《抱朴子內篇》Vol. 10

When someone asked which was more important, Confucianism or Daoism, Ge Hong (Baopuzi) replied: Daoism is the root of Confucianism, while Confucianism is merely its branches. The Yin-Yang school places excessive emphasis on taboos, making people timid and hesitant; Confucian learning is broad but fails to grasp the essentials, demanding much effort for little result; Mohist frugality is difficult to practice; Legalist severity lacks benevolence and undermines moral virtue. Only the teachings of Daoism can focus the spirit (Shen), align actions with the natural order, incorporate the strengths of Confucianism and Mohism, synthesize the essence of the Logicians and Legalists, adapt to the times, and achieve great results with simplicity and conciseness—all while preserving the fundamental purity of human nature.

Ban Gu criticized Sima Qian for placing the teachings of the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) and Laozi before the Six Classics, calling it a mistake. But Sima Qian was a scholar of vast learning, capable of discerning subtle truths and distinguishing right from wrong. His judgments were rooted in the natural order, and his standards aligned with the highest truth—neither exaggerating virtues nor concealing flaws, nor following popular opinion blindly. The great scholar Liu Xiang regarded the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) as an accurate account, suggesting Ban Gu’s criticism may have been misplaced. As a purely Confucian scholar, Ban Gu failed to grasp the deeper truths of Daoism, remaining confined by his own learning and unable to judge objectively.

Is the so-called "Dao" merely about nurturing life? The Book of Changes (Yijing) states: "The Dao of Heaven is Yin and Yang; the Dao of Earth is softness and firmness; the Dao of humanity is benevolence and righteousness." It also says that the Yijing encompasses the fourfold Dao of the sages, and unless the right person appears, the Dao cannot manifest on its own. A well-governed era is called "having the Dao," while a nation in chaos under a foolish ruler is called "lacking the Dao." Those who can sit and discourse on the Dao are called the Three Dukes (highest ministers of antiquity). In a state where the Dao prevails, it is shameful to remain content in poverty and low status. Whenever we speak of the "Dao," from the heavens above to the myriad things below, nothing exists that does not follow it. However, the Yellow Emperor and Laozi grasped its root, while Confucians and Mohists dealt only with its branches.

Those we call "attained masters" today should be individuals who comprehend past and present, observe the workings of Heaven and Earth, perceive subtle transformations, understand the patterns of rise and decline, grasp the root causes of order and chaos, and hold no doubts in their hearts—wise scholars who can answer any question. Why must they necessarily practice longevity techniques or envy immortals like Chisongzi and Wangzi Qiao? Narrow-minded Confucians recklessly speculate, hearing of recluses in the mountains and forests...

Those who practice the teachings of Laozi (courtesy name Boyang) in mountain forests are often mocked by worldly people, who say: "Those are just minor schools and insignificant paths, utterly unworthy of mention." Alas! This is like someone holding a firefly to illuminate an earthen wall—they will never see the brilliance of the sun. It is also like those who dwell in small puddles with tiny fish and shrimp, utterly incapable of imagining the vastness of the four seas.

People know the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers are deep, yet fail to recognize their source in the Kunlun Mountains. They treasure the harvest of the five grains, yet remain unaware of the nourishing power of fertile soil. Today, people only know to revere Confucian teachings, oblivious to the fact that the very foundation of all achievements lies in the "Dao." The Dao is the origin that gives birth to the Hundred Schools of Thought, shapes the Yin-Yang of heaven and earth, transforms and generates all things, and establishes the norms of human relationships.

In this world, those with shallow insight are many, while those with profound understanding are few. The minority has always struggled against the majority—this has been the case since ancient times. Just as Sima Qian (courtesy name Shiqian), despite his vast learning, received little praise, while Ban Gu, though of limited talent, faced no criticism. All things in the world are valued for their rarity; when abundant, they become ordinary. Human affairs follow the same pattern: wild vegetables cover the mountains, yet spiritual mushrooms are rare; thorns fill the plains, yet towering trees are scarce; sand and stones are everywhere, yet pearls and jade are exceedingly rare; hawks and falcons fly in flocks, yet the phoenix is seldom seen; venomous snakes and lizards abound, yet the true dragon is a rare sight. That Ban Gu (courtesy name Bansheng) gained the approval of the majority is only natural.

