《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 38

This passage from Baopuzi Outer Chapters employs vivid metaphors to expound profound principles of human conduct:

The vast South Sea is formed by the convergence of countless streams, just as the majestic Kunlun Mountain's Mystic Garden (legendary abode of immortals) is built from ordinary earth and stones. Like a galloping horse that leaves fleeting shadows yet never wearies, or a sailboat riding favorable winds that navigates dangers without capsizing, ancient sages like Yuan-Kai (referring to the Eight Virtuous Ones and Eight Steadfast Ones, Emperor Shun's exemplary ministers) and renowned statesmen Yi Yin and Lü Shang each fulfilled their distinct roles to accomplish great deeds.

A jade-encrusted ship cannot ford rivers, nor can gold-inlaid bows release arrows. Similarly, those of impeccable virtue yet ignorant of governance cannot bring order to chaos, just as erudite scholars lacking statecraft make poor advisors. The Kunlun peaks need no mounds to enhance their grandeur, nor does fine jade require common stones to prove its worth. True talent resembles orchids naturally perfuming secluded valleys, or phoenixes perched on lofty branches that spontaneously attract flocks of singing birds.

Ice and charcoal need not debate their temperatures, nor must jade prove its preciousness. Thus noble persons maintain humility, unconcerned with followers; those of supreme virtue (De) transcend worldly concerns, indifferent to praise or slander. Though gales can topple mountains yet fail to uproot fine hairs, and infernos melt gold but cannot dry damp firewood, each thing has its proper function: Han Xin (Marquis of Huaiyin) excelled in warfare but not governance, while Zhou Bo (Marquis of Jiang) stabilized nations yet lacked rhetorical skill.

Ji Xin (Han dynasty loyalist) embraced martyrdom without resentment, whereas Yang Zhu (Warring States philosopher) valued a single hair above cities. Minnows cannot fathom the aspirations of divine dragons, nor can wild ducks comprehend the ambitions of soaring swans. Thus farmers mocked Chen Sheng (Qin rebellion leader) for abandoning his plow, while narrow-minded men ridiculed Zhuge Liang (styled Kongming) for his contemplative chanting.

A sword's keenness is tested on rhinoceros hide, just as moral excellence (De) is verified through practice. Without employing talent, sages and mediocrities appear identical; when misapplied, thousand-mile steeds become indistinguishable from nags. Vessels unfit for ancestral rites (like ritual bronzes Hu and Gui) render all efforts void, while governance attempted without Yi Yin or Lü Shang's competence inevitably founders.

This passage elucidates several profound life principles through various allusions and metaphors:

The opening section contrasts the small sparrow with the young phoenix, illustrating how late bloomers often surpass early achievers. Just as the phoenix takes time to ascend but ultimately soars to celestial heights, true greatness requires patient cultivation.

Next comes the principle of reversal at extremes. A horse descending Wu Gorge's steep slope moves cautiously yet later gallops a thousand miles; fish gathering strength in deep waters eventually leap above the surface. When darkness reaches its limit, light inevitably follows—misfortune gives way to fortune.

Aquatic plants and fragrant herbs demonstrate how adversity reveals true worth. Guan Zhong (Yi Wu), though once imprisoned, became Duke Huan of Qi's chief minister and architect of hegemony. Fan Ju (Ying Hou) rose from humiliation to establish meritorious service in Qin.

Human frailties emerge in our tendency to nurse grudges over trivial gains and oppose others based on differing stances. The homely woman resents Xi Shi's beauty; King Mu of Chu and Duke Xiao of Qi alike rejected wise counsel—their ears turned against admonishment.

Exceptional talent invites envy. Han Xin (Marquis of Huaiyin) earned resentment through his military exploits, while Bai Qi (Lord Wuan), despite peerless victories, fell victim to Fan Ju's slander. Excellence becomes its own peril.

Honest counsel grates on ears. Bi Gan was disemboweled for forthright advice; Tian Feng foresaw Yuan Shao's defeat and paid with his life. As bitter medicine won't cure terminal illness nor carving revive rotten wood, some situations defy remedy.

Musical instruments offer another lesson: the finest wutong zither remains silent without strings; lone bamboo pipes need breath to sound. Without real authority, even sages like Ji and Xie couldn't govern effectively, nor could Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou establish peace.

