An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy [2 ed.] 1107103983, 9781107103986

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An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy

This second edition of An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy presents a comprehensive introduction to key ideas and arguments in early Chinese philosophy. Written in clear, accessible language, it explores philosophical traditions including Confucianism, Daoism, Mohism, Legalism and Chinese Buddhism and how they have shaped Chinese thought. Drawing on the key classical texts as well as up-to-date scholarship, the discussions range across ethics, metaphysics and epistemology, while also bringing out distinctive elements in Chinese philosophy that fall between the gaps in these disciplinary divisions, thereby challenging some prevailing assumptions of Western philosophy. Topics include: human nature, selfhood and agency; emotions and behaviour; the place of language in the world; knowledge and action; and social and political responsibility. This second edition incorporates new ideas and approaches from some recently excavated texts that change the landscape of Chinese intellectual history. KARYN L. LAI is Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of New South Wales in Sydney, Australia. Her publications include An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy (Cambridge University Press, 2008), Learning from Chinese Philosophies (Ashgate Publishing, 2006) and numerous research articles in peer-reviewed journals.

An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy Second Edition KARYN L. LAI University of New South Wales, Australia

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, VIC 3207, Australia 314-321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi - 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06-04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107103986 © Karyn Lai 2017 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2017 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication data Names: Lai, Karyn, 1964– author. Title: An introduction to Chinese philosophy / Karyn L. Lai, University of New South Wales, Australia. Description: New York : Cambridge University Press, 2016. | Originally published: 2008. | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016023149| ISBN 9781107103986 (hardback) | ISBN 9781107504097 (pbk.) Subjects: LCSH: Philosophy, Chinese. Classification: LCC B5231 .L34 2016 | DDC 181/.11–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016023149 ISBN 978-1-107-10398-6 Hardback ISBN 978-1-107-50409-7 Paperback Additional resources for this publication at www.cambridge.org/9781107103986 Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Contents

Preface

page ix

Chronology

xi

1 Chinese Philosophy

1

Thinkers, Texts and Traditions

2

Features of Chinese Philosophy

6

Self-Cultivation

6

Relationships and Contexts

9

Harmony

11

Change

13

Thinking Philosophically Suggestions for Further Reading

2 Confucius and the Analects Reading the Analects Ren: Humaneness Ren as General Concern for Humanity

16 19

20 21 23 24

Ren, the Confucian Golden Rule

25

Ren and the Cultivation of Particular Relationships

26

Ren as Practical Wisdom

27

Li: Behavioural Propriety

28

Ren and Li

30

Ren Is Fundamental

31

Li is Fundamental

33

Ren and Li are Interdependent Concepts

33

Self-Cultivation and Exemplary Personhood in Contemporary Philosophical Debates

34

Suggestions for Further Reading

39

v

vi

Contents

3 Human Nature and Cultivation in Confucian Philosophy: Mencius and Xunzi Mencius: Nurturing Goodness Morality Is Not a Naturally Given Aspect of Human Nature

41 42 44

Human Nature Is Not Naturally Inclined towards Goodness

49

Not All Humans Are Naturally Inclined towards Goodness

53

Xunzi: Shaping Humanity

55

Regulating Names, Practising Propriety and Transforming Human Nature

59

The Way of Tian and the Ways of Humanity

64

Suggestions for Further Reading

71

4 Early Mohist Philosophy

73

The Ten Doctrines

75

Maximising Collective Welfare

78

Working with Standards

84

Suggestions for Further Reading

91

5 Daoism and the Daodejing

92

The Philosophy and Practice of the Daojia

93

Huang-Lao Daoism

94

Lao-Zhuang or “Philosophical Daoism”

95

Dao and De in the Daodejing

97

Dao: Reality or Cosmic Vision

100

De: Potency

105

Dao: A Way

109

Wuwei and Ziran in the Daodejing

115

Wuwei

115

Ziran: Nature

117

Ziran: Self-So-Ness

121

Suggestions for Further Reading

128

6 The Mingjia and the Later Mohists

130

The Mingjia

133

Hui Shi

134

Gongsun Long Later Mohist Thought

138 144

Making Distinctions and Recognising Similarities

147

Names, Propositions and Knowledge

150

Scientific Discussions

155

The Practice of Jianai: Utilitarian Morality

158

Contents

Argumentation in Warring States China

159

Suggestions for Further Reading

162

7 Legalist Philosophy Three Basic Themes: Penal Law, Technique and Power

163 165

Fa: Standards and Penal Law

166

Shu: Techniques for Managing the Bureaucracy

169

Shi: Power

173

Han Fei, the “Great Synthesiser”

175

Debates in Legalist Philosophy

178

Human Nature

178

The Common People

179

Best Man or Best System?

181

Bureaucracy

183

Secrecy, Power and the Control of Knowledge

185

Government and Human Well-Being

186

Suggestions for Further Reading

8 The Zhuangzi

187

188

Zhuangzi’s Scepticism

193

Epistemological Questions

198

Cultivation and Mastery

207

Spirituality

208

Participation in Political Life

213

Mastery

216

The Implications of the Philosophy of the Zhuangzi

221

Suggestions for Further Reading

223

9 The Yijing and Its Place in Chinese Philosophy Synthesis and the Intellectual Foundations of Empire Correlative Thinking Yin-yang, Wuxing and Qi The Natural, Religious and Human Worlds The Spirit of the Yijing

224 233 238 239 241 247

The Primacy of Observation

247

A Holistic, All-Encompassing Perspective

248

A Dialectical and Complementary Approach to Dualisms

250

Correlative Thinking and Resonance

252

An Interpretive Approach to the Meanings of the Hexagrams and Correspondences

253

vii

viii

Contents

Timeliness and Practical Wisdom

255

The Impact of the Yijing

261

Suggestions for Further Reading

262

10 Chinese Buddhism

265

Basic Tenets of Indian Buddhist Thought

266

The Early Period of Buddhism in China

272

Chinese Buddhist Doctrines

281

San Lun (Three Treatise) Buddhism

283

Wei Shi (Consciousness-Only) Buddhism

284

Tian Tai (Heavenly Terrace) Buddhism

286

Hua Yan (Flower Garland) Buddhism

289

Chan Buddhism

294

Chinese Buddhist Philosophy

301

Suggestions for Further Reading

303

Glossary

305

Bibliography

321

Index

349

Preface

This book covers major philosophical traditions in early Chinese philosophy, focusing especially on its foundational period, prior to 200 BCE. It discusses on concepts, themes, reasoning and argumentative methods in Chinese philosophy, introducing readers to fundamental ideas in the different traditions, debates among thinkers, cross-influences between traditions, as well as interpretive theories about these ideas, including views expressed in contemporary scholarship. The chapters are organised partly on the basis of thematic coherence and continuity and loosely according to chronological order. A Chronology is provided at the outset, placing key thinkers in relation to one another. This list is selective and brief, situating only those thinkers and periods that are discussed in the book. The at-a-glance table should help the reader locate thinkers in their historical context in relation to other thinkers. Dates are also included in the text in places where they are integral to the specific point being made. In a number of chapters, a section discussing textual matters is included. These cover, for example, details of different versions of texts, connections between text and thinker, or the dating of texts, where relevant. Some of this material is quite technical, though readers should find the information helpful in understanding how Chinese intellectual history shapes our grasp of Chinese philosophy. For the sake of consistency, within citations, English transliterations of Chinese concepts, and names of thinkers and texts, have been modified to the standard Pinyin system. However, the names of modern and contemporary scholars (e.g. Fung, Yu-lan) have been retained so as not to confuse bibliographic data. A short list of Suggestions for Further Reading, of primary and secondary sources, is provided at the end of each chapter. A more

ix

x

Preface

extended Bibliography is included at the end of the book. Two separate lists, Primary Texts (listed alphabetically by title) and Secondary Sources (listed alphabetically by author), provide more extensive reading suggestions. References to primary texts follow this format: Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001; and secondary sources are listed in this way: Fingarette, 1983. The Glossary at the end of the book is set out in three sections, comprising texts and sections of texts, names and proper nouns and concepts and themes. The lists are alphabetically arranged in Pinyin transliteration, and, where possible, an English translation is provided. Finally, it is advisable to read the chapters in the order in which they appear, as each chapter builds upon the preceding ones. Chapter 1 is important as it presents key themes and argumentative methods in Chinese philosophy, developed in subsequent chapters. Readers might find it beneficial to revisit some of the discussions in Chapter 1 at appropriate points.

Chronology

Periods in Chinese History

Thinkers

Dates

Xia dynasty

c. 2070 BCE–c.1600 BCE

Shang dynasty

c. 1600 BCE–c.1046 BCE

Zhou dynasty

1122 BCE–221 BCE

Spring and Autumn period

722 BCE–476 BCE

(Chunqiu) Guan Zhong

d. 645 BCE

Confucius (Kongzi)

551 BCE–479 BCE

Deng Xi

d. 501 BCE

Zisi

c. 483 BCE–c. 402 BCE

Mozi

c. 480 BCE–c. 390 BCE

Warring States period

475 BCE–221 BCE

(Zhanguo) Gaozi

c. 420 BCE–350 BCE

Zhuangzi

c. 399 BCE–295 BCE

Mencius

c. 385 BCE–c. 312 BCE

Gongsun Long

b. c. 380 BCE

Hui Shi

c. 370 BCE–c. 310 BCE

Yang Zhu

c. 350 BCE

Shang Yang

d. 338 BCE

Shen Dao

c. 350 BCE–275 BCE

Shen Buhai

d. 337 BCE

Xunzi

c. 310 BCE–c. 219 BCE

Zou Yan

c. 305 BCE–c. 240 BCE

Lü Buwei

c. 291 BCE–235 BCE

Han Fei

c. 280 BCE–233 BCE

Li Si

c. 280 BCE–c. 208 BCE

Qin dynasty

221 BCE–206 BCE

Han dynasty

206 BCE–220 CE xi

xii

Chronology

Periods in Chinese History

Thinkers

Dates

Lu Jia

?–170 BCE

Jia Yi

201 BCE–c. 168 BCE

Dong Zhongshu

c. 195 BCE–c. 115 BCE

Liu An

c. 180 BCE–122 BCE

Sima Tan

d. 110 BCE

Sima Qian

c. 145 BCE–c. 86 BCE

Liu Xiang

79 BCE–8 BCE

Yang Xiong

53 BCE–18 CE

Ban Biao

3–54

Wang Chong

27–97

Ban Gu

32–92

Ban Zhao

35–100

Xu Gan

170–217

He Yan

195-249

Wei dynasty

220–265 Wang Su

195–256

Wang Bi

226–249

Jin dynasty

265–420 Guo Xiang

d. 312

Dao-an

312–385

Hui Yuan

334–416

Kumarajiva

344–413

(Jiumoluoshi) Dao Sheng

c. 360–434

Fa Xian

c. 337–422

Northern Wei dynasty

386–534 Sengzhao

Southern and Northern

394–414 420–589

dynasties Bodhidharma

470–543

Zhi Yi

538–597

Ji Zang

540–623

Du Shun

557–640

Chronology

Periods in Chinese History

Thinkers

Dates

Xuan Zang

602–664

Hong Ren

601–674

Shen Xiu

c. 605–706

Hui Neng

638–713

Fa Zang

643–712

Sui dynasty

581–618

Tang dynasty

618–907

Shen Hui

670–762

Han Yu

768–824

Li Ao

d. c. 844

Linji Yixuan

d. 866

Five dynasties and Ten

907–960

Kingdoms Song dynasty

960–1260 Zhu Xi

1130–1200

Yuan dynasty

1271–1368

Ming dynasty

1368–1644 Wang Yang Ming

Qing dynasty

1472–1529 1644–1911

xiii

1

Chinese Philosophy

Over the last two decades, interest in Chinese philosophy has grown significantly among Anglophone scholars, students and interested lay public: more excellent translations of original texts have been produced; scholarly journals highlighting the field established; successful international conferences organised; and monographs and anthologies published. The field has broadened in its engagement across disciplinary boundaries, in studies that bring together philosophical perspectives with historical, archaeological, religious or anthropological approaches. Just as important, dialogue across Western and Chinese philosophical traditions is burgeoning, fuelled in part by the conviction that Chinese philosophy can make significant and insightful contributions to contemporary debates. An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy examines major philosophical concepts, themes and texts in early Chinese philosophy, paying special attention to the period between the fifth and the second centuries BCE, the earliest time from which we have a substantial collection of texts expressing a plethora of views. We may think of this period as one where we begin to see the origins of Chinese philosophy. The extant texts from this period incorporate key elements of philosophy: presentation of and reflection on worldviews, unmasking of assumptions, argumentation and justification of ideas and debates on values and ideals. The primary aim of this book is to introduce a representative overview of key philosophical ideas and debates proposed by thinkers of the time and which continue to be relevant today. Some attempt is made to compare the features of Chinese philosophy with parallel aspects of Western philosophy. However, the aim of such comparisons is to elucidate the characteristics of Chinese philosophy rather than to present and account for differences in the two fields. This book is introductory in a few ways. First, it covers representative ideas, themes and debates so that these fundamental aspects of Chinese philosophy 1

2

An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy

may inform further investigations into more complex and lesser-known areas. Second, it seeks to capture the spirit of the classical Chinese texts, but it cannot replace close reading of these texts. Good translations are available of many texts and recommendations are included in the list of suggested readings at the end of each chapter. If it is not possible to read more complete translations of the texts, readers should at least obtain a reliable compendium of primary sources such as William Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom’s Sources of Chinese Tradition (vol. 1: 1999). Finally, the discussions here focus on the foundational elements of Chinese philosophy, that is, from a period where there is a reasonable volume of texts up to and including ideas from Chinese Buddhism. Buddhist ideas and practices were introduced into China in the first century CE and Buddhism was established only from the sixth century as a distinctive tradition (i.e. different from its Indian origins and not simply fitted within what the Chinese traditions had to offer). Therefore, it is important to include it in this introduction to the field, especially as it shaped the subsequent development of Chinese intellectual history. The book attempts to achieve a balance between articulating the general spirit and approach of Chinese philosophy as a disciplinary field and identifying the more distinctive features of each of the traditions within the field. Confucian, Mohist, Daoist, Legalist and Buddhist traditions feature in our discussions. It will also examine parallels and divergences across traditions, at times focusing on disagreements between certain representative figures. Understanding the disagreements is at least as important as recognising the distinctive ideas of each tradition; this approach draws attention to both contrasts and common elements of those traditions as they evolved alongside others.

Thinkers, Texts and Traditions Prolonged unrest in China during the Spring and Autumn (Chunqiu) period (722–476 BCE) and the Warring States (Zhanguo) period (475–221 BCE) brought an end to the Zhou dynasty (1122–221 BCE). During this extended period of turmoil, many men who had previously lived in privileged circumstances were forced to seek alternative means of living. These men had views about the causes of the unrest and proposed solutions for rectifying it. Confucius and many of his followers, sometimes described as scholar-officials (shi), competed with others for the ear of those in power (Hsu 1965: 34–7). The urgency of the political and social unrest shaped the views of this period; many of the

Chinese Philosophy

discussions focused on morality, political society and good governance. The Zhuangzi, a Daoist text composed between the fourth and third centuries BCE, describes the proliferation of ideas at that time: The empire is in utter confusion, sagehood and excellence are not clarified, we do not have the one Way and Power . . . There is an analogy in the ears, eyes, nose and mouth; all have something they illuminate but they cannot exchange their functions, just as the various specialities of the Hundred Schools all have their strong points and at times turn out useful. However, they are not inclusive, not comprehensive; these are men each of whom has his own little corner. (chapter 33, trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 275)

Scholars have adopted the phrase baijia zhi xue (“Hundred Schools of Learning”) to characterise the diversity of ideas and the spirit of debate of the time (e.g. Fung 1952: 132–69). The term “jia” (literally “house”; meaning “group”) referred to the doctrinal groups the early thinkers were associated with. We need to be wary of how the “groups” are classified. Approximately two centuries after the Warring States period, Sima Tan (d. 110 BCE), a historian of the Han court, categorised the different lines of thought into six groups, often translated as the “six schools of thought.”1 This classification in the Shiji (Records of the Grand Historian) proved to be extremely influential, dominating the study of Chinese thought for centuries to come. The six groups (liu jia) were: (1) Yin-Yang school: grounded in a belief in two major principles yin (female) and yang (male) and applied in particular to cosmology; (2) Ru school: the school of the literati, the scholars. Confucians were included in this group; (3) Mo school: the Mohist school, a close-knit organisation of soldiers and craftsmen with strict discipline, founded by Mozi; (4) Ming school: the Mingjia (Disputers concerned with names). Thinkers categorised

in

this

group

discussed

topics

relating

to

the

correspondence between language and reality; (5) Fa school: comprised by the Legalists, who emphasised penal law (fa) as a primary instrument of social control;

1

Sima Tan had started on the project to compile a chronicle of Chinese history. He did not complete the project, although his son, Sima Qian (c. 145 BCE–c.86 BCE) did. Entitled Shiji (Records of the Grand Historian), the work covers over two thousand years of Chinese history up until the rule of Emperor Wu (156–87 BCE) in the Han dynasty.

3

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An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy

(6) Dao-De school: comprised by thinkers who emphasised the way (dao) and power (de) in debates in metaphysics and political and social philosophy as well as in practice. (Fung 1948: 30–1) Sima Tan’s classification of the six schools of thought was haphazard. He identified three of them (yin-yang, fa and dao-de) according to their doctrinal commitments, one according to the social profile of its adherents (Ru, the literati), one according to the name the group had given itself (Mo, following the name of their founder) and one according to the area of inquiry (ming: names). These six categories are not merely descriptive. For Sima, each of the first five groups is deficient in some way, with the dao-de group being at the apex, espousing exemplary doctrine and practice. It is clear that this classification was driven by his own beliefs. Understanding this classification helps to demonstrate how there is no straightforward way to make the connections between thinkers, texts and traditions. In Sima Tan’s case, his polemical stance had been transmitted through the centuries as an authoritative, historical account of debates during the Warring States period, perhaps because it received official sanction, and perhaps its title contains the words “Records” and “History,” amongst other reasons. Quite a few of the texts discussed in this book bear the name of the alleged founder of a particular tradition, but this should not be taken as an indication of any of the following: that the text was authored by the founder, that the named founder was actually the person who initiated the tradition, or that participants in a tradition, as we know of them today, promoted their ideas in the belief that they were proponents of that tradition. Some of the texts, such as the Analects of Confucius and the Daoist Daodejing, are compiled collections written by different hands. Some others, such as the Zhuangzi, were heavily edited after their composition or compilation. Many were lost or destroyed during the period of unrest leading up to the establishment of the first empire, the Qin dynasty (221–206 BCE), and during the reign of its emperor, Qin Shihuang (259–210 BCE). During the Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE), official court-sponsored histories were written and existing texts classified, compiled and edited. The Han rewriting of many pre-Qin texts gives us reason to pause when attributing ideas to particular pre-Qin thinkers. Another factor that complicates our discussion of Chinese philosophy is the commentarial tradition in Chinese intellectual history. Commentators

Chinese Philosophy

would provide comments on and interpretations of the ideas and topics in texts. The comments are extensive, often offering a passage-by-passage commentary and exceeding the length of the original text. For complex reasons which varied from text to text, particular commentaries came to dominate the interpretation of the text, hence becoming the orthodox view of how the text was to be read and understood. One example of this is the commentary on the Analects written by Zhu Xi (1130–1200), a thinker whose ideas significantly shaped the neo-Confucian tradition. Zhu Xi’s commentary on the Analects was so influential that it overshadowed a much earlier, important commentary by He Yan (195–249). Similarly, Wang Bi’s (226–49) commentary on the Daodejing and Guo Xiang’s (d. 312) commentary on the Zhuangzi dominated the understanding of these two texts, respectively. Indeed, there are questions on how much of the extant Zhuangzi text has been edited and reorganised by Guo Xiang. The discovery of texts in unearthed tombs further compounds the difficulty of making thinker–text–tradition connections. Some collections of texts have been dated to parallel periods as those in our study, including the Mawangdui silk manuscripts in 1973, from a tomb sealed in 168 BCE (which includes a version of the Yijing and a set of known but unseen Daoist texts such as the Yellow Emperor’s Four Canons); Guodian bamboo strips in 1993, dated to approximately 300 BCE (including many Confucian texts as well as versions of the Daodejing); and those held at the Shanghai Metropolitan Museum, dated to approximately 300 BCE (comprising primarily Confucian texts, including the Yijing). Together with other caches of unearthed texts, these collections, containing previously unknown or unseen texts as well as versions of extant texts, present fresh angles and approaches (as in the Yellow Emperor’s Four Canons and the Guodian Xing Zi Ming Chu, for instance), casting new light on existing issues and debates. They have also challenged our understanding of Chinese philosophy in a major way: for example, the Guodian corpus contains texts aligned with both Confucian and Daoist traditions. This collection of texts has prompted the question of why they would be part of the same “library” if, as we have come to understand, there is longstanding hostility between proponents of the Confucian and Daoist traditions. Of course, its owner could have been interested in learning broadly. However, the Guodian’s Daodejing (Laozi C) does not seem to reject values associated with the Confucians, in the way the received version does. Was the Confucian-Daoist hostility a later development or fabrication? If so,

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An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy

how should we think about what has been until now the basic categorisations of “Confucianism” and “Daoism”? The ideas of lineages, traditions and Chinese intellectual history more broadly must now be approached with greater caution. We should keep these cautionary notes in mind as we work through this book. There are, however, a couple of caveats. For stylistic reasons, the discussions in the book sometimes associate particular thinkers with specific ideas. Readers should assume that phrases such as “Mencius believed that x” indicate that the source of the idea is to be found in the Mencius, where Mencius is sometimes presented as the spokesperson for the idea. There is no suggestion that Mencius was without doubt the author of the text. Second, in spite of the concerns about traditional categories such as “Confucianism” and “Daoism,” the chapter divisions in the book are made primarily on the basis of doctrinal affiliation, for reasons of accessibility. The discussions in the chapters will indicate, where appropriate, gaps created by the use of these categories, so that readers are aware of their limitations. We turn our attention next to a number of prominent features of Chinese philosophy.

Features of Chinese Philosophy Self-Cultivation The early Chinese thinkers believed that the transformation of the self was the answer to the unrest of the time. They discussed different methods of self-cultivation (xiushen) in relation to their respective visions of ideal society. The Confucians believed that cultivation involved discipline and rigour in both reflection and practice. It was believed that, in the process of cultivation, a person would learn from the past, observe human behaviour, reflect on his or her interactions with others and provide and gain mutual support from those who are like-minded. These practices would enable him or her gradually to develop an appreciation of relational attachment, obligations and responsibilities that arise from his or her particular place or roles in society; and understand the importance of taking a stance on matters, whether in relation to one’s superior or against the sway of the common people. There were differences among the various Confucian thinkers concerning the resources that were available to humanity: were humans born

Chinese Philosophy

with moral sensibilities and capabilities? What kinds of social structures would best engender self-cultivation? In the Mohist text, the Mozi, there is an entire chapter devoted to selfcultivation. There, its author discusses the cultivation of a commitment to benefit the world (Schwartz 1985: 158). The Mohist standard of benefit – improvement of collective welfare – was sometimes understood as antithetical to the Confucian vision due to its (perceived) lack of interest in close relational ties. Texts of the Daoist tradition such as the Daodejing, Zhuangzi and Liezi advocated intuitive and experiential grasp of dao, as opposed to life submerged within conventional practices, beliefs and expectations. The instruments of acculturation, including norms and prohibitions, as well as language itself, are held suspect. Self-cultivation in this tradition involves undoing many of the effects of socialisation and nurturing one’s life according to the axioms of nonconditioned action (wuwei) and self-so-ness (ziran). The Zhuangzi, for example, provides many images of skilled craftsmen – among them wheelmakers and cicada-catchers – who have rejected conventional forms of learning and pursuits and who exhibit delightful mastery of their craft. There were also religious Daoists for whom xiushen involved esoteric practices, rigorous discipline of the body and explorations in the use of alchemy (Kohn 1993; Robinet 1997). Yang Zhu (c. 350 BCE), who Mencius described as an egoist, was said to have promoted a philosophy of “each for himself” (weiwo). His idea of nurturing the self, which included attention to the body, was to keep it unadulterated from corrupting influences in society (Graham 1989: 53–64).2 Even the Legalists, who were concerned about the maintenance of the power of the ruler, gave cultivation a central place in their program. For them, it was critical for the ruler to develop strategies and skills especially to manage the officials on whom the ruler was dependent. For the early Chinese thinkers, cultivation was necessary because it equipped individuals with the skills and capabilities to deal with situations as they arose. It seems that they were deeply aware of the need to be responsive and were therefore focused on the practicalities of life. As we will see in the following chapters, in the early Chinese texts, considerations about how best to resolve a situation may differ from one individual to another, or

2

Mencius (a Confucian thinker) was a harsh critic of Yang Zhu, noting the latter’s unwillingness to shoulder social and civic responsibilities. See the discussion in Graham 1989: 53–64.

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An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy

according to the situation, or they might take into account the particular people one happens to be interacting with. This may help explain why not many of the thinkers justified their claims primarily through the use of principles. Here, the suggestion is not that these thinkers did not consider theoretical or conceptual issues; there was much speculative thought, including the contemplation of logical puzzles (especially by the Mingjia), as well as the use of metaphors, analogies and suggestive imagery. Nor was it the case, more specifically, that ethical principles did not figure in their thinking about moral issues. Rather, their discussions tend to focus on concrete events, and it could be that Immanuel Kant, having noticed this feature of their discussions, disparaged them as mere “examples”: Philosophy is not to be found in the whole Orient . . . Their teacher Confucius teaches in his writings nothing outside a moral doctrine designed for the princes . . . and offers examples of former Chinese princes . . . But a concept of virtue and morality never entered the heads of the Chinese . . . In order to arrive at an idea . . . of the good [certain] studies would be required, of which [the Chinese] know nothing.3

Kant’s observations (that the Confucian texts offer many examples) are right, although his conclusion is questionable. He assumes that there is only one approach to moral deliberation, which necessarily begins with the determination of “an idea of the good.” For the early Chinese thinkers, the differences from one situation to another mattered, and the examples demonstrated a range of possible and alternative ways to handle a situation. Familiarity with existing norms and possibilities, understanding limits and constraints and practising one’s responses in different situations – elements of cultivation – helped a person to understand the alternatives available to him or her in light of his or her capabilities. From this point of view, simply to know moral principles or even to be committed to them was practically inert. As the Mozi tells us, even if a blind person can articulate the difference between black and white, he does not know black, because he cannot select black objects from white ones.

3

Helmuth von Glasenapp, Kant und die Religionen des Osten. Beihefte zum Jahrbuch der Albertus-Universität, Königsberg/Pr. (Kitzingen-Main: Holzner Verlag, 1954), pp. 104, translated by Julia Ching (1978: 169). Ching focuses on fundamental differences in the structures and dynamics of early Chinese philosophy and Kantian philosophy.

Chinese Philosophy

Relationships and Contexts In the texts we examine, an individual is conceived of essentially in relational terms and as a situated being. An individual’s uniqueness rests only partly in the individual’s possession of those characteristics which set him or her apart from other individuals. It also derives from the individual’s place within the contextual environment and the relationships the individual has therein. The resulting picture of self is complex, with many factors shaping it, including its relationships with significant others and its experiences within its historical, cultural, social and political contexts. In ethical terms, rarely, if ever, is an individual expected to act as an independent, detached moral agent, or judged according to an idealised paradigm of independent selfhood. This has important implications for how we understand decision-making processes, choice and responsibility. In the different traditions in Chinese philosophy, this view of self is expressed in a range of ways. Confucian and Mohist debates focused primarily on human relationships in the sociopolitical context. They disagreed on whether close affective ties should occupy a central place in social life, with the Mohists being particularly mindful of the implications of such an arrangement. Both Mohists and Confucians also appealed to heaven (tian), sometimes as the ground of human morality and sometimes simply to set out the way things naturally were. Especially during the Han period and beyond, Confucian discourse incorporated a tripartite relationship between heaven (tian), earth (di) and humanity. This encompassing vision placed humanity in a position of responsibility, that is, to realise the dictates of heaven on earth. Daoist thinkers looked beyond human relationships in their consideration of dao. Discussions in the Daodejing and Zhuangzi drew on analogies between the human and natural worlds. The texts emphasise the importance of understanding all entities, processes, events, causes and energies in their contexts. In the Han dynasty, cosmological thinking, which holds that there are connections between the cosmic and human realms, was a popular theme expounded on by both Confucians and Daoists as well as in syncretic texts such as the Huainanzi. The Book of Changes (Yijing), a text used for divination, was reinterpreted during this time to reinforce claims about continuities and correspondences in the human, natural and cosmic worlds (Schwartz 1985: 358–70). From around the fifth century, some strands of

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Chinese Buddhist philosophy developed a distinctive view of an individual self as “empty” (kong). Yet, paradoxically because the self is empty, its distinctiveness arises as a result of its interdependent relationships with other entities. These traditions offer different views of what was “out there,” the world as we know it, and how individuals should orientate themselves in the world. In these accounts, metaphysical, epistemological and ethical elements are integrated. As we will see, the pictures of self-realisation in the different philosophies are dramatically different and often the cause of deep disagreement. From a contemporary perspective, the concept of self as primarily related to others and embedded in its environment raises concerns about the status of the individual. For instance, within the human sphere, would a self conceived in this way be overwhelmed by its relationships? Might the aim in one’s life be an unbearable juggling task of being a mother, a daughter, an employee, a teacher, an aunt, a niece and a wife? This is a picture of self, created and determined almost entirely by its roles (see Tu 1985: 51–66). Similar concerns have been raised in conjunction with Confucian or Chinese societies embodying a collectivist outlook, as contrasted with societies that place more weight on the individual and which allow for and encourage responsibility, creativity and other expressions of the self (see de Bary 1991; Tu 1972: 192–3). There is some basis for the concern that Chinese philosophy in general tends to focus on collective interests rather than individual interests, although we must resist the tendency to characterise the conception of relational and situated self simply as collectivist. It is inaccurate to say that the different Chinese traditions do not attend to matters relating to the interests of individuals. They do consider details pertaining to particular individuals and events, but there is often a sense that it is exceedingly difficult to isolate matters that pertain only to an individual or to draw clear lines of responsibility on that basis. We will see in the discussions that follow that instead of being “collectivist,” Chinese philosophy tends to assume interdependence between entities or individuals. There are many discussions about the overlaps between individual interests and common interests, reminding us that it is artificial to think solely in terms of either self-interest or servitude to others. This applies to relationships among humans, human relationships with natural entities, as well as the place of humanity in its social and natural environments. It is not that Chinese philosophy does not have a conception of individual

Chinese Philosophy

achievement. Rather, an individual’s achievements, ingenuity and resourcefulness, as well as his or her deficiencies and failures, are properly understood only in light of a person’s place in the world. On the one hand, although an individual may be constrained by aspects of his or her environment, on the other, the individual’s potency and the reach of his or her actions extend beyond the isolated self. In this light, the use of the individualist-collectivist dichotomy to characterise the Chinese view of self is noticeably simplistic.

Harmony Harmony and stability were critical issues for the early thinkers in China. The period of the “Hundred Schools” was one of great upheaval. Thinkers deliberated on the institutions, methods and processes that could help establish a more stable and peaceful existence. The Confucian vision of an ideal society saw good relationships as fundamental to social stability. The family was a microcosm of the state, the latter being sustained by edifying human relationships, with institutions established according to the wisdom of a benevolent (ren) sage king. The Mohists disagreed with the Confucian vision. They argued that, from the state’s point of view, it was necessary to engender inclusive concern of each person for everyone else. The Confucian approach, which advocated the cultivation of special relationships, was effectively a system that fostered particular loyalties. According to the Mohists, the outcome of the Confucian plan, writ large, is war between families and states. The Mohists were convinced that the means to achieve harmony was through standardisation. They believed that it was important to have standards (fa) in order to ensure consistency in the way people were treated. In other words, standards were important institutions that contributed to sociopolitical stability. Legalists shared these views about standards, although they had very different ideas about their purpose and implementation. While the Mohists sought to “standardise” or normalise altruism, Legalists devised penal law as the standard with which to control the people. Their ultimate concern was to maintain the power of the ruler. Uniformity was also important in the project of the Mingjia, who believed that the root cause of unrest lay in the lack of clarity in the connections between words and what they denoted, bringing about confusion and disagreement. As a result, they sought to establish consistent connections between words and their referents.

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Among the early thinkers, the Daoists stand apart in their hesitancy about social order and uniformity. Daoist philosophy embraces multiplicity and plurality, drawing examples from entities, beings and events in the natural world, to cast doubt on anthropocentric and reductive interpretations of life and world. The Daoist texts dwell on the chaotic unpredictability in natural events; these occurrences defy attempts by humans to classify, control and manipulate them. The Zhuangzi even celebrates the messy cacophony of differences between individual views. Daoist philosophy upholds a different conception of harmony from the other traditions that seek to establish standards. It does not believe that the elimination of differences is a prerequisite for harmony. According to the Daoist picture, attempts by other thinkers to systematise and unify difference actually caused fragmentation and dislocation. Daoist philosophy in fact overturns conventional expectations about harmony. To borrow another metaphor from music, the harmony sought by thinkers intent on standardising aspects of life is, in effect, a performance in unison; we see this in the Mohist and Legalist proposals for conformity. The Confucian picture is more nuanced. It takes into account some individual differences in its idea of reciprocity in roles and relationships. Even so, Daoist harmony stands out because it encourages plurality, enjoying the harmonies produced by different voices. This offers a robust account of variations within the whole. There is another way in which harmony is expressed in the Chinese traditions. This concerns how individuals bring together different elements or domains in their lives to achieve a satisfying equilibrium. In the Analects, equanimity is an enviable feature of the life of the exemplary person, in contrast to one who is often in a quandary. The Zhuangzi’s skill masters embody a similar composure in their actions, sometimes seemingly to a degree of recklessness, as in the case of the diver who jumped into the cascades. Chinese Buddhist thought offers a more developed account of harmony in the life of the individual. The Buddhist argument is one that first unsettles, with its emphasis that conventional life is illusory. A few of the Chinese Buddhist schools (such as the San Lun and Tian Tai schools) developed a distinctive middle-path approach that bridged the gap between life as it is known and life as it should be. Harmony is found neither in the illusory nor in the enlightened, but in the space between the two. Within this space, equilibrium is achieved not by bringing together elements of illusory and enlightened lives, but in rejecting each of them.

Chinese Philosophy

This brief sketch outlines how harmony in the Chinese traditions is manifest in a variety of ways, in individual and social lives: conformity, unity in purpose, cooperation, integration, composure, order and stability.

Change Chinese philosophy posits continuities and correspondences between individual entities and across different domains. This feature is articulated to different extents within the different traditions. It was developed much further during the late Warring States and Han dynasties, when effort was put into setting out systems of correspondences between cosmic and natural events (such as eclipses, earthquakes, positions of the planets, climate, weather and seasons), and events in the human world, including those relating to health, social institutions and political leadership. Some thinkers turned their attention to the Yijing, a text used in divination, to examine its assumptions about (anticipating) change and its effects. The text attends to change and its impact, so as to minimise harms, if not to maximise benefits. The anticipation of change was the motivation for divination. Given that individuals are exposed to many things beyond their control, it is important for them to understand how change comes about, and how they might be affected. The idea of mutual resonance, ganying, crystallises the concept of interdependent selfhood. It captures the susceptibility of individuals to factors external to their being and beyond their immediate control. But the apparent fragility of the individual must not be interpreted solely in negative terms. Effects of change may also be positive. Moreover, because of the innumerable possibilities in mutual transformation, individuals should not seek only what is in their self-interest. It is assumed that the welfare of others and the robustness of their wider environment will directly or indirectly affect an individual’s well-being. The Yijing embodies the practical orientation of Chinese philosophy. Not all of the text is philosophical in nature. Its oldest sections, from around the ninth century BCE, were intended for divination, though they did not also set out the rationale for understanding its practices and processes. Yet what is interesting about this text are its implicit assumptions about the world, the connections across its different domains, the relationships between entities, the complexity of causes and effects, the place of humanity in a constantly transforming world, and the importance of individual actions and responses. The Warring States and Han commentaries on the Yijing were deeply

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introspective about its project, methods and applications. The text and commentaries are discussed in greater detail in Chapter 9, with particular focus on the development of Chinese philosophy during the Han period. It is important here to highlight some of the Yijing’s themes for two reasons: these themes are manifest more broadly across the range of Chinese philosophical views, and they help to bring out what is distinctive in Chinese philosophy, especially in its thinking about change. The six features discussed here are mirrored in Chapter 9. 1. The primacy of observation. The Yijing emphasises observation as a critical element in reflective thinking, and procedurally prior to it. The predictions and prescriptions in the text are grounded in observations (guan) of connections, movements and transformations in the world. From these observations, one perceives patterns, regularities and correlations. In an approach similar to that articulated in the Yijing, thinkers of different persuasions began by observing human behaviour. Their deliberations on social, political and ethical life reflect their observations on corruption and selfishness, as well as compassion and altruism, in society. Daoist and Mohist thinkers, in particular, were struck by the plurality they observed. For example, in their ruminations about language and its connections with reality, the Later Mohists were preoccupied with the question of how language could fulfil both the aims of efficient communication, on the one hand, and accurate representation of the plural and diverse world, on the other. It seems that, being led by their observations of plurality in the world, they were unable to make the kinds of abstractions required in order to reflect on structure in language. In this and other areas of concern, early Chinese philosophy has a palpably empirical character. 2. A

holistic,

all-encompassing

perspective.

The

Yijing

divination

statements place specific events within a larger environmental context in order to understand more fully the factors and agents of change. There is attention to the locus within which individuals or events are situated, be it human society, dao, heaven and earth, or the cosmos. In Chinese philosophy, while it is recognised that individuals are the subjects of their experiences, the experiences are fully understood only within a context. As we have noted previously, for example, Confucian philosophy sees the self as a contextually embedded being, constituted in part by elements of its specific cultural and historical tradition. Even the concept dao,

Chinese Philosophy

sometimes described as transcendent, is not discontinuous from or independent of life in the world. 3. A dialectical and complementary approach to dualisms. The Yijing sets up complementary opposites in its conceptual framework using contrastive concepts such as high and low, action and repose and hard and soft. These paired concepts are part of the explanatory framework of change, perhaps in seasonal or cyclic fashion, one phase replacing another and being replaced by it in due course. This binary complementation is most pronounced in, though not restricted to, Daoist philosophy. (e.g. Confucianism emphasises reciprocity in relationships.) Daoist philosophy casts doubt on conventional markers of success and well-being by challenging the monolithic structure of values. Binary complementation also figures significantly in the Daoist approach to argumentation, especially in Zhuangzi‘s disagreements with the Disputers (Bianzhe)4, who sought to settle disputes by fixing names to their referents (objects and events) in the real world. Zhuangzi rejected their logic that things had to be either so or not-so, suggesting that more could be gained from a dialectical approach that valued contrasts between perspectives. 4. Correlative thinking and resonance. Correlative thinking is, broadly speaking, the view that events and situations in one realm are parallel to, or help to explain, those in another. An example from early Chinese philosophy is the correlation between a dysfunctional state and a diseased body, both lacking in alignment between parts and hence disharmonious. The theme of resonance posits tighter causal relations between two events or objects, including responsiveness, whether of one to the other or mutually between the two. Both these themes are integral features of Han thought. Yet there are suggestions of correlative thinking before this period, as, for instance, in the cooperation, collusion or simpler correspondences between the natural world, on the one hand, and the sociopolitical realm, on the other. We also know that beliefs in correspondences between cosmic phenomena and human well-being were widespread during the Warring States period as Xunzi felt the need to dispel superstitious beliefs in cosmic phenomena, such as eclipses, as portents of forthcoming events in the human domain. These beliefs are also documented in the unearthed “Daybooks” (Rishu). 4

Their philosophy is discussed in Chapter 6.

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5. An interpretive approach to the meanings of the hexagrams and correspondences. The use of the Yijing involved interpreting particular hexagrams to articulate its relevance to specific matters. We can see the dominance of the interpretive approach in Chinese philosophy more generally, where abstract, universally applicable axioms only have prima facie status. They are open to modification according to relevant circumstantial factors. The use of interpretation figures prominently in the commentarial tradition in Chinese intellectual history, whereby thinkers would focus on a particular idea or element in a classic so as to draw out its insights on a topic or debate. 6. Timeliness and practical wisdom. The Yijing dwelt on matters in the wider environment, including the weather, seasons and climate, in order to provide a comprehensive and inclusive picture of the environment within which humans had to situate themselves. In its discussions, issues related to metaphysics, epistemology and ethics are not clearly delineated; understanding the environment was critical for the orientation of the self. Watchfulness was required as imminent changes in the natural and social worlds were expected. The Yijing embodies an attitude that is expectant of change and that seeks to prepare for it and deal with it. With this as a fundamental viewpoint, the early thinkers worked with possibilities rather than certainties, thinking about whether some intended course of action was possible (ke), and whether, on a particular occasion, a certain action could proceed (xing). Recognition of change as a fundamental feature of existence prompted them especially to concentrate on the cultivation of skills associated with awareness of and sensitivity to one’s surrounds. This was the best guarantee of appropriate and timely action when the situation arose. We now turn our attention to a number of features of philosophical thinking in the Chinese tradition.

Thinking Philosophically Debate and argumentation are prominent features of Chinese philosophy. From the Spring and Autumn period, thinkers have had to grapple with a plurality of viewpoints. John J. Clarke, who investigated the reception and interpretation of Daoist ideas through periods in Western intellectual

Chinese Philosophy

history, argued that this context of plurality, and its implications, should not go unnoticed: Such debates must . . . be seen in the wider environment of an attitude of toleration and pluralism that has long been endemic at certain levels of Chinese cultural life, a cultural attitude which has not until relatively recently become acceptable in the West. (Clarke 2000: 27)

Clarke is referring to debates between rival Daoist and Buddhist thinkers from the fourth century CE. But there were earlier debates between Confucians, Daoists and Mohists, with each set of thinkers rejecting the doctrines of others. There is some evidence that, during the fourth century BCE, an assembly of thinkers of different persuasions were gathered under the auspices of Jixia, the Ji Gate in the capital of Qi during the Warring States period, under the direction of King Wei of Qi (357–320 BCE).5 A situation like this could help explain the development of the syncretic method, a significant feature of debates in Chinese philosophy. The method involves drawing views from (seemingly) incompatible doctrines and integrating them into a viable theory. The syncretic approach is markedly different from analysis, which involves exposing the assumptions that lie behind particular theories and scrutinising the justification of basic concepts and ideas. While analysis seeks to identify and isolate basic components of an argument, the syncretic approach integrates ideas from doctrines that seem to be at odds with each other. As a result of the widespread application of syncretic thinking, many Chinese philosophies have come to include elements from traditions other than their own. Thomé Fang, a Chinese philosopher, captured the syncretic spirit in this way: “I am a Confucian by family tradition; a Daoist by temperament; a Buddhist by religion and inspiration” (Fang 1981: 525). Because of the syncretic element in Chinese philosophy, it is important to acquire a sense of intellectual history in order to grasp the influences across the different traditions. This engenders an appreciation of how ideas are

5

There is some debate, however, regarding the organisation at Jixia. Some scholars, such as David Nivison, believe that Jixia was an institution (1999: 769–70). They also hold that many influential thinkers including Xunzi (310?–219? BCE) and Shen Dao (350?– 275 BCE) were at this Academy. Nivison also notes that the scholars at the Academy were forbidden to take on political roles; they held only advisory capacities. However, Nathan Sivin argues that evidence on Jixia as a formally organised academy is very thin (1995b: 19–26).

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built upon, reinterpreted, appropriated and applied to different debates. The effect of the syncretic approach is an ongoing layering of themes, concepts and ideas. It is therefore immensely difficult clearly to distinguish specific characteristics of each of the “original” schools of thought associated with its founding thinker or thinkers. Thus, it makes more sense to speak of the different philosophical traditions rather than the philosophy of each specific “school” as a distinctive and coherent stream of ideas. Another prominent feature of argumentation in Chinese philosophy is its preference for suggestive and evocative imagery, examples, analogies, metaphors and illustrations. The use of suggestive and illustrative tools in argumentation reflects a concern to illuminate ideas, explore their implications and ascertain their applications. This issue of argumentative methods is integrally connected to the purpose of inquiry, as perceived by the early thinkers. The frequent use of suggestive methods points to an approach that places the onus of interpretation and understanding on the reader. Without doubt, readers will bring their perspectives to bear on their reading of texts in general. But there is an encouragement of, and perhaps even a requirement for, personal reflection when the text engages in metaphors, analogies and the like. It is therefore unsurprising when readers of the Zhuangzi comment on the power of the text to draw its readers into its discussions and to encourage reflective thinking. But it is not only the Daoist texts that embody this feature. The Confucian Analects also prompts readers to ask questions, consider different approaches, imagine the contexts of the conversations and reflect on reasons for action. Reading these texts is primarily a reflective activity for the reader. This is not to say that the articulation of theoretical foundations or philosophical truth is not a concern in Chinese philosophy. However, it was not the only concern in the Chinese intellectual traditions, and not an important objective in some of them. The first chapter of the Zhuangzi, for example, is entitled “Going rambling without a destination” (Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 43–7). It communicates a belief in the value of reflective activity – of contemplation and reflection – as an end-in-itself. It is noncommittal about its destination, if there is one.6 That reflective activity is valued

6

This may be attributed to lack of interest in metaphysical issues, namely, those matters pertaining to an underlying truth or reality. Alternatively, the reason may be an epistemological one, that even if there were an underlying reality, it is impossible to know what it is like.

Chinese Philosophy

as an end rather than simply a means to truth, generates important questions about the nature of philosophical thinking and the place of philosophy in human life. In this spirit, the reader is encouraged to reflect on the elements of Chinese philosophy and, in the style of Chinese philosophy, to use them to acquire a deeper understanding of both Chinese philosophy and his or her own personal beliefs and commitments.

Suggestions for Further Reading de Bary, Theodore, and Bloom, Irene (eds.) (1999) Sources of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 1600, vol. 1, 2nd edn., New York: Columbia University Press. Defoort, Carine (2001) “Is There Such a Thing as Chinese Philosophy? Arguments of an Implicit Debate,” Philosophy East and West, 51.3: 393–413. Denecke, Wiebke (2011) The Dynamics of Masters Literature: Early Chinese Thought from Confucius to Han Feizi, Harvard-Yenching Institute Monograph Series 74. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Fang, Thomé H. (1981) Chinese Philosophy: Its Spirit and Its Development, 2nd edn., Taipei: Linking Publishing. Fung, Yu-Lan (1947) The Spirit of Chinese Philosophy, trans. E. R. Hughes, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Hsu, Cho-Yun (1999) “The Spring and Autumn Period,” in Michael Loewe and Edward Shaughnessy (eds.), The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 545–86. Nivison, David (1999) “The Classical Philosophical Writings,” in Michael Loewe and Edward Shaughnessy (eds.), The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 745–812. Shaughnessy, Edward L. (2006) Rewriting Early Chinese Texts, Albany: State University of New York Press. Twitchett, Denis, and Loewe, Michael (eds.) (1986) The Cambridge History of China, vol. 1: The Ch’in and Han Empires, 221 B.C.–A.D. 220, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Confucius and the Analects

Troubled by the unrest of the Spring and Autumn period, Confucius (Kongzi) (551–479 BCE) proposed the ethical reform of society. His proposal involved the elimination of the power-mongering and exploitative behaviours of those in power. The process was to be initiated by exemplary court officials, men of broad education and committed to beneficent government. As the instigator of these ideas, Confucius is recognised as belonging to a group known as the Ru (Literati).1 The Ru were learned men who sought to share and realise their insights on the ethical administration of government.2 However, the nature of the connection between the Ru and the Confucians depicted in the Analects – the Conversations – is quite unclear (Zufferey 2014). Ruist education consisted in the cultivation of an ethically and ritually disciplined life. As some Ru extended the rigours of ceremonial court ritual to the social and domestic arenas, Confucians have sometimes been thought of as traditionalists. It is interesting that in the Analects (7:1), Confucius is noted to have said that he is a transmitter, not a creator. Did he see himself primarily as a proponent of a traditional way?

1

Details of Confucius’ life are patchy, as the key sources date from a period sometime after

2

The social mobility of a group of scholar-officials, the shi, rapidly increased during the

his death. Refer to the discussions by Eno (2014) and Riegel (2013). Warring States period. Particularly during 512–464 BCE, the shi, having established themselves in their learning, began to play more active roles than rulers (Hsu 1965: 8). It has been suggested that Confucius and many of his pupils belonged to this shi class (Hsu 1965: 34–7). Competition between the many warring states necessitated the selection of capable functionaries by those in power (Hsu 1999: 572–83).

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Confucius and the Analects

Reading the Analects

Textual

The key text for Confucius’ ideas is The Analects of Confucius (Lunyu).

matters

The text comprises conversations Confucius was meant to have had with his followers. The extant text provides an unreliable picture of Confucius as it was compiled during the Western Han (206 BCE–9 CE), at least two and a half centuries after Confucius’ death.3 More recently, two unearthed versions of the text, believed to pre-date the received version, have received some scholarly attention.4 In spite of the evidence that suggests multiple versions of the Analects were in circulation around the Western Han period, some scholars have attempted to date the received text’s sections.5 How might the text be read? The 499 short passages in the Analects are not systematically organised and repetitions and inconsistencies are common. Because the extant text is composite, it is not surprising to find that a term or concept may have several different meanings in its conversations. The reader will not find clearly articulated doctrines or justified points of view, even though it is sometimes possible to construct a plausible account of

3

The extant text is based on He Yan’s (195–249) Collected Explanations of the Analects. He Yan’s version draws in large part from an earlier version of the text, edited by Zhang Yu (d. 5 BCE) during a time when there were three recensions of the text: the Gu Lun, Qi Lun and the Lu Lun (Makeham 2003a: 363–77).

4

In 1973, a collection of bamboo slips, including sections of what is believed to be the earliest known version of the Analects, was unearthed in Dingzhou, Hebei Province. The tomb was believed to have been sealed at around 55 BCE. The tomb’s contents, including the Dingzhou Analects, have been bedevilled by a series of unfortunate events including a tomb robbery and fire that destroyed many of the bamboo slips, and an earthquake in 1976 that caused further damage. Scholarly attention on the Dingzhou Analects has been somewhat limited because of the damaged slips, together with other reasons (van Els 2009). The other discovery, the P’yŏngyang Analects (also known as Lelang Analects), is thought to have been roughly contemporaneous with the Dingzhou Analects. The former was discovered in a tomb in the early 1990s in North Korea (Csikszentmihalyi and Kim 2014: 32).

5

Refer to Csikszentmihalyi and Kim 2014 for a discussion of the formulation and circulation of different versions of the text during the Han period. On the issue of dating the sections of the Analects, the most prominent study is by Brooks and Brooks (Original Analects, 1998), who align sections of the text with certain events in the lives of the early Confucian followers.

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the rationale for the conversations and some key themes. Such work may involve the study of texts of the same period, philological study and analysis of historical data, including examination of artefacts of the period. The text remains valuable as a repository of insights into the intellectual history of Confucianism and of China more generally. At another level, a good number of contemporary scholars – philosophers in particular – take the Analects as a text that is open-ended. These scholars propose contemporary applications of ideas in the Analects, as discussed below.

Confucius emerges from the Analects as a committed and conscientious thinker. In many passages a range of people, including his followers, dukes and governors of villages, consult him on issues relating to good government and, more broadly, a good life. Details in some of the passages intend to show how Confucius takes various factors into consideration to arrive at a decision. Yet, many first-time readers of the Analects are struck by the lack of basic normative principles or criteria upon which Confucius bases his decisions. For instance, in 13:18, he expects sons and fathers to cover up for each other’s misdeeds: The Governor of She in conversation with Confucius said, “In our village there is someone called ‘True Person.’ When his father took a sheep on the sly, he reported him to the authorities.” Confucius replied, “Those who are true in my village conduct themselves differently. A father covers for his son, and a son covers for his father. And being true lies in this.” (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 166–7)

Some are surprised that Confucius, known widely as the founder of Confucian ethics, could make such immoral prescriptions as lying or, worse still, encourage nepotism. But if we continue to reflect on this conversation, there are more questions we want to ask. These include, What were the punishments, if any, for theft? What was the worth of a sheep? How was the neighbour affected? What are the consequences for the child, if he were to reveal his father’s theft and, alternatively, if he doesn’t? The situation of this child is a uniquely difficult one and presents no easy solution whether in Confucius’ time or ours. We may simply decide that it is morally unacceptable at any place and time to recommend covering up, or we might focus on

Confucius and the Analects

the conversation’s contextual details, which may have a bearing on Confucius’ remarks. These details include the place of family and loyalty in ethical life, the ethical significance of relationships, the requirement to cover up for another, Confucius’ method of moral deliberation and the criteria he uses here. If we understand Confucius’ comments as normative prescriptions, it would be difficult to see how what Confucius said to a duke about running a state, or how Confucius seats himself while eating, has relevance for us today. Perhaps we should not expect the Analects to provide normative answers to our ethical dilemmas. Instead, we might read it in order to understand the complexities associated with the processes of moral reasoning as the early Confucians understood it. In this light, I suggest that the Analects be read as if it is a collection of diary entries of practice and beliefs associated with the Confucian tradition rather than a book of authoritative sayings or a comprehensive and systematic philosophical treatise. It can be read as a manual on how Confucius and others handled situations and responded to others in context, that is, as a repository of insights to generate and encourage reflective thinking about our own actions and commitments. With this methodology in mind, let us proceed to examine two foundational concepts in the Analects, ren (humaneness) and li (behavioural propriety). Together, they express facets of cultivated humanism in the Confucian tradition. A fuller understanding of Confucian philosophy rests in part on how we understand these two concepts and the interplay between them.

Ren: Humaneness Ren is mentioned only occasionally in texts pre-dating Confucius.6 In its earlier usage, the term referred to some manly or virile quality. For example, in two hunting poems in the Book of Poetry (Shi Jing), two huntsmen are referred to as “handsome and ren” (Schwartz 1985: 51). In the Book of History (Shu Jing), ren refers to the benevolent attitude of the ruler to his subjects. In the hands of the Confucians, however, the term denoted a moral quality characteristic of humanity. Hence, it is not surprising to find some variation in its use in the Analects, for example, to refer to humanity in general, 6

Wing-tsit Chan presents a comprehensive discussion of the pre-Confucian usage of ren (1955: 295–319).

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humaneness as a distinguishing characteristic of humanity, compassion as the primary virtue, or the compassionate character of a community (McLeod 2012). In broad terms, ren in the Analects captures the idea of a distinctively human need and disposition for relationality, manifest in an exemplary life within a socio-political context. The meaning of the term is also revealed in its Chinese character: ren (仁) is comprised of two characters, the left signifying humanity (人) and the right, the number two (二). This suggests that the term pertains to human relatedness. Hence, it has been variously translated into English as benevolence, love, humaneness, humanity, humanheartedness, compassion and sympathy.7 Its meaning in the Analects is multifaceted, and some more recent translations of ren avoid identifying it with any one English term as that may change the meanings and scope of the term. Aspects of ren are considered in the following sections.

Ren as General Concern for Humanity Ren is “to love all humanity” (ai ren), says Confucius in 12:22 (adapted from the translation by Legge, Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 1: 261). This anecdote identifies ren with a general, indiscriminating love. However, in 4:3, it is said that “only the man of ren knows to like and dislike others” (trans. author), which suggests that the person of ren is discriminating in his assessment of others. How is it possible both to “love” all humanity and yet to dislike some people? Analects 4:3 uses the phrase “hao ren” which means to like someone rather than to love them (ai ren). We should also keep in mind that the phrase “to love all humanity” in 12:22 was typically used in relation to those in positions of power, suggesting a ruler’s general concern for all his people. Hence, “to love all humanity” is not to demonstrate attentiveness marked by affection. It is possible both to hold a general concern for the populace and, at the same time, to exercise one’s judgment about individuals. In 17:24, Confucius is explicit about the kinds of people he dislikes, including slanderers and gossip-mongers. This is consistent with the importance of “knowing men” (zhiren), also described in 12:22; it was critical for those in positions of power to understand individuals well so as to employ them optimally in office (see also 20:3). 7

Wing-tsit Chan suggests that Confucius was the first to have conceived of ren as the general virtue (1975: 107).

Confucius and the Analects

There is also a sense of judgemental sternness in Confucius’ statement that ill will should be requited with uprightness, not kindness: Someone said, “To repay ill will with goodwill – what do you think of that?” The Master said, “And what will you repay goodwill with? Rather repay ill will with uprightness, and goodwill with goodwill.” (14:34; trans. author)

This unambiguous statement brings out an even-handed approach to what is just or right. James Legge (1815–97), a Christian missionary in China and an early translator of the classical Chinese texts into English, points out the incompatibility of this proposal with Christian love. Legge states, “How far the ethics of Confucius fall below the Christian standard is evident from this chapter” (Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 1: 288, n. 86.2). It may well be that the authors of these passages did not have the equivalent of Christian love in mind. We have seen that “to love all humanity,” as well as liking and disliking some people, are context-specific terms. The idea of ren as general concern for all humanity applies to those in power, who are also expected to critically assess officials’ actions and moral qualities.