The function of the Dao internally cultivates the body and nurtures one's nature, while externally it governs the state and brings peace to the land. It ensures the orderly movement of the sun, moon, and stars, harmonizes the interaction of Yin and Yang Qi, regulates the succession of the four seasons, and moderates wind and rain so they cause no harm. In times of great peace, auspicious signs like the "Jade Candle" (a symbol of harmony) appear, and sweet springs manifest as omens of virtuous governance. Violent storms and celestial anomalies vanish, and calamities cease to occur. City walls and fortresses need not be built; weapons and arms need not be used. Without deliberation, things are done properly; without agreements, trust is maintained; without alliances, stability is secured; without planning, success is achieved; without rewards, people are diligent of their own accord; without punishments, order is naturally upheld. Without striving, one attains; without prohibition, things cease of themselves. Those in high positions do not oppress, and those who lead do not provoke anxiety. Before commands are issued, customs have already shifted; before policies are implemented, traditions have already transformed. Such is the realm of the Dao in governing the world.

When the Dao flourishes, the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors ruled effortlessly, their governance extending beyond what was needed. When the Dao declines, later rulers toil tirelessly yet still fail to govern well. It is precisely because they grasped the abundance of the Dao that they could govern through Wuwei (non-action) and cultivate excellence. And it is precisely because they lost the sufficiency of the Dao that harsh laws became necessary, leading only to more deceit and wickedness, followed by the rising discontent of the people.

This passage contrasts ancient and modern social conditions to explain why the perfected beings (zhenren) of antiquity could cultivate the Dao while living in society, whereas later Daoist practitioners often retreated to mountain forests.

In ancient times, people were simple and sincere in heart. Those who believed in the Dao studied its teachings earnestly, while those who didn’t would neither slander it nor harbor ill will. Thus, perfected beings like Chisongzi, Wangzi Qiao, Qin Gao, Laozi, Pengzu, Wuchengzi, and Yuhuazi could dwell peacefully among ordinary people without haste to ascend to immortality.

But in later ages, society became deceitful and cunning. People no longer believed in the great Dao (Daodejing), instead delighting in defaming cultivators—dismissing true practice as demonic deception and treating discussions of transcendents as absurd nonsense. Some accused Daoists of misleading the masses, while others vilified them as disruptors of order. As a result, virtuous cultivators refused to associate with such people and chose seclusion.

The author employs natural metaphors to illustrate this: when a pond dries up, flood dragons (jiaolong) will not linger; when a nest topples, phoenixes will not roost; when gossip fills a house, even seagulls will avoid landing; when ordinary plants are cut down, the numinous fungus (lingzhi) will not grow. Similarly, when society’s virtue (De) decays, true cultivators naturally depart.

Historical anecdotes further reinforce this: Confucius turned his carriage around upon hearing of Zhao’s execution of the virtuous Mingdu; the Han scholar Mu Sheng left Chu overnight when its king ceased offering ritual wine (a sign of respect). These examples show how the wise detect early signs of disorder and withdraw in time. Cultivators and worldly people pursue fundamentally different paths—why cling to such an environment?

This passage explains why Daoist practitioners retreat to mountain forests for cultivation, and elucidates the fundamental differences between Daoism and Confucianism.

Daoist cultivators withdraw from worldly turmoil to dwell in mountain forests not because these places possess any inherent mystical qualities, but to avoid the foulness and defilement of mundane society. Those who engage in deep contemplation (jingsi) and maintain the contemplation of True Oneness (zhenyi, a Daoist technical term referring to preserving the primordial Qi) to summon divine beings particularly detest noisy and polluted environments. This is especially true when refining the Golden Elixir (jindan) and the Eight Mineral Essences (bashi feijing, terms from Waidan external alchemy) - the process is most vulnerable to interference from ignorant chatter and worldly people. Without proper seclusion, divine beings won't descend and the elixir cannot be successfully produced.

Some may question: Doesn't tradition say superior practitioners attain the Dao in military camps, middling ones in cities, and only inferior ones in mountain forests? This actually refers to those who have already perfected the elixir but choose to postpone ascension - they remain unharmed even in dangerous environments. Ordinary practitioners who haven't reached this level of attainment must still cultivate in seclusion. Importantly, this doesn't mean superior practitioners should begin their training in chaotic urban settings.

The passage concludes by contrasting Confucian and Daoist approaches: Confucianism emphasizes ritual propriety and statecraft, pursuing fame, wealth, and worldly success. Daoism advocates discarding external attachments, eliminating cunning artifice, and maintaining indifference toward wealth and status, remaining unmoved by poverty or acclaim. Confucians seek blessings through sacrificial rites, while Daoists expel evil through proper cultivation. Confucianism values power and profit; Daoism treasures desirelessness. Confucians chase fame and gain; Daoists embrace the pure Dao (chunyi zhi dao) and cultivate self-perfection in solitude.