Moderation proves vital. Li Si of Shangcai clung to power unto ruin; Wen Zhong helped the Yue king conquer only to receive a death sentence. He who climbs high must guard against falls; overloaded boats court disaster.

Inherent nature resists alteration. True gold retains purity through repeated smelting; principled scholars keep integrity amidst hardship. Hardness and softness are born within—the upright preserve their essence eternally.

The conclusion crystallizes the core teaching: ill-gotten wealth merits no attachment. Bian Sui and Zhong You (Zilu) chose death over compromising righteousness, proving moral constancy outweighs longevity. As the Daoist classic reminds us, only virtue aligned with the Dao endures.

Ge Hong (Daoist name Baopuzi) states: High and low, noble and humble cannot be uniformly measured - just as we cannot expect everyone to eat the same portion of food. Thus Hui Shi (representative of the School of Names during the Warring States period) constantly fretted over having too many carriages and attendants, while Zhuang Zhou (Zhuangzi) worried about having too few fishing hooks.

Ge Hong points out: Withdrawal from and engagement with the world are as fundamentally opposed as ice and charcoal, while agitation and tranquility differ as profoundly as flight and diving. Therefore Mo Di (Mozi) willingly developed calloused feet yet maintained his cheerful demeanor, whereas Jizi (virtuous minister of the Shang dynasty) found true ease by choosing reclusion.

He further explains: Those whose hearts resonate may form deep bonds upon first meeting, while those whose spirits conflict will only grow more distant with prolonged acquaintance. Like-minded individuals become intimate through a single conversation by the roadside, whereas those with incompatible principles may never develop affection even unto death.

Through a series of metaphors, Ge Hong illustrates the relationship between talent and opportunity: A great ship may be ideal for river crossing, yet will capsize if northern nomads attempt to row it; a thousand-li steed may be superb for galloping, yet will stumble on dangerous paths without Zaofu (legendary charioteer) at the reins; famous swords like Qingping and Haocao may be divine weapons, yet will injure their wielders if not used by masters like Ganjiang or the Yue Maiden; elite troops may be crucial for quelling chaos, yet will invite disaster under unwise leadership.

He emphasizes Heaven's Dao follows immutable principles: Though beasts of Xuanzhou (mythical paradise) may speak human language, they remain unworthy of sacrificial rites; though the symbiotic beast Qiongqiong carries the Jue creature to safety, this cannot be counted as benevolence.

Regarding conflict resolution, Ge Hong maintains: Slander cannot be dispelled with honeyed words, nor true hatred resolved through deception. Wrong approaches are as absurd as embracing ice for warmth, stoking furnaces to cool down, chasing sunlight to escape shadows, or drilling holes in boats to stop leaks.

On personnel selection he proposes: Wise rulers appoint officials according to capability, while loyal ministers accept positions according to their capacity. Placing unsuitable people in critical roles is like using ice bowls for boiling water, reed wrappings for raging fires, rotten ropes to suspend heavy weights, or small boats to carry massive loads.

He concludes: We wouldn't make hunters wear marten furs for firewood gathering, perform complex music for deaf ears, discuss profound strategies with mediocrities, nor sacrifice for those of shallow virtue. To exhaust people's resources through excessive taxation, deplete their strength with endless corvée labor, yet expect no resentment and lasting stability - this is as impossible as severing tree roots while expecting lush foliage.

Here are excerpts of aphoristic passages from the Outer Chapters of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity (Baopuzi Waipian), using vivid metaphors to illustrate principles for personal conduct:

Chopping off tree roots to extend branches, slitting open one's back to enlarge the belly, gouging out eyes to widen vision, or hollowing ears to hear better—these are all foolish acts that mistake the branch for the root. Ge Hong (Baopuzi) states that governing a state without fixed principles while chasing temporary expedients, or working without seeking efficiency but merely following trends, is like shortening tall horses to fit low carts, whittling down ankles for tight shoes, breaking long swords to fit short scabbards, or cutting large jade discs to squeeze into small boxes.

The great fish of deep waters never swim to shallow shoals; the phoenix of high mountains never perches on small mounds. Profound wisdom never springs from mediocre minds, nor does brilliant strategy emerge from ordinary folk. Seeing luxuriant branches reveals the tree's sturdy trunk; reading profound writings reflects the author's erudition.

