《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 34

This passage contains Ge Hong's scathing critique of political corruption during the final years of Eastern Wu in his Baopuzi Outer Chapters: The Failures of Wu. Through the narration of his teacher Zheng Yin (Master Zheng), Ge paints a vivid portrait of dynastic decline:

The maladies of late Eastern Wu mirrored those of every fallen dynasty throughout history—witnessing the collapse of previous regimes yet failing to learn from their mistakes. It was like watching an overturned carriage only to follow the same disastrous path, observing venomous snakes fighting over food while forgetting one's own peril, mocking lice clinging to survival yet remaining oblivious to impending catastrophe, or seeing racing boats sink without realizing different routes can lead to the same drowning fate.

Ge's teacher Zheng Yin, who personally experienced Wu's final days, identified the gravest issues: worthy talents were ostracized while incompetents occupied key positions. State laws collapsed to the extent that even "whales that could swallow boats" (major criminals) slipped through the net. Official appointments depended solely on bribe amounts, while political connections determined promotions. The impoverished and upright were suppressed, while the wealthy and powerful soared effortlessly.

The entire court thrived on mutual deception—foolish rulers matched by treacherous ministers. Without factionalism one couldn't survive; without bribery advancement was impossible. As social morals decayed, the path of integrity vanished. Like small birds riding gales to soar unnaturally high, or broken vessels rushing forward on rapids; like phoenix wings entangled in thorns, or dragon boats mired in sewage—all genuine progress was thwarted.

Those wielding regional power were either imperial relatives or sycophants. At court they failed to rectify errors; in retirement they wouldn't adjudicate cases. Their eloquent speeches sparkled while their actions reeked of filth. These men drew salaries shamelessly, indifferent to the wars they might provoke.

The entire bureaucracy treated slander as their loom and influence as their plow. Their carriages gleamed, their mansions attracted flocks of birds, their reprimands thundered louder than storms, and they manipulated fortune and misfortune like deities. Their influence overshadowed the sovereign; their wealth surpassed the state treasury. Their processions rivaled the ancient worthy Di Huang's, while their jade-adorned homes exuded extravagance. Servants multiplied like armies; estates bustled like marketplaces. Their livestock covered hills, their fields and fishponds spanned thousands of li. Outwardly they mimicked the frugality of Zhao Xuan and Yan Ying, but inwardly they rivaled the greed of Marquis Anchang Zhang Yu and Dong Xian. Even with halls full of guests, their inner corruption remained unconcealed.

(Note: Di Huang refers to the Warring States period worthy Di Huang of Wei; Zhao Xuan denotes Jin's virtuous minister Zhao Dun during Spring and Autumn; Pingzhong indicates Qi's exemplary chancellor Yan Ying; Tao Kan and Wenxin refer to Eastern Jin's famed statesmen; Anchang points to Western Han's corrupt official Zhang Yu; Dong Deng signifies Eastern Han's power-abusing relatives Dong Xian and Deng Tong.)

This passage critiques various malpractices among the elite of its time, employing vivid metaphors to expose the hypocrisy and incompetence of those in power.

These privileged figures would rather let grain rot in their granaries than relieve starving commoners. They dwell in palatial residences rivaling imperial gardens, maintain harems of concubines, and command fleets of merchant ships, yet they are miserly toward truly talented scholars. While indulging in extravagant luxury themselves, they treat worthy individuals with callous ingratitude.

Even more absurdly, many holding high office lack basic competence for their positions: some become senior judicial officials without having read legal statutes; others occupy critical posts despite being unable to draft official documents; still others draw salaries as Confucian scholars while being unable to name classical texts. Like "fish masquerading as dragons" (superficial imitations), they delight in calm waters but flee at the sight of otters—even under threat of severe punishment or promise of riches, they remain fundamentally unfit for their roles.

The author illustrates the dangers of this situation through striking analogies: it's like placing ten-thousand-pound weights on a small boat, trying to store a thousand measures of grain in peck-sized containers, tethering straw dogs while expecting guardian hounds' vigilance, or raising barnyard fowl while hoping for eagles' flight. The ruler of Wu (a veiled reference to contemporary leadership), far from self-reflection, promotes such mediocrity instead. The crisis has drawn taut as a fully bent crossbow, with signs of collapse clear as sun and moon, yet they still imagine their reign secure.

