to harass neighboring states—this is like harvesting crops with a sickle to wipe out locusts, felling trees to kill wood-boring insects, swallowing poison to destroy fleas and lice, or tearing down a house to drive off sparrows and mice.

Sharp blades come from coarse, dull stone; bright flames rise from unremarkable wood; precious pearls form in plain clams; fine jade hides within rough outer stone. Therefore one must not, because Zhonghua’s (Shun’s) parents were unworthy, conclude that he himself lacked virtue; nor must one, because Wei Qing and Huo Qubing rose from humble origins, look down upon them.

When wishes are fulfilled, the spirit grows glad; when hopes fail, the face turns sorrowful. When rot spreads inside a tree, its branches and tips wither; when the source is shallow, the stream runs short. What lies within the heart must show on the outside; what happens nearby must reach what lies far away.

Beautiful faces and forms differ from one another, yet the pleasure they give can be the same. Silk, bamboo, metal, and stone instruments differ in tone and timbre, yet all can delight the ear. Shooting water birds with roped arrows, hooking fish from the water, netting beasts, and snaring birds—the methods differ, yet the gain is the same. Establishing merit, writing books—the paths differ, yet what is valued is one.

Too much benefit often invites later harm; standing out in appearance easily draws disaster. Thus birds of the south are killed for bright plumage; leopards in caves perish for spotted hides. When sturgeon and carp gather in excess, even deep pools run dry; when elk herd too thickly, dense woods are burned away. Heaps of gold and jade draw thieves; high fame and rank bring worry and burden in their train.

Things worth ten thousand in gold need not be seen in the hand for people to love or loathe them; trees whose trunks several men must encircle need not be measured around to judge their size. Thus in the turmoil of war civil scholars often withdraw to the sidelines, and when the realm is settled again, military power is held in check.

Things worth ten thousand in gold need not be seen in the hand to tell whether people favor or despise them; trees whose trunks several men must encircle need not be measured to speak of their girth. So when one sees surging billows that seem to strike the sky, one knows they do not rise from a shallow pool; when one sees writing thick in substance and broad in spirit, one knows it was not produced by someone who lives only on glossing clauses and phrases.

Flowers bright as cinnabar and grass green as jade need not grow only on twisted, withered stems; purple lingzhi and fragrant, fine plants do not flourish solely on salty, barren ground. Thus Shun received the black jade scepter that marked the transfer of the throne and announced the completion of his work, though he came from the households of the “Four Offenses” whom Shun had punished; Yu took Heaven’s mandate to rule from the ancestral temple of Yao, yet sprang from a house counted foolish and stubborn.

One who governs the household well finds the distant answering his call; one who walks a crooked path, not the Way, sees even those near at hand leave. Hence in Song’s outskirts there appeared the omen of Mars moving back from its station; in Yin, close kinsmen went into exile; the four rings came from the far reaches of shaoguang; and within the palace deer and horse were confused for one another—the tale of Zhao Gao pointing at a deer and calling it a horse.

Jing Ke and Zhu Hai do not display their valor before the timid; Meng Ben and Feng Fu do not brandish their weapons among common bravos. A ru of outstanding talent does not parade petty argument before those of shallow sight; one clear and eminent does not dull his discernment to curry favor with the vulgar.

Courteous turning, bowing, and yielding are not postures for repelling the enemy; mail and helmet are not the dress for deliberation at court. Sashes hanging loose and jade pendants chiming are ill suited to hacking with blades; conduct bound by ritual measure cannot be used to fight fire or save the drowning.

Baopuzi said: Heaven and earth nurture the myriad things, yet the myriad things do not know their debt of kindness, because the benefit heaven and earth bring has no fixed boundary. Great persons teach the world in a subtle, almost hidden way, while ordinary people do not notice what they give, because they have already set things right before problems appear. Thus what can be seen at a glance is often not great, and what is easy to measure is usually not much.

Baopuzi said: Ehuang, Nüying, Tairen, and Taishi did not take raising silkworms and weaving as their chief claim to fame; Yang Xiong, Wang Han, and lofty scholars did not rely on petty conduct to win praise nearby. If one aims to gaze at the sun, moon, and stars, how could one bother to glance at the ravine beside a well? If one listens to the Sha and Hu music of antiquity, how could one spare an ear for the folk tunes of Sangjian?

Baopuzi said: Outward form sometimes cannot judge what is within, and face cannot measure talent. Confucius was once said to look like a homeless dog; the Duke of Zhou was taken for unworked timber; Gao Yao’s face was likened to a winnowing basket; Yi Yin’s body to a withered corpse. Turn it around: Longyang and Song Yu were like clay figures set with night pearls; Jie Ru, Dong, and Deng were like fine silk wrapped around dust.

Baopuzi said: Sage rulers such as Yao and Shun could not transform the most obtuse, so teaching did not necessarily reach their own sons; tyrants such as Xin and Gui could not change the most clear-minded, so evil did not touch the three worthies Bo Yi, Shu Qi, and Jizi.

Baopuzi said: Even the greatest force cannot alter some things; even the smallest thing has a nature nothing can take away. Thus frost and bitter cold may kill the myriad things yet cannot wither lush beans and wheat; scorching heat cannot melt ice deep in snowy mountains; fierce winds stir the great sea yet cannot raise waves in deep springs; spring rain nourishes the myriad things yet cannot make dead trees and grass bloom again.

Baopuzi said: The gem that weeps blood must be worked on the whetstone before it reflects light; the swords Chenlu and Menglao need Chu whetstones to temper their edge. Fine steeds Liú and Wén wait for a Wang Sun—one who knows and uses horses—before they can run far; those of fine endowment likewise need correction and tempering before they can complete their virtue.

Baopuzi said: Luan and Yuè, even hungry and thirsty, will not be shut in a cage and sent to the cook’s house; Chenghuang and Tianlu, even penned and starving, will not graze in the stalls of Zhuolong Park. This shows that what is excellent does not look only at immediate provision; it cares above all to preserve its nature and its aim.

Baopuzi says: Divine birds such as the luan and the yue, though hungry and thirsty, would rather not be caged and sent to the cook’s house; spirit beasts such as Chenghuang and Tianlu, though shut away and starving, would rather not graze in the fodder racks of the Zhuolong imperial park. Thus the old man who catches cicadas in a fragrant grove forgets all things in the world, and the angler by the water pays no heed to the high office of holding the jade tablet in southern Chu.

Baopuzi says: Square and round differ in form, and movement and stillness lead to different outcomes. Therefore the heavens are honored for ceaseless motion, and the earth is prized for settling and holding to the correct. The sun and moon, the five planets (the seven luminaries), and the qi of the four seasons turn in cycles without end and complete the myriad things; the Five Sacred Mountains and the six pillar mountains of legend stand unmoving and become the ramparts that guard the four quarters. Thus Mo Di of Song and Shen Baoxu of Chu, rushing about without rest, preserved their states; Duan Ganmu and Hu Ming, by not acting rashly, kept the enemy from daring to move lightly.

Baopuzi says: Those who find joy in mountain woods and fields remain at peace in spirit even when circumstances are hard; those who toil on behalf of the multitude grow weary in heart even when the body is at ease. Therefore the man who holds a water jar to irrigate the garden feels happier than one in the highest ministerial rank; those who eat coarse rice and gather fern shoots find it more satisfying than a lavish banquet. One who takes a staff and leaves a dark plight grows thin as dried meat; one who waits through the night until dawn finds worry and labor wearing away life.

Baopuzi says: Between benevolence and cruelty the gap is like heaven and abyss; good and evil differ as clearly as being and non-being. Zouyu, the legendary benevolent beast, walks with care as if afraid to tread on living things on the ground; wolves and jackals gather to harm life. Yu Qing, to rescue the distressed, gave up the seal of counselor; Lord Hua yielded the rank of the Three Ducal Ministers and promoted the worthy. Li Si, jealous that Han Fei surpassed him, killed him; Pang Juan, fearing he was not Sun Bin’s equal, harmed and punished Sun Bin.

Baopuzi says: When you employ people according to their strengths, no talent goes unused; if you pick at their weaknesses alone, you will find them fit for nothing. Light gauze is fine material for splendid robes yet cannot stop a flying arrow; a heavy, sharp famous sword is a fine tool for cutting yet is unsuited to picking a splinter from the foot.

Baopu zi said: Small blemishes are not enough to ruin a great vessel, and minor faults are not enough to cancel out real strengths. The sun and moon have spots like those of insects and birds, yet that does not keep them from lighting the sky; the Yellow River carries mud and turbid water, yet that does not keep it from rushing past mountains. Guan Zhong (styled Yiwu) once committed excesses of luxury and overstepping rank—one should not for that reason refuse to employ him. Xiao He once seized fields—one should not for that reason look down on him. Sima Xiangru once eloped with Zhuo Wenjun—one should not for that reason discard him. Chen Ping once accepted bribes—one should not for that reason reject him.

