《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 25

Ge Hong (Daoist name Baopuzi) critiques the moral decline of his era in the "Condemning Absurdities" chapter of Baopuzi's Outer Chapters. He observes the gradual collapse of ritual propriety, where reverence and humility are no longer valued, while arrogance and impropriety have become commonplace.

At social gatherings, some casually squat or even sit bare-chested. In midsummer, people lounge half-naked, engrossed in gambling games like chupu or board games like tanqi, their conversations fixated on sensual pleasures. Their speech revolves around silks and finery as they flit between powerful patrons and carousing companions, never discussing lofty principles but instead treating vulgar jokes as fashionable. Those who speak crudely are praised as free-spirited, while those who remain dignified are mocked as fools.

This trend attracts vulgar crowds like moths to a flame, each trying to outdo the other in cutting remarks. Their jests often insult ancestors or mock women. The speaker fears their words aren’t vicious enough, while the listener worries their retort won’t be sharp enough. The instigator ignores consequences, and the crowd eggs them on, afraid of missing their chance to join in. This mutual harm spirals like a farmer endlessly reaping wheat—the eloquent bully others, the witty sneer with sarcasm, branding the silent as cowards and the first to yield as losers. How could such a vicious cycle ever cease?

Of course, there are clever speakers who quote classics and allude to history, their words subtle yet meaningful, elegant and humorous, avoiding others’ taboos without causing offense. But when clumsy minds imitate this style, the result is disastrous—they force awkward references, oblivious to when to stop, doing more harm than good.

Worse are those who use drunkenness as an excuse for rage. At the slightest provocation, they flip tables, hurl insults at elders, and turn friends into enemies. Some shatter cups and bowls; others air private shames in public (like the historical lessons of Duke Ling of Chen, shot dead by an arrow, or the fall of Guan Zhong’s clan). Are these calamities heaven-sent? No—they’re invited by reckless tongues!

This passage discusses the importance of prudent speech and the dangers of arrogance and recklessness.

Words determine the boundary between honor and disgrace. The ancient admonition to "seal one's lips three times" (ponder carefully before speaking) holds profound wisdom. Even if one cannot reflect thrice before speaking, one should at least refrain from frivolous jests to prevent calamity. Speech should be dignified, demeanor respectful—letting no fault escape the lips, no arrogance manifest in bearing—only then can one become a model worthy of emulation. This is the essential method for avoiding disgrace and preserving fellowship.

Those who treat others with arrogance often lack filial piety toward parents, just as quarrelsome individuals neglect their own wellbeing—both being manifestations of unfilial conduct. Yet deluded people lack self-awareness, while the emotionally driven reject unwelcome truths. Addicted to flattery, blinded by sycophants' praise, they fancy themselves as eloquent as ancient masters like Duanmu Ci (Zigong) and Yan Ying, unaware this very attitude plants seeds of disaster.

Even lifelong caution cannot always remedy a momentary lapse; all the wealth of Tao Zhu Gong (Fan Li) couldn't redeem a single misspoken word. Minor errors may yield colossal deviations, for wounding words cut deeper than blades. As a feather can sink a dragon boat, light objects break sturdy axles, breezes topple towering structures, and insects fell mighty trees—so small faults accumulate into catastrophe.

Why did ancient sages tread so cautiously with reverent care, while moderns behave with such brazen abandon? Thus noble souls withdraw from perceived dangers, while the frivolous rush toward them. Such people find no wise aid in hardship, no chronicler recording their virtues, no storyteller extolling their merits. Only infamy remains—a cautionary tale for posterity.

Notes:

1. "Duan-Yan" refers to renowned rhetoricians Duanmu Ci (Zigong) and Yan Ying of the Spring and Autumn period

2. "Tao Zhu" denotes the wealthy merchant Fan Li, later known as Tao Zhu Gong

3. References like "three-fold lip sealing" and "swan-feather sinking ships" derive from classic Daoist cultivation parables

This passage critiques certain negative social tendencies and admonishes people to cultivate virtue and refine their character.

