《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 14

Ge Hong (Baopuzi) explores a profound principle of governance in his chapter "On the Use of Punishment": although everyone praises benevolence and virtue (De), relying solely on them cannot effectively govern a state. Similarly, while people often look down upon penal measures, abolishing them entirely would lead to social disorder.

He employs an analogy: moral education is like the ornate robes worn during sacrificial rites, while punishment serves as armor for self-defense. Using only moral persuasion to deal with deceitful and violent individuals is akin to wearing ceremonial robes to fend off sharp blades. Conversely, abusing punishment in times of peace would be like donning armor in the imperial court. Benevolent governance is the vessel that nurtures all things, while punishment is the tool to discipline wrongdoing. There are times when one wishes to benefit the people, but evildoers seek to harm them—in such cases, mere virtue cannot reform them, and punishment becomes necessary. Punishment, in truth, serves as an aid to benevolent rule.

Ge Hong further draws a parallel with the cultivation of life (Xingming Shuangxiu): practices like embryonic breathing (Xuantai) and Daoyin exercises are indeed excellent for longevity, yet they are arduous and slow to yield results, with only one in ten thousand achieving success. When a person is gravely ill and near death, acupuncture and potent medicines must be used to save them. Abandoning the medical arts of Bian Que in favor of solely pursuing the immortal path of Chisongzi and Wangziqiao would only lead to more deaths. Similarly, though benevolent governance is ideal, the people inevitably include those who are cunning and self-serving. Without the deterrence of authority and the corrective force of punishment, empty talk of the ancient ways of Yao and Shun will only plunge society into chaos.

He cites historical evidence: from the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan) to Emperor Wen of Han, even the most sagely rulers could not dispense with punishment. Just as a carpenter cannot produce straight timber without a marking line, an enlightened ruler cannot maintain order without punishment. Even the natural order of heaven and earth is not purely benevolent—consider how the seasons include times of withering and decay—let alone human governance.

This discussion reveals the Daoist political wisdom of "balancing punishment and virtue" (Xing-De Bingyong), emphasizing that benevolent rule and legal measures must complement each other. It opposes both the abuse of punishment and the empty rhetoric of kindness, advocating instead for their harmonious integration in governance.

This passage illustrates the political principle of clear rewards and punishments through analogies with natural phenomena. Just as the gentle yang energy of spring nourishes all things while the stern chill of autumn causes plants to wither, the alternation of seasons ensures a fruitful year. If there were only warmth without cold, insects would not hibernate and plants would violate their natural cycles; if there were only leniency without severity, evildoers would run rampant and harmful tools would persist indefinitely.

Rewards are established to uphold the righteous Dao, while punishments are implemented to prevent wickedness—there is no more effective means to encourage virtue and deter vice. When observing public sentiment to establish governance, one must balance kindness with strictness, ensuring the timid dare not act disrespectfully while the strong do not harm benevolent principles. The five ancient punishments (Five Phases of penal law) encompassed over three thousand offenses, demonstrating that legal standards must not be bent. When the Minister of Justice (Sikou) carries out punishments, the ruler does not interfere—this shows the law cannot be abolished. If standards are twisted, corruption flourishes; if laws are neglected, chaos spreads.

Governing a state does not mean lacking decrees, but rather fearing that excessive regulations become unenforceable; military collapse does not stem from absent prohibitions, but from rules existing only in name. The value of rewards lies in matching merit without excess, while punishments should fit crimes without undue cruelty. If a household abolishes discipline, servants grow negligent; if a state abandons punitive campaigns, subjects lose reverence. Ritual (Li) elevates virtue, but authority is needed for lasting order—hence penal laws are established to rectify social conduct.