Confucian scholars immerse themselves in intricate texts and canonical writings, while Daoist practitioners cultivate transcendent teachings and precepts. The core of Daoism lies in Wuwei (non-action, aligning with nature without forced intervention), achieving accomplishments through self-cultivation. Daoist engagement with the world manifests in three characteristics: dwelling where others do not compete, resolving calamities before they arise, and benefiting all beings without seeking reward. In action, they observe the hearts of the people; in stillness, they remain cautious yet untroubled. This is why Daoism stands as the foremost among the Hundred Schools and the source of benevolence and righteousness. Though differing from Confucianism in some respects, its fundamental principles remain unchanged.

Some claim that Confucianism reveres the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, upholds the Six Classics as its canon, and represents the proper path for governing the state and guiding human conduct. Its influence is profound, its endeavors esteemed, forming an immutable system for both statecraft and family life. In contrast, they argue, Daoist practitioners disregard ritual teachings and humanistic ethics, dwelling like foxes in desolate wilderness or keeping company with apes in mountain forests, their forms as withered wood beside stones—as if traveling east yet forgetting the sunflower's nature of turning toward the sun.

Ge Hong (the Baopuzi) responds: Ornate rhetoric is not cherished by those who value simplicity; resolving doubts and dispelling confusion were prized by the ancients. Though I had no intention to debate right and wrong, to see a child falling into a well and not save them violates benevolence, and to let the blind stumble against a pillar without assistance contradicts universal love. Daoism, represented by the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) and Laozi, excels both in governing the world and attaining transcendence. The Yellow Emperor established an era of Great Peace and later ascended as an immortal, his achievements no less than Yao and Shun; Laozi mastered ritual teachings while attaining longevity, his accomplishments comparable to the Duke of Zhou and Confucius. Confucius himself likened his wisdom to Laozi's, without criticism. Yet people today, failing to enter its gate, study Confucianism and Mohism only to slander Daoism—like descendants cursing their ancestors, ignorant of their roots.

Those Confucian scholars clinging to conventions have narrow vision, like a dwarf's hand unable to topple a mountain or a short-legged man incapable of measuring the sea's depth. Bound by their limited learning, they lack comprehension of broader principles, stubborn and ignorant, praising slander against Daoism—truly lamentable.

Daoist philosophy holds that those obsessed with worldly dross are like people catching a fleeting glimpse of a thoroughbred horse through a crack in the door, while those immersed in spiritual realms lose themselves in profound contemplation. This resembles a sparrow flapping its tiny wings attempting to cross towering waves, or a clumsy donkey trying to scale cliffs accessible only to apes—such endeavors exceed their capacities and only hasten their downfall.

Those clinging to narrow perspectives while lacking expansive wisdom foolishly imagine they can encompass the radiance of sun, moon and stars by standing on tiptoe, or rival lightning's brilliance by puffing their chests. Only by ascending to the distant Xuanji stars (the Big Dipper) does one recognize the lowliness of valleys; only when beholding the sun's dazzling splendor does one realize metal's dullness. These truths weren't innate knowledge—in my youth I too disbelieved them, initially as confused as any beginner. Not until witnessing the vast profundity of the Dao's mysteries did I regret my belated awakening.

The Confucian Five Classics come with clear commentaries even novices can comprehend. But the golden tablets and jade slips recording the Way of Immortals (Daoist scriptures) often omit crucial teachings—these require altar ceremonies and blood oaths before masters transmit them orally. To unworthy recipients, neither cities nor treasures could purchase such knowledge. Without proper guidance, these profound principles remain as incomprehensible as staring at mountain peaks without seeing their summits, or searching for tree roots while overlooking their origins—how could you possibly grasp them fully?

Perfected immortals may ascend to the Great Purity (Taishang), soar through violet heavens, reach the Mystic Isles (Xuanzhou), or perch on divine phoenix trees. Abroad, they roam the cosmos with immortal companions like Song and Qiao (legendary transcendents); returning, they enjoy celestial music (Juntian Guangyue) and ninefold mushroom feasts in jade palaces. How could such beings willingly consort with foxes and apes? Pretentious scholars, take heed!

The Great Dao (Da Dao) enables one to wander like rainbows, soaring freely through cinnabar clouds and traversing the Six Directions (Liuxu) at will. Even when rejected by worldly society, one remains untroubled—like the auspicious Jiguang (mythical horse) finding greater fortune in solitude. Though sacrificial pigs may gather in embroidered finery, what joy compares to a qilin's unconstrained freedom?