《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 4

Ge Hong (Daoist name Baopuzi) expounds on the importance of education in the "Baopuzi Outer Chapters: On Reverence for Learning." He states that if one only focuses on trivial matters as minute as autumn hairs, they will fail to see the brilliance of celestial stars; if constantly occupied with petty affairs, they cannot comprehend the profound wisdom of Confucian and Daoist teachings. Just as those addicted to the stench of salted fish forget the fragrance of aromatic herbs, those lost in mundane matters struggle to return to the right path. Yet timber straightened by an inked marking line won't warp, just as those cultivated by moral education won't stray into depravity.

The best method for self-cultivation is study, and the key to broad learning lies in perseverance, which in turn depends on unwavering determination. Without firm resolve, the poor remain preoccupied with survival while the wealthy indulge in pleasure. Thus, truly erudite scholars have always been rare throughout history, whereas the unlearned are everywhere.

Ge Hong then describes several types of people: common scholars toil in fields by day and burn the midnight oil studying; officials snatch moments between banquets to learn admonitions and teachings. Though their circumstances are harsh, their efforts are understandable. But the idle nobility—dressed in fine silks, feasting on delicacies, wrapped in sable furs in winter and sheer gauze in summer, riding in lavish carriages, indulging in wine and women, gathering for reckless gambling—know nothing of classical texts, treat scholars as worthless weeds, stumble in debate, and falter when faced with problems. Such people can't even distinguish beans from wheat—how are they any different from the blind?

Finally, Ge Hong observes that heirs to ancient thrones were required to enter the Imperial Academy (the highest institution of learning) to study under masters alongside the sons of nobility. For only by understanding how to be a good subject could one become a worthy ruler. Here he emphasizes that rulers must receive proper education to grasp the Dao of governance.

This passage expounds on the principles of educating disciples and cultivating virtue in self-cultivation.

It first observes that one must first become a good son before becoming a good father, and must achieve mastery in learning before entering governance. Just as those unskilled with knives often cut themselves, those who indulge their desires do not deserve to be called human. Noble youths raised in palace chambers by women's hands, never experiencing hardship, receive high offices and great wealth while still in swaddling clothes, wielding power over life and death. They determine others' fortunes through connections, judge people by personal whims, surrounded daily by slander, breeding disputes in ambiguous circumstances.

Without genuine learning, one cannot distinguish truth from falsehood; without understanding historical lessons, one easily repeats past mistakes. Ancient sages taught us: those in high positions must remain vigilant in times of peace, and children must be guided along the upright path. Select wise teachers for instruction, associate with virtuous friends for edification, encourage extensive reading of classics, and use historical successes and failures for enlightenment. Guide children to walk the righteous path with the caution of traversing thousand-foot cliffs or running across thin ice—only thus can calamity be avoided.

Historical examples illustrate this: the Dou family prospered by adhering to teachings, while Huo Yu met disaster through willfulness; Kings Zhongshan and Dongping maintained peace through diligent study, while King Yan faced ruin through ignorance. Kings Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou flourished with ministers like Yi Yin and Lü Shang, while Tyrant Zhou and Jie of Xia fell through favoring sycophants. In selecting teachers and friends, choose meticulously—prefer those of humble origins but noble virtue, content in poverty while devoted to the Dao (the Way), independent thinkers like Dong Zhongshu who mastered the classics, or Gong Sui who maintained unyielding integrity. They should daily expound on loyalty and filial piety, using historical lessons to cleanse the mind and correct errors. Restrain selfish desires and observe laws—the Han Dynasty provides many such exemplars.

The text depicts the moral decay of society during the late Eastern Wu period. Official appointments no longer valued talent and virtue (De), but rather relied on familial connections and empty reputations among factions. Though nominally following the practice of recommendations by mentors and friends, these selections lacked genuine intent to serve the state, creating a harmful trend that brought no benefit.

People no longer discussed the great Dao of governance, nor recommended loyal and virtuous ministers. Society wallowed in sensual pleasures: critiquing the merits of music and dance, debating instrumental techniques, comparing hunting dogs and racehorses, arguing over entertainment venues, judging the fineness of carvings, competing in gambling games, nitpicking concubines' beauty, criticizing rustic clothing, and vying over chariot quality and bow craftsmanship. Bizarre skills and excessive ingenuity proliferated while extravagance grew increasingly rampant.

In architecture, palaces imitated the legendary Jade Terrace and Jasper Chambers, emulating the extravagance of Qin's Epang Palace. Even structures with a thousand gates were deemed cramped, while imperial gardens like Kunming Pond and Taiye Pond were considered crude. Thatched roofs were mocked as shabby, earthen steps scorned as crude. The people's labor was exhausted in endless construction, and state reserves squandered on nonessential projects: artificial mounds rivaling Mount Song and Mount Huo, canals mimicking the Nine Rivers, towering pavilions piercing the clouds, and latticed windows veiled in mist.

Society drowned in decadent music, dizzying dances with fluttering sleeves. Night and day they indulged in revelry, lingering at banquets, intoxicated by song and dance. Sometimes green hunting banners were raised in the suburbs to shoot fierce beasts; sometimes races were held on perilous ridges while servants toiled under scorching sun; setting out at dawn with torches, returning late beneath starlight. State affairs were neglected, reward and punishment systems rendered meaningless.

Nobles drifted on ornate pleasure boats across lakes, casting dense nets in emerald waters; dropping fragrant bait where ripples formed, singing loudly over clear waves; loosing arrows to strike down soaring geese, lowering lines to catch lurking fish. Others set traps in forests, laid ambushes in wilderness; galloping through lush grass against crimson winds, chasing across plains on swift steeds; unleashing hounds to tear at cunning prey, falcons to pounce on flying birds; crossbows felling frenzied rhinos, halberds stabbing ferocious tigers. Such wanton extravagance continued year after year, never tiring of indulgence.

The text describes a societal trend deviating from orthodox Confucianism. People were preoccupied with seasonal gatherings, ancestral sacrifices, and endless celebratory exchanges, drowning in social obligations while neglecting proper scholarship.

Few could discern the principles of rise and decline, extricate themselves from such indulgence, abandon the perilous path of moral decay, and follow the proper Way (Dao) of lasting peace. This explains why those capable of safeguarding family and state were rare, while those who met ruin were countless.

Now, with a sagely ruler on the throne, ancient institutions are revived to bring order to the world—like reinforcing dikes to prevent floods, using clear rewards and punishments to guide customs. One would expect the nobility and scions of influential families to compete in upholding Confucian learning, refining literary talents while setting aside the impractical philosophies of Laozi and Zhuangzi, and instead devote themselves to the proper Way of the Six Classics (The Book of Songs, The Book of Documents, The Rites, The Music, The Book of Changes, and The Spring and Autumn Annals).

The author, Ge Hong (Daoist name Baopuzi), though a Daoist himself, expresses support for Confucian orthodoxy here, reflecting the scholar-official class’s anxiety over Confucianism’s decline. Notably, this stance forms an intriguing contrast with his advocacy of Daoist cultivation in his Inner Chapters.