Ge Hong observes that persisting in wrongdoing despite knowing better is like abandoning smooth roads to tread through brambles, or rejecting fine delicacies to swallow poison. One should never neglect small acts of kindness because they seem insignificant, nor indulge in minor misdeeds because they appear harmless. When misbehavior accumulates beyond concealment and transgressions grow too grave to escape, regret will come too late. He urges people to reform indulgent habits, eliminate arrogance and miserliness, abandon the vices of self-praise and disparaging others, and refrain from frivolous and improper jokes.

Some seek respect not through virtue but through brute intimidation. In gatherings, they insist on standing to dominate seating arrangements, seize positions of honor, flare up at minor provocations, and nurse grudges against those who defy them. When encountering narrow paths, they refuse to yield, instead brandishing whips to force others into perilous positions. Such conduct starkly contrasts with the humility and decorum of ancient sages—who treated others with such consideration that they moved as if afraid to brush another's sleeve.

The truly virtuous command respect through humility alone, while the wicked gain none through bluster. Consider how Zhuangzi could make the King of Zhao stand in reverence without uttering a word, or how Zou Yan was welcomed by the Yan ruler personally sweeping the path before him. Where Zheng Xuan (Kangcheng) resided, even bandits paid homage; at Guo Tai's (Linzong) gate, all bowed in veneration—such esteem can never be won by force.

Wealth seized through robbery brings no honor, nor does terrorizing others earn true glory. Yet the ignorant fail to grasp this. They heed a villain's words as if hearing an owl's ominous cry, view a wicked face as one would a specter, see evil gatherings as demonic conclaves, and perceive their passage as a tiger's prowl. Fools take pride in such conduct, petty men emulate them—this is the root of social disorder.

This passage critiques several prevalent social vices, focusing on three main aspects:

First, it exposes the hypocrisy of the powerful elite. Some individuals rise through family connections or by currying favor with authority figures, performing minor good deeds merely for reputation. Once their fame is secured, their true nature emerges—they either bribe superiors with wealth and sensual pleasures, seek high positions through sheer luck, or climb socially through strategic marriages. Skilled in political manipulation and controlling public opinion, they become arrogant upon gaining power, acting beyond legal constraints like flies swarming sacrificial offerings or rats gnawing temple walls. They grovel before superiors while bullying subordinates, completely deaf to unwelcome truths.

Second, it employs metaphors to illustrate how evil ultimately meets retribution. Just as crop-destroying pests perish with winter's frost, so too do wicked troublemakers collapse when faced with principled times. Though upright individuals may not immediately stop them, they can at least refuse to compromise their integrity.

Finally, it condemns contemporary women's disregard for traditional propriety. Quoting the Book of Songs and Book of Rites, it emphasizes the ancient sage's cardinal rule of gender separation. Classical rituals stipulated: marriage proposals required matchmakers, forbidding private meetings, shared seating, or exchanging garments between sexes. Even between spouses, husbands shouldn't linger in women's quarters by day except when ill, nor be attended by wives at death—let alone other male-female interactions. Historical lessons are cited: Lu Kingdom's women invited disaster by leaving seclusion, while Confucius' wife caused scandal by neglecting domestic boundaries. Yet current customs have decayed—women abandon weaving and household duties to socialize freely, parading through streets with ostentatious entourages where maids and servants mingle like marketplace crowds, utterly forsaking traditional feminine virtues.

The Outer Chapters of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity (Baopuzi Waipian) critiques the frivolous and unrestrained behaviors prevalent in society at the time, arguing that such conduct violates ritual propriety, corrupts customs, and demands vigilance.