The text concludes by condemning these rulers who drown in sensual pleasures while neglecting governance, whose ears hear only decadent music while rejecting loyal counsel, who squander provisions instead of supporting troops, and whose minds fixate on sycophants while ignoring principles of state survival. This constitutes reckless disregard for the laws of dynastic transition and criminal negligence toward the sacred weight of ancestral temples and altars of state.

Master Zuo Ci, the renowned Eastern Han dynasty mystic, secluded himself in the Celestial Pillar Mountains, disdaining fame and fortune while avoiding association with the powerful. Though yearning for universal peace, he privately lamented his homeland's fate, often sighing deeply beneath his thatched hut. He revealed to disciples: "The Han dynasty's decline is inevitable, yet the Daoist teachings of Huang-Lao shall soon revive. Celestial signs show the Purple Tenuity Star—symbol of imperial authority—will soon illuminate the East."

This should have been an era of benevolent governance where harmonious winds carried imperial grace to all under heaven, a golden age of universal tribute and peace. Yet reality proved otherwise: The five-stringed zither (symbolizing ritual music) fell silent; none sang the "South Wind Ode" praising prosperity. Rulers knew no tranquil governance; commoners heard no songs celebrating wellbeing. Auspicious dragons circled but refused to descend; sacred turtles submerged without surfacing. Qilin unicorns hid in darkness; vermilion auspicious plants refused to bloom. Yin and Yang fell into discord—seasons reversed their course as stars strayed from their paths, mountains and valleys shifted places. Winter thunder roared while summer frost descended. Celestial light dimmed; sweet springs ran dry. Battlements piled high on war-torn fields where no crops could grow.

These calamities stemmed from wicked ministers (the "Four Evils") dominating court while worthy men (the "Eight Exemplars of Emperor Shun's era) remained neglected. True sages—those "coarse-clad yet jade-hearted" recluses—maintained purity, spurning fame to dwell in obscurity beyond worldly cares. They neither acted against ritual propriety nor appeared in untimely seasons. Though destitute, they harbored no resentment; though impoverished, they felt no regret—serenely accepting fate while indifferent to glory or shame. Such men would rather perish in poverty than parade rare talents for office, just as one never trades priceless jade for common stone.

Even Confucius and Mozi's teachings found no acceptance; Mencius and Yang Xiong likewise faced hardship. Since antiquity, worthy men abounded while enlightened rulers proved scarce. Today's world lacks the discerning vision of Li Zhu (legendary sharp-eyed sage), leaving black and white indistinguishable. Without a Bo Le (the legendary horse judge) to recognize excellence, thousand-mile steeds mingle with nags. Jade lies discarded in ditches; fine timber rots in wilderness. Master craftsmen flee afar while exceptional talents go unrecognized.

With profound sorrow, Master Zuo lamented: "Born in ill-fated times, I witness neither peace nor future sage-kings—only the bitter sight of Wu territories becoming Jin domains, southern freemen transformed into northern slaves." Before his words faded, the Wu kingdom's Sun dynasty indeed collapsed (their rulers carrying coffins in surrender). Hearing this, Ge Hong (the "Master Who Embraces Simplicity") reflected: "These two sages' prophecies suffice to warn posterity." Thus he recorded their words, that future generations might understand Wu's downfall.

This passage conveys that the distinction between good and bad is not preordained by heaven. If one deliberately conceals a nation's faults and refuses to acknowledge even the slightest errors for correction, then there would be no need for upright historians like Dong Hu (the famously principled chronicler of the Spring and Autumn period) who recorded history truthfully, and Jia Yi's (the renowned Han dynasty political commentator) act of writing "The Faults of Qin" to critique the Qin dynasty's failings would become an object of ridicule.

The text emphasizes the importance of confronting problems directly rather than glossing over shortcomings. Just as historians should faithfully document events, those who govern should face a nation's issues squarely. If even minor faults go unacknowledged and uncorrected, then principled truth-tellers lose their purpose, and the act of criticizing errors may ironically invite mockery instead.