Ren, the Confucian Golden Rule The golden rule takes the morally aware person as its starting point. It operates on the assumption that there is general agreement between people about their desires and interests. The Analects presents a version of the golden rule: “do not do to others what you do not wish to be done to yourself” (12:2; 15:24). This negative formulation of the golden rule is sometimes dubbed the “silver rule” because it is seen to promote a more passive approach. On this view, the silver rule requires not good or moral actions but only ones that do not bring about harm (Allinson 1985). Conceptually, the silver rule highlights the nature of relationships in Confucian thought. It requires each person to exercise moral imagination, not necessarily to put themselves in the other’s shoes, but by imagining that the other is like them in what they seek to avoid. The silver rule is not as “passive” as it seems; it requires a person not to impose what is undesirable upon someone else. This, in turn, involves close scrutiny of one’s own actions and their potential impact on others. In the Analects, the term shu, translated as reciprocity or mutuality, accentuates the give-and-take in relationships (15:24). Relationships often involve

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power and hierarchy, but the focus here is on the responsibility of the self not to exploit the other. Therefore, close examination of one’s deeds is required on a daily basis (1:4), placing the onus of responsibility on the self. In 4:15, shu is also accorded fundamental significance, this time in conjunction with another concept, zhong: The Master said, “Zeng, my friend! My way (dao 道) is bound together with one continuous strand.” . . . Master Zeng said, “The way of the Master is doing one’s utmost (zhong 忠) and putting oneself in the other’s place (shu 恕), nothing more.” (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 92)

Zhong is commonly translated as “conscientiousness” or “doing one’s best.” However, these translations do not help us understand why zhong should be coupled with shu. Perhaps a translation of zhong in terms not of action (doing one’s best) but of commitment (being one’s best) will help us see their correlation better. In a nutshell, to be one’s best (zhong) – to optimise one’s achievements – involves fostering mutually benefiting relationships (shu). Collective welfare in Confucian thought is conceived in this way: a person’s well-being is enhanced if others around her are enriched by her actions (6:30). In this light, zhong and shu may be understood as two dimensions of the same process. To be one’s best is to benefit the other. Therefore, being one’s best and fostering mutually benefiting relationships constitute “one continuous strand” (yiguan).

Ren and the Cultivation of Particular Relationships The cultivation of ren begins with the development of family relationships with their attendant emotions and special obligations. In other words, one first learns about human attachment through interaction with family members. Hence it is said that filial piety (xiao) and brotherly respect (di) are the root of ren (1:2). This characterisation of ren in this passage, which emphasises different emotional attachments, is sharply distinguished from ren as generalised concern, as discussed previously. We might pause at this point to question the meaning of the “root” of ren. It may mean that caring affection – especially the kinds of emotional attachment we have to family members – is a basic, defining trait of all humanity.

Confucius and the Analects

This interpretation takes filial piety and, by extension, other familial ties as a primary fact of human existence. Alternatively, “root” may indicate that the family context is the initial environment for moral development. Within this environment, one learns to empathise, negotiate, love, care for, gain sympathy, express regret, balance competing loyalties and prioritise obligations (4:18). The skills learnt in the family environment are vital for a person’s interactions with others in later life. These two meanings of the “root” of ren – the first emphasising feelings for others, and the second, family context – are not mutually exclusive. Basic feelings such as affection are a central part of human life. They are established, in the first instance, in the bond between parent and child. Ideally, family contexts are positive and nurturing, giving children emotional stability and confidence. If the Analects is correct that family relationships play a dominant role in one’s formative years – that they shape the person in many important and subtle ways – we should examine the text to uncover its reflections on the place of primary relationships in moral life.

Ren as Practical Wisdom The Analects offers many examples of how ren is manifest in the life of the Confucian paradigmatic individual. For example, it is associated with five attitudes: deference, tolerance, making good on one’s word, diligence and generosity (17:6). It is realised in both domestic and public contexts (13:19). One’s commitment to ren is not simply a commitment to see things a particular way. It is realised only in practice, especially in one’s interaction with others. Therefore, a person must learn broadly, from a range of sources, so as to familiarise oneself with possibilities for action in different contexts (19:6; see also 2:11). The exercise of practical wisdom involves drawing on ideas and experiences (of others’ and one’s own) in order to enlighten one’s own situation, and to apply these reflections to one’s actions. The person of ren is confident in his interactions: The Master said, “A wise person (zhi) is not perplexed (huo); a ren-person is not anxious (you); a courageous person is not timid.” (9:29; trans. author)

The simplicity of the statement highlights the calmness of the ren-person, in contrast to a person who is anxious. It is interesting that this passage draws together wisdom, ren and courage. Confucian scholar Antonio Cua aptly

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describes the enviable disposition of the man of ren: “His easeful life is more a matter of attitude and confidence in his ability to deal with difficult and varying situations, rather than an exemplification of his infallible judgement and authority” (Cua 1971: 47). Ren is practically oriented; the primary question in the Analects concerns how it is optimally realised in a person’s actions and undertakings (Lai 2012). We now turn to explore another major term in the Analects, li (behavioural propriety) before investigating its connections with ren in practice.

Li: Behavioural Propriety The concept li also has considerable elasticity. In pre–Warring States (prior to the fifth century BCE) texts, the term referred to religious ritual for harvest and thanksgiving conducted by the emperor, also referred to as the “Son of Heaven.” Through the Western Zhou period (1045–771 BCE), rituals were part of courtly life; some of them involved magnificent, multi-faceted displays involving music and musical rhythm, dance, speech and comportment (Kern 2009: 153–4). During the Spring and Autumn, and Warring States periods, ceremonial ritual was carried out in the petty courts as well (Dubs 1966: 116). Rituals were also practiced more widely to induce supernatural protection and a wide range of blessings, including for one’s material welfare (Poo 1998). We can detect some of these features of li in the Analects. Here, li may refer to religious ritual (3:17), the comportment of the cultivated person (12:1) and behavioural propriety in the ordinary interactions of the common people (2:3). Partly because of its association with ancient ritual, li sometimes evokes a sense of conformity and conservatism. However, its employment in the Analects is not always consistent. At some points it appears to be rather inflexible, as, for instance, when Confucius insisted on following through with ritual practice rather than sparing the sheep (3:17). Yet, on occasions, Confucius suggests it is permissible to deviate from accepted practice if sound reasons have been provided as, for instance, when he chooses to bow before, rather than after, ascending the steps to the hall (9:3). In some of its conversations, the Analects makes room for flexibility in the exercise of discretion. In Analects 4:10, Confucius purportedly said, “In dealing with matters in the world, an exemplary person is not for or against anything. He follows what is appropriate” (trans. author). Here, the term “appropriate” (yi) brings out how the exemplary person needs to do the right thing in context. On the basis of our discussions so far, we may envisage li, ren and

Confucius and the Analects

yi as engaged in a three-way relation. Ren pertains to human affect, li to the received ways of expressing that affect, and yi to enacting ren in light of what is right in a particular situation.8 In the Analects, standards of behavioural propriety served as guides for correct behaviour in a range of relational contexts: between children and parents (2:5), subject and ruler (3:18) and prince and minister (3:19). Li mapped out different requirements for appropriate behaviour according to one’s place in a particular relationship. In addition, li also has an aesthetic dimension as it incorporates decorum in a person’s interactions with others (8:2). The assumption here is that through their own performances (as well as observing those of others), individuals will gradually grasp the different obligations, appropriate emotions and motivational reasons that properly underlie li-practices. Ideally, ongoing li-practice fosters a deeper appreciation of human relationships. We should also note the anti-conformism which comes across in 2:3: The Master said, “Lead the people with administrative injunctions (zheng 政) and keep them orderly with penal law (xing 刑), and they will avoid punishments but will be without a sense of shame. Lead them with excellence (de 德) and keep them orderly through observing ritual propriety (li 禮) and they will develop a sense of shame, and moreover, will order themselves.” (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 76)

This passage draws a sharp contrast between li, and punishments as instruments with which to regulate behaviour. It is undesirable for people simply to comply with regulations in order to avoid punishment. The culture of punishments made people “clever” and glib in order to evade punishment.9 In contrast, Confucian li is not concerned with avoidance but seeks to incorporate moral reasons in action (1:3; 4:24; 14:20; 14:27). Added to these concerns was the issue of penal law being overly general, universalising over persons and situations.10 8

Yi figures in a few conversations in the Analects. However, it has a number of different meanings in the conversations in this text. The term has more developed and defined meanings in the Mencius and Xunzi. We will devote more attention to yi in the following

9

chapter, when we discuss those two texts. Hansen convincingly juxtaposes punishment as self-preserving, against li as other-regarding. Hansen provides an insightful analysis of the role of words in litigation (1992: 64–5).

10

The theme that relational attachment must be recognised in legal institutions has persisted through Chinese history, even up until the Ming (1368–1644) and Qin (1644–1911) dynasties; some scholars dub this phenomenon the “Confucianisation of law.” Refer to Ch’u (1965: 267–79).

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A number of the passages in the Analects emphasise that li-practices are expressions of reverence (3:26; 17:21). In 17:11, the practice of both li and music is grounded in the sincere intentions and emotions, of the gift-giver and the performer, respectively: The Master said, “Surely when one says ‘The rites, the rites,’ it is not enough merely to mean presents of jade and silk. Surely when one says ‘Music, music,’ it is not enough merely to mean bells and drums.” (trans. Lau, Confucius, 1979a: 145)

The presentation of gifts – even expensive ones such as jade and silk – is an act devoid of significance if it is not accompanied by the appropriate underlying emotions. The analogy with music is informative too: clanging bells and beating drums do not constitute music. Meaningful performances of music are always accompanied by appropriate emotions. Here, the emotion and its correct or optimal expression are irreducible, each to the other. Both are critical: the expression is the manifestation of the emotion, and emotions unexpressed are not realised. But what is the place of emotions in the Analects? Are they a component of ren? Many of the passages in the Analects suggest a deep connection between ren and li: one’s concern for humanity, ren, must be expressed intelligibly in lived contexts. In the words of Tu Weiming, Confucian self-cultivation is about “Learning to be Human” (1985: 51–66). Here, it is important to reflect on the normative force of li: might li stifle individuality, or might it inhibit emotions? Is there room in Confucian philosophy for the individual to challenge the status quo? This depends in part on how the relation between ren and li is understood, and which of the two concepts is thought to have precedence.

Ren and Li The conversations in the Analects are divided on the relative priority of ren and li. Those associated with the disciples Zi You and Zi Xia seem to emphasise the greater significance of li, while those involving Zeng Zi, Zi Zhang and Yan Hui show a greater commitment to ren (Schwartz 1985: 130–4). This disagreement was later characterised as the “nei-wai” (inner-outer) debate. Within this debate, the “nei” position refers to the internal, perhaps innate, moral sense of humanity as the core idea of ren. By contrast, the “wai” stance centres on the spirit of li, the externally imposed, socially constructed norms

Confucius and the Analects

which guide and in some ways limit the “inner” self. This debate also touches on the nature-nurture question and its implications for moral cultivation. Which is more fundamental to the Confucian programme, natural (inner) moral inclination or its (outer) cultivation? Analects 6:18 makes it clear that both basic disposition (zhi) and refinement (wen) are necessary. Confucius here wittily rejects overemphasis on either: The Master said, “When one’s basic disposition (zhi 質) overwhelms refinement (wen 文), the person is boorish; when refinement overwhelms one’s basic disposition, the person is an officious scribe. It is only when one’s basic disposition and refinement are in appropriate balance that you have the exemplary person (junzi 君子).” (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 107–8)

There is no clear support in the Analects for either an “inner” or “outer” morality. The debate plays out in a more prominent way in the Mengzi and Xunzi texts, as we will see in the next chapter. In the following three sections, we explore how some contemporary scholars understand the relation between ren and li.

Ren Is Fundamental Analects 3:3 asserts the priority of ren over li: The Master said, “What has a person who is not authoritative (ren 仁) got to do with observing ritual propriety (li 禮)? What has a person who is not authoritative got to do with the playing of music (yue 樂)?” (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 82)

Music has two dimensions, one being the performative and the other its underlying emotion (ren). By analogy, the practice of ritual propriety encompasses both performative know-how and the expression of human feeling. Neither li nor music is meaningful if it is not accompanied by the appropriate human sentiments (ren). In this passage and a number of others (3:12; 3:26; 17:17; 17:21), ren is the ethical and motivational basis of ritual propriety. In 3:26, Confucius effectively sums up the futility of mechanical compliance: What could I see in a person who in holding a position of influence is not tolerant, who in observing ritual propriety (li 禮) is not respectful, and who in overseeing the mourning rites does not grieve? (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 88)

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In Western moral philosophy, the intentions of the moral agent are often considered more ethically significant than behavioural compliance. Some contemporary Confucian scholars, perhaps influenced by this, seek to match this preference by placing emphasis on ren, the “inner” commitment of the moral agent. Tu Weiming is a notable proponent of this view. He argues that commitment to human well-being (which he associates with ren) is the foundation of Confucian ethics. As such, it cannot be overridden by behavioural norms which are contingent on historical and social factors. He cites the comments of the modern Chinese writer and critic, Lu Xun (1881–1936): During the Ming-Qing period, quite a number of widows committed suicide hoping to show that their acts were in conformity with the li of chastity. In view of such stupidity, Lu Xun was quite justified in calling this type of li “eating man” chiren. (Tu 1968: 37)

For Tu, ren comes to the rescue of li. In cases where li-practices are no longer acceptable, or if they are detrimental to humanity, ren has the role of upholding a commitment to humanity. Ren is fundamental and therefore dubbed the higher order concept: “. . . ren as an inner morality is not caused by the mechanism of li from outside. It is higher-order concept which gives meaning to li” (1968: 33). In other words, ren provides the criteria for assessing li-practice. Tu seeks to establish the relevance of Confucian philosophy in contemporary debates. However, his understanding of ren as “inner morality” requires careful scrutiny as it may give the impression that ren-cultivation is a process directed by an autonomous, free-willing agent who sometimes finds himself at odds with pressures from the “outer.” It also psychologises the Confucian self by giving weight to the “inner,” a thought that may not have occurred to Confucius and his followers (Fingarette 1972). Is there such a dichotomy in Confucian philosophy?11 Finally, the description of ren as a higher order concept might underestimate the significance of ritual in the Confucian tradition, at the same time distorting its processes of moral deliberation. There is some evidence that ritual was at the heart of Ru culture (Zuffery 2014: 133).

11

In a later article, Tu seems to move away from the characterisation of ren as “personal morality” and a higher-order concept, independent of li (1972: 187–201). Here, he states that “although [ren], especially when used as a comprehensive virtue, gives meaning to li, [ren] without the manifestation of li is also inconceivable” (p. 188).

Confucius and the Analects

Li is Fundamental We could argue that li is the primary concept in Confucianism. Unlike ren, lipractices are more readily observable and can be regulated. From the practical point of view, it is through observing and practising li-behaviours that one learns about ren (cf. 12:1). Henry Skaja (1984) believes that li is the fundamental concept in Confucianism. In his account, li fulfils spiritual, educative and governing functions. This means that li has an educational and civilising effect on individuals as it instils restraint and observation of propriety. Accordingly, a society of people guided by li will be orderly (1:2). But most importantly for Skaja, li is the conduit for human feeling, an “objectification of the spirit of man” (1984: 49–50). According to Skaja, the process of self-cultivation is seen primarily in terms of socialisation: Confucius . . . transformed and generalized the meaning of li from mere “rite” or “ritual sacrifice” to the necessary educative and self-reflective socialization process, itself, whereby man becomes humanized, i.e. socialized. (1984: 62–3)

However, we should perhaps be concerned that, if behavioural propriety were to have a basic place in Confucianism, then Confucian self-cultivation may be reduced to a socialisation process. This is in fact a common criticism of Confucianism, that it advocates the subjugation of individuals, prioritising social stability. For instance, 1:2 may be used to justify the conditioning of people’s minds in order to establish an orderly, submissive society: Master You said, “It is a rare thing for someone who has a sense of filial and fraternal responsibility (xiaodi 孝弟) to have a taste for defying authority. And it is unheard of for those who have no taste for defying authority to be keen on initiating rebellion . . . “ (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 71)

The view that li is primary would give force to the portrayal of Confucianism as conservative and traditional. We could alleviate this concern by pointing out that the meanings of li in the Analects are diverse and therefore an account of it should not be reduced to any one of its dimensions (Lai 2006c).

Ren and Li are Interdependent Concepts The most persuasive view of the relation between li and ren is to see them as interdependent concepts. This means that each of the two concepts is

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meaningless on its own. According to this view, ren is manifest only in lipractice. Ren-li interdependence has been most clearly articulated by Shun Kwong-Loi (1993). Shun explains their interdependence by analogy with the use of language. He aligns grasping the concept of tense with ren, and being able to use tense in language with li. The analogy works in the following way: Tense in grammar To understand the concept of tense is

Ren and Li To comprehend the significance of

to be able to use its various forms

humanity (ren) is to be able to express

effectively.

it appropriately in one’s interactions with others.

The use of grammatical structures

A person’s manner of interaction with

associated with tense is an indication

others is an indication of her grasp of

of a person’s grasp of the concept.

humanity.

Shun suggests that mastery of the usage of tense is both necessary and sufficient for the mastery of the concept within the linguistic community. One cannot plausibly claim to have mastered one but not the other. Similarly, one cannot claim to have fully mastered li without also understanding the human feeling it conveys; nor can one claim to be a person of ren if one is repeatedly unable to convey that to others in one’s interactions with them. Shun’s analysis of the ren-li connection is a creative and philosophically satisfying one, as it raises other important issues, including the criteria or basis for modifying li. It is a good example of contemporary scholarship in the field that both critically analyses ideas in Chinese philosophy and enlivens them in contemporary debate.

Self-Cultivation and Exemplary Personhood in Contemporary Philosophical Debates The Confucian pictures of ren and li are embedded within a program of selfcultivation, through which one becomes an exemplary person. A person advanced in the cultivation process will have developed inner resources that enable him or her to evaluate existing norms and practice and to incorporate them in his engagements with others. These qualities are critical for the Confucian junzi, who holds an official position and who needs to have general capabilities (such as negotiation skills), as well as firm moral commitments (12:4; 15:18–23; 16:10). There are demanding requirements; he needs to edify

Confucius and the Analects

the people (12:16; 14:42) and have the ability even to guide a young orphan prince (8:6). In 4:5, Confucius asks, rhetorically, how a junzi who has abandoned the life of ren can properly bear his title.12 In practice, the junzi has the dual responsibilities of serving his superior and administering the state (5:16). The Analects does not see the junzi as an official who simply implements the policies of the ruler; he is therefore not an “instrument” (2:12). He holds independent views and sometimes has the difficult task of persuading his superior to see things his way. Hence, he is cautious about taking on the position (9:13; 14:37). The complexity of the junzi’s role is expressed incisively in 19:10: he has to gain the trust of both the people and his superior. It is necessary for the junzi to have some degree of detachment from conventional norms and expectations. This is articulated in the description of both Confucius’ own developmental path (2:4) and the junzi’s qualities (15:21; 15:22). Analects 13:23 notes that the junzi does not seek to be similar to other people, although he aims to be harmonious with them: The junzi seeks to be harmonious [he] but does not attempt to be similar [tong]. The small man, by contrast, seeks to be similar and is not [necessarily] harmonious. (trans. Lau, Confucius, 1979a: 122; annotations by author)

The junzi will not tolerate certain behaviours, for instance, of those who speak ill of others or who slander their superiors (17:24). He is a discriminating thinker who critically evaluates the beliefs, norms and practice of his society, a creator of standards rather than a follower (2:1; 12:19), and who possesses a keen sense of moral discrimination (4:3). These considerations lead us to think that discretion plays a significant role in Confucian moral reasoning. The term yi – doing the right thing or taking an appropriate course of action – emphasises the flexibility required in living an exemplary life (4:10). Yi plays a particular role in practical deliberation as it reflects the Confucian concern for ethical appropriateness rather than

12

This expresses the Confucian idea of zhengming, a phrase often translated as “rectification of names,” although in the Analects, it is not that names must be rectified but rather that conduct must be brought in alignment with the titles that people bear (see 13:3; Lai 1995: 251–3). For the Confucians more generally, names had a regulative function, prescribing how people bearing certain titles should conduct themselves. The idea of names having normative force takes a central place in pre-Qin discussions, as we will see in the chapters to follow.

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normativity.13 On this account, the emphasis is on doing the right thing or taking appropriate action in a particular context. Hence, for the junzi, . . . [m]oral life is displayed not as a set of court-judgments on specifiable actions but rather as the development of relationships, skills, and ongoing virtues that make it possible to affect things for the better at the right time and in the right way. The power of this point derives from its contrast to the usual Western mode of moral thinking. Perhaps because of the pervasiveness of the juridical model, Western philosophers have looked at the judgeable action as the proper unit of moral worth. (Neville 1986: 191)

How have these and other elements of Confucian philosophy been covered in contemporary discussions? In the area of Confucian ethics, many studies focus on its unique features, often placing them in comparison with Western moral theories. Quite a few of the investigations highlight the distinctiveness of Confucian ethics and use its elements to challenge existing concepts and assumptions in Western moral philosophy (e.g. Cua 1971, 1973, 1979, 1989, 1996a, 1996b; Ivanhoe 1990, 2013; Lai 1995; Chong et. al. 2003; Chong 2007; Shen and Shun 2008; Yu et. al. 2010; McLeod 2012; Froese 2013; and Olberding 2014). Some discussions draw on Confucian insights to enlighten debates on contemporary ethical issues, for example, in discussions on government, human rights and politics (e.g. de Bary 1991, 1998; de Bary and Tu 1998; Hall and Ames 1998, 1999; Tan 2004; Grange 2004; Bell 2007; Brindley 2010; Angle 2012 and Ivanhoe 2014) and on environmental ethics (e.g. Tucker and Berthrong 1998; Callicott and McRae 2014). An area that warrants specific mention is the comparison of Confucian ethics with the feminist care ethic. These comparisons are particularly interesting as the Confucian tradition has been criticised for its failure to attend to the needs and interests of women (see Wolf 1994; Li 2000 and Rosenlee 2006). These analyses have been rewarding, as alternative models of a relational or care ethic are considered and new ideas generated as a result of the dialogue (Pang-White 2016; Tan and Foust 2016). In discussions of comparative moral theory, deontological approaches fail to capture many features of Confucian philosophy. These include the Confucian picture of agency in light of its integration of human feeling and practice, the long-term aspect of the cultivation of ren and its motivations,

13

See, for example, Hall and Ames (1997), Chong (1998) and Lai (2003b).

Confucius and the Analects

the narrative view of a person’s life as a relational being and a situationallysensitive account of self-realisation. These elements of Confucian ethics resonate with some elements of virtue ethics and hence possible alignments have been extensively explored (Ivanhoe 1991; Chong 1998; Star 2002; Van Norden 2007; Angle and Slote 2013). Importantly, in these discussions, Confucian virtue ethics provides rich resources for interrogating virtue ethics in the Western tradition, raising questions about the compatibility of virtue and consequentialist approaches; character and its realisation in situations; agency, conduct and character; competing goods and balancing virtues; the elements of a flourishing life and teloi; and so on. Some other accounts avoid using the terminology and conceptual frameworks in Western philosophy to present Confucian philosophy. They claim there is a lack of fit between the two and that this could result in a reduced account of Confucian philosophy. Roger Ames’ Confucian Role Ethics places the relational person – whose life embodies her roles – at the centre of Confucian ethics (2011a). Amy Olberding proposes that the Analects offers accounts of exemplary lives; we should not read the text as if it were offering a universally applicable model of life for everyone and which holds across all situations (2011). Although Olberding’s analysis draws from a version of virtue ethics – exemplarist virtue ethics – her discussion carves out the distinctiveness of the Analects in providing different exemplars for our consideration in our own moral reflections. A thread that runs through most, if not all, of these accounts of Confucian ethics is the inseparability of commitment and practice and, correspondingly, of the centrality of cultivation in its conception of a flourishing life. A fuller picture of a Confucian life must consider the epistemological assumptions that underlie its notion of learning. In the Analects, we find an empirical approach to learning, that is, a person learns by doing. These practically oriented ways of learning involve a wide range of human capacities, including:  Looking (jian) and listening (wen) (2.18; 7.28)  Having discussions with others (yan) (1:15)  Asking questions (wen) (3:15)  Observing (guan) the practice and conduct of others (2:10; 7:22)  Reading (dushu) (16.13; 11.25; 17:9)  Practising propriety (li) (12:1)

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 Cultivating friendships with the benevolent (qingren) (1:6)  Undertaking self-examination (15:6)  Practising (xi) to build one’s capacities (1:1; 1:4; 17:2)  Reflecting on what one has observed and learnt (si) (2:15; 7:28; 19:6) These elements of learning highlight Confucian philosophy’s focus on handling tasks well, in different scenarios. What is appropriate in one case may not fit another, so Confucius gives different advice to two of his followers, for example, in 11:22. The Analects itself provides rich detail on scenarios, giving the sense that the practicalities do matter. Indeed, a concern Confucius had was confusion (huo) – not knowing how to choose between alternatives in a given situation (9:29; 12:20; 12:21). Following from this view, cultivation would involve the development of capacities to deal with and respond to situations as they arise. In this regard, another key term in the Analects lends weight to the picture offered here. Xin, described metaphorically as the pin of a yoke that enables a carriage to be drawn (2:22), is often translated “sincerity” or “trustworthiness.” This translation seeks to capture the idea of a person standing by his word.14 However, while it brings out the alignment between a person’s commitment and his actions, it fails to reflect another aspect of the term, the consistency of a person’s actions over time. From this angle, the key question we need to ask is not just whether a person’s actions are commensurate with his words but how a person realises his commitments, reliably, in different situations (1:4–8; 9:24–5; 12:10; 14:28). The conversations are concerned with whether a certain commitment can be realised (xing: to proceed) in context (11:3; 13:3; 18:7). This account of reliability brings together the Analects’ ethical and epistemological concerns. It generates a picture of agency that focuses not only on ethical commitment but on its realisation. In this way, its ethical concerns come to life. They prompt questions such as: when should I overturn prevailing li-practice? How might I learn from the mistakes of the past? How do I generalise from patterns of moral conduct and how will these patterns inform my judgments? How do I learn to see the relevant moral and nonmoral features in each situation? 14

D. C. Lau translates xin as “trustworthiness” (Confucius, 1979a). The picture of “a man standing by his word” was suggested by Ezra Pound, who articulated the views of his teacher Ernest Fenollosa (Pound 1951: 22; discussed in Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 53).

Confucius and the Analects

Which practicalities are morally significant in this situation? These difficult questions reflect a picture of life that is rich in detail. What might we learn from reading the Analects? Just as one might have read and reflected on the passages in the Book of Poetry during Confucius’ time, the contemporary reader of the Analects may reflect on a range of difficult matters captured in its conversations. Each situation presents issues with different moral weights and competing obligations. In Confucian thought, at least some of the seemingly quotidian details are morally weighty, and therefore cultivating a capacity for discretion is critical in moral life. The conversations in the Analects familiarise the modern reader with examples of how different obligations, loyalties and relational distance figure in a given situation. We can also acquaint ourselves with the different narratives of each life. Even understanding the patterns of life of Zai Wo, often criticised by Confucius, provides invaluable lessons (5:10; 17:21). The conversations also express how successful relationships are critical to both the flourishing of society and the well-being of individuals. The measures of personal well-being are linked to one’s successes in undertaking tasks effectively, responding appropriately, negotiating relationships and balancing competing demands and obligations. Confucian philosophy places the self within a rich tapestry of relationships and offers a complex, realistic picture of what it means to live well.

Suggestions for Further Reading The Analects: A Norton Critical Edition (2014), ed. Michael Nylan, trans. Simon Leys, New York: W. W. Norton. The Analects of Confucius: A Philosophical Translation (1998), trans. Roger Ames and Henry Rosemont Jr., New York: Ballantine Books. Chan, Wing-tsit (1975) “Chinese and Western Interpretations of Jen (Humanity),” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 2.2: 107–29. Cua, Antonio (1978) Dimensions of Moral Creativity, University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Fingarette, Herbert (1972) Confucius: The Secular as Sacred, New York: Harper and Row. Ivanhoe, Philip J. (2013). Confucian Reflections: Ancient Wisdom for Modern Times, New York: Routledge. Li, Chenyang, and Ni, Peimin (eds.) (2014) Moral Cultivation and Confucian Character: Engaging Joel J. Kupperman, Albany: State University of New York Press.

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Olberding, Amy (ed.) (2014) Dao Companion to the Analects, Dordrecht: Springer. Pines, Yuri (2002) Foundations of Confucian Thought: Intellectual Life in the Chunqiu Period (722–453 B.C.E.), Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Tan, Sor-hoon, and Foust, Mathew (eds.) (forthcoming) Feminist Encounters with Confucius, Leiden: Brill. Van Norden, Bryan (ed.) (2002) Confucius and the “Analects”: New Essays, New York: Oxford University Press.

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Human Nature and Cultivation in Confucian Philosophy: Mencius and Xunzi

Confucius’ vision for rectifying society was idealistic: good government begins with the moral self-cultivation of able leaders. At times, the Analects acknowledges that the chances of such rectification were low (Analects 7:26; 9:13). Nevertheless, its theme of self-cultivation (xiushen) has had far-reaching effects in Chinese society and culture. The belief that education begets moral wisdom was articulated in the Chinese Civil Service Examination system for recruiting officials. The system, which had its beginnings during the Sui dynasty (581–618) and which thrived during the Qing (1644–1911), employed men who performed well in examinations based largely on Confucian texts. It was believed that scholars of the classical texts would also be ethically adept practitioners of good government (Elman 2009). The Confucians were optimistic, yet to some extent pragmatic, in their assessment of human moral capacities and how these could be shaped to produce more fruitful outcomes for society. Self-cultivation played a central role in the Confucian hope for a better, more ethically focused society. Both Mencius (c. 385 BCE–c. 312 BCE) and Xunzi (c. 310 BCE–c. 219 BCE) reflected on the resources available to humanity for its cultivation. They discussed the human capacity to be moral and the fabric or infrastructure of society that supported its development. They drew different conclusions, however. Mencius believed that humans had a natural tendency to feel compassion even though some acted maliciously and selfishly; these latter behaviours resulted from a negligence to nurture the original compassionate heart-mind (xin). Xunzi held that individuals were not naturally predisposed to ethical conduct; it was only through the establishment of standards for human conduct, initiated by the ruler, that these problems could be addressed. In spite of their differences, both viewed morally-inspired government as the key to their respective approaches to establish a humane society. Their debates on human nature and its cultivation engaged with a range of views held by 41

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other thinkers. These discussions and ensuing tensions shaped conceptions of morality, government and society in China for years to come. Confucian philosophy holds a unique conception of the relational self, one that is shaped by its relationships and situated within a particular human community, within which it has its spheres of influence. It attends to the contexts within which learning is situated; in the texts associated with the Confucian thinkers Mencius and Xunzi, the nature of social institutions and the practices and ideals promulgated through these institutions were of vital importance. The following Confucian themes that have been shaped by the debate between the Mencius and the Xunzi are highlighted in current debates in comparative philosophy: character development and issues in moral psychology, centrality of relationships in moral life, the progressive nature of moral development (focusing on different elements of moral reasoning that are cultivated at different stages in a person’s moral life) and the integrated nature of personal development and socio-political progress. This chapter explores key themes in the two texts in light of a range of views expressed in contemporaneous texts that were excavated only in the last fifty years, followed by discussion of some insights arising from their disagreements.

Mencius: Nurturing Goodness The figure Mencius comes across as an estimable Confucian, said to have been taught by Confucius’ grandson, Zisi (c. 483 BCE–c. 402 BCE), famous for his upbringing because of his mother’s (Mengmu) exemplary moral teaching1 and author of an eponymous text that frequently refers to the ideas of Confucius.2 Although the issue of authorship and details of Mencius’ life are disputed, the text nevertheless holds a central place in Confucian philosophy for its optimistically humanistic views of human goodness and 1

On Zisi, refer to Refer to Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book, 1963a: 49. The Mengmu story is told by Liu Xiang (first century BCE) in the Lienü Zhuan. Refer to Kinney, Exemplary Women, 2014: 18–20, and Wang 2006: 96–7. For an account of the Confucian followers and their views, refer to Lo 2014.

2

The Books of Mencius is one of four sets of books in the Confucian canon, the Four Books (Si Shu). Collated by the Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi (1130–1200), these four books, the Great Learning (Daxue), the Analects (Lunyu), the Books of Mencius and the Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong) were part of the core curriculum of the civil service examinations.

Mencius and Xunzi

compassionate government (ren zheng). A short, cryptic phrase captures its philosophy of human goodness: “human nature is good” (xing shan) (Mencius 6A:6). This statement of Mencius’ position arises in a conversation with one of his disciples, Gongduzi, where three competing views are laid out: Gongduzi said, “Gaozi said, ‘There is neither good nor bad in human nature,’ but others say, ‘Human nature can become good or it can become bad, and that is why with the rise of King Wan and King Wu, the people were given to goodness, while with the rise of King Yu and King Li, they were given to cruelty.’ Then there are others who say, ‘There are those who are good by nature, and there are those who are bad by nature. For this reason, Xiang could have Yao as Prince, and Shun could have the Blind Man (Gu Sou) as father, and Qi, Viscount of Wei and Prince Bi Gan could have Zhou as nephew as well as sovereign.’ Now you say human nature is good. Does this mean that all the others are mistaken?” (Mencius 6A:6; trans. Lau, Mencius, 1979b: 247)

In the context of this conversation and others in the Mencius, there is a fundamental concern about how goodness is natural to human beings. Translators have sometimes understood this to mean “intrinsic,” “inherent” or “inborn,” suggesting that goodness is a tendency or disposition humans are born with. However, in the discussion here, we use the term “natural” to capture the nonspecific and varied uses of the term in the Mencius. On this interpretation, for Mencius to say “human nature is good” is to imply that goodness comes naturally to humanity because of the kind of being humans are and, possibly, that this is distinctively human. This interpretation avoids essentialism and is better able to accommodate a developmental path as well as the fact that individuals may not be consistently good. What, then, is meant by “human nature” (xing) and “goodness” (shan)? Closer examination of the three positions will help us better understand Mencius’ views as well as their place in Confucian intellectual history.3 The competing conceptions of human nature set out in this conversation are as follows:  Morality is not a naturally given aspect of human nature. (“There is neither good nor bad in human nature.”)  Human nature is not naturally inclined towards goodness. (“Human nature can become good or it can become bad”).

3

Refer to A. C. Graham’s careful description of the three positions (1967: 13–5).

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 Not all humans are naturally inclined towards goodness. (“There are those who are good by nature, and there are those who are bad by nature.”) We examine each view in turn, taking the opportunity to draw out some underlying philosophical commitments and their implications. Textual

The debates are even more interesting in light of the unearthed

matters

Guodian bamboo manuscripts, believed to have been composed around the period of the Mencius and the Xunzi. These manuscripts were unearthed in 1993 from a tomb in Guodian, in Hubei Province. The manuscripts, dated to around 300 BCE, include versions of the Laozi (Allan and Williams 1998) as well as previously unknown Confucian texts (Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012). It has been suggested that the Confucian texts were associated with the lineage of Confucius’ grandson, Zisi4 – reputed to have been Mencius’ teacher – although discussions on human nature in the Guodian texts reveal some alliances with and some opposition to Mencius’ views.

Morality Is Not a Naturally Given Aspect of Human Nature Mencius’ disagreements with Gaozi5 (c. 420–350 BCE) may be grouped into two broad arguments. First, there is the question, Is goodness a “given” part of human nature? The term “given” is used here not to suggest there is a “giver” (as, for instance, in a divine being who has created or imparted this nature). “Given” here expresses the fact that there is an existing state of play – what we can take “as a given.” It may also include the sense of given 4

Goldin challenges this view (Goldin 2000: 115; see note 8). The discussion in this chapter will demonstrate that the views in some of the Guodian texts are more closely aligned with Xunzi’s views.

5

Little is known of Gaozi’s background and associations. Kwong-Loi Shun discusses a number of theses regarding his philosophical affiliations (1997: pp. 123ff.). Shun presents a detailed analysis of Mencius’ discussions with Gaozi (Ibid.: 87–94). Graham suggests that a more accurate reading of Gaozi’s position (as we know only of Gaozi’s views on human nature via the description of his opponent, Mencius) may be gleaned from the “Jie” chapter of the Guanzi, a syncretic, Legalist compilation of positions from the late Warring States period through to the early Han (Graham 1967: 15–18). For the “Jie” chapter, refer to Rickett, Guanzi, 2001: 378–88).

Mencius and Xunzi

used predicatively, to indicate that humans are inclined to goodness. The conversation between Mencius and Gongduzi draws two analogies (Mencius 6A:1–2). In the first, Gaozi’s position is presented by Mencius as follows: cups and bowls may be fashioned from willow though cups and bowls are not naturally given in the willow’s existence. Analogously, benevolence (ren) and moral rightness (yi)6 are what human beings are shaped into and are not inherent in human nature. Here, although Gaozi disagrees with Mencius about the source of goodness, he nevertheless agrees that benevolence and rightness are constitutive of human goodness. Mencius dismisses this analogy and the discussion moves on to a second analogy, attributed to Gaozi: human nature is like flowing water, which can be channelled east or west. While Mencius agrees with Gaozi on this point, he extends the analogy, showing that water has a tendency to flow downwards.7 Hence, even though human actions and decisions may be influenced by conditions external to the self, they are naturally inclined towards goodness, and moral cultivation consists in developing these incipient tendencies. This is a key tenet in Mencius’ conception of humanity. The second question focuses specifically on rightness and whether it is naturally given in human nature (Mencius 6A:4). Gaozi’s position states that benevolence is internal (nei), evidenced in love for one’s brother arising from within oneself. However, rightness is external (wai), evidenced by respect for an old person by virtue of his age and not arising from within oneself. The word “rightness” is most fitting for Gaozi’s view of yi. Yi has a variety of meanings in the Analects, and in the Mencius and the Xunzi, we see variations in its uses too. Hence the discussion here does not attempt to provide a unifying translation of the term, but instead focuses on the variety of its

6

Yi is often translated as “righteousness” or “duty.” Here, I use the word “rightness” for yi, which pertains to a sense of doing the right thing. We see in the conversation between Mencius and Gaozi, for example, that yi applies to respect for an older person. “Duty” helps to capture the deontological dimension of yi but “rightness” alludes to the notion of right in the clarification by W. D. Ross (2002), which also includes a sense of fit and appropriateness.

7

Shun suggests that Mencius might have misinterpreted Gaozi’s position: whereas Gaozi intends the willow and the water, respectively, to be analogous to xing, Mencius interprets that the analogy holds between the willow and water, on the one hand, and human beings, on the other. This mismatch in their conversation has significant impact on how we understand their respective positions (1997: 87–91).

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meanings in the hands of different thinkers. In Gaozi’s view, expressed in the Mencius, respect for an old person is required not because of some greater good, but simply because it is the right thing to do. That only benevolence, and not rightness, is naturally given complicates the views of human nature proposed around that time. This view is also expressed in a Guodian manuscript, Yucong 1, where it is stated: “Benevolence is born from humankind; rightness is born from the Way. One is born from within; the other is born from without” (strips 22–3; adapted from the translation by Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 825). This passage in Yucong 1 provides some independent evidence (apart from the Mencius) for the view associated with Gaozi.8 These dissonant views help to diversify the lines of argument in the Confucian debates on human nature, often cast only in terms of the tensions between Mencius and Xunzi. In contrast to the view that only ren is given as part of the human condition, the Mencius holds that rightness is also “internal,” that is, naturally given in human nature.9 The Guodian text Cheng Zhi also expresses this view. The Mencius spells out clearly that both ren and yi are possessed by all humans prior to learning: affection for parents is a manifestation of naturally given benevolence and respect for elders is a manifestation of yi (Mencius 7A:15). Given that Mencius holds that yi is internal to humanity, the term “righteousness” would more aptly capture his idea of an “inner” moral sense that functions like conscience does. This suggests that Gaozi and Mencius may have had different conceptions of yi. The understanding of Mencius’ view of human nature turns in part on how we understand the place of yi in his philosophy. In contemporary discussions, yi in the Mencius has been interpreted in a number of ways, including as a person’s motivation to do the right thing, a person’s dispositions or a person’s dispositions closely intertwined with (moral) knowledge, whereby knowledge of yi arises from the activity of the heart-mind (Shun 1997: 94–112).

8

It might suggest that some parts of the Guodian manuscripts were written by those associated with Gaozi or who were sympathetic to his views (refer to Goldin 2000: 139).

9

Kim-Chong Chong challenges the widely held view that this is the key difference between Mencius and Gaozi on nei and wai. Chong argues that Mencius did not succeed in refuting Gaozi, for Mencius’ discussion on internality was focused on the human potential for developing the (positive) possibilities of relationships. By contrast, Gaozi sees this argument as a “sociocultural construct” (Chong 2002: 120).

Mencius and Xunzi

We may express the disagreement between Mencius and Gaozi in terms of the moral resources available to humanity and how (and where) the resources may be found. In Mencius 2A:2, Mencius says of Gaozi’s views: Gaozi said “What you do not get from doctrines do not seek for in your heart. What you do not get from your heart, do not seek for in the qi.”

To which Mencius replied: “What you do not get from your heart, do not seek for in the qi,” is acceptable. “What you do not get from doctrines, do not seek for in your heart,” is unacceptable. (Mencius 2A:2; trans. Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 37)

There are two related assertions in Gaozi’s statement concerning sources of moral guidance. The first claims that if guidance cannot be found in doctrines, it likewise cannot be found “within” human nature (or within any of its “given” capacities). The second states that if guidance is not found in the heart-mind, it will not be found in qi (vitality, energies) either. Mencius disagrees with the first claim. For Mencius, guidance can be found in the original, naturally given heart-mind. However, he agrees with Gaozi’s second assertion because he holds that the heart-mind should nurture and command qi.10 Therefore, if guidance is not found in the heart-mind, there is no point trying to locate it in qi. Two points are highlighted in this disagreement. First, Gaozi (is presented as a thinker who) endorses learning from doctrines rather than from nurturing the heart-mind. Second, Gaozi believes that nothing in the naturally given human constitution can provide moral guidance. Mencius deems both Gaozi’s theses unacceptable.11 One way to think about Mencius’ emphasis on the “inner” is to say that the heart-mind has “an ethical direction, and this allows one to obtain ethical guidance through self-reflection” (Shun 1997: 212). This view makes a tight connection between naturally given goodness

10

Alan Chan offers a fine account of qi in different texts of a contemporaneous period. Qi in the Mencius includes both mental and physical well-being. One’s words and eyes reflect one’s qi and a person’s environment can shape his or her qi. See Chan 2002: 50–5. The place of qi in Mencius’ philosophy and the nuances of different interpretations of this

11

view are meticulously spelt out in Chan 2002. Goldin suggests that, given that the Guodian texts express views similar to those of Gaozi’s, it may be Mencius’ views, rather than Gaozi’s, that were unorthodox (2000: 139–43).

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and the capacity for reflection. Another is to conceive of the “inner” as “innate disposition,” an interpretation that aligns with a virtues-based understanding of Mencius’ philosophy (Van Norden 2014). In setting out Gaozi’s views, the Mencius refines and reiterates its position that “human nature is (originally) good.” The distinction between the two views underscores the point in the text that some moral resources are naturally given in humanity. From this perspective, the debate transcends mere quibbles about “original” human nature to a more meaningful “enquiry into ethical resources” (Heng 2002: 158) and where to find them. Another conversation about the place of doctrine in guiding human conduct occurs between Mencius and the Mohist Yi Zhi (Mencius 3A:5). The passage begins with Mencius’ criticism of Yi Zhi’s inconsistency: in spite of the Mohist teaching to be thrifty in funerals, Yi Zhi spared no expense at his parent’s funeral. In his own defence, Yi Zhi says, According to the Way of the Ru, the ancients treated the people “like caring for a baby” . . . I take it to mean that love is without differentiations, but it is bestowed beginning with one’s parents. (Mencius 3A:5; trans. Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 74)

Yi Zhi – who may or may not have been an authentic representative of Mohist teaching12 – emphasises Mohist love without distinctions (ai wu cha deng). He maintains that he can consistently uphold both tenets, going so far as to quote Confucian belief. He takes a circuitous route, identifying (Confucian) love for one’s parents (qin) as a starting point, which develops into Mohist love without differentiation. Mencius’ critical response follows: Does Yi Zhi truly hold that one’s affection for one’s own nephew is like one’s affection for a neighbor’s baby? . . . Heaven, in giving birth to things, causes them to have one source, but Yi Zhi gives them two sources. (Ibid.)

It is clear that Mencius upholds the incompatibility between the two types of affective concern, one for a close family member and the other for a generalised other. What are the two sources (ben) Mencius refers to in his rebuttal? Mencius’ notion of source (or ground) is not particularly clear in the text, and there is a variety of proposals on how it may be conceived (see Shun 1997:

12

Refer to Radice’s discussion of this issue (2011, esp. at p. 148).

Mencius and Xunzi

128–30). A plausible interpretation of Yi Zhi’s two sources is to see them as two methods of moral cultivation, the first being one’s natural affection for one’s parents (shared by Yi Zhi and Mencius) and the second being adherence to a doctrine, that of treating everyone impartially, which only Yi Zhi upholds (Nivison 1980).13 According to this account, Mencius’ belief is that natural affection for parents, arising from the human heart-mind, is sufficient for a person’s moral cultivation. There is no need for (Mohist) doctrine. Yi Zhi’s rationale proceeds in two ways, by committing to the doctrine, and by drawing on the naturally given resources of the heart-mind to realise love without distinctions (Shun 1997: 132–5). This debate helps to cast light on Mencius’ belief that goodness is naturally given in human nature: it is universally available to all humanity, and it is sufficient. All it requires is cultivation, and nothing more (certainly not doctrine), for that original goodness to come to fruition. In the following section, we move on to the (second) question of how, in Mencius’ view, these naturally given resources might be nurtured.

Human Nature Is Not Naturally Inclined towards Goodness In contrast to Mencius’ belief, this view expresses ambivalence about what is naturally given to humans (Chen 2002). A different explanation is provided for acts of altruism or selfishness: conditions in the external environment alone will explain why some people are good and others not. The Mencius needs to address this view because it rejects such ambivalence. For Mencius, not only is human nature naturally inclined towards goodness, these seeds of goodness must be nurtured. Goodness is not simply an accidental outcome of good or bad times or of good or poor leaders. To this end, the text identifies a deeper ground – heaven (tian) – as the source of humanity’s natural goodness. Tian is evoked to provide support for Mencius’ claim; it seems that the primary purpose here was not to explore cosmic or spiritual ideals but to identify heaven as a source of human capacities and potential. This move was not unusual during that period.

13

Nivison suggests that Mencius’ “one root” is the heart, which is the seat of both “what we really want to do [motivation]” and “what we ought to do and can rightly recognize we ought to do [recognised obligation]” (1980: 742).

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For example, the Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean), another Confucian text,14 takes a similar stance on tian (see Tu 1976). For Mencius, heaven provides the rationale for nurturing a person’s heartmind: the person who preserves and nurtures the naturally good heart-mind is engaged with heaven in working towards stable socio-political order. Mencius’ philosophy places the seat of human goodness in the heart-mind. Here, a question arises concerning the way he brings together the subject of human existence (a metaphysical issue) and the nature of human conduct (an ethical issue). The tension between the “factual and normative” was already present in the intellectual context then (Graham 1967: 44). According to Angus Graham, Mencius’ heaven-endowed xin brings these two dimensions of tian together: “the Way, without ceasing to be normative, becomes the single course along which a thing can in fact complete its development, as a tree can grow only if watered by the rain and dew; within the sphere of Heaven there is no longer a contradiction between what is and what ought to be” (ibid.). In the Mencius, there is considerable co-referencing between the terms xin (heart-mind) and xing (human nature). This movement across two terms is not without reason as the Chinese character for human nature (性) is comprised in part by the character for heart-mind (忄or 心). Benjamin Schwartz notes that “the center of Mencius’ problematique in dealing with man is really not the nature, (xing) but the heart/mind (xin)” (Schwartz 1985: 266; see also 288ff.; Ch’en 1953; Graham 1967; Ahern 1980: 183). The gist of Schwartz’s comments is that, for Mencius, the heart-mind is at the core of what is naturally human. Of the heart-mind, the text states: For a man to give full realization to his heart (xin) is for him to understand his own nature, and a man who knows his own nature will know Heaven (tian). By retaining his heart and nurturing his nature he is serving Heaven . . . (Mencius 7A:1; trans. Lau, Mencius, 1979b: 287).

Xin is the capacity that handles intellection, cognition, judgment, feelings and affect. Mencius 2A:6 presents four dimensions of xin, each with its corresponding manifestations:

14

The Zhongyong had traditionally been attributed to Confucius’ grandson, Zisi. However, the scholarly literature now dates it as a text of the Qin or early Han, though with some sections of much earlier origin. De Bary and Bloom’s compilation of texts includes translated sections of the text as well as commentary on them (Sources, 1999: 333–9).

Mencius and Xunzi

 Compassion is a manifestation of benevolence (ren).  Disapprobation is a manifestation of righteousness (yi).  Deference is a manifestation of behavioural propriety (li).  Approval and disapproval are manifestations of wisdom (zhi). These four roots (siduan) of human goodness are “given,” in the same way a person has four limbs (Mencius 2A:6). These dimensions of the heart-mind are basic moral feelings, a key element of Mencius’ philosophy. The term qing, often translated as “feelings,” seems to refer to these basic moral emotions, taken collectively. In Mencius 6A:6, qing provides the impetus for a person to practise the good: “from the feelings [qing] proper to it, [human nature] is constituted for the practice of what is good” (trans. Legge, Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 2: 402; annotations by author).15 Here, again, the Guodian corpus provides more depth to Mencius’ discussions. In the Xing Zi Ming Chu, feelings are also a part of human nature, and there are variations in the entire corpus concerning which emotions are constitutive of qing (Chen 2010: 38–9). Qing has another possible meaning, however, signifying what is “genuine.” The two meanings of qing, feelings and genuine (condition), were used interchangeably and are not necessarily inconsistent, in texts of this period. Interpreting qing as genuine, the same passage in Mencius 6A:6 may be translated as: “As for what they are inherently [qing], they can become good. This is what I mean by calling their natures good” (trans. Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 149; annotations by author). If we adopt this interpretation of qing, it follows that the reason for saying “human nature is good” is because the capacity to become good is a genuine – real – condition of humanity. Graham explains this sense of qing in relation to Aristotle’s essence: “The qing of X is what makes it a genuine X, what every X has and without which would not be an X; in this usage qing is surprisingly close to the Aristotelian “‘essence’” (1967: 262). Shun Kwong-Loi proposes an account of qing that is more sensitive to the Mencius as it avoids the appeal to Aristotelian essence. Shun proposes that qing is “the way things really are, [referring to] certain characteristic tendencies of a class of things that obtain of each individual member of that class and reveal what things of that class are really like” (1997: 215).

15

The understanding of qing as “feelings” is supported by Zhu Xi’s (1130–1200) comment on the dialogue (see Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 149). Zhu Xi was a prominent neo-Confucian thinker whose commentaries on the classical texts were extremely influential.

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Yet these natural capacities are not enough, according to Mencius, and their development is critical. The external environment can throw distractions in the heart-mind’s path: Mengzi said, “In years of plenty, most young men are gentle; in years of poverty, most young men are violent. It is not that the potential that Heaven confers on them varies like this. They are like this because of what sinks and drowns their hearts.” (Mencius 6A:7; trans. Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 150)

This view contrasts with the one proposed by Mencius’ imaginary interlocutor. On their view, variations in human conduct – both moral and immoral actions – are fully accounted for by environmental factors. But Mencius draws the line differently: good is to be found in human nature, while external conditions provide the impetus for unacceptable behaviours. Therefore, even though humans naturally have the capacity for goodness, to do nothing about these distractions will eventually harm the heart-mind. To illustrate this, Mencius mentions an analogy with the way in which the trees on Niu Mountain, if not nurtured, fail to recover even though they receive some natural nourishment such as the overnight dew (Mencius 6A:8). Therefore, nurture (yang) of the naturally given roots of goodness is critical. Nurture begins with the shaping of qi, the idea of life-force that figures in the discussion between Mencius and Gaozi. In both the Mencius and the Guanzi, a text belonging to the Legalist tradition, qi is said to “fill the body” (Mencius 2A:2; “Xin Shu Xia” in the Guanzi; trans. Rickett, Guanzi, 1998: 59). The Mencius draws a close connection between qi and a person’s will (zhi): Your will is the commander of the qi. Qi fills the body. When your will is fixed somewhere, the qi sets up camp there. Hence, it is said, “Maintain your will. Do not injure the qi.” (Mencius 2A:2; trans Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 38)

What does it mean to fix the will so that qi will be lodged there? One way to explain this is to draw a connection between fixing the will and cultivating the heart-mind.16 Just prior to this comment quoted above, the passage states that the cultivated heart-mind does not move (budong xin). To say that 16

This passage draws a close connection between nurturing qi (yangqi) and training the will (chizhi) (described in Chan 2002: 54). There are disagreements in then-contemporaneous texts on the view that xin can control the will. See, for example, the Guodian Xing Zi Ming Chu, which states that “heart-minds have no (fixed) inclinations” (strip 1; trans. Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 697).

Mencius and Xunzi

a cultivated heart-mind is fixed means that it is not susceptible to distractions from the external environment. Correspondingly, to say that one’s qi is lodged in this way suggests that it has been appropriately nurtured and it now has a moral focus (Chan 2002: 43–59; Shun 1997: 72–6). As we will see in Chapter 8, this notion of a fixed heart-mind is criticised by Zhuangzi, a Daoist thinker, who is wary of the lack of flexibility in such an approach to human conduct and life. Indeed, as the conversation proceeds in the passage above, Mencius remarks that he is good at cultivating his “floodlike qi” (hao ran zhi qi). For Mencius, these resources are not limited to a chosen few; they are available to everyone. He maintains the universality of the naturally given heart-mind which rightly feels compassion in certain situations. “We and the sage are of the same kind,” he proclaims (Mencius 6A:7; trans. Van Norden, Mengzi, 2008: 150). In the following section, we investigate this goodness shared by all individuals and how it is extended in moral practice.

Not All Humans Are Naturally Inclined towards Goodness That there are beginnings of goodness in all humanity is a central aspect of Mencius’ philosophy. Mencius evokes the example of anyone feeling distress when they see a child about to fall into a well to illustrate this point (Mencius 2A:6). The heart-mind is the source of the distress; Mencius makes it clear that the feeling is not caused by any “external” factors, for instance, if one sought to please the child’s parents, or to be praised by neighbours and friends, or to avoid a poor reputation. The feeling of distress also arises in another conversation, one that Mencius has with King Xuan about how the King treats his people. Mencius finds out that the King was distressed on one occasion when he saw an ox being led to slaughter: The King was sitting in the hall. He saw someone passing below, leading an ox. The King noticed this and said, “Where is the ox going?” “The blood of the ox is to be used for consecrating a new bell.” “Spare it. I cannot bear to see it shrinking with fear, like an innocent man going to the place of execution.” “In that case, should the ceremony be abandoned?” “That is out of the question. Use a lamb instead.” (Mencius 1A:7; trans. Lau, Mencius, 1979b: 15)

Commenting on this account, Mencius notes that King Xuan’s compassion for the ox was sufficient evidence that he was a worthy King. Mencius concluded that the King’s distress was based on the fact that, he “once

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having seen the ox alive, cannot bear to see it die, and once having heard its cry, cannot bear to eat its flesh” (Mencius1A:7; adapted from the translation by Lau, Mencius, 1979b: 17). This initial plaudit turns into criticism, however. Mencius notes the inconsistency between the King’s compassion for the ox and his lack of compassion for his people, saying, “Your [compassion] is sufficient to reach the animals, yet the benefits of your government fail to reach the people” (ibid.: 17–18; annotations by author). Mencius proposes that the King’s failure to feel compassion for his people was not a question of ability (neng), for this ability was present in his reaction upon seeing the ox led to slaughter. Mencius boldly suggests that the King’s problem was one of willingness (wei). To rectify this situation, Mencius suggests that the King: . . . take this very heart-mind here (in relation to the ox) and apply it to that (the people). Hence one who extends his compassion can attend to those within the Four Seas; one who does not extend compassion cannot attend even to his wife and children. The one thing in which the ancients greatly surpassed others is to extend what they did. Why is it then that your compassion is sufficient to reach animals, yet the benefits of your government fail to reach the people? Is this an exception? (Mencius 1A:7; adapted from the translation by Lau, Mencius, 1979b: 19)

What exactly should King Xuan have extended (tui)? As this passage does not elaborate on the nature of the extension, there are a few ways in which we may understand it. The “extension” may be understood as a reasoning strategy, that is, to reason analogously from the case of the ox to that of the people. That brings a question to the fore: what are the relevant similarities in the two cases and what is to be extended? This may be teased out in different ways. One approach is to suggest that the “extension” occurs in deliberative processes, in particular, in analogical moral reasoning. For example, we could say that the King needs to “extend” his moral reasoning by refining his judgement of situations, his sensitivity to relevantly similar situations, and by cultivating a readiness to respond as the situation calls for it (Wong 2002). Alternatively, extension may involve the refinement of intuitions by using analogical reasoning, to a point where one both reflects on the case at hand and delights in having the right responses (Hutton 2002). The allusion to analogy might be problematic because there is some ambiguity concerning whether Mencius approves of the King’s compassion for the ox. It may be that Mencius disagrees with the King’s compassion for

Mencius and Xunzi

the ox, in which case reasoning by analogy is not the right way to proceed (McRae 2011). Hence, another approach to the extension is to suggest that what is “internal” – the feeling of compassion – be made to manifest in the King’s behaviours. According to this view, while goodness is naturally given, its realisation in a person’s behaviour cannot be taken for granted. Hence the cultivation of the heart-mind to weigh up situations is necessary to extend humanity’s naturally given goodness (see Ivanhoe 2002; McRae 2011). This understanding avoids a major problem with some of the interpretations above, which assume that elements of contemporary philosophical analysis (including logical consistency, analogical reasoning or emotional intuition) were present in Mencius’ philosophy. The Mencius’ view of human nature begins positively in a theory of universal, naturally given goodness. It culminates in an optimistic vision of an ethical, well-governed society. Although the lack of elaboration in many of its passages may not withstand the scrutiny of contemporary philosophical analysis, the tenor of its ideas and its utopic society resulting from humane, benevolent government would have had much popular appeal in the climate of unrest during its time. Some aspects of its views continue to be relevant in contemporary debates. These include the integrated picture of the heartmind – and, indeed, of morality – as having cognitive, evaluative and affective dimensions all at once, and the emphasis on nurturing human responsiveness to others so as to bring to fruition a fuller realisation of one’s moral emotions. Many of the Mencius views seem to stand in contrast to those in the Xunzi. We explore the key themes of Xunzi’s philosophy in the following section.