The text describes several problematic behaviors: Some people wander outside all night, visiting Buddhist temples for amusement or frolicking by rivers and elevated grounds. Others casually leave the city to attend celebrations or funerals, flaunting themselves by lifting the curtains of their carriages as they parade through the streets. There are also those who drink, revel, play the qin, and sing in public, competing in extravagance until these practices gradually become a harmful trend. Though seemingly minor, these acts mark the beginnings of moral decay. How can those who fail to govern their own households properly ever hope to govern the state?

Ge Hong (Baopuzi) particularly condemns the shallow and frivolous: With even a modest amount of wealth or status, they abandon ritual propriety, claiming to follow their true nature while mistaking recklessness for magnanimity. They dismiss those who uphold moral discipline as rigid and pedantic. Gathering in cliques, they wander about drunk, ignoring true scholars and Confucian gentlemen, yet boldly intruding into others’ homes to pass judgment. Some even enter private chambers without permission, peering at womenfolk and commenting on their appearances. Worse still, some barge into homes like bandits, rummaging through chests and cabinets, even harassing maids and concubines who try to hide—utterly absurd behavior.

A true gentleman, when visiting another’s home, announces his presence and lowers his head upon entering the hall as a sign of respect. Yet these frivolous individuals offend without restraint, mistaking rudeness for intimacy. They gather in small spaces with their wives, behaving improperly, playing licentious music, and making loud, vulgar remarks—utterly disregarding the fundamental propriety of male-female interactions.

Finally, Ge Hong warns: The downfall of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, as well as the decline of the Zhou and Chen states, all stemmed from the collapse of ritual order. Even commoners invite disaster if they neglect propriety. Without sincerity in the heart, oaths are meaningless; only with pure intent will the divine offer protection. By enumerating these breaches of ritual, the passage underscores the importance of upholding propriety for both individuals and society.

This passage examines moral principles in human interactions and the decay of social customs. True friendship between noble individuals is founded upon shared commitment to the Dao (the Way) and aligned aspirations—even seemingly indifferent relationships can cultivate profound bonds. In contrast, the associations of petty people revolve around power and profit, appearing intimate yet prone to corruption.

The ancients established strict preventive measures to guard against moral degeneration. Those who abide by these norms are noble, while violators become transgressors. Yet when prohibitions slacken, clandestine affairs arise within palace walls; when legal nets fray, secret trysts occur along mulberry groves and country paths. Indulging such behaviors is like igniting wildfires across Yunmeng Marsh or breaching dams upon high mountains—impossible to contain with mere brooms or clods of earth.

Today’s society, however, is mired in decadence, with many dismissing such licentiousness as commonplace among capital elites. The author refutes this: the Central Plains birthed the very traditions of ritual propriety—how could these teachings permit such conduct? This is unmistakably the depravity of chaotic times. Even Lao Dan (Laozi), epitome of purity and detachment, restrained desires to prevent inner turmoil; even a paragon like Liu Xiahui, if repeatedly immersed in debauched feasts, would falter and succumb to passion.

Those genuinely free of desire are vanishingly rare; those capable of tempering emotions even scarcer. Impoverished scholars, though aware of this decay, lack the reputation or influence to rectify it. Consequently, the author is often reviled by libertines as an obstinate rustic. Yet he holds firm: if others act wrongly, why conform?

Lastly, the text condemns the vulgar custom of "teasing brides": publicly harassing women with crude language, flogging them with brambles, suspending them upside down, and other brutalities—drunken revelries spiraling into bloodshed, fractures, and grave injuries. Such acts are utterly base and intolerable.

The text critiques the moral decay of contemporary society. In ancient times, people would keep candles burning all night when parting in sorrow, suspend musical performances during mourning, and newlyweds would modestly decline congratulations out of shyness. Today, these traditional rites are no longer observed. Even if someone's virtue is respected by the community and their words trusted by scholars, they should earnestly correct these corrupt customs—how can they drift with the tide and perpetuate such vulgar practices?