Baopu zi said: Tigers and leopards cannot hunt amid surging waves; the teng snake, that legendary divine serpent, cannot soar on days without mist. Hawks and falcons are skilled at catching pheasants and hares—luan and phoenix, those auspicious birds in legend, are not necessarily their equals. If dragon and qilin were harnessed to plow fields, they would not match a pair of oxen yoked side by side. Thus bold warriors find no use in times of peace and stability; learned scholars and outstanding talent win no esteem in ages that honor martial competition.

Baopu zi said: A fine steed hobbled and reined in is no different from a lame donkey. An ape or monkey taken from the woods and shut in a cage is much like a badger or raccoon dog. A sword that hides its edge and never strikes is like a blunt blade of lead. A person of outstanding ability, set to petty and trivial tasks, will seem no different from ordinary folk. To demand that a bound thoroughbred run a thousand li, and that talent trapped in minor duties build the achievements of good governance, and then say this is not foolish—I for one cannot believe it.

Baopu zi said: Someone who throws away tea vegetables and eats only wormwood and artemisia surely has a tongue that never tasted true sweetness. Someone who abandons jade and picks up gravel surely lacks the eye to recognize treasure. One who scorns the “Nine Successions” (the ancient court dance and music) yet loves crude northern tunes—I know such a person cannot move the spirits or summon the phoenix. One who casts aside the gifted and employs the mediocre—I know such a person cannot put social ethics in order or bring about great peace.

Baopu zi said: Whoever understands the logic of smooth going and hardship will not brood in straits; whoever sees that a person’s lot has its natural allotment will not rejoice excessively when the official path goes well. Therefore, even when pressed down and stuck in low places, such a person does not harbor resentment; even when honored and shining at court, such a person does not show smug satisfaction. Thrice taking office and thrice leaving it— that is the sort of person this describes.

Ge Hong (Baopuzi) said: Whether a person’s circumstances run smooth or rough depends on the turn of the times; whether one is poor or prominent is not enough to judge character. Gain and loss often hinge on whether the right opportunity appears; honor and disgrace cannot be measured by talent alone. The turn of the times and one’s allotted span are not things one can secure by sheer effort; when opportunity arrives, ability shows itself.

Ge Hong also said: Whether circumstances favor or thwart a person depends on the times; poverty or success is insufficient to judge a scholar’s worth. Gain and loss turn on whether conditions fit; honor and disgrace are not gauged by ability. The times and one’s fate are not obtained by striving alone, and misfortune is not avoided by cleverness. Thus Lü Shang (Jiang Taigong) was once cast off by an old woman; Han Xin was once a hungry youth begging for food; Xiao He was once a lowly petty official; Ying Bu was once branded by punishment and later fled as a bondsman. They carried talent like dragon and phoenix, yet for a time mingled with groups as ordinary as snakes, lizards, or quail; people of the day took them for no different from the crowd.

Ge Hong said: When the Four Auspicious Beings (the dragon, phoenix, qilin, tortoise, and the like) withdraw and do not appear, that too can be a sign that the realm is at peace; persons in reclusion, of high character and content to withdraw, may also be treasures of the state. Why must one be like the cock that announces dawn—bridled, driven, and loaded with care and duty? A person may serve others, or may preserve the self and not be mastered by things outside. Those who value the self do not disturb inner peace for the sake of reputation; those who nurture life do not let external things become a burden.

Ge Hong said: When offices are granted according to capacity, one is not asked to do what lies beyond one’s power; when one accepts a task only after measuring one’s strength, one should not be blamed for failing what was beyond reach. So to snuff a candle flame, one need not trouble the whole sea; to lift a few jin, one need not call on Wu Huo, the legendary strongman. Carrying firewood or hauling salt is not work for the finest steeds; petty, fragmented duties are hardly fit for a towering talent who stands apart.

Ge Hong said: Water in field ditches cannot float a great ship; a vessel that holds only sheng and dou cannot contain a thousand zhong. The glimmer of a firefly cannot match the sun’s radiance; ordinary wit cannot discern exceptional talent. The work of creation endows each person differently, and intelligence too has its inborn root.

People of Ying (in the capital of Chu) favored popular, flashy tunes such as Xiali, yet looked down on refined, harmonious pieces like Liujing; ordinary people love to hear pleasing, hollow praise but dislike good counsel that helps them act rightly. For that reason Song Yu (Chu fu writer of the Warring States period) set aside subtle music that could move the spirits, and men of discernment thereby had room to offer plans that were original and far-reaching.

When fine jade is piled like a mountain, some pieces still bear flaws; the legendary forest of Denglin stretches for a thousand li, yet it too has withered trees. In appraising treasure, one must not throw away great worth because of a small blemish; in judging the whole, one must not deny most of its value because of a few faults. Thus Zhang Liang and Chen Ping, who had once turned against their former lords, still put forward six ingenious stratagems and helped their ruler settle the realm; Peng Yue, who had once been a bandit, also won great merit in building the imperial enterprise.

The Five Sacred Peaks rise into the clouds; they do not lose their sky-touching grandeur because flaws lie hidden in the mountains. The vast sea surges without end; it does not grow less boundless because it holds filth. Therefore the ancients prized the nine broad virtues and by them won the people’s trust; Confucius (Zhongni) cared widely for talent and raised men up to employ them.

Ge Hong said: To establish virtue and keep one's word, with conduct complete and integrity pure—this is true wealth; why must one display riches with precious jade and silk? To hold lofty aspirations and neither submit nor suffer disgrace—this is true nobility; why must one hold high office and wear the blue and purple garments of rank? Ordinary people cannot see a person's capacity; mediocre minds cannot measure his talent and virtue—this alone suffices to be called far-reaching; why must one stand above the clouds or tread upon rainbows? No one can fathom how deep his learning runs; those who seek knowledge cannot detect his limits—this alone suffices to be called profound; why must one dive into the Yellow River or sink into the sea? As long as everything needed within the four seas is at hand, even if one's home is so poor that only an empty gong rack remains, there is no need to envy magnates who open mountains for copper or boil the sea for salt. To live among birds and beasts is still no reason to crave splendid crimson wheels and finely carved axles.

Ge Hong said: Hidden talent waits for auspicious clouds, then can soar upward; the swan rests upon fierce winds and can fly through the sky. The white fish leapt from the water only when Ji Fa (King Wu of Zhou) appeared; the white pheasant came only when the Duke of Zhou, Dan, arrived. Jiang Shang, in his old age, met King Wen of Zhou and was employed while fishing at Pan Creek; Han Xin, meeting Emperor Gaozu of Han, was able to deploy his talent for pacifying turmoil.

Ge Hong said: If one can clarify the spirit and concentrate on Xuan Yi (the mysterious unity of the Dao), one can forget the bodily form; if one can place lofty integrity above external things, even wealth and honor can be relinquished. Therefore Zhu Li Shu, in the Zhuangzi—though his body was maimed, he praised the work of creation and wore a contented face; the northerner Ji Sou dwelt among the peaks of Mount Song and likewise found joy in his life.

Ge Hong said: Shallow principles cannot penetrate all things, and one person cannot master every skill. Therefore, though the sun, moon, and stars are bright, they may still be obscured; mountains and rivers block the view…

Baopuzi said: Those who grasp only crude, shallow principles cannot attain full, comprehensive understanding; however strong one’s talents, one cannot be master of every skill. Thus the stars in the sky, though bright, can still be veiled; mountains and rivers, though steady, can still shift; gold and jade, though hard, can be worked into new forms; ice, though tightly frozen, will melt and part.

Baopuzi also said: Thunder cannot soften its roar to harmonize with bells and chimes; sun and moon cannot narrow their light to suit only local needs; great rivers cannot shorten their course merely for travelers in a hurry to cross; the five sacred peaks cannot be shaved down to satisfy every climber’s wish. Therefore a large cart cannot crush its track to squeeze through a narrow path; nor can a person of noble character lower their standards to flatter narrow, vulgar custom.

Baopuzi said: Yin and Yang broadly generate and nourish the myriad things; sun, moon, and stars shine over the world and make all things visible; Mount Song and Mount Hua are vast enough to hold what is foul; the northern sea is wide enough to contain mud and filth; learned Confucians advance the great Way by rising together with others; broad-minded people extend care widely and welcome many.

Baopuzi said: The shell of the spirit tortoise was not made for battle; the horn of the qilin and the talons of the phoenix were not made for fighting. Thus the brave do not lay aside their swords even in peaceful times; those who keep night watch do not cease their vigil when the realm is settled, lest crisis appear.

Baopuzi said: Fine jade from the south does not think less of itself because it lies hidden in the dark; gems such as jin and yao do not lose their purity because they are buried deep. Those who pursue the Dao do not change their resolve because they are in hardship; those who hold to the right Way do not casually trim their conduct to please others because no one recognizes them.

Baopuzi said: Only when you ascend the Mysterious Garden do you see how low hills and mounds are; only when you float on the great sea do you see how small ponds and marshes are. Only after reading the nine classics do you find how narrow your former view was, as if facing a wall; only after hearing the highest teaching do you know how much those bound by the world are mistaken.

