《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 24

Ge Hong (Daoist name Baopuzi) warns in his Outer Chapters of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity: The beautiful sights that delight the eyes must not be indulged, the music that pleases the ears must not be casually listened to, the fragrances that tempt the nose must not be freely inhaled, the delicacies that entice the mouth must not be recklessly consumed, and the desires that stir the heart must not be wantonly pursued. For what dazzles the eyes are invariably glamorous appearances and flashy adornments; what seduces the ears are invariably decadent melodies; what beguiles the nose are invariably overpowering scents; what deceives the mouth are invariably rare delicacies; and what ensnares the heart are invariably power, profit, fame, and fortune. Should all five senses succumb to these temptations, calamity will surely follow, bringing illness to the body—is this not an obvious truth?

Thus, the wise strictly restrain their innate nature, refusing to let their spirit (Shen) chase after external distractions. They cultivate contentment through simplicity and refine their character through foresight. Their restraint of desires is stricter than a dam holding back floodwaters; their mastery of their nature is more cautious than controlling a galloping horse with a rotten rein. Only thus can they preserve longevity within and avoid calamity without.

Hunger and cold are indeed hard to endure, yet the upright would never accept ill-gotten wealth. Poverty and low status are indeed difficult to bear, yet the virtuous would never covet riches amid chaos. For thorough consideration tames desire, and when virtue (De) prevails, one abandons what harms their true nature. Wine, though seemingly delightful, is in fact a poison that breeds illness—offering not the slightest benefit but bringing mountain-sized harm. Noblemen see their virtue (De) corrupted by it; petty men find their crimes hastened by it. Few who indulge escape disaster.

Scholars of the world may know this principle, yet they neither abstain completely nor exercise moderation. Yielding to gluttony, they trivialize the roots of misfortune—like gulping cold water in the throes of heat and thirst, finding momentary relief while damaging their health. From minor mishaps to great collapses, none arise without wine's involvement. Yet worldly people remain intoxicated by it. At first, banquets proceed with decorum—postures dignified, reciting elegant verses like "Dew So Profound" and singing joyful tunes like "At Hao," raising cups in toasts while discoursing on temperate drinking. But soon their bodies grow unsteady, ears flushed, as precious goblets circulate endlessly. Drinking penalties escalate urgently; none can stop the revelry, even tossing carriage pins into wells. Then come foaming mouths, streaming noses, drenched hair, and erratic movements—staggering about in drunken dance.

This passage vividly depicts the lamentable state of moral decay and ritual collapse in society at that time. When people gathered together, some would clamor loudly like boiling soup, others would turn red-faced arguing over victories, while some laughed alone or muttered to themselves. At banquets, some vomited and soiled the tables, others frowned displeased even when encountering excellent musicians, and many appeared disheveled and unrestrained in dress and demeanor.

Originally upright individuals began imitating the fawning gaze of the treacherous minister Hua Du (from the Spring and Autumn period), while timid souls mimicked the fierce bearing of the warrior Qing Ji. Steady personalities became as rootless as tumbleweeds, and solemn individuals grew frivolous as leaping deer or darting fish. Even the inarticulate started clapping in sycophantic agreement, while modest people raised themselves up in social interactions.

With the destruction of shame and propriety, all manner of absurd behaviors emerged: frivolous natures were exposed, arrogant attitudes manifested, minds became disordered, and right and wrong were inverted. Some drove carriages toward deep ravines without fear, treating perilous mountain passes as anthills; others climbed dangerous heights, falling without realizing it, mistaking the abyss of Lüliang for ox hoofprints. Some took out their anger on objects, drunkenly abusing wives and children while cruelly mistreating servants.

More gravely, some blasphemed rulers and met violent deaths, or provoked wicked men and found themselves trapped. Though their speech might be ornate, it violated reason; though their bows might be numerous, they lacked sincerity. Ministers behaved improperly before their sovereigns, youths acted arrogantly before their elders' seats, mistaking refined discourse for slander and honest counsel for offense. Thus they drew blades without considering consequences, swung clubs without regard for circumstance, creating blood feuds that invited mortal danger.

Youths bullying their elders incurred severe village punishments; those insulting others' fathers and brothers provoked vengeance from entire families. Exposing private matters could anger even the most tolerant warriors, while excessive scheming exceeded what reasonable minds could forgive. Such behaviors instantly provoked collective wrath, creating incurable maladies—swift horses couldn't outrun the regrets, nor could one find the path back to reform. These were dangers the wise strenuously guarded against, yet fools repeatedly fell into. The calamities they brought were beyond telling, yet when people gathered, none dared speak against them.

This passage expounds on the perils of alcohol abuse, admonishing people to practice temperance in drinking.

The text first describes the irrational state of inebriation: ears ringing yet still posturing bravado, mistaking droplets for downpours, interpreting casualness as contempt. Well-intentioned advice breeds resentment, spawning streams of grievances and venomous words. Like cold pathogens invading internal organs that cloud the mind, severe cases lead to self-harm. People dread encountering chilling winds, enduring pain to seek swift recovery from physicians. Yet facing alcoholism—this very disease—they retreat alone to evade admonitions, unable to sever emotional attachments to moderate drinking.