Just as the master craftsman Ban Chui could not work without compass and square, an enlightened ruler cannot discard legal standards. Even the benevolent sage-kings Yao and Shun, whose virtue mirrored heaven, dealt with the Four Evils (legendary villains exiled by Shun) according to law. The Duke of Zhou (Zhou Gong), though fraternal, did not pardon his rebellious brothers Guan Shu and Cai Shu. Confucius executed Shao Zhengmao; Emperor Wu of Han wept while sentencing his nephew—all acted out of necessity. Punishing a few warns the multitude, like combing hair: though some strands fall, the whole becomes orderly. Treating a festering wound may hurt, but preserves life.

Harsh penalties cannot be abolished, just as acupuncture’s pain is essential for healing. When armies stand dense as forests, not all are brave—facing swords and fire, anyone would fear. Mere smiling encouragement yields few willing to fight; only the threat of punishment makes soldiers charge forward. Thus, when An [a historical figure] transformed people in remote valleys, he still upheld strict laws; Wei Zi [another figure] punished even careless ash-dumping, proving gentle methods pale before decisive authority.

(Note: Proper names like "Ban Chui," "An," and "Wei Zi" are preserved in pinyin as their identities are rooted in classical Chinese contexts without direct English equivalents.)

This passage discusses the relationship between penal law and benevolent governance in statecraft. The author argues that strict penalties function like high embankments, preventing the people from transgressing boundaries—this constitutes the fundamental method of governing the masses. Truly wise rulers understand how to prevent calamities before they arise.

If light punishments are used to prohibit serious crimes, or lenient decrees to protect vital interests, the more elaborate the laws become, the more lawbreakers will emerge. This is like digging pitfalls on a roadway—not the conduct befitting a virtuous ruler. A skilled statesman must first rectify himself to guide others, beginning reforms with close associates before extending them to distant subjects, never distorting laws for personal whims. When punishment is warranted, there should be no pardons, just as Shi Que upheld justice by executing his own kin, or Duke Wen of Jin resolutely beheaded Duan Xi despite personal anguish.

Benevolent governance resembles cosmetic powder, while penal law serves as the reins controlling the realm. Though powder isn't strictly necessary, the reins cannot be relaxed for even a moment. The slightest laxity breeds negligence; any weakening of authority fosters wickedness. When wrath is due but withheld, treacherous ministers become tigers; when execution is warranted but delayed, catastrophe erupts. Just as constant erosion destroys mountains and rivers, and towering trees grow from tiny sprouts, a small flame can be quenched with a ladle of water—but once fanned by gales into wildfire, even the wisest and bravest cannot control it.

Therefore, enlightened rulers address problems while they're still easily resolved and eliminate evils while they remain minor. They neither tolerate good deeds to the point of encouraging chaos, nor hesitate when holding the axe-handle of justice. Penal law is the sacred instrument of state, which the ruler must personally wield—never delegating it to others, just as one never grasps a sword by its blade or lets the great fish leave the deep. Historical examples like Tian Chang usurping Qi, the six ministers partitioning Jin, Zhao Gao assassinating Qin rulers, or Wang Mang overthrowing Han all resulted from rulers pursuing empty fame while neglecting real dangers, ultimately causing their states' collapse.

Some critics argue that penal law belongs to ages of decline, insisting governance should root itself in benevolence and righteousness—that through Wuwei (non-action) the people will naturally correct themselves, and through few desires folkways will grow pure. As Laozi said, "Governing a great state is like cooking small fish"—too much handling spoils them, while generous compassion wins hearts. Thus Mencius advocated benevolent governance to pacify the people, and Yang Xiong maintained that laws should be clearly defined yet moderately applied.

This passage contrasts ancient and modern approaches to governance, examining the differing effects of harsh punishments versus virtuous rule through moral transformation.

The ancient sage-kings, such as the legendary Emperor Shun, achieved peace and order throughout the realm without relying on oppressive decrees—simply by rectifying their own conduct. Similarly, the virtuous minister Mi Zijian of the Spring and Autumn period governed effectively by playing the zither and reciting poetry in court, inspiring the people to naturally abide by order. The text suggests that ideal governance should involve light taxes, the selection of worthy officials, and an emphasis on agriculture, guiding the people toward goodness through the transformative power of ritual and music (ancient practices that cultivated moral character through ceremonial and artistic refinement). This approach is likened to the way wind bends grass effortlessly or clear water washes away dust.