These vulgar habits have long prevailed among the people, who no longer recognize their impropriety. Neither philosophical discourse can prohibit them, nor severe punishments eradicate them. Some belittle the Duke of Zhou (Zhougong) and nitpick Confucius (Kongzi), considering arrogance and indulgence as transcending worldly conventions. Others seize opportunities through upheavals to gain glory, or climb to prominence by currying favor with the powerful, becoming domineering and looking down on everyone. They treat virtuous scholars in adversity like weeds—either reclining to refuse guests or feigning illness to avoid them—while craving the pomp of crowded gates and choked streets with carriages, believing such displays are fitting for the noble.

The author contrasts this with exemplary figures: In terms of authority, the Duke of Zhou diligently received worthy scholars; in terms of reputation, Confucius humbly instructed his disciples. Both revered diligence and humility, never taking pride in arrogance. Yet the customs of the late Han dynasty were utterly different—people would receive guests disheveled, with unkempt hair and disordered attire, sometimes even naked. Gatherings among friends degenerated into gluttonous feasting and shameless scrambling, mistaking licentiousness for free-spiritedness and propriety for pedantry. Whole days passed without discussing serious matters, and entire nights were spent in frivolous talk. Worse still, they distorted the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi, equating willfulness with enlightenment of the Dao (Daren) and unrestrained behavior with transcendence. Tragically, people considered lighthearted teasing as intimacy and debauchery as camaraderie, while dismissing solemn dignity as stiffness. Such inverted values are truly lamentable.

Those who dwell in the countryside, simple and unrefined, are often mocked by city dwellers. Meanwhile, the silver-tongued and eloquent are held up as models to emulate. These frivolous and shallow individuals, though skilled in pandering to worldly trends and building extensive social connections—mutually flattering each other—may rise swiftly to prominence, yet they are merely gilded on the surface, hollow within, like the "gourd of the Shu people" as the saying goes: splendid in appearance but utterly empty inside.

These people possess no true learning in their hearts; all they understand are feasting, drinking, and idle pleasures. Arrogant and ill-mannered, they disregard virtue and morality, deaf to truth like the hearing-impaired, blind to the proper path like the sightless, knowing only the pursuit of wealth and indulgence in wine and food—much like the worthless scions recorded by Zuo Qiuming.

If questioned about the profound principles in ancient texts, the true nature of spirits and deities, the patterns of transformation in all things, or the wonders of distant lands; or if asked about the solemn rites of court and ancestral temples, the proper procedures for sacrificial ceremonies, the abstruse principles of calendrics and Yin-Yang (the complementary forces of nature), the institutions for governing and pacifying the state, or the changes and continuities between ancient and modern systems—they would be thrown into panic, dumbstruck, left with nothing but to lower their heads and feign ignorance. Though inwardly aware of their ignorance as if facing a blank wall, they still conceal their shortcomings, refusing to admit their deficiencies. Instead, they obstinately argue: "These are all trivial old tales, fit only for impoverished scholars who bury themselves in books and pedantic types who chew over yellowed pages—utterly unworthy of being asked of us!"

I am deeply aware of the dangers of having neither learning nor skill, and I recognize the value of great Confucian scholars. I also understand that what they emulate is wrong, while what they disdain is right. Yet the reason they remain stubbornly deluded is that their unrestrained behavior does not hinder their rise to prominence. If those of lofty virtue and standing were to rebuke them with stern words, exposing the disgrace of those who neither revere authority nor cease their wrongdoing, they would surely tremble in fear. Like ice and snow melting away, they would swiftly reform and restrain their conduct.

(Note: The "gourd of the Shu people" was a popular metaphor at the time, referring to something splendid in appearance but empty within; "Zuo Sheng" refers to Zuo Qiuming, the renowned historian of the Spring and Autumn period; "ancient texts" (坟索) broadly denotes classical writings; "the three correctors and four beginnings" (三正四始) refers to key concepts in calendrics and seasonal cycles.)