Xunzi: Shaping Humanity Xunzi (Xun Kuang) is often hailed as the most scrupulous of the early Confucian thinkers because of the comprehensive synthesis reflected in the Xunzi. The thirty-two-chapter work bearing his name engaged with the views of Kongzi, Mozi, Mencius, Shen Dao, Shen Buhai, Song Xing, Zhuangzi, Hui Shi and Gongsun Long, criticising the deficiencies of some of these views while also drawing from their strengths. Because its conclusions synthesise ideas from a range of thinkers, the Xunzi’s views stretch the limits of what may be properly considered to belong to the Confucian tradition. For example, the

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Analects rejected penal law (fa) as an instrument of government while the Xunzi endorsed its deterrent effects. In contrast to Mencius’ positive assessment of human nature, Xunzi’s views are notably pessimistic. His discussion on xing is entitled “Human nature is bad” (“Xing E”). The Xunzi poses a counter-example to Mencius’ child-about-to-fall-into-a-well example. It visualises two brothers vying for property, each of whom is self-serving at best. Xunzi notes that such selfishness is pervasive and argues for reform through a highly regulated sociopolitical context. He has a bleak picture of human nature to begin with: Human nature is bad; any good in humans is acquired by conscious effort. Now, human nature is like this: being born with a love of profit, and abiding by it, causes aggressive and greedy tendencies to grow and courtesy and deference to disappear; being born with feelings of envy and dislike, and indulging them, causes violence and crime to develop and loyalty and trustworthiness to perish; being born possessing the desires of the ears and eyes (which are fond of sounds and colours), and indulging them, causes dissolute and wanton behaviour to result and propriety and rightness, refinement and natural patterns to perish . . . Thus, it is necessary that man’s nature undergoes the transformative influences of teachers and models (fa) and that he be guided by propriety and rightness. Only after this has been accomplished do courtesy and deference develop. Unite these qualities with refinement and natural patterns, and the result is an age of orderly government . . . Thus, a warped piece of wood must first await application of the press-frame, steam to soften it, and force to bend its shape before it can be made straight. A dull piece of metal must first be whetted on the grindstone before it can be made sharp. (Xunzi 23 “Xing E”; adapted from the translation by Knoblock, Xunzi, 1994: 150–1)

The phrase “xing e” is often translated as “human nature is evil.” However, notions often associated with evil, such as malevolence, wickedness and viciousness, are not apparent in this passage. Here, there are descriptions of what is meant by “e”: a love of profit, feelings of envy and dislike, and being led by the ears and eyes (rather than by the heart-mind). These seem to be self-serving rather than inherently evil actions. Undesirable outcomes arise for both self and society if people follow their naturally given, selfserving, inclinations. How might we account for Mencius’ and Xunzi’s seemingly contradictory statements on human nature? One approach is to narrow the gap between

Mencius and Xunzi

the two. The Mencius’ notion of xing includes the heart-mind and excludes desires, while the Xunzi excludes the heart-mind and includes desires (Ch’en 1953). According to this explanation, the difference in the two views is insignificant and may be explained away by differences in their scope of xing. However, this analysis glosses over important differences in the texts’ views on the nature of cultivation, social institutions and government. Other accounts maintain that there are significant disagreements in the two views (Graham 1967, 1989; Munro 1969: 78–9; Ahern 1980; Goldin 2000). An influential version of this thesis proposed by Graham states that Xunzi’s xing refers to what is naturally existing, from birth, whereas Mencius’ xing also incorporates the nurture and development of the natural tendencies (Graham 1989: 244–51). One important implication of this view is that the Xunzi is not actually criticising the views in the Mencius when it purports to do so. In light of the disagreements between Mencius and Gaozi described above, the Xunzi’s views are compatible with Gaozi’s assertion that xing does not in and of itself supply resources for morality and that humans need to look to external sources for moral guidance and cultivation. Some of the Guodian texts also express support for this view (e.g. Xing Zi Ming Chu, strips 3–4, 9; Yucong 1, strips 22–3; and Liude, strip 26). Gaozi’s fundamental point is that xing is neither good nor bad to begin with. Yucong 2 in the Guodian corpus provides a more complex view, stating that a range of features is found in human nature: feelings, knowledge, love, parental affection, joy, aversion to evil, resentment, fear, strength, weakness and desires (strips 1–4, 8–12, 20–37; Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 849–55). But the Xunzi stands alone in its assertion that human nature is self-serving. Notwithstanding its unique starting point, the Xunzi, like the Mencius, makes room for the shaping of the heart-mind. Yet, here too, there are nontrivial differences between the two accounts of xin.17 In Mencius, nurture of the heart-mind takes precedence (Mencius 6A:11, 12), to the point that xin is unmoved by external distractions. In the Xunzi, not only is the heart-mind an important capacity, it is the ruler of all the other capacities. In the passage below, the heart-mind is animated and personified:

17

Philip Ivanhoe points out the different learning strategies implicated in each philosophy (Ivanhoe 1990). The philosophical distance between the two positions has persisted through developments in Chinese intellectual history and is manifest especially in Neo-Confucian thought (see Hansen 1992: 380 at note 16).

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The [heart-]mind is the lord of the body and master of the spiritual intelligence. It issues commands but does not receive commands. On its own authority it forbids or orders, renounces or selects, initiates or stops. (Xunzi 21 “Jie Bi”; trans. Knoblock, Xunzi, 1994: 105; annotations by author)

The view that the heart-mind is the ruler of the other capacities is also shared by the Guodian text, Wu Xing (“The Five Conducts”), which states that “Ears, eyes, nose, mouth, hands, and feet are faculties that are governed by [the] heart-mind. When the heart-mind says ‘yes,’ none dares not to say ‘yes’” (strip 28; trans. Chan, S. 2011: 72). The Wu Xing is a significant text in relation to the Mencius-Xunzi debate because it shares elements with both the Mencius and the Xunzi. The passage above sees the heart-mind as the governing capacity, as is the case in the Xunzi. However, the Wu Xing also holds that conduct should ideally ensue from benevolence (ren), which originates from “within” – a theme that is characteristically Mencian (Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 469–78). In terms of how the heart-mind controls desires, the Xunzi alludes to dao, which guides the heart-mind, ensuring that it selects right objects of desire. As the ruler of the body, the heart-mind, when properly attuned to dao, will make the right choices: It is natural to our inborn nature to have desires, and the mind acts to control and moderate them . . . As a general rule, when men choose, what they get is never only what they wanted; when they reject, what they lose is never only what they disliked. Thus a man should weigh and balance both before he acts . . . Dao, from antiquity to the present, has been the right balance. (Xunzi 22 “Zheng Ming”; trans. Knoblock, Xunzi, 1994: 135, 137)

The heart-mind makes distinctions so that it may accurately weigh and balance the variety of objects it desires. If the heart-mind is fixated on a trivial matter, confusion will arise (huo qi xin). The Xunzi gives a central place to the heart-mind in deliberation: in contrast to the senses, xin is capable of handling knowledge (Xunzi 22 “Zheng Ming”) (see Lee 2005: 33–56). Xunzi’s account of decision-making focuses heavily on discretion, a distinctive capacity of the heart-mind. Because the Xunzi emphasises the deliberative capacities of xin and its connection with knowledge, it has sometimes been translated as “mind” to distinguish it from the Mencius “heart-mind.” Yet we must not

Mencius and Xunzi

ignore the fact that cultivation for Xunzi also involved nurturing proper human emotions. The following section examines the Xunzi’s proposals for cultivation: following the norms set up by sages through regulating names, recognising distinctions in society through practising propriety, and abiding by natural patterns to transform the mind.

Regulating Names, Practising Propriety and Transforming Human Nature Xunzi proposed a number of measures for regulating human behaviour. These had to be implemented by teachers and sages because individuals are not able, by themselves, to rectify their self-serving tendencies. Nor do they have any naturally given motivation to do so, as the opening passage of the “Human nature is bad” chapter suggests. In this section, we examine some of these measures. One common view in the Warring States texts was that the cause of unrest lay partly in the lack of standards (fa) in relation to values and human behaviour. The Xunzi, the Zhuangzi, the Mozi and texts associated with the Mingjia (debaters who focused on names) express this concern. Some of them, including the Xunzi, held that it was important to fix the meanings of names (ming), thereby providing clear standards for human behaviour and action. In the Analects and Xunzi, this measure is dubbed zhengming (rectifying names), although the term is used differently in the two texts. Zhengming in the Analects is not primarily concerned with semantic issues nor is it about the modification of titles, as its common translation “rectification of names” suggests.18 The belief was that names expressed normative standards of conduct such that those bearing particular names were obliged to attune their conduct accordingly (Analects 12:11; 12:19; 13:3). In the Xunzi, however, “rectifying names” is an appropriate translation of zhengming. The chapter “Zheng Ming” states that the meanings of names are merely customary, and, therefore, the ruler should fix their meanings so as to establish clear standards for behaviour:

18

Zhengming applies not only to the obligations of those who take on the more “public” socio-political roles but to obligations in relationships which have a distinctly more personal and private aspect.

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Names have no intrinsic appropriateness. One agrees to use a certain name and issues an order to that effect, and if the agreement is abided by and becomes a matter of custom, then the name may be said to be appropriate, but if people do not abide by the agreement, then the name ceases to be appropriate. Names have no intrinsic reality. One agrees to use a certain name and issues an order that it shall be applied to a certain reality, and if the agreement is abided by and becomes a matter of custom, then it may be said to be a real name. (Xunzi 22 “Zheng Ming”; trans. Watson, Hsün Tzu, 1963: 138)

Xunzi is deeply aware of the extent of influence wielded by those in power. The potential for an inept or immoral ruler to manipulate the common people through this method is not insignificant. It is a possibility that the Xunzi considers only briefly, arguing that those who exploit the tool by recklessly making up new names and casting out the old – hence causing people to be deluded and confused – “is a terrible evil and should be punished” (Xunzi 22 “Zheng Ming”; trans. Watson, Hsün Tzu, 1963: 140). In positive terms, the creation of standards through the determination of word-meanings is a powerful instrument with which human behaviour may be regulated. Xunzi astutely suggests that the role of government is not to encourage people not to have desires but rather to manage the people’s expectations.19 One method of embedding behavioural standards into social practice was to promote li, norms of behavioural propriety, together with yi. In the Xunzi, these two terms appear together frequently, and it seems that the terms li, yi and li-yi are sometimes used interchangeably.20 Standards of behaviour express social distinctions (fen) and

19

Xunzi writes, “All those who maintain that desires must be gotten rid of before there can be orderly government fail to consider whether desires can be guided, but merely deplore the fact that they exist at all. All those who maintain that desires must be lessened before there can be orderly government fail to consider whether desires can be controlled, but merely deplore the fact that they are so numerous . . . the possession or nonpossession of desires has nothing to do with good government or bad” (Xunzi 22 “Zheng Ming”; trans. Watson, Hsün Tzu, 1963: 150).

20

Refer to Nivison’s note that “The term li-yi is almost a Xunzi trademark; for example, it is used over and over in his essay “Xing E” (“Human Nature Is Bad”) . . . The words yi and li are not synonyms, but yi has senses close enough to li so that sometimes Xunzi is uninterested in noticing any distinction between li and li-yi, as in the “Li Lun” text” (2000: 113).

Mencius and Xunzi

differentiation (bie) so that people act according to where they stand in relation to others: The former kings . . . established rituals [li] and yi in order to divide [fen] things among people, to nurture their desires and to satisfy their seeking . . . Meats and grains, the five flavors and the various spices are means to nurture the mouth. Fragrances and perfumes are means to nurture the nose . . . Thus, ritual is a means of nurture. The gentleman not only obtains its nurturing, but also loves its differentiations [bie]. What is meant by “differentiations”? I say: It is for noble and lowly to have their proper ranking, for elder and youth to have their proper distance, and for poor and rich, humble and eminent each to have their proper weights. (Xunzi 19 “Li Lun”; trans. Hutton, Xunzi, 2014: 201; annotations by author)

The fragrances nurture the nose just as other external stimuli nurture the different human capacities. By analogy, behavioural propriety nurtures correct human behaviour. The analogy is instructive: it reveals the Xunzi’s view that these implements for shaping human behaviour are external to human nature. Here, as in Gaozi’s case, yi is appropriately conceived of as “rightness” so as not to suggest an internal, naturally given capacity. It suggests that, for these thinkers, doing the right thing in each situation was an important consideration. Hence, cultivation plays a central role in Xunzi’s philosophy because it helps to shape human conduct. The nurturing processes apply to the mouth, nose, eyes, ears and body as well as to the cultivation of reliability (xin), authority (wei), safety (an), life (sheng), wealth (cai) and the emotions (qing) (ibid.: 202). Inculcation of propriety and rightness will eliminate self-serving behaviours, such as that in the case of brothers vying for property. It also has positive outcomes in encouraging amenability (rang) (Xunzi 4 “Rong Ru”; 23 “Xing E”).21 If passages such as this give the impression that compliance through behavioural propriety is the principal concern of the text, we need to keep

21

Perkins (2010) translates yi as “rightness” and suggests a helpful comparison between education in the Xunzi and the Xing Zi Ming Chu. In both texts, qing is considered “inner” and yi as external. Perkins describes a passage in the Xing Zi Ming Chu as expressing the view that “Knowing qing entails knowing how to express feelings outwardly in proper form, while knowing rightness means being able to internalize it to align our genuine feelings” (2010: 23). The view that ritual and music are instrumental in the shaping of human emotions is also expressed in the Yucong 2 (see Chan, S. 2011: 71).

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in mind that the Xunzi values li not for its own sake but instrumentally, in shaping humanity and bringing about order (zhi). In the passage below, behavioural propriety is instrumental in the realisation of social harmony. Dubs’ translation captures the aesthetic dimension of the Xunzi’s li: Li is human emotion expressed, harmonized, and beautified so as to become a pattern for all. It uses the features, the voice, food, garments, and dwellings, and gives each their appropriate means of expressing emotion. As a pattern, Li aids those whose expression of sorrow would be too little, and those whose expression of sorrow would be too violent, alike to reach a golden mean. By means of Li, the degenerate son is kept from becoming worse than a beast, and the over-sensitive man is prevented from injuring himself. Li is the beautifying of man’s original nature by means of acquired characteristics which could not be acquired of themselves. (Xunzi 14 “Zhi Shi”; trans. Dubs, Hsüntze, 1966: 146–7)

This passage gives a sense of the performance- and practice-orientation of li, which have aesthetic dimensions. It also emphasises the centrality of ritual practice to the attunement of human desires. But what are they attuned to? Is there a suggestion of some deeper, underlying reality within the Xunzi’s program for rectification? This depends on whether we hold that the Xunzi is primarily focused on the efficacy of collective human action or that it grounded this concern in a more fundamental moral commitment to dao (the Way). According to the latter view, the text has deeper metaphysical commitments and is not primarily committed to pragmatic or sociopolitical considerations. This view is presented by Paul Goldin in the following way: . . . the rituals are right because they embody the Way of Humanity, and not merely because the Sages dictated them. Other systems of social control – such as law codes established by human rulers – cannot bring about the same results, because they do not necessarily accord with the Way. The consequence of this view, which scholars have not always appreciated, is that for Xunzi, the Way is paramount, not the rituals – for it is the Way that determines the rituals. (2000: 125; see also Goldin 1999: 104)

Those who take this stance will resist a reading of the Xunzi as primarily concerned with the imposition of standards on human behaviour. This debate has important implications for the question of whether Xunzi’s views are more Confucian or Legalist (see Lee 2005: 74–8).

Mencius and Xunzi

Another dimension of Xunzi’s philosophy is music (yue), the ethicoaesthetic fabric of society. In the Analects, music is an indispensable part of ritual (Analects 11:26; 13:3; 17:11). It permeates and reflects existing conditions in society (Analects 15:11). Music, together with behavioural propriety, are distinctively human pursuits (Analects 3:3; 7:14; 9:15; 17:11). The Xunzi shares this view of music in the socio-political domain but it also articulates how music is interwoven into personal moral life: Music is joy. The gentleman takes joy in attaining [dao]. The petty man takes joy in attaining the object of his desires. If one takes [dao] to regulate one’s desires, then one will be happy and not disordered. If one forgets [dao], for the sake of one’s desires, then one will be confused and unhappy . . . When music proceeds, then the people will turn towards what is correct. Thus, music is the height of ordering people, but Mozi denounces it! Music, moreover, is unchanging harmony and [li] is unalterable order. Music unites that which is the same, and [li] distinguishes that which is different. Together the combination of [li] and music governs the human heart. (Xunzi 20 “Yue Lun”; trans. Hutton, Xunzi, 2014: 221; annotations by author)

This passage highlights a few dimensions of music. Music and behavioural propriety guide the heart-mind and are therefore effective for bringing about social order. Implicit in this view is an assumption that people are responsive to music in a way that shapes their moral outlook. Although it is not stated explicitly in this passage, not all music is acceptable. The Analects, for instance, highlights music that is to be shunned (15:11). Like other texts of the period, notably the Zuo Zhuan, the Xunzi’s conception of music crosses over a number of domains – the cosmological, spiritual, social, political and personal – and brings them together into a framework of harmony (Brindley 2012: 12–21). As we might expect, the discussions in these early texts do not provide sophisticated details on the nature of the causal or correlative connections across the domains. Nevertheless, some interesting assumptions are laid out, including the Xing Zi Ming Chu’s view that music stirs the emotions (strips 23–26; see also Brindley 2006). If we allow that the Xunzi’s references to music incorporate elements of spiritual and cosmological order, this would lend weight to the assertion that the text is not just concerned with the rectification of human behaviour for socio-political ends. Although the Xunzi is distinctive among contemporaneous texts in its statement that there are no resources within human nature that incline it

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towards goodness, its optimism about the transformative potential of sociopolitical institutions and cultural forms is uplifting. It takes its stand with the Mencius on the availability of self-cultivation for all. While the Mencius emphasises the universality of naturally given goodness, the Xunzi stresses that self-cultivation is a possibility for all humans: Any person in the street can become (like) Yu. What does this mean? I reply: What made the sage emperor Yu a Yu, was the fact that he exercised ren and rightness and abided by standards and what was correct . . . Any person in the street is able to grasp ren, rightness, standards and correctness and has the ability to practice ren, rightness, standards and correctness. (Xunzi 23 “Xing E”; adapted from the translation by Hutton, Xunzi, 2014: 254)

This passage states explicitly that all humans have the ability to undertake practices that shape the self. More important than its negative statement on xing is its focus on the resources that are available to humanity for self-cultivation, including behavioural propriety, music, rightness, models, teachers, sages and dao. Burton Watson comments on the contrast between Xunzi’s original nature and its subsequent development: “To this dark initial thesis Xunzi contraposes the almost unlimitedly bright possibilities for improvement through study and moral training” (1963: 5). Mencius’ and Xunzi’s commitment to the perfectibility of the common person would have seemed progressive within a social milieu that was highly conscious of rank and status. To say that all humans are capable of self-cultivation is to present the possibility for individuals to transcend their ordinary beginnings.

The Way of Tian and the Ways of Humanity Not a few texts in the pre-Qin period proposed that tian was the source of human nature. However, there are important differences in their views on tian as the source, or a source, of moral goodness, and the appropriate responses of humanity to this. We have already seen, for example, Mencius’ disagreement with Gaozi about whether yi, rightness, is part of what is “given” in human nature. In this section, we attempt to fill out this picture by considering a set of related questions. In what way is tian the source of moral goodness? What is the nature of tian’s agency, if tian is agentive? What is the reach of tian in relation to events in the world? What is the responsibility of human beings in response to tian? Given the nature of the

Mencius and Xunzi

Warring States debates and the texts we are working with, the investigation below will throw up specific details rather than a generalised view of ideas during the time. We have seen that the Mencius upholds the tian-endowed inclination towards goodness, which entails that the right human response is to nurture the heart-mind. To say that moral capabilities or inclinations are endowed, and that a response is required, seems to suggest that tian is an intentional agent. Yet there remains some uncertainty because tian in Warring States thought may also be conceived in naturalistic terms. According to this view, tian is simply the way things are, broadly encompassing the conditions of life, of what is available to humanity and what constrains it. The term ming – often translated “fate” or “destiny” – also sheds light on these two possible interpretations of tian. Ming has a range of meanings in early Confucianism. It may refer to a person’s fate or destiny, tian’s mandate for a person or a state and, loosely, a normative ideal for humanity.22 In relation to individuals, ming may refer to the conditions of life, including the opportunities and constraints that might arise from a person’s physical, emotional and physiological constitution, as well as from his or her environmental, social and political contexts.23 In Warring States texts, a person’s ming may be construed in terms of her “allotment,” what she has received, so to speak, from life’s conditions or, alternatively, through divine design. The Mencius expresses a tripartite connection between tian, human nature and ming (tian’s ordinances): in nourishing their natures, humans serve tian; in cultivating themselves, they establish tian’s ordinances (Mencius 7A:1). However, the exact nature of these connections is not clearly articulated in the text.24

22

23

Refer to Slingerland 1996 for a discussion of the different meanings of ming and its role in the debates between “inner” and “outer.” The notion of ming is the central focus in the Guodian Xing Zi Ming Chu. Its opening paragraph, which begins with a statement of its title, says: “Human nature derives from ming; ming is imparted from tian” (Xing Zi Ming Chu, strips 1–5, trans. author, adapted from Cook’s translation, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 697–700).

24

Some of the discussions in the Yucong 2 and 3 include more complexity. For example, Yucong 2 points out that desires are part of human nature (xing), and desires give rise to scheming behaviours, greed, negligence, indulgence and anxiety (strips 10–19; Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 855–7). Yucong 3 incorporates another dimension to tian, as the source of patterns for all things: “Heaven provides the models; humans and all things follow these patterns” (strip 17; trans. author; Guodian Chumu Zhujian 1998: 209). Shirley Chan argues that the use of the term li (patterns) in the Guodian corpus signifies a move

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Regardless of how we understand tian in Mencius’ philosophy, Mencius’ view of human nature occupies one end of the spectrum as it sees tian as a sufficient source of human goodness, albeit one that requires further development. Unlike more commonly held views, for example, those expressed in some of the Guodian texts discussed previously, Mencius draws a sharp line between the sources of goodness (that it is naturally given) and immoral behaviours (that these are due to external factors). That Mencius’ view is a minority view may help explain why, in justifying its own position, the text dwells at length on the views of its opponents.25 In his examination of the connections between human nature and tian, Chen Lai notes that quite a few followers of Confucius held a different view: “Shizi, Qi Diao Zi, Mi Zi and Gongsun Nizi all claimed ‘human nature has good and has bad,’ which became the mainstream pre-Qin Confucian theory of human nature” (Chen 2010: 46). The tightly drawn connection between tian and moral goodness creates a unique problem for the Mencius in terms of how it explains adverse circumstances. If the seeds of human goodness are laid out by tian, how might the text explain events that are “bad,” or when things have gone wrong, or worse, where tian might be thought to have violated moral norms? Mencius 2B:13 states that humans are not to reproach tian. Here, especially, it seems that tian is an intentional agent that brings about certain events, including starvation and hardship, upon individuals.26

towards more detailed metaphysical considerations than we have seen so far in the extant texts. Chan writes: “The notion of li 理 (ordered patterns) as “reasoning principles/ patterns” and “managing things in compliance with the essence of patterns and inherent principles” is introduced [here] . . . tian is not only the source or cause of existence of all things and phenomena, it also prescribes the embodied patterns (with principles and reasoning) in the process of the formation of things . . .” (2011: 67). 25

The Mencian view of human nature has long been accepted as the orthodox view (e.g. see Yi 2015). Chen Lai makes a significant proposal that, in light of the Guodian views, it is not viable to maintain that there was a single, orthodox, Confucian view of human nature, even from as early as the period of the Book of Odes (Shijing) (Chen 2010: esp. 43–9). This is compatible with the fact that different conceptions of human nature were dominant at different times in Chinese history. Refer to Chan, S. 2011 and 2012 for more details on the different views in the Guodian texts.

26

For example, Mencius 6B:15 states: “. . .Heaven, when it is about to place a great burden on a man, always first tests his resolution, exhausts his frame and makes him suffer starvation and hardship, frustrates his efforts so as to shake him from his mental lassitude, toughen his nature and make good his deficiencies” (trans. Lau, Mencius 1979b: 284–5). The views expressed in the Guodian Qiong Da Yi Shi (“Poverty or Success

Mencius and Xunzi

There was a contemporaneous view that avoided a rift between tian and the ways of humanity. This proposal, attributed to Yang Zhu, forged a close alignment between tian-endowed nature and the norms of humanity. In the pre-Qin texts, Yang Zhu’s ideas are often described by his opponents in a derogatory manner. The Mencius complains that Yang Zhu’s self-serving attitude is detrimental to society because he renounces the authority of the ruler in favour of looking after himself (Mencius 3B:9). In the Liezi (c. 300 CE), a later text which seems to share the negativity towards Yang Zhu’s view, Yang Zhu is caricatured as selfish and unable directly to answer the question, “If you could help the whole world at the cost of one hair of your body, would you do it?” (Graham 1978: 16; see also Mencius 7A:26). Probably due to representations like this, Yang Zhu’s theory has often been ignored in scholarship. Moreover, our access to Yang Zhu’s ideas is limited; we know of them only through brief mentions in other texts. In one of the texts, however, we get a more nuanced view of the preservation of xing. The Lüshi Chunqiu (Master Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals; c. 240 BCE), a text which synthesised a range of views, presents an account of xing that involves living life to its full term.27 It proposes that “the best life is to live out one’s full span in good health, enjoying the pleasures of the senses to the last . . . A ruler should on no account sacrifice the fulfilment of his personal life to considerations of state; a private individual should not accept the Empire itself as a gift at the least risk to his health or security” (Graham 1967: 13). The view set out here does not encourage unwillingness to make sacrifices for one’s country. Rather, it emphasises the need to avoid avarice in keeping one’s nature intact. In this light, we should note that there is some ambiguity in the original phrase in the Liezi, concerning whether one might sacrifice a hair to profit or to gain the empire.28 On the second alternative, Yang Zhu, Is a Matter of Timing” also reflect some resignation to the turn of events or one’s circumstances, whether positive or negative. Refer to Cook’s discussion of this aspect of the text, at note 19 (Bamboo Texts, 2012: 440). Refer to the discussion by Perkins (2014: 116–50). Refer also to Puett’s comment about Heaven’s violation of moral norms (Puett 2002: 144; cited in Perkins 2014: 118). 27

It refers to this theme in five of its chapters: 1.2 “Ben Sheng”; 1.3 “Zhong Ji”; 2.2 “Gui Sheng”; 2.3 “Qing Yu”; and 21.4 “Shen Wei”; see Knoblock and Riegel, Annals of Lü Buwei,

28

2000. Shun Kwong-loi explores Graham’s suggestion that Yang Zhu’s view is less negative than the way it is portrayed in the Mencius. The question posed in the Liezi is framed in terms of whether Yang Zhu would sacrifice a hair to benefit the empire. The phrase “以濟一世”

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or one who holds views like his, is not the “hedonist” or “egoist” he is often described to be, for all he is promoting is that one should not sacrifice one’s original nature to gain the empire. To keep one’s life intact is to nurture xing through not seeking external possessions or over-indulging the appetites; possessions and indulgences are external to xing. If we follow this reading of Yang Zhu’s view, the Lüshi Chunqiu-Yang Zhu conception of human nature – what it is, and what it should become – is aligned with tian. However, there is a major difference between this view and that of the Confucians. Simply to preserve what is given is not sufficient even for Mencius. Confucian philosophy gives a central place to cultivation, which is primarily the shaping of xing in attunement with cultural and social norms developed through time and established in tradition. But how much is in the hands of humanity and where do we draw the line between tian’s actions and human responsibility? The Qiong Da Yi Shi (“Poverty or Success is a Matter of Timing”), a Guodian text, sets out the scope of the question succinctly: “There is that which is controlled by tian, and there is that which is within the power of man, and each has its separate lot” (Qiong Da Yi Shi, strips 1–8; trans. Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 453). We have seen previously that the Mencius runs into difficulties when it holds tian responsible for certain acts but maintains that tian is nevertheless not to be blamed. The Xunzi, by contrast, delineates what is properly human, and what properly belongs to tian, in its chapter “Discourse on Heaven” (“Tian Lun”). It limits the jurisdiction of tian, stating that it does not intervene in human affairs – unlike what is stated in the Mencius. The view in the Xunzi seems partly driven by pragmatic reasons. It exposes superstitious beliefs, stating that eclipses and erratic changes in climate are natural phenomena and not to be attributed to tian (“Tian Lun” 17.6). These unfounded anxieties are to be replaced with attentiveness to the affairs of the state that are within reach of human action:

is vague, however, and it may be understood as “to benefit the world” or “to gain (possession of) the world” (Liezi 7; trans. Graham 1990c: 148–9). Shun proposes that, according to the second understanding, Yang Zhu’s stance is that he is unwilling to injure himself (by giving up one hair) in order to gain possession of the world. This interpretation speaks for the centrality of the Yangist nurturing of life as being opposed to acquisitiveness, rather than Yang Zhu’s selfishness in refusing to serve in an official capacity. (Shun 1997: 35–7, 45).

Mencius and Xunzi

If you respond to the constancy of [tian’s] course with good government, there will be good fortune; if you respond to it with disorder, there will be misfortune. If you strengthen the basic undertakings and moderate expenditures, [tian] cannot impoverish you. If your nourishment is complete and your movements accord with the season, then [tian] cannot afflict you with illness. If you conform to [dao] and are not of two minds, then [tian] cannot bring about calamity. Accordingly, flood and drought cannot cause famine, cold and heat cannot cause sickness, and inauspicious and freak events cannot cause misfortune. (“Tian Lun” 17.1; trans. Knoblock, Xunzi, 1994: 14; annotations by author)

This passage affirms the centrality of a resolute mind-heart in Xunzi’s philosophy, one that is firmly focused on the capabilities of humanity and the potential of human action to influence the human condition. This passage could give the impression that Xunzi’s conception of tian is primarily naturalistic.29 While texts like the Mencius attribute certain events and states of affairs to tian, it seems that the Xunzi delimits its scope. It is on this basis that some scholars hold that the Xunzi lacks a religious dimension. However, the passage above, and others like it in the text, may not be rejecting the place of tian per se. It may be that the text sees the potential of superstitious beliefs and practices to generate erroneous beliefs and therefore act as obstacles to effective action. Indeed, a chapter of the text is devoted to “Dispelling Blindness” (“Jie Bi”) (Knoblock, Xunzi, 1994). The point of the passage above seems to be that appropriate action can begin only if the potential for humans to turn situations around is properly understood. There are other elements in the text that lend weight to the argument that Xunzi’s tian is not obviously a naturalistic one. The Xunzi’s references to ritual, music and attunement with dao have been understood as being irreducibly religious (see Radcliffe-Brown 1965; Machle 1993, 2014; Ivanhoe 2014). These attempts to set out the domains of responsibility and action for tian and humanity were extended by later Confucian thinkers. During the Han period, correlations and alliances were forged between humanity, tian and Earth (di), carving out different but co-dependent domains for each. For example, the Zhongyong sets out how equilibrium (zhong) and commonality

29

Knoblock’s translation of the title of this chapter of the Xunzi, “Discourse on Nature” (“Tian Lun”) suggests that he views tian in more naturalistic terms. Refer also to the discussion in Perkins 2014: 184–218.

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(yong) are attained. The practice of sincerity (xin) by humanity brings together a tripartite unity: Only that one in the world who is most perfectly sincere is able to give full development to his nature. Being able to give full development to his nature, he is able to give full development to the nature of other human beings and, being able to give full development to the nature of other human beings, he is able to give full development to the natures of other living things. Being able to give full development to the natures of other living things, he can assist in the transforming and nourishing powers of Heaven and Earth; being able to assist in the transforming and nourishing powers of Heaven and Earth; he can form a triad with Heaven and Earth. (Zhongyong 22; trans. de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 338)

These dimensions of humanity’s cooperation with tian relate directly to the question on the respective domains and responsibilities of tian and humanity. In drawing this chapter to a close, we return to the conception of xing, human nature, upon which both Mencius and Xunzi have established their views of cultivation. The translation of xing as “human nature” – for want of a better phrase – fails to capture its dual meanings, of which one is the nature associated with birth and the other is the nature associated with growth. The etymology of xing involves the character sheng, which means both birth and growth.30 Hence, xing may refer to both an incipient capacity and its continuing cultivation. Graham refers to a general imprecision of Chinese concepts in order to explain this dual meaning of xing: Mencius in particular seems never to be looking back towards birth, always forward to the maturation of a continuing growth. This accords with one’s general impression when groping towards an understanding of early Chinese concepts, that often they tend to be more dynamic than their nearest Western equivalents, and that English translation freezes them into immobility.31

30

The character xing is comprised of two components, “忄” (xin: heart-mind) and “生” (sheng: birth, growth). As the second component, sheng, can mean either birth or growth, the term xing could refer to either the nature of humanity, given at birth, or its continuing development, or both. Refer to the discussions in Schwartz 1985: 266 and Ho Hwang 1979: 201–9.

31

Graham (1990b): 7. The Shuowen Jiezi also emphasises the derivative meaning of xing from sheng, growth. Further, it states that the term derives from xin, the heart-mind (at p. 502). These derivatives taken together suggest cultivation, a continual growth, of the xin. This could indicate the influence of Mencian philosophy in the Shuowen’s explication of xing.

Mencius and Xunzi

One way to express the two components of xing in Mencius’ philosophy is to emphasise its biological and cultural aspects. Irene Bloom proposes that xing in the Mencius refers to shared (biological) qualities that all humans have in common and to the (cultural) refinement of these qualities, which individuals may have to different extents (Bloom 2002: 91). This articulation of Mencius’ xing also helps set it apart from Xunzi’s xing. The latter is not defined by inherent moral capacities or biologically based qualities but is explained in terms of a person’s self-serving tendencies. Notwithstanding significant differences in their views, Mencius and Xunzi both offer proposals for the development of the self within a socio-political environment that encourages and enhances collective human well-being. Their optimism about human capabilities and potential, and the place of humanity in bringing about a flourishing society within a cosmic vision, were themes that persisted in Chinese intellectual history for centuries to come. Their perspectives on the roles of emotions and desire in human motivation and moral development continue to shed light on a range of issues in comparative philosophical debates, including on conceptions of a flourishing life; character and virtue; action, agency and responsibility; and the place of emotions in moral life (Yu et al. 2010; Angle and Slote 2013; Bruya 2015; King 2015).

Suggestions for Further Reading Angle, Stephen C., and Slote, Michael (eds.) (2013) Virtue Ethics and Confucianism, New York: Routledge. The Bamboo Texts of Guodian: A Study and Complete Translation (2012), trans. Scott Cook, 2 vols., Cornell East Asia Series, Ithaca, NY: East Asian Program, Cornell Universitys. Bruya, Brian (ed.) (2015) The Philosophical Challenge from China, Cambridge, MA, and London: MIT Press. Chan, Alan (ed.) (2002) Mencius: Contexts and Interpretations, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Cua, Antonio (2005) Human Nature, Ritual, and History: Studies in Xunzi and Chinese Philosophy (Studies in Philosophy and the History of Philosophy), Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Hsün Tzu: Basic Writings (1963), trans. Burton Watson, New York: Columbia University Press. King, Richard A. H. (ed.) (2015) The Good Life and Conceptions of Life in Early China and Graeco-Roman Antiquity, Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter.

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Mengzi: with Selections from Traditional Commentaries (2008), trans. Bryan Van Norden, Indianapolis, IN, and Cambridge: Hackett. Shun, Kwong-Loi (1997) Mencius and Early Chinese Thought, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Xunzi: A Translation and Study of the Complete Works (1988), trans. John Knoblock, vols. 1–3. Vol. 1 books 1–6; vol. 2 (1990) books 7–16; vol. 3 (1994) books 17–32, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Xunzi: The Complete Text (2014), edited and with an introduction by Eric L. Hutton, Princeton, NJ, and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Yu, Kam-por, Tao, Julia, and Ivanhoe, Philip J. (eds.) (2010) Taking Confucian Ethics Seriously: Contemporary Theories and Applications, Albany: State University of New York Press.

4

Early Mohist Philosophy

Mohist thought is named after its alleged founder, Mozi (c. 480 BCE–c. 390 BCE). Some vignettes of Mozi’s life have been constructed on the belief that he was anti-Confucian. For example, Mozi was said to have interacted with a group of Ruist scholar-officials who were preoccupied with the study of texts, ceremonial ritual and the cultivation of a privileged lifestyle. According to this account, Mozi reacted to these aspects of Ruist doctrine and is said to have praised Confucius but rejected the other Ruists he met (see Schwartz 1985: 133, 138–9). None of these accounts can be treated with certainty, however, so our picture of Mozi is primarily constructed from what he is supposed to have said in the Mozi. Consideration of these interpretive issues raises the important methodological question of whether we read the Mozi as “a master with disciples and opponents bringing about a text” or as “a text describing (and thereby creating) a master, disciples, and opponents” (Defoort and Standaert 2013: 4).1

Textual

At the heart of Mohist philosophy is the text, the Mozi. The fifty-

matters

three-chapter extant text is a version of a seventy-one-chapter text compiled by Liu Xiang (76–6 BCE) during the Han dynasty. The chapters may be divided into a number of sections:  1–7 (opening chapters)  8–37 (core chapters, articulating the ten doctrines)  40–5 (canons or dialectical chapters)  46–50 and 38, 39 (dialogues or “Mohist Analects”)  51–71 (military chapters)2

1 2

Defoort and Standaert take the latter position. This is recorded in the Hanshu (chapter 30; 漢書卷三十, 藝文志第十). In the received text, chapters 22–4, 29, 30, 33, 34, 38, 51, 54, 55, 57, 59, 60 and 64–7 are missing. Refer to the

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The extant text presents a reasonably coherent picture of early Mohist philosophy with a number of distinctive themes, which will be covered in this chapter. Sections were written over time and it is not clear that groups of Mohists identified in other works were actually associated with the text. It is also possible that different sections of the text were in circulation at different times and in different areas. The Zhuangzi identifies three factions of Mohists (Zhuangzi, chapter 4), the Han Fei Zi also identifies three factions (Han Fei Zi, chapter 50) although only one of the groups overlaps in the two lists.3 Because the language in the Mozi can be repetitious and ponderous, it has been suggested that the Mohists – some of whom were craftsmen and technicians – were of lower social status than the authors of texts such as the Analects (see Hansen 1992: 95–8).

Concerning the impact of Mohist philosophy, some assessments speak of its ideas and influence in a fairly disparaging way. For instance, Wing-tsit Chan asserts that “philosophically Mohism is shallow and unimportant.”4 This reflects a longstanding tendency, from the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing periods (1644–1912), to interpret Mohism as a hostile reaction to Confucianism, and a weak attempt at that. More serious scholarship has developed, however, which upholds the importance of Mohist writing on inventions,

discussions of the 53- and 71-chapter texts in Defoort and Standaert (2013: 1–2) and Knoblock and Riegel (Mozi, 2013: 14–16). Knoblock and Riegel suggest that it is possible that the missing chapters may never have been included in Liu’s compilation but were simply indicated in its table of contents (ibid.: 15) 3

Knoblock and Riegel propose that these factions are most likely second- and third-generation followers as the identities are not mentioned in the Mozi itself. Knoblock and Riegel compile a list of first-generation disciples based on references to individual names occurring in the Mozi, the Hanshu and the Lüshi Chunqiu (Mozi, 2013: 9–11). This thesis stands if we accept that the Mozi text itself was primarily written during the time of the first-generation disciples. On the circulation of the text, see also Knoblock and Riegel’s discussion at p. 14.

4

Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 212, cited and discussed by Hansen (1992: 95–6). Fung Yu-lan in his famous Short History of Chinese Philosophy (1948) suggests that Mohist philosophy is an extension of the lifestyle of the knights-errant and hence reflects aspects of the tightly knit organisational life of these ‘knights’ (at p. 50).

Early Mohist Philosophy

geometry, optics and criteria for evaluating argument (see Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 23–6). Contemporary philosophical investigations by Benjamin Schwartz, Angus Graham, Chad Hansen, Carine Defoort and Dan Robins have outlined aspects of Mohist philosophy that were influential in shaping the subsequent development of Chinese philosophy (Graham 1978, 1989; Schwartz 1985; Hansen 1992). Hansen considers Mozi to be the “most important philosopher in the early half of the classical period” (Hansen 1992: 95). The discussion in this chapter focuses primarily on the themes covered in the “core chapters” of the text (Mozi 8–37). These essays engage with ethical, social, economic and political issues as well as those concerned with defence and war. As we will see, the insights of the Mozi include a participatory, universalist and inclusive approach to maximising collective welfare: everyone must practise jianai, impartial and mutual concern, for everyone else. The text also sets out criteria for the assessment of doctrine, on the basis of three standards (fa): precedent (past practices), empirical veracity (experiences of the people) and utility. Mozi applied these criteria primarily to ethical issues, though his discussions on verifiability and justification were instrumental in setting the stage for later developments, especially in epistemology and philosophy of language. This latter set of topics was covered especially in chapters 40–5 of the Mozi, the Canons. They will be discussed in Chapter 6, which highlights debates on language in ancient China.

The Ten Doctrines The essays cover ten doctrines in Mohist philosophy.5 In the seventy-onechapter text, the table of contents lists three versions of each doctrine, although seven of these chapters are missing in the extant text. What is the reason for including three versions of each doctrine? Could it be that these versions were written by thinkers belonging to the different Mohist factions identified in the Zhuangzi or the Han Fei Zi? Graham proposes that we read these essays in light of the hostility between three factions, labelling 5

Carine Defoort proposes that different authors and editors of the Mozi have contributed to the Ten Doctrines. This challenges a dominant tendency to attribute the Ten Doctrines to Mozi (2016).

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them “purist,” “compromising” and “reactionary” (1989: 36, 51–2). This reading requires a level of clarity on the factions and their views, the details of which are difficult to establish. A more plausible view suggests that the versions are collated accretions over time. These explanations are important, as questions of authorship, period of composition and intended addressees will influence how we read the text (Watanabe 1962–3; cited in Defoort and Standaert 2013: 4–29). Some of these issues will emerge in the discussions to follow. The ten doctrines may be paired as follows:

“Elevate the Worthy” (Mozi 8–10) and “Conform to the Superior’s Standard” (Mozi 11–13) The plurality of standards is the fundamental cause of unrest. Mozi suggests the implementation of a single standard, yi (rightness), as the solution. The basic measure of yi lies in benefit (li) to society. He identifies three goods that are indicative of society’s well-being: wealth, high population and sociopolitical order. Men whose acts exemplify a commitment to yi should be appointed to lead the country. Mozi also outlines an elaborate hierarchical system with rewards and punishments for making sure yi is realized in society. When common people conform to the superior’s standard, clarity of right (shi) and wrong (fei) will prevail. The end result is sociopolitical order.

“Impartial Concern” (Mozi 14–16) and “Against Military Aggression” (Mozi 17–19) Impartial concern of each person for everyone else (jianai) is the antidote to aggression and opportunism at the expense of others. Some of the arguments in these essays are persuasive because they appear to stem from the text’s commitment to collective well-being. The practice of jianai, expressed simply, consists in “valuing others as one values oneself” (ai ren ruo ai qishen) (Mozi 14; trans. author). In other words, it stems from attributing equal moral weight to others and to oneself. In contrast to jianai, partiality (bie) draws a sharp distinction between self and other. Military aggression is a case of selfishness: in a clearly reasoned argument, Mozi – impartially – weighs the gains from aggressive war against the loss of life which, he concludes, is too high a price to pay.

Early Mohist Philosophy

“Moderation in Expenses” (Mozi 20, 21) and “Moderation in Funerals” (Mozi 25) According to the Mohist criterion of utility – based on benefit (li) and harm (hai) – elaborate funeral practices and extended mourning periods cannot be justified. (The mourning period for one’s parents included three years’ withdrawal from participation in ordinary activities, including work. For example, in Analects 17:21, when Zai Wo speaks to Confucius about cutting short the mourning period before its three-year term, Confucius implicitly affirms the three-year period.) The Mozi acknowledges that these rituals are widely accepted and practised, though it exposes their customary origins: “they confuse what is habitual with what is proper, and what is customary with what is right” (Mozi 25: “Moderation in Funerals”; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 75). The disutility of these practices outweighs the fact that they have been accepted and in use for a long time. Recall that in Mencius 3A.5, Mencius criticises Yi Zhi, a Mohist, for giving his parents a lavish funeral. We will revisit this discussion later in the chapter.

“Heaven’s Will” (Mozi 26–8) and “Explaining Ghosts” (Mozi 31) Heaven (tian) is the source and origin of yi, rightness. The text provides many examples of tian’s yi to demonstrate its beneficence, manifest in the human socio-political realm. For Mozi, humans should draw moral inspiration from tian, the paradigmatic impartial agent concerned for the well-being of all. The beneficent commitment of tian is an objective and verifiable standard. And, in functional terms, tian’s yi works in the same way the compass of a wheelwright and the square of a carpenter provide fixed and reliable measurements. All human actions and utterances must be measured against this objective standard. In this initiative, Mozi not only moves away from the traditional reliance on authority figures, he introduces the notions of impartiality and objectivity to early Chinese philosophy.

“Rejecting Music” (Mozi 32) and “Rejecting Fatalism” (Mozi 35–7) Music is resource-intensive and indulgent. Although it is enjoyable, it distracts from more basic, life-sustaining activities. As with funeral practices, music is customary, though of little utility. Music is a luxury

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for a few at the expense of the common people. In these views, the Mozi expresses little thought for the place and value of aesthetic and cultural pursuits in human life. It presents a thin picture of social and community life, pared down to its essentials and which abhors activities that work against economic productivity. Of course, this may be mitigated in view of the fact that the Mozi was composed during a period of unrest. In this same vein, the text spurns fatalism as the latter encourages resignation and does not promote the maximisation of benefit. These writings encapsulate a dogged commitment to pursue a frugal life and a demanding work ethic, more so than in the early Confucian texts, although the phenomenon of parsimonious and hard-working Chinese populations is often attributed to the Confucian work ethic.

Maximising Collective Welfare Mozi is concerned about the selfish motives of those wanting to annex other states. For him, it is clear that the loss of lives at war is tragic and grossly outweighs the gains acquired in the spoils of war. Mozi’s argument is grounded in the assumption that correct ethical assessment must take into account the sum total of good and evil for all concerned: although a number of individuals stand to gain in war, a far greater number will be affected negatively. To Mozi, it was clear that partiality – selfishness – was the fundamental cause of socio-political disorder: When we inquire into the cause of these various harms, what do we find has produced them? Do they come about from loving others and trying to benefit them? Surely not! They come rather from hating others and trying to injure them. And when we set out to classify and describe those men who hate and injure others, shall we say that their actions are motivated by universality or partiality? Surely we must answer, by partiality, and it is this partiality in their dealings with one another that gives rise to all the great harms in the world. Therefore we know that partiality is wrong. (Mozi 16; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 39)

Mozi’s concern to maximise the collective good is an early and simple version of utilitarian theory; the welfare of all concerned is the primary driving force of his ethical philosophy. These concerns were applicable at the level of both the state and the individual. The Mohist aim of

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maximising collective welfare assumes that both types of good will coincide. Collective good is marked by the following measures: enriching the state, increasing the population and achieving good order (Mozi 8). The primary ethical principle for realising the collective good is jianai. It is more profound than its common translation “universal love” suggests. There is consensus among scholars that the term ai in the phrase jianai does not refer to the affectionate feeling commonly associated with love. Therefore, Graham argues that the Mohist ai is an unemotional will and that the translation “universal love” is both too warm and too vague. It is too warm because jianai is not about emotional love and too vague because it does not capture the sense of impartiality implied in the term jian (Graham 1989: 41; see also Schwartz 1985: 148–50). A translation of the phrase must capture Mozi’s commitment to impartiality in order to attain collective well-being: Graham suggests “concern for everyone” (Graham 1989: 41–2). Here, I suggest the phrase “impartial concern” to capture the core idea of concern rather than love, qualified by impartiality to pick out its distinctiveness among views of its time. How is jianai manifest? In his description of the undesirable conditions then, Mozi diagnoses the problem as a lack of mutual concern (bu xiang ai) among people: sons and fathers lacked mutual concern, as did officials and their superiors (Mozi 14). In the two other chapters on jianai, it is expressed more fully as “impartial mutual concern and reciprocally benefiting others” (jian xiang ai, jiao xiang li; trans. author, Mozi 15, 16).6 The term li in Mohism is aptly translated as “benefit”; it stands in contrast to its Confucian use, which means profit for personal gain.7 The Mozi also outlines the motivations for adopting this doctrine as a principle, based on empirical observations of human conduct: Based on normal observation, I would argue that [a person] desires other men to love and benefit his parents. What should I do first in order to fulfill this

6

The translation of jiao xiang li as “reciprocally benefiting others” is taken from Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 150. The translation of jian xiang ai as “impartial mutual concern” is the author’s.

7

Refer to the discussion in Chiu 2014, which argues that there are primary differences in the way the Mozi and the Mencius construe li. This means it is possible that, even though the Confucians argued against li qua profit, they may have nevertheless agreed with the Mohists that it is important to procure li so as to benefit society as a whole.

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desire? Would I not first love and benefit another man’s parents so that later he would repay me by loving and benefiting my parents? Or would I first hate another man’s parents so that later he would repay me by loving and benefiting my parents? (Mozi 16; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 166).

These desires and expectations are based on mutual goodwill. Hence, impartiality is the correct principle upon which to extend such goodwill broadly, and generally, to everyone else. This stands in contrast to the Confucian relational ethic, which has its roots in the cultivation of particular attachments. Yet we need to be careful not to overstate the difference. For it is not that the Confucians were not also concerned about social order and collective good. Nor is it the case that Mozi ignores personal relationships, as many of his discussions about mutual concern allude, for instance, to affection (ci) and filial piety (xiao) in the father and son relationship (Mozi 15). The “Ru-Mo” (Ru-ist and Mohist) disagreement has often been characterised as being primarily a clash of values, and Mozi has been caricatured as “anti-Confucian.” Here, I suggest that we not overlook the differences in the Confucian and Mohist pictures of human motivation and approaches to moral cultivation. It is important to avoid this oversimplification of differences and to understand where their significant dissimilarities lie. Recall the discussion in Mencius 1A:7, where Mencius takes issue with King Xuan, who felt pity for the ox but who failed to “extend” (tui) compassion for his people. We saw that one of the interpretations of tui was the drawing out, through cultivation, of originally given compassion. That King Xuan demonstrated compassion for the ox was proof that he had these originally given feelings. However, he had failed to develop them such that they were manifest in his interactions with the people. If we follow through with this notion of tui, we begin to see more interesting differences between Mohist jianai and the Confucian view on moral cultivation. Mencius believed that compassion was sufficient as a moral resource, provided this was given adequate nurturing to bring it to fruition. For Mozi, it was adherence to the principle or doctrine of jianai, not feelings (innate or otherwise), that could more effectively elicit other-regarding actions. Hence, the Confucians and Mohists had a fundamental disagreement about the basic moral resource. There is another difference arising from this: for the Confucians, feelings were initially to be nurtured in the family setting, where the parent–child relationship is the paradigmatic case of compassion and care. But Mozi is

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sceptical about this approach, for how could impartial concern for others develop from cultivating particular relational attachments? Would not the cultivation of particular relationships breed partiality (bie)? Aggressive war, in Mozi’s eyes, is the manifestation of partiality writ large: The father, loving himself and not his son, therefore benefits himself to the detriment of his son . . . The ruler, loving himself and not his ministers, therefore benefits himself to the detriment of his ministers . . . The thief, loving his own family but not the families of other men, therefore benefits his own family by stealing from other families . . . The lord of a state, loving his own state but not that of another, therefore benefits his state by attacking another’s state. All the disorder in the world is encompassed by these examples. If we investigate the source of this disorder, what do we find? In every case disorder arises from [the lack of mutual concern]. (Mozi 14; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 146–7).

For the Confucians, ren is a distinctive and dynamic concept that denotes both specific relational attachment (renkinship) and compassion for all others (rencompassion). Confucian philosophy regards rencompassion as the fruition of renkinship. The cultivation process is a continuing development of the widening scope of mutually beneficial relationships (Analects 6:30). In light of the Mozi’s views, Confucian ren has two elements, the partial developing into the impartial. While Mozi has a place for ren in his deliberations, it is aligned more closely with rencompassion. Thus, there remains the question of whether Mozi accords renkinship any place in his proposal for attaining social order. To settle this question, we need to ask what renkinship involves. In Confucianism, the realisation of ren in the practice of filial piety (xiao) and brotherly submission (di) (Analects 1:2) teach, and perhaps require, people to discriminate against those outside the family. Mozi is not convinced that renkinship will develop successfully into rencompassion. In other words, partiality is simply not universalisable: The Confucians say: “There are degrees to be observed in treating relatives as relatives, and gradations to be observed in honoring the worthy.” They prescribe differences to be observed between close and distant relatives and between the honored and the humble. (Mozi 39; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 124)

Although Mencius is correct that the affective bonds especially between parent and child are foundational in human life and should be nurtured (Books of Mencius 7A:15), Mozi’s argument against the Confucian proposal to

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develop rencompassion from renkinship is persuasive. Mozi’s principle of jianai and scrutiny of human motivation and affection prompts closer scrutiny of Confucian commitments and their associated approaches to socio-political order. In his argument against the Confucian position, Mozi puts up two candidates for consideration, one partial (i.e. the rationale for renkinship) and the other impartial. He argues that renkinship fails the test of impartiality: Suppose there are two men, one of them holding to partiality, the other to universality. The believer in partiality says, “How could I possibly regard my friend the same as myself, or my friend’s father the same as my own?” . . . [The believer in universality] would say, “I have heard that the truly superior man of the world regards his friend the same as himself, and his friend’s father the same as his own.” . . . Now let us ask, to whom would he entrust the support of his parents and the care of his wife and children? Would it be to the universalminded man, or to the partial man? It seems to me that, on occasions like these, there are no fools in the world. Though one may disapprove of universality himself, he would surely think it best to entrust his family to the universal-minded man. (Mozi 16; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 41–2)

Here, Mozi sets up an interesting thought experiment against renkinship as the primary guiding principle. What is its argument, and does it work? According to Hansen, we would most likely leave our parents, in the first instance, with a relation – an option not offered by Mozi. However, all things being equal, if these were the only options, then “[the] case shows the internal incoherence of a special-relations morality” (1992: 113). By contrast, Bryan Van Norden argues that there are limits to this argument in that it fails to establish that a society guided by impartialist ethics is desirable in all conditions. He argues that a guileless or helpless person might fare better in a society guided by impartialist norms, because he needs to draw on the help of others. However, “[a]ll the argument shows is that I should not prefer a partialist society unless I am crafty, strong, aggressive, and unlikely to need the assistance of others” (2007: 184). There are reasons for these different analyses of Mozi’s argument. One of them is the lack of clarity in the Mozi and other contemporaneous texts in specifying what Mozi is arguing for and against. In the Mencius, for example, the Mohist position is described (by the Mohist Yi Zhi) as “love without distinctions” (ai wu cha deng) (Mencius 3A5). This may have been presented so as to render the Mohist position implausible. Contrary to the caricature of Mohism in the Mencius, Robins argues that Mohist jianai is compatible with particularist ties, as Mohist moral theory is set out in Mozi 15 and 16 in terms

Early Mohist Philosophy

of “jiao” (to interact) and “xiang” (one another, mutual) (Robins 2012b). This means that phrases such as “reciprocally benefiting others” emphasise reciprocity rather than indiscriminate concern for everyone. Additionally, issues of a textual nature also influence the interpretation of Mohism. In a discussion involving the dating of the text, Defoort proposes that the different versions of the “Impartial Concern” chapters (Mozi 14–16) recommend different pictures of reciprocity. Mozi 14’s intention is to replace caring for oneself with reciprocal caring for others. Mozi 15 suggests a picture of caring from within a family or group, developing into caring for others, while Mozi 16 promotes the replacement of exclusiveness with inclusiveness. On this view, the argument of each chapter moves towards greater inclusivity in its application of reciprocity (Defoort 2013).8 According to this interpretation, the development of jianai is not significantly different from the development of Confucian ren. Finally, an understanding of who the Mozi was addressing can influence how we interpret its argument: in the eyes of the Mohists, who was actually promoting bie, partiality? We have not seen bie figure in a prominent way in the Confucian texts. Could it be that the Mohists were challenging the values and practices of the ruling elite including, but not restricted to, the Ru? Is it possible that the Mohist argument was directed at the Yangists (Van Norden 2007: 184–9)? And might the Mohists have set up terms of argumentation that did not simply draw from previous or contextually bound discourse (Robins 2012a)? These different considerations introduce alternative ways to understand Mohist philosophy. Even if we hold that the Confucians were not the primary addressees of the Mohist arguments for jianai, the discussion of their different doctrines sheds light on the early debates on collective well-being, moral cultivation and effective ways of attaining social order in light of the moral resources available to humanity. Both visions were optimistic, and perhaps idealistic, in their belief that moral guidance was one of the tasks of government. But there are significant differences in their respective conceptions of human well-being. Mozi has a list of social goods that does not include aesthetic and cultural pursuits, and he judges behavioural ritual (li) and

8

The wider context for Defoort’s argument is that the scope of reciprocity develops across chapters 14–16 and it is actually in chapters 26–8, “Heaven’s Intention,” that jianai was properly developed, with heaven as the paradigm of impartiality and inclusivity.