Ge Hong (styled Baopuzi) said: If one has never seen jade that shines bright and dazzling, one will not feel that broken tiles are lowly; if one has never seen the splendid tiger and leopard, one will not know how plain and mediocre dogs and sheep are. Only after hearing the lofty piece White Snow performed does one see how crude the tune of the Ba People is; only after grasping how deep and broad Confucian learning is does one feel pity for those who refuse to study and whose outlook stays narrow.

Ge Hong said: A jade bowl pierced with holes and unable to hold anything is less useful than whole, serviceable pottery; torn and incomplete brocade finery is less dependable than coarse cloth that remains intact. The same holds for human judgment: once one knows how far refined learning reaches, one feels regret for those who will not learn and cling stubbornly to shallow views.

Ge Hong said: A jade bowl pierced with holes and unable to hold anything is less useful than whole, serviceable pottery; damaged brocade garments are less dependable than coarse cloth that is sturdy and whole. Therefore, though Lady Xia of the Spring and Autumn period enjoyed high rank, she was not the equal of someone cast out and isolated who still kept a clean name; riches paired with many wrongs are not better than poverty while holding to the right Way.

Ge Hong said: Fierce beasts do not fight recklessly beyond what their strength allows; hawks and goshawks do not beat their wings and strike at random. If in planning one does not weigh one’s character within, and in acting one does not measure one’s power without, it is like casting light feathers into a great furnace, letting snowflakes fall into a boiling pot, testing the famous sword Ganjiang with a blade of grass, or sending a lamb to charge a savage tiger—such conduct must end in self-destruction.

Ge Hong said: When sun, moon, and stars are hidden, the light on earth grows dim; when the root is harmed here, branches and leaves wither there. Lose the right Way close at hand, and trouble spreads far away; when orders above go wrong, the people below fall into distress.

Ge Hong said: To chase only what is far away is sometimes to miss what lies before one’s eyes; to govern only the outside is sometimes to let harm rise from within. Cover the head, and the feet may still be soaked by rain; cover the belly, and the back may still be exposed to hurt.

Ge Hong said: To chase only what is far away is sometimes to miss what lies before one’s eyes; to govern only the outside is sometimes to let harm rise from within. Cover the head, and the feet may still be soaked by rain; cover the belly, and the back may still be exposed to hurt. Therefore the First Emperor of Qin built the Great Wall to keep off the Xiongnu, yet disorder broke out inside the palace; Emperor Wu of Han sent his banners ten thousand li beyond the frontier, yet revolt flared within the palace walls.

Ge Hong (styled Baopuzi) said: There is no fixed standard by which human talent is judged precious, and no unchanging rule for how things are used. Those who strive forward take adapting to the world as their skill; those who are driven by duty and bear affairs take conforming to the times as their wisdom. Thus when bitter cold freezes the land, the Five-Mirror Fan used for illumination is put away; in the sweltering heat of midsummer, fur coats and braziers serve no purpose. When birds flock together, fine bows are strung; when cunning hares appear, hunting dogs give chase. When war arises, the brave step forward; when ritual and music flourish, scholars and Confucians are valued.

Rushing waters may gather and pour toward the great river the court sacrifices to, yet they cannot reach it by bypassing the Five Cities and crossing over Jishi Mountain as if by empty air. Unfolding green leaves and blossoming red flowers likewise cannot exist apart from deep roots and luxuriant branches. Discard the source and lose the foundation, and few things fail to wither. Turn away from the sages and abandon the classics, and the Way can hardly be widely applied to aid the world.

The four great rivers each have their sources; the five streams branch and flow, all eventually running downward into the sea—different routes, the same destination. Colors differ, yet all are vivid; sounds differ, yet all can move one to sorrow; fragrances differ, yet each has its own sweetness; flavors differ, yet each has its own savor.

What matters in things is that they solve real problems; ornament is secondary. What reforms custom is virtue; eloquent speech is not the root. Therefore coarse cloth can ward off cold—one need not insist on sable and fox fur; plain sincerity can accomplish great work—one need not rely on flowery words.

When fierce winds cease and the air grows calm, whirling thistle-down can settle as steady as a mountain; when a great net is spread wide, its mesh aligns in order. Thus there has never been a ruler who loved humility while his subjects grew arrogant, nor a ruler who despised wealth while the people nonetheless prospered.

Some undertakings begin in small ways and in the end show clear results; some are governed close at hand first and ultimately reach far away. Repair the steps of a pond, and fish from the rivers and sea may be drawn in; let the woods touched by the morning sun grow lush, and the sacred birds of Malachite Cave may be summoned. Display the image of a dragon on a dish or bowl, and legend says the azure dragon will descend from the heights; scatter ash on shallow water, and legend says Wangshu (the moon) will alter her course at the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Duke Wen of Jin once turned his chariot for a brave little creature, and stalwart men flocked to him; King Goujian of Yue once bowed to an angry frog, and soldiers were willing to die for him. When a ruler shows a love of learning, outstanding talent comes forward; when a ruler buries dry bones and practices benevolent rule, even a tripartite division of the empire can be governed by virtue.

Deep, fertile soil nourishes the roots so branches and leaves flourish; when the ruler sets an example with his own person, the people are transformed without waiting for commands. Thus Tang Yao wore deerskin robes (showing frugality) and achieved great peace; Duke Huan of Qi removed purple trim from garments, checked extravagant rivalry, and humane rule spread.

When the Zhanghua Terrace (the high tower built by King Ling of Chu) rose, the fashion of overbuilt luxury followed; when Emperor Wen of Han stopped building the terrace platform, esteem for quiet simplicity spread.

The wise infer rise and fall from sounds already gone; the discerning see subtle truth before signs appear. The Yue physician saw in Duke Huan of Qi, before he noticed illness, that his condition would grow grave; Jizi (a worthy minister at the end of Shang) foresaw from King Zhou of Shang’s first ivory chopsticks the disaster of building the Deer Tower (a lavish palace).

Heaven and earth cannot do without spring, summer, autumn, and winter to complete a year; a sage ruler cannot discard punishment and favor to govern the state well. Therefore punishing the high establishes authority; rewarding the low encourages good conduct. When punishment reaches the upper ranks, wicked thoughts dissipate—this weak rulers cannot achieve; when favor reaches the lower ranks, distant people also submit—this the stingy cannot achieve.

One who crosses the vast sea must watch wind and weather closely to pass in safety; one who governs well must weigh gain and loss carefully to remain secure long. What a dull ruler despises is often what a bright ruler values; what a lord of a fallen state abandons is often what an age of great peace practices.

A hair’s breadth of deviation at a crucial point can in the end miss the mark by far; mishandling reward and punishment also scrambles judgment of good and evil. When right and wrong are not distinguished, social ethics decay; when merit and fault are unclear, all affairs collapse. Therefore the sage ruler’s rewards are like spring rain nourishing all things, yet not so prolonged that they flood; punishments are like autumn frost in their severity, yet not mistimed or excessively harsh.

Baopuzi says: Those who know how to weigh talent fix on what matters and cannot be fooled; those who act by rule and measure love no one so much that they bend the law for them. Thus, to win people of talent, one must first oneself meet the conditions that make others willing to join; to lose them, one must first oneself have forfeited those conditions. There has never been a case of doing right on one’s own yet losing talent, or of being at fault oneself yet still attracting talent.

Baopuzi says: A wise ruler keeps authority to reward and punish in his own hands and does not hand crucial power to others; a muddled ruler puts power in others’ hands—he may keep a lofty title, but real influence is already gone. Tian Chang controlled rewards and won people’s hearts, and later seized the state of Qi; Wang Mang monopolized the court’s authority to awe and to punish or reward, and in the end usurped the Han.

Baopuzi says: Fixed institutions cannot cope with every change, and a single path cannot answer every kind of situation. Marking the boat to recover a sword that fell overboard will not work; gluing the pegs on a se so the strings cannot be tuned will not produce pleasing music. So one does not use a kingfisher-feather canopy in fair weather, nor ride a vermillion-wheeled carriage to cross a river. If a dish is bland, add salt; if water boils over, add water and reduce the fire.

Baopuzi says: Even solemn covenants written out and cut into iron tallies, with sacrificial beasts slaughtered and blood drunk or smeared in oath, cannot undo the harm of breaking faith—then relying on knot-records to bind people is even harder. Even the five punishments and the nine punitive campaigns, right down to exterminating a whole clan, are not enough to stop the wicked from grasping unrighteous profit—then trying to transform people merely by dancing with shield and battle-axe will not succeed. Therefore the classics preserve principles that generations have valued and handed down, and also the way the Yijing speaks of adjusting in time and fitting measures to the moment.

Baopuzi says: Someone with the power to tell real from fake cannot be tricked with sham goods; someone with insight into deep meaning cannot be obscured with shallow talk. Otherwise one will take a venomous serpent for Yinglong, or foxes and horned owls for the qilin and the phoenix.