No matter how dense the mulberry grove, it cannot alter the cypress's solitary grandeur; no matter how fertile the fields, they cannot relieve a starving man's hunger. Silken fabrics come from cocoons, and full granaries stem from diligent farming. Those with foresight value fundamentals, while the shortsighted chase after trivialities.

The shallow-minded remain trapped by appearances, while the wise grasp essential truths. Those who trace sources can deduce outcomes, but those fixated on surfaces cannot comprehend inner connections. Thus, seeing heaven and earth in daylight requires no special skill—discerning fine hairs in darkness shows true ability.

No matter how beautiful spring blossoms, plucked from their branches they wither; the fish that could swallow boats cannot survive out of water. Those with fine reputations but no real talent will be forgotten; those in high positions without matching virtue inevitably court disaster.

Enduring bitter medicine cures illness; bearing heavy armor protects the body. Maintaining noble integrity requires enduring constraints; accepting unwelcome advice dispels delusion.

When phoenixes compete with chickens for courtyard scraps, they lose dignity; when divine dragons mingle with livestock, they become common beasts. Thus the Four Haos of Mount Shang preserved their transcendence through reclusion, and Bian Sui maintained his integrity by drowning himself.

Wells left uncleared grow ever murkier; fertile fields left unharvested turn to wasteland.

These passages from Baopuzi Outer Chapters elucidate principles for conduct, self-cultivation, and scholarship through vivid analogies and contrasts.

The first passage emphasizes that learning requires contemplation—otherwise, doubts accumulate like weeds in an untended field. Superficial teaching only perpetuates confusion, wasting effort over time.

Next, we see that hoarded wealth unused differs little from poverty, just as unexpressed talent resembles mediocrity. Gold locked in chests or unwritten brilliance both remain valueless—like a literary mind that never commits words to paper.

The third passage employs metaphors of adornment: even legendary beauties like Nanwei and Qingqin enhanced their charm with fine attire. Likewise, sages such as Yan Hui, Zigong, Ziyou, and Zixia—though naturally gifted—cultivated wisdom through studying classical texts ("ancient records" here refers to canonical literature).

Environment transforms perception, as illustrated next. Embroidered drapes can mask ugliness; vermilion lacquer beautifies deadwood. Similarly, mastery of the Six Arts (rites, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, mathematics) elevates the crude to refinement, while public acclaim lends nobility to the obscure.

Virtue's magnetism follows naturally. Birds flock to lush forests; fish gather in deep pools. Expand virtue and enterprise, and people gravitate spontaneously. Overlook minor flaws, and talents converge from afar.

All excellence has limits, however. A thousand-mile steed cannot swim like fish; skilled divers cannot climb mountains. Li Zhu could spot a hair at a hundred paces but couldn't distinguish musical refinement, just as music master Ziye discerned tones yet failed in visual judgments.

On governance: rulers opening channels for counsel attract worthies as sunlight draws shadows or rivers seek the sea. Erecting "slander posts" for criticism and "drumming for remonstrance" invites frank advice—like torches attracting extraordinary minds.

Final wisdom cautions against absolutism. While all praise Yao and Shun, not all their decrees were perfect; though all condemn Jie and Zhou, not all their acts were wrong. A withered tree doesn't mar a forest's vitality; winter wheat can't alter the season's austerity. Xishi's flaws don't diminish her beauty, nor do Momu's virtues conceal her ugliness—essence prevails.

Those who deviate from the Dao and De (Virtue) may appear to suffer yet ultimately find stability, while those who conform to worldly ways seem joyful but remain in constant peril. Just as fierce birds are caged for their combativeness, talking parrots imprisoned for their cleverness, jade stones split for their veins, precious metals melted down for ornaments, fragrant herbs plucked for their scent, and catalpa trees felled for their fine timber to make instruments. Thus the emerald-scaled dragon soars into the clouds at the sight of Yizhou (legendary jade-producing land), and the phoenix flees back to its crimson nest upon encountering Meng Xi (an ancient bird-tamer). Zhuangzi marveled at the grandeur of celestial principles, while the Lacquer Grove official (referring to Zhuangzi) lamented the sacrificial ox draped in embroidered robes.