However, the Daoist thinker Ge Hong (known as Baopuzi) counters this view, arguing that texts from the Book of Changes to the Book of Documents all acknowledge the necessity of punishment. If a ruler emphasizes benevolence without establishing authority, it leads to the collapse of social order and insubordination among officials. After the eras of the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, and Zhou), moral decline became evident, and since the Qin and Han periods, human nature has grown increasingly cunning. Attempting to govern deceitful people with the simplistic methods of primitive society—when knots in ropes served as records—is as perilous as trying to control a galloping horse with loose reins or cross a raging river without oars. Historical examples, such as the execution of Chao Cuo to quell the Rebellion of the Seven Kingdoms or the military suppression of the Red Eyebrows uprising, demonstrate that virtuous governance alone cannot manage times of chaos.

The author concludes that while the era of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors allowed for the gradual implementation of moral rule, the age of warring states demanded swift and decisive action. In the present day, with corrupt officials and rampant banditry, even severe punishments like head-shaving (ancient penal branding) and clan extermination fail to deter crime. Even if a ruler exhausts himself in governance, wrongful convictions remain unavoidable, and calamities often arise from those closest to him. To expect the pure and simple ways of antiquity to rectify the decadence of modern times is as unrealistic as trying to pacify violent upheaval with the naive folk song Jirangge from the reign of Emperor Yao.

This passage employs multiple metaphors to critique two extreme approaches to governance: rigid adherence to dogma without flexibility, and empty idealism divorced from practical realities.

Those who carve marks on a boat to find a lost sword—still searching by the vessel’s side long after the blade has sunk into the water; or shooting arrows beneath a towering tree yet only reaching five paces; wearing rhinoceros-hide armor to ford an unfathomable abyss; donning winter furs to withstand scorching heat—these actions are as senseless as loosening one’s belt to scratch one’s back. They epitomize sheer folly.

Good governance first establishes clear laws before enforcing penalties, investigates facts without self-satisfaction. It ensures that nobles like Bo Shi, who lost their fiefs, harbor no resentment, and petty states like Yu-Rui, locked in disputes, withdraw in shame. Tolerating violence and shielding wrongdoing is like pointing to distant oceans while parched with thirst, or rushing to build boats in the forest when floodwaters surge. How can such actions avoid the fate of Kuafu chasing the sun?

Today, people dismiss the practical policies of Shen Buhai and Han Feizi (Legalist thinkers) while exalting the abstract theories of Laozi and Zhuangzi. Yet if governance fails to properly apply punishments—letting killers escape retribution and assailants evade accountability—it’s like trying to sate hunger with clay bowls. Daoist philosophy may seem profound, but its misapplication brings chaos: using the Ganjiang sword (a legendary blade) to mend clothes, sending elephants to catch mice, golden-jade boats that cannot weather storms, jade-carved steeds that cannot gallop a thousand miles.

If one were to rigidly implement Daoist ideals, it would require burning all instruments of punishment, dismantling prisons, abolishing offices, destroying laws, melting weapons, leveling city walls, emptying treasuries, smelting seals, removing checkpoints, and smashing weights and measures—even blinding Li Zhu (the legendary sharp-eyed one) and deafening Shi Kuang (the master musician). The people would roam wild like untamed horses, the court stand empty, and citizens live and die without interaction. Easier said than done.

Pedantic Confucians only recite how the Zhou rose through benevolence and the Qin fell by severity, ignorant that the Zhou’s success didn’t rely solely on virtue (early Zhou retained mutilating penalties; latecomers to the Mengjin alliance were beheaded), nor the Qin’s collapse on harshness alone. By the Zhou’s decline, laws were neglected, scholars slacked, rulers grew tyrannical, decrees never left the palace gates, and neither rites nor warfare held sway.