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music purely in economic terms. He holds a vision of human existence that is pared down to the essentials. Purporting to cite the ways of the ancient sage-kings, the Mozi pronounces: Let what is consumed be no more than sufficient to fill the emptiness, extend vital energies, strengthen the limbs, make hearing keen and sight acute. Do not make a special effort to harmonize the five tastes or make the fragrances complementary. Do not send to distant countries for rare and exotic delicacies and unusual things. (Mozi 21; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 197)

This picture of simple subsistence is perhaps understandable in a time and context when even the basic necessities were difficult to procure. The statement could serve another purpose, that of rejecting the unjustified, decadent extravagances of the elite, which came at a cost to society as a whole. The privileges that are the prerogative of only a few are not tolerated within Mozi’s system. Hence, the Mohist superior person will implement a system of rewards and punishments to ensure the practice of impartial concern for reciprocal benefit (Mozi 16 “Impartial Concern”). Here is an admission that a key assumption of the principle of jianai may not work and that punishment is required to prop up the system. The assumption is that one’s concern for others should inspire similar, reciprocal responses from others. Yet, in spite of the inadequacies of jianai as a principle for the rectification of the sociopolitical order, Mozi’s focus on maximising collective welfare deserves serious consideration. The doctrine of jianai requires not simply ambivalent nonviolence but concern for the well-being of others. The next section considers another significant Mohist contribution to early Chinese philosophy, its discussion of standards.

Working with Standards Mozi sets out a Hobbesian, hypothetical state of nature wherein a chaotic plurality of views precipitates disagreement and hostility between people in society. He argues that plurality of standards is the primary cause of sociopolitical unrest: When everyone is an independent individual, with one man there is one standard of right and wrong, with ten men, ten standards, with a hundred men, a hundred standards, and with a thousand men, a thousand standards.

Early Mohist Philosophy

When you reach the incalculable number of the whole mass of humans, the number of what they call their standards is also incalculable. All these people judged their own standards as right and condemned the standards of everyone else. This resulted, in serious cases, in warfare and, at the very least, in fighting. (Mozi 13; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 130)

For Mozi, the fundamental cause of unrest is the proliferation of values. As we will see later, Zhuangzi also worries about the same issue, although his remedy focuses on how we might embrace plurality. In contrast, Mozi believes that the function of government is to “unify and assimilate morality throughout the Empire” (Graham 1978: 13). Mozi seeks to replace different values with a single standard, fa, that will unify the people. The term fa in early Chinese philosophy has a range of meanings, including a standard, or a model or instance of the standard, or a paradigmatic person who realises it. In Mohist philosophy, fa is not simply a normative standard for ethical behaviour as we find, for example, in its uses of yi or ren. In its most general formulation, fa is a standard – whether in human behaviour, craftsmanship or argumentation – coupled with its particular method of application. In relation to human behaviour, the method of applying fa begins with the determination of the model. In the first instance, the people must abide by the standards determined by the superior; hence the title of its doctrine is “Conform to the Superior’s Standard.” The wise ruler determines standards of right (shi) and wrong (fei) and the common people abide by them: . . . the myriad people of the state should all upwardly conform with the Son of Heaven and not dare to form cliques with subordinates. What the Son of Heaven judges to be right, they too must affirm as right; and what the Son of Heaven condemns as wrong, they too must condemn. (Mozi 12; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 121)

The common people are not expected to engage in or contribute to decisions about the standards, and, even more so, they are not to confer with those who are more in the dark about standards. In this system, the people relinquish their individual determination of values, surrendering their judgments of right and wrong to the singular standard of the ruler. Mozi outlines an elaborate system for maintaining uniformity: the common people are responsible for the everyday maintenance of these standards; they are required to inform the appropriate higher-level authority about exemplary instantiations of the standards or breaches of it. Accordingly there would be

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rewards or punishments meted out in order to encourage adherence to the standard (a system of punishments and rewards was also adopted by the Legalist thinkers and became a prominent feature of Legalist philosophy). In spite of the requirement for people to “Conform to the Superior’s Standard,” the ultimate ground for the paradigmatic model of human behaviour does not rest with the ruler. The Mozi chapters provide two different bases for the model. In one discussion, it states that yi is the model, but in another, it identifies tian as the model. In a chapter on “Heaven’s Will,” tian is said to desire yi (tian yu yi) (Mozi 26), rendering yi as the model and tian the agent who appropriates and applies it. In another version of the doctrine, yi originates in tian (yi guo zi tian chu) (Mozi 27), which means that tian is the source of yi. Each of these assertions takes one horn of Plato’s Euthyphro dilemma. Is yi desired by tian because it is desirable, or is it desirable because it originates from tian? These are conflicting views, as we learn from the Euthyphro, though both are found in the Mozi. In chapter 27, yi is justified independently of its associations with tian. Yi is instrumental to sociopolitical order: “When there is yi in the world, then the world is well ordered, but when there is no yi, then it is in disorder” (trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 84). What do these conceptions of tian mean for humanity? Tian can take on an authoritarian role, where it determines the standard for the ruler: “it is Heaven that decides what is right for the Son of Heaven” (Mozi 26; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 80). But here, again, there is variation. At times, the Mozi takes a more humanistic stance in its portrayal of tian as a universally beneficent agent that cares for the personal welfare of each human being: “Now Heaven loves the world universally and seeks to bring mutual benefit to all creatures. There is not so much as the tip of a hair which is not the work of Heaven” (Mozi 27; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 88). Yet, again, there is the threat of punishment to all who fail to act impartially. It is not only the officials who deliver punishments. Tian can also operate according to a titfor-tat morality: “when a man kills an innocent person, tian sends down calamity upon him” (Mozi 28; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 245). Tian, the paradigmatic agent, is in effect the ideal observer, punishing those who harm others. The notion of tian in the Mozi is not at all consistent across its chapters, and, at times, the text seems to adopt a less than sophisticated picture of tian. For example, the ruler (the Son of Heaven) and the people were to offer food

Early Mohist Philosophy

offerings of meat and grain to tian, to the mountains and streams, and to ghosts and spirits (guishen) (Mozi 28). It pays to note that some of the Mozi’s views on tian, and ghosts and spirits, reflect the religious beliefs and practices of the common people of the time. These beliefs are different from those articulated in many of the extant texts, which have been preserved and transmitted through official channels. Hence, texts like the Mozi are especially important as they present views of different lives, from distinctive angles, across the period in question (see Poo 1998). The other significant application of fa in the text is in the criteria for assessment of doctrines or actions. There are three criteria (san fa) according to which all assertions, practices and actions must be assessed.9 However, it is difficult to specify exactly the field of application of these tests, as Mozi seems to apply the three criteria to arguments as well as to actions and deeds. The three fa are precedent, empirical veracity and utility: 1. Precedent: Mozi frequently discusses the actions of previous sage kings and the outcomes of their actions. Two important aspects of this criterion should be noted. First, the discussion of precedent very often turns into a discussion about the outcomes of the sage kings’ actions. This means that this test is effectively subsumed under the third, that of utility. Second, this criterion seems fairly arbitrary, as we see in Mozi’s selective use of examples to prove a particular point: this particular king implemented x and that had good outcomes; another king implemented y and that had negative outcomes. 2. Empirical veracity: The saying or action is checked against the experiences of the common people, “the eyes and ears of the multitude” (Mozi 12; 37). This criterion weighs far less for Mozi than the first and third criteria. 3. Utility: This is by far the most important consideration for Mozi. If an item did not satisfy this test, even though it did the first two, Mozi would reject it. For example, music satisfies the first two criteria but not the third and therefore must be rejected (Mozi 32). The rejection of fatalism is the clearest example of how this criterion is applied: fatalism has many disutilities, amongst them a lack of commitment to productivity. Utility is the fundamental criterion, overriding the other two criteria, precedent

9

Loy argues that the san fa are better understood as standards of judgement rather than decision-making procedures (2008).

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and empirical veracity. Mozi’s appeal to this criterion was an innovation in early Chinese philosophy. In giving utility the fundamental place in justification, Mozi was rejecting the appeals to tradition and authority that were common argumentation strategies in early Chinese philosophy. Mozi’s discussion of funeral ritual reflects just how committed he is to the criterion of utility. He even derives other values from utility (in this case, the traditional Confucian virtues ren, yi and xiao): In my opinion, if by following the principles and adopting the instructions of those who advocate elaborate funerals and lengthy mourning one can actually enrich the poor, increase the population, and bring stability and order to the state, then such principles are in accordance with benevolence [ren] and righteousness [yi] and are the duty of a filial son [xiao]. Those who lay plans for the state cannot but recommend them, and the benevolent man seeking to promote what is beneficial to the world cannot but adopt them and cause the people to praise and follow them all their lives. (Mozi 25; trans. Watson, Mo Tzu, 1963: 66; annotations by author)

For Mozi, to say that something is to be pursued for its own sake simply does not make sense. In an interesting discussion of this issue, he refers to a Confucian perspective on the topic. The Confucian argues that music is pursued for its own sake; this relies on a double entendre as both “music” and “joy” are designated by the same Chinese character. The Confucian is saying “music is music” and “music is joy.” Mozi argues specifically that one cannot appeal to a thing itself in order to provide its justification: Our Master Mozi asked a Ru, “Why do you perform music?” He replied, “Music is performed to produce pleasure.” Our Master Mozi countered: “You have not answered my question. If I were to ask why you built houses, and you answered, ‘To avoid the cold of winter and the heat of summer and to keep men separate from women,’ then you would have told me the reason for building houses. But when I asked you why you make music, you said, ‘To produce pleasure.’ You might as well say in reply to the question about houses, that the reason we build houses is to build houses.” (Mozi 48; trans. Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 2013: 360)

The three tests constitute the underlying argumentation structure of Mozi’s entire philosophy; all of the ten topics have in fact been subject to these three tests. For example, in rejecting elaborate and extended funeral rituals, Mozi

Early Mohist Philosophy

argues that, while there were precedents for these practices, it would not benefit society if they were encouraged and practised (Mozi 25). Hence, elaborate and extended funeral rituals should be prohibited. The strategy of applying these tests is simply to measure items against certain benchmarks. The process of measuring helps a person to discriminate (bian) between what is useful and what is not. On that basis, the person may decide whether a proposal or practice should be adopted. The different areas of enquiry for Mozi – ranging from the ethical to the technical – require the same methods of verification. His epistemology is simple, making no distinctions between different types of knowledge – as indeed he compares tian’s will with the compass of the wheelwright and the square of the carpenter (Mozi 27). Mozi specifically likens the three tests to a gnomon, the astronomer’s post of standard height for measuring the sun’s shadows (Mozi 35). These analogies reflect Mozi’s conception of ethical deliberation. His picture of human capability is very much reduced as compared with the Confucian vision of moral cultivation and agency. It appears that Mozi has, rather simplistically, extrapolated moral reasoning from craftsmanship. The major implication of this is that morality becomes a skill of recognising patterns and fit. Accordingly, the Mohist conception of knowledge is not about the accumulation of information but the practical applications of ideas. To know something is to be able to distinguish it – to pick it out – from others (bian). Interestingly, the Chinese terms bian (辯: disputation) and bian (辨: distinguish, differentiate) are semantic variants. While the first refers to disputation (with the character yan 言 for “word” in the middle), the second relates centrally to the use of the heart-mind in making distinctions (with the character xin 心, “heart-mind,” in the middle). The Mozi’s proposal conflates the two meanings, assuming that making the correct distinctions (using biandistinguish) will help to resolve the problems of doctrinal difference (expressed in biandisputation). The concept biandistinguish captures the essence of Mohist epistemology. In this respect, to know is to have a skill to make distinctions (Hansen 1992: 104ff.). Investigation of a particular concept would consist in investigating its applications. It seems that the Mencius has a reasonable grasp of the Mozi’s reasoning strategies. In 7B:5, Mencius criticises the apparent simplicity of Mozi’s biandistinguish, pointing out that bian is not merely the mechanistic application of a standard to a situation at hand, as Mozi makes it out to be. According to Mencius,

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there is much more than meets the eye in applying the standard (fa) because only a skilful (paradigmatic) person can do it properly. Mencius argues that “A carpenter or a carriage-maker may give a man the circle and square, but cannot make him skilful in the use of them” (trans. Legge, Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 2: 480). These comments point to a major oversight on the part of the Mohists when they suggest that moral decision-making is a simple matter of the application of standards. The Mohist method of applying measures to matters and situations may be appropriate in straightforward cases, where, for example, one is wondering whether to steal a neighbour’s sheep. But how are standards applied when a son is caught in a dilemma concerning whether he should report to the authorities that his father has stolen the neighbour’s sheep? If we turn to the issue of craftsmanship, many or most people can be taught to use a plumb line, but it is the skilled craftsman who, through expert judgment and discretion, can turn out beautiful objects or efficient machines. To express this a little differently, “The artisan who relies on a setsquare relinquishes his merely private opinion on whether the item before him is or is not square and submits to the authority of an objective standard that is, in principle, publicly assessable by other people” (Loy 2008: 468). Or perhaps beautiful objects were not in Mohist sights? The Confucians were concerned with cultivating learned individuals who would in turn teach others. But the Mohists were interested in standard measures of right action and doctrine. Is there a plausible explanation for their modest expectations? It may be that, being craftsmen, the Mohists were lacking in both experience of and imagination about human flourishing, as compared with those engaged in official life. Alternatively, we could grant that the Mohists had some ingenuity in their mission to challenge those in power. As “outsiders,” excluded from privileged courtly life, they needed to establish standards independent of those endorsed by the elite. Franklin Perkins expresses this succinctly: “as relative outsiders the Mohists would be reluctant to rely on a tradition accessible only to the highly educated, seeking instead a standard equally accessible to all” (2014: 67). Though these standards were basic, they moved the focus from tradition and authority to benefit. The tests introduce a new, important element of philosophical argumentation to early Chinese philosophy: that of consistency or constancy (ibid.: 67). According to this principle, whether a claim is made by a king or a commoner is inconsequential to its validity. There is a striking example of

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how Mozi quoted some of Confucius’ ideas even though Confucius was his intellectual rival. The interchange unequivocally brings out the Mohist emphasis on the value of an idea being dissociated from its advocate: Mozi, when disputing with Chengzi, cited something from Confucius. Chengzi said: “You are no Confucian, why do you cite Confucius?” Mozi said: “This is something of his which is dead right and for which there is no substitute . . . ” (Mozi; cited in Graham 1978: 25)

Another reason why constancy (of criteria) is important is because the tests can be applied by anyone to yield the same result. Here, now, is an ethic for everyone, not just the elite. The Mohist discussions on bian had a major impact on the thinking of the then contemporary and later thinkers, including Mencius, the Daoists, Yang Zhu and Zhuangzi (Schwartz 1985: 169–70). It would not be implausible to suggest that, had Mozi’s philosophy not been stigmatised as anti-Confucian, Chinese philosophical debate would have advanced much more significantly in the areas of epistemology and philosophical argumentation and reasoning.

Suggestions for Further Reading Defoort, Carine, and Standaert, Nicolas (eds.) (2013) The Mozi as an Evolving Text: Different Voices in Early Chinese Thought, Leiden: Brill. Graham, Angus C. (1989) “A Radical Reaction: Mo-Tzu,” in Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China, La Salle, IL: Open Court, pp. 33–53. Hansen, Chad (1992) “Mozi: Setting the Philosophical Agenda,” in A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought, New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 95–152. Mo Tzu: Basic Writings (1963) trans. Burton Watson, New York: Columbia University Press. Mozi: A Study and Translation of the Ethical and Political Writings (2013), trans. John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel, Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Robins, Dan (2012b) “Mohist Care,” in Philosophy East and West, 62.1: 60–91.

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5

“Daoism” has been used to denote a range of quite different areas of focus, ideas and debates across different periods of time. The English term “Daoism” has been used to identify different groups, practices or doctrines that incorporate at some level the notion of dao (way, path). However, the criteria for inclusion are sometimes obscure and arbitrary. We briefly consider the varied meanings of the term “Daoism” before discussing some key themes in one of its basic texts, the Daodejing (also referred to as the Laozi, bearing the name of its alleged author). We consider the terms dao, de (potency), ziran (nature, spontaneity) and wuwei (unconditioned action) as well as some distinctive features of Daoist thought. We will also draw on some of these insights to consider their relevance to issues in contemporary philosophical debates. In traditional scholarship, Daoism has often been juxtaposed against Confucianism, sometimes as if it was a negative reaction to the latter. Differences between the traditions and their ideas were first expressed during the pre-Han period, for example, in the Lüshi Chunqiu, where Confucius is said to have learnt from a “Lao Dan,” believed to be Laozi (Graham 1998: 28).1 In the Shiji (Records of the Grand Historian), Confucius, 1

Graham argues that the identification of Lao Dan with Laozi, the founder of Daoism, was not current with the story but was established in stages: (1) Confucians promote the story about the willingness of Confucius to learn from Lao Dan, probably an archivist. This story was current in around the fourth century BCE. (2) The adoption of Lao Dan as a spokesperson for “Chuangism” (Zhuangism) in the “Inner Chapters” of the Zhuangzi, by about 300 BCE. (3) Lao Dan is identified with Laozi; this helps to mark out “Laoism” as a distinctive doctrinal stream. (4) In order to render the Laozi acceptable to the Qin, various stories were promoted. These include Lao Dan as the Grand Historiographer who in 374 BCE predicted the rise of Qin, journeyed to the west and wrote the book of five thousand characters for the gatekeeper, Yin Xi. This stage and the previous one were completed by about 240 BCE. (5) Existing schools of thought were classified, as for

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overawed by Laozi, describes him as a dragon (Shiji 63). Similar stories are found in the Zhuangzi and the Record of Rites (Li Ji) (Graham 1998: 25, 26). In the Zhuangzi, Confucius is sometimes caricatured as lacking in deeper, Daoist wisdom which embraces flexible and skilful responsiveness.2 As we cover the ideas associated with Daoism below, we need to be mindful that many of the ideas had developed and evolved through time in the hands of different thinkers, and at times were entangled with political motivations. For example, the hostility between Daoism and Confucianism may have been due in part to the way they were brought together by Han historiographers to justify their ideologies and secure their positions (Loewe 1999; Lloyd 2002: 126–47).

The Philosophy and Practice of the Daojia This section outlines Daoism, understood as the philosophy and practice of the Daojia (Daoist-group), with sections on Huang-Lao Daoism and LaoZhuang, or “philosophical Daoism” to follow. The discussion below shows how each of these labels is problematic, and we must be mindful that this is not the only way to set out the distinction between different uses of “Daoism.”3 Daoism has been used to refer to a set of ideas dubbed “daode,” and the thinkers or practitioners who held them, known as “Daojia.” The Han historian Sima Tan uses this label for them in the Shiji. His account places the views of the Daojia at the apex of the “six schools” (liujia), outlining how their ideas and practices are superior to those in the other five: instance, into the six doctrinal groups in the Shiji. According to this classification, both “Laoism” and “Chuangism” came under one doctrine, “Dao-ism” (Daojia). Since Lao Dan’s dates are prior to those of Zhuangzi’s, Lao Dan was identified as the founder of Daoism (Graham 1998: 36–7). 2

In the fifth chapter of the Zhuangzi (“De Chong Fu”), Lao Dan comments that Kongzi has not acquired complete freedom from a number of worldly concerns. In some of the stories in the Zhuangzi, Confucius is very keen to learn from the Daoist skill masters (e.g. the swimmer in Zhuangzi 19). These stories should not be understood as accurate historical accounts. However, they nevertheless have historical significance in that they

3

are, at the very least, informative about the attitudes of particular authors. For a different way of understanding Daoism, see Michael 2015: 15–46. At one point, Michael argues that “the formation of the tradition known as Daoist philosophy . . . is actually the creation of the tradition of Confucian literati” (p. 22).

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The Daojia do nothing, but they also say that nothing is left undone. Their substance is easy to practice, but their words are difficult to understand. Their techniques take emptiness and nothingness as the foundation and adaptation and compliance as the application. They have no set limits, no regular forms, and so are able to penetrate to the genuine basis of living things. Because they neither anticipate things nor linger over them, they are able to become the masters of all living things. (“Sima Tan’s Self-Commentary”; trans. Roth and Queen 1999: 281)

We have few clues, however, to Sima Tan’s criteria for selecting these themes. His description of the Daojia includes ideas, practices, techniques and values, but who were they? What were Sima Tan’s sources? Did he draw on texts, people who undertook such practices, practitioners of technique, or some combination of these? There is some support for the view that Sima Tan’s classification is based on features of Huang-Lao Daoism; this is partly reinforced by the fact that he studied with a Huang-Lao master (Roth 1991b; Chen and Sung 2015: 244).

Huang-Lao Daoism The name “Huang-Lao” is a combination of two terms, “Huang” representing the Yellow Emperor (Huang Di) and “Lao” representing Laozi. There are no direct sources for the Yellow Emperor teachings, however, and it may be that “Huang” was borrowed to lend weight to Laozi’s ideas (Gu 1972). There seem to be no specific references to the term “Huang-Lao” in texts from the pre-Han period, although certain texts such as the Guanzi (with Legalist associations) and the unearthed Huang Di Si Jing (Yellow Emperor’s Four Canons) from Mawangdui (Yates, Five Lost Classics, 1997) have been associated with this tradition. Some scholars have traced elements of Huang-Lao thought in other texts including the Huainanzi and the Zhuangzi as well (Chen and Sung 2015: 248–9).4 Within this context, Huang-Lao Daoism 4

An issue of the journal Contemporary Chinese Thought, with its theme “The Many Faces of Huang-Lao,” is dedicated to the discussion of Huang-Lao (Issue 34.1 (2002)). We should always use the term “Huang-Lao” with caution because of the lack of clarity of its scope. For example, among two leading Chinese intellectual historians, Schwartz is cautious about the label “Huang-Lao” and how it is defined (1985: 237–54), while Graham emphasises the possible extent of its influence as he considers its connection with other doctrines (1989: 374–6; 379–410).

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may refer to the techniques of statecraft that draw from a range of Daoist and Legalist themes, including de (power, virtue), dao, wuwei (nonaction), fa (penal law), shu (statecraft, techniques), checking name (ming) against “shape” (xing, performance or form), yin-yang dualism, the mutual flourishing of the ruler and his subjects, and even Confucian terminology, such as ren, yi and junzi (Graham 1989: 374; Peerenboom 1993; Csikszentmihalyi 1994). A primary difficulty with attempts to identify the referent of Huang-Lao is that it is sometimes defined thematically, sometimes connected to personalities and sometimes linked to particular texts (Loewe 1999: 984–8). To compound this difficulty, references to Huang-Lao in the Shiji seem at times to overlap with its definition of Daojia, hence obfuscating our understanding of both terms (Chen and Sung 2015: 249–50). “Huang-Lao” may also include the tradition of the Celestial Masters, a group which was founded in 142 CE when Zhang Daoling, its founder, was said to have been visited by an incarnation of Laozi as a deity. The sect is marked by its moral codes and practices, including its recitation of the Laozi. It has also reinterpreted the text to incorporate ritual practices for invoking deities to cure illness. Through the Han period and after, the tradition of the Celestial Masters gained in popularity, developed a priesthood and temples and codified its doctrines. Its scriptures are preserved in a collection known as the Daozang, which went through many iterations and compilations in the Tang, Song and Ming dynasties, with the Ming Canon being the most influential to date (Schipper and Verellen 2004; Boltz 2008). The most significant characteristic of such Daoist religious practice – as compared with “philosophical” Daoism – is the former’s belief that the Dao is incarnate, continuing its existence qua deities and avatars in the human world (Bokenkamp 1997: 12–13).

Lao-Zhuang or “Philosophical Daoism” Lao-Zhuang Daoism, or “philosophical Daoism,” is defined by two key Warring Sates texts, the Laozi and the Zhuangzi. The label “philosophical Daoism” stands in contrast to “religious Daoism,” which refers roughly to Daoist religious practice during the Wei-Jin period (220–420 CE) (see Chan and Lo 2010). Religious Daoism is identified by its practices, including mystical practices (Creel 1970; Kirkland 2004) and its belief in “doctrines, rituals, gods, and the ultimate goal of ascension to the heavens of the immortals”

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(Kohn 1996: 52; Robinet 1997). The dichotomies suggested by these labels are problematic. First, they suggest it is possible to make a clear distinction between Daoist “philosophical” thought and Daoist “practice” and that this difference is associated with relevant textual sources (in particular, the Laozi) in some well-defined way. Moreover, the delineation of thought between historical periods – Warring States thought, on the one hand, and Wei-Jin religious practice, on the other – gives the impression of a lack of continuity across these periods. This is further complicated by the often-confused correspondences drawn between “philosophical Daoism” and the Chinese term “Daojia,” on the one hand, and “religious Daoism” and Daojiao, on the other (Sivin 1978: 305; Smith 2003: 147–50; Michael 2015: 30–1). There are also difficulties concerning which texts fall under the rubric of “philosophical Daoism.” The Laozi and the Zhuangzi were taken as the definitive texts of this strand, also known as Lao-Zhuang Daoism. It was traditionally held that they belonged to one continuous institution, with the Laozi representing Daoism in its earlier formative stages and the Zhuangzi capturing the tenor of a developed, more mature Daoist philosophy (see Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 177–9).5 This picture may have emerged after the fall of the Han dynasty, when Confucian thinkers took an interest in Daoist ideas and wrote commentaries on texts that espoused these ideas. Wang Bi (226–49) wrote an influential commentary on the Laozi, and Guo Xiang (d. 312) did likewise for the Zhuangzi. Most contemporary scholars believe that the philosophy of the Zhuangzi is critically different from, and not merely a development of, the Laozi. It is also possible at least some of the Laozi’s sections were written after the Zhuangzi was compiled (Schwartz 1985: 186). The tendency to treat the two texts as espousing a homogeneous and continuous point of view should be avoided, as there are important differences in their subject matter, treatment of issues and methods of argumentation. We must also mention that there were other texts of a similar period (across the fourth century BCE to the fourth century CE) that should be

5

This was first suggested in the Hou Hanshu (History of the Later Han), cited in Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 177–9. Chan himself appears to subscribe to this view, suggesting that the Zhuangzi–Laozi philosophical relation is in some ways like the Mencius–Confucius one. Elsewhere (Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b), Chan notes that “broadly speaking, the differences between Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu are a matter of degree rather than kind” (p. 22).

Daoism and the Daodejing

considered as falling under the broader rubric of “Daoism” because of the character and content of their discussions. The Liezi, Guanzi and Huainanzi, amongst others, contain ideas and terms that overlap with those in the Laozi and Zhuangzi. Of these, the Liezi deserves more attention. Even though it was most probably completed during the fourth century, it contains much earlier sections, including some of the Zhuangzi stories (Graham 1961).6

Dao and De in the Daodejing The received text of the Daodejing is a short, eighty-one-chapter text which may be subdivided into a thirty-seven-chapter Dao Jing (Classic of Dao) and a forty-four-chapter De Jing (Classic of De). There is a widespread view, championed by Dim-cheuk Lau and others, that the text was not written by a single author and was compiled over a stretch of time (Lau, Tao Te Ching, 1982: appendix 2, pp. 133–41). The most widely circulated version is known as the Wang Bi version, ascribed an earliest composition date of around 250 BCE. This is the version we examine in our analysis. Its commentator, Wang Bi (226–249 CE), was a major Confucian thinker in the post-Han period. Textual

It is now believed that the Daodejing transmitted with Wang

matters

Bi’s commentary was actually a version of the He Shang Gong text, and not the version Wang Bi actually studied (Wagner 1989; 2003). While the two versions of the Daodejing may have been fairly similar, the commentaries were quite different. Wang Bi’s commentary was more intellectual and interpretive in style and content, reflecting his Confucian background. The He Shang Gong commentary has no identifiable author, and its

6

The Liezi seems to have been copied from earlier sources even though it has traditionally been considered an apocryphal text (weishu) (Graham 1961). That it has some of the Zhuangzi’s stories should make us consider whether the Zhuangzi was the source text or whether there was a third text which was the source of both the Zhuangzi and the Liezi. Furthermore, it is important to consider that “The Liezi can be taken as a continuation of early Daoist discourse, in many ways a more authentic continuation than what is found in the commentaries of Wang Bi to Laozi and Guo Xiang to the Zhuangzi” (Michael 2011: 108). Roger Ames captures some of the prejudices that persist in the study of the Liezi: “Rather than being read for what it is, Liezi has often been disrespected if not dismissed in the historical scholarship because of what it is not” (2011b: 1).

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date of completion is debatable, spanning between 300 and 500 CE (Boltz 1993: 275). Unlike the Wang Bi commentary, it was written in ordinary language, engaging with the Daodejing to draw out elements of religious practice and techniques for longevity (see Chan 1991). These reasons, amongst others, may have made it more popular than the Wang Bi version. Another popular version of the text was circulated with the Xiang Er commentary. This short text that ends at chapter 37 was associated with Zhang Daoling and the Celestial Masters tradition (Boltz 1993: 283). Finally, there are two versions of the Gu Ben (Old Text) Laozi, one edited during the Tang period and the other during the Song (ibid. 1993: 278). In 1973, silk scrolls containing two versions of the Daodejing were excavated at Mawangdui, dated to 200 BCE or earlier. The Mawangdui Laozi A and the Mawangdui Laozi B contain material similar to that in the eighty-one chapters of the received text, though without chapter divisions. This suggests that some version of the received text was in circulation by around that time, although the Mawangdui texts may belong to a different lineage. Importantly, the unearthed texts are organized differently: they place the last forty-four chapters of the received text at the front (the De Jing), followed by the Dao Jing, comprising chapters 1–37 of the received text. Hence Robert Henricks names his translation of the Mawangdui text the Dedaojing (Lao-tze, 1989). Together with the Laozi texts, the Mawangdui set included four texts attributed to the Huang-Lao tradition, as they cover warfare and government.7 Their themes include creative and generative dao, fa (models) and li (patterns), xing (forms or shapes) and ming (names). They are brought together to articulate how the ruler is adept in

7

The texts are: “Canonical Laws,” on aspects of statecraft; “Sixteen Classics,” focusing on warfare in ancient battles and discussions between Huangdi and his ministers; “Weighing by the Scales,” a series of sayings, some found in received texts; and “Origins of the Way,” a mystical verse on the origins of the universe (Peerenboom 1993: 6; van Els 2013: 21–2). Their discussions on warfare include considerations of reasons for war, such as profit (li), rightness (yi) and fury (fen), while upholding only rightness as an acceptable reason for war. They also uphold an appropriate balance of “civil virtue” (wen) and

Daoism and the Daodejing

observing the world around him (guan) and cultivates himself to realise this comprehensive vision (Loewe 1999: 987). The Guodian manuscripts unearthed in 1993 included chapters of the Daodejing. We have discussed some of them with a Confucian persuasion in relation to Mengzi’s and Xunzi’s ideas. In light of the dating of the tomb’s contents to approximately 300 BCE, these are the earliest known texts with passages of the received Daodejing. The material in the three texts (Laozi A, Laozi B and Laozi C), in a total of seventy-one strips, contains material corresponding to thirty-one chapters of the received text. Sixteen of these chapters are close parallels with those in the received text, being more or less “complete,” while some of the remaining chapters include material from elsewhere, and others include lines with some variation from those in the received text (Henricks 2000; Cook 2012: 195–322). Bundled with Laozi C is a short Daoist text entitled the Taiyi Sheng Shui, a short text that dwells on the generation of all things and how they are dynamically intertwined (Allan 2003; Cook 2012: 323–54). Discovery of these texts has spurred exciting, though speculative, discussions on their relation to the received text and, more generally, how that impacts on our understanding of the provenance of the received text (Boltz 1998; Roth 1998; Shaughnessy 2005).

Dao, commonly translated “path” or “way,” is a notoriously difficult concept because of its use in text and practice, across a wide range of domains, including the religious, humanistic and naturalistic. Hence, we should expect that, in the different chapters and versions of the Daodejing, dao has a variety of meanings. An introductory way to categorise its meanings is to group them according to two broad philosophical areas. The first falls roughly into the area of metaphysics, covering themes associated with

“martial vigour” (wu) (van Els 2013: 24). The four texts have been classified as four books belonging to the Huangdi Si Jing (a text mentioned in the “Yi Wen Zhi” of the Hanshu) by Tang Lan (1975). However, this classification has not been accepted by all scholars due to difficulties in determining the authorship of these texts and their lineage, as well as the referent of the Hanshu comment (see Peerenboom 1993: 6–11; Carrozza 2002).

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reality and existence. The second falls into the area of ethics, where dao plays a role in the interrogation of conventional values and pursuits. In the three subsections to follow, we first discuss the metaphysical conception of dao, followed by an examination of a closely related concept, de (potency), in the second section. In the third, we discuss an ethical understanding of dao as a path.

Dao: Reality or Cosmic Vision The view that dao denotes a reality beyond ordinary life is particularly pronounced in some English-language translations of the text. For instance, the idea of a mismatch between the here and now, and what is, is expressed in Wing-tsit Chan’s translation of the text’s opening chapter: “The dao that can be told of is not the eternal Dao” (Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 97). This is an English rendition of the six-character phrase: 道

可

道

非

常

道

dao1(ordinary)

ke

dao2(communicate)

fei

chang

dao3(real)

(possible)

(not)

There are three occurrences of “dao” but they have different meanings. The second dao, dao2(communicate), is a verb, meaning to transmit or communicate. Dao1(ordinary), a noun, refers to ordinary, transmitted dao. Dao3(real), also a noun, is qualified by chang. Chang has a number of possible meanings, including lasting, constant, unchanging, real and absolute. The passage suggests that dao3(real) is beyond the reach of dao1(ordinary), that which can be told. To satisfy the grammatical requirements of English, translators are required to insert an article – either “a” or “the” – before “chang dao.” If chang dao is preceded by “the,” the definite article, for example, “the enduring dao,” it implies there is only one dao. If preceded by the indefinite article, “an enduring dao,” it allows for different daos.8 Chan’s translation of the phrase – especially of dao3(real) – discloses a singular conception of dao: “The Dao (Way) that can be told of is not the eternal Dao” (Source Book, 1963a: 139). Chan’s use of the definite article to pick out dao3(real) is not an oversight. Elsewhere, he writes, “whereas in other schools Dao means a system or moral 8

Hansen points out the critical differences between these two interpretations of dao (1992: 215f.).

Daoism and the Daodejing

truth, in this school it is the One, which is natural, eternal, spontaneous, nameless and indescribable” (ibid.: 136). While the idea of a single dao (rather than many daos) may have arisen because of linguistic reasons, the understanding of dao as reality has resulted from philosophical and historical considerations and should not be seen as the only way to understand dao in the Daodejing. That dao refers to “reality” was probably shaped by Fung Yu-lan’s interpretation of dao as having “a metaphysical meaning,” in contrast to its more common reference to “human affairs” in the intellectual milieu of its day (Fung 1952: 177). Fung’s ideas were influential, as, having completed his doctoral studies at Columbia University in the early twentieth century, he instigated debate on the nature of Chinese thought and its relation to “philosophy.” To this end, he often characterised Chinese terms within the frames of reference in Western philosophy. For example, Fung’s explanation of dao is articulated in contradistinction to “Universals,” which “lie beyond shapes and features, yet they are not unnameable.” By contrast, dao, being unnameable, “most certainly does lie beyond shapes and features. The Dao or Way of the Daoists is a concept of this sort” (Fung 1948: 94). The ineffability of dao frustrates attempts to understand it. The second line in Daodejing 1 states that dao is without name (wu ming): “The name that can be named is not the eternal name” (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 97). In the Daodejing, the namelessness of dao may be associated with its mystery (xuan; Daodejing 1, 51). Passages in the Daodejing suggest that dao3(real), perhaps referring to the entirety of reality, is greater than the sum of its individual parts (Daodejing 14). It is mysterious and unpolished, likened to an uncarved block (Daodejing 15, 19, 28, 33, 37, 57). Some chapters in the Daodejing suggest that dao3(real) is primeval (e.g. Daodejing 15), while others suggest a primitivist strand, expressing an ideal model for society, where “even when they have ships and carts, they will have no use for them” (Daodejing 80; trans. Lau, Tao Te Ching, 1982: 115). In a number of chapters, dao as primeval reality is mysterious and ineffable because it is dynamic and ceaselessly transforming. All things (wanwu: lit., ten thousand things) that comprise dao act on others and are in turn acted on by others. Because relations between entities are not reducible, dao is not simply the sum total of its parts. The emphasis is on relationality between things, which complicates accounts of identity and causation; this contributes to dao’s complexibility and ineffability (Daodejing 14, 16, 39, 42). Here, the line between metaphysics and epistemology is

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blurred: because relationality is irreducible and because dao is dynamic, it is beyond human comprehension. The epistemic feature of dao, its ineffability, derives from its metaphysical nature, its namelessness. Charles Fu describes the connection between the indescribable dao and what that means for our understanding of it: “[dao is] ontologically non-differentiated and epistemologically non-differentiatable [sic].”9 Two key aspects of dao – interwoven dynamism of all things and ineffability – are also present in the text’s allusions to cosmogonic origins of all things. Dao is the mother (mu) and ancestor (zong) of all things (Daodejing 52, 4; see also 1, 25), prior to heaven and earth (Daodejing 14, 25). Daodejing 42 tells of this origin: Dao produced (sheng) the One. The One produced the two. The two produced the three. And the three produced the ten thousand things (wanwu) . . . (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 176)

The term sheng denotes birth or growth, or both. The biological-generative motif implies that dao produces the manifold, ten thousand things or transforms into them. The text uses a water metaphor to capture the picture of dao as a primary source of sustenance: “dao is to the world as the River and the Sea are to rivulets and streams” (Daodejing 32; trans. Lau, Tao Te Ching, 1982: 49). This imagery creates a sense of dependence of all things on dao. A fuller picture of cosmogony – one of the most detailed in the pre-Han period – is found in the unearthed Guodian Taiyi Sheng Shui, a short text appended to the Laozi C. Half the text articulates an account of origination (strips 1–8), while the other half affirms the respective places of Heaven and Earth, and the sage who accords with dao (strips 10–14). In the origination account, The Great Unity gives birth to water, and water returns to join with (/assist) the Great Unity, thereby forming Heaven. Heaven returns to join with the Great Unity, thereby forming Earth. Heaven and Earth [further join with each other], thereby forming the spiritual and luminous. The spiritual and luminous further join with each other, thereby forming yin and yang. Yin and

9

Fu 1973: 373. Fu identifies six dimensions of dao: material reality, origin, principle, function, virtue and technique. For Fu, these six dimensions are, effectively, different conceptions of dao that are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

Daoism and the Daodejing

Yang further join with [each other], thereby forming cold and heat. Cold and heat further join with each other, thereby forming wet and dry. Wet and dry further join with each other [and the process] comes to rest at the formation of the year . . . (Strips 1–8; trans. Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 345–6)10

“Great Unity” is a translation of “Dayi” or “Taiyi,” and it has been suggested that it is another name for dao (Henricks, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, 2000: 124). However, we should be mindful that “Taiyi” was the name of a deity, and the referents of the term could be intertwined (Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 326–7).11 The Taiyi Sheng Shui has a number of thematic overlaps with the Daodejing, with both texts emphasising the primacy of water (cf. Daodejing 8, 78), nonassertiveness (ruo; Laozi C strip 9), and return or reunion (fan, Daodejing 25, 65; fu, Daodejing 28, 64). The Taiyi Sheng Shui incorporates a religious dimension in its ideas associated with “divination, cosmology, meditation, and philosophy” (Allan 2003: 254). These elements help to situate ideas and themes in the Daodejing especially in relation to conceptions of deity and cosmogony and its mythology, as well as in meditation, divination and other religious practices (see Harper 2001; Allan 2003; Goldin 2008). In the Daodejing, the imagery of origination and sustenance has another dimension, that of copiousness. Daodejing 5 uses the metaphor of bellows to characterise Heaven and Earth’s processes: Heaven and Earth are not humane. They regard all things as straw dogs . . . . . . How Heaven and Earth are like a bellows. While vacuous, it is never exhausted. When active, it produces even more . . . (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 107)

10

Bracketed terms added by translator. The first pair indicates possible variation in meaning due to the use of an archaic character. The second indicates the insertion of a phrase. The third indicates the insertion of a character. The final insertion is included for semantic reasons.

11

This passage has been associated with Daodejing 42, which also discusses the generative activity of dao (Li 2000–1). However, there are some hesitations about this proposal, for instance, in light of the fact that Laozi C, to which this text is attached, does not itself contain that chapter on generative dao (Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 328–41). Moreover, it is also interesting that the theme of dao as the origin or source is not a prominent one in Laozi A, B and C.

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In Wang Bi’s commentary on this chapter, he describes the features of the bellows in terms of another concept in the text, vacuity (xu): The inside of the bellows is empty, without feeling and without action. Therefore, while vacuous, it can never be exhausted, and when moved (used) will never be spent. In the vast and extensive space between heaven and earth they [the myriad things] are left alone. Therefore they [heaven and earth], like a bellows, cannot be exhausted. (trans. Rump, Commentary, 1979: 18)

Wang Bi’s comments set up a paradoxical contrast between vacuity, on the one hand, and never being exhausted, on the other (see also Daodejing 1, 45). This connection overturns the conventional expectation that vacuity or emptiness is useless, especially when contrasted with (the prevailing preference for) fullness or completion. Vacuity is also associated with the term wu, commonly translated as “nonbeing” or “nothing,” opposed to you, “being” (Daodejing 1, 40). But the translation of wu as “nonbeing” may cause a misunderstanding of wu, as “nonbeing” has a range of established meanings in the Western philosophical tradition. It is clear that Daoist wu is not an antithesis of its counterpart, you, and that wu is not primarily an ontological concept of nonexistence. In the Daodejing, wu and you are dialectical and interdependent polarities and may be understood as conceptual frames of reference: Laozi’s non-being and being are likened to the great ocean and the totality of waves; they are two ways of looking at one and the same ontologically nondifferentiated “Dao.” (Fu 1973: 374)

Charles Fu’s analysis avoids a simple understanding of you and wu solely in terms of material existence. The analysis also highlights the epistemological implications of human perception, for example, to see either the forest or the flora and fauna, but not both. This reading is substantiated by the characterisation of wu in Daodejing 11. Here, wu may be understood as what is epistemologically nonexistent, that is, what is not picked out by the human eye. It is “nothing” or “vacuous” because it is seen as useless. But the chapter turns this idea on its head: Thirty spokes are united around the hub to make a wheel, But it is on its [wu] that the utility of the carriage depends. Clay is molded to form a utensil, But it is on its [wu] that the utility of the utensil depends.

Daoism and the Daodejing

Doors and windows are cut out to make a room, But it is on its [wu] that the utility of the room depends. Therefore turn [you] into advantage, and turn [wu] into utility. (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 119; annotations by author)

While we are primed by our conventions to see that which has value (you), the Daodejing holds that, in simply upholding (things that are) you, we fail to see what we do not value, wu. Two points here are worth noting. First, Chinese language allows for terms to be used across different conceptual and syntactic categories. This means that in certain contexts, such as the passage above, a term may express multiple ideas across conceptual categories. Wu may refer to both ontological nonexistence and epistemological gaps. We will see more examples of this later in our discussion of ziran, sometimes translated as “nature” and sometime as “spontaneity.” Second, the interdependence between the contrastive polarities you and wu expresses complementation rather than opposition. This is a distinctive feature of Daoist philosophy, which we will explore later in the chapter; elements of Daoist complementation are also present in the philosophy of the Zhuangzi, covered in Chapter 8. In the spirit of complementation, we turn to de, the other character in the title of the Daodejing.

De: Potency Traditionally, scholarship on the Daodejing has focused primarily on dao, with little attention given to its counterpart, de (see Ames 1986). De is commonly, and sometimes blandly, translated as “morality,” “goodness” or “virtue” (see Giles, Sayings, 1959; Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b; and Lau, Tao Te Ching, 1982). In D. C. Lau’s introduction to the Daodejing, he considers a fascinating interpretation of de in early Daoist philosophy but hastily excludes this meaning from its uses in the Daodejing: In its Daoist usage, de refers to the virtue of a thing (which is what it “gets” from the dao). In other words, de is the nature of a thing, because it is in virtue of its de that a thing is what it is. But in the Laozi the term is not a particularly important one and is often used in its more conventional senses. (Lao Tzu, 1963: 42)

For Lau, Daoist de centres on an entity’s distinctive nature. Lau rightly picks out that the “conventional sense” of de, as moral goodness, is tinged with

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Confucian overtones. However, without explaining why, he claims that this latter sense of de is the more prominent one in the Daodejing. Other interpreters, including Jan Duyvendak (Tao Te Ching, 1954), Arthur Waley (The Way 1958) and Max Kaltenmark (Lao Tzu, 1969), take care to distinguish de from any humanly contrived sense of morality. Philip Ivanhoe incorporates a Daoist-centred normativity into his translation of the Daodejing. De is anchored not in the shared social life of humanity but in an individual’s “prereflective intuitions and tendencies,” for whom there is alignment between the ethical and the natural, and whose “natural state is normative” (Ivanhoe 2003: xxi, xxii). To sum up, accounts of de as virtue must be able to accommodate the Daodejing’s interrogation and rejection of conventional values (e.g. Daodejing 5, 18, 19, 20, 38). Kaltenmark’s analysis of de takes into account a range of its meanings while explicitly addressing the issue of potency: . . . de always implies a notion of efficacy and specificity. Every creature possessing a power of any kind, natural or acquired, is said to have de . . . De has varied meanings ranging from magical potency to moral virtue. But the latter is a derived meaning, for originally de was not necessarily good . . . Nevertheless, de is generally used in the good sense: it is an inner potency that favorably influences those close to its possessor, a virtue that is beneficent and life-giving. (Lao Tzu,1969: 27–8)

For Kaltenmark, de is quintessentially a concept that relates to individual well-being and realisation. He spells out the ethical notions that underpin this conception of de. Distinguishing it from conventional prescriptive morality, Kaltenmark suggests that de concerns the positive influence and potency of the individual. The idea of potency can be expressed in other ways: Waley compares it with the classical Greek virtus – “a latent power, a virtue inherent in something,” as well as with karma in the Indian tradition (The Way, 1958: 31–2; see also Duyvendak, Tao Te Ching, 1954). This classical conception of virtue is closely correlated with the notion of power, which is the term both Waley and Kaltenmark have chosen for their translations of de (Waley, The Way, 1958; Kaltenmark, Lao Tzu, 1969). How does this sense of de fit in with dao, the all-encompassing cosmic vision? Dao refers to all entities, energies and their dynamic relationships that continuously generate transformations. De applies to individuals ensconced within (the context of) dao, each with different potencies that may be enhanced or adversely affected by elements within their

Daoism and the Daodejing

environment. Wing-tsit Chan suggests that dao is the source from which individual entities each derive their unique potency, de. This interpretation of de draws on the traditional meaning of the Chinese character de, which is linked with its homophone, de, meaning “to obtain” or “to get”: . . . de is Dao endowed in the individual things. While Dao is common to all, it is what each thing has obtained from Dao or its de, that makes it different from others. De is then the individualizing factor, the embodiment of definite principles which give things their determinate features or characters. (Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 11)

Chan’s views are substantiated by the ideas raised in Daodejing 51: Dao produces entities, De fosters them, Matter gives them physical form, Their functions complete them. . . . Dao produces them but does not take possession of them. . . . It leads them but does not master them. This is called profound de. (trans. author, adapted from Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 190)

Dao is the greater environment, the locus within which individuals, their actions and their interactions are situated. “Environment” is not reducible to inert space (within which objects are “hung”) nor is it merely the sum total of all things and events. Because it presents the conditions within which individuals operate, its function is sometimes described as “nourishing” the ten thousand things, doing so impartially (Daodejing 23, 5). Chung-ying Cheng effectively contrasts a superficial notion of the term “environment” with its deeper, Daoist sense: [According to a superficial sense of the term, environment means] simply “the surroundings,” the physical periphery, the material conditions and the transient circumstances . . . [However, environment] cannot be treated as an object, the material conditions, a machine tool, or a transient feature. Environment is more than the visible, more than the tangible, more than the external, more than a matter of quantified period or time or spread of space. It has a deep structure as well as a deep process, as the concept of [Dao] indicates. (Cheng 1986: 353; annotations by author)

Dao presents the broader, continually transforming environing conditions that shape individuals and events. De is the potency of each entity that can be

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realised only with respect to its place in the whole. This picture of self in context raises questions about individual self-determination. However, we need to recognise that “potency” is not a theoretical category. It describes a situated self: the self may be constrained by, or may benefit from, each set of conditions. In other words, the boundaries of self and other or self and environment are drawn very differently from those pertaining to an atomistic conception of self. The Daoist picture of self is complex, and so is its view of causality. Roger Ames describes the complementarity, and the tension, between dao and de: each particular individual “determines conditions within the range and parameters of its particularity” (1986: 331). In Ames’ account, the complementarity of dao and de engenders a unique view of individual particularity and of harmonisation: . . . de denotes the arising of the particular in a process vision of existence. The particular is the unfolding of a sui generis focus of potency that embraces and determines conditions within the range and parameters of its particularity . . . Just as any one ingredient in the stewpot must be blended with all of the others in order to express most fully its own flavor, so harmonization with other environing particulars is a necessary precondition for the fullest selfdisclosure of any given particular . . . [The particular] can through harmonization and patterns of deference diffuse to become coextensive with other particulars, and absorb an increasingly broader field of “arising” within the sphere of its own particularity. This then is the “getting” or “appropriating” aspect of de. (ibid.: 331; annotations by author)12

The cooking analogy inspires a view of cooperation that traverses the gap between atomistic self and subjugated self. The potency of an individual is measured not simply in terms of its individual merits or its resistance to

12

Ames’ allusion to analogy draws, interestingly, from a fourth-century BCE Confucian text, the Zuo Zhuan, in a section entitled “Genuine harmony is like soup”: “The marquis said, “It is only Ju who is in harmony with me!” Yan Zi replied, “Ju is an assenter merely; how can he be considered in harmony with you?” “Are they different,” asked the marquis, “harmony and assent?” Yan Zi said, “They are different. Harmony may be illustrated by soup. You have the water and fire, vinegar, pickle, salt and plums, with which to cook fish. It is made to boil by the firewood, and then the cook mixes the ingredients, harmoniously equalizing the several flavors, so as to supply whatever is deficient and carry off whatever is in excess . . . “ (Duke Zhao, 20th year, 521 BCE; adapted from the translation by James Legge (Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 5: 684, column 3d).

Daoism and the Daodejing

encroaching demands but in terms of interdependence, cooperation and mutually beneficial outcomes. This picture of self and world has significant ethical implications, especially in contrast to ethical frameworks that assume that individuals are independent:  An individual’s place is an integral part of the self. The environment is not necessarily antithetical to the self but is the locus within which the individual expresses and realises her- or himself, meaningfully or otherwise.  There are no independently existing, autonomous entities; the decisions and actions of individuals affect others just as the decisions and actions of others affect the self. In this way, individuals are inevitably participants in their communities. The distinctive feature of this Daoist perspective on participation is that it highlights both the vulnerability and responsibility of individuals.  Relations between entities are primary and nonreducible to events or processes. The cosmic vision of the dao includes relations between all entities (the ten thousand things). The theme of relationality may contribute to contemporary discussions in environmental ethics: all species and beings within the natural environment contribute to and extract from their natural environments; they encroach on others, just as they are encroached upon; they share the same biosphere; and their existences are deeply intermingled (see Ames 1986; Cheng 1986; Hall 1987; and Lai 2003a).  Change is a prominent feature of existence. Changes will inevitably occur – whether as a result of individual action, the actions of others, or alterations in relationships, events and processes in the social, political and natural environments. It follows from this that causation, events and processes are complex, often generating open-ended questions rather than firm answers. No individuals are immune from change; this is the theory of mutual transformation. A number of these themes will be taken up in the sections to follow. We proceed to explore the other significant interpretation of dao: dao as path.

Dao: A Way In pre-Qin texts, dao was sometimes used to refer to “teaching,” “path” or “way,” to identify a particular doctrine or a normative ideal, as in tian (Heaven’s) dao (Daodejing 9, 77; Analects 5:13), the Buddhist dao or the

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Confucian dao. There are finer distinctions within some traditions: in the Analects, there are references to a father’s dao (1:11), a sage king’s dao (1:12) and Confucius’ dao (6:12; 6:17). From this angle, we might say there are many daos – as many as there are doctrines. How would we place the Daodejing’s dao? Is it an anti-Confucian dao, as suggested in some Han period texts? Does the Daodejing uphold only its way, as the Way? The text itself does not resolve these questions and there are no clear answers for a number of reasons, chief among them being the multiple versions of the text that were in circulation in different periods. This means that it is even more important to maintain mindful scepticism about the “answers” we can legitimately retrieve from the text. The Chinese character dao (道) is made up of two components, 辶 and 首. The first signifies walking or more generally travelling, while the second means “to follow.” In this light, dao may refer either to the teaching that one follows or to the paths one takes in following the teaching. Indeed, it could refer simultaneously to both: Confucian dao offers a teaching of ren, li, yi and zhi, and one is expected to cultivate appropriate practices and attitudes in order to realise its values. Whether it is a Daoist way or the Daoist way, the Daodejing scrutinises the demands of conventional morality. Demands like these are typically implemented as norms to govern individuals, and the Daodejing suggests the impoverished nature of lives constrained within such programs. Two examples are: When the great Dao declined, The doctrine of humanity (ren) and righteousness (yi) arose. When knowledge and wisdom appeared, There emerged great hypocrisy. When the six family relationships are not in harmony, There will be the advocacy of filial piety and deep love to children. When a country is in disorder, There will be the praise of loyal ministers . . . (Daodejing 18; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 131) Abandon sageliness (sheng) and discard wisdom (zhi); Then the people will benefit a hundredfold. Abandon humanity (ren) and discard righteousness (yi); Then the people will return to filial piety and deep love. Abandon skill and discard profit;

Daoism and the Daodejing

Then there will be no thieves or robbers. However, these three things are ornaments (wen) and are not adequate. (Daodejing 19; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 132)

Ren and yi, two fundamental Confucian terms, are seen as merely remedial solutions. In fact, they are obstacles to filial piety and love. Sageliness and wisdom, two criteria of good Confucian government, do not benefit the country. Are these passages anti-Confucian? The Guodian Laozi A, which also contains chapter 19, lacks the anti-Confucian tone: Forsake knowledge (zhi) and abandon discrimination (bian), and the people will benefit a hundred fold. Forsake skill and abandon profit, and thieves and thugs will cease to exist . . . (Laozi A Strip 1; trans. Cook, Bamboo Texts, 2012: 230)13

Why are the targets different in the two versions? Given that the Guodian is dated earlier, and given that the received version may have been edited as it passed through the hands of commentators, could it be that the latter was used as a vehicle of anti-Confucian sentiment? Robert Henricks describes the question in this way: “Is the Guodian chapter the original form of the chapter, which was changed at some point to make the chapter more pointedly anti-Confucian?” (Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, 2000: 13). This is possible, for the tension between what we now call “Confucianism” and “Daoism” has been fuelled, if not invented, by those with political motives, around the Han period. Brook Ziporyn, who holds a version of this view, proposes that what we read in the Guodian is a “proto-Daoism, which has not as yet come to criticize the Confucian values of Benevolence, Rightness, Ritual, and the like, viewing its own method as rather the best means to attain these virtues, rather than a rejection of them” (2012: 132). It is true that the differences in the two versions are striking, the Guodian text being critical of knowledge and discrimination, while the extant text, of ren and yi. However, in chapter 18 of Laozi C, ren and yi are picked out as problematic in the same way the extant text does so. So it may be that the Daodejing and Guodian texts are in tension with elements of Confucian 13

Refer to Henricks (Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, 2000: 12–15; 28–9) and Cook (Bamboo Texts, 2012: 225–30) for more detail on the transcription of archaic characters in this opening passage.

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thought. Or it may be that the references to ren and yi do not have Confucianism as their intended target but express a more general aversion to approaches that primarily emphasise adherence to norms.14 This suggests that the Daodejing, in advocating a more flexible approach to life, is wary of norms that constrain individuals. A well-known passage in the Daodejing speaks out against the imposition of norms: “The more taboos and prohibitions there are in the world, the poorer the people will be” (Daodejing 57; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 201). The reasoning behind this assertion runs like this: when people are taught and expected to behave in particular ways, they may not entertain other possible ways of acting. A primarily norm-guided approach has significant consequences: not only does it constrain individuals, it prevents them from seeing other possibilities. Individuals within such a society are not nurtured to see other alternatives themselves. The implications of “taught” norms are insidious as they are implicitly encoded in language. Hence when someone learns the meaning of the term “beauty,” for instance, they also learn to discriminate it from the “ugly” (Daodejing 2). The notion of what constitutes beauty is in most cases internalised by learners and hence shapes their attitudes. Chad Hansen argues this succinctly: Learning social distinctions typically involves internalizing society’s preferences. Distinguishing between having and lacking, we learn to prefer having. Distinguishing between beautiful and ugly, we learn to prefer beautiful. Learning names shapes our behavioral attitudes, our desires. This is because we learn names by mimicking their use in guiding choices in ordinary contexts. We do not learn them in classes by recitation. Hence we learn to let names guide us to make the same choices that our social models (teachers) do. Our learning consists in daily increasing our mastery of the system of names . . . Language is a tool in society’s project of shaping our behavioral motivations. (Hansen 1992: 212–3)

The teaching of particular ways – dao – is most often achieved through the use of names. Recall, for example, Xunzi’s philosophy of zhengming (correct use of names), which advocated that people be taught “names” which

14

Cook presents some important considerations against using the scant evidence in the Guodian to draw the conclusion that the received text was altered to present an antiConfucian view (Bamboo Texts, 2012: 210–13).