The Baopuzi (Ge Hong) observes: When ten thousand elk raise their antlers, even tigers sheathe their claws; where a thousand birds gather, birds of prey retract their talons. Thus when slander spreads, not even the Duke of Zhou (Gong Dan) could stop it; when calumny fills the roads, even Zichan (virtuous minister of Zheng) couldn't block its course.

The Baopuzi notes: The beauty of Weishi (ancient beauty) cannot be enhanced with cosmetics, nor can the solstices be altered by mighty winds. Thus those of profound talent need not affect eccentricity to stand out; those with lofty aspirations won't chase petty fame to please the crowd.

The Baopuzi remarks: People never tire of seeing qilin pause or phoenixes alight, yet always complain of foxes wailing at night or owls hooting. Thus even when courts overflow with worthies, seekers remain unsatisfied; when treacherous ministers dominate, all righteous men gnash their teeth.

The Baopuzi states: Strength isn't exclusive to Meng Ben and Wu Huo (legendary strongmen), nor beauty confined to Zheng Dan and Mao Qiang (renowned beauties); speed belongs not solely to legendary steeds Hua Liu and Su Shuang, nor sharpness only to famed swords Shen Lü and Gan Jiang. Therefore, the achievements of an Uncrowned King (virtuous sage without throne) needn't belong solely to Confucius of eastern Lu; benevolent acts like burying exposed bones aren't limited to King Wen of Zhou in the west.

The Baopuzi observes: Though the phoenix's dawn song brings no material benefit, all stop to listen; though nocturnal owl gatherings cause no real harm, everyone covers their ears. Thus good words delight however distant, while malice repels however near—like how none resent the eternal radiance of sun and moon, yet all remember fleeting comets.

The Baopuzi declares: Shadows never defy their objects' forms, nor fame escape its substance. Thus waters straying from their source cannot flow eastward long; blossoms untimely cannot retain brilliance amid frost.

The Baopuzi notes: Beasts with serrated fangs inspire fear even at rest; men brandishing axes...

Though the insect curls its body without displaying majesty, thus the noble man wearing coarse garments in poverty should not be despised. The petty man riding in ornate carriages with high rank is not worthy of esteem.

The qilin roams freely across vast wilderness, thus avoiding hunters' traps; the divine bird soars over the Kunlun Immortal Mountain (Mystic Garden), thereby escaping fowlers' nets. Why must one hide in caves trembling all day? Why cling to reeds like geese in fearful caution (ancient belief held geese carrying reeds could deflect arrows)? Those livestock fattened for slaughter naturally crave their fodder; birds accustomed to being cooked remain content in courtyard pens.

The truly wise treasure insight into the patterns of rise and fall spanning millennia; the genuinely discerning value the ability to recognize talent for governance among humble scholars. To listen to grand symphonies yet consult mediocre musicians is like the music connoisseur Ji Zha of Yanling asking commoners about melodies; to seek counsel from ordinary folk while possessing extraordinary talent is like asking the blind to identify colors or foxes for advice on making fur garments.

The divine steed (Jiguang) would rather starve on icy plains than feast as sacrificial offering; Lord Guzhu chose starvation over the wealth of King Zhou's Deer Tower; Zilian embraced poverty without envying Deng Tong's copper-mine fortune. Those sharing aspirations feel no distance across mountains and seas; those at odds remain strangers though side by side. Some journey afar just to meet, while others live as neighbors yet never interact.

The splendor of embroidered robes cannot be woven from a single thread; the loftiness of Mount Tai (Dai) cannot be piled from one basket of earth. Just as Shun achieved peace by employing nine sages, King Wu of Zhou founded his dynasty through twenty-eight generals (symbolized by "four times seven").

The emerald dragon (cuiqiu) soars without wings, the flying serpent darts lightning-fast without feet, turtles hear acutely without ears, and earthworms produce sound without mouths. Thus, the stammering judge Gao Yao adjudicates as brilliantly as the most eloquent, and the blind musician Shi Kuang perceives as keenly as Li Zhu (legendary for sharp vision).

High rank does not guarantee competence, nor does fine reputation match reality. Just as saw teeth cannot chew food and a winnowing basket's edge (ji-she) cannot discern flavors, empty fame often strays far from substance.

