《抱朴子外篇》Vol. 7

Ge Hong (Baopuzi) here employs metaphors and historical examples to expound the principle of adapting one's conduct to the times and circumstances.

He begins with the analogy of birds and fish: just as birds that fail to choose suitable trees for nesting become easy prey to nets, so too will those who enter official service without assessing the current situation inevitably encounter danger and humiliation. When the timing is right, one should soar like the Yinglong (a mythical dragon) riding the clouds; when the moment is lost, even a great fish may find itself stranded on dry land. Therefore, the wise conceal their talents while awaiting opportunity, withdrawing their brilliance until the time for action arrives.

He then cites cautionary tales of four historical regents: the Duke of Zhou governing as regent, Yi Yin deposing Emperor Taijia, Huo Guang removing Prince Changyi, and Sun Lin dethroning the young emperor. Though all claimed their actions were "expedient measures to stabilize the realm," each met misfortune: the Duke of Zhou was besieged by slander, Yi Yin was executed, Huo Guang barely escaped with his life, and Sun Lin soon lost both head and position. This demonstrates that deposing rulers may appear as minor compliance (temporarily resolving issues) but constitutes major rebellion (violating fundamental principles), ultimately inviting greater calamity.

The proper approach is threefold: first, remove treacherous ministers surrounding the ruler (like Gan Xin under Tyrant Jie or Chong Houhu serving King Zhou of Shang) while appointing loyal and capable officials; second, strictly punish wrongdoers according to law while selecting the virtuous for office; third, consult the ruler on governmental affairs rather than monopolizing power. Should the ruler err, one must offer forthright admonition.

This passage examines the ethical dimensions of the ruler-subject relationship, asserting that a minister should never depose his sovereign—just as one cannot alter Heaven or replace one's father. Through multiple analogies, the author argues that even if a minister has rendered outstanding service, the act of overthrowing a ruler remains fundamentally unjust.

The text cites historical examples: Yue Yang (a Warring States general of Wei), who treated his native state with cruelty, ultimately fell into disfavor, while Qin Xiba (a Lu state official during the Spring and Autumn period) gained prominence through benevolence. The author critiques those who praise King Tang of Shang for exiling the tyrant Jie or King Wu of Zhou for overthrowing King Zhou, viewing such admiration as encouraging rebellion. In reality, deposed rulers were not invariably as tyrannical as Jie and Zhou; often, powerful ministers fabricated pretexts to consolidate their own authority.

Ministers who engaged in dethronement—figures like Huo Guang (a Western Han regent)—might receive titles and honors temporarily, but their motives typically served personal gain rather than the state. Once a ruler was removed, all faults would be ascribed to him. The author laments how rarely history produced outspoken critics like Liu Xingju (Marquis of Dongmu) and Liu Zhang (Marquis of Zhuxu), or upright historians like Nan Shi and Dong Hu (renowned chroniclers of the Spring and Autumn period) to record the truth.

Ultimately, the passage observes that historical accounts often exaggerate the misdeeds of "tyrants" while glorifying revolutions like those of Tang and Wu, when reality was likely more nuanced. This reflects the foundational principle of "revering the ruler and humbling the subject" (尊君卑臣) in ancient politics—an immutable hierarchy that could never be overturned.

This passage discusses the relationship between rulers and ministers and the principles of governance. Ge Hong (Baopuzi) argues that according to the governing principles of the Spring and Autumn Annals, a ruler should "strengthen the trunk and weaken the branches" (consolidate central authority while diminishing regional power), as the will of Heaven cannot be defied. The classics written by sages teach people to serve both their fathers and their rulers with equal devotion. Yet today, some advocate deposing or installing rulers at will, which marks the beginning of an unrighteous path. Such actions lead to inferiors oppressing superiors, the collapse of court discipline, and the inability to properly educate the people.

Those pedantic Confucians are mired in sophistry, like being trapped in a fish market (a metaphor for a corrupt environment). Their discussions of the revolutions led by Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou are as dangerous as eating horse liver (a metaphor for perilous matters). Critics of these affairs fail to understand that the value of strategic flexibility (quanbian) lies in guiding toward goodness without violating fundamental principles. Yet earlier writers failed to correct such thinking with the great Dao (the Way), leaving those who hold such views standing on knife edges or climbing crumbling cliffs—hardly methods for preserving life and avoiding danger.

Even if such individuals temporarily attain high office and wealth, they are like sacrificial oxen draped in embroidered silk, deep-sea fish coveting wheat grains, the thirsty gulping down strong liquor, or the starving feasting on rotten meat—all ultimately inviting disaster. Yet writers praise such behavior, framing unforgivable crimes as acts of strategic wisdom, which is truly lamentable.

Some warn me that these words may harm the reputation of sages and invite criticism. I reply: Shun and Yu both underwent rigorous trials before accepting abdication. Even if someone wished to slander the sages, how could they truly harm them? In the past, Yan Yannian openly impeached Huo Guang for failing in his ministerial duties, and the entire court fell silent, unable to refute him. Besides, I am merely recording admonitions for the world, without naming specific individuals. Why should I fear such ordinary words?