Daoism and the Daodejing

encoded normative behavioural proprieties. Social regulation is effected when people internalise and practise these norms. However, while Xunzi advocates using language as an instrument of socio-political order, Daodejing 12 rejects its use: The five colors cause one’s eyes to be blind. The five tones cause one’s ears to be deaf. The five flavors cause one’s palate to be spoiled . . . (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 121)

To teach a learner the five colour terms, the five musical tone names or the five flavour terms is not, as is commonly assumed, to extend their knowledge. To teach a learner the five colours is also to teach her to see them the way her or his teacher, or society, does. The same may be said of tone names and, by extension, all the terms in a language. The Daodejing notes the paradoxically blinding nature of education. According to this analysis, to learn a language is to be taught a particular way of seeing things: a person is instilled with a particular dao: When the people of the world all know beauty as beauty, There arises the recognition of ugliness. When they all know the good as good, There arises the recognition of evil . . . (Daodejing 2; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 101)

In this passage, epistemological and ethical problems are intertwined: to teach a person a dao is simultaneously to help her or him inculcate a certain way of seeing things. What, then, is the Daodejing’s way? A number of chapters declare the enigmatic nature of dao (Daodejing 1, 14, 21) and the corresponding obscurity of Daoist knowledge (Daodejing 16, 25, 41). A paradigmatic Daoist existence is characterised by its simplicity, seeming pointlessness and insignificance, all of which contradict the directed and focused pursuits of humanity. It seems that the first stage of Daoist learning is to unlearn conventional ways: Abandon learning and there will be no sorrow. How much difference is there between “Yes, sir” and “Of course not”? . . . Mine is indeed the mind of an ignorant man, Indiscriminate and dull! Common folks are indeed brilliant;

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I alone seem to be in the dark. Common folks see differences and are clear-cut; I alone make no distinctions I seem drifting as the sea; Like the wind blowing about, seemingly without destination. The multitude all have a purpose; I alone seem to be stubborn and rustic . . . (Daodejing 20; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 134)

There are two related reasons for the Daoist dissatisfaction with a life lived in accordance with conventional norms. Distinctions such as “good” and “bad” are often decided upon arbitrarily. Yet they are upheld in such a way as to encourage unthinking acceptance of their legitimacy. In short, it is ironic that norms adhered to so staunchly are arbitrarily-determined. This chapter overturns the prevailing paradigm by advocating its own: an untutored, indiscriminate mind that does not seek to name things or to attribute conventional views on function and utility to them. Therefore, Daodejing 48 proposes that that dao’s project is not to flourish on such terms: The pursuit of learning is to increase day after day. The pursuit of Dao is to decrease day after day. It is to decrease and further decrease until one reaches the point of taking no action (wuwei) . . . (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 184)

This passage presents a paradox: conventional values deemed sophisticated and refined – such as knowledge and fame – are in fact regurgitated and formulaic ways. Understanding this paradox leads us to encounter another: the simplicity (pu) advocated in the Daodejing turns out to be a knowing metaphilosophical thesis about the deficiencies of conventional beliefs and practices. The term wuwei is raised in this passage, in contrast to the pursuit of learning. Does the pursuit of dao involve not propagating entrenched wisdom or, more radically, disengaging from conventional life? A response to this question requires a more thorough understanding of wuwei. In what follows, we explore some implications of pursuing the ways of the Daodejing, investigating wuwei and its associated concept, ziran.

Daoism and the Daodejing

Wuwei and Ziran in the Daodejing Wuwei The term wuwei poses many difficulties for interpreters of Daoist philosophy due to its ambiguity. Its literal translation as “no action” is uninformative. Although Chan’s translation of Daodejing 48 captures the contrast between a life guided by conventional norms and one that is freer and perhaps simpler, it does not shed light on whether the text advocates taking no action at all, taking some types of action and not others, or withdrawal from social or political life. Wei has often been translated as “action.” However, it can have its roots in thought, referring to how one regards things or events. This means that wuwei may relate to either (not taking) action or to the motivating beliefs that underlie particular actions and behaviours. We may understand wuwei more fully in light of another term, ziran, meaning nature, natural or spontaneous (self-so). Together, the two terms offer an approach to life that is less rule- or norm-governed than is upheld in the other proposals. In this final section of the chapter, we consider some possible conceptions of wuwei in light of two different interpretations of ziran: ziran understood in terms of alignment with the natural world, and ziran as spontaneity. An understanding of wuwei as an injunction to withdraw from contemporary pursuits and engagements is supported by the imagery in some of the Daodejing chapters. They seem to suggest a return to a more basic way of life. For example, Daodejing 80 suggests passivity and a primitive lifestyle: Let there be a small country with a few people. Let there be ten times and a hundred times as many utensils But let them not be used. Let the people value their lives highly and not migrate far. Even if there are ships and carriages, none will ride in them. Even if there are arrows and weapons, none will display them. Let the people again knot cords and use them (in place of writing) . . . (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 238)

The definition of wuwei in passive terms – which accounts for a popular translation of wuwei as “going with the flow” – is appealing only to those with a fascination for acquiescence as a way of life. By contrast, if we understand that the Daodejing advocates the eradication of conventional norms and practices, then wuwei must have an active aspect. Angus Graham emphasises the importance of retaining the senses of both

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refraining from particular types of action and acting to remove conventional boundaries: wuwei is, paradoxically, both “doing nothing” and “doing but . . . ” (1989: 232).15 Yet there is a disparity in the text in its treatment of these two elements: although the Daodejing is fairly clear on actions that ought to be avoided, there is significant ambiguity regarding what is to be done or achieved. Schwartz suggests that the positive sense of wuwei would involve overturning the “deliberate, analytic, and goal-oriented thought and action in a plural world,” a world that espouses youwei (opposite of wuwei) consciousness (1985: 190).16 According to this view, youwei consciousness is one that plans, devises, acts and manipulates. Youwei pertains to an intentionally directed pursuit of conventionally valued projects and successes. To wei is to act (to attempt or bring about socially defined goals) or to judge (to see things a particular way). Chad Hansen translates this second sense of wei as “deem” (1992: 212–14). According to this view, to wei is to take a certain perspective, to put on interpretive glasses with which one views the world. The stance of the Daodejing, according to Hansen, is to reject all forms of “deem”-ing that are conditioned by conventional values and norms. To wuwei is to “act without deeming” – to act in a manner that is not conditioned by, or restricted to, conventional norms and values: Weido:deem is not “purposeful” in the sense of free, rational, conscious, or voluntary action. On the contrary, for Laozi wei signals socially induced, learned, patterns of response – the opposite of autonomous or spontaneous response. (ibid.: 212–13)

This interpretation of wei transcends the passive–active dichotomy. It allows for an understanding of wuwei in terms of not only rejecting conditioned behaviours but also promoting the more positive effects of unconditioned

15

Regarding the “paradoxical force” of his translation, Graham writes, “to call the sage‘s behaviour at one moment “doing nothing” and at another “doing but . . . ” seems . . . a characteristic Taoist reminder that no word you use will ever fit perfectly” (1989: 232).

16

Schwartz understands the wuwei–youwei tension in both the Laozi (Daodejing) and Zhuangzi texts as a reaction to the specifically Mohist goal-directed activity, which is “based on an accurate analytic knowledge of the factors which bear on the situation at hand and on an accurate “weighing” of such factors” (1985: 190). In response to Mohist aims and method, the Daoist sage exercises nonintrusive or noninterfering action in the government of the empire.

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and spontaneous behaviour. Edward Slingerland draws together both meanings of wei, behavioural nonaction (wuwei) and cognitive “no-regarding” (wuyiwei) (2003: 89ff.) in Daodejing 38: The person of highest Virtue is without action (wu-wei) and holds nothing in regard [wuwei er wuyiwei 無為而無以為] . . . (Slingerland 2003: 81)

Slingerland’s translation of wuwei er wuyiwei effectively demonstrates how actions are driven by one’s view of the world. He also argues that the cognitive wuyiwei – what Hansen has translated “deeming” – is more fundamental than behavioural wuwei. In this light, the rejection of youwei and the advocacy of wuwei are not two separate projects. Slingerland’s analysis is both interesting and insightful as it transcends the passive-active distinction sometimes used to explain the distinction between wuwei and wei. It also highlights the connection between thought and action.

Ziran: Nature How might we embody or realise wuwei? One approach is to observe the ways of nature, to understand its “spontaneous patterns, routines, cycles, rhythms, and habits” (Schwartz 1985: 202). The Daoist sage “supports all things in their natural (ziran) state but does not take any action (wuwei)” (Daodejing 64; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 214). According to this view, the natural environment is a model for human life. In some of its chapters, the scrutiny of conventional values and knowledge in the Daodejing is associated with heightened awareness of the natural world, what conventional valuing fails to pick out. A proper appreciation of the world is possible only if we do not view it through the lenses of our acquired, fixed ways. The cutting-up of the “uncarved block” distorts the neutrality of the world: Heaven and Earth are not humane (ren). They regard all things as straw dogs . . . (Daodejing 5; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 107).

Heaven and Earth do not value ren in the way humans do. They exhibit neutrality – or a lack of partiality. In Wang Bi’s commentary on this chapter, he emphasises how processes and relationships function in nature without the imposition of human norms:

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Heaven and Earth leave what is natural (ziran) (Self-so) alone. They do nothing and create nothing. The myriad things manage and order themselves. Therefore they are not benevolent. One who is benevolent will create things, set things up, bestow benefits on them and influence them. He gives favors and does something. When he creates, sets things up, bestows benefits on things and influences them, then things will lose their true being . . . Animals eat straw, though the earth does not reproduce it for them. Men eat dogs, though (heaven) does not produce dogs for them. If nothing is done to the myriad things, each will accord with its function, and everything is then self-sufficient. (trans. Rump, Commentary, 1979: 17)

Wang Bi has more to say on Daodejing 5. Concerning the phrase Heaven and Earth “regard all things as straw dogs,” Wang Bi understands “straw dogs” as “straw and dogs,” to denote the different kinds in the natural world and their fragility. Nothing is immune from the forces of external change, including humanity. In this sense wanwu, all things, are on par. For Wang Bi, there are important lessons here: projects in the human world are contrived, whereas events in nature are spontaneous. The gap between the natural world and that created by social, cultural and technological achievements must be narrowed. D. C. Lau incorporates a sense of time and place in his explanation of straw dogs, which also has naturalistic tones. According to Lau, “In the Tian yun chapter in the Zhuangzi it is said that straw dogs were treated with the greatest deference before they were used as an offering, only to be discarded and trampled upon as soon as they had served their purpose” (Lao Tzu, 1963: 61). For Lau, the fate of the straw dogs is understood in the context of the unfolding of natural events whereby all things have their moment and pass on when their moment passes. In the cycles of nature, no particular entity or being is preferred (see Ames and Hall 2003: 85). It follows that a major redress of prevailing human pursuits and goals is required, to bring them in line with the processes of the natural world. This analysis brings together wariness of anthropocentrism with appreciation of the natural world. Some of this concern is expressed using imagery in Daodejing 23: Nature (ziran) says few words. For the same reason a whirlwind does not last a whole morning. Nor does a rainstorm last a whole day. What causes them?

Daoism and the Daodejing

It is Heaven and Earth (Nature). If even Heaven and Earth cannot make them last long, How much less can man? . . . (Daodejing 23; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 141)

Does this passage recommend that humans replicate the ways of nature? There are a number of difficulties associated with the assumption that the Daodejing is favourably predisposed towards the natural environment. First, the view of the Daodejing does not explicitly value the natural environment. In fact, as we have seen, it emphasises the neutrality of Heaven and Earth. Benjamin Schwartz discusses this tension in the Daodejing: One may, in fact, point to commonalities between Laozi’s nature and certain aspects of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Western “scientific” naturalism. The processes of nature are not guided by a teleological consciousness and despite the pathos suggested by the use of the image of the mother with its nurturant associations, the dao is not consciously providential. (1985: 201).17

The second problem concerns how we are to interpret the term “nature” in such a way as to support an argument for environmental sensibility. There is no indication in the Daodejing regarding which features of nature are to be modelled. Difficult questions arise from the interpretation of ziran as natureor environmental-consciousness. They include:  Which aspects of nature should human society be modelled upon? The Daodejing identifies quietude (jing), softness (rou), acquiescence (ruo),

17

In his discussion, Schwartz suggests that one way to understand this approach is to see it in terms of “ataraxy” (Schwartz 1985: 202–5). Schwartz notes that Joseph Needham, historian of science in China, remarked that the ataraxy in Daoism befits the approach of scientific investigation. For Schwartz, “ataraxy” means “serene indifference to the vicissitudes and terrors of the world and an aspiration to look at nature without value judgments” (Schwartz 1985: 202). This understanding of enquiry offers a picture of Daoist epistemology different from that previously described in our discussion of the Daoist rejection of conventional norms. While the previous view advocates reflective activity and critical distance from tradition and custom, the view described here seems to preclude reflection, as expressed in the infant metaphor (Daodejing 20). It may be that different passages in the text lend some support to each of these accounts. Nevertheless, we need to be cautious about the suggestion that the Daodejing might be striving for a value-free approach similar to that in modern science.

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nonassertiveness (buzhen) and simplicity (pu) (Daodejing 8, 16, 19, 22, 28, 31, 32, 36, 37, 43, 45, 64, 66, 76, 78). Are these the relevant terms for understanding the life of humans within the environment? If so, what are their practical implications?  Which aspects of human life are “natural” and which “artificial”? Does the Daodejing deem reproduction, or built environments, or social and political organisation as “natural”? The interpretation of the message of the Daodejing as supportive of naturalistic primitivism is problematic: either human beings belong to the realm of the natural – in which case the dictum to be natural, like dao, is superfluous – or they do not – in which case the dictum to be natural is a misdirected aim (Peerenboom 1991; see Liu 1999).18 Because of these difficulties, we need to be cautious when drawing upon the Daodejing to support arguments for environmental concern (see Ip 1983; Marshall 1992). This is not to say that the Daodejing does not have ideas that may align with contemporary environmental sensibilities. Rather, we need to recognise that an argument based solely on picking out the Daodejing’s references to aspects of the natural world – wind, water, a subsistence lifestyle, and the like – is not likely to yield a robust theory of environmental concern. A more selective focus, say, on the text’s concerns about the fragmentation of life based on unreflective or anthropocentric outlooks may produce more fruitful comparative dialogues (e.g. Lai 2003a; Nelson 2009).

18

Liu Xiaogan, a contemporary Daoist scholar, identifies ziran as the core value in Daoist ethics (Liu 1999). He argues that Daoist ethics is reducible to the basic relationship between people and naturalness: “although earth, heaven, and the Way are very important concepts in Laozi’s philosophy . . . they are only transitional or intermediate concepts: they are necessary for expository and rhetorical purposes, but the emphasis really lies on the two ends of the spectrum – people and naturalness – and the relationship between these two. What this reveals is that people – and particularly the ruler – should emulate naturalness” (ibid.: 220–1). A shortcoming of Liu’s approach – and indeed of all approaches that appeal to an ethic based on “naturalness” – is that it fails to illuminate what it is about naturalness that should be emulated. There are many contrasting conceptions of the natural world, and it is not clear which characteristics we should follow, and how far we should go, in instantiating them in human societies. Liu’s account assumes that there is an agreed-upon, predetermined conception of naturalness and, furthermore, that life must be conducted according to its specifications. But this of course immediately creates a problem in our understanding of wuwei: instead of moving away from conditioned behaviour, adherence to what is “natural” circumscribes how we are to live.

Daoism and the Daodejing

Ziran: Self-So-Ness The translation of ziran in the previous section understands it as a noun: “nature.” Here, we consider its translation as an adjective, meaning “natural,” “spontaneous” or “what-is-so-of-itself” (Waley, The Way, 1958: 174). The idea of self-so-ness derives from a combination of its two terms, zi referring to “self” and ran to “as-it-is” or “so”19: One important aspect of ziran is that the movement of things must come from the internal life of things and never results from engineering or conditioning by an external power. (Cheng 1986: 356)

This feature of ziran is often described in terms of spontaneity. In practical terms, this means that an individual responds flexibly to cues from its contextual environment. Spontaneous individuals are responsive, but not simply in a repetitive or habitual way. The differences between the two interpretations of ziran are particularly pronounced when we consider the different translations of Daodejing 25: ziran qua nature: Humanity takes Earth as a model. Earth takes Heaven as a model. Heaven takes Dao as a model. And Dao takes Nature as its model. (trans. author; adapted from Chan’s translation, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 144)

ziran qua spontaneity: Humanity takes Earth as a model. Earth takes Heaven as a model. Heaven takes dao as a model. Dao models itself on (that which is) spontaneous. (trans. author)

At the core of ziran qua spontaneity is a distinctive modus operandi. On this view, ziran is not a normative injunction to abide by the natural world’s norms, whatever these may be. Rather, it incorporates the fundamental relationality of entities and their embeddedness in their contextual

19

Ran has two meanings, one associated with fire and the other with a condition of existence, “as it is so.” The Shuowen Jiezi (十篇上, at p. 480) expresses this “so-ness” as 如此 (ruci), which may be understood as “just like this”.

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environments. This expresses awareness of an individual’s place and the effects it has on others, while being affected by others in turn, a view we have already come across in our consideration of de as potency. We saw earlier that de encompasses the element of “getting” – what an individual gets from the environment. This account recognises that there are conditioning factors within any environment that may impact on an individual’s ability to be self-so. For example, the Daodejing acknowledges that phenomena such as strong winds and rain are beyond the control of individuals. But abstractly determined norms are human constructions, and these can work against selfso-ness. Take, for example, the convention of bowing in deference to one’s opponent prior to an archery contest (Analects 3:7). For a competitor not to bow would indicate a problem. That its absence needs to be accounted for reflects the entrenched nature of these norms. Some chapters of the Daodejing suggest that these manufactured norms serve only to impoverish life (Daodejing 19, 57). Hence, freedom from these is important, as an individual can properly realise her or his potency only if allowed to respond spontaneously. Openness to a range of possibilities is a distinguishing feature of Daoist spontaneity. In the example of bowing, we see a tension between behaviour that fits the norm and that which does not. We have seen in Daodejing 2 how the distinction between beauty and ugliness is conceived of in dichotomous terms. The Daodejing presents a large list of polarities, one set aligned with femininity and the other with masculinity. The polarities include:

female

male

short

long

low

high

behind

in front

nonbeing

being

bad

good

dull

brilliant

without distinction

clear-cut

bent

straight

empty

full

worn out

renewed

dark

light

cold

hot

nonassertive

firm

Daoism and the Daodejing

give

grasp

soft

hard

incomplete

complete

without doing

doing/acting

small

large

(Daodejing 2, 6, 11, 20, 22, 26, 28, 29, 36, 43, 45, 63)

The text challenges the dichotomies implicit in these distinctions, often endorsing both polarities as complementary. There is a sense of flux between the two extremes, first contracting, then expanding, then contracting, and so on. There are different ways to understand the interplay between the terms of each contrastive pair (Daodejing 7, 22, 26, 36, 40, 41, 45, 58, 63, 66). It may be described as to-and-fro swing, up and down seesaw action, or a cycle of development and decline. No matter how their relation is conceived, the tension between the polarities is necessary and should be embraced rather than shunned. Graham highlights the necessity of both the contrastive terms: For Laozi . . . reversal is not a switch from preferring A to preferring B, aiming to become weak, soft, below instead of strong, hard and above. Since all human effort is against a downward pull toward B, that direction is a first approximation to the Way of spontaneous process, to be adjusted next to the upward impulse after renewal from the fecund bottom of B. The reversal smashes the dichotomy of A and B; in preferring to be submissive the sage does not cease to be oriented towards strength, for he recognises that surviving by yielding to a rising power is the road to victory over it when its climax is past. (1989: 228–9; author’s emphasis)

Antonio Cua’s analysis of complementation between opposite polarities also helps enlighten our discussion of how Daoist spontaneity and openness operate hand-in-hand. Cua draws on Herman Hesse’s characters Narcissus and Goldmund, who exemplify two extremes: Narcissus seeks to further develop his scholarly mind, and Goldmund pursues sensuous satisfaction (Hesse 1971, cited in Cua 1981). The differences between Narcissus’ and Goldmund’s commitments are accentuated in the contrast between them. Yet neither seeks to change the other: “It is not our purpose to become each other; it is to recognize each other, to learn and see the other and honor him for what he is; each the other’s opposite and complement” (cited in Cua 1981: 125).

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Cua’s study generates interesting features of complementarity, including recognition and acceptance; embellishment, not duplication; reciprocity; and resonance.20 This view of nonreductive complementation has important practical consequences: it prompts a change in attitude grounded in “an expansion of intellectual horizon and a restructuring of one’s vision of life” (Cua 1981: 127). It is possible to extend Cua’s investigation, characterising the relationship between Narcissus and Goldmund in terms of ziran and wuwei. Neither Narcissus nor Goldmund seeks to shape the other according to their own ideals: their nonimposing, wuwei attitudes towards each other allows the other to be ziran, self-so. Here, we have drawn on the connection between ziran and wuwei to address some elements of close personal relationships.21 This understanding of complementation prompts us to turn our attention to the subordinate term of each pair. Some of the Daodejing chapters advocate terms such as stillness, darkness, femininity and inferiority, suggesting that these are the fundamental polarity of their respective pairings (Daodejing 16, 26, 28, 39). Schwartz confirms the asymmetry of value in the Daodejing raised by D. C. Lau:

20

The details of each of these features are as follows: (1) Recognition and acceptance: Each recognises, and accepts, the other’s individuality and integrity. There is no desire to alter the other. (2) Embellishment, not duplication: The distinctiveness of each is highlighted in contrast with the other. In that sense, each is enriched by the other through their relationship. (3) Reciprocity: Their relationship is built upon a reciprocal appreciation of differences, not commonalities. (4) Resonance: This aspect aligns with the concept ganying (responsive resonance). According to this theme, entities do not exist in insulated contexts, nor are they detached from other entities. Changes in other individuals and the environment will shape a particular individual, just as that individual’s actions will affect others and the environment around them. See the discussion in Lai 2000: 143, including its discussion on ganying in note 23.

21

This interpretation of ziran-wuwei as it applies to personal relationships is markedly different from normative ethics as it draws upon self-perception and the appreciation of the other. This approach engenders an attitude of openness towards others rather than an imposition of conventional norms coupled with an expectation that others must subscribe to them. The ziran-wuwei model focuses on moral sensitivity and responsiveness to the other and sees these as fundamental to morality. This view of what is fundamental stands in stark contrast to those criteria in traditional Western moral philosophy including impartiality, objectivity and universality. Refer to Williams and Smart (1973) and Kekes (1981) for succinct accounts of these concerns. For more details on ethics driven by ziran-wuwei, refer to Lai 2007.

Daoism and the Daodejing

Lau has pointed out the obvious and striking “asymmetry” in the Laozi’s view of the female versus the male, the weak versus the strong, the soft versus the hard, and the passive versus the active. In all cases, the first term of the dyad is definitely “preferred.” It enjoys a higher “ontological” status, just as water is preferred to stone; it seeks lowly places, and it is, in a profounder sense, stronger than stone (Schwartz 1985: 203, citing Lau 1958).22

It is appropriate here to consider the place of femininity within the Daodejing. There is a preference for femininity, as we have seen above; it is also articulated in Daodejing 28, “know the masculine but abide by the feminine” (trans. author). In addition, we have also seen the metaphor of motherhood associated with generative processes. However, we must keep in mind that, in the text, femininity is associated with a set of characteristics including nonassertiveness. Hence, we need to be thoughtful about what it is about the Daodejing’s view of femininity that may be relevant for us. To identify and collect like terms across the two traditions is simplistic. It may be that the Daodejing’s scrutiny of prevailing norms and approaches, rather than its notions of femininity, makes a more significant contribution to contemporary feminist debates (see e.g. Lai 2000). Finally, we must attend to the fact that, in the Daodejing, wuwei figures most prominently in discussions about government. Wuwei is typically interpreted in relation to a range of administrative matters including the style of government, its organisational structures, its objectives, and how these impact on human life. The text derides leadership that encourages people to pursue conventional markers of success including social status, wealth and fame as it sees these pursuits as ultimately oppressive and threatening; ultimately, they produce disorder, envy and crime (Daodejing 3, 4, 30, 31, 42, 53, 69, 72, 74). Its resentment of corruption is also palpable (Daodejing 53, 75). From a more positive angle, wuwei may describe governmental or administrative measures which are not unnecessarily restrictive (Daodejing 57, 58). Daodejing 49 describes a sage as one who has “no fixed (personal) ideas . . . he regards the people’s ideas as his own” (Daodejing 49; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 186). Here, we are struck by the confluence,

22

Lau also maintains that the connection between the contrastive opposites may be characterised analogously to a children’s slide: “One climbs laboriously to the top, but once over the edge the downward movement is quick, abrupt, inevitable, and complete” (Lau, Lao Tzu, 1963: 27).

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rather than antagonism, of the ruler’s and the people’s objectives: “It is only when (the ruler) does not have enough faith in others that others will have no faith in him” (Daodejing 17 and repeated in 23; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 130).23 These views of government seem to reflect not only disenchantment with existing institutions; they are also deeply suspicious of the assumptions about human nature that were correlated with, and which justified the use of, such measures as li (propriety) and fa (penal law). At the root of these dissatisfactions, we see a resistance to fixing and standardising the conception of human well-being. However, we also need to recognise that the Daodejing does not state how far we are to go in rejecting these conventional pursuits. The text will have little contemporary relevance if we understand it as a treatise on primitive anarchism, one that advocates a state of affairs described in Daodejing 80. Perhaps the advice is for government to reduce to a minimum – rather than entirely – the projects of civilisation, including technological advancement. Yet there is little practical advice on where to stop, apart from the statement in Daodejing stating that it is important to know when: “As soon as there were regulations and institutions, there were names. As soon as there were names, know that it is time to stop. It is by knowing when to stop that one can be free from danger” (Daodejing 32; trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 157). Another pressing problem for those wishing to draw political lessons from the Daodejing is that the text seems to run contrary to its own prescriptions when it upholds the implementation of administrative structures that take little or no action, yet promotes Daoist leadership. What is the Daoist sage to do? Benjamin Schwartz expresses his unease with the idea of Daoist leadership: It is true that the behavior of the sage-ruler seems to involve unresolved contradictions. He seems quite deliberately to create a utopia which will turn the world back to the simplicity of the dao. The restoration of the primitive must be a conscious project. Here again, we have the problem of the moralistic torque, which introduces a basic inconsistency into the entire vision of the Laozi. There can be no human morality without preference,

23

The two passages here stand in contrast to the tone in the Confucian Analects 8:9, which does not believe the common people can be made to understand the aims of government and human society: “The Master said, ‘The common people can be made to follow a path but not to understand it’” (trans. Lau, Confucius, 1979a: 93).

Daoism and the Daodejing

without rejection, and without deliberate choice. The civilization-negating “policies” of the sage-ruler seem themselves to be an example of youwei. The contradiction remains unresolved. (1985: 213)

Moreover, a few chapters in the text seem to suggest some degree of manipulation of the people. While we might be able to accept that the text’s vision includes a simple lifestyle, it is yet another move to suggest that the people be kept simple as, for example, in Daodejing 3: Therefore in the government of the sage, He keeps their hearts vacuous, Fills their bellies, Weakens their ambitions . . . (trans. Chan, Way of Lao Tzu, 1963b: 103)

Scholars have had to acknowledge that the meaning of vacuity (xu) is at best unclear.24 But we cannot so quickly brush aside the interpretation of wuwei as a strategy to make people submit to the greater socio-political order (Graham 1989: 289). If this view is suggested in the Daodejing, it may be right to say that the text embraces a “stooping to conquer” strategy (Schwartz 1985: 210–15). Tenets of Daoist philosophy – such as the interpretation of wuwei as “going with the flow” – may work hand-in-hand with the Legalist instruments of reward and punishment. The point here concerns the ambiguity of wuwei, which means that it can be drawn upon to support drastically different models of government. Who is to practise wuwei, the people or the leaders? Is it a feature of a person’s character or of states of affairs? What are the characteristics of a wuwei lifestyle? The Daodejing gives little guidance on how the concept is employed; is the text itself presenting a wuwei approach by not offering prescriptive comments? In this chapter, we have looked briefly at a variety of ideas and practices classified as Daoism by thinkers at different times. We have noted that different versions of a key text, the Daodejing or Laozi, were central to some groups or traditions. The Daodejing is an interesting text not least because it 24

For example, Chan argues that “[l]iterally, empty, (xu) means absolute peace and purity of mind, freedom from worry and selfish desires” (Way of Lao Tzu,1963b: 141). Schwartz argues that, in this passage, “[t]he belly refers to the simplest satisfaction of basic biological needs, while the eye refers to the careful discrimination of the outer sensual qualities of things so necessary to “sophisticated” pleasure” (1985: 205).

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seems deliberately and knowingly to challenge the status quo in a variety of ways. The primary focus of this chapter is on the texts and themes in the received text that circulated with Wang Bi’s commentary. Its terms dao, de, wuwei and ziran, as well as its general tone in scrutinising conventionally inferior terms, seem relevant wherever counter-cultural perspectives are sought. Hence, the text seems to readily align with feminist concerns, environmental sensibilities, and questions of social, economic and political inequity. However, because of the cryptic nature of its language, and because there is lack of clarity on what its particular terms might have meant in their contexts of use, it makes it difficult to say with certainty what the philosophical commitments of the text are. The discussion here has sought to highlight the fact that simplistic cherry-picking approaches using terms from the Daodejing will not provide sufficiently robust theories to satisfy any of the contemporary areas of inquiry mentioned above. Yet, to reiterate, this text holds significant interest not only because of its place in Chinese intellectual history but because of its scrutiny of convention. One of the major focal points in the Daodejing is how learning a language constrains a person because she also learns to embrace the values embedded in names (words) in that language. In the next chapter, we encounter thinkers with a very different angle on names, many of whom sought to fix and entrench them so that life in society, guided by these conventions, would become more stable.

Suggestions for Further Reading Cua, Antonio (1981) “Opposites as Complements: Reflections on the Significance of Tao,” Philosophy East and West, 31.2: 123–40. Fu, Charles Wei-hsun (1973) “Lao Tzu’s Conception of Tao,” Inquiry, 16: 367–94. Hansen, Chad (1992) “Laozi: Language and Society,” in A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought, New York: Oxford University Press. Lao Tzu and Taoism (1969), trans. Max Kaltenmark (translated from the French by Roger Greaves), Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching: A Translation of the Startling New Documents Found at Guodian (2000), trans. Robert Henricks, New York: Columbia University Press. Lau, Dim-cheuk (1958) “The Treatment of Opposites in Lao-Tzu,” Bulletin of the Society for Oriental and African Studies, 21: 344–60. Liu, Xiaogan (ed.) (2015) Dao Companion to Daoist Philosophy, Dao Companions to Chinese Philosophy, Dordrecht: Springer.

Daoism and the Daodejing

Pregadio, Fabrizio (2008) The Routledge Encyclopedia of Taoism, 2 vols., New York: Routledge. Schwartz, Benjamin (1985) “The Ways of Taoism,” in The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Slingerland, Edward (2003) Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wagner, Rudolf (trans.) (2003) A Chinese Reading of the Daodejing: Wang Bi’s Commentary on the Laozi with Critical Text and Translation, SUNY series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture, Albany: State University of New York Press. The Way of Lao Tzu (Tao-Te Ching) (1963b), trans. Wing-tsit Chan, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.

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6

The Mingjia and the Later Mohists

During the fourth century B.C. it began to occur to the Chinese that words move in a world of their own, a region connected only in the most casual and precarious way with the world of reality . . . Now there were particular reasons, connected with the history and character not only of the Chinese language, but also of the script, which made this rift between language and actuality not merely a subject of detached philosophic enquiry . . . but a burning question of the day. (Waley, The Way, 1958: 59–60)

Arthur Waley calls this phenomenon “The Language Crisis.” His description suggests it was as though a wave of consciousness had spread among the thinkers in China. The early thinkers questioned the nature of language and its connection with the world. Putting aside the concern about the accuracy of Waley’s account of this phenomenon, we note that he rightly points out that there is a peculiarity in the Chinese language that complicates issues of language–world correspondence. It was important to many of the early thinkers to consider how each Chinese character (or name, ming) picked out entities or phenomena, or aspects of the world. The thinkers were also perplexed by the question of how, when two characters were combined to form a compound name, it was possible systematically to pick out the correct referents of the compound names. For example, what do “狗” (gou, dog) and “小” (xiao, small) pick out, and what does “小狗” (xiaogou) pick out? Were there regularities or patterns to these changes? Both the Confucian theory of correcting names (zhengming) and the Mohist preoccupation with standards (fa) involved some thought about how correct application of names might help to establish norms and thus bring order to society. In contrast, thinkers associated with the Daodejing advocated caution about the conventionality of language and its potentially manipulative power. The debates about names extended over a 130

The Mingjia and the Later Mohists

range of philosophical areas that we may think of as being loosely aligned with metaphysics, epistemology and philosophy of language. The discussions of the Mingjia (Disputers concerned with names) and the Later Mohist thinkers were not fully appreciated by thinkers of the Warring States period and long after. In his account of Chinese intellectual history, Sima Tan identified a group of thinkers he dubbed collectively as “Mingjia.” In English-language studies, different combinations of these thinkers were retrospectively referred to as logicians, sophists, dialecticians, terminologists and nominalists on the basis of their discussion topics and styles of debate. Their title, Mingjia, may seem unhelpful to modern readers because the group’s definition and boundaries are unclear. Nevertheless, it does at least draw our attention to how some early Chinese discussions centred on names (ming) and their connection with the world. During the Warring States period, a group of thinkers who focused on disputation and partly on names were known as Bianzhe (Disputers) or Bianshi (Masters of Disputation). They were known for their expertise in disputation (bian), and it seems that some under this grouping sought to resolve disagreement, while others were concerned only to display their sophistry. The Shiji states that there were seventy-six learned itinerant disputers (youshui zhi shi) (Shiji 46). These disputers possibly engaged with officials in the courts, although their title suggests that at least some of them were not primarily associated with any one particular court. Yet, in these engagements, they would have attempted to persuade (shui), and they disputed (bian). There were some – in the capacity of diplomats or envoys – whose tasks were to persuade and others who disputed, believing that disputation could help clarify distinctions and that these clarifications, in turn, would resolve disagreements.1 There were also court actors and comics (huaji) who were eloquent; some of them engaged in indirect criticism of the states of affairs then (Kroll 1987: 126). Though these arts of disputation were used for different ends, collectively, the Bianzhe were deemed by some of their contemporaries as being merely rhetorical and fond of sophistry. In its chapter that sets out twelve types of opponents, the Xunzi complained about how the Bianzhe’s ideas lacked ethical commitment and practical import: Some of these men do not take the former kings as their model, nor do they take ritual and yi to be right. They like to master strange arguments and to play with unusual expressions. They investigate things with extreme 1

Yury Kroll insightfully locates his study of disputation within the social and cultural milieu especially of official life over the Warring States and Han periods (1987); see especially pp. 126–34.

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acuteness but without any beneficent intent, and they debate matters but provide no useful results. They meddle in many affairs but have few accomplishments . . . they can cite evidence for maintaining their views, and they achieve a reasoned order in their explanations, so that it is enough to deceive and confuse the foolish masses. Just such men are Hui Shi and Deng Xi. (Xunzi 6; trans. Hutton, Xunzi, 2014: 41)

The Xunzi’s comments highlight a mismatch between the impressive skills of the Bianzhe and the lack of practical – especially ethical – significance of their conclusions. These comments reflect the belief that the primary concern of the disputers was to win arguments, seemingly without heed for practical outcomes; this stands in contrast to the values-driven motivations at the heart of the Xunzi.2 However, it would be short-sighted simply on the basis of Xunzi’s account to abandon the disputers’ project. For example, in a painstaking exploration of paradoxes in early Chinese philosophy, Wim de Reu uncovers important elements of argumentation including antonymy, identity and implication and, above all, attempts to challenge dominant terms and to redefine them (De Reu 2006). It would be simplistic to assume that early Chinese paradoxes had a merely rhetorical function and no pragmatic import. Might some of these disputations have challenged officially sanctioned lines of thought, and, if so, could it be that they were put down as being merely rhetorical? For example, in the passage above, the Xunzi expresses a worry that men such as Hui Shi and Deng Xi were addressing, and confusing, the people. Many of the themes discussed by the Mingjia were also taken up by the Later Mohists. We do not know these Mohist personalities and are aware of their ideas primarily through the final six chapters of the Mozi text, chapters 40–5. The Later Mohist thinkers and the Mingjia deliberated on similar topics, and both groups developed their views using comparable argumentative forms, though their conclusions were different. As with the Mingjia debates, Later Mohist philosophy waned in popularity and transmission. Over time, and perhaps even up to the present, the debates of the pre-Qin period are represented predominantly – some would say overrepresented – by Confucian orthodoxy and, to a lesser extent, by Daoist views on ethics and government. That the deliberations and argumentative devices of both the Mingjia and Later Mohists have been eclipsed is a loss of incalculable 2

The Xunzi would not have objected to these methods in themselves, for it used some of them in its own arguments (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 21)

The Mingjia and the Later Mohists

proportion to the fields of Chinese intellectual history and philosophy. In addition to ethical and political issues, the Later Mohists debated a number of topics belonging to what we might call the practical sciences: geometry, mechanics, causality, space, time, optics and even economics (Fraser 2003: xvii). Their ideas and philosophical methods fill an often-perceived gap in Chinese intellectual thought. The Mingjia and Later Mohists were primarily concerned with questions about knowledge and verification, the adequacy of our understanding of the world and our representations of it in language, and the structure of language in relation to thought and reality. The predominance of Confucianism and Daoism in early Chinese philosophy, and the underestimation of logic, reasoning and argumentation, scientific reasoning, philosophy of language and epistemology, have contributed to the deficiencies in the study of Chinese thought. Such neglect – including the failure appropriately and faithfully to transmit those texts and their ideas – continues to have a negative impact on how we understand Chinese philosophy.

The Mingjia

Textual

According to the History of the Former Han Dynasty,3 there are

matters

seven texts associated with the School of Names, purportedly bearing the names of their authors. Four of them are no longer extant. These are the Cheng Gongsheng, Huang Gong, Mao Gong and Hui Zi. The ideas of Hui Shi (Hui Zi) are cited in the Zhuangzi and also in the Xunzi. Two of them, the Deng Xi and the Yin Wen, are corrupt and most probably forgeries (Makeham 2003b: 492–3; Johnston 2004: 271). The Gongsun Longzi is the most substantial surviving text, though authorship of the more than half of the text is in question. If these texts did once exist, the lack of care taken over their preservation and transmission is probably symptomatic of the general neglect of these thinkers and their views.

3

The History of the Former Han Dynasty (Qian Han Shu) was begun by Ban Biao (3–54 CE) and completed by his son, Ban Gu (32–92 CE), and his daughter, Ban Zhao (35–100 CE). The text covers the history of the Han dynasty from 206 BCE to 25 CE.

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The Mingjia seemed to enjoy the effects of their paradoxical and rhetorical assertions that defied common sense and that were disconcerting to others. To their opponents, they gave the impression that they were interested only in winning disputes; Zhuangzi said of Hui Shi (c. 370 BCE–c. 310 BCE) that he “wished to make a name for himself by winning arguments; that is why he came to be so unpopular” (Zhuangzi, chapter 33, trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 285). In contrast, Wing-tsit Chan expresses their preoccupations in more positive terms: “They were the only group devoted to such problems as existence, relativity, space, time, quality, actuality, and causes . . . they represent the only tendency in ancient China towards intellectualism for its own sake” (Source Book, 1963a: 232). Deng Xi (d. 501 BCE) was a senior official in the state of Zheng and is known to have formulated a code of penal laws and engaged in litigation (Makeham 2003b: 492). His debates about the interpretation of the laws and definitions of terms are characteristic of the rhetorical style and sophistry that was so despised by others (ibid.; Harbsmeier 1998: 2). He was apparently so well versed in sophistry that he could render what was regarded possible (ke) as what was not (buke). Deng Xi’s rhetorical agility receives some attention in the extant texts, so it may be that he was, or was perceived to be, successful in these arts. But we now turn to the Mingjia’s discussions of names, compound terms and the relations between language and actuality.

Hui Shi The figure Hui Shi, an official who worked for King Hui of Wei (r. c.370–319 BCE), is portrayed differently in a number of extant texts including the Zhuangzi, Lüshi Chunqiu, Xunzi and Huainanzi. From these texts, we get a picture of Hui Shi that is on the whole negative: he seems reputed for his capabilities in disputation although this is often modulated by his lack of acumen in handling official duties. A couple of later texts (around the first century BCE) are more positive about his abilities. For example, the Shuo Yuan4 presents Hui Shi as someone who showed self-awareness about his method of argumentation. In one of the text’s anecdotes, the King of Wei 4

Refer to Lisa Raphals’ discussion of how Hui Shi is portrayed in early Chinese texts, where the Shuo Yuan is quite positive, and the Xunzi the most negative, about Hui Shi, his capabilities and his role in official life (Raphals 1998).

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criticises Hui Shi for his reliance on analogical reasoning and Hui Shi convincingly defends his method. The King asks Hui Shi to speak simply: “When you speak of affairs, sir, I wish you would simply speak directly, with no analogies.” “Let’s suppose we have a man who does not know about dan,” said Hui Shi. “If he says ‘What are the characteristics of a dan like?,’ and you answer ‘Like a dan,’ will it be communicated?” “It will not.” “If then you answer instead ‘A dan in its characteristics is like a bow, but with a string made of bamboo,’ will he know?” “It could be known.” “It is inherent in explanation,” continued Hui Shi, “that by using what he does know to communicate what he does not, you cause the other man to know it. For your Majesty now to say ‘No analogies’ is inadmissible.” (Shuo Yuan, cited in Graham 1989: 81)

Hui Shi uses an analogy to demonstrate the effectiveness of this argument strategy. In the absence of an actual “dan,” a bow-like instrument, Hui Shi argues that describing the object’s specific characteristics is not an effective way to help someone understand what it is. Instead, we will have to rely on correspondences and parallels between the known (bow) and the unknown (dan) in order to illuminate the latter. Precious little remains of records of Hui Shi’s ideas or his writings, if they did once exist. Short lists of Hui Shi’s paradoxes are presented in the Xunzi and the Zhuangzi. Some of the paradoxes in the two texts overlap, some do not appear to be paradoxes at all, and others are difficult to decipher. Most of what we can say about Hui Shi is derived from the paradoxes in the Zhuangzi text. Here, Hui Shi appears to have been a close sparring partner of Zhuangzi, missed by Zhuangzi after his death.5 In the final chapter of the Zhuangzi (Zhuangzi 33), there is a list of ten paradoxes attributed to Hui Shi (as well as another twenty-one that the 5

Zhuangzi 24 states, “Zhuangzi was attending a funeral when he happened to pass Huizi’s grave. He looked at his followers and said, “There was a man of Ying who, when a bit of plaster no thicker than a fly’s wing got smeared on his nose, had Carpenter Shi slice it off. Carpenter Shi swung his axe with a whoosh, slicing it off exactly as requested, removing every bit of the plaster without harming the nose, leaving the man of Ying standing there completely unperturbed. When Lord Yuan of Song heard about this, he called Carpenter Shi to court and said, “Try it on me!” Carpenter Shi said, “It is true that I could once slice like that. But my material is now long dead.” Since Huizi died, I too have had no material

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Bianzhe debated). In this syncretic chapter of the text, we do not find Hui Shi being held in high regard:6 if the chapter does not take Hui Shi seriously, what are we to make of the ten paradoxes? The paradoxes look as though they could be conclusions of elaborate arguments. The paradoxes highlight the unreliability of judgements and standards of measurement: 1. The greatest has nothing beyond itself; it is called the great unit. The smallest has nothing within itself; it is called the little unit. 2. That which has no thickness cannot have any volume, and yet in extent it may cover a thousand li [about a third of a mile]. 3. Heaven is as low as the earth; mountains and marshes are on the same level. 4. When the sun is at noon, it is setting; when there is life, there is death. 5. A great similarity is different from a small similarity; this is called the lesser similarity-and-difference. All things are similar to one another and different from one another; this is called the great similarity-anddifference. 6. The South has no limit and yet has a limit. 7. One goes to the state of Yue today and arrives there yesterday. 8. Joint rings can be separated. 9. I know the center of the world: it is north of the state of Yan (in the north) and south of the state of Yue (in the south). 10. Love all things extensively. Heaven and earth form one body. (Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 233–4; annotations by author) These paradoxes express scepticism about measurement and may collectively be understood as responses to the attempts now associated with Mozi,

to work on. There is no longer anyone I can really talk to.” (trans. Ziporyn, Zhuangzi, 2009: 104). 6

The chapter says of Hui Shi: “Hui Shi answered without hesitation, replied without thinking, had explanations for all the myriad things, never stopped explaining, said more and more, and still thought he hadn’t said enough, had some marvel to add . . . Hui Shi was incapable of satisfying himself with [pursuing a single direction], he never tired of scattering all over the myriad things, and ended with no more than a reputation for being good at disputation. What a pity that Hui Shi’s talents were wasted and never came to anything, that he would not turn back from chasing the myriad things! He had as much chance of making his voice outlast its echo, his body outrun its shadow. Sad, wasn’t it?” (trans. Graham 2001: 295).

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the Confucians, and Legalist thinkers to fix and standardise the referents of names (ming) to regulate human behaviour. They assert the relativity of measurements and standards in size, dimension, height, direction, location and time. Propositions 3 and 5 focus on how the measures change in accordance with the position of the observer and are therefore “indexical“ (Hansen 1992: 262). Propositions 4 and 6 point to the infinite divisibility of space and time (Graham 1989: 79), not unlike what we see in Zeno’s paradox. Scholars have attempted to situate these propositions in the contexts of certain debates. For example, Jean-Paul Reding proposed that they relate to the political discussions of that time.7 However, Fung Yu-lan describes the frustrations associated with trying to situate these fragments: These paradoxes represent only the final conclusions arrived at by the Dialecticians, leaving us with no means of knowing the steps of reasoning by which they reached their conclusions. Logically speaking, one and the same conclusion may be arrived at from different premises, so that if we know only the conclusion, it is impossible to know from which of the many possible premises it was reached. Therefore, a strictly historical study of the paradoxes of Hui Shi and the other Dialecticians is impossible, since we are left wholly free to supply our own premises and explanations for these conclusions, quite independent of the ones which were actually used. (1952, vol. 1: 192)

Fung believes that these ten paradoxes are the conclusions of sets of arguments. In spite of his own hesitations cited above, he constructs a philosophical picture of Hui Shi’s views based on an imaginary dialogue between Zhuangzi and Hui Shi. Fung explains that Hui Shi delineates between the relativity of things in experience while committing to a monistic account of reality. According to this view, the first nine statements, which are illustrations, draw attention to the relativity of measurements (and the names used to describe them), while the tenth takes a back-flip to affirm what is absolute (Fung 1948: 85). Fung states that “by analyzing the names, ‘Great One’ and ‘Small One,’ Hui Shi reached the concept of what is absolute and unchanging” (Fung 1948: 85). For Fung, Hui Shi’s paradoxes may be understood as an argument about the inadequacy of a posteriori experiences to lead to an understanding of a deeper, unified, conceptual monism.

7

Reding (1985); cited in Graham 1989: 78.

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Fung’s account of Hui Shi’s paradoxes is not the only one that attempts to characterise Hui Shi as a monist. Hu Shi (1891–1962), a contemporary of Fung’s (with whom Fung disagreed on many issues), proposed that Hui Shi is an ethical monist. While Fung aligns Hui Shi’s paradoxes with Zhuangzi’s views, Hu associates Hui Shi’s ideas with the thought of the Later Mohists. For Hu, the tenth proposition is in fact the conclusion – the “moral” – of the propositions: “All the nine paradoxes are intended to show that ‘’the universe is one’ and that we should ‘love all things equally’” (Hu 1928: 113).8 Hu suggests that these statements provide a metaphysical basis for Mohist jianai. While these are interesting constructions of the paradoxes, we should be aware that each one relies heavily on specific theses about Hui Shi’s alleged relationships with particular sets of thinkers. In addition, because of the cryptic nature of the ten paradoxes, it is difficult to arrive at firm conclusions about their meaning. For example, like Fung, Angus Graham interprets Hui Shi’s views in light of Zhuangzi’s, but Graham’s conclusions could not be more different. Graham argues that Hui Shi is a pluralist who uses the paradoxical method, rather than real paradoxes, to argue “always from the viewpoint that ‘the greatest has nothing beyond itself,’ to show that all things are limited and relative” (Graham 1989: 201). In summary, these interpretations have imported strands from other thinkers into their understanding of these fragments. Even though they provide interesting philosophical constructions of the paradoxes, the lack of reliable material makes it difficult to endorse any one view.

Gongsun Long

Textual

The Gongsun Longzi is a six-chapter text which supposedly bears

matters

the name of its author, Gongsun Long (b. c. 380 BCE). The text comprises a short introductory chapter on the details of Gongsun Long’s life, while its remaining chapters contain extended arguments on language and its relation to the world. It is likely that the second and third chapters, “White Horse”

8

Hu argues that Hui Shi’s statements aim to demonstrate that “all measurement is illusory.” Given this, there is no real difference between the “greatest” and the “smallest” (1928: 112).

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and “Pointing and Things,” were written prior to the Han period. However, the chapters entitled “Change,” “Hard and White” and “Names and Actualities” were most likely written later, containing material also covered in the Later Mohist texts (Graham 1990a: 125–66). The language of the Gongsun Longzi is cryptic and we have few clues on the broader philosophical framework into which its discussions might have fitted. There are many interpretations of Gongsun Long’s views, from a range of angles, including metaphysics, philosophy of language, logic and sophistry. Some of these accounts propose solutions in terms of predicates, attributes, abstract universals, mental entities or logical categories.9 However, we need to tread cautiously on these interpretations because it is not clear that we can straightforwardly identify these areas of focus in this text.10

The White Horse debate is a prominent and interesting topic in the Gongsun Longzi, partly because the text presents five sustained arguments to support its thesis “White horse (is) not horse.” Gongsun Long is purportedly having a debate with Kong Chuan, a descendant of Confucius, if we follow the account in the Lüshi Chunqiu. The dialogue begins with the interlocutor, who sceptically poses the question, “White horse (is) not horse; is this admissible?” (trans. author). Gongsun Long maintains that his thesis that “white horse (is) not horse” is admissible (ke).11 9

For example, Fung holds that Gongsun Long was denying the identity of the universals “white horse” and “horse” (1952, vol. 1: 203–5). The separate universals, white-ness and horse-ness, are not co-extensive (i.e. they have different scopes), just like hard-ness and white-ness (“Hard and White” chapter; ibid.: 207). The universals point out (zhi) particular, actual things in the world (“Names and Actualities” chapter; ibid.: 211). Mei suggests that Gongsun Long was arguing about attributes and how these are expressed in language (Mei, Ethical and Political Works, 1953: 436, n. 7). Hu explains horse-ness and whiteness in terms of universals and predication (1928: 127). Chmielewski proposes that they are logical classes or sets (cited in Hansen 1983a: 143).

10

11

Hansen emphasises that “there is no role in Chinese philosophical theories like that played by terms such as meaning, concept, notion or idea in western philosophy” (ibid.: 31). The interlocutor’s position, if it stands in direct opposition to that of Gongsun Long’s, may probably be constructed as “white horse (is) horse” (its Chinese phrase might be “bai ma(,) ma ye”).

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One way to understand the “White Horse” chapter is to consider it a debate about language. For example, Chad Hansen proposes that the discussion is primarily about the use of ming as nouns in the early Chinese language. On his view, ming has a grammatical structure of “mass nouns,” functioning more like “water” than “cat.” While “cat” is a countable noun (as in “a cat” or “many cats”), mass nouns are not countable and cannot be preceded by an indefinite article (we do not say “six waters” or “a water”). The name “horse” in early Chinese functions like a mass noun and may refer to “the concrete species, or to some part, specific herd, team or an individual horse, depending on the context” (Hansen 1983a: 36). In Hansen’s thesis, mass nouns refer to “stuffs” in the world, in the way that “horse” refers to any of items listed above. Similarly, a colour term like “red” would pick out red apples or the sky at sunset (ibid.: 35). It follows that “white” picks out some white-stuff, “horse” some horse-stuff and “white horse,” some combination of white-stuff, plus horse-stuff. Hence, the names “horse” and “white horse” are not identical.12 Like Hansen, Graham takes the debate as a thesis on language. Graham rearranges the text of the “White Horse” chapter and establishes that the central task of the Gongsun Longzi was to distinguish between part and whole (1990a).13 Drawing from Hansen’s thesis, Graham suggests that the whole compound term, “white horse,” is a combination of a part, “horse,” with another part, “white.” “Horse” is only part of “white horse” and inadequately stands in for the whole, compound name, “white horse.” In Graham’s words, this is like a synecdoche in English. A synecdoche is a figure of speech in which the word for one part of a thing is used to refer to the whole thing. For instance, one might say “my trusty blade” in place of “sword” (ibid.: 201). However, it is clear that the whole, denoted by “sword,” is not one of its parts, denoted by “blade,” and, by analogy, that the whole denoted by “white horse” is not one of its parts, denoted by “horse.” As we proceed to examine the five arguments for “white horse not horse,” we should keep in mind that the arguments move, problematically, between 12

Hansen argues that “If a name has two component terms, the compound name should preserve the relation of the names to their stuffs. Compound terms must always be more general (or they must be treated as something other than compound terms). All true compound terms name the sum of the stuffs named by each component term” (1983a: 159–60).

13

Graham’s reading draws a tighter connection between the discussions of Gongsun Long and Hui Shi.

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two discourses. The first concerns the nature of language, and the claim is that the name “white horse” is not the name “horse.” The second dwells on the nature of things apropos of their characteristics. In this case, the phrase may mean that a white horse is not a horse (see Harbsmeier1998: 298–311). On the basis that this dialogue moves between the two areas of discussion – language and things – Lisa Indraccolo offers a persuasive analysis of the debate, suggesting that it is not simply about what can or cannot be said but, rather, about “the relationship between what can be said and its verification in reality” (2010: 122; refer to the discussion from pp. 112–23). Here, we examine Gongsun Long’s five arguments for his assertion “white horse not horse”. §1: “Horse” is that by which we name the shape, “white” is that by which we name the colour. To name the colour is not to name the shape. Therefore I say, “A white horse is not a horse.” (trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 85)

Gongsun Long’s response seems puzzling because he appears not to have grasped the meanings of identity and class membership (Graham 1989: 82). Surely, the scope of “white horse” is narrower than the scope of “horse” – indeed, it is a subset of “horse” – and hence “white horse” is “horse.” But there are at least two ways to understand Gongsun Long’s response more meaningfully. First, the argument may be expressing a view on the nature of attributes: colour is one, shape another. Given that the “Hard and White” chapter of the same text also seems to discuss attributes, this is a plausible interpretation. Alternatively, it could be considering the way language is related to the world. Here, the text might be drawing a distinction between the names “white,” “horse” and “white horse,” on the one hand, and horses that actually exist (shi), on the other. This understanding may supported by the “Names and Actualities” chapter, which deals with the connection between names and actual things that exist. §2: Someone who seeks a horse will be just as satisfied with a yellow or a black horse; someone who seeks a white horse will not be satisfied with a yellow or a black horse. Supposing that a white horse were after all a horse, what they seek would be one and the same; that what they seek would be one and the same is because the white would not be different from the horse. If what they seek is not different, why is it that such horses as the yellow and the black are admissible in the former case but not in the latter? Admissible and inadmissible are plainly contradictory. Therefore that a

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yellow and a black horse are one and the same in that they may answer to “having a horse” but not to “having a white horse” is conclusive proof that a white horse is not a horse. (trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 88–9)

Gongsun Long’s second response focuses on the nature of language. The terms “white horse” and “horse” are not co-extensive if their referents are different. The scope of “horse” is broader, and that of “white horse,” more restricted. Of course, it may be that a horse that is white happens to be presented and that satisfies both terms. But that would be merely accidental, for there is every chance that a nonwhite horse is brought. The referents of “white horse,” “black horse” or “yellow horse” are different, and the referent of “horse” does not fulfil either “white horse,” “black horse,” or “yellow horse” reliably, in every case. Therefore, “white horse” is not “horse.” This answer may be related to the “Pointing and Things” chapter, in which pointing (zhi) may mean the act of referring to something or to its referent. Graham suggests that, if we were to look at the act of pointing, we may say that to zhi is to pick out some part of the world (1990a: 210–15). Additionally, it is also important to understand the connection between the names – “white horse” or “horse” – and their connections with actual white horses or horses. To state the name “horse” is an act of referring – pointing – to a horse of any colour. If one were to seek a white horse, simply to state “horse” is to fail to point (fei zhi: nonpointing) to “white horse”.14 §3: Certainly horses have colour, which is why one has white horses; supposing that horses were colourless, and one had only simply horses, how would one select a white horse? Therefore the white is not the horse. A white horse is horse and white combined; horse and white . . . horse. ([including mutilated section]; trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 86–7)

Here, there is some allusion to the separateness of horse-ness and white-ness: horse-ness is one thing, white-ness another, and, perhaps, white-horse-ness a third. This view may be related to the theme in the “Hard and White” chapter, that hard-ness and white-ness are separate attributes of the one entity. Section 3 attends to the selection or picking-out (qu) of objects based on

14

Another interesting view on the “Pointing and Things” chapter understands the phrase as pseudo-pointing: to point at things that do not exist is to fail to point. Refer to Reding 2002.