This passage comes from Ge Hong's Outer Chapters of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity (Baopuzi Waipian), using analogies to illustrate how all things have their strengths and weaknesses, and how inappropriate actions can backfire.

First, the author provides examples: those with keen ears may not understand music, those with sensitive noses may not distinguish scents, those with sharp eyes may not see distant landscapes, and those with swift legs may not travel far. Just as ordinary people cannot match the archery skills of Yang Youji (an ancient legendary marksman), or how Yan Hui (a disciple of Confucius) couldn’t drive a chariot yet knew the expert charioteer Dongye Ji would fail. Some may not play chess yet discern the winner, or lack musical training yet distinguish refined music from vulgar tunes.

Next, the author employs natural metaphors: a tree vast enough to shade thousands of acres must grow atop high mountains, and a devastating flood must originate from deep, distant sources. Similarly, extraordinary achievements require exceptional talent, and strategies to reverse crises must come from extraordinary wisdom. A small insect’s nest cannot ride the wind, nor can a shallow ditch produce luminous pearls.

The author then observes: a gale may fuel a wildfire across the plains, yet a firefly’s glow is extinguished by the wind; sweet rain nourishes all things, yet rotten wood decays faster when soaked. A splendid carriage is a treasure for the virtuous, but in the hands of petty men, it invites disaster; generous rewards honor meritorious deeds, yet the incompetent who receive them only court ruin.

Animal analogies follow: rhinoceroses are slaughtered for their hides to make armor, kingfishers are hunted for their feathers to adorn headdresses—though they enter royal courts from the wild, they would have fared better living freely in the forests. The divine tortoise would rather crawl in muddy swamps than be enshrined in temples; the pheasant prefers foraging in the wild to being slaughtered like a domesticated fowl.

Finally, the author emphasizes: a single skill cannot handle complex affairs, nor can isolated strengths compensate for numerous shortcomings. Roosters know dawn but not the calendar; cranes know midnight but not the sun’s movement; mountain doves predict rain yet understand no astronomy; ants sense underground springs but know nothing of geography.

The author criticizes those who impose harsh punishments without understanding prohibitions, or wage endless wars without strategic insight—like cutting crops to kill locusts, felling trees to exterminate borers, taking poison to rid fleas, or dismantling houses to chase rats. Such measures not only fail but invite greater harm.

Sharp swords are forged from coarse ore; bright flames emerge from dark wood. Precious pearls are nurtured within ordinary clams; fine jade lies hidden in rough, unhewn stone. Therefore, one should not dismiss Emperor Shun's (Chonghua) virtue based on his parents' mediocrity, nor judge renowned generals like Wei Qing and Huo Qubing by their ancestors' standards.

When the heart is content, the face naturally beams with joy; when aspirations are thwarted, sorrow inevitably clouds the countenance. Just as a tree's branches wither when its core rots, a shallow source yields but a meager stream. Inner states invariably manifest outwardly; nearby events inevitably influence distant realms.

Though beautiful faces differ, the delight they inspire remains the same; though musical instruments produce varied melodies, the pleasure they evoke is universal. Whether shooting birds with arrows, angling with hooks, or trapping with nets—methods differ, yet all secure prey. Building merit and composing literature follow distinct paths, yet both pursue the same values.

Great benefits often bring hidden calamities; outstanding qualities frequently invite misfortune. Thus, the southern phoenix is hunted for its splendid plumage, and the leopard slain for its patterned fur. Too many eels and carp will drain the deep pool; overabundant deer herds invite forest fires. Heaps of gold and jewels attract thieves; lofty fame and status summon worries and responsibilities.

When autumn winds rise, silk fans are discarded; when scaling cliffs, light boats prove useless. Scholars retreat during wartime; warriors stand idle in peacetime.

Treasures worth cities need no visual inspection to confirm their value; trees thick as armfuls require no measurement to recognize their grandeur. Thus, seeing towering waves, we know they cannot spring from puddles; reading vast literature, we understand it never flows from rote memorizers alone.

Vibrant blossoms don't bloom solely on straight trees; divine lingzhi mushrooms grow even in barren soil. Therefore, those receiving the Son of Heaven's dark jade tablet (xuangui) for great achievements may emerge from criminal households; those inheriting the Mandate to ascend the throne might come from foolish clans.