This passage is from the Outer Chapters of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity (Baopuzi Waipian), discussing the relationship between state governance and the application of penal law. Through the historical rise and fall of the Qin dynasty, the author demonstrates that harsh laws themselves are not the root cause of a state's downfall—the key lies in whether they are applied appropriately.

During its initial period of strength, the Qin state employed Legalist talents like Wei Yang (Shang Yang) and You Yu to establish its institutions, while generals such as Bai Qi and Wang Jian expanded its territory through military campaigns. By annexing weaker states and establishing authority through a clear system of rewards and punishments, they laid the foundation for imperial rule. However, in the late Qin period, the rulers became arrogant and extravagant, abusing their power. They built the Great Wall, constructed numerous palaces, conscripted laborers for the Lishan Mausoleum, imposed heavy taxes, burned books and buried scholars alive, waged wars against the Xiongnu in the north and the Baiyue in the south—all of which led to widespread suffering, with families torn apart and corpses littering the land. Xu Fu's voyages in search of immortality further burdened the people, while Zhao Gao's manipulation of power filled the court with sycophants. Ultimately, nine out of ten households across the empire yearned for rebellion.

The author argues that the fall of Qin was not due to harsh laws themselves but to their misuse. Penal laws are like swords: a skilled craftsman can use them to create tools, while a clumsy one may injure himself. Governing a state requires moral education as the primary method, supplemented by appropriate punishments to curb wrongdoing. If laws are neglected or punishments misapplied, it is like fire and water—they can sustain life or take it, depending on how they are used. How can one expect longevity if they refuse to remove a tumor yet reject good physicians? How can a state achieve lasting stability if it fails to enforce laws strictly when corrupt factions abound?

An ideal governance system should select legal experts like Zhang Liang and appoint vigilant officials like Zhao Guanghan. A wise ruler must diligently attend to state affairs, while loyal ministers must serve with utmost sincerity. Evil deeds must be dealt with as swiftly as a falcon seizing its prey, and disorder must be uprooted like weeds. Only when rewards are just and punishments appropriate can a prosperous and peaceful era be realized.

This passage discusses whether ancient corporal punishments (such as nose-cutting or limb amputation) should be reinstated. Some argue that after abolishing such punishments, seemingly lighter penalties like flogging often result in unintended fatalities, making them less effective deterrents than corporal punishments.

Ge Hong (Baopuzi) strongly advocates for the reinstatement of corporal punishments. He cites historical examples: the Zhou dynasty employed corporal punishments and endured for seven centuries, whereas the Han dynasty abolished them and saw its reign shortened. Contemporary flogging appears lenient in name but frequently causes deaths. For crimes not warranting capital punishment, the current options—exile or caning—lose all deterrent effect when pardoned by amnesty, failing even to impose symbolic penalties like head-shaving. The abolition has created a sentencing gap between capital punishment and minor penalties, disrupting judicial proportionality.

He proposes that except for grave crimes like rebellion, patricide, wartime insubordination, and homicide, corporal punishments should replace capital sentences. This approach would severely punish offenders while preserving their lives for forced labor. The visible mutilations would instill greater public fear than executions—since corpses are quickly buried after executions with few witnesses, while the disabled bodies of corporal punishment victims serve as lasting public warnings.

The text notes that during the Three Kingdoms period, Wei state scholars repeatedly debated this issue, with most (including Cao Cao) supporting reinstatement. Only concerns about frontier stability—lest outsiders misinterpret central plains governance as tyrannical—delayed implementation. Scholar Yang Xiong (style name Ziyun) also endorsed corporal punishment systems.

The penal system ought to be restored, yet it has been abolished for too long. Those who merely sit and discuss principles do not consider this a pressing matter.

This passage comes from the fourteenth chapter of Baopuzi's Outer Chapters. Ge Hong (Baopuzi) here critiques the social conditions of his time: though reinstating the penal system is necessary, because it has long been discarded, the scholar-officials who engage only in empty talk fail to prioritize the issue. This statement reflects Ge Hong's pragmatic mindset and his opposition to idle theorizing.