Vivid metaphors then illustrate drunkenness’ dangers: its delirious state resembles raging storms, alcohol’s influence manifesting within mere breaths. Drunkards perceive Mount Tai as a pellet, the vast sea as bowl-sized, craning necks fearing collapsing heavens, bowing heads convinced the earth caves in—even lying before tigers and wolves or leaping into wells and fires, oblivious to peril. When bodies suffer such ravages, how could etiquette or emotional restraint remain?

Historical lessons follow: Emperor Yu distanced the brewer Yidi; King Zhou of Shang fell through wine pools and meat forests. Feng Hou faced punishment for flaunting drinking vessels; Liu Biao (Jingsheng) neglected governance obsessing over "Three-Elegance Cups." Guo Zhen, Lord Xinling, Zhao Xiangzi, Zhao Wu, Zifan, Emperor Hui of Han, Guan Fu, Chen Zun, Ji Bu, Cao Zhi (Zijian), Xu Miao—all brought calamities through alcohol. Yet the world still clings to drink like life itself, making temperance voices seem feeble.

Finally, prohibition’s futility: during famine, drunkards committed murder; authorities banned brewing, flogging most violators to death. Yet people brewed in cellars, smuggled liquor in oil bladders—the drinking craze intensifying. The author laments: a commoner can only write these admonitions, while rulers find even established prohibitions ultimately unenforceable.

This passage discusses the pros and cons of alcohol consumption, presenting two opposing viewpoints:

Some argue against alcohol prohibition by citing historical examples: since ancient times, many emperors and generals drank wine. Legendary rulers Yao and Shun could consume vast quantities from ancient goblets, Confucius drank without limit, and the Duke of Zhou (Ji Dan) established rituals and music while keeping wine at banquets. Emperor Gaozu of Han (Liu Bang) beheaded a serpent to start his rebellion while heavily intoxicated, Judge Yu Gong made fairer verdicts after drinking heavily, and the Three Kingdoms diviner Guan Lu displayed sharper wit after three dou of wine. They even claim a single flask of wine could boost army morale in battle, arguing that dispelling sorrows and upholding ceremonial rites all require wine. Since the Spring and Autumn period used wine to honor distinguished guests, how can its value be dismissed?

However, the Daoist scholar Baopuzi (Ge Hong) counters: although the Wine Banner constellation exists in heaven like the sun, moon, fire and water, moderation is key. While these natural elements nourish when properly used, excess brings disaster. Food sustains life, yet overeating causes illness—how much more so with toxic wine? The downfall of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, or the failures of Lord Xinling and Emperor Hui of Han, while seemingly caused by sensual indulgence, actually stemmed from alcohol distorting their true nature. Just as we wouldn't abolish imperial harems because Bao Si toppled the Zhou dynasty, or force rulers into huts because the Epang Palace endangered Qin, we shouldn't "stop eating for fear of choking."

He further argues: those claiming alcohol aided achievements were inherently capable—their drinking was incidental. If a madman occasionally speaks truth, does madness confer wisdom? King Zhou of Shang's all-night revels destroyed his kingdom, while Duke Jing of Qi soiled his robes vomiting from excess—these represent alcohol's true hazards.

This passage examines the relationship between alcohol consumption and talent or career success, arguing that truly capable individuals don't require liquor to achieve their goals.

The text begins by criticizing those who believe drinking can boost morale or help forget worries. Such people resemble those who notice only how rainstorms soak their clothes without understanding how clouds form, or who fret about dust in their eyes while ignoring the wind that carries it. The so-called "thousand-cup capacity" boast is something no wise person would take seriously.

Historical exemplars are then presented: Confucius, who understood how alcohol alters temperament and therefore never drank to excess; the Duke of Zhou (founding statesman of the Zhou dynasty), who performed a hundred rituals daily while maintaining perfect sobriety. If even sages exercised such caution, shouldn't ordinary people take warning?

The passage acknowledges historical figures like Emperor Gaozu of Han and Minister Yu Gong who drank without compromising their duties. But it counters: what judgment remains when one is thoroughly drunk? Ancient worthies like Gao Yao and Guan Zhong never relied on liquor when adjudicating cases. Even a brilliant diviner like Guan Lu (Three Kingdoms period), though occasionally drinking for inspiration, never depended on alcohol during actual divination.

Figures like Yang Xiong (Han dynasty literatus) demonstrate that true genius flows from innate talent, needing no external aids. As for habitual drinkers, their behavior stems either from personal preference or medicinal requirements.

The core argument emphasizes that what truly matters are clear rewards/punishments and adaptive thinking. Without these, drinking a river of wine proves useless. The anecdote about Duke Mu of Qin entertaining thieves with liquor illustrates mere expediency, not worth emulating. Fundamental prudence remains paramount.