Truthful words spoken in humble huts resonate across distances; those who confuse right and wrong will find even close bonds severed. Thus, the retreating ominous star (Yinghuo) appeared in Song's wilderness, and traitorous ministers fled Shang's court. Auspicious signs descend from distant Mount Shaoguang, while calamities brew within palace walls.

Heroes like Jing Ke and Zhu Hai never flaunt strength before the weak;

The virtuous Feng Fu (an ancient female warrior) would not brandish weapons among coarse crowds; the erudite Confucian scholar disdains debating trivial matters with shallow individuals; the truly enlightened sage does not deliberately display his brilliance in worldly affairs.

Ge Hong (Baopuzi) said: Courteous bows and ceremonial gestures are unfit for repelling invaders; court robes and jade ornaments cannot be worn in battle; proper etiquette is useless for putting out fires or rescuing lives.

Heaven and Earth nurture all things, yet sentient beings do not perceive their grace—for this nourishment is omnipresent. The sage’s teachings transform silently, unnoticed by ordinary people, because governance occurs before problems arise. Thus, principles easily grasped are shallow; events simply predicted are limited.

Exemplary consorts like Ehuang, Nüying, and Rensi were not famed for weaving; enlightened rulers like Tang of Shang, Wu of Zhou, and Gaozu of Han did not build reputations on trivial details. Those who gaze at the sun, moon, and stars have no time to peer into faint well-bottom glimmers; those who listen to the Shao music (ancient refined melodies) pay no heed to rustic village tunes.

Appearance cannot judge inner worth; looks cannot measure ability. Confucius once likened himself to a stray dog; the Duke of Zhou appeared as a plain craftsman; Gao Yao (a sage minister under Shun) had a face like rough winnowing baskets; Yi Yin resembled dried bones. Yet beauties like Longyang Jun and Song Chao were merely clay figurines adorned with pearls; flatterers like Dong Xian and Deng Tong were but dust wrapped in fine robes.

Even sage-kings like Yao and Shun could not enlighten the most foolish—thus teaching fails certain disciples. Tyrants like Jie and Zhou could not corrupt the wisest—thus men like Weizi, Jizi, and Bi Gan remained untainted by vice.

The mightiest force cannot alter some things; the subtlest existence has an essence that cannot be stripped away. Thus, harsh frost cannot kill the vitality of beans and wheat; scorching heat cannot melt the ice of snow-capped mountains; fierce gales cannot stir the depths of still springs; spring rains cannot revive withered grass to bloom.

The precious "Tear-Blood" jade requires coarse whetstones to reveal its luster; famed swords like Chenlü and Menglao need Chu whetstones for honing. A thousand-mile steed requires a Bo Le to recognize its worth; fine timber must be straightened to become useful.

The noble phoenix perched aloft would rather endure hunger than be confined in a kitchen; divine beasts like Chenghuang and Tianlu (auspicious creatures of legend) prefer starvation to grazing on common fodder.

This passage is from Baopuzi Outer Chapters, a work by the Eastern Jin Daoist thinker Ge Hong. Through various metaphors and allusions, it expounds on Daoist philosophy of life and perspectives on talent.

The first section uses stories like the dragon-keeping stable and the old man catching cicadas to illustrate how those who focus on specific fields often transcend worldly fame and profit. Just as the old cicada catcher could forget all things amid fragrant woods, and the fisherman could disregard the high-ranking positions and wealth of Chu.

The second section explains that heaven and earth each follow their own patterns: the celestial sphere (Hunxiang) values constant motion, while the earth (Kunhou) emphasizes stability and stillness. The sun, moon, and stars (the Seven Luminaries) cycle through the seasons to nurture all things, while the Five Sacred Mountains and Six Pillars silently guard the four directions. Like Mozi of Song and Shen Baoxu of Chu, who saved their states in different ways, or Duan Ganmu of Wei, who used Wuwei (non-action) to avert war.

The third section contrasts two attitudes toward life: those who retreat to rural simplicity may appear poor but enjoy spiritual peace, while those entangled in worldly affairs may have physical comfort but mental exhaustion. The old gardener is happier than the prime minister; the hermit eating wild greens surpasses the noble feasting from tripods. Yet those who stay awake worrying at night waste their vitality.