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the name that is used. In this case, selection of a white horse based on the name “white horse” is different from the selection of a horse based on the name “horse”. §4: To deem having a horse different from having a yellow horse is to differentiate a yellow horse from a horse. To differentiate a yellow horse from a horse is to deem a yellow horse not a horse. To deem a yellow horse not a horse, yet in the case of a white horse deem it having a horse, this is “Flying things go underwater, inner and outer coffins are in different places,” it is the world’s worst fallacy and inconsistency. (trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 89–90)

Unlike the previous three arguments, this response focuses on epistemology, examining how a person thinks about (wei: deem) difference (yi). To regard “yellow horse” as different from “horse” is to differentiate between the two. However, the discussion in this section seems to have moved away from the “white horse not horse” debate, focusing instead on whether a person consistently makes the right distinctions (e.g. for both white horses and yellow horses). The emphasis is on the consistency with which differences are picked out. As we will see later, understanding sameness and difference (tong-yi) is an important part of Later Mohist epistemology. §5: “White” does not fix anything as white; that may be left out of account. “White horse” mentions the white fixing something as white; what fixes something as white is not the white. “Horse” selects or excludes none of the colours, therefore one may answer it with either a yellow or a black. “White horse” selects some colour and excludes others, and the yellow and the black are both excluded on grounds of colour; therefore one may answer to it only with a white horse. To exclude none is not to exclude some. Therefore I say “A white horse is not a horse.” (trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 87)

This argument seems to move between the nature of language in referring to attributes such as “white” and how whiteness is instantiated in actual objects. It also deals with compound terms such as “white horse” and discusses the scope of its referent. Here, we get the sense that clarification between single terms (e.g. “white”) and compound terms (e.g. “white horse”) have important, action-guiding implications. We examine the nature of compound terms in our discussion of Later Mohist philosophy in the next section.

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In summary, we have seen in these arguments references to names, their scope, their referents, and how they relate to actual things in the world. There may not have been just one stance expressed in the Gongsun Longzi. There may have been a few views, expressed as a result of its author’s grasp of, or response to, a variety of positions in the pre-Han period on how language works. In the order in which they appear, the arguments focus on the following: how names pick out different attributes that inhere in actual things, the scope and referents of simple and compound names, picking out actual things on the basis of their names, understanding sameness and difference, and how names stand in relation to their referents in order to guide selection. Collectively, they give a sense of the Mingjia debates, demonstrating that their concerns were not merely about gaining the upper hand through sophistry.

Later Mohist Thought Later Mohist thought15 is expressed in chapters 40–5 of the Mozi text. The ideas in these six chapters seem to dwell on different topics from the Mohist writings discussed earlier. Yet there are important overlaps and continuities between the two. The six chapters are the following: Chapters 40–1 (Canons): These two chapters contain a collection of Canons. Each Canon is a sentence or two in length. They deal with “procedures of description, ethics, the sciences and logic.” (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 24). Chapters 42–3 (Explanations of the Canons): Each explanation or exposition of the Canon is slightly longer than the Canon itself. The explanations elaborate on, or attempt to provide arguments for, ideas in the Canons. Chapters 44–5 (Daqu [Greater Selection] and Xiaoqu [Lesser Selection]): Daqu and Xiaoqu contain fragments that, according to Angus Graham, may have drawn from two texts, Expounding the Canons (Yu Jing) and Names and Objects (Ming Shi) (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 101–10). The topics in the Daqu and Xiaoqu range across ethics, semantics and logic. While the Xiaoqu is mainly coherent, the Daqu contains many fragments.

15

There are brief references to the Later Mohists by name in the Zhuangzi and Han Fei Zi (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 22–3).

The Mingjia and the Later Mohists

Textual

These last six chapters of the Mozi text have undergone

matters

considerable twists of fate, and it is a wonder they still exist. The entire text disappeared from around 221 BCE, the beginning of the Qin dynasty. However, it resurfaced during the Han dynasty and was then included in the Han Imperial Library collection. There were some references to the text during the third and fourth century CE by Neo Daoists who were interested in disputation and sophisms. Sometime early in its transmission, the Later Mohist chapters were compromised as a result of two major copying mistakes. In an early version, the characters were written vertically on bamboo strips divided into top and bottom halves. A reader should have read the characters vertically, across the upper half, then vertically, this time across the bottom half. Unfortunately, a copyist read the text and copied straight down each column, from the top to the bottom of each strip, unaware that there were two rows.16 This rendered the already-obscure text impossible to read. The second copying mistake involved a mix-up of the Canons (chapters 40–1) and the Explanations of the Canons (chapters 42–3), which were cross-referencing texts: in the original text, the first character of each of the Canons was written beside its corresponding strip in the Explanation chapters. However, in the copying process, the indexical characters were included as part of the text, hence confounding the grammatical and semantic structure of the statements. In addition to these copying mistakes, some time before the end of the Sui dynasty (581–618 CE), a truncated text of the Mozi (comprising only chapters 1–13) was circulated, which drove the fuller text out of circulation. Fortuitously, the Later Mohist chapters as we now know them were preserved in the Daoist Canons (Daozang), the entire text of which was

16

Hansen 1992: 236–7; Graham believes the copying mistakes occurred before the Han period (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 65). See also Boltz and Schemmel 2013.

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published in 1445 during the Ming Zhengtong reign (Boltz 2008; Boltz and Schemmel 2013: 65–9). From the eighteenth century, scholars began to read the Later Mohist chapters as a treatise with some important insights. They proposed that these chapters were written later than the previous chapters of the Mozi text and interpreted them in light of the ideas discussed by the Bianzhe. They reconstructed its sections and attached the Explanations of the Canons with the Canons. In the early nineteenth century, the Later Mohist corpus came to be valued as a text that covered topics in mathematics, geometry, astronomy, optics and mechanics (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 70–2). A wave of interest in Westernisation during this time generated more interest in this text, as it was perceived to have many parallels with Western thought. A number of modern scholars including Liang Qichao (1873–1929) and Hu Shi were keen to establish Sino-Western connections while maintaining a commitment to Chinese philosophical ideas. Hu Shi focused on the Mohist innovations in argumentation as the foundation for his treatise, The Development of Logical Method in Ancient China. In this book, Hu is apologetic for the dominance of Confucian doctrine and promotes Mohist philosophy as a vehicle for progress and cross-cultural understanding:

“I believe that the revival of the non-Confucian schools is absolutely necessary because it is in these schools that we may hope to find the congenial soil in which to transplant the best products of occidental philosophy and science. This is especially true with regard to the problem of methodology.” (Hu 1928: 8) In 1978, Angus Graham published a pioneering volume on the Later Mohist texts, which the presentation here draws on. Whereas the large majority of studies of the text had focused on separate sections, Graham made extensive study of it in its entirety. His work includes detailed grammatical and structural analysis of the Chinese language, philological analysis, dating of sections, rearrangement of some sections and textual emendation. Not all scholars agree with Graham’s account

The Mingjia and the Later Mohists

of Later Mohist ideas (see e.g. Geaney 1999; Robins 2010). However, it is the best available to date, in terms of its rigour in scholarship and representation of the views in these texts.

Making Distinctions and Recognising Similarities It seems that the Bianzhe engaged in disputation for different reasons. Deng Xi is represented – fairly or not – in engaging in bian as competition: arguing to win one’s case. Chapter 2 of Zhuangzi expresses a sense of despair at the Confucian and Mohist disputation, where both seek to gain the upper hand. The term bian in the Warring States texts does not simply mean disputation to win an argument. A second use of bian is more inclusive, referring to debate with an intention to clarify matters. The Mozi uses bian to articulate what can be known and understood, in a broad range of subject areas including ethics, political philosophy and the natural sciences. A third, more distinctive, application of bian was a unique characteristic of the Mohists’ discussions. This was to use disputation as a means to determine fa, standards, in order to clarify the people’s understanding of what was expected. We have seen how the earlier chapters of the Mozi set out to establish the nature and scope of Heaven’s yi as the ground for impartial concern. The Later Mohists continued and developed this process, seeking to distinguish what could be affirmed or not (ke-buke), what was similar or different (tong-yi), whether it was “this” or “not-this” (shi-fei) and “so” or “not-so” (ran-buran).17 We have seen in Chapter 4 that the characters for biandisputation and biandistinguish are semantic variants. The distinctive Later Mohist use of bian drew on both these meanings. In the Canons, one application of bian helps to enhance our understanding of the nature of similarity and difference. Canons A86–718 set out four types each of sameness and difference: 17

We could suggest that they aimed to set up criteria for making these distinctions. However, as we will see later in the chapter, if they did have this aim, they were not successful in attaining it.

18

References to sections of the Later Mohist text used in this chapter follow the numbering in Graham’s Later Mohist Logic (2003).

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Sameness [S1] There being two names but one object is the sameness of “identity.” [S2] Not being outside the total is sameness “as units.” [S3] Both occupying the room is the sameness of being “together.” [S4] Being the same in some respect is sameness in being “of a kind.” (A86: Explanation of tong, Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 334)

Difference [D1] The objects if the names are two necessarily being different is being “two.” [D2] Not connected or attached is “not units.” [D3] Not in the same place is “not together.” [D4] Not the same in a certain respect is “not of a kind.” (A87: Explanation of yi, ibid.) There is an element of rigour in the way similarity and difference are characterised. These details may not capture every sense of similarity and difference, but the level of scrutiny here and the attentiveness to method are not replicated in other texts of the period, even though elements of shared discourse and argumentative methods are mentioned in some of them (as, for instance, in chapter 5 of the Xunzi). Let us further explore the idea of sameness set out in [S1]–[S4]. When we say things are alike, we may mean:

Sameness0 [S10 ] They are identical, though with two names (e.g. a young dog and a puppy). [S20 ] They are each parts belonging to a whole, or individuals of a class (e.g. different head of oxen being part of the herd). 0

[S3 ] They are different aspects or attributes of one thing (e.g. the colour white and horse-shape are attributes of a white horse). [S40 ] They belong to the same type (lei) (e.g. horses and oxen are animals). These discussions may also have some bearing on the arguments in the Gongsun Longzi. For example, [S3] identifies sameness on the basis of association. This can help illuminate the Gongsun Longzi’s distinction in §1 between “white” and “shape,” which belong together as they are attributes of a particular horse. Yet while they are both attributes, they pick out different features of the horse. [D4], not being of the same kind, is relevant to §3, where selecting a white horse is different from selecting a horse or selecting whiteness because a

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white horse, a horse and whiteness are different in the relevant respects. The Canons also set out how disputation guides the selection process. In Canon A73, the use of the exclusive ‘or’ is discussed, assisting in the selection of whether a thing is x or non-x. In Canon A74, the terms of bian are set out; whatever is selected must fit the fact (dang): Canon A73. Fan (being the converse of each other) is if inadmissible then on both sides inadmissible. Explanation. All oxen, and non-oxen marked off as a group, are the two sides. To lack what distinguishes an ox is to be a non-ox. Canon A74. Bian (disputation) is contending over claims which are the converse of each other. Winning in disputation is fitting the fact. Explanation. One calling it “ox” and the other “non-ox” is “contending over claims which are the converse of each other.” Such being the case they do not both fit the fact; and if they do not both fit, necessarily one of them does not fit. (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 318)

Canon A73 spells out the line between X and non-X on the basis of the exclusive-or. Canon A74 conceives of disputation in terms of mutual exclusivity, A/not-A. When there is a dispute, the resolution is simply to check against what fits the facts. These criteria may be used to determine fa, standards or paradigms. In Mohist thought, fa may refer to an idea or concept of a thing or an actual instance of it. The Mohists did not prioritise conceptual knowledge over practical knowledge. When they provide an example of fa, they refer to a circle, which has three different fa: “the idea, the compasses, a circle, all three may serve as standard” (A70) (ibid.: 316). In this way, Mohist epistemology allows for a broad set of criteria that comprises a thing’s defining or essential characteristics. If a thing bears a particular set of characteristics, then it may be said to fit the type or kind, lei. But how do we determine and fix kinds? The first task, which brings together metaphysical and epistemological considerations, is to identify relevantly similar respects when comparing two or more things. For example, do we select “four-footed” or “living” in our comparisons of natural kinds (B2)? “Four-footed” will not distinguish oxen from horse but will distinguish horse from bird. The problem, of course, is that relevant criteria change, depending on what is being compared. The Later Mohists and Hui Shi shared concerns about the diversity and variability of standards. However, unlike Hui Shi, they were not happy to accept the apparent relativism of distinctions. They worried

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about arbitrariness: on what basis might we pick horns as a feature that distinguishes between the two lei, oxen and horses (B66)? The Later Mohists are aware of the acute problems of comparison and classification, of how we “extend from kind to kind (tui lei)” (B2). Graham argues convincingly that “tui” is a form of analogical argument and not inference: The Mohist is concerned with consistent description, not in inferring from the known to the unknown. Whether the cavities in the creature’s head actually contain eyes may not have interested him at all; the point is that if you say of one milu deer that it is four-eyed you must say the same of all. (ibid.: 351)

The problem is to pick the attributes that apply consistently over all instances of the same kind. These difficulties are compounded when we attempt to delineate relevant defining characteristics that shift from comparison to comparison. The Later Mohists did not, or perhaps could not, say how we might make reliable distinctions. Their descriptions of methods of drawing distinctions appear haphazard and unmethodical, sometimes reading more like a catalogue of disputation rather than systematic analysis of logic or patterns in argumentation.19 For example, Graham notes that although they took geometry as a paradigm of clear and exact thinking, they only illustrated that certain relationships and regularities obtained by appeal to geometric paradigms (1989: 60) but never developed a discipline of geometric proof. In spite of their perceptive surveys of epistemological problems, which were unique among the schools of Chinese philosophy, they had more questions than answers. The answers to these questions require a level of conceptual complexity and sophistication to understand the processes associated with inductive reasoning. In the following section, we see the difficulties they faced in their discussions of compound terms and how language might guide action.

Names, Propositions and Knowledge The Later Mohist investigations into the nature of language included consideration of names, compound names and phrases or propositions (ci). Graham

19

Graham contends that the Mohist summa is a manual: “To become a fully educated Mohist I must learn how to apply names consistently, how to choose between courses of action, how to investigate the causes of physical phenomena, how to deduce “a priori” from the definitions of names” (Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 31).

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hails the discussion of ci in the Xiaoqu chapter20 as a significant and original innovation. The text distinguishes a phrase – which Graham translates as “sentence/proposition” – from a name (Names and Objects (NO); NO3): whereas names do not make assertions, propositions do. In this discussion, we use Graham’s term “proposition” to capture the fact that assertions are made. We should avoid the term “sentence” as it is not clear that these phrases have sentential structures of the kind we see in English.21 What are these propositions? NO11 sets out how propositions differ from other functions of language, as well as their place in argumentation: One (A) uses names [ming] to refer to objects, (B) uses propositions [ci] to dredge out ideas, (C) uses explanations [shuo] to bring out reasons, and (D) accepts according to the kind [lei], proposes according to the kind. What is present in one’s own case is not to be rejected in the other man’s, what is absent from one’s own case is not to be demanded of the other man’s. “Illustrating” [pi] is referring to other things in order to clarify one’s case. “Parallelising” [mou] is comparing propositions and letting all “proceed.” “Adducing” [yuan] is saying: “If it is so in your case, why may it not be so in mine too?” “Inferring” [tui] is using what is the same in that which he refuses to accept and that which he does accept in order to propose the former. (trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 483)

Let us consider the four argument forms. To engage in pi is to use illustration for comparative purposes. This is useful in cases where a position is not clear when expressed directly. Mou involves parallelising propositions, which we will explore shortly. To yuan is to adduce X in support of Y. To tui is to draw Y as a conclusion by comparing it with X.22 Dan Robins suggests that the last

20

Graham claims that sections of the Xiaoqu belong to a text he calls Names and Objects. Robins (2010) disagrees with Graham’s classification of Names and Objects in light of the Xiaoqu and Later Mohist writings more generally.

21

Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 471; see also p. 24. In a brief survey of the term in early texts, Graham suggests that “[o]utside the realm of philosophy [ci] is a general term for deliberately composed utterances, phrased for ceremonial, aesthetic or persuasive effect. In philosophical literature a [ci] is the verbal formulation of an idea, to be inspected closely in case it is misleading” (ibid.: 207). Refer also to Robins’ discussion of ci as phrases, where he rejects Graham’s and Harbsmeier’s interpretations (2010: 263–6).

22

NO12 continues to elaborate on the care that must be taken when using propositions: “(A) Of things in general, if there are respects in which they are the same, it does not

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two argument forms involve ad hominem elements. In the case of yuan, if X holds for the opponent’s case, why should it not hold for the arguer’s case? In tui, the opponent is asked to accept the arguer’s view as it has similarities to what the opponent already believes (Robins 2010: 261–2). To continue with our discussion of propositions, we focus on mou, parallelising propositions. We take it that mou is implicated in the examples listed in NO14 and NO15: A white horse is a horse. To ride a white horse is to ride a horse. Jack is a person. To love Jack is to love people. Jill is a person. To love Jill is to love people. (NO14; trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 485) Her younger brother is a handsome man, but loving her younger brother is not loving handsome men. Although robbers are people. . . . . . loving robbers is not loving people, . . . not loving robbers is not not loving people, . . . killing robbers is not killing people. (NO15; ibid.: 487)

The NO14 cases employ the reasoning structure of “this (shi) and so (ran).” The NO15 propositions have the structure “this but not so.” Put simply, these constructions explore whether action words – verbs – may consistently be added to noun phrases to yield (new) propositions that are meaningful. If this is successful over a number of different examples, we say that the construction may proceed (xing) (NO11). To let a construction proceed is to say, first,

follow that they are altogether the same. (B) The parallelism of propositions is valid only as far as it reaches. (C) If something is so of them there are reasons why it is so; but though its being so of them is the same, the reasons why it is so are not necessarily the same. (D) If we accept a claim we have reasons for accepting it; but though we are the same in accepting it, the reasons why we accept it are not necessarily the same. Therefore propositions which illustrate, parallelise, adduce and infer become different as they “proceed,” become dangerous when they change direction, fail when carried too far, become detached from their base when we let them drift, so that we must on no account be careless with them, and must not use them too rigidly. Hence saying has many methods, separate kinds, different reasons, which must not be looked at only from one side” (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 483–4). Hu presents a detailed account of these criteria in the light of analogical and other inductive inferences, in his chapter on “Induction” (1928: 99–108).

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that it has consistently yielded acceptable parallelisms across different cases and, second, that it may now be applied to novel cases. This simple explanation exposes a number of problems with the Later Mohist discussion of parallelisms. We begin with the examples in the “this and so” parallelism, NO14. While the white horse parallelism seems to work, the full force of the Jack and Jill examples is understood only in light of Mohist jianai. Jack and Jill (Huo and Zang) are derogatory names for bondsmen and bondswomen. To love the lowly, such as Huo and Zang, is, surely, to love humanity. But is it the parallelism in the structure of the propositions that allows us to come to this conclusion? The Jack and Jill example seems to lead to either of two conclusions, neither of which is satisfactory for the Later Mohists. First, we may assent to the view that the structure of the Jack and Jill constructions is what drives the parallelism; “love” works in the same way here as “ride” does in the white horse case. But if we take this view, do we not lose the profundity of Mohist impartial concern? For it is clear that the semantic – and ethical – import of “love people” is independent of the “this and so” parallelism. Surely, the Later Mohists would maintain that the significance of “love people” rests in its content rather than its parity with other verbs such as “ride.” The second alternative would be to maintain the centrality of jianai in Mohist ethics, extending it to everyone, even to Jack and Jill, such that to love Jack is to “love people.” But to do this requires that we abandon the focus on parallelism in structure. This problem is more pronounced in the “this but not so” structure. A woman’s love for her younger brother (ai di) does not constitute loving a handsome man (ai meiren). However, we arrive at this conclusion not because of the successful application of parallel structures but because of the different meanings of the compound terms. To ai di is to love one’s brother but to ai meiren may have the connotation of sexual attraction, which is clearly an inappropriate way for a young woman to relate to her brother. Likewise, semantic content drives the parallelism “although robbers are people . . . killing robbers is not killing people.” Killing robbers (shadao) is not killing people (sharen) because shadao means “executing a robber” while sharen means “murder.” These examples seem to fit the structure and give a false impression that parallelism is at work. However, both assertions fit, because the compound name (love a handsome man; killing people) in each case yields quite different meanings. In fact, the arguments are acceptable because they turn on sematic aspects of the compound names in ordinary language use.

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This implies that disputation would involve the settling of meaning conventions. Xunzi accused the Later Mohists of “disorder[ing] names by confusion in the use of names,” highlighting the unsatisfactoriness of appeal to convention to solve disputes (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 43). In fact, we require only conventional language usage to determine the acceptability of these propositions. We do not require parallelisms to conclude that “loving her younger brother is not loving handsome men” or that “killing robbers is not killing people.” Were the Later Mohists attempting to anchor meanings in the structure of language, especially in their use of parallelisms (mou)? Robins suggests that the Later Mohists knew mou was unreliable but they did not know why it could go wrong (2010: 261). Let us now place these deliberations into the context of discussions about knowledge in the Later Mohist writings. Canon A80 names four objects of knowledge. These are:  names (ming)  (actual) things (shi; including entities and events)  matching name with thing (he)  acting (wei). Knowledge of the first two, names and things, is more theoretical as compared with the latter two, which are practical applications of knowledge. To be able to match name with thing is a multi-layered process. One needs to know how to distinguish things, to understand which kinds (lei) they belong to according to particular characteristics and to apply the appropriate names to them. Matching name with thing is an ability (cai) (A3; A25). The fourth kind of knowledge, acting, involves the capacity to respond appropriately to things denoted by particular names. The Mohists valued practical knowledge over theoretical or discursive knowledge. The reason for disputation is to enable a person to select appropriate items. They illustrate the importance of know-how by referring to the blind man’s predicament: Now a blind man may say, “That which shines with brilliancy is white, and that which is like soot is black.” Even those who can see cannot reject those definitions. But if you place both white and black things before the blind man and ask him to choose the one from the other, then he fails. Therefore I say, “A blind man knows not white from black,” not because he cannot name them, but because he cannot choose them. (Mozi 39; in Hu 1928: 66)

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The blind man may understand names, but he does not know how to use names to make distinctions. For the Later Mohists, names are, ultimately, action-guiding. They took much care to spell out the nature of language, argument strategies and the sources of knowledge. Through close scrutiny of analogical thinking, parallelisms and explanations, it may have occurred to them that the Chinese language did not offer a stable and consistent structure upon which they could reliably make connections between names, propositions and the world. Did they also underestimate human ingenuity and creativity in their belief that disputation – sorting out disagreements through language – was the key to resolving social unrest? Did they make simplistic assumptions about human nature as, for example, in expecting that human behaviour could be standardised through the imposition of jianai? Was there a similar assumption at work in the Canons, that procedures appropriate to measurement, mechanics and accuracy may straightforwardly apply to human behaviour?

Scientific Discussions The Canons discuss a selection of topics in the subject areas of geometry, optics and mechanics. Their topics include dimension, alignment, circularity and measurement (A52–69); space, time and duration (B14–16); light, shadows, mirrors and images (B17–24); and weights, forces, inclination, pulleys and wheels (B25–9). They attended to events and phenomena in the world as, for example, in the discussion of shadows: Canon: The size of the shadow. Explained by: tilt and distance. Explanation: When the post slants the shadow is shorter and bigger; when the post is upright the shadow is longer and smaller. If the flame is smaller than the post the shadow is bigger than the post. It is not only because it is smaller, but also because of the distance. (B21; trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 379)

In their observations and descriptions of the world, the Later Mohists distinguished between different kinds of causes (gu). Canon A1 specifies the difference between a necessary condition (dubbed the “minor reason”) and a necessary and sufficient condition (called “major reason”): Canon: “The [gu] (reason/cause) of something is what it must get before it will come about.

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Explanation: “Minor reason”: having this, it will not necessarily be so: lacking this, necessarily it will not be so . . . “Major reason”: having this, it will necessarily : lacking be so . . . (ibid.: 263)23

The Later Mohist observations of the world also made them aware of the limits to their understanding of causality: “Whether the fighter’s breakdown is due to drinking wine or to the midday sun cannot be known: ‘coinciding circumstances’” (B10; ibid.: 360). In this case, there is more than one possible cause, and this complicates the determination of its actual cause. Interestingly, although the Canons made many references to illness (A76, 77, 85; B9, 10, 34), the Later Mohists, being concerned about certainty, did not dwell on illnesses as they would not have been able to understand or establish many of the causal links that lead to illness. Instead, they relied on examples from optics and mechanics, where they could draw on phenomena that had more predictable and readily identifiable causes (ibid.: 56).24 Bearing in mind these concerns, we also get a glimpse into their views of necessity, bi, as “the unending” (ibid.: 299). What is necessary should not change over time: For the [Later] Mohist, the deepest and most troubling of problems is the relation between knowledge and temporal change . . . he lives in an age of rapid social transformation in which ancient authority is no longer an adequate guide to conduct. He has developed the moral teaching of Mozi into an elaborate ethical system justified not by authority but by the procedures of disputation; he believes that, alone among the sages, Mozi taught principles which are necessary (bi 必) and therefore invulnerable to time. “The judgments of the sages, employ but do not treat as necessary. The ‘necessary,’ accept and do not doubt” (A83) . . . “Even if there were no men at all in the world, what our master Mozi said would still stand” (EC2). (ibid.: 33)

Not unlike what we have seen in their approach to language, their pursuit of certainty and necessity sits uncomfortably with their observations of the variety and difference in the world. The Later Mohists sought to establish stability in a diverse and changing world – but what would this be anchored 23

24

The insertions are made by Graham, as characters and strings of characters in the extant text are illegible. Graham adds, “The explaining of objects which parallels the explaining of names in disputation requires phenomena with causes which are easily isolated and clearly demonstrable” (Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 56).

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on? Their considerations provide enormous amounts of detail about the world, and perhaps that is why their attempts to systematise the relation between language and world encountered much difficulty. Their discussions in the sciences seem only to describe a range of observations. That is, they provide a taxonomy of specific phenomena in the observable world but did not or were unable to work out the general principles that apply in relevantly similar cases. Benjamin Schwartz describes their deliberations in the following way: There are the actual explorations of optics, mechanics and physics. There is the concern with geometric definition and the mathematical treatment of optic phenomena . . . They are deeply committed to seeking out separate particular causes for separate effects. (1985: 168)

Their explorations in the different scientific fields had an intensely practical focus. This was coupled with a preoccupation with plurality that, to them, seemed to defy abstractions, categorisations and universals, particularly those encoded in language. When we understand this anxiety, we also begin to grasp why their discussions of language did not result in the articulation of syllogistic rules, their discussions of propositions did not move towards the development of criteria for inference, and their discussions of scientific phenomena did not result in the formulation of general principles.25 Unlike Hui Shi, who may have dealt with the question of plurality and differences, the Later Mohists refused to, or could not, reduce multiplicity to an ultimate oneness: There is no “reductionist” impulse to posit some ultimate “stuff” of minimal properties of mass and motion in terms of which all the variety of the world may be explained . . . they remain resolute pluralists. (Schwartz 1985: 168)

In their approach to debates and their resolution of problems, the Later Mohists seemed committed to a commonsensical view of reality. In this way, their discussions of language and disputation parallel their observations of phenomena in the natural world: what confirms shi-fei in disputation

25

Graham describes the Later Mohist aversion to universals in this way: “The Mohist does not think in terms of a realm of universals in which each name can have its own pointby-point counterpart; he thinks of many names as fitting one mutable object, the name of what it is (“stone”), and names of what is so of it, either throughout its duration (“white”) or temporarily (“big” until the stone is broken up) (NO1)” (Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 35).

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(e.g. whether white horse is horse) is conventional language use, just as empirical observations confirm causal connections. They were careful to avoid elusive ideas in the treatment of illness and cosmology, including those of yin and yang. When they discussed the idea of five phases (wuxing), they demystified and explained it in purely causal terms (B43). They were deeply committed to the observable world, in all its plurality.

The Practice of Jianai: Utilitarian Morality The section of the Later Mohist writings that focuses on ethics, the Daqu, is badly mutilated. However, it is still possible to detect the continuity in jianai, impartial concern, with that found in earlier sections of the Mozi text. In the Daqu, there is more consideration of how jianai might be realised in practice. There is a distinct shift in the definition of benefit (li) that is both more realistic and complex. Whereas the earlier sections of Mozi define benefit in terms of aggregate wealth, population numbers and social order, the Canons define it in terms of personal happiness and dislike: Li (benefit) is what one is pleased to get. (A26; trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 282) Hai (harm) is what one dislikes getting. (A27; ibid.)

This appears hedonistic. But there is at the same time a more developed sense of how the measures of happiness are worked out. The Mohists interpreted the term quan (to weigh) in terms of the “calculation” process involved in utilitarian practical reasoning. We weigh certain elements as “light” or “heavy” and often such judgements need to be made in context. This is where weighing comes into effect, when we might have to decide among alternatives: “The wrong when weighed turning out to be the right . . . [is] the judgment after weighing” (Expounding the Canons: EC8; trans. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 253). An example is provided whereby one has to choose between two alternatives, of either losing one’s life in refusing to fight or losing one’s arm in fighting. Ordinarily, one would not desire to lose one’s arm, but in light of the entire situation, the choice is obvious. This reveals deeper insights into the processes of choosing between alternatives as it considers not only benefits or harms but also preferences within the constraints of the situation.

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Later Mohist discussions also allow for benefit to oneself, even suggesting appropriate self-love: “Love of oneself is not for the sake of making oneself useful. (Not like loving a horse)” (A7; ibid.: 270). We need to be careful about how far we extend this notion, for it is not clear that it is anything like the concept of self-worth in modern thought. Regarding the broader question of “Whose happiness?” the Later Mohists provide a considered response to their critics. They incorporate the idea of relational proximity (lun lie) into their notion of duty: “Doing more for those for whom duty requires more, less for those for whom duty requires less” (EC9; ibid.: 255). One is to do more for particular others including creditors, rulers, superiors, the aged, elders and kin. One’s duty to parents is a special case, being allocated (fen) that duty: “Doing more for parents than for others is your portion” (ibid.: 256). However, this is counter-balanced with an emphasis on jianai. Thus, it seems that whereas one bears a greater duty to one’s parents, one should have as much concern “for others’ parents as for one’s own” (EC12; ibid.: 257). The more moderated approach to jianai highlights its complexity. It is not only that the demands of jianai do not resonate with common practice. The question remains of how we are to balance the two: doing more for particular individuals while also having impartial concern for all others. The early Confucians were firm in their insistence on the primacy of close relationships. The Later Mohists attempted to locate the value of morality in individual contributions to broader social welfare while accommodating self-love and happiness. Graham expresses the Mohist contribution to the early debates on morality: “A remarkable innovation of the Later Mohist ethic is that it conceives morality in terms, not of fixed social relationships between father and son, ruler and subject, but of individuals benefiting themselves, each other and the world” (ibid.: 51).

Argumentation in Warring States China The Bianzhe had limited success in engaging with official debates during their time because of some aspects of their debates and possibly because some of them engaged in debate just to win an argument. Why were their doctrines and practices so unpalatable? Some of the Bianzhe were not interested in sophistry but were concerned about the philosophical, social and ethical issues of the day. They debated on language and its function in human society. They worked on issues that were enormously complex and

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fundamental, and these may have seemed irrelevant to the ruling elite of the time (Schwartz 1985: 170–1). Their engagement with disputation expressed a concern about the real world and how language could adequately capture it. What was the connection between names and actuality? How did language capture the different kinds in the world, given that the categories of what belonged (lei) were determined on the basis of what was relevant in context? For the Later Mohists, disputation revolved around drawing correct distinctions: this/notthis, same/different, and so/not-so. Hui Shi took an extreme position in this debate and posited that there was no basis for drawing distinctions. For him, the selection of names was an arbitrary exercise.26 Gongsun Long remained committed to the world of things (stuff) and focused on how names, including compound terms, could properly pick things out. Our knowledge of Gongsun Long’s philosophy is incomplete. Although his discussions appear unnecessarily laborious, he was among those early thinkers who were aware of some of the peculiarities of (the early Chinese) language and who challenged commonsense assumptions about it. The Later Mohists took the discussion further to consider not only compound terms but also propositions (assertions). Their discussions on language are the most developed and detailed in pre-Qin philosophy. Like the other Mingjia, they were concerned about the use of language and the application of names. They searched for ways in which distinctions could be properly and reliably drawn. The Later Mohist texts draw our attention to the complexities of devising a functional language that facilitates social life but yet does not oversimplify the diversity in the world. For them, disputation and making the right distinctions had implications not only for craftsmanship, but also for ethical and political debates. Xunzi was hostile to attempts that sought to implement norms through fixing names. He accused them of confusing correct nomenclature and suggested it was a criminal act: . . . the way a True King institutes names [is as follows]. Because fixed names keep objects distinguished and because when his Way is practiced his goals are universally understood, he takes pains to produce uniformity [in regard to names and his Way] among the people. Because hair-splitting

26

As we will see in the discussion of Zhuangzi’s philosophy in Chapter 8, Hui Shi’s views are possibly a response to Zhuangzi’s ideas.

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with propositions and creating names on one’s own authority brings confusion to the correct use of names and causes the people to be suspicious, multiplying argument and litigation among them, the True King labels these “Great Evils,” to be punished as severely as the crimes of forging credentials or tampering with weights and measures. (Xunzi 22; trans. Knoblock, Xunzi, 1994: 128)

Xunzi disapproved of disputation about names because it caused confusion. The reason for his hostility was not that the project of disputation itself or its processes were flawed. Indeed, Xunzi would have agreed with the Later Mohists concerning the centrality of language in human life; they both understood the normative role language played in society. Xunzi insightfully draws an analogy between tampering with weights and measures and the process of fixing names. The analogy exposes the grave implications of both activities, as attempts to destabilise existing conventions and norms. For Xunzi, the issue was that the disputers had crossed the line, engaging in a process that was the prerogative of only the true ruler. In brief, the Mingjia were dabbling, unauthorised, in political processes. When the Later Mohists decided that issues were settled by deciding whether they were cases of “this or not-this,” or “so or not-so,” they skirted prevailing assumptions about appeals to authority. Instead, they sought justification on the basis of the credibility of the views – what was admissible or not (ke, buke) – hence setting up new criteria for assessing assertions and debates. Remarkably, their underlying assumption about the application of standards in the different domains in life was that anyone could apply them. Implicitly, they challenged entrenched beliefs that appeal to authority, whether to that of a sage or heaven, as a justified method for determining norms. In their own discussions, the Later Mohist texts did not appeal to authority, nor did they promulgate their own, Mohist, ideology. Argumentation in the texts refers only to particular doctrines and refrains from mentioning rival philosophers by name; from their point of view, the discredit rests with the doctrine and not with its advocate. Graham notes that these texts are unusual among texts of that period: Other thinkers, from Confucius down to Han Feizi, fail or refuse to detach philosophising from moralising and practical persuasion. But the Later Mohist summa never preaches; everything it has to say about morals is pure ethics . . . This impersonality is unusual in pre-Han philosophy, where the

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most interesting examples of disputation tend to be (or to have been dramatised as) actual face-to-face debates between Mencius and Gaozi, Hui Shi and Zhuangzi. (Later Mohist Logic, 2003: 24–5)

Unfortunately for the course of Chinese intellectual history, these debates were stopped short during and long after the Qin dynasty. The dominant social and political forces worked against the Bianzhe’s concerns about disputation and the Mingjia’s concerns about language and its guidance in life. Perhaps, from the point of view of the status quo, these questions were just too complex or too confrontational; the Mingjia’s peers might have failed to see the connection of the debates with the practicalities of life; or they might have been reluctant to challenge the culture of the elite.

Suggestions for Further Reading Fraser, Christopher (2003) “Introduction: Later Mohist Logic, Ethics, and Science after 25 Years,” from the reprint edition of Angus C. Graham, Later Mohist Logic, Ethics, and Science (1978), Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Graham, Angus C. (1989) “The Sharpening of Rational Debate: The Sophists,” in Disputers of the Tao, La Salle, IL: Open Court. Hansen, Chad (1983a) Language and Logic in Ancient China, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Hu, Shi (1928) The Development of the Logical Method in Ancient China, Shanghai: Oriental Book Company. Indraccolo, Lisa (2010) “Gongsun Long and the Gongsun Longzi: Authorship and Textual Variation in a Multilayered Text,” doctoral thesis, Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia. Open Access available online at: http://hdl.handle.net/10579/922 (accessed 14 September 2015). Kroll, J. L. (Yury Lovich) (1987) “Disputation in Ancient Chinese Culture,” Early China, vols. 11–12 (1985–7): 118–45. Later Mohist Logic, Ethics and Science (2003), trans. Angus C. Graham, reprinted from the first edition in 1978, Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Makeham, John (2003) “School of Names (Ming Jia, Ming Chia),” in Antonio Cua (ed.), Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, New York: Routledge, pp. 491–7. Robins, Dan (2010) “The Later Mohists and Logic,” History and Philosophy of Logic, 31.3: 247–85.

7

Legalist Philosophy

The debates during the Warring States period challenged the beliefs and practices of the status quo. Confucian doctrine upheld many aspects of traditional life yet raised questions about possibilities for self-directed accomplishments, especially for those involved in government. Daoism rejected many more facets of conventional life and practices but retained a vision of the good life for the common people. Legalist thought is singular in its rejection of fundamental humanitarian values. It rejected the importance of relationships, the institutional fostering of ethical awareness and behaviour and, perhaps most of all, the idea of a compassionate government that looked after the interests of the people. Herrlee Creel, a historian of Chinese thought, argued that Legalist philosophy was, “in considerable degree, a philosophy of counterrevolution” (1953: 135). Creel maintained that the Legalists rejected the increasingly popular view that government exists for the people, focusing instead on the ruler’s maintenance of power. The classification in the Shiji by Sima Tan, of Legalist philosophy as a “school” (fa jia: school of penal law), is misleading in a number of ways. First, there is no identifiable founder of Legalist thought, although Han Fei (c. 280–233 BCE) appears to be its most systematic proponent, on the basis of the text that bears his name. Yet the question of authorship of the Han Feizi is riddled with questions given the inconsistencies in the text.1 Second, not all thinkers who are considered Legalist actually discussed fa (penal law) as a fundamental theme.2 Third, it is not clear which ideas or themes best 1

Refer to the discussion in Goldin 2013 concerning the problems of authorship. The most comprehensive (though rather dated) translation of Han Fei’s works into English is by W. K. Liao, The Complete Works of Han Fei Tzu: A Classic of Chinese Political Science, vols. 1 and 2, 1939, London: Arthur Probsthain.

2

For instance, Shen Buhai is widely thought of as a key proponent of Legalist thought, although Creel, who studies Shen’s philosophy in extensive detail, argues that “Shen

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characterise the ideology of the Legalist thinkers. Those who articulated Legalist ideas or influenced Legalist philosophy in significant ways during the preHan period include Guan Zhong (d. 645 BCE), Shang Yang (d. 338 BCE), Shen Buhai (d. 337 BCE), Shen Dao (c. 350 BCE –275 BCE) and Han Fei. The impression we get from reading the Legalist texts is that there was lively debate and scrupulous consideration of the idea of fa, which could mean “standard,” on a broader reading, as well as penal law, in some of its uses.3 Existing ideas and themes provided the backdrop against which Legalist philosophy grew: the Confucian emphasis on paradigmatic leadership, the Mohist discussion of standards,4 debates about language among several notable thinkers, views on human nature and the role of government, and debates about political authority and the role of the bureaucracy. There were many cross-currents. For instance, although the Legalists vehemently rejected aspects of Confucianism, Xunzi the Confucianist thinker was the teacher of both Han Fei and Li Si (c. 280 BCE– c. 208 BCE). Li Si was the Prime Minister and political strategist during the Qin period of Legalist rule. In the Han Feizi, we also find attempts to synthesise Legalist strategies with Daoist wuwei (nonaction). Although these two philosophies are deeply contradictory at points, Huang-Lao thought, as it came to be called, incorporated Daoist wuwei into the ruling strategy of the Legalist ruler (see de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 241–56; Nivison 1999: 801). As we will see later, the Han Feizi states that order would be sustained by laws and ministers carrying out punishments where necessary, while the leader hides behind the system of law and punishments. In this way, the Legalist leader was shadowy and inscrutable, being seemingly without action (wuwei) but in fact having significant power and control over his ministers and the people by managing his officials effectively and efficiently.

Buhai was not a legalist [because] . . . it is unlikely that anyone who has been seriously concerned with administration could doubt [the place of] law in the administration of government” (Creel 1974: 135). 3

Goldin discusses the variety of referents of the term fa; see especially the discussion of the “Qifa” chapter in the Guanzi (Goldin 2011: 93).

4

Schwartz notes that elements in Mohist thought (rejection of ritual propriety and inner motivation, emphasis on utility, role of rewards and punishments) may have prepared the ground for Legalist philosophy, although the differences between the two traditions should not be underestimated (1985: 329).

Legalist Philosophy

An interesting aspect of Legalist thought is that a significant number of the thinkers were actually consulted by the government of the day. Shang Yang was a chancellor of the Qin state and Shen Buhai a chancellor of the Han state towards the end of the Warring States period (Bodde 1986: 74). Han Fei was adviser to the Han state just shortly before its annexation by the Qin in 221 BCE. It is unsurprising that these political strategists would have produced written material on government. Notably, their treatment of subject matter seems to be driven by their political ambitions rather than ethical reflection. Hence Benjamin Schwartz, for example, depicts Legalist philosophy as “behavioural science” and “science of socio-political organization,” Herrlee Creel describes it as a “theory of bureaucracy” and Angus Graham describes it as “an amoral science of statecraft.”5 The ideas in the Legalist texts were shaped by the views of strategists, some of whom were especially concerned to maintain the power of the ruler. Paul Goldin suggests that the text expresses the attempts of Han Fei to address different audiences, for example, at points upholding the unquestionable authority of the ruler and at points encouraging ministers to exploit the frailties of the sovereign: “Han Fei’s avowed opinion simply changes with his audience” (Goldin 2013: 13).6 In this light, Legalist thought, its applications and eventual failure can be better understood in the light of some measures taken by those in power during the Warring States period and the Qin dynasty. For example, the harsh penalties imposed for minor offences and the atmosphere of fear and oppression were aspects of Qin rule. These details would have continued to influence the understanding and subsequent interpretation of Legalist philosophy for the Chinese during the Qin dynasty and after.

Three Basic Themes: Penal Law, Technique and Power The Han Feizi draws together key concepts articulated in earlier texts and integrates them into a philosophy of social order, political authority and bureaucratic efficiency.7 It advocates three themes, penal law (fa), statecraft or technique (shu) and power (shi), in its proposal for effective government. It 5 6

Schwartz 1985: 321; 335; Creel, cited in ibid.: 336; Graham 1989: 267. Refer to Goldin’s entire discussion (pp. 1–18), and also at p. 16, point 3, in relation to the primacy of dao in the text.

7

Fung 1948: 157; Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 252; Schwartz 1985: 339–43.

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draws on Shang Yang’s notion of fa, Shen Buhai’s discussion of shu and Shen Dao’s suggestions about shi. On the basis of the three prominent themes, Han Fei, the text’s putative author, is often regarded as the synthesiser of Legalist thought. We examine each of these three themes below.

Fa: Standards and Penal Law Two important clarifications must be made regarding the concept fa in its Legalist usage. First, fa in the discussions among thinkers of the various schools meant “standard,” as we have seen, for instance, in Mozi’s philosophy. Mozi discussed the standards used in craftsmanship and extended their application to paradigmatic action that incorporated jianai, impartial concern of each person for everyone else. In the Analects, we also find references to the use of standards: at seventy, Confucius could follow his heart without overstepping the boundaries of the (carpenter’s) square (2:4). Han Fei also refers to this broader understanding of fa as standard. Like Mozi, he extends the application of standards from ordinary life to human behaviour: the magnetic compass, measuring squares, scales, levels, inked string and right and wrong in human behaviour (Han Feizi 6). In this section of the text, Han Fei shifts between two meanings of fa: in its broader sense as a method of measurement, and in its narrower, Legalist, sense as penal law. Law is the system in which right and wrong are measured: “to govern the state by law is to praise the right and blame the wrong” (Han Feizi 6; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 1: 45). One will frequently find shifts between fastandard and fapenal law in the Legalist texts. Second, the use of penal codes preceded Legalist discussions about fapenal law

. There are references to the use of punishments as early as 513 BCE in the

state of Qin.8 Shang Yang was a minister under Duke Xiao (381–338 BCE) of the State of Qin and is reputed to have instituted numerous reforms that helped advance the state from a minor and backwards entity into one with significant military prowess. He is said to have been enthusiastic in his study of penal law (Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 1-40). Guan Zhong 8

There is a passage in the Zuo Zhuan of 513 BCE where Confucius is meant to have expressed dismay at the institution of penal codes and punishments (Legge, Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 5: Tso Chuan Chu-su, 53, 6b–7a: 732). Schwartz discusses early textual sources that anticipate fa (1985: 323ff.).

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(683–642 BCE), discussed in the Confucian Analects (3:22; 14:9; 14:16; 14:17), advocated measures that were subsequently articulated by other Legalist thinkers, including centralised power, the establishment of bureaucracy and the imposition of uniform codes on aspects of social and economic life (Schwartz 1985: 324–5). There are also records of punishments associated with penal codes that were draconian and gruesome; these included severe corporal punishments such as leg-cutting, nose-cutting, branding and castration. The Chinese character for punishment, xing (刑), is partly formed by the character for knife (刂, 刀); it pre-existed the Legalist use of fa as a system of penal law (Bodde 1963: 379; Schwartz 1985: 323). Shang Yang’s doctrine of fapenal

law

incorporated harsh laws for which the

punishments far outweighed the respective crimes. Shang Yang was emphatic that the disproportionate extent of punishment to crime would deter both light and heavy offences, hence securing the ruler’s control of the people: In applying punishments, light offences should be punished heavily; if light offences do not appear, heavy offences will not come. This is said to be abolishing penalties by means of penalties, and if penalties are abolished, affairs will succeed. (3.13; trans. Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 258–9)

There is a tendency of scholars to follow the Han Feizi in amplifying the place of fapenal law in Shang Yang’s system. In fact, we must be mindful that fapenal law was only a portion of Shang Yang’s more complete programme of sociopolitical change. The Book of Lord Shang (Shangjun Shu) is the source of Shang Yang’s ideas, although Jan J. L. Duyvendak, who has prepared the most thorough translation of the text into English, believes that little, if any, of what Shang Yang might have written remains as part of the translated text (ibid.: 144–6). Yet study of the text has a place in serious scholarship because some of its passages address themes that were further developed in due course. Shang Yang9 proposed a complete programme for socio-political reform that included agricultural and economic development, strengthening of the military and engagement in war, and political administration and institutional change.

9

Sima Qian’s Shiji (trans. Watson, Shiji, 1961) outlines Shang Yang‘s life and achievements in some detail. Duyvendak (Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 1–40) refers to the mention of Shang Yang in other historical texts.

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The Book of Lord Shang is thorough in its approach to control the people. There is a preoccupation with regulating the minutiae of social, economic and political life: crop yields and quality, price of grain, buying and selling grain, merchant activity and marketplace conduct. Even the setting of the price of food is discussed (Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 176–84, esp. p. 179). If we consider these aspects of government regulation intrusive, we will be disconcerted by its ruthlessness in dealing with military personnel: In battle five men are organized into a squad; if one of them is killed; the other four are beheaded. If a man can capture one head then he is exempted from taxes. (Book of Lord Shang 5.19; ibid.: 295–6)

Affairs are carried out according to fastandards. For the ruler to be fully in control implies not leaving any room for unexpected turns. To leave anything open to contingency is a weakness. In the chapter “Establishing Laws” it is stated that “when measures and figures have been instituted, law can be followed” (Book of Lord Shang 3; ibid.: 243). The determination and application of standards in all areas of life was simply a process of measurement: evaluate an action or state of affairs according to the appropriate standards of measurement. Then apply penal law if necessary. Han Fei was impressed by the meticulousness of Shang Yang’s approach, which he dubbed “fixing the standards” (dingfa); the “Ding Fa” chapter of the Han Feizi is devoted to this topic. It was necessary for the ruler to set the standards in order to control the people. This was a critical issue because of the population in China, which seems to have reached 57 million by 2 CE.10 Shang Yang understood this matter a number of centuries prior to the census: “In [administering] a country, the trouble is when the people are scattered and when it is impossible to consolidate them” (Book of Lord Shang; ibid.: 193). Han Fei, too, grasped the significance of controlling the people. In his major essay advocating rule by fa, he begins with reference to the increase in population: “In the age of remote antiquity, human beings were few while birds and beasts were many . . . [now] people have become numerous and supplies scanty . . . people quarrel so much that . . . disorder is inevitable” (Han Feizi 49; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 273–7). Han Fei argues that the growth in population necessitates government of a

10

These were the earliest complete census figures, discussed by Hans Bielenstein (1947), cited in Creel 1974: 116.

Legalist Philosophy

kind different from that proposed by the Confucians: large numbers of people could not all be trusted to be virtuous. Han Fei’s focus on (population) numbers is not uncharacteristic of political thought of the time, as we shall see later in Shen Buhai’s discussion of political strategy. Shang Yang’s programme for standardisation also sought to control ideas. He discussed the indoctrination of the people to pursue only the goods sanctioned by the ruler. Paragraph 9 of the text “Establishing Laws” dwells on the psychological manipulation of the people through the implementation of fapenal law through rewards and punishments.11 Han Fei promotes the use of fapenal

law

to “unify the folkways of the masses” (yimin) (Han Feizi 6;

trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 1: 45); nothing could be more effective for political control. Control of the people is the primary concern in the Book of Lord Shang. This ideology places the ruler at odds with the people and thus stands in stark contrast to the Confucian view of benevolent government, especially in Mencius’ philosophy. In Han Fei’s estimate, Shang Yang’s programme was thorough in its control of the masses by fapenal

law

. However, it was also

necessary to complement it with the ruler’s control of the bureaucracy. The Han Feizi drew on the ideas of Shen Buhai to illuminate discussions about the appointment of officials and the processes to effectively manage them.

Shu: Techniques for Managing the Bureaucracy Shen Buhai was a successful senior minister; historical records indicate that he was the Chancellor of Han during the period when Marquis Zhao held power (361?–333 BCE) (Creel 1974: 21–4).12 According to a number of historical records and in the Han Feizi, political technique was the central feature of Shen Buhai’s doctrine:

11

Punishment and reward were the two “handles” of government. Han Fei discussed these complementary tools of instilling political order (Han Feizi 7). Punishments and rewards were used to discourage or encourage certain behaviours and actions. Rewards, in

12

particular, were to be used promote actions that demonstrated loyalty to the ruler. Creel (1974) has written the most comprehensive discussion of Shen’s ideas to date, even though some of the translations are outdated. The volume includes analyses of fragments associated with Shen.

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. . . the means whereby to create posts according to responsibilities, hold actual services accountable according to official titles, exercise the power over life and death, and examine the officials’ abilities. It is what the lord of men has in his grip. (Han Feizi 43; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 212)

Shen believed it was critical for the ruler to have full control of his advisers in light of the many rulers who had become mere puppets of their advisers during the Warring States period. He discussed political techniques that would lead to the desired outcome, not through reverting to the assertion of kingly or sagely authority but in the installation of a system that could quantify the abilities and achievements of the officials to ensure that the ruler maintained control over them. Shen’s plan was to establish institutional mechanisms to limit the powers of officials. Although simplistic in that it leaves the authority of the ruler unchecked, Shen’s ideas are modern in that they have moved away from reliance on interpersonal relationships and patrimonial bureaucracy to the establishment of institutional infrastructure. Hence, Schwartz describes Shen’s theory of bureaucracy as “a most significant event in the world history of social thought” (1985: 336). We want to approach Shen’s ideas with caution, however, as his institutional reforms aim only indirectly at socio-political stability and accountability; his ultimate concern was to maintain the power of the ruler. Shen was deeply suspicious of the bureaucrats; he highlighted the dangers of the enemy from within: The reason why a ruler builds lofty inner walls and outer walls, and looks carefully to the barring of doors and gates, is to prepare against the coming of invaders and bandits. But one who murders the ruler and takes his state does not necessarily force his way in by climbing over difficult walls and battering in barred doors and gates. He may be one of the ruler’s own ministers, who gradually limits what the ruler is permitted to see and restricts what he is allowed to hear, until finally the minister seizes his government and monopolizes his power to command, possessing his people and taking his state. (Creel 1974: 61, 344)

It is believed that Shen Buhai wrote a two-chapter book, although that is now lost. Our access to his ideas is primarily through citation by other thinkers of the period. When we read these fragments, we begin to grasp the depth of Shen’s understanding of political administration. The ruler is dependent on the expertise of his advisers, but to admit or reveal his dependence is dangerous. Shen portrays the ruler’s position as an unenviable one. It is a

Legalist Philosophy

deeply alienating position that is essentially dependent on the bureaucrats but requires a front of independence and superiority. The Han Feizi identifies Shen’s core concept as shu, technique, although there are no references to the term in the fragments. This is not to say that Shen did not discuss shu, given the paucity of the remaining fragments. Shu, the ruler’s technique, is secret. For a ruler to reveal his dependence on advisers is simply to intensify and expose his weaknesses. The discussion of shu is often explained in terms of the need for the ruler to hold his officials at bay. However, there may be underlying reasons for this: the idea of a closely guarded technique would be essential if there was good reason for the ruler to be defensive. How is this so? Yuri Pines suggests that, as far as the Han Feizi is concerned, the rulers of the time were lacking in capability. This, in fact, was the greatest threat to good government: the ruler needed to be safeguarded from his own weaknesses and therefore should cover these up from his advisers. On this view, the entire system of law and punishments was intended to reduce the ruler’s discretion to a minimum, hence also explaining the appeal to wuwei. Pines states, “Han Fei’s low esteem of the ruler’s qualities is the major reason for his advocacy of impartial ‘laws and methods’ as the best way to ensure order and stability” (2013: 78). If this is a plausible interpretation of the Han Feizi’s concerns, it stands to reason that the ruler should install a system of “checking off” the officers to ensure that they fall in line. The Han Feizi proposes a process of fixing names (xing ming), which requires that the performance of officials match their designated titles. As we know, this discourse on names and the strategy of using them to promote standards was not entirely new. The aim of xing ming was to enforce “job descriptions” in both the selection of officials and the assessment of their effectiveness in their respective positions (Schwartz 1985: 338). Xing ming uses the method of tallying (measuring performance against a list of duties), which is also applied in Shang Yang’s dingfa. The method of tallying was especially important within the Legalist agenda because it aimed to eradicate difference of opinion among the officials.13 Creel suggests an insightful correlation between shu, technique, and its homophone, shu, meaning numbers. According to this view, there is a deeper

13

The implementation of fastandards is an attempt to eradicate difference. Likewise, the purpose of fapenal law is to guarantee conformity of behaviour. The imposition of fa, in both of its meanings, was the method by which the ruler could control the vast numbers.

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connection between understanding statistics and the process of fixing names: “It is necessary to know not merely how many, but how many what? The answer to the question – what? – is a name, ming. These names are categorisations” (Creel 1974: 133).14 Meticulous deliberations about understanding numbers in order to attain control are characteristic of Legalist thought. However, some fragments attributed to Shen Buhai incorporate references to Daoist wuwei. In one passage, the synthesis of ideas is so eloquently expressed it even makes the Legalist-Daoist ruler seem benevolent: The ruler is like a mirror, which merely reflects the light that comes to it, itself doing nothing, and yet, because of its mere presence, beauty and ugliness present themselves to view . . . The ruler’s method is that of complete acquiescence. He merges his personal concerns with the public good, so that as an individual he does not act. He does not act, yet as a result of his nonaction [wuwei] the world brings itself to a state of complete order. (ibid.: 63–4, 351–2)

This passage appears out of character with key elements of Shen’s philosophy. The idea that the ruler “merges his personal concerns with the public good” stands out conspicuously against the techniques of political administration associated with what we have seen so far of Shen’s views. There may be more to this, however: the secretive nature of the ruler’s technique is critical to his success in maintaining power. While xing ming assists the ruler in his choice and assessment of advisers, maintaining inscrutability keeps him independent of the bureaucracy. From this angle, Shen is canny in his treatment of an important issue in political administration. Creel explains this insight: When Shen urged that the ruler should be completely independent, he was taking issue with one of the oldest and most sacred tenets of China’s orthodox political philosophy . . . The idea that rulers should receive the advice of their ministers respectfully, and follow it with care, was present . . . perhaps even

14

See Creel’s extended discussion on numbers at pp. 125–8. Apparently, shu (numbers) was commonly used during the Chunqiu period, “with meanings such as ‘number,’ ‘figure,’ ‘several,’ ‘frequent,’ ‘to enumerate,’ and ‘to reprimand’ (i.e. to enumerate faults)” (Creel 1974: 126). The same character was also used in the Warring States period to refer to technique. But by the Zhanguo period, the use of the character shu (technique) became significantly more frequent and referred exclusively to political strategy.

Legalist Philosophy

before the Zhou dynasty . . .. Not all rulers did heed the advice of their ministers, but almost all of them found it expedient to pretend to do so. (ibid.: 64–5)

We get an even more acute sense of the level of control the Legalist thinkers were keen to achieve when we supplement penal law and political techniques with Shen Dao’s shi, power.