Baopuzi said: People often join in praising someone in chorus, yet that person may not truly have talent; the clamor of slander in the world does not necessarily mean someone is genuinely bad. Therefore, rather than agreeing with and accepting a person, it is better to examine his conduct and test whether he can perform; rather than opposing and rejecting someone, it is better to listen to what he says and then verify how he actually behaves. In this way, those skilled at flattery cannot win appointment through empty words, and those with real ability will not be buried because they stand alone and weak. Even a lame, inferior horse will no longer dream of driving the great carriage reserved for the Son of Heaven; while a fine steed can raise the whip and gallop like lightning. When things are so, what great achievement cannot be accomplished? What distant goal cannot be reached?

Baopuzi said: Wood that is rotten deep within cannot withstand a gale that could topple mountains; a cliff riddled with holes and cavities can hardly bear surging waves that reach the sky. Therefore the Zhou dynasty held the realm for seven hundred years and passed through thirty generations—not only because King Wu won at Muye; nor did the Shang army’s defection and the disaster at Lutai begin on the day jiazi alone. The Shang’s slide from strength to ruin had accumulated for a long time, and omens of collapse had appeared early.

Baopuzi said: To esteem what is far and slight what is near is a common human feeling; to trust what the ears hear and doubt what the eyes see is a fault common from ancient times to the present. Thus the First Emperor of Qin read Han Fei’s writings and admired them, imagining that Han Fei himself must be extraordinary; Emperor Wu of Han read Sima Xiangru’s prose and lamented that he was born in the wrong age and could not live in the same era. Yet when they actually met these men, they never truly employed them: one listened to slander and had Han Fei killed; the other left Sima Xiangru idle in a minor post. This is like Duke Ye, who loved dragons in paintings—when a real dragon appeared before him, he turned pale with terror instead.

Ge Hong said: If the mani pearl—a legendary gem—does not shine at night, it is no different from sand and gravel; if the kun, after its transformation, cannot soar into the heights, it is no different from the peach worm, a tiny bird. If Mian Ju, famed for his singing, does not raise his voice, he blends in with the mute; if outstanding talent is held down, it is no different from ordinary people. So the loach in the mud slight the crimson dragon, and sorry nags on the open plain look down on fine steeds—all because they fail to see that when at rest the other seems the same as they, yet once in motion the difference is vast.

Cast gold and jade on the road, and passersby still pause to look; throw brocade into the mud, and those who see it still marvel. Yet when those who rise above the common world are made to keep company with mediocrity, when talent fit to govern the state is left blocked and stranded, those who talk do not speak up for their wrongs, and those who understand do not rescue their plight. Some prize their writing but overlook the person; some adopt their plans but forget their service. This failing is old.

If the source is not deep enough, there will be no torrent that spills over the hills; if the peak is not high, there will be no clouds that fill the sky. If wealth is not ample, bounty cannot spread wide; if ability is not far-reaching, words cannot be grand. Thus, to see an ivory tusk a zhang long is to know it cannot have grown from a mouth one cun wide; to see a branch a hundred xun high is to know it cannot have come from a slender sapling.

The spirit phoenix takes flight at dawn from the red cavern and by evening gathers at Mount Xuan; in a single day it crosses the nine heavens, riding wind and treading cloud without hindrance—because its wings are light, swift, and strong. Outstanding talent and luminous wisdom are likewise the wings of the state.

“Zhu and lü flutter” means that red and green things sway and ripple. Even bamboo from the Qi gardens of Wei, lovely enough to hold one spellbound, still needs stringed instruments beside it before the music can carry far; even a tone that shakes the dust still needs instruments before it can sound its grief. Talent and virtue that transcend the world and stand above the rest still cannot establish achievement before the hour has come.

Crimson and emerald water plants do not grow from dead branches; torrents strong enough to wash away mountains do not gush from a narrow spring. A night glow as faint as fireflies cannot show the forms of the ten thousand things. Someone who chases power and profit with all his heart cannot leave a good name that lasts.

If an abyss is not deep enough, it cannot hold dragons or let fish big enough to swallow a boat come and go; if a mountain is not high enough, it cannot hide fine jade or draw clouds and rain. In how one lives and cultivates De (virtue), if one does not rise above ordinary custom, it is hard to win a fine reputation or build deep merit; in holding to one’s aim, if one does not stand apart from the crowd, it is hard to do great work or leave shining achievement. Mediocre people do a morning’s good as small as a cicada’s wing and by evening expect a reward as big as hills—as if they had just sown millet and sat waiting for the harvest.

Someone with no mark of character beyond the world yet asks the age to call him noble; with no root in the Way’s methods and practical skill yet busy building cliques—hoping that way to win a lofty, honored name now and pass virtue to later ages—is like crossing the sea in ordinary clothes, or standing still and expecting to leap to the ninth heaven.

A clay dragon, however brightly painted, cannot call up auspicious clouds; a sham bird dressed in feathers, however finely carved, cannot ride the wind; a straw dog, however hung with gold and jade, cannot chase the sun’s shadow or run fast. A person of flat talent, even given rich favor and stipend, cannot clear the realm or settle society.

Set out poisonous porridge and poisoned rats appear beside it; light bright torches at night and burned insects gather below. Set out rich meat and cauldrons and dishes are ready to receive it; put the unfit in heavy office and grief and tears follow. The stories of Sang Hongyang and Huo Guang are warning enough; Su Guang and Su Shou quitting office and withdrawing are mirror enough.

Ge Hong said: A firm will is the root of achieving merit and lasting renown; steady, unflagging effort is the foundation for doing every kind of good. On a mountain climb, if you do not stop because of steep paths and danger, you can reach the summit in the end; in a life of poverty, if you do not turn bitter because of hardship and setbacks, you can leave a good name that endures.

Ge Hong said: Bian Que, the famous physician of antiquity, could not grant immortality, yet acupuncture and medicinal stones remained tools that save lives. Scholars are often poor and low in station, yet the classics of old remain what we rely on to cultivate virtue. Sometimes the sowing yields nothing, but that is no reason to give up farming; sometimes acting with benevolence and righteousness brings misfortune, but that is no reason to slacken in how one lives and conducts oneself.

Ge Hong said: A boat that keeps too heavy a load and never lightens it will sink; failing to see clearly when to advance and when to withdraw will also land one in peril. When poisonous scorpions mass and strike at the root, even if all seems well for the moment, it is surely a sign that danger is near.

Ge Hong said: Dark clouds gather and dragons often appear with them—small snakes and insects cannot summon that. Fierce winds rise for the tiger; foxes and badgers cannot cause that. So when a great person rises bearing Heaven’s mandate, outstanding sages gather around; when gifts are brought to a hermit’s dwelling to seek the worthy, that too is a sign that the worthy are about to emerge.

Ge Hong said: Metal is hard and easily snaps; water is soft and can preserve itself. High mountains risk collapse; low valleys stay secure. Thus those who keep to softness and modest retreat avoid the harm that comes from always trying to outdo others; those who habitually place themselves above others easily draw resentment.

Han Xin, Marquis of Huaiyin, once endured the humiliation of crawling between a bully’s legs, yet that did not diminish the later bearing with which he soared like a dragon and glared like a tiger. Fan Ju once hid among bamboo mats that held a chamber pot, yet that did not block his later ascent like a luan bird in flight or a phoenix rising. In time, some of them ruled as kings in the south; others held the weight of the state. Thus to be held down at one moment and lifted up at another is like wild geese using the wind to climb the sky; to bow for a while and wait to stretch out is how the capable bide their time.

The legendary midge Jiao would rather keep to low places than shriek like an owl clutching a rat. The dark cicada Xuan would rather stay clean and go hungry than gorge on filth like a dung beetle. So Lie Yukou (Liezi) refused the gifts of the Yang clan in Zheng, and Zeng Shen set little store by the treasures of Jin and Chu.

A light breeze cannot stir the waves of the great sea; the finest touch cannot move a bell of ten thousand jun. Zhuangzi, keeper of the lacquer garden, once meant to borrow from Huizi the long-handled axe from his carriage, then lamented that the handle was gone; Boya mourned Zhong Zi’s death, broke his strings in grief, and never played again. A short, shallow song cannot draw forth a vast and noble tune; rank and profit cannot turn the heart of one who stays detached.

Bears and sows do not vie with foxes over quickness; the golden eagle does not compete with the small hawk for a strike. Zhang Er once hid his talent while serving as a gatekeeper; Zhu Hai masked his courage behind the trade of slaughtering livestock.

A fish on the hook is fooled by fragrant bait; a tiger shut in a cage may yet be undone by the fox inside it. What no hook can land must be the hong dragon or chi; what no trap can take must be the lin or the yu.

Birds soaring in the clouds do not know the filth of mud and stagnant water below; those who sit in high office seldom feel the toil of those beneath them. Yet when the roots rot, the tallest tree cannot stay green for long; when the people nurse grievances, not even Yao or Shun can count on blessings that last from generation to generation.