The fourth section highlights the stark difference between good and evil: benevolence and cruelty are as far apart as heaven and earth. The kind Zouyu (a legendary benevolent beast) treads lightly through the air, while the savage wolves hunt in packs. Yu Qing abandoned his ministerial post to aid the poor, and Hua Gong yielded his position to recommend worthies. In contrast, Li Si, consumed by envy, had Han Fei killed, and Pang Juan, unable to match Sun Bin, subjected him to cruel torture.

The fifth section advises employing people according to their strengths: thin gauze makes fine robes but cannot stop arrows; the famous sword Chenbi Jue can cleave iron but is poor at picking splinters. All things have their uses—and so do talents.

The sixth section warns against rejecting great talent for minor flaws: sunspots do not dim the sun’s brilliance, and the Yellow River’s silt does not hinder its mighty flow. Guan Zhong’s extravagance, Xiao He’s land seizures, Sima Xiangru’s seduction of his wife, and Chen Ping’s bribery should not overshadow their abilities.

The final two sections use animal traits to illustrate how circumstances shape heroes: tigers and leopards cannot hunt in water, and the Tengshe (a mythical flying serpent) cannot rise without mist. The phoenix is no match for the hawk in catching rabbits, nor the qilin for the ox in plowing fields. Thus, warriors in peaceful times have no stage for their valor, and sages in an age of brute force cannot display their worth. Like tethering a swift steed to a lame donkey—its strengths remain unused.

This passage employs multiple metaphors to illustrate the relationship between talent and its environment and opportunities. Just as locking a monkey in a cage reduces it to the level of a badger, or leaving a treasured sword unused renders it no different from a lead knife—demanding a thousand-mile steed to pull carts or expecting an ordinary craftsman to achieve world-shaking feats are equally unrealistic.

Those who truly understand the Way (Dao) neither grieve over adversity nor exult in success. Consider Jiang Ziya (Shangfu), who was once a husband abandoned by his wife; Han Xin, who once begged for food; Xiao He, who began as a low-ranking official; and Qing Bu, who was once a convict slave. Yet when their talents emerged, they rose above all others.

The text emphasizes that the value of talent lies in its proper placement. There’s no need to use a luminous pearl to light up the entire ocean, nor to employ a Herculean strongman like Wu Huo to carry trifles. Harnessing a fine steed to transport firewood or salt, or assigning exceptional talent to trivial tasks, is nothing but a waste of ability.

The truly wise approach is this: assign responsibilities according to one’s talents, without demanding what exceeds their capacity; let each shoulder burdens suited to their strength, without forcing them into tasks beyond their power. Only then can both people and things fulfill their potential.

This passage from the Outer Chapters of Baopuzi discusses the importance of holistic perspective—one should not dismiss the whole due to minor flaws.

First, it states that small vessels cannot hold a thousand zhong (an ancient unit of measurement), faint light cannot reveal intricate shadows, and ordinary people cannot recognize extraordinary talent, for innate abilities have their fundamental origins. Just as people from Ying (capital of Chu) preferred vulgar folk music over the refined Six Stems melody, and common folk enjoy flattery but detest beneficial advice. Thus, Song Yu (a Warring States poet) abandoned displaying divine music's subtleties, and the wise reject shallow counsel.

Next, it explains that even a mountain of jade may contain flaws, and the vast Deng Forest (a legendary ancient woodland) will have withered trees. We should not dismiss treasures due to minor blemishes nor abandon major undertakings because of trivial issues. Zhang Liang and Chen Ping (early Han strategists) once betrayed their former lords yet later offered brilliant plans to stabilize the Han dynasty; Peng Yue (a Han general) began as a bandit but rendered great service in supporting Liu Bang.

Finally, it observes that the Five Sacred Peaks do not diminish in grandeur for harboring impurities, nor does the vast ocean lose its immensity by containing filth. Thus, the ancients advocated magnanimous virtue to win hearts, and Confucius (referred to respectfully as Xuanni) promoted broad compassion to nurture successors. This illustrates that truly great things do not forfeit their worth due to minor defects, and in conduct, one should maintain an inclusive spirit.