Shi: Power More so than Shen Buhai, Shen Dao engaged extensively with Daoist philosophy and has been credited as one of the forerunners of “mature Daoism” (Hansen 1992: 204–10). Because his doctrine integrated Daoist and Legalist thought, he is also believed to have been associated with Huang-Lao ideology. Only fragments of Shen Dao’s writings remain, with the most extensive discussions of his ideas in the Han Feizi and Zhuangzi.15 Han Fei names Shen Dao as the main proponent of shi, political power. However, the fragments associated with Shen Dao actually discuss fa more extensively than they do shi (see Yang 2013). The meaning of the term shi varies with usage, and it can cover the following ideas: “position,” “power-base,” “charisma,” “authority” and “political purchase.” Broadly speaking, shi refers to how the ruler maintains authority, that is, how he preserves his political grip over the people. It is represented in positive terms as “support by the masses” and in negative terms as “subduing the masses” (Han Feizi 40; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 200). Our understanding of Shen Dao’s shi may be shaped by how we understand his conception of dao: is his dao a mystical, transcendental reality or an actual, historical reality within which individuals should accept what cannot be changed (Hansen 1992: 206–9)?16 Schwartz sets out the notion of shi, highlighting the aura of authority in the Legalist ruler: 15

The fragments have been collated by P. M. Thompson in The Shen Tzu Fragments (1979), a major exercise that involved the collation of ideas from ancient texts and serious considerations about authorship, including whether Shen Dao did himself write a book. Xunzi also discusses Shen Dao’s doctrine, although he appears to have confused the doctrines of Shen Buhai and Shen Dao, crediting the former as the key proponent of shi

16

(Graham 1989: 268). Yang holds that most of Shen Dao‘s references to dao relate to government or to official duties rather than to metaphysical notions of dao. This aligns more closely with a positivist approach to law (2013: 52–7).

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Without authority, the ruler cannot be the ultimate source of all the impersonal codes and mechanisms of control which maintain the entire social order. It is, of course, true that when the system is functioning, the system itself enhances the mantle of mystery and the sense of remoteness which surrounds the figure of the ruler, but finally it is the symbolic aura of authority surrounding the figure of the ruler which makes possible the implementation of the system . . . In a system which would eliminate personal initiative as the source of social behavior, everything comes to depend on a symbolic person. (1985: 340)

Han Fei was critical of Shen Dao’s conception of shi. He represents Shen Dao’s view as one that upholds shi on the basis of its distinction from rule by virtue: “Position and status are sufficient to rely on, and . . . virtue and wisdom are not worth going after” (Han Feizi 40; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 199). Han Fei takes the shared Legalist stance that rejects the then dominant paradigm of virtuous government.17 In the Han Feizi, Shen Dao holds that virtue is unreliable simply because different people have different capacities: there are “earthworms” (the evil and corrupt) as well as “dragons” (paragons of virtue). Therefore, the power base is necessary for order especially as it does not rely on the virtue and ability of individual rulers. At this point, his interlocutor, a Confucian, asks whether it is not preferable if a virtuous person stands on this power base. In Confucian eyes, the power base might be important, but it is not as critical as the ability and ethical commitment of individuals who can successfully use the power. In response, Han Fei emphasises that the kind of sageliness and wisdom (xian zhi) sought by the Confucians was incompatible with the power base. Han Fei demonstrates this with a story that is now a popular Chinese expression meaning “contradiction” (maodun; lit., spear and shield): Once there was a man selling halberds and shields. He praised his shields for their solidity as such that nothing could penetrate them. All at once he also

17

There are allusions to virtuous rule that is consistent with the strict imposition of standards in the Guanzi (a text often classified as Legalist). Refer to the “Four Cardinal Virtues” section of the “Mu Min” chapter (Shepherding the People) in the Guanzi (Rickett, Guanzi, 2001: 54). Of these four virtues, Rickett states, “The importance of morality is expressed in the concept of the four wei, 維 “cords” or “guy lines,” supporting the state. These four cords, which I have called “cardinal virtues” in the translation, consist of li 禮, “propriety”; yi 義, “righteousness”; lian 廉, “integrity”; and chi 恥, “sense of shame.” They are often mentioned by later writers as one of the special features of Guan Zhong‘s thought . . .” (p. 51).

Legalist Philosophy

praised his halberds, saying, “My halberds are so sharp that they can penetrate anything.” In response to his words people asked, “How about using your halberds to pierce through your shields?” To this the man could not give any reply. (Han Feizi 40; Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 203–4)

Having set out an argument for the incompatibility of rule by virtue and rule by shi, Han Fei defends the importance of shi, although he points out a practical constraint on its practice. First, he notes that most rulers are average and, therefore, that shi is essential for them. This means that shi is necessary, but not sufficient, for the maintenance of order: It is for the average rulers that I speak about [shi]. The average rulers neither come up to the worthiness of Yao and Shun nor reach down to the wickedness of Jie and Zhou. If they uphold the law and make use of their [shi], order obtains; if they discard the law and desert their [shi], chaos prevails. Now suppose you discard [shi] and act contrary to the law [fa] and wait for Yao and Shun to appear and suppose order obtains after the arrival of Yao and Shun, then order will obtain in one out of one thousand generations of continuous chaos. (ibid.: 205).

This leads us to the issue that Han Fei seems to care more about, which has implications for the role of shi within his Legalist agenda. He argues that fa, penal law, is that critical element that props up the power of the ruler: “When by embracing the law they occupy the power-base there is order, when by rejecting the law they lose the power-base there is disorder” (ibid., p. 281). It may well be that Han Fei has misrepresented Shen Dao’s conception of shi, especially as fa figures prominently in the Shen Dao fragments.18 Notwithstanding this, Han Fei’s position is clear: it is important to understand political authority but even more important to understand its source. For Han Fei, fa takes priority over shi.

Han Fei, the “Great Synthesiser” Han Fei is believed to have composed his thoughts for a king of the Han state (King An of Han (King Huan-Hui (r. 272–239 BCE) or King An of Han (r. 238– 230 BCE) or) (Watson, Basic Writings, 1964: 2). Ironically, it seems that the 18

This may have been because he felt he had to take sides with his teacher, Xunzi, as Shen Dao was one of Xunzi’s rivals (Graham 1989: 268, 279).

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infamous ruler of the rival Qin state, Qin Shihuang (260–210 BCE), implemented Han Fei’s ideas most extensively. The Han Feizi synthesises three themes, fa, shu and shi, interweaving them into a philosophy of political control. However, that Han Fei is commonly referred to as “the great synthesiser” is not necessarily a point to be celebrated. According to Goldin, this characterisation of Han Fei has had a negative impact on how we understand pre-Han Legalist thought: “The tendency to extol Han Fei as the great synthesizer and focus on the Han Feizi at the expense of other ancient Chinese political philosophers can be traced to Han Fei’s self-serving depiction of Shen Dao, Shen Buhai and Gongsun Yang as the authors of single political concepts, which only Han Fei himself combined into a coherent philosophy” (Goldin 2011: 95). Textual

Goldin does not support the view that the Han Feizi has a

matters

primary, coherent argument. For him, the text reflects Han Fei’s different responses to different audiences (2011). As discussed earlier, Pines casts a different light on the text, suggesting that it saw a need for rulers – especially those who were less shrewd – to protect themselves against the officials (2013, esp. at p. 67). Alejandro Bárcenas takes a similar line, proposing that the Han Feizi is not simply seeking to maintain the power of the ruler, unchecked. Rather, the text is concerned with the ruler’s inability to control his officials (2013: 247) and, at the same time, sought to rein in the literati (the Ru). Some of the Ru were scheming individuals, only paying lip-service to their commitments to public welfare (ibid.: 242–5). Schwartz (1985) and Graham (1989), as discussed previously, have suggested that the text can be read in different ways, as a treatise on statecraft or an attempt to maintain the ruler’s power. It seems that much turns on the interpretation of the primary motivation in the text or, indeed, whether there is one (Goldin 2013). That there are these many interpretations of its fundamental meaning is an indication of the text’s internal inconsistencies and lack of clarity on which terms have priority, or how they are integrated within a particular conceptual framework.

The Han Feizi deems penal law and management of the bureaucracy as the key pillars of Legalist thought. When asked to assess the importance of each one, Han Fei says they are indispensable: one is like food and the other,

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clothing (Han Feizi 43). However, he criticises the incompleteness of Shang Yang’s fa and Shen Buhai’s shi, lending support to his attempt to bring the three themes together. The third theme, power (shi), has a somewhat more dubious position in Han Fei’s thought. As we have seen earlier, Han Fei does not insist on its centrality. If anything, shi must be properly grounded in fa in order to be effective (Han Feizi 40). In the previous section on shi, we saw how the Han Feizi establishes that government should not rely on charisma, compassion or moral aptitude. It also draws a clear line between the methods of ren (benevolence) and fapenal law: [For a ruler t]o shed bitter tears and to dislike penalties, is benevolence; to see the necessity of inflicting penalties, is law . . . rewards should not be other than great and certain, thus making the people regard them as profitable; punishments should not be other than severe and definite, thus making the people fear them; and laws should not be other than uniform and steadfast, thus making the people comprehend them. (Han Feizi 49; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 281, 283–4)

Han Fei also considered Daoist ideas, commenting extensively on a number of passages in the Daodejing to illuminate his discussion of Legalist doctrine. For example, where the Daodejing draws an analogy between governing a nation and cooking fish – and the fish are not to be turned over too often – Han Fei argues that the metaphor instructs the ruler not to change laws too frequently (Han Feizi 20). But the chapter that best summarises Han Fei’s doctrine of government is chapter 49. The chapter deals with five “moths” – insects that feed on clothes or books – which are a threat to government.19 The five threats identified by Han Fei, and their effects on government, demonstrate important aspects of his doctrine: 1. The promotion of ren and yi (righteousness) by thinkers who insist on following the ways of ancient kings. These doctrines are incompatible with fa and confuse the ruler.

19

Shang Yang also discusses threats to governmental control using the term shi, meaning “lice.” Duyvendak translates the term as “parasites”; Shang Yang nominates a range of these: benevolence, literature, ritual, music, virtue, sophistry, righteousness and unwillingness to fight for one’s country (Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 85, 210).

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2. The frivolous schemes of ministers who have the support of rival countries and who are concerned only to further personal interests. These come at a cost to the nation. 3. The establishment of bands of swordsmen united by strict codes and discipline. These challenge the state’s military. 4. Those who offer bribes to influential men in order to avoid military service. They undermine the nation’s military prowess. 5. The merchants and craftsmen who peddle useless merchandise and luxury items. They accumulate private wealth, create desires in the people and exploit farmers (who are an indispensable part of a robust nation). We can see here the preoccupations of a thinker who was gripped by fear of losing control. Two issues seem to lie at the heart of Han Fei’s concerns: the sheer size of the population and the unreliability of the people to act for any reason other than self-interest. Han Fei’s response to these anxieties was to introduce institutions and measures that would ensure conformity and guarantee planned outcomes. But such observable measures, such as fa, are not the only distinguishing features of Legalist thought. Above all, Legalist philosophy positioned the ruler at odds with both the people and the bureaucracy.

Debates in Legalist Philosophy Human Nature The Confucians debated the nature of humanity because they believed that the ontological question – what human nature originally is – would help resolve the ethical question of human good and the rectification of society. Even thinkers who argued against Mencius’ account of human nature in the Guodian texts, for example, held that ren and yi were important; they just did not agree with Mencius on the source of these aspects of moral life. Xunzi diverges from this belief, proclaiming that human nature was originally selfish. This was an expression of scepticism, doubting that the multitude could be relied on to work towards an orderly realisation of the common good. From Xunzi’s point of view, benevolent government on its own was insufficient to encourage correct behaviour; fa and zhengming (institutionalising correct names) were important tools for social order. But Xunzi was

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nevertheless concerned that people should cultivate propriety in order that a civilised human society might be established. Han Fei, his pupil, took the distrust of humanity further. He was interested not in the question of the original nature of humanity but in implementing strategies to deal with human weaknesses. The Han Feizi focuses on the existential conditions of life and its implications for government: . . . men of yore made light of goods, not because they were benevolent, but because goods were abundant; while men of today quarrel and pillage, not because they are brutish, but because goods are scarce. (Han Feizi 49; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 278)

Unlike Mozi, who identifies plurality of values as the basic cause of disorder, Han Fei identifies scarcity as an existential fact. He shifts the debate from value theory to social science. In this sense, his focus is more realistic than the debates of the Confucians and Mohists. Legalist thought has been compared with Confucianism on these terms: The Confucianist ideas are idealistic, while those of the Legalists are realistic. That is the reason why, in Chinese history, the Confucianists have always accused the Legalists of being mean and vulgar, while the Legalists have accused the Confucianists of being bookish and impractical. (Fung 1948: 165)

The Legalist and the Confucian conceptions of human nature are deeply intertwined with their respective views of the nature and aims of government and, ultimately, of human life. The two doctrines, Confucian and Legalist, seem diametrically opposed.

The Common People The Confucians were careful that only those with the right kinds of abilities, commitment and attitudes should lead the people (Analects 8:9). So too were the Mohists, in establishing the authority of the superior ultimately in a conception of yi, heaven’s standard. The cynicism of Legalist thinkers is most prominent in their views of the common people. Han Fei likened the intelligence of people to that of a small child: “The intelligence of the people cannot be depended upon, just like the mind of the baby” (Han Feizi 50; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 309). Furthermore, the ruler would be unwise to count on them to have his interests at heart:

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. . . the sage, in ruling the state, does not count on people’s doing him good, but utilizes their inability to do him wrong. (Han Feizi 50; ibid.: 306)

We see a similar attitude in Shang Yang, who considered topics such as “Elimination of [the people’s] Strength” (paragraph 4) and “Weakening the People” (paragraph 20). He also devised schemes to control them: Shang Yang urged that the ruler should force the people into two primary occupations, agriculture and war (“Agriculture and War,” paragraph 3). This being so, the state will be strong. Organising the majority of the people into agricultural production was important as it would cause them to be “simple” (Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 186). The Legalists were wary of three features of the common people. The first is their lack of ability, the second their unreliability, and the third, their sheer numbers. For the Legalists, population was a formidable factor to be reckoned with. The numbers were a threat to political authority, especially if the ruler could not trust the people. While Confucian philosophy expected people to participate in social and political processes – at the very least, it was assumed they were responsive to exemplary leadership – Legalist philosophy entrenched antagonism between the ruler and his people. Schwartz expresses this Confucian-Legalist difference in this way: In Confucianism we do have a vision in which the agency of living persons (albeit the agency of a vanguard elite) plays a dominant role in shaping society . . . In Legalism we will have a vision of a society in which “objective” mechanisms of “behavioural” control become automatic instruments for achieving well-defined socio-political goals. When viewed from this perspective, the Analects can be viewed to some extent as representing an anticipatory, skeptical resistance to a tendency towards what will later be called Legalism – a tendency which was already under way in the Master’s lifetime. (1985: 328)

The Confucian political hierarchy – even if we hold that it allowed the common people only limited participation – did nevertheless recognise the interdependent nature of government and people in its vision of good government (Analects 2:21). That the people do matter is noticeably absent in the Legalist theory of government. Duyvendak presents a historical perspective on this shift in ideology. The Warring States conflict and turmoil prompted some to seek power; “Real, concrete power is the thing these rulers are, above all, interested in. Power becomes the new source of their authority”

Legalist Philosophy

(Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 80). In some strands of Legalist thought, the good of the state is synonymous with the good for the ruler.

Best Man or Best System? Han Fei reckons the time of benevolent sage kings is past. The new situation calls for a break from tradition: . . . the sage, considering quantity and deliberating upon scarcity and abundance, governs accordingly. So it is no charity to inflict light punishments nor is it any cruelty to enforce severe penalties: the practice is simply in accordance with the custom of the age. Thus, circumstances change with the age and measures change according to circumstances. (Han Feizi 49; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 278)

The Han Feizi could not have been clearer about its calculated, rational approach to the debate on good government. It spurns the inflexibility of those who defend custom and tradition and suggests an ahistorical approach to the socio-political crisis. Han Fei uses a parable, warning of the consequences of failure to adapt: There was in Song a man, who tilled a field in which there stood the trunk of a tree. Once a hare, while running fast, rushed against the trunk, broke its neck, and died. Thereupon the man cast his plough aside and watched that tree, hoping that he would get another hare. Yet he never caught another hare and was himself ridiculed by the people of Song. (Han Feizi 49; ibid.: 276)

A new political infrastructure is necessitated by the changed situation. The most explicit articulation of the nature of political power, as we have seen, occurs in Han Fei’s discussion of Shen Dao’s doctrine (Han Feizi 40). Although he creates a space for shi, he also questions its sufficiency in Legalist rule. According to Han Fei, Shen Dao is foolish to assume that power provides its own guarantee. What underwrites power is a system of checks, not charisma. Shang Yang and Han Fei have noted the ineffectiveness of charisma in maintaining power. The strength of their insistence reveals their hostility to the Confucian emphasis on paradigmatic men in government. Confucian benevolent government seeks to inspire the cultivation of virtue: “The excellence of the exemplary person is the wind, while

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that of the petty person is the grass. As the wind blows, the grass is sure to bend” (Analects 12:19, trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 158). In contrast, Shang Yang rejects the two primary issues associated with Confucian benevolent government, the first being that of personal ability and the second the influence of virtue. He rejects both in a single argument for the establishment of penal law: . . . it is said, “The benevolent may be benevolent towards others, but cannot cause others to be benevolent; the righteous may love others, but cannot cause others to love.” From this I know that benevolence and righteousness are not sufficient for governing the empire . . . A sage-king does not value righteousness, but he values the law. (4.18; trans. Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 293–4)

Han Fei’s stance against benevolent government is more resolute, as he claims that benevolent rule ultimately undermines the system of penal law and therefore threatens the power of the state (Han Feizi 7; 19). Benevolent rule is fundamentally at odds with rule by fa. Schwartz expresses the incompatibility of the two systems: How the people, who are many, are brought to accept the commands of the ruler, who is one, remains the ultimate mystery of authority . . . In a system which would eliminate personal initiative as the source of social behaviour, everything comes to depend on a symbolic person . . . Authority in the Legalist system should ultimately be established authority and not “charismatic” authority, since “charisma” leads us back to the pernicious emphasis on the exalted role of individual persons. (1985: 340)

Legalist thought places emphasis on the political infrastructure. This is at odds with Confucian philosophy, which takes the capabilities of the paradigmatic sage-ruler as fundamental. A flourishing society could be established only by capable people in power. Perhaps the Legalists were sceptical that there were such people around, or perhaps they believed that socio-political infrastructures were on the whole more reliable. Yet if these were their only concerns, we have to ask about their provisions for scrutinising the actions of the ruler. In some Legalist texts, especially those whose authors have been influenced by Daoist thought (such as the Huainanzi), a system of checks was incorporated into the political infrastructure, allowing for genuine and critical engagement between the ruler and his bureaucracy. But views like this were rare among the pre-Han Legalist texts.

Legalist Philosophy

Bureaucracy The office of adviser was an important one; the advisers had the task of mediating between the ruler and the people. In Analects 19:10, we get the impression that this was not an easy task: Zi Xia said, “Only once [junzi] have won the confidence of the common people do they work them hard; otherwise, the people would think themselves exploited. Only once they have won the confidence of their lord do they remonstrate with him; otherwise, their lord would think himself maligned.” (trans. Ames and Rosemont, Analects, 1998: 220)

The Confucians, many of whom belonged to the shi (scholar-official) class and who held advisory positions, were concerned about how they could best fulfil their responsibilities. The Legalist thinkers were sceptical about the intentions and motives of the advisers. We have seen how Shen Buhai was concerned about the power of the advisers over the ruler, therefore proposing the process of xing ming (fixing names) to place checks on the former. Some of these concerns may have been fuelled by existing circumstances. Duyvendak describes the growing power of the officials during the Warring States period in a way that makes it seem almost necessary for the ruler to assert absolute control: . . . [the rulers] feel themselves hampered in their career by old customs and immemorial institutions, by privileges of the noble classes, which are almost insurmountable. All these things belonged to the old order which was passing, and inevitably we find strong statesmen, as Shang Yang is said to have been, engaged in curtailing the privileges of the nobles. (Book of Lord Shang,1928: 80)

Shang Yang had a practical concern, that support for the privileges of the advisers would give rise to the perception that the life of nobility was an attractive option. This could in turn lead to the undesirable situation whereby farmers abandon their work in order to pursue official life. The advisers were, of course, supported by the state and Shang Yang describes them in a derogatory way as “those who live idly on others” (1.3; ibid.: 191). They are one of the “lice” that threaten the state. Similar levels of suspicion underlie Shen Buhai’s discussions of the interdependencies between the ruler and his advisers: the advisers were simply not to know the extent of the ruler’s dependence on them. In bringing together the doctrines of Shang

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Yang and Shen Buhai, the Han Feizi characterises the people and the bureaucracy as parallel threats to the ruler’s power (Han Feizi 43). Hence it was important to set up a system whereby the ruler could not be deceived. This was expressed in terms of a distinction between gong, often translated as “public interest,” and si, “personal interests”: Therefore, at present, any ruler able to expel self-serving actions (si) and uphold gong and fa, finds the people safe and the state in order; and any ruler able to expunge self-serving actions and act on gong and fa, finds his army strong and his enemy weak. So, find out men following fa and regulations, and place them above the body of officials. Then the sovereign cannot be deceived by anybody with fraud and falsehood. Find out men able to weigh different situations, and put them in charge of distant affairs. Then the sovereign cannot be deceived by anybody in matters of world politics. (Han Feizi 6; adapted from the translation by Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 1: 38)

The ruler must always be wary of his advisers, for they may be self-serving. The contrast between si and gong is often explained in terms of a privatepublic distinction. According to this understanding, the ruler’s task is to ensure that he appoints advisers who act for the sake of gong, the interests of the state. However, this conception of gong, as a notion pertaining to public interest, was a later development. Goldin notes that, in the Han Feizi, the term gong could have referred to what was in the interests of the ruler; gong, after all, originally meant what was in the interests of the Duke (gong).20 If we follow this line of reasoning, the passage above encourages rulers to appoint advisers who are not self-serving but instead are mindful of the ruler’s interests. In order to do this, the ruler may inflict severe punishments to keep them in line: “Reward and punishment are the state’s sharp tools. If held in the hands of the ruler, they control the ministers. If held in the hands of the ministers, they control the ruler” (Han Feizi 20; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 1: 211). Legalist realism about the abilities and dispositions of individuals – of both the ruler and his 20

Goldin 2013: 2–8. Hence, I have translated gongfa in the passage as “gong and fa” to accommodate this possible understanding of gong. Note that this replaces Liao’s translation of the phrase as “public law” (Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 1: 38). If we were to apply Goldin‘s concept of gong to this phrase, gongfa might be understood as “upholding the interests of the ruler through implementing penal law.”

Legalist Philosophy

officials – prompted a reconsideration of political aptitude. It challenged the idealism inherent in proposals that reckon that charisma or the right ethical commitments will suffice. Unfortunately, by granting the ruler free rein over the bureaucracy, the Legalist picture of government turned political accountability on its head.

Secrecy, Power and the Control of Knowledge The ruler’s power against the people and his advisers was sustained by the use of clearly promulgated penal laws. This strategy was to be kept secret. The ruler’s power is most secure when fa is publicised as widely as possible, while strategy, shu, was kept a closely guarded secret. Shang Yang and Shen Buhai also share in the conviction that secrecy is integral to political power. Han Fei articulated the inverse proportions between publicity of fa and secrecy of shu: The law is codified in books, kept in governmental offices, and promulgated among the hundred surnames. The tact is hidden in the bosom and useful in comparing diverse motivating factors of human conduct and in manipulating the body of officials secretly. Therefore, law wants nothing more than publicity; tact abhors visibility. (Han Feizi 38; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 188)

Such secrecy was buttressed by strict controls. Shang Yang proposed restrictions on discussions among officials: What I mean by the unification of education is that all those partisans of wide scholarship, sophistry, cleverness, good faith, integrity, rites and music, and moral culture, whether their reputations are unsullied or foul, should for these reasons not become rich or honoured, should not discuss punishments, and should not compose their private views independently and memorialize their superiors. (4.17; trans. Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 282)

Han Fei paints a disconcerting picture of the ruler, whose strategy is strengthened by close observation of the people: “If the superior’s cleverness is visible, people will guard against it; if his stupidity is visible, people will bewilder him . . . Only by not doing anything I can watch them” (Han Feizi 34; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 99). To allow the people an

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independent vantage point from which to judge the affairs of the state or the actions of the ruler was simply to weaken the state. Customs or traditions that competed with allegiance to the ruler were forbidden: “the dutiful son of the father was a rebellious subject of the ruler” (Han Feizi 49; trans. Liao, Complete Works, 1939, vol. 2: 286). The most thorough method of controlling knowledge was to restrict the capacity for independent thought. Han Fei’s chilling message calls this to attention: . . . in the state of the enlightened sovereign there is no literature written on bamboo slips, but the law is the only teaching; there are no quoted sayings of the early kings, but the magistrates are the only instructors . . . (Han Feizi; ibid.: 291)

Government and Human Well-Being Legalist ideology was reductive in many ways. In limiting its fundamental concern to the issue of political power, it reduced its expectations of humanity and human achievement. The people were instruments of state power; they had two primary functions: food production and military expansion. The accumulation of private wealth was prohibited, as were aspects of culture, tradition, learning and virtue. The Confucian virtues which greatly valued relationships were a prime target of Legalist philosophy. The ruthless punishments that accompanied penal law were devised in part to ensure that people could not challenge political authority. The gruesome punishments included cutting a person into two (Duyvendak, Book of Lord Shang, 1928: 14). Ironically, grisly deaths seem to be a feature of the Legalist thinkers’ lives: Shang Yang’s body was tied to four chariots and torn apart; Han Fei fell for a scheme by Li Si, his fellow-pupil who was prime minister in Qin Shihuang’s service, and committed suicide while in prison. Li Si was himself cut into two in public at the instigation of a eunuch, Zhao Gao (?–207 BCE), during the reign of Qin Er Shi (229–207 BCE). Perhaps the worst aspect of Legalist philosophy was the fact that many of its doctrines were actually implemented in the Qin state, especially during the reign of Qin Shihuang. When Xunzi visited Qin sometime after 300 BCE he apparently: . . . found its people simple and rustic, standing in fear of the officials and quite obedient. As for the officials, they too attended strictly to business, going

Legalist Philosophy

from their homes to their offices and from their offices straight home, having no personal concerns. Both people and officials, Xunzi said, were of “antique type,” having no modern foolishness about them. (Creel 1953: 137)

The people were “deeply afraid of the officials, and obedient” (Wang 1961: 19.12b, cited in Creel 1953: 133). The threat of brutality faced by the common people simply to maintain the power of the ruling authority is indefensible. The diversity and quality of intellectual debate had been ruthlessly reduced. The negative elements of Legalist thought eclipsed some of its innovations as, for instance, the proposal for the sage to maintain quietude (wuwei), while his officials were assigned (youwei) tasks of political administration (Schwartz 1985: 249–50). And it was unfortunate that the term fa, which referred to both standards and penal law, was located in the context of antagonism between the ruler and the people, as well as mistrust between the ruler and his advisers.

Suggestions for Further Reading Book of Lord Shang (1928), trans. J. J. L. Duyvendak, London: Arthur Probsthain. Complete Works of Han Fei Tzu: A Classic of Chinese Political Science (1939), trans. W. K. Liao, vols. 1 and 2, London: Arthur Probsthain. Creel, Herrlee (1974) Shen Pu-hai: A Chinese Political Philosopher of the Fourth Century B.C., Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Goldin, Paul (ed.) (2013) Dao Companion to the Philosophy of Han Fei, Dao Companions to Chinese Philosophy, Dordrecht: Springer. Pines, Yuri (2013) “Submerged by Absolute Power: The Ruler’s Predicament in the Han Feizi,” in Paul R. Goldin (ed.), Dao Companion to the Philosophy of Han Fei, Dao Companions to Chinese Philosophy, Dordrecht: Springer, pp. 67–86. Pines, Yuri, Goldin, Paul R., and Kern, Martin (eds.) (2015) Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China, Sinica Leidensia 124, Leiden and Boston: Brill. Schwartz, Benjamin (1985) “Legalism: The Behavioral Science,” in The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, pp. 321–49. Shen Tzu Fragments (1979), trans. Paul M. Thompson, London Oriental Series, vol. 29, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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The Zhuangzi

The primary themes and argumentative strategies in Zhuangzi’s (c. 399 BCE–c.295 BCE) philosophy bear some resemblance to those in the Daodejing. The Zhuangzi bears the name of its alleged author but, like the Daodejing, its sections were most probably composed by different authors, and the extant text contains writings collected over a period of time. Although some of its subject matter overlaps with that in the Daodejing, its style is quite different. It is inquisitive, being playful and critical at the same time, using many examples from the natural world – monkeys, fish, cicadas, frogs and summer insects, to name a few – to illustrate its questions. Because it often leaves its questions unresolved, it seems as if it is inviting readers to come to their own conclusions. Some of these characteristics of the text are reflected in its chapter titles, for example, chapter 1 is entitled “Going Rambling without a Destination” (“Xiaoyao You”) and chapter 4, “Worldly Business among Men” (“Renjian Shi”) (trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001). Yet in spite of the seemingly light-hearted way in which the text brings up questions, the reader is always aware that it treats its questions with utmost seriousness. The Zhuangzi dates from between the fourth to the second centuries BCE, and debate persists concerning when particular sections might have been written and by whom (Graham 2003a: 58). Traditionally, the two texts, the Daodejing and Zhuangzi, had been grouped as belonging to one tradition, the Lao-Zhuang tradition.1 There was also some consensus that the Daodejing was composed earlier than the Zhuangzi, and, as they stand in that relation, that the Daodejing is a less sophisticated text while the

1

Wing-tsit Chan notes that the Hou Hanshu (History of the Later Han Dynasty) makes this association in a section composed at around the fifth century (Source Book, 1963a: 178).

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Zhuangzi represents a mature, developed Daoism. For example, Wing-tsit Chan notes: The Dao in Laozi is still wordly, whereas in Zhuangzi it becomes transcendental. While Laozi emphasizes the difference between glory and disgrace, strength and weakness, and so forth, and advocates the tender values, Zhuangzi identifies them all. Laozi aims at reform, but Zhuangzi prefers to “Travel beyond the mundane world” . . . It is not wrong, after all, to link Laozi and Zhuangzi together, although it must be borne in mind that [Zhuangzi] certainly carried Daoism to new heights. (Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 178; annotations by author)2

There are problems with this traditional classification of the texts. At least some sections of the Daodejing, especially those that deal with names (ming), are likely to have been composed in association with, or in response to, debates on names by Mingjia figures such as Hui Shi and Gongsun Long. This is not a trivial issue as the dating of the two texts impacts on how we understand the themes in each text, the relation between the two texts, and how their topics stand in relation to the debates of that particular period. Another way to understand the two texts is to categorise them thematically. For example, Benjamin Schwartz suggests that we may understand Daoism in three main, connected “currents” (1985: 186–254). The first of these is the philosophy of dao and its conceptual and practical implications, based primarily on the Daodejing. The second, associated essentially with the Zhuangzi, is characterised by the epistemological issues raised in conjunction with the Mingjia debates. The third stream focuses on the political applications of Daoist philosophy, as for instance, of wuwei by some of the Legalist thinkers. This classification is, again, not without its problems as, like the previous attempt, it reads back into the texts its thesis about how they are related and their respective topics of discussion.

2

Chan is not the only scholar who conceives of the Zhuangzi as a development of the ideas in the Daodejing. Fung Yu Lan believes that early Daoist philosophy may be characterised in three developmental phases: Yang Zhu’s Daoism, Laozi’s Daoism and Zhuangzi’s Daoism. He argues that each phase is a more sophisticated development of the previous one (1948: 65–6).

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Textual

The extant Zhuangzi comprises thirty-three chapters, after a

matters

major revision of the fifty-two-chapter text by Guo Xiang (d. 312 CE). Guo Xiang appears to have edited out nineteen chapters of that text for a number of reasons: in his view, some of them were spurious and some others had only tenuous connections with the philosophy of Zhuangzi. He also divided the remaining chapters into three groups, the Inner Chapters (Neipian) (1–7), the Outer Chapters (Waipian) (8–22) and the Miscellaneous Chapters (Zapian) (23–33). Guo Xiang held that the Inner Chapters primarily reflected the views of Zhuangzi, while the Outer and Miscellaneous Chapters were mainly written by others aware of Zhuangzi’s discussions. In sections of these later chapters, Zhuangzi himself participates in the debates. There are also references to and quotations of passages in the Daodejing, as well as to the figure Lao Dan, who was believed to have been the author of the Daodejing; these aspects are absent in the Inner Chapters. The extent of Guo Xiang’s editing of the text is not insignificant, and we should bear that in mind when considering the philosophy of the Zhuangzi.3 The classification and grouping of the thirty-three chapters of the extant text is still a subject of debate. In 1952, the scholar Guan Feng published a seminal text on the Zhuangzi, suggesting further subdivisions of the chapters based on thematic and stylistic elements that featured in other doctrines of the Warring States period (Guan 1952). Following Guan, Angus Graham published in English an influential rearrangement of the Zhuangzi based on extensive textual, stylistic and thematic study (2003a). Graham believed that the first seven chapters of the text, being homogeneous in thought and style, are primarily written by Zhuangzi (Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 27). He organised the remaining twenty-five chapters into four groups:

3

Refer to Knaul (1985) for a clear exposition of this issue. See also the discussion in Kline (2010) that casts doubt on the view that the “Inner Chapters” were the earliest stratum of the text.

The Zhuangzi

1. The “School of Zhuangzi” strain (chapters 17–22), comprising sections written by others in the style of Zhuangzi. These chapters discuss the themes in the Neipian together with other ideas that are also mentioned in the Daodejing. They also include stories about Zhuangzi. 2. The Primitivist strain (chapters 8–10, parts of 11, 12 and 14), which idealises pristine simplicity similar to that expressed in certain passages of the Daodejing, as for example in chapter 80. These chapters of the Zhuangzi advocate government by nonaction (wuwei). This is government that helps to foster a simpler and more spontaneous lifestyle, that is, one not restricted by conventional norms. 3. The Yangist strain (chapters 28–31), which attacks worldly (political and moral) ambition because these run against the preservation of the genuine self (bao zhen). Yang Zhu’s doctrine of nurturing life included a concern for longevity; one way to cultivate longevity was to restrict sensual stimulation. Consequently, a Yangist would never do anything to threaten the prospects of a long life. Although, like the Confucians, the Yangists believed in nurturing the self, the subject of Yangist attention was more narrowly conceived in terms of the preservation of the self, including its physical needs. Hence, Mencius was a severe critic of Yangist doctrine. It is interesting that in these chapters, Confucius, together with some of his followers, appears sheepish and ill-informed, advocating a system that threatened the cultivation of genuineness (zhen). 4. The Syncretist strain (chapters 15, 33 and parts of 11–14), which combines elements of Confucian conventional morality and Legalist administrative practice under a Daoist framework. The early Syncretists believed that government should appropriate the Way of Heaven in order that human society could properly parallel cosmic patterns. This theme was popular especially early in the

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Han dynasty, associated with Huang-Lao views. According to Graham, chapter 33, “Below in the Empire,” discusses the different doctrines – dao – “below the administrative hierarchy to which it properly belongs” (2003a: 93). Zhuangzi’s philosophy is assessed with the competing doctrines and Zhuangzi is criticised for his lack of attention to practical affairs. Graham speculates that this syncretic chapter might have been placed at the end of the text as its conclusion and that this might mean that these syncretists were the compilers of the Zhuangzi text. (2003a: 94, 99–101; 2001: 28). Graham does not place chapter 16 in this classification. Six other chapters (23–27, 32) contain miscellaneous sections whose badly mutilated fragments could fit in a number of the groupings; Graham dubs them “ragbags of odds and ends” (1989: 173). Harold Roth has challenged Graham’s classification of various fragments of the text on the basis of broader connections, especially between the syncretist sections and other texts of the period, such as the Guanzi and Huainanzi (Roth 1991a, 2003). Liu Xiaogan has proposed a different framework for grouping the Zhuangzi chapters; he dates the compilation of the text prior to the Qin dynasty and suggests three strains instead of Graham’s four (Liu 1994). Both Roth’s and Liu’s studies are significant additions to textual studies of the Zhuangzi. Similar issues plague the understanding of the Neipian, the first seven chapters of the Zhuangzi.4 Although it is not our task to consider these stylistic and textual issues in detail here, it is important to understand that there are different theories about sections of the Zhuangzi and that they may affect how we can plausibly interpret Zhuangzi’s philosophy in the context of its interactions with other doctrines.

4

Van Norden (1996) presents a concise summary of the different interpretations of the Neipian up until the mid-1990s.

The Zhuangzi

Zhuangzi’s Scepticism The Zhuangzi is sceptical about human pursuits and values. It scrutinised the ways in which doctrines were debated, values determined, and practices implemented. There is a palpable degree of scepticism in its discussions. However, because of the nature of enquiry in the text, it is often difficult to work out the underlying reason the author or authors of the Zhuangzi might have had in posing a particular question. Thus, the discussion in this section will present alternative ways of understanding the sceptical questions in the text. In raising a number of questions, it also anticipates and foregrounds the topics we will cover in subsequent sections. We consider three passages in this section. The first, a passage about the place of speech in conveying knowledge, demonstrates the Zhuangzi’s detachment from the verbal wrangling among the thinkers of the day. The second passage interrogates the diverse preferences that different species have. Through it, we explore whether the Zhuangzi’s scepticism might be grounded in relativist commitments. The third passage is the “Happy Fish Debate,” where Zhuangzi’s comment about some minnows swimming in a river sparks a fascinating debate between himself and Hui Shi. We examine a number of ways in which contemporary scholars have interpreted this interchange, shedding light on the possible motivations for Zhuangzi’s scepticism. A section in chapter 2, “Discussion on Making Things Equal” (“Qiwu Lun”; trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968), scrutinises the attempt to convey knowledge (zhi) through speech. The passage uses three examples of accomplishments (cheng; also meaning completion) in ordinary life, pointing out how it is not possible to convey these accomplishments in words: Zhao Wen’s playing on the lute, Shi Kuang’s (the Music Master) indicating time with his staff, and Huizi leaning against a dryandra tree (giving his views). The knowledge of the three men (in their several arts) was nearly perfect, and therefore they practised them to the end of their lives. They loved them because they were different from those of others. They loved them and wished to make them known to others. But as their knowledge could not be made clear, though they tried to make them so, they ended with obscure (discussions) about “the hard” and “the white.” And their sons, moreover, with all the threads of their fathers’ (respective) arts, to the end of their lives did not attain success. If these men could be said to have attained success, then I am also successful; if they cannot be pronounced successful, neither I nor any other can succeed. (adapted from the translation by Legge, Writings, 1891: 186–7)

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These examples give voice to scepticism about how the masters, in their enthusiasm for their practices, attempt to transmit their knowledge but without much success. The Zhuangzi takes issue not with the value of their accomplishments, but with how they tried to pass on their skills. That they ended up in discussions about “the hard” and “the white” gives us a clue that the spoken language was their chosen medium of instruction. What, if anything, does the final statement indicate? Two alternatives are presented, each in the form of a conditional. The first alternative (that the three masters have succeeded in transmitting their skills through words) has already been ruled out in the passage. The second alternative states the Zhuangzi’s case, highlighting the limitations of speech. The text’s wariness about the limits of speech may have arisen from a few concerns. First, it might be sceptical about the debates among the other thinkers who believed that their disagreements could be settled by disputation. Second, it might be addressing (by analogy) how the expertise required by those in office cannot fully be transmitted through words. Both these issues are covered in other passages, and their details will come to light in the discussions below. The second sceptical passage is found in the same chapter and, like the previous one, gestures at a number of related issues. Referring to the preferences of different species, the passage asks about taste and aesthetics, and how we compare and evaluate them: Humans eat the flesh of hay-fed and grain-fed beasts, deer eat the grass, centipedes relish snakes, owls and crows crave mice; which of the four has a proper sense of taste? Gibbons are sought by baboons as mates, elaphures like the company of deer, loaches play with fish. Mao Qiang and Lady Li were beautiful in the eyes of men; but when the fish saw them they plunged deep, when the birds saw them they flew high, when the deer saw them they broke into a run. Which of these four knows what is truly beautiful in the world? In my judgement the principles of Goodwill and Duty, the paths of “that’s it, that’s not,” are inextricably confused; how could I know how to discriminate between them? (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 58)

In the Zhuangzi, these observations of the variety in preferences lead to scepticism about the basis of distinctions conveyed in language, whether a particular creature’s preference is correct (“that’s it”) or not (“that’s not”). Because the text does not follow through to draw a specific conclusion about this scenario, the suspension of judgment in this passage may be taken in

The Zhuangzi

three ways: it could be undergirded by a commitment to the (metaphysical) plurality in the world; it might express (epistemological) doubt as to whether distinctions can be drawn; or it might reflect an underlying (ethical) belief that distinctions should not be drawn . Each of these interpretive theses may be held separately, or we may hold them in some combination. The analysis in the remainder of the chapter will allude to these different ways of understanding the text. Both this passage and the previous one may be understood as responses to some of the Mingjia attempts to capture the manifold with language and to use terms in language for guidance in all areas. We have already seen how the Daodejing handles this issue. In these two passages and elsewhere, the Zhuangzi expresses concern about how the determination of fixed meanings imposes constraints that invalidate nonstandard views and pursuits. Does the Zhuangzi advocate that we abandon the use of language or that we not seek knowledge, as we know it? Lisa Raphals argues that the Zhuangzi 2 uses sceptical methods in its argumentation but that this does not imply a denial of knowledge (Raphals 1996). According to this view, Zhuangzi was not an extreme sceptic either in doubting all knowledge or its pursuit. Rather, the text’s concern was that some assumptions about knowledge and the associated ways of pursuing it were wrong. We attend to this and other epistemological issues in greater depth in the following section. The passages above also seem to gesture at relativism. A reason for this interpretation is that, in articulating many perspectives, the text often does not take a stance – almost as if it was suggesting that all of the views raised are correct, each on its own terms. Chad Hansen proposes that the Zhuangzi promotes a version of relativism whose aim is to engender more flexibility and tolerance in the way we view different perspectives (1992: 283–4). But, in Hansen’s view, Zhuangzi’s argument avoids problems with relativism because it offers a “metaperspective” on the doctrines, which “equalizes all discourse about things” (ibid.: 283). For Hansen, “Zhuangzi’s metaperspective does not lead to nonperspectival knowledge of things. It is not a window on the thing in itself, but on the bewildering range of possibilities.”5

5

Hansen 1992: 284–5. Hansen also argues that his account helps to bridge the gap between interpretations of Zhuangzi’s philosophy as mystical, on the one hand, and sceptical, on the other. According to Hansen, “The skeptic furrows his brow critically and experiences the failure of absolute knowledge as a disappointment. The mystic revels in the very

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Hansen’s proposal is interesting though not uncontroversial. The text at times positively affirms models of knowing and practice that are more intuitive, such as Cook Ding’s butchering skills in chapter 3. One response to Hansen’s thesis involves the assertion that the Zhuangzi does propose a normative view. For example, Philip Ivanhoe makes a persuasive case for his argument that the characters in the Zhuangzi, including Cook Ding and his masterful dexterity, Engraver Qing who carves marvellous bell-stands, and Wheelwright Bian who “shapes wheels with an ineffable skill,” are Zhuangzi’s positive visions of the Way. Ivanhoe notes, “In his examples of skilful individuals, Zhuangzi completely abandons the perspectivist argument and reveals the foundation of his normative vision” (1993: 652). We revisit the issue of skill and its cultivation in a later section devoted to mastery. The issues we have raised so far in relation to Zhuangzi’s scepticism are brought together again in a dialogue between Zhuangzi and Hui Shi. As we have seen in our discussion of the Mingjia, Hui Shi had acquired a reputation for sophistry. There, we noted that many of Hui Shi’s paradoxes are relativist in tone, although scholars have understood the paradoxes differently.6 This dialogue in the Zhuangzi is interesting for a number of reasons. According to a story in the text, when Zhuangzi went past the grave of Hui Shi, he noted with regret the loss of his partner in debate: “Since the Master Hui Shi died, I have had no one to use as a partner, no one with whom to talk about things” (Zhuangzi 24; trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 124). What was the nature of their philosophical affinities or tensions? There is a well-known story of one of their exchanges in Zhuangzi 17: Zhuangzi and Hui Zi were strolling along the dam of the Hao River when Zhuangzi said, “See how the minnows come out and dart around where they please! That’s what fish really enjoy!” Hui Zi said, “You’re not a fish – how do you know what fish enjoy?”

incomprehensibility of it. Put in emotional language, the skeptic hrmmph and the mystic aah are responses to the same realization of the limits of languages . . . There is no difference in the substance or amount but a great difference in their emotional reaction” (ibid.). We must wonder, however, whether the difference rests only in the different 6

psychological states of the proponents of each, as Hansen suggests. Here, recall that Fung Yu-lan proposed that Hui Shi is a monist (Fung 1948: 85) on the basis of his comparisons of Hui Shi’s and Zhuangzi’s ideas. Fung outlines a list of similarities between Hui Shi’s paradoxes and Zhuangzi’s ideas (1952: 196–7).

The Zhuangzi

Zhuangzi said, “You’re not I, so how do you know I don’t know what fish enjoy?” Hui Zi said, “I’m not you, so I certainly don’t know what you know. On the other hand, you’re certainly not a fish – so that still proves you don’t know what fish enjoy!” Zhuangzi said, “Let’s go back to your original question, please. You asked me how I know what fish enjoy – so you already knew I knew it when you asked the question. I know it by standing here beside the Hao.” (trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 188–9)

Zhuangzi seems to have had the final say in this debate. But their playful responses to each other generate more important questions.7 First, the exchange may express views about the limits of knowledge especially in relation to the problem of other minds. How does either Hui Shi or Zhuangzi know the enjoyment of the fish, and how do they know what the other knows? Is this an argument that establishes the foundations of subjectivism? Hansen contends that the debate, which demonstrates Hui Shi’s flawed logic, upholds the subjectivity of perspectives. In this light, Hui Shi’s assertions are found wanting because, if he is sceptical about Zhuangzi’s claim about fishenjoyment, then, applying the same argument, Hui Shi cannot himself make claims about Zhuangzi’s proclaimed knowledge of fish-enjoyment (Hansen 2003). Second, the dialogue might express awareness of the nature of knowledge. Roger Ames proposes that an aim of the conversation is to demonstrate Zhuangzi’s insights on the experiential, participatory nature of knowledge (1998b). According to this view, Hui Shi has not understood how Zhuangzi comes to know that the minnows are enjoying themselves. Rather, he proceeds with the debate primarily on the basis of what can be known and, accordingly, assesses whether the truth-conditions of Zhuangzi’s claim have been satisfied. What Hui Shi should have been focusing on instead is more closely aligned with knowing-how: how does Zhuangzi know that the fish is happy?

7

There is a view that this dialogue may simply be a debate that demonstrates the futility of disputation. On this account, perhaps Zhuangzi is merely an inept logician who fails to grasp Hui Shi’s questions. According to Chad Hansen, this is a dominant understanding of the dialogue (2003: 145, 147).

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Questions relating to the nature of knowledge in the Zhuangzi are intertwined with its notions of mastery, cultivation and sagehood. Because the zhenren, the cultivated “genuine person,” does not engage in doctrinal disputation as others do, his life is not fraught with anxiety over whether he will win the debate (Zhuangzi 2). The conception of the zhenren incorporates ethical, religious, political, social and psychological dimensions. But, over and above this, he approaches matters with a “higher” kind of ability – a form of knowing-how – possible only when a person responds intuitively, effectively addressing the task at hand as he is not inhibited by expectations that are set independently of the task (Yearley 1996: 175; see Roth 1999).8 In the following section, we explore epistemological considerations in the Zhuangzi in a more systematic way. Can we have knowledge, and, if so, what is the nature of that knowledge?

Epistemological Questions Zhuangzi 2 is the locus of Zhuangzi’s epistemological questions. This chapter is the most philosophically coherent of all the chapters in the Neipian. Here, Zhuangzi wonders about the basis of assertions made by competing debaters in his day.9 He scorns the absolutist assumptions of those who promote their theories as a universal and ahistorical antidote to the existing socio-political unrest. For, of course, they cannot all be correct, if each theory excludes all others. Zhuangzi evokes such tension when he considers the sparring between the Confucians and the Mohists: . . . we have the “That’s it, that’s not” of Confucians and Mohists, by which what is it for one of them for the other is not, what is not for one of them for the other is. (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 52)

From Zhuangzi’s point of view, the debate is doomed from the start. In a debate, the debater aims to persuade the other to see his point of view. The 8

The questions on the happy fish dialogue raised here, and more, are investigated in Ames and Nakajima (2015).

9

Graham, who has been influential in promoting the study of Zhuangzi’s philosophy in the light of discussions of language by the Mingjia and later Mohist thinkers, reckons that this is the most important chapter in the text (2003b: 104). His analysis focuses on Zhuangzi’s deliberations as responses to these debates, especially those articulated by Hui Shi and Gongsun Long.

The Zhuangzi

Mohists and Confucians are adamant that their respective views are the correct one. Each assumes the objectivity and universality of their own views: the Confucians believe that their solution to the unrest is the best – perhaps the only – solution, as do the Mohists, of theirs. But of course they cannot both be correct. Their debate is marked by disagreement concerning what is and what is not correct (shi-fei). As Zhuangzi notes, what “is” for one of them is “not” for the other. How might we decide which of these doctrines is the correct one? The Zhuangzi recasts this question into two more specific ones: whom do we ask to adjudicate, and what criteria do we use in the adjudication of such matters? Regarding the first question, Zhuangzi belabours the problems associated with the choice of an impartial judge: Suppose you and I argue (bian). If you beat me instead of my beating you, are you really right and am I really wrong? If I beat you instead of your beating me, am I really right and are you really wrong? Or are we both partly right and partly wrong? Or are we both wholly right and wholly wrong? Since between us neither you nor I know which is right, others are naturally in the dark. Whom shall we ask to arbitrate? If we ask someone who agrees with you, since he has already agreed with you, how can he arbitrate? If we ask someone who agrees with me, since he has already agreed with me, how can he arbitrate? If we ask someone who disagrees with both you and me to arbitrate, since he has already disagreed with you and me, how can he arbitrate? If we ask someone who agrees with both you and me to arbitrate, since he has already agreed with you and me, how can he arbitrate? (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 189–90)

Zhuangzi is not just saying that an impartial judge is a rare find. In fact, he is sceptical about whether such a person exists. He is also sceptical about the expectation of impartiality in arbitration. In other words, Zhuangzi reckons that there is no such position as the “view from nowhere,” the angelic view, or the God’s-eye perspective. He even denounces the all-encompassing “bird’s-eye view” in Zhuangzi 1, “Going Rambling without a Destination.” Zhuangzi sets up a striking contrast between a cicada and a dove, on the one hand, and a giant bird, Peng, on the other. The cicada and the little dove laugh at Peng because the giant bird’s dimensions and capabilities are incomprehensible to them: The cicada and the little dove laugh at this, saying, “When we make an effort and fly up, we can get as far as the elm or the sapanwood tree, but sometimes

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we don’t make it and just fall down on the ground. Now how is anyone going to go ninety thousand li to the south!” (Zhuangzi 1; trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 30)

Are these little creatures not trivial in their lack of understanding? There is some self-awareness in their representation of their own limitations. But their awareness of the world is constrained by their inability to conceive of possibilities beyond their individual experiences. Who are the human parallels of the cicada and the dove? Does Zhuangzi consider the doctrines of the other thinkers trapped, like those of the cicada and dove? If so, should we be like Peng instead? “When the Peng journeys to the southern darkness, the waters are roiled for three thousand li. He beats the whirlwind and rises ninety thousand li, setting off on the sixth month gale.” Wavering heat, bits of dust, living things blowing each other about – the sky looks very blue. Is that its real color, or is it because it is so far away and has no end? When the bird looks down, all he sees is blue too . . . If wind is not piled up deep enough, it won’t have the strength to bear up great wings. Therefore when the Peng rises ninety thousand li, he must have the wind under him like that. Only then can he mount on the back of the wind, shoulder the blue sky, and nothing can hinder or block him. (ibid.: 29–30)

The giant bird may be large and impressive, and the cicada and dove trivially small, in comparison. But Peng is capable only of a broad view and is unable to discern finer detail. It, too, has only a partial perspective. It likewise suffers from physical limitations: while the small creatures cannot fly far, the giant bird cannot take flight unless wind conditions are sufficiently strong to carry it. There is neither a privileged observer nor an ideal adjudicator; Zhuangzi is sceptical about the ability of individuals to adopt valuefree perspectives. Or, perhaps, there are no value-free perspectives. This story has lessons for the debating thinkers, who are convinced there is a correct view – their own. Zhuangzi launches a meta-philosophical attack on the expectations associated with disputation (bian). In fact, the question of how to select the “correct” view is misdirected because it presupposes that one should be selected. There are also concerns about the abundant richness and diversity of the world, and the process and outcome of selection might fail to reflect such diversity. Wang Ni the sceptic evokes a sense of helplessness when confronted by the plurality in the world:

The Zhuangzi

How do I know that what I call knowing is not ignorance? How do I know that what I call ignorance is not knowing? . . . When a human sleeps in the damp his waist hurts and he gets stiff in the joints; is that so of the loach? When he sits in a tree he shivers and shakes; is that so of the ape? Which of these three knows the right place to live? (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 58)

Wang Ni’s views, which we have already come across with reference to preferences in taste and mating partners, seem to have been instigated by extreme scepticism. At the heart of these analogies is the Zhuangzi’s answer to how we might select the correct view: to select one view from amongst the many, and to call it “correct” (shi), is misguided. From this angle, we sense Zhuangzi’s awareness of the situated and circumstantial nature of the competing doctrines. This passage about the different measures of well-being is not merely about epistemological difficulties in the face of a plural and diverse world. It is also a concern about language and its relation to reality, a concern that Zhuangzi shared with the Later Mohist thinkers, though they came to very different conclusions. Ultimately, these two concerns in the Zhuangzi are grounded in the belief that the desire to determine one correct standard stems from a failure properly to situate and orientate humanity within the manifold cosmos. Wang Ni’s question focuses not centrally on the content of knowledge but on language and naming: how do I know that what I call (wei) knowing is not ignorance? We saw, earlier, how Wang Ni follows up on his examples of the baffling plurality in the world with the question, “the paths of ‘That’s it, that’s not,’ are inextricably confused; how could I know how to discriminate between them?” (ibid.). Wang Ni turns his attention specifically to the project of distinguishing what is correct and should be affirmed (shi), and what is incorrect and to be denied (fei). As we will see later, the proclamations of shi! and fei!, once fixed, are further perpetuated. When they are entrenched, they narrow human thought and perception. Meanings are fixed in words (yan; more specifically meaning “speech”). Zhuangzi articulates the force of assertion and its implications: Saying is not blowing breath, saying says something; the only trouble is that what it says is never fixed. Do we really say something? Or have we never said anything? If you think it different from the twitter of fledglings, is there proof of the distinction [bian]? Or isn’t there any proof? . . . By what is saying

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darkened, that sometimes “That’s it” and sometimes “That’s not” [shi-fei]? . . . Whatever the standpoint how can saying be unallowable [buke]? (ibid.: 52; annotations by author)

Zhuangzi’s comparison of speech and the twittering of birds is not merely rhetorical; he grants that words mean something, but he also sees problems with the assumption that language correctly portrays the world, and without remainder. One problem relates to the supposition that language had a fixed connection with reality, and perhaps even a one-to-one correspondence. We see this for instance in the Confucian programme, especially in Confucius’ theory of names (zhengming), wherein he advocated that a person’s commitment and behaviour must accord with his title (ming). Such predictable and correct correspondences were also what some of the Mingjia and Later Mohists presupposed in their discussions of the place of language in life. Zhuangzi disagrees with the approach taken by some of the Mingjia, who resort to the examination of terms in order to resolve disagreements. The Mingjia approach makes various assumptions including that the meanings of names are objective, that they have a fixed relation with the world and that a more accurate understanding of their meanings will settle disagreements. The Zhuangzi finds some of these assumptions about language problematic. What does the text itself recommend? There are a number of ways to interpret its concerns. One approach, from a metaphysical angle, emphasises and embraces the diversity in the world. We see this in Wang Ni’s description of the different standards for different individuals. How might language adequately capture the complexity and diversity in the world?10 Will clarification of terms really provide us with a more accurate or “truer” picture of reality? If we were to believe that plurality in the world is irreducible, we could not consistently hold that language has the capacity to capture this plurality exhaustively. A second approach denies that meanings in language are objective. We have seen how some sections of the Gongsun Longzi makes this assumption when it describes the process of adjudicating meanings. For example, both “ox” and “non-ox” cannot fit the fact, and the case that does fit the fact wins the dispute. The Zhuangzi’s stance on the nature of words is similar to the

10

This query is also raised in the Daodejing 1 and 5.