When a tree takes root on a numinous mountain, even master craftsmen lay down their axes and cannot bear to fell it; when tiny fish dwell in the dragon pool, fishermen stow their nets. Mosquitoes gather on a hawk’s head, and the harrier dares not peck them; a rat keeps close to a tiger, and foxes and wild dogs dare not touch it. The weak gain shelter by clinging to the strong—where you stand and whom you lean on changes how others treat you.

Spirit-responsive divining stalks stay silent, yet they make fortune and misfortune clear; spring frogs croak without rest, and their grating chorus wears on the ear. So when a rare voice is heard, it often stands out all the more; someone who speaks little may be trusted all the more.

Where people are used to sitting sprawled like a winnowing basket, they dislike sitting upright and properly; where hair is worn loose, they scorn the formal cap of ceremony. In an age when slander holds sway, the loyal and upright are pushed aside; where straight conduct is despised, those of refined character find no room.

A ladle of water cannot put out a blaze across eight great marshes; a handful of earth cannot hold back the flood that churns around Mount Dizhu; an inch of blade cannot cut down every tree on Long Isle. One person’s right view cannot stop a clique, once formed, from going wrong together.

A thousand sheep cannot block one fierce tiger; ten thousand sparrows are no match for one eagle. Torches lit together in a courtyard are dimmer than the last light of the setting sun; a hundred drums beaten at once fall short of the rumble thunder leaves behind. A court crowded with the mediocre cannot make order firm; a single able person, shouldering weighty duty, is enough to anchor affairs and let them take root and flourish step by step.

Ge Hong said: Prominence that does not truly belong to one is like plants in the woods and fields blooming in winter—they may look flourishing for a moment, yet they are out of season. To hold to the Way and yet be in hardship is like bamboo and pine standing firm after frost. Therefore, one who can see clearly on his own whether the times are favorable or adverse will not abandon the right path or change his resolve even under threat of arms—how could he use a fawning smile to please the world? One whose character is upright and who keeps his integrity will not go against his true heart or chase the fashion of the times even when tempted with a fief—how could he take shortcuts to flatter others?

Ge Hong said: Thunder shakes the heavens yet cannot be heard by deaf ears; the sun and moon hang high yet cannot shine into the shadows of deep mountains and secluded valleys; frost formed in bitter cold cannot wither cold-hardy plants; scorching southern winds can melt stone yet cannot destroy the trees on Xiao Hill. From this it is clear that when virtue reaches the highest level, some forces still cannot make such a person change.

Ge Hong said: The bow is already drawn and the sharp arrow nocked on the string—the danger is extreme—yet a bold pheasant may rush forward without noticing; when government is dark and the state is in turmoil, the upright are disliked and the capable are envied—the situation is extremely perilous—yet the greedy still scramble to attach themselves without shrinking. Then blades strike from every side before they notice; when disaster suddenly falls, they cannot be saved. Thus what fools delight in is precisely what the discerning lament; what mediocre people chase is precisely what the greatly wise avoid.

Ge Hong said: If the wind never stops, the fan has no use; if the sun never sets, the candle shows no light; if flowers do not fall, fruit cannot form; if riverbanks are not worn away, valleys do not fill with water. When all under Heaven is stable and in order, generals like Han Xin and Bai Qi have no scope to display their achievements; when the ruler reigns long and successors follow the usual course, ministers like Yi Yin and Huo Guang have no occasion to establish their merit. Therefore people only value skilled physicians when illness is grave and critical; they only treasure the loyal and upright when the age is in disorder.

Ge Hong said that people who crave honor especially hunger for praise, while those who dread disgrace urgently loathe slander. If the spirit can become clear, refined, and single-minded—aligned with the creative work of heaven and earth—and if fullness and emptiness are seen as one principle and gain and loss as the same thing, then love and hatred cannot shake the heart, and hardship and success alike cannot unsettle the mind.

Ge Hong said that when neither receiving nor losing from the outside can disturb the spirit, that person is the most pure; when benefit, harm, gain, and loss cannot stain a tranquil mind, that person is the most steadfast. Their scope is vast and cannot be measured with a gourd or a cup; it is deep and boundless and cannot be fathomed in a few steps. Where sounds are sparse, a great music may still arise; where melodies are plain, a lofty and precious tone may appear. The wide expanse of heaven and earth in its dark and yellow immensity cannot make the most steadfast person feel cramped; life and death, though weighty, cannot alter the principles they hold. Even when ordinary patterns or circumstances break and shift, what have they to worry about?

Ge Hong said that when woods grow too dense, woodcutters come to cut them; when pearls and jade are too fine, they are easily split open. Stone that holds metal may be burned and smelted; plants useful as medicine are gathered and dug up. A blade too sharp wears away first; strings played too mournfully snap quickly. To use one’s abilities in a way that suits oneself and preserves oneself is the true treasure of the Daoist cultivator; talent that happens to fit what the world wants may instead become a calamity for the skilled.

Ge Hong said that once a target is set up, arrows fly toward it; once a fine name spreads, slander follows. Hoard too many precious things and resentment may arrive even without your seeking it; a small vessel filled to overflowing may meet disaster even when none was invited.

Ge Hong said that a treasure worth a city is not something the poor can buy, and outstanding insight beyond the common run is not something the shallow can recognize. Yet a gem a foot across does not lose its luster because no one knows it; an exceptional person does not slacken in conduct because fortune is temporarily against them. To delight in following heaven’s command and quietly accept what fate allots—what is there to resent or blame?

Ge Hong said in the Baopuzi: Cleverness or dullness are inborn endowments; they cannot be altered by adornment. Whether one is blocked or rises to prominence depends on the moment—when the right opportunity comes, one can advance; it is not something force alone can secure. Jiang Wan suffered setbacks early in a small commandery, yet later became a model among the “Three Platforms” (leading posts at court); Chen Ping was cramped and embarrassed while running the household, yet he carried in mind six famous stratagems.

Ge Hong said in the Baopuzi: Cleverness or dullness are inborn endowments; they cannot be altered by adornment. Whether one is blocked or rises to prominence depends on the moment—when opportunity arrives, it can be realized; it is not something one can achieve by sheer effort. Lü Shang (Lord Jiang, Taigong) did not grow from foolish in youth to wise in old age; he simply kept to a pure and upright course until, in his later years, the right chance appeared. Han Xin did not change from timid at first to brave afterward; he came to prominence only after passing through danger and hardship.

Ge Hong said in the Baopuzi: A galloping steed cannot overtake a fault already past, and a thousand liang of gold cannot wipe away the stain left by words once spoken. Therefore, rather than spreading favors widely, it is better to guard against small problems early; rather than striving hard in pursuit, it is better to speak little.

Ge Hong said in the Baopuzi: A person of resolve loves the state as he loves his home and serves the ruler as he serves his parents; for that reason he will not act disloyally. A humane person treats others as himself and the distant as the near; for that reason he will not invite blame by refusing to forgive.

Ge Hong said in the Baopuzi: Before thick ice has formed and before snow has piled up, the luxuriance of the green pine does not stand out; before popular morals have decayed and before custom and teaching have declined, pure and lofty conduct is also hard to display. To accept poverty and low station while living in a country in peril—thus Zhuangzi and Laolaizi (a recluse of the Spring and Autumn period) showed a lofty refusal to cling to glory; to endure hunger and cold in a land torn by disorder—thus Zengzi and Liezi were also famed for not grasping after wealth and rank.

The Baopuzi says: What Heaven’s Way bestows in nobility has boundless loftiness; yet earthly rank and honor cannot stand apart from virtue. Confucius was only a commoner, yet for a hundred generations afterward people still offered sacrifice to him; King Zhou of Shang and King Jie of Xia had been emperors, yet even servants would not be compared with them. The Four Hoary Elders of Mount Shang—the more lowly their station, the more exalted their fame; Kings You and Li of Zhou—the higher their position, the clearer their infamy. The splendor King Qi enjoyed in life could not match the clean reputation before the tomb of Liu Xiahui; the grandeur of the Qin king’s palace could not rival the local esteem for Zheng Xuan’s hometown.

The Baopuzi says: Shadow and echo cannot appear apart from form and sound; blessings left by ancestors cannot be summoned from nothing without virtue. Tang Yao governed the realm for more than seventy years before the Jing Star (an omen of good fortune) appeared. Yang Hu long accumulated good deeds and did not slacken in old age, and afterward came omens like golden rain. When the road is long, arrival is necessarily delayed; when kindness is shown later, recompense often comes late as well.

The Baopuzi says: When strength is exhausted, one cannot ask it for surplus; when something is pushed to the limit, one cannot ask it to cover everything at once. Thus, after great waves recede, they can no longer surge against duckweed; after fierce wind has passed, it can no longer raise fine dust. When a strong crossbow fires its last bolt, its force is no longer enough to pierce the mist in the mountain valleys. The afterglow when the sun has set in the west no longer reaches the lands east of the mountains.

The Baopuzi says: The sun and moon in the sky, even if briefly obscured, cannot for that reason be compared with the steady brightness of fireflies or candlelight; the Yellow River, even when muddy, cannot for that reason be compared with the clarity of ponds and backwaters. A mountain, even when it collapses, is still loftier than an earthen mound; a tiger, even when emaciated, is still fiercer than a jackal or wolf.

The Baopuzi says: If Shennong had not been ill for a long time, he would not have left medical classics on the cycles of the four seasons; if Yu the Great had not toiled until his hands were calloused, he would not have received the felicity symbolized by the dark jade scepter (xuan gui). Thus, relieving distress is the root of deep and lasting peace; brief hardship is the beginning of ease that lasts from then on.

Precious hooks and sweet bait, for all their worth, cannot lure great fish hiding in the deep; lofty favor and rich stipends, for all their rank, cannot draw recluses who have cleared desire from their hearts. So in the Lüliang region there are those who stand straight as swans and refuse to be bound, while along the rivers many common people labor hard. Costly silks and jade were sent in vain to the lane of Yan Ziling; the cushioned chariot sent to summon a worthy returned empty from the door of Xu Ruzi.

People’s tastes differ, and love and hate are hard to align. Birds that see a beauty like Xi Shi startle and fly off; fish and turtles that hear Emperor Shun’s Nine Shao sink to the bottom. Fine robes and patterns cannot please the eyes of people from lands where nakedness is the custom; the clear song of lotus-gatherers cannot please the ears of convict slaves in Chu; the virtue of Duke Danfu cannot make land-hungry Di tribesmen understand; the eloquence of Duanmu Ci (Zigong, a disciple of Confucius) cannot reach a vulgar man busy whipping his horse.

The etiquette of coming forward and stepping back disgusts those used to squatting naked; the carpenter who keeps to the square and the line is resented in a shop that only bends wood. The greedy glutton loathes plain white silk; those who band together for profit hate the upright person who stands apart. It is like Jia Jian hating to share gain, or an ugly woman envying a woman of peerless beauty.

When the gentleman gains influence, he promotes the capable and shares stipends with them; when the mediocre man gets his way, he treats himself as lofty and looks down on worthies. They heap thick kindness on flatterers who stay close, yet dole out only scraps when they employ talent. They will not share ease with the wise, yet expect rescue in danger; they will not share joy with the outstanding, yet want pity when trouble comes. That is like praying for rain on a famous mountain when the sky is already red with fire, or building ships in eastern Min when the flood has already spread—far too late.

Someone asked: “The roundness and squareness of heaven and earth were not made with compass and carpenter’s square; the radiance of the sun, moon, and stars did not come from polishing; the vivid splendor of spring flowers was not produced by dye; the fragrance of angelica and orchid-grass did not depend on something added from outside. Clearly what is most real and precious lies in being so by nature. In literary meaning, what is seldom seen is often treated as marvelous, and what is out of the ordinary as beautiful. Yet looking at writers from ancient times to the present, few can produce transcendent, elegant prose at the tip of the brush; more often they only weigh and rework, borrowing the phrasing of those who came before. Why is this?”

Baopuzi replied: “Refined music is valued for harmonious measure; what is valuable in writing lies in discriminating what is hidden and clarifying principle. The shapes of the various instruments differ, yet all follow the same pitch and rhythm; the patterns on garments vary, yet all are built from the five colors. In writing, what is difficult or easy in wording has its priorities; what is fine or plain in expression has its rules. Thus court music has no single unchanging tune, and the cook’s art has no single unchanging flavor.

“When woodcutters and piles of zizhu and yuzhang timber stand mountain-high, without a master craftsman like Lu Ban even fine material cannot be turned into exquisite implements; when books are endless beyond counting, without outstanding talent one cannot draw their essentials from them. Must one who writes necessarily find timber a thousand li away before he can raise a high tower? Must he rely on words of ghosts and spirits before he can compose a chapter?

“Human talent has higher and lower degrees; reflection runs deeper or shallower. Even if all devote themselves to writing, they differ in countless ways: some have sweeping ideas but lack depth; some grasp things well but their style is blunt; still others violate principle yet think they have achieved something. Each merely excels in one respect and is not master of every skill. If one fails to see the measure of his own powers, insists on covering every aspect, and forces himself to do what does not match his capacity, he easily becomes a target for ridicule.”

Ge Hong said: The five flavors differ from one another, yet each can count as delicious; the many colors are not the same, yet each has its own beauty. People often favor what resembles them and dislike what differs; they prize what suits their mind and treat those who take another path as base. Literary works are especially hard to judge in the round. If one calls “good writing” only what sounds pleasant and agrees with one’s own taste, few will grasp how the ancient piece Jiucheng can make one forget flavor after hearing it, or understand the lofty spirit embodied in the Ya and Song sections of the Book of Odes used in ritual music.

It is as when someone can only appraise the saltiness of salt and the sourness of plums, yet does not understand that the great sacrificial broth (dàgēng) needs no heavy seasoning; or when one sees only light, graceful finesse while the eyes are blocked to a deep, vast vision. Writing that is outstanding, broad, and bold can rise above the bounds of ordinary judgment; writing that is cramped and narrow stays trapped within fixed limits. Birds beat their wings with greater or lesser force, so their flight and resting places are higher or lower; people walk faster or slower, so the distance they cover is farther or nearer. One cannot, like marking the boat to find a lost sword or gluing the peg on a zither, measure different talents with one rigid standard. What matters in writing is richness of content and breadth of insight—why must everyone praise it alike and agree in every point?

If a work cannot rescue a corrupted custom, improve a declining age, show the way for those in doubt, or help the poor in their want, it is like spring blossoms that cannot serve as food, or sweet herbs that cannot ward off bitter cold. Poetry in antiquity satirized faults, and so it was beneficial and valued; poetry today offers nothing but hollow praise, and so it is harmful and held cheap.

Ge Hong also said: Those who write essays each have their own faults. Writers whose work runs deep often use too many comparisons and too many words, warning and explaining again and again; they cannot bear to cut, and without noticing they become tedious. Writers whose work stays shallow often have fine phrasing but little to stand on, with citations and arguments that do not carry—like bright skin over frail bones.

When writing is ornate and resplendent, it can rival the light of sun, moon, and stars; when it is profound and subtle, it is like a deep, hidden realm hard to fathom. It can treat human affairs with thorough care and set forth the way of governing the state with full clarity. Thus even if the author’s station in life was humble, the work remains precious and shines all the more after a thousand years.

Ge Hong said that depth, stillness, emptiness, and quiet purity are the root of spirit and clarity; yin and yang together with softness and firmness are the root of heaven and earth’s two modes; towering peaks are the root of mountains; virtue and learning are the root of the gentleman. Without a root, one cannot establish oneself or accomplish anything.

Therefore, to reach a high place one must first strengthen the foundation; for branches and leaves to flourish, the roots must go deep first. Among neighbors and friends, if relations are not yet harmonious yet one rushes to closeness; or seeking fame far away, or hoping for praise after taking office—when one’s own conduct is not yet evident yet one is eager to claim reward—these are all unrealistic. Gaining exceptional prominence by luck is like a hollow reputation: like wild flowers that seem bright in frost but wither within a day. Even if one accidentally seizes a high position, like climbing onto a carriage laden with dust and occupying a seat one does not deserve, it is only like a thin blade of grass riding a wave, briefly bobbing high; turn around and one already stands like a dead tree on a perilous bank, ready to fall.

The sages toiled without slackening, to this degree; shallow people are proud and self-satisfied and pay no heed. Habit long enough and one no longer smells the stink of a fishmonger’s shop; living among the shameless, one fails to notice one’s own exposed ugliness. Unless one can withdraw from the world without worry and treat hardship and success alike as ordinary, how can one give up what is easy to grasp before one’s eyes and pursue what is distant and hard to achieve? The cause of such failings is not complicated: it is simply that when appointing people, one plucks them from common life at random without examining whether talent and virtue match the role.

Baopuzi writes: A guest mocked him, saying: “Sir, you devote yourself to cultivation and guarding your true nature, hiding your form in deep stillness, turning away from the world and traveling alone— lofty and detached. Once you have resolved on this path, your heart ought no longer to cling to worldly affairs; once you have settled where you belong, your breast ought not to retain worldly burdens. Laozi placed the Daode Jing first; Zhuang Zhou opened with ‘Free and Easy Wandering’ (Xiaoyao you)—thus they could raise exalted character to the heights of heaven and leave a fame that never ends.

“Yet you, sir, honor purity and refuse office and employment, yet you write books that discuss the way of ruler and minister; you do not mingle with the world, yet you write essays that satirize custom and urge people to preserve life; you cherish your body exceedingly, yet you also write about methods of warfare, siege, and defense; you do not manage advancement and retreat in official life, yet you compose chapters on examining and recommending talent and debating obscurity versus prominence. I am truly puzzled by this.”

“Zai ying bao yi” (carrying and embracing unity) means single-mindedly guarding body, mind, and true nature; “gan mao” (fine hair on the shank) refers to the most minute part of the body—the original text uses it to describe extreme care for oneself.

Baopuzi said: The importance of the relationship between minister and monarch is second only to that between Heaven and Earth. Whether one is willing to serve in office or content to live in seclusion should each follow one’s own Dao; these two paths need not be treated as mutually exclusive. Withdrawal or prominence should accord with the times; why should one’s words be bound by one’s station? A person of virtue and insight adapts flexibly as affairs change.

Laozi advocated Wuwei (non-action); Master Guigu ultimately withdrew between Heaven and Earth—yet both left writings that discuss worldly affairs. Must one personally hold office to speak of such matters? If the material is not fine jade, Bian He would not clasp his uncarved stone and weep; if the inner nature is not a hidden dragon, it is hard to summon wind and clouds. My talent is insufficient and my virtue shallow; I am not fit to bear the burden of governance. Whether in office or in retirement, my aim is the same; in conduct and in how I meet the world I have always been consistent. Is it only those in high position who may discuss government, while those who withdraw to the wild may not speak of order and disorder?

I have often regretted that Zhuangzi was self-assured in word and deed and trapped by conventional prejudice. Though a petty clerk in Lacquer Garden, he often spun extravagant tales; he delighted in painting ghosts and monsters yet scorned painting dogs and horses; he slighted small acts of loyalty and belittled benevolence and righteousness. That is like carving tigers and dragons yet being unable thereby to call up wind and clouds; or filling the tally board with ten thousand strings of cash yet being unable thereby to remedy want of money. A child’s bamboo hobby-horse cannot spare sore feet; a table spread with clay vessels cannot fill an empty belly.

Someone also said: “Yet your writings criticize the customs of the age in sharp, blunt language. I fear this will only draw the dislike of those in power and rejection by the world. This is not the way to win a name, gain praise, or earn esteem.”

Baopuzi replied: In making things, what matters is relieving urgent need, not decking the surface with splendor; in setting words down in books, what matters is aiding instruction, not flattering the age and fishing for praise. If one only knows how to agree and to please, prettifying what is good and hiding what is wrong, how can one correct errors, set deviations right, rouse the confused, and make up for faults? To fear having no appreciative audience and abandon a lofty piece like “White Snow,” or to fear it will not sell and undervalue a jade worth a thousand cities—I do not approve of that.

If one only goes along with others and speaks flattering words, covering up faults and exaggerating merits, how can one correct mistakes, point out what is wrong, awaken those who are confused, and make up for errors? If one fears that lofty music will find few who understand and therefore refuses to play a refined piece like “White Snow”; if one fears that goods will not sell and therefore undersells a treasure worth a city—such conduct I cannot approve.

It is not that I cannot write ornate prose to please people, or that I do not know that blunt truth is often unwelcome. I simply cannot bear to go against my conscience or twist my pen, mixing the false with the true. I want what is in my heart to match what I say, so that I need not feel ashamed even when facing my own shadow, and I hope that someday I may meet readers who truly understand. Whether one’s circumstances go smoothly or meet hardship is a matter of fate; whether one’s path in office opens or is blocked is left to Heaven. Why must one insist that one’s writings circulate, one’s words be heeded, and honor fall upon one’s own generation?

When a gentleman opens his mouth to speak or takes up the brush to write, he should be on guard against language that obscures the truth, correct the biased habit of people echoing one another, and also wear away the numbness of those who will not listen and clear away the dark, filthy drift toward escapism and absurdity. Yet some who compose books merely play with flowery diction, spread out vast and empty matter, and put down what cannot be verified and serves no use, spending their thought on showy, pretty phrases. Works of this kind resemble doctrines such as “hard and white” and “separate attributes,” and Gongsun Long’s debates on names and things: on the surface they seem able to embrace Heaven and Earth, slip into the smallest gap, unravel linked rings, treat the same as different and the different as the same; they also say that a bird’s shadow does not move, that an egg has feet, that a dog can turn into a sheep, and other bizarre talk of giant turtles and long serpents. This is nothing but displaying cleverness and novelty in order to deceive ordinary people.

It is like painting a granary to still hunger, or gazing up at the River of Heaven to quench thirst; like praising the jade that abounds on Mount Kun, which cannot relieve the poverty of Yuan Xian; like consulting the inventory of a medicine store, which cannot cure a life-threatening illness. When Mozi carved a wooden rooster to offer prayers to Heaven, it was less useful than a three-inch axle pin; when Guan Qing cast a fine horse in gold, it was still not as good as an ordinary horse for everyday travel. Doctrines that are lofty in speech but cannot be put into practice—Confucius would not have traded them for what is genuinely useful.

End of Book 42 of the Outer Chapters of Baopu zi.

I have always held that the Lunheng (Discourses Weighed)—more than eighty essays by Wang Chong, styled Zhongren—is a work of outstanding talent, one few could match.

A fellow student, Mr. Lu, objected: “Jade is prized because it is rare; gravel is slighted because there is so much of it. Thus Fuxi’s hexagrams number fewer than ten, yet they suffice to embrace heaven and earth; Laozi’s words fall short of ten thousand, yet they exhaust the Dao and De. Wang Chong’s books fill chests and stack volumes high, yet his arguments sometimes shift without fixed principle, his views now Confucian, now Mohist; his phrasing and reasoning are not everywhere exquisite. He is like weeds on hills and plains—less useful than the millet at one’s feet in the field.”

Baopuzi replied: “Those who found schools are called sages; those who expound them are called worthies. You have seen only the kinds of writings, not heard that authorship is bound by any limit of length. You are like one who hides in a cave, dim and unknowing, unaware that beyond heaven and earth in the eight directions lies vast space; who tends a lamp’s flicker at night and does not know the brightness of sun, moon, and stars; who moves only in shallow pools and has never seen the breadth of the southern sea; who is trapped on a low mound and does not grasp the height of Mount Song and Mount Tai.

Heaven and earth are great because they hold the four quarters and boundless distance; seas and mountains are rich because their reach is wide enough for myriad diverse things. If we follow your view—that the few are noble and the many base—why should the azure sky spread wide in cover, or the thick earth bear all beneath it?

In a puddle there is no fish that can swallow a boat; on a twig there is no bird whose wings blot out the sun; on an anthill no Fusang tree grows tall; at the source of a trickle no river forms that sweeps over hills. The great turtle Ao carries Yingzhou on its head; waves leap over Fangzhang; the giant peach coils at Dulíng; Jianmu—the tree that links heaven and earth—rises at Duguang; Kun lies across the celestial pool; Peng soars toward the distant sky. Thunder cannot be made small because its sound is vast; the Yellow River cannot be confined because its flood is mighty; a swift horse outruns pursuit; the wild swan spreads its wings and does not stoop its flight on purpose.”

When clouds are thick, the rain is bound to be heavy; when the bow is strong, the arrow can fly far. Wang Sheng’s learning is broad and his talent outstanding—how could his writings suffer harm simply because they are long?

You say jade is prized because it is rare and stone is despised because it is common. Yet beneath Mount Xuanyuan, on the peaks of Jing and Hua, in the Nine-Yuan marshes and the Zhefang abyss, fine jade piles up in heaps, even forming great hills; night-shining pearls blaze with light and illuminate the sky—is that not also good?

You also cite Fuxi’s few works as an example. Yet after the Duke of Zhou worked out the Changes, he also established rites and music; Confucius compiled the Spring and Autumn Annals and also wrote ten explanatory pieces. Their writings exceed Fuxi’s and exceed Laozi’s—should all of that be condemned? Too few words, and profound principles cannot be fully set forth; too short a text, and many matters cannot be adequately explained. Hence one must keep accumulating chapters and fascicles to make the essentials clear.

Xihe (the sun god of myth) raises his light and opens the morning; Wangshu (the moon goddess of myth) casts moonlight and brightens the night. The five kinds of timber each grow in their own way and serve different uses; the hundred herbs each have their effects and cure different ailments; the four seasons alternate and the year’s work is completed; the five colors gather and brocade looks splendid; the eight tones harmonize and Shaoyao (the legendary music of antiquity) becomes pleasing; many voices assemble and the distinction between the Way and the crafts becomes clear.

To amass the wealth of E Dun (the ancient magnate) yet use only a little—what difference is there from Yuan Xian (Confucius’s impoverished disciple)? To hold a vast mind yet write in a sketchy, shallow way—how is that different from the petty and mediocre? Music is cherished by those who understand it; books are passed on by those who grasp them. Shi Kuang (the famed ancient musician) tuned bells and bells—yet not everyone in his age necessarily understood; why then, for maxims and lofty writings, worry that no one will appreciate them and on that account cut them down?

Filth in rivers and seas is beyond counting, yet they do not become shallow because of it; crooked trees in the five sacred peaks are beyond measure, yet they do not harm the mountains’ height. The jade huang of the Xia ruler, even with small flaws, still has brilliance and color enough to make up for them; a work of tens of millions of words, even if some phrases lack polish, has lofty reasoning enough to cover such shortcomings.

So it is said: even when the waters of the four great rivers are turbid, they still do not match the clarity of water in a small jar; even when a great elephant is lean, it is still not the same as a lamb’s plumpness. You also mock me for sometimes speaking in a Confucian vein and sometimes in a Mohist one, as if my position were unstable. In truth, words come from the mouth; set down in writing they become books. Books stand in for speech, and speech is used to record affairs. If one holds that when writing one must never mix different subjects in a single account, then discourse ought forever to treat only one topic and nothing else.

In former times feudal lords asked Confucius about governing the state, and disciples asked him about benevolence; his answers differed according to person and circumstance. That followed the principle of recording what the situation required and responding to the need of the moment. It is like the formulas of medicine, which number in the thousands, and the points for acupuncture, which have no single fixed pattern: to dispel cold one uses warming methods, to reduce heat one uses cooling ones—the aim is simply to save life and restore health. How could one demand that a physician, whatever the illness, follow only one road and never change course, even upon reaching Qi or Chu?

The wealth accumulated by Taozhu Gong (Fan Li) and Bai Gui did not come from a single path; that is why they grew rich. What Yunmze and Mengzhu produce differs from place to place; that is why those regions are broad and abundant. Thus the Huainan Honglie (Huainanzi) opens with “Yuandao” and “Shuzhen,” yet also discusses military stratagem and the art of ruling. Zhuang Zhou’s writings treat life and death as one, yet also speak of fearing the sacrificial rite and envying the divine turtle, and of begging grain to relieve hunger. If, because the words within are not uniformly of one kind, one discards the whole book, that is like gouging out the eye to cure a disorder beside the pearl, cutting off the foot to treat damp paralysis, uprooting the crop along with the barnyard grass because one hates the weeds, or felling the entire tree because one dislikes a dead branch.

Baopuzi Waipian, juan 43, complete.

Baopuzi Waipian, juan 44

Baijia (The Hundred Schools)

Baopuzi said: The doctrines of the hundred schools, though not every line is refined in diction, sharp in force, grand in style, or deep and wide in content, are all the work of talented minds that poured thought into what they wrote. The Confucian classics are the deep sea of righteousness and the Way; the writings of the hundred schools are the hundred…

Ge Hong wrote in the Outer Chapters of Baopuzi: Works of the various masters and schools may not every page shine with elegant diction, sharp style, grand scope, or profound meaning—yet all are the fruit of talented minds who fixed their intent and concentrated their thought. The Confucian classics are the deep sea of moral principle; books of the masters are like tributary streams that widen and deepen it. Looked at from above, they are like auspicious stars (Jingxing) attending the sun, moon, and stars; looked at from below, like woods and thickets adding to the grandeur of Mount Song.

Some scholars cling to a single branch of learning—as if dwelling beside a well yet despising the ocean—and end up stuck in mud, unable to advance. Books of the masters mine deposits of subtle, abstruse thought and trace sources remote and deep, beyond easy measure; the principles they express are broad and complete. Within them change is manifold, yet nothing violates square and circle; citations are wide, yet nothing falls into heterodox bypaths. Their tone is lofty and stern, their depth hard to exhaust. Those who crave only sweet and sour flavors cannot taste their richness; minds of limited reach cannot discern their finesse.

The ancients lamented how rare talent is, and so across a hundred generations someone still carried forward another’s learning. One must not discard a gem that glows at night because the raw jade did not come from Mount Bantong; nor reject words that aid teaching because a book did not flow from the line of the Duke of Zhou and Confucius. Like people fighting a fire—the tools differ, but quenching the fire is the same; like acupuncture—the methods differ, yet all aim to cure disease.

Narrow-minded people fix on one corner and discard wide discourse and deep reflection. They do not understand that heaping small weights together can match a mountain, or that amassing many small numbers can reach hundreds of millions. They drown in petty phrasing in poetry and rhapsody, yet neglect the masters’ profound and fine reasoning; they invert true and false and mix jade with stone, taking the refined Guangyue for the rustic Sangjian, or patterned dragons for plain white cloth. Such things are pitiable— and this is hardly the only example.

Outer Chapters of Baopuzi, juan 44, ends here.46—Outer Chapters of Baopuzi, juan 45.

Someone said: “Virtue is the root, and literary composition is the branch and leaf. That is why, among the four categories used to assess talent, literary skill is not ranked first. Given this, what is put down on paper is no more than a diversion outside the dregs; what survives as writing is no more than the straw dog cast aside after the sacrifice. To esteem composition highly and treat virtue as low—such judgment deserves ridicule.”

Ge Hong replied: “One may discard the bamboo fish trap, but until the fish are caught, one cannot do without the trap. Composition may be set aside, but until the Way is put into practice, one cannot do without writing. As for the breadth or narrowness of brushwork and tone, the quality of phrasing and analogies, the depth of learning and attainment, and how much a text holds meaning in reserve and guides the reader—all of these differ greatly. The gap between them is so wide that comparing heaven with a hair’s breadth hardly captures the distance; the finest distinctions, compared to the light of sun, moon, and stars, hardly show their relative scale. Longyuan (a famed ancient sword) and a lead ingot are not enough to illustrate sharpness versus dullness; a swan’s feather and a heap of gold are not enough to illustrate light versus heavy. Yet ordinary people see only the stroke of the pen and treat all writing as the same.

That is precisely why Boya long mourned Zhong Ziqi, and why, after the man of Ying lost his partner, there was no one for his axe-wielding skill. Many can wield a blade, yet only Ban and Di were famed for consummate craft; many can pluck strings, yet only Kui and Xiang were known for clear, ringing music. A stable may hold a thousand horses, yet a Qiji or Liu (fine steeds) is prized for far surpassing the rest; beauties may be many, yet Xishi and Zheng Dan are renowned for outshining others. These are all examples of standing far above the crowd.

The relation between composition and virtue is like ten feet to one zhang—equal in measure. That composition is mere diversion—I have never heard it put that way. The Eight Trigrams (Bagua) arose from patterns on the hawk’s plumage; the Six Jia arose from patterns on the sacred tortoise’s shell. Since writing exists, one may honor the root without therefore neglecting composition; though composition is branch and leaf, one need not despise it wholesale. Brocade is woven on plain cloth; pearls and jade rest on stone. Clouds and rain form from tiny vapors; great rivers begin from short streams. If that is so, then the lofty talk that belittles writing is mistaken.

Moreover, the Yinglong spreads its wings slowly, yet with a backward glance it mounts into the sky; the “blood-sweating” steed walks at an easy pace, yet in a moment it gallops a thousand li. So the ant marvels that it rises without steps, and poor nags fear that it passes them without strain. To range freely in poetry and prose, to master a classic inside out, yet view exceptional talent with ordinary eyes and measure boundless learning with a narrow mind—is to grow from youth to gray hair without ever truly understanding.

People also tend to honor the ancients and slight the present, to respect what they have only heard of while looking down on what they see with their own eyes. In the same age there may be a steed that outruns wind and sun, yet people will still say it cannot match a horse once driven by Bo Le; there may be jade that dazzles the eye and is worth a city, yet people will still say it falls short of the raw stone Bian He presented to the state of Chu; there may be a sword that can cleave horses and strike down eagles, yet people will still say it is not like a blade cast by Ou Yezi; there may be medicine that revives withered wood and renews decay, yet people will still say it is not like a prescription from Bian Que or He Huan; there may be someone of outstanding talent who stands apart from the crowd, yet people will still say he is not the equal of the ancients.”

Even though there were swords forged by Ou Yezi—the famous swordsmith of the Spring and Autumn period—some still held that they were inferior to another kind of miraculous blade. Even though there were drugs that could revive withered plants and restore life to what had rotted away, some still held that they were not as good as the remedies prepared by Hehuan and Bian Que, physicians of antiquity. Even though there were men of outstanding talent who walked their own path alone, some still held that they fell short of the sages of old.

End of Book 45 of the Outer Chapters of the Baopuzi.

Book 46 of the Outer Chapters of the Baopuzi

Title: “Correcting the Praise of Guo” (On the proper assessment of Guo Linzong)

Baopuzi said: Ji Kang held that Guo Linzong of Taiyuan (Guo Tai, a celebrated scholar-official of the Eastern Han) in the end never accepted appointment to one of the Three Excellencies. His learning was broad and his fame surpassed that of earlier generations; he was also skilled at discerning talent. One who can recognize ability deserves to be called wise; Guo Linzong probably possessed qualities approaching those of a sage. He lived in a time of decline and disorder, hurrying about all day in anxiety and fear, with scarcely time to warm his seat; his aim was to set right a chaotic age and advance the correct Way—a point of resemblance to Confucius.

I replied: As for those who have wisdom and those who lack it…