The Zhuangzi

Xunzi’s in that both acknowledge the arbitrariness of naming. In the “Rectification of Names” chapter, the Xunzi pragmatically notes that “names have no intrinsic appropriateness” (Watson, Hsün Tzu, 1963: 138). The Zhuangzi likewise highlights the arbitrariness of the naming process: When [people say], “All right,” then [things are] all right. When [people say], “Not all right,” then [things are] not all right. A road becomes so when people walk on it, and things become so-and-so [to people] because people call them so-and-so. How have they become so? They have become so because [people say they are] so. How have they become not so? They have become not so because [people say they are] not so. (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 183–4)

This passage emphasises the arbitrariness and conventionality of word meanings. It also draws our attention to a major difference between the Xunzi’s and the Zhuangzi’s views on fixing meanings. While the Xunzi’s point is to fix meanings without worrying about whether there is some predetermined or intrinsic meaning, the Zhuangzi seeks to refrain from this process. Indeed, attempts to fix meanings is what this passage speaks out against. The terms “all right” (ke) and “so” (ran) have a primary place in the Later Mohist debates: language is meaningful insofar as it captures what is so (ran), asserts what is possible (ke), and affirms what is the case (shi). But, as the Zhuangzi argues, these moves attribute objectivity and absoluteness to language when, in fact, meanings are determined arbitrarily. Yet how can it be that something determined arbitrarily carries such profound significance in our lives? Graham lucidly poses the problem for the Later Mohists, as Zhuangzi might see it: “How can I prove that language is meaningful without using it on the assumption that it is?” (Graham 1989: 200). The third response understands the problematic assumptions about language from an epistemological point of view. The Zhuangzi’s epistemological stance is an important topic and we focus on it for the remainder of this section. Stories in the text indicate that not only is there a variety of perspectives, but that it is difficult for individuals to see beyond their own points of view. Imagery of limited perspectives abounds in the Zhuangzi: the cicada and the little bird who cannot comprehend the flight of the giant bird, Peng (Zhuangzi 1), the summer insect who does not understand spring or autumn, the frog in the well whose perspective is cramped by his dwellingplace, and the giant turtle who had great difficulty trying to fit just one leg

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into the well (Zhuangzi 17). In all of these examples, characters are limited by their physical conditions and environments. In Zhuangzi 17, the limited perspectives of the well-frog and the summer insect represent the narrowness of the views of the debating thinkers: You can’t discuss the ocean with a well-frog – he’s limited by the space he lives in. You can’t discuss ice with a summer insect – he’s bound to a single season. You can’t discuss the Way with a cramped scholar – he’s shackled by his doctrines. (trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 175–6)

The allegory suggests that each perspective is a “lodged” perspective. The text uses a summer insect and a well-frog to demonstrate that each individual can understand the world only from within his or her place. Zhuangzi 27 explicitly discusses this argument strategy, yuyan, often translated as “metaphorical language.” The metaphor of the summer insect is used to demonstrate how “cramped scholars” view the world, that is, from their limited perspective. Insofar as the summer insect’s perspective is confined, so is the cramped scholar’s. There is more to this argument strategy: it is an ad hominem argument, pointing out the deficiencies in an individual’s point of view (Raphals 1993: 93). On this account, when individuals speak, they are “saying from a lodging place” (Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 25–6).11 How do these details apply to the allegory above? In the Zhuangzi, the assertion that some individuals hold lodged perspectives may operate at two levels. At the first level, the frog, the summer insect and the cramped scholar are not just temporarily lodged; they seem permanently lodged, each in their places, limited by their inability to take up other positions. At the second level, the reader is asked temporarily to lodge within these views in order to understand the nature of the limitations and to experience them. But does the Zhuangzi assume that its readers are unlike the cramped scholars? Or are all views cramped in some way? In an extreme formulation of this perspectivalist argument, Zhuangzi contends that all views are hemmed in. The text uses indexical terms, “this” and “that,” to highlight the insularity of such views:

11

Graham applies the three argumentative strategies to passages in Zhuangzi 2. The other two types of argumentation are “weighted saying” and “spillover saying” (Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 25–6; see also Morrow 2016). The Zhuangzi claims in chapter 27 that yuyan is used nine times out of ten.

The Zhuangzi

There is nothing that is not “that” and there is nothing that is not “this.” Things do not know that they are the “that” of other things; they only know what they themselves know. (Zhuangzi 2; adapted from the translation by Chan, Source Book, 1963a: 182)

The indexical term “that” (bi) denotes what is external to the self. From an individual’s perspective, “this” (shi), everything else is “that.” This is the predicament of the well-frog, the summer insect, and cramped scholars: they have only a “this”-perspective and they are not aware that there are “that”perspectives. The tragic nature of the understanding of these creatures – and cramped scholars – is that they do not realise, and perhaps are unable to move out of, their own, indexed, perspective. In Zhuangzi 23, the failure by certain Mingjia thinkers to heed the indexicality of their perspectives is explained with impressive clarity: A “That’s it” which deems picks out by a reference it as it shifts. Let’s see what happens now when you speak about it as it shifts. This is to take “life” as the root of you and the wits as your authority, and use them to go by in charioteering “That’s it, that’s not.” They really exist for you, names and substances, and using them to go by you make yourself into a hostage. (trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 104)

Unable to navigate beyond their individual perspectives, these thinkers are trapped. They each seek to perpetuate their own views: the Confucian his set of shi-fei and the Mohist, his set. Each person takes what is indexical (what they each shi and fei) as objective and universalisable standards, unaware, as the passage notes, that frames of reference (“it”) shift. The propagation of their shi-fei becomes their preoccupation: “There are those whose utterances are like arrows from a bow, who feel it their charge to pronounce what is right and what is wrong. There are those who, as if guided by a covenant, are determined to overcome” (Zhuangzi 2, adapted from the translation by Legge, Writings, 1891: 179).12 The affirmation of their views, and the denial of opposite views, were their main preoccupation. By contrast, the sage in the Zhuangzi sees both “this” and “that”:

12

David Wong aptly calls this phenomenon “the Obsession with Being Right” (2005). Refer to a detailed discussion of disputation and lodged perspectives in Lai 2006b.

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The sage recognises a “this,” but a “this” which is also “that,” a “that” which is also “this” . . . A state in which “this” and “that” no longer find their opposites is called the pivot of dao. When the pivot is fitted into the socket, it can respond endlessly. Its right is limitless and its wrong too is limitless. So I say, the best thing to use is illumination (ming). (Zhuangzi 2; adapted from the translation by Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 40)

Unlike the creatures in the various allegories, the sage is not bound within one single perspective. He engages – limitlessly – with different perspectives because he is not permanently lodged in any one of them. His perspective is illuminated: it illuminates the limitations of the constrained views. His responsiveness (ying) to these other views is unencumbered by fixed, narrow ways. Being at the pivot, he sees that each perspective has limitations. In this way, they are equal (Lai and Chiu 2013). While each of the cramped scholars sees his own view as the only correct one, the sage in the Zhuangzi understands them to be on par. This interpretation of the equality of the views alludes to the title of Zhuangzi 2, “Discussion on Making All Things Equal.” Responsiveness that is unconstrained enjoys the “free and easy wandering” recommended in the title of Zhuangzi 1 (trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968). The illuminated view may also be understood as the “great knowledge” (dazhi) the text speaks of in chapter 1, in its discussion of the story of Peng the giant bird and the little creatures, and its opposite, “little knowledge” (xiaozhi). There, the text uses the two terms to evaluate the story on different perspectives: “Little knowledge does not reach to that of great knowledge; (the experience of) a few years does not reach to that of many. How do we know that it is so? The morning mushroom does not know the beginning and end of a month; the short-lived cicada does not know spring and autumn” (Zhuangzi 1, adapted from the translation by Legge, Writings, 1891: 166). According to one view, great knowledge is Peng’s sweeping perspective; it therapeutically goes beyond the outlook of the small mind.13 On a second interpretation, “great knowledge” refers not to more knowledge

13

Connolly (2011) argues that the Zhuangzi may be interpreted as supporting “perspectivism,” a view that there are different perspectives but that some are better (because they are broader and more accurate) than others. Lian (2009) argues that Zhuangzi’s dazhi is the view of Peng, who enjoys the “big picture.” Lian also presents a brief summary of the different interpretations of dazhi. Refer to Schwitzgebel’s argument that the Zhuangzi’s scepticism is therapeutic (1996).

The Zhuangzi

but to a type of understanding that transcends the viewpoints of both Peng and the little creatures. According to this view, Zhuangzi’s great knowledge is characterised not by its content but by its detachment from content. The sage’s illumination is not content based and therefore not constrained by shi-fei (Lai and Chiu 2013). We continue our consideration of the kind of life advocated by the Zhuangzi, focusing especially on the centrality of cultivation in life.

Cultivation and Mastery Zhuangzi 3 opens with an ominous warning about the limiting nature of conventional knowledge: My life flows between confines, but knowledge has no confines. If we use the confined to follow after the unconfined, there is danger that the flow will cease; and when it ceases, to exercise knowledge is purest danger. (trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 62)

Conventional knowledge restricts a more genuine “flow” of life. This passage is from a short chapter – much of it mutilated – concerning “What Matters in the Nurture of Life” (ibid.: 62; “Yangshen Zhu”). As indicated in its opening paragraph, its focus is on shedding conventional norms as they interfere with the proper development of the self. We have seen in epistemological terms how the sage’s genuine responsiveness is possible only when he is not encumbered by layers of conventional conditioning, driven by shi-fei attitudes. In the Zhuangzi, life needs to be nurtured. This involves not simply casting away the binding norms and one’s attachment to them. A person must also cultivate the flexibility to engage in situations with a level of openness, accompanied by a willingness to lodge temporarily in other perspectives. There are many fascinating stories in the Zhuangzi relating to cultivation. In this same chapter, Cook Ding is applauded as one who knows how to nurture life. Elsewhere in the text, there are others: the wheelwright who cannot teach his son his mastery of his craft (Zhuangzi 13, “Dao of Heaven”), the experienced ferryman (Zhuangzi 19, “Mastering Life”), the hunchback cicada catcher (Zhuangzi 19) and the carver and his marvellous bell-stands (Zhuangzi 19).14 These stories can be read at different 14

Many of these stories are found in a chapter classified as “Yangist,” entitled “Mastering Life” (Zhuangzi 19). There are around thirteen stories about cultivation and mastery in

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levels: they may be interpreted as stories about skill, about the expression or cultivation of particular abilities – often characterised as “knack” or “intuition” – or about how one approaches life more generally (see, for example, Maspero 1978: 307; Ivanhoe 1993). These stories most probably addressed different debates during the Warring States period. For example, some stories on how particular skills or abilities may be cultivated might have intended to overturn conventional pursuits and practices. Alternatively, some others might have been composed to uphold the value of ordinary occupations (contesting the dominance of official life). In doing so, they could have been expressing a reclusive view, perhaps with some associations to Yang Zhu’s thought. Additionally, some of the stories incorporate aspects of spiritual life or reflect some elements of religious belief of the time.15 The discussion below covers some of these strands. It begins with a consideration of spiritual life followed by an examination of the nature of reclusive life, in light of participation in official life. Finally, it discusses some unique features of Zhuangzi’s views on cultivation and mastery. This division into three topic areas allow for more clarity, though we should expect some overlap across the three.

Spirituality In the stories, some of the masters act as if they are in a trance; their concentration is focused only on the activity, such that they lose touch with everything else in the external environment. In the story of the bell-stand carver, such deep engagement is not simply a feature of his act of bell-stand carving. The distinctiveness of the carver’s handling of the activity is also manifest in the carved product: the text: Cook Ding, Zhuangzi 3; wheelwright Bian, Zhuangzi 13; cicada catcher, Zhuangzi 19; the ferryman, Zhuangzi 19; cock-fighting, Zhuangzi 19; the swimmer, Zhuangzi 19; engraver Qing, Zhuangzi 19; the painter, Zhuangzi 20; the forger of swords, Zhuangzi 22; using an axe to cut away mud on the rose, Zhuangzi 24; the skill of dragon-slaying, Zhuangzi 32; and (the controversial ones follow) the way of robbery, Zhuangzi 10; the shooting of not shooting, Zhuangzi 20. I thank Wai Wai Chiu for suggesting this list. 15

Puett (2002) sets out some of the debates in Early China on cosmological ideas, and religious life and practices, such as divination. See especially his discussions of the Zhuangzi in chapter 3, “Accepting the Order of Heaven: Humanity and Divinity in Zhuangzi and Mencius” (pp. 122–44) and chapter 5, “The Ascension of the Spirit: Liberation, Spirit Journeys, and Celestial Wanderings” (pp. 201–24).

The Zhuangzi

Engraver Qing chipped wood to make a bellstand. When the bellstand was finished viewers were amazed, as though it were daemonic, ghostly . . . [The engraver explains his secret:] “The dexterity for [the activity] concentrates, outside distractions melt away, and only then do I go into the mountain forest and observe the nature of the wood as [tian] makes it grow. The aptitude of the body attains its peak; and only then do I have a complete vision of the bellstand, only then do I put my hand to it. Otherwise I give the whole thing up. So I join what is [tian’s] to what is [tian’s]. Would this be the reason why the instrument seems daemonic?” (Zhuangzi 19; trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 135; annotations by author)

The “daemonic” is a translation of the term shen, which has a range of meanings in pre-Qin texts. It may refer to a spirit being or it may denote the spirit-like attribute of a particular action. It may also be used to draw attention to an entity’s or event’s distinctiveness, as if it was wrought by a spirit. For example, in the same chapter, Yan Hui recounted to Confucius that the expert ferryman he once came across handled the boat “like a spirit” (ruoshen). Here, the daemonic bell-stand is a result of the carver’s full engagement, including of his body, in this activity. His actions are aligned with the nature of the wood, given naturally in the forest environment. The level of immersion in the activity makes it seem as if the master is forgetful. In the same chapter, a forgetful person is likened to a drunken man: “When a drunken man falls from a cart, despite the speed of the fall he does not die. In his bones and joints he is the same as other men, but in encountering harm he is different, because the daemonic is whole in him” (trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 137). Zhuangzi 6, entitled “The Teacher Who Is the Ultimate Ancestor,” presents a detailed account of the features of the daemonic “true man” or genuine person, including his forgetfulness (ibid.: 84–93). Interestingly, Yan Hui, Confucius’ favoured disciple, is upheld as one of them because he has made significant progress in the practice of “sitting and forgetting” (zuowang). To add interest to this story, Confucius begs Yan Hui to take him on as his disciple. If we apply the paradigm of forgetting to the example of the bellstand carver, it seems that forgetting works at two integrated levels for Qing. First, he “forgets” fixed targets and methods, which will only restrict his activity: he does not have preconceived ideas about how each particular bellstand should look, but his vision of it develops as he goes along, attending to each particular piece of wood he works on. Second, being free from these constraints, he engages fully – “forgetting” distractions – in his activity.

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A similar detachment from existing ideals and practice is expressed in another metaphor, the “fasting of the heart-mind” (xin zhai) (see Oshima 1983). Confucius and Yan Hui again figure in this story in Zhuangzi 4. Here, Confucius teaches Yan Hui how to “fast his heart-mind.” The first step is to replace listening with one’s ears with listening with one’s heart-mind. But listening with the heart-mind must in turn be replaced by listening with qi (vitality, energies).16 Ironically, as we know, it is the Confucians who advocate listening with the heart-mind, but here, Confucius has progressed to a higher level, listening with qi. Zhuangzi 2 rejects the (Confucian) suggestion that the heart-mind is the seat of judgements of right and wrong: Of the hundred joints, nine openings, six viscera all present and complete, which should I recognise as more kin to me than another? Are you people pleased with them all? Rather, you have a favourite organ among them . . . If you go by the completed heart and take it as your authority, who is without such authority? Why should it be only the man who knows how things alternate and whose heart approves its own judgments who has such an authority? The fool has one just as he has. For there to be “That’s it, that’s not” before they are formed in the heart would be to “go to Yue today and have arrived yesterday.” (trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 51)

Zhuangzi launches an argument against the view that the heart-mind has an inherent capacity for moral discrimination (Graham 2003b: 115). The empirical evidence shows otherwise, argues Zhuangzi, as the fool, who cannot make such distinctions, also has a heart-mind. For Zhuangzi, the heart-mind cannot guarantee either ethical or epistemic certainty (see Chong 2011). The Confucians could of course retort that the fool may have a heart-mind but has failed to apply or cultivate it. But Zhuangzi’s more fundamental point is this: there is no inherent intuitive capacity for decision-making, and (for the Confucians) to select one organ among many serves only to obscure dao: The human heart/mind . . . has the fatal capacity to arrogate to itself the attributes of a fully closed off, fully individualized entity, “the fully completed or individualized heart” (cheng xin), which by a kind of self-encapsulation is able to establish a self-being of its own cut off from the flow of the dao. (Schwartz 1985: 229)

16

Graham translates qi in the Zhuangzi as “energies” (Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 68) while Watson translates it as “spirit” (Complete Works, 1968: 58).

The Zhuangzi

We are left to wonder whether Zhuangzi intends to replace the heart-mind with dao.17 For Zhuangzi, feelings – “joy, anger, grief, delight, worry, regret, fickleness, inflexibility, modesty, willfulness, candor, insolence” – rather than knowledge are expressions of dao (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 37). How is this connected to listening with qi in the passage above? There are overlaps between dao and qi in the Zhuangzi and other contemporaneous texts. The Guanzi shares with the Zhuangzi the importance of alignment with dao (Guanzi VII.3; Rickett, Guanzi, 1998: 45). However, while the Zhuangzi associates feelings with dao, the Guanzi associates them with qi.18 The Guanzi’s “Inward Training” (Neiye) chapter deals extensively with the cultivation of qi as it is the source of all living things.19 Graham suggests that the Zhuangzi’s conception of nurturing qi, which includes meditation techniques, attention to posture and moderation in diet, is similar to that held by Mencius in his reference to the “flood-like” qi (Mencius 2A:2).20 It seems that, like its metaphors of “sitting and forgetting” and the “fasting of the heart-mind,” the Zhuangzi’s references to dao and qi are part of a shared discourse on nurturing the person. In this light, Zhuangzi’s dao and qi also allude to unfiltered experiences and unconstrained expressions. This stands in contrast to the tragic “hero,” enmeshed in vain pursuit of shi-fei: Sometimes clashing with things, sometimes bending before them, he runs his course like a galloping steed, and nothing can stop him. Is he not pathetic? Sweating and labouring to the end of his days and never seeing his accomplishment, utterly exhausting himself and never knowing where to look for rest – can you help pitying him? . . . Man’s life has always been a muddle like this. (Zhuangzi 2; trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 38)21

17

Graham states that for Zhuangzi, dao takes the place of the “true ruler” (2003b: 115). On the other hand, Hansen argues that Zhuangzi’s refutation of Mencius’ xin is not to replace xin with dao but rather to reject any assertion of an inherent intuitive capacity (1992: 277–80).

18

Refer to the discussion by Shirley Chan, who points out that the Xing Zi Ming Chu defines human nature in terms of the qi associated with the emotions (2011: 56).

19

Harold Roth provides an excellent scholarly analysis of the Guanzi and emphasises key connections between the two texts, the Guanzi and the Zhuangzi (1991b; 1999).

20

Graham describes the notion of qi in this period as an all-encompassing and unifying “energetic fluid.” Qi “vitalises the body, in particular the breath, and circulates outside the body as air.” Its meaning is similar to “Greek pneuma ‘wind, air, breath’” (1989: 101).

21

There are interesting comparisons between Zhuangzi’s tragic hero and Confucius’ village worthy in Analects 13:24 and Books of Mencius 7B:37.

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There is a sense of deep spirituality in the way this passage challenges the point of such pursuits. Ivanhoe upholds the spirituality of Zhuangzian liberation, according to which Zhuangzi’s “perspectivism” enables people to “perceive and accord with an ethical scheme inherent in the world” (1993: 646–7). Other accounts of spirituality in the Zhuangzi draw on different terms and themes. Schwartz describes Zhuangzi’s philosophy as “mystic gnosis” (Schwartz 1985: 215–37); Robert Allinson presents a translation of the Neipian according to his thesis that Zhuangzi’s philosophy engenders spiritual transformation (1989); Lee Yearley describes the activity and life of the daemonic person as a spiritual state from which one engages with, yet transcends, many aspects of this-worldly life, including morality (1996); Edward Slingerland understands wuwei as an “essentially mysterious” religious concept (2003);22 and Harold Roth argues that Zhuangzi recommends deep mystical tranquillity through meditative contemplation (1999).23 Finally, we must mention vacuity or emptiness (xu) which, in some passages, is connected with deep cosmological awareness. In a story about a shaman who visits Liezi’s teacher, Huzi, the shaman flees in fear of what he believes to be Huzi’s impending death. In fact, Huzi – as his name “vessel” implies – was prepared to hold cosmological patterns, though this was completely lost on the shaman (Zhuangzi 7). These elements of the Zhuangzi with regard to spirituality highlight the need for more extensive

22

Slingerland writes, “to describe the Zhuangzian sage as “perfectly rational” or as functioning like a scientist seems to me a bit misleading. It glosses over the fact that the movements of the spirit and of Heaven are essentially mysterious and not amenable to rational explanation . . . and ignores the important element of submission and abnegation of the everyday self that is involved in entering into a state of wu-wei” (2003: 321, n. 81). In his earlier work, Slingerland also criticises interpretations of Zhuangzi’s philosophy that do not properly reflect Zhuangzi’s attention to the development of skill. According to Slingerland, Zhuangzi’s skill-knowledge is not merely a lifestyle choice. To reduce the philosophy to a discussion of conventional constructs is to strip it of metaphysical significance. Slingerland mentions in particular Robert Eno’s and Chad Hansen’s accounts of Zhuangzi’s thought that do this (Slingerland, 2000: 313–14).

23

There is an established tradition of Daoist religious and mystical practice which draws from a range of Daoist textual sources. Studies including Isabelle Robinet’s Taoism: Growth of a Religion (1997) and Livia Kohn’s The Taoist Experience (1993) focus centrally on religious aspects of Daoist thought. These investigations have an important place in Daoist research literature as they draw together religious and philosophical perspectives on Daoism.

The Zhuangzi

investigations into how we should understand spirituality and cosmology in pre-Qin Chinese thought.24

Participation in Political Life Does a person who has gained such daemonic insight have any lingering interest in the mundane world? This discussion focuses on the sage’s participation in political life. As we have seen in previous chapters, the question concerning the involvement of the cultivated person in the affairs of the world was a point of debate among pre-Qin thinkers. There are strands in the Zhuangzi that resemble Yang Zhu’s philosophy, contributing to the classification of Zhuangzi’s later chapters (28–31) as being of a Yangist strain. Furthermore, there are references in the Neipian to the nurturing of life and reticence about undertaking official duties. The focal point of Zhuangzi 3 is a story about butchering that sheds light on how to nurture life: A good cook changes his knife once a year – because he cuts. A mediocre cook changes his knife once a month – because he hacks. I’ve had this knife of mine for nineteen years and I’ve cut up thousands of oxen with it, and yet the blade is as good as though it had just come from the grindstone. There are spaces between the joints, and the blade of the knife has really no thickness. If you insert what has no thickness into such spaces, then there’s plenty of room – more than enough for the blade to play about it. That’s why after nineteen years the blade of my knife is still as good as when it first came from the grindstone. However, whenever I come to a complicated place, I size up the difficulties, tell myself to watch out and be careful, keep my eyes on what I’m doing, work very slowly, and move the knife with the greatest subtlety, until – flop! the whole thing comes apart like a clod of earth crumbling to the ground. I stand there holding the knife and look all around me, completely satisfied and reluctant to move on, and then I wipe off the knife and put it away. (trans. Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 51)

24

Refer to the work of Livia Kohn, Isabelle Robinet, John S. Major, Sarah Allan and Harold Roth. Wu (1982, 1990, 1996), François (1999, 2004) and Slingerland (2003) have presented excellent accounts of the practical implications of wuwei (efficacy, spontaneity) in Chinese philosophy. Wu and François also venture into comparisons between Western and Chinese philosophies.

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Cook Ding demonstrates a cultivated skill in butchering that is refined and manifest in and through the activity. How fortunate one would be if he or she had Cook Ding’s ability to work smoothly through difficult situations in life! The choice of butchering as an analogy for the nurture of life is interesting. Perhaps Zhuangzi is attempting to establish a model of ordinary activity distinct from, and as a real alternative to, political life. We have seen how Yangist philosophy was likely to have been misrepresented in the Mencius. Its philosophy of self-preservation may have been a rejection of certain proposals that were narrowly focused on political power. Perhaps the Yangist avoidance of official life was grounded in a moral commitment that perceived this livelihood as damaging to humanity. Graham describes this angle on Yangism with reference to the preservation of xing (human nature): A philosophy entitling members of the ruling class to resist the overwhelming moral pressures to take office remained a permanent necessity in Imperial China. Yangism is the earliest, to be superseded in due course by Daoism and, from the early centuries A.D., by Buddhism . . . For the Yangist, xing is primarily the capacity, which may be injured by excess or by damage from outside, to live out the term of life which Heaven has destined for man. (1989: 56)

Perhaps the Zhuangzi has integrated within its ideology a Yangist reticence about engaging in political life. This may include recognition that power can corrupt the finer elements of human life. It seems the Zhuangzi avoids official life to some degree, though not necessarily for the reasons articulated by Mencius against Yang Zhu: egoism. To what extent is engagement to be avoided? Schwartz proposes an extreme interpretation of this view, which accepts nothing less than complete detachment: “The problem for all [Zhuangzi’s] men of gnosis is how to avoid government . . . The political order cannot remedy the human plight, which is rooted in the individual mind itself. The political realm itself reflects this delusive consciousness. It remains part of the furniture of an unredeemed world . . . Zhuangzi himself, it would appear, avoids office like the plague” (1985: 232–3; annotations by author). Hence, when Yan Hui has successfully “fasted his mind,” he would have been “purged of ego,” forgotten his “strategems” and may even lose interest “in the entire enterprise [of government]” (ibid.: 233). This view is problematic because it is not clear that the point of the passage is to “avoid office,” even though it is true that, through Confucius as spokesperson,

The Zhuangzi

Zhuangzi maintains that official life requires far too many compromises, with the ultimate threat of death: I am afraid that you are simply going to your execution . . . To “make a name” is to clash with others, “knowledge” is a tool in competition. Both of them are sinister tools, of no use in perfecting conduct . . . You will find yourself using fire to quell fire, water to quell water, the name for it is “going from bad to worse.” Being submissive at the start that is how you will always be. I am afraid that he will lose faith in your fulsome words, and so you’ll be sure to die at the tyrant’s hands. (Zhuangzi 4; trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 66–7)

This passage is set up as Confucius’ advice to Yan Hui not to enter into the service of the Lord of Wey, in the chapter entitled “Worldly Business among Men.” There are insightful comments on power-mongering that is likely to taint those who are part of this life. The Lord of Wey is characterised as a tyrant, though it is not clear whether “execution” and “death” are used literally or metaphorically, with the latter referring to the sacrifice of one’s own moral commitments. To this, Yan Hui replies, “Inwardly I shall be straight but outwardly I shall bend . . . In being ‘inwardly straight,’ I shall be of Heaven’s party . . . In ‘outwardly bending’ I shall be of man’s party” (ibid.: 68). In Confucius’ eyes (in the Zhuangzi), this fragmentation was untenable. He then advised Yan Hui to fast the heart-mind. Confucius’ advice to Yan Hui was that he should not even attempt to maintain his personal ethical commitments, as Yan Hui was proposing to do, but rather to forget the self. Yan Hui should neither give in to the demands and norms of official life nor establish ideals of his own in resistance to the former. In the conclusion to this conversation, Confucius does not dissuade entry into service but advises cautious, detached handling of affairs: You are capable of entering and roaming free inside his cage, but do not be excited that you are making a name for yourself. When the words penetrate, sing your native note; when they fail to penetrate, desist. When there are no doors for you, no outlets, and treating all abodes as one you find your lodgings in whichever is the inevitable, you will be nearly there. (ibid.: 69)

The conversation closes on a spiritual note: as a person forgets himself, he is then able, with the myriad things, to embrace heaven’s transformative processes. Confucius says, “What has man for agent is easily falsified, what has Heaven for agent is hard to falsify . . . If the channels inward through

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eyes and ears are cleared, and you expel knowledge from the heart, the ghostly and daemonic will come to dwell in you, not to mention all that is human!” (ibid.) Here, Zhuangzi makes room for spirituality, even in worldly affairs among men.

Mastery While the Zhuangzi hesitates about participation in official life, it embraces elements and events in the natural world. The metaphors and stories used throughout the text in fact reveal a deep awareness of the natural world that is obscured or neglected when one is ensconced within the “safe” boundaries set by society and convention. Cultivation is necessary for individuals to attune themselves to the naturally given plurality in the world. This is our consideration in this section: the stories about the skill masters draw from ordinary vocations and actions that sustain and establish life in the world. The experts at butchering, swimming, carpentry and fishing respond to the world in its plurality, and with its imperfections (Schwartz 1985: 235). They are sometimes so engrossed in their activities that they seem indifferent to the vicissitudes of life, even to death. The story of the swimmer in Zhuangzi 19 demonstrates how adaptability sustains the individual through different conditions and circumstances. While walking by some cascades, Confucius and his followers see a man jumping into the water. Confucius fears that the man is taking his own life, for no one would have jumped into those cascades willingly. He hurries his followers along the bank to pull the man out but, to his surprise: . . . after the man had gone a couple of hundred paces, he came out of the water and began strolling along the base of the embankment, his hair streaming down, singing a song. Confucius ran after him and said, “I thought you were a ghost, but now, up close, I see you’re a man. May I ask if you have a way (dao) of treading water?” “I have no dao. I began with what was originally there, developed what was natural (to me), and reached completion in keeping with fate. I go under with the swirls and come out with the eddies, following the dao of the waters without thought of my (own) self. That’s how I can tread water.” (adapted from the translation by Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 204–5)

The swimmer claims he has no dao. Based on the contrast in the passage between the dao of the waters and his own convictions, we take it that what

The Zhuangzi

he means by him having a dao is to have preconceived ideas about how he should navigate the treacherous waters at the base of the cascades. To have his own dao – an abstractly devised plan for what should be done – would have threatened his life, precisely because it would have prevented him from being adaptable to the waters. The actions or responses of the skill masters in the various stories, including this one, have often been characterised in terms of spontaneity (see, e.g. Graham 1983; Eno 1996; Kupperman 1996; Slingerland 2000). Graham cautions against imposing an emotionally based understanding of spontaneity found in “western Romanticism,” which dichotomises rationality and spontaneity and which associates the latter with the emotions. Rather, spontaneity in the Zhuangzi expresses both a whole-body response (like an animal response) as well as a “scientist’s” approach to things, taking them as they “objectively” are (Graham 1983: 9–11). Slingerland likewise uses “spontaneity” to characterise wuwei but rejects its association with subjectivity (the latter of which is found in literature in the Western tradition). For Slingerland, wuwei represents the highest degree of “objectivity” as it is aligned with the objective, normative order of tian or dao.25 If we are to apply “spontaneity” to describe Zhuangzi’s skill-mastery, we must also take care to point out that it is possible only after extensive training. In the text, efficacious spontaneity is possible only after extended periods of rigorous training. Many of the skill stories highlight a life of discipline and practice: Cook Ding has been butchering for at least nineteen years (for it was nineteen years ago that his knife was last sharpened); the wheelwright suggests he has been making wheels for a large part of his seventy years; and the cicada-catcher presents in vivid detail his program of rigorous training. In this scenario, the cicada-catcher outlines his arduous cultivation to an admiring Confucius: For the first five or six months I practise balancing two balls on top of each other on the end of the pole and, if they don’t fall off, I will lose very few cicadas. Then I balance three balls and, if they don’t fall off, I will lose only one cicada in ten. Then I balance five balls and, if they don’t fall off, I know it will be as easy as grabbing them with my hand. I position my body like a stiff tree trunk and hold my arm like an old dry limb. No matter how expansive heaven

25

He states that “it is only in wu-wei that one’s embodied mind conforms to the something larger than the individual – the will of Heaven or the order represented by the Way” (2000: 311).

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and earth are, or how numerous the ten thousand things, I’m aware of nothing but cicada wings. Not wavering, not tipping, not letting any of the other ten thousand things take the place of those cicada wings – how can I help but succeed in taking them? (Zhuangzi 19; adapted from the translation by Watson, Complete Works, 1968: 199–200)

Another feature of mastery in the Zhuangzi is its ineffability. Graham describes this in the following way: “The Daoist art of living is a supremely intelligent responsiveness which would be undermined by analysing and choosing . . . grasping the Way is an unverbalisable ‘knowing how’ rather than ‘knowing that’”(2001: 186). In the famous story of the wheelwright named “Flat” (Bian), he questions the status of ancient wisdoms articulated in a book which Duke Huan is reading. Bian argues that his mastery cannot be taught – he failed to teach his skills to his son – and therefore is sceptical that insights can be gained from reading a book. The wheelwright says: If I chip at a wheel too slowly, the chisel slides and does not grip; if too fast, it jams and catches in the wood. Not too slow, not too fast; I feel it in the hand and respond from the heart, the mouth cannot put it into words, there is a knack in it somewhere which I cannot convey to my son and which my son cannot learn from me. This is how through my seventy years I have grown old chipping at wheels. The men of old and their untransmittable message are dead. Then what my lord is reading is the dregs of the men of old, isn’t it? (trans. Graham, Chuang-Tzu, 2001: 140)

Mastery is personal and experiential and therefore incommunicable, unlike doctrine (or words; yan), which the other thinkers tried to share, indeed, to impose on others. Perhaps there is some connection between this idea and the opening stanza of the Daodejing, “the dao that can be communicated is not an abiding dao” (trans. author). This remark highlights the doctrinal differences between the Daoists and the Mingjia thinkers. That which can be communicated in words – ming (names) – is only ever conventional, and therefore should not be fixed. Language is an integral feature of human civilisation; it establishes and propagates dominant attitudes and beliefs. From Zhuangzi’s point of view, the Mingjia thinkers would have seemed particularly naïve to believe that altercation about names is the fundamental cause of disagreement; there is much that cannot be said. Indeed, the preoccupation with words was shared more widely by other thinkers as well.

The Zhuangzi

Apart from its concern about words, the wheelwright’s interchange with Duke Huan brings up another question: how do we approach the major tasks in life (and perhaps life itself)? Do we learn from and teach doctrine or should we seek to acquire mastery? Clearly, Bian’s answer rests in the latter. Across the stories of mastery, we see the following patterns in the Zhuangzi’s picture of cultivation: freeing oneself from the confines of norms and words so that one can be attentive to the plurality of factors salient to the task at hand; cultivating awareness of how these factors can change in different instances (Cook Ding’s impressive mastery derives in part from how he is prepared for complications); nurturing the body to take on particular postures and positions for the task; and attuning the whole person responsively to engage with the task at hand. Here, we should revisit the common characterisation of Zhuangzi’s skill as “know-how” as opposed to “knowthat.”26 Does this distinction adequately capture the mastery of skill? It is not incorrect that skill in the Zhuangzi is more closely aligned with knowinghow than knowing-that, for the masters engage in practical activities where the former is critical. However, the masters in many of the stories are able to speak discursively – and in great detail – about how they have learnt their skill. Therefore, it not simply the case that they have know-how and do not possess know-that. Perhaps our characterisation of epistemology in the Zhuangzi needs to move beyond this basic distinction so as to emphasise the primarily performative aspect of mastery. If we were to do this, the fundamental focus of Zhuangzi’s epistemology would reside not in the possession of knowledge or skill but in its performance. This view is substantiated by the fact that the mastery stories do not involve teaching. Teaching – which for many of the other thinkers involves the transmission of information – is not how one learns a skill. This is because performance, not the possession of information, is required for mastery (Lai, “Skill Mastery, Cultivation and Spontaneity,” forthcoming). As we read each of the stories in the Zhuangzi, we should ask how each skill master learns his skill. In this light, there is a sense of irony when Confucius (as a character in the story of the swimmer) attempts, verbally, to impart the nature of the swimmer’s mastery to his followers. This is not to say that there are no teachers in the Zhuangzi (see

26

See, for example, Ivanhoe (1993; 650); Ivanhoe and Kjellberg (1996: 15). David Loy argues that Graham’s characterisation of Zhuangzi’s skill as “knowing how” (in Graham, Chuang Tzu, 2001: 186) is insufficient (Loy, 1996: 60, 66).

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Defoort 2012). However, where there are, as in the case of Liezi’s teacher Huzi, they do not teach in conventional ways. Across the stories, we find enviable aspects of skill-mastery. There are beautiful bell-stands to marvel at, expert handling of boats, skilful swimming in dangerous waters, the seeming effortlessness and enjoyment of carving in the space between the joints, efficacious action in catching cicadas and sensitivity of touch in chiseling wheels. In many of them, there is a sense of satisfaction as these masters recount the details of their cultivation, their effectiveness or their engagement and attunement with relevant aspects of the world as they undertake the activities. How might these stories be relevant to a contemporary readership? They may enrich readers’ understanding of engagement with the affairs of the world, focusing in particular on the place of spontaneous efficacy in dealing with changing situations. Could these stories, in a spirit of playfulness, be inviting readers directly to engage in critical self-reflection, as Wu Kuang-ming (1982) suggests? Or, perhaps, as Alan Fox reminds us, it is not clear in the Zhuangzi whether everyone should have these skills and insights, or whether they could have them, or even whether anyone could have them (1996: 70). While these are general comments about the cultivation and mastery stories, we must also be aware that there are important differences in the stories. Apart from the composite nature of the text, we have seen how some of the stories involve different figures, and draw from and address a range of existing ideas and themes. In this light, one way to understand the models of mastery is to see them as examples of ways to undertake tasks – or to live. They are diverse, and necessarily so, given what the stories convey. Variously, they emphasise the primacy of situation; attunement with things, tian and cosmic processes; flexibility; and choosing between alternatives – a family of Daoist views on skill, as Dan Robins proposes (2011). The emphasis on openness works at another level: because there is no predetermined commitment to a fixed end result, there is no anxiety associated with having to achieve that result. Of course, wheelwrights aim to construct workable wheels, and engravers to carve beautiful bell-stands. However, the fine products of their craftsmanship are a result of their mastery of their craft in working with the particular material that is given to them at that point; Cook Ding may have carved many oxen but he attends to each one, prepared for complicated situations. Zhuangzi’s masters are not complacent, but neither are they anxious – unlike those who seek affirmation of their views.

The Zhuangzi

In contrast to the skill masters, we see the anxiety of Confucius when he sees the swimmer jump into the cascades. When the swimmer emerges at the bank, Confucius expects to see a ghost – seeing according to how he has been trained to see – for he believed, according to his way, that no human could have navigated those waters. The swimmer, however, strolls along the bank nonchalantly, safe because he has no fixed dao, attuned and responsive to his surrounds.

The Implications of the Philosophy of the Zhuangzi The scepticism regarding language in the Zhuangzi points to an inescapable feature of human life that is manifest in language. There is a relentless vicious cycle in the propagation of prescriptive norms, coupled with their internalisation by individuals, who in turn teach and require others to abide by them. Zhuangzi is acutely aware of the insufficiencies of language as well as their powerful sway in shaping human consciousness. There is a deep paradox about language that emerges from Zhuangzi’s deliberations: the success of language as a tool for communication rests in part in its simplicity. Yet its simplicity can be a source of despair and frustration because it can foster inaccuracy and oversimplification. Word meanings are not static but always changing relative to their usage by individuals. The epistemological questions raised by Zhuangzi are fascinating especially when we understand their place in Chinese intellectual history. Where Confucius takes normative behavioural forms as part of the natural order, Xunzi suggests these are a device – a powerful tool – for regulating behaviour. Where the Mingjia thinkers seek to establish certainty through names, the later Mohists demonstrate the deep complexity of names in the structure of the Chinese language. Where the Daodejing concerns itself with language as a social phenomenon that misdirects people in their aims and pursuits, the Zhuangzi is critical not so much of the use of language but of the assumptions associated with its use. Zhuangzi did not engage in speculative epistemology for its own sake. As these debates progressed it became increasingly obvious that language, being the primary instrument of human communication, was an important political tool. From an ethical perspective, we see some awareness among the thinkers that it was difficult to justify a conception of morality grounded in a transcendent source independent of humankind. Yet the Warring States thinkers

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engaged with issues concerning spirituality and its broader cosmic implications. Their attention to the cultivation of spirituality incorporates deep concern about the integration of humanity with natural and cosmic phenomena. The discussion here has emphasised three philosophical points generated by Zhuangzi’s attention to mastery and its cultivation. The first is the focus on a world in which diversity is abundant and irreducible; the Later Mohists were also aware of this aspect of the world while the Zhuangzi also emphasised the inadequacy of language in capturing such diversity. The second point is that, in such a diverse world, the lines of causality are not always fully specifiable or predictable (this may have contributed to the lack of development of a systematic, scientific approach in Chinese philosophy). For Zhuangzi, it was important for individuals to know how to deal with the unpredictable and erratic aspects of phenomena in the world: every cicada is different but the good cicada-catcher knows how to catch them; every ox is different but the good butcher knows how to carve each one at the joints; pieces of wood are different but the good wood-carver knows how to work with each piece to carve exquisite items out of them. Such attunement to the world in order to be responsive to it is particularly important in dealing with a changing world, especially to turn a difficult situation to one’s advantage. This last point relates to how individuals are situated in a manifold and constantly changing world, and how they act and interact with others therein. Zhuangzi’s philosophy focuses on how different frames of reference can determine an individual’s thought and understanding. This raises important meta-philosophical questions about knowledge and the limits of enquiry and, indeed, about the aim of philosophy itself. Zhuangzi’s epistemological questions cast doubt on the picture of knowledge as primarily content based. According to a scholar of the modern period, Zhang Dongsun, “[in Chinese philosophy], knowledge is always a kind of interpretation rather than a copy or a representation” (Zhang 1995: 172ff., cited in Ames 1998b: 221, annotations by author). Zhuangzi’s responsiveness challenges the separation of knowledge qua content from understanding, and, as Ames notes, contests “the independence of the world known, from the knower” (1998b: 220). Zhuangzi’s questions traverse a number of fields – metaphysics, epistemology and ethics – as set out in Western philosophical enquiry. The text scrutinises conceptions of knowing, its place in life and how it is cultivated. Readers

The Zhuangzi

should draw on these insights, incorporating Zhuangzi’s responsiveness to events and changes in a diverse and plural world.

Suggestions for Further Reading Ames, Roger T. (ed.) (1998) Wandering at Ease in the Zhuangzi, Albany: State University of New York Press. Ames, Roger, and Nakajima, Takahiro (eds.) (2015) Zhuangzi and the Happy Fish, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Chuang-Tzu: The Inner Chapters (2001), trans. Angus C. Graham, Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu (1968), trans. Burton Watson, New York: Columbia University Press. Cook, Scott (ed.) (2013) Hiding the World in the World: Uneven Discourses on the Zhuangzi, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture, Albany: State University of New York Press. Fox, Alan (1996) “Reflex and Reflectivity: Wuwei in the Zhuangzi,” Asian Philosophy, 6.1: 59–72. Ivanhoe, Philip (1983) “Zhuangzi on Skepticism, Skill, and the Ineffable Dao,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 61.4: 639–54. Kohn, Livia (ed.) (2015) New Visions of the Zhuangzi, St. Petersburg, FL: Three Pines Press. Roth, Harold (1991) “Psychology and Self-Cultivation in Early Taoistic Thought,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 51: 599–650. Wu, Kuang-ming (1982) Chuang Tzu: World Philosopher at Play, American Academy of Religion Studies in Religion, no. 26, New York: Crossroad Publishing. Yearley, Lee (1996) “Zhuangzi’s Understanding of Skillfulness and the Ultimate Spiritual State,” in Philip Ivanhoe and Paul Kjellberg (eds.), Essays on Skepticism, Relativism and Ethics in the Zhuangzi, Albany: State University of New York Press, pp. 152–82. Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings with Selections from Traditional Commentaries (2009), trans. Brook Ziporyn, Indianapolis, IN: Hackett.

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The Yijing and Its Place in Chinese Philosophy

9

The Yijing (The Book of Changes) incorporates sections that date from around the ninth century BCE. The older layer of the text, known as the “Basic Text” (Ben Jing), has traditionally been associated with divination. This older layer comprises: 1. 64 symbols of six lines each, with the broken lines ( – – ) signifying yin, or unbroken lines ( — ) signifying yang. Each of these six-lined symbols, called hexagrams (gua), bears a name which refers to phenomena or elements in the natural world 2. A hexagram statement (guaci) for each hexagram 3. A line statement (yaoci) for each of the six lines of every hexagram. The broken line embodies the concept yin and represents a thematic cluster of characteristics associated with receptiveness and femininity, while the unbroken lines embody yang, representing a set of characteristics associated with firmness and masculinity. Each hexagram is a compilation of two trigrams (a combination of three broken or unbroken lines (see below), one set of three stacked on top of another). The eight trigrams are attributed to the Confucian culture hero, Fu Xi (c. 2800 BCE) (Legge, Yî King, 1899: 32).

Qian heaven

Dui

Li

Zhen

Xun

Kan

Gen

Kun

body of

fire,

thunder

wind,

moon,

hills

earth

water

Sun

wood

clouds, streams

In the Shang period (c. 1600–1046 BCE) preceding the Zhou, oracle bones (from bovine scapula) and turtle plastrons were used by the kings and their diviners to prognosticate on a wide range of subject matters including natural disasters, harvests, sickness, seasonal and climactic changes, 224

The Yijing

military strategy, sorties and trips and childbearing (Keightley 1978: 33–5).1 It seems that, during the Zhou, divination was used to decipher cosmic processes and to interpret their correlations with and implications for the human world (Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 1). In the use of the Yijing, the correct hexagram pertaining to a particular issue was identified and the prognosis made on the basis of the hexagram and line statements. Each hexagram name expresses its core meaning, together with a set of associated concepts. The terms associated with the hexagrams include, for example, Qian (heaven), Kun (earth), Pi (obstruction), Gu (corrupted or decayed), Fu (return), Heng (constancy), Huan (dispersion) and Sheng (ascendancy). Each of these terms should not be strictly linked with a single concept for two important reasons. The first is that each hexagram signifies a transitional state rather than a fixed idea. Entities undergoing any of the states may change at any point in time. The second reason is that each term or hexagram carries with it a cluster of associated meanings. For instance, the Qian hexagram denotes the power of heaven, which is firm, active, creative and light-giving; it can therefore have any or all of these meanings. In its associations with the human realm, it refers to the masculine sage-ruler whose rule parallels heaven’s rule. It is thus also associated with yang, the core set of characteristics associated with firmness, as opposed to yin, the core of receptiveness. In divination, the interpreter must understand the cluster of features associated with each of the hexagrams. The Yijing provides descriptions of the hexagrams, called statements or judgements (tuan), which are often terse and cryptic. For example, in the interpretation of the hexagram Heng (constancy, perseverance): Perseverance is such that prevalence is had, and that means that there will be no blame and that it is fitting to practice constancy here. It would be fitting should one set out to do something here. (Hexagram 32; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 335)

Interpretation is required to apply the relevant characteristic or set of characteristics, in this case, of Heng, to the particular issue in question. Needless 1

Archaeological evidence of divination practices dates from the Shang period, primarily excavated from Yinxu (in Henan province). Keightley suggests that, through time, a “Yijing-style” divination became more widely used, reducing the prognosticatory elements of divination so as to allow for greater human control in interpreting the outcomes (Keightley 1988: 385–88; see also Chang 1981; Eno 2009: 81–85, 89–91).

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to say, these divinatory judgements would have been fraught with randomness and superstition, even if we allow that an experienced interpreter is carefully observant about the world and makes informed guesses (Cheng 2003: 518–19). Towards the end of the Zhou dynasty (dubbed the “Eastern Zhou,” Dong Zhou, 770–256 BCE), there were additions to the older layers of the text. These additions were called the ten “Appendices” or “Ten Wings” (Shi Yi), which include commentaries on the existing layers of hexagrams, judgements on the hexagrams, and line statements (comments on each line of a hexagram), as well as reflections on why it is important to understand that change is imminent. All “Ten Wings” were believed to have been composed by Confucius, although modern scholarship is not convinced this is the case. Around the early Han period (c. 200 BCE), the “Ten Wings” were often called Yi Zhuan (Commentaries on the Yijing), and the entire text comprising the hexagrams, the early commentaries on the hexagrams as well as the later Zhou additions came to be known as Zhou Yi. During this same period, the Yijing, together with four other texts, the Book of Poetry (Shi Jing), Book of History (Shu Jing), Book of Rites (Li Ji) and Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu), were endorsed as the Five Classics (Wu Jing) of Confucianism. We have no evidence that, prior to the Han, “the Yijing was ever considered Confucian” (Rutt, Zhouyi, 2002: 35–6). The collection of texts during the Han under the rubric of Confucianism expressed, and further entrenched, Confucianism in Han society. The Zhou additions to the text were sub-divided into ten parts, comprising:  “Commentary on the Judgments” (Tuan Zhuan), a two-part commentary on the decisions associated with the hexagrams.  “Commentary on the Images” (Xiang Zhuan), a two-part commentary, the first of which focuses on the meanings of hexagrams and the second on the meanings of individual lines (line statements). The material of these two parts is essentially Confucian in spirit. Its passages uphold the Confucian ideal of a tripartite partnership between heaven, earth and humanity, using the Yijing to enlighten effective government and political order (Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 2–3).  “Commentary on the Words of the Text” (Wenyan), focusing on Qian (pure yang) and Kun (pure yin); the commentary on the other sixty-two

The Yijing

hexagrams is no longer extant. The Wenyan discusses a number of Confucian virtues in terms of yang and yin.  “Great Commentary” (Dazhuan) or “Commentary on the Appended Phrases” (Xici Zhuan), a two-part commentary dealing with the nature and meaning of the Yijing and remarks on judgements and line statements associated with particular hexagrams (Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 3). These two parts of the Yijing are the most philosophically interesting because they explain the place of the Yijing not primarily in terms of its use in divination but in articulating some of its underlying assumptions and rationale of this practice, focusing especially on the integrated nature of the human and cosmic realms (Peterson 1982).  “Commentary on the Trigrams” (Shuogua), which includes remarks on the eight trigrams, explaining their meanings in terms of the yin-yang and wuxing (five phases) concepts.  “Commentary on the Sequencing of the Hexagrams” (Xugua), which justifies the order of the hexagrams.  “Commentary on the Hexagrams in Irregular Order” (Zagua), a brief chapter

that

includes remarks

on the

meanings

of

individual

hexagrams, not in the order that they appear in the older portion of the text but most frequently in terms of contrastive pairs (for instance, Qian and Kun are discussed together). The last three chapters may have been written closer to the Han period. During the course of the Han, there was more reflective focus on the hexagrams and their use in divination.2 Overall, discussions in the Appendices focus on cosmological interpretations of the text, meaning that they took into account phenomena such as stars, seasons, waters and mountains, and correlated these with events in the human world. Hence, it is important to understand the Appendices of the Yijing, which are its most interesting and philosophical sections, against some of the major characteristics of Han

2

Graham believes that the later commentaries would have been written at the very latest by the early Han Dynasty (1986: 13). Yet, prior to the Han Dynasty, references to the Yijing and its ideas were sparse: the reference in the Confucian Analects (7:17) to the “Changes,” yi, is questionable; Xunzi ignores the Yijing when he lists the five classics; the concepts yin and yang were discussed but not within correlative frameworks; and wuxing (five phases) was mentioned in the Later Mohist Canons, the Sunzi and Han Fei Zi in a derogatory manner (ibid.: 9).

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intellectual debates. Before we move on to examine some of these characteristics, we need to consider a number of different versions of unearthed Yijing texts. These finds are interesting not only because their differences from the received text add more depth and complexity to our understanding of early Chinese ideas, approaches and assumptions. The differences in the elucidations of hexagrams and prognostications across the versions also suggest an interpretive, perhaps situationally based, approach to divination and prognostication. Given that divination applied to a wide range of areas in life, we wonder whether such situation-sensitivity might have been a pervasive feature of Chinese epistemology and the Chinese approach to life. We return to this question in a later section. Textual

Other versions of the Yijing have been unearthed, with one of

matters

them dated to around 300 BCE. Differences in the versions throw up a range of questions, discussed briefly below. The versions are the following:

Shanghai Museum Zhou Yi. A collection of bamboo slips, including the Zhou Yi, was purchased by the Shanghai Museum in 1994. Though their provenance is unclear, these slips have been dated to around 300 BCE. The Shanghai Museum Zhou Yi consists of hexagrams, hexagram statements and line statements. Only about a third of the text remains, covering material from thirtyfour different hexagrams. A distinctive character of this text is that each hexagram begins on a new strip, beginning with the hexagram (a symbol in red or black), the hexagram statement and finally the line statements (Shaughnessy, Unearthing the Changes, 2014: 39). That each hexagram begins on a new strip makes it impossible to tell the order of the hexagrams, as the original silk straps binding the strips had disintegrated. Speculation about the order of these strips, as well as the significance of the red and black symbols, which are not present in the received text, continue in scholarly debates (ibid.: 39–53). Some features of this text are philosophically significant. There are phonetic and graphical variations in characters, as we might expect,

The Yijing

between this and the received text. However, it seems that some of the variations may be explained with reference to the use of word families, as for instance, in relation to the hexagram jing, the character could mean a water well or a trap. This was sometimes based on homophonic substitution of characters, a practice that was quite widespread (ibid.: 59–65). Different homophones would of course yield quite different prognostications. At stake here is the issue of what might have guided the exegetical practices associated with interpretation of terms, especially in light of how fluid certain word meanings were. The answer to this may not be entirely clear, or, possibly, there may not have been well-formed exegetical principles (ibid.: 65). Nevertheless, the indeterminacy of particular characters raises an interesting epistemological question: was the use of language deliberately unfixed so as to allow for flexibility in the text’s prognostications for different situations encountered in life?3 Mawangdui Boshu Yijing. These silk manuscripts were in a tomb sealed in 168 BCE. Apart from the hexagrams and statements, there are five commentaries:    

3

“Yao” (“Essentials”) “Ersanzi wen” (“Two or Three Disciples Ask”) “Yi Zhi Yi” (“The Meaning of Yi”) “Mu He,” whose second part is sometimes named “Zhao Li” (Mu He and Zhao Li are disciples’ names)

Shaughnessy suggests a marked difference in the way the text was used in different periods: “I suspect the ancient diviners were already well aware that words are variable, changeable, and that in creating the Yi, the Changes, they sought to exploit this feature of their language. However, later in the process of the transmission of the Changes, different schools of interpretation, which is to say the scribes of different times and places, were able to choose only a single one of these meanings to understand any given character; moreover, based on the writing conventions of their times, they were able to use only a single “correct” character to write it” (Unearthing the Changes, 2014: 66).

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 The fifth commentary contains sections that overlap with the received text’s Xici Zhuan, but also has some different material (Rutt, Zhouyi, 2002: 36). The order of the hexagrams is different from that in the received text, which shows no identifiable rationale for its hexagram sequence. Here, however, the hexagrams are ordered according to the three lines (the trigram) at the top of the figure. The trigram figure at the top remains constant, while the bottom three lines change, yielding eight possible hexagram combinations. Then, the next set of eight hexagrams is set out for the next trigram, and so on (Shaughnessy, I Ching, 1997: 17–18, 28–9). This sequence is based on the order described in the “Commentary on the Trigrams” chapter, one of the received text’s “Ten Wings.” As with the Shanghai Museum Zhouyi, the Mawangdui text contains many graphical and phonetic variations in their characters, as compared with the received text. The Mawangdui text also provides evidence that at least some version of some of the “Ten Wings” was already in circulation in the early Han period. Notably, its sections of the Xici Zhuan have drawn scholarly attention to a number of issues: (1) the chronological priority of the Mawangdui as compared with the received Yijing, (2) the place and meaning of the Appendices in relation to the Basic Text and (3) the influence of the Appendices – whether they have Daoist or Confucian undertones – and how they might have been used in the context of the Han and beyond (ibid.: 22). Fuyang Han Jian. These bamboo slips, dated to 165 BCE, were discovered in Fuyang in 1977. They are severely deteriorated, with not a single complete hexagram set of statements. Apart from its fragmented “Basic Text” portions, the Fuyang text includes divination statements appended to each hexagram, covering a wide range of topics including illness, marriage, pregnancy, taking office, jailings, military actions, travelling, hunting and

The Yijing

fishing and the weather (Shaughnessy, Unearthing the Changes, 2014: 192). Versions of the Yijing featured in political life across the Han and after; there were various commentaries on the Yijing as well as revisions of the text (Rutt, Zhouyi, 2002: 38–43). Wang Bi (226–249) revised the text, incorporating the “Commentary on the Words of the Text” appendix with the hexagrams. This commentary, on the Confucian virtues associated with yin and yang, was interwoven with the older portions of the Yijing; Wang Bi attempted to “divest the book of numerological speculation that dominated Han dynasty Yi Jing scholarship” (Knechtges 2014: 1890). Much later, Zhu Xi (1130–1200), an influential neo-Confucian thinker, sought to “restore” the book to its original condition with the Appendices collated separately from the Basic Text section. Zhu Xi’s aim was to revive the Yijing as an oracle text (ibid.: 1892–3). These truncated snapshots of the Yijing’s versions and revisions are intended to draw our attention to the use of the text at a few points in Chinese intellectual history, keeping in mind that there would have been other versions through time (ibid.: 1877–96). As a text, the Yijing is distinctive in how it portrays the nexus between divination and political life. There is ongoing debate on the nature of the text and its various versions. For example, Richard Rutt suggests that the five commentaries of the Mawangdui version “all treat Zhouyi as a book of wisdom, not a divination manual” (Zhouyi, 2002: 36).

To place the Yijing in context, we take a brief look at its place in the lives of ordinary people during the late Warring States and Han periods. Most of the texts we investigate in this book capture the deliberations and interactions of those in positions of power and, to some extent, their lives. But do they also reflect the lives of the ordinary people? There are other divination texts, such as the mid-third-century BCE Gui Cang unearthed in Wangjiatai. The Gui Cang was found in a tomb that also contained other prognostication texts, a Daybook (Rishu) for selecting auspicious days for significant events, a diviner’s board, dice and bamboo stalks in a bamboo

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container, presumably for milfoil divination (Shaughnessy, Unearthing the Changes, 2014: 141–2). Like the Yijing, this text contains hexagram symbols and names, with prognostications. Contents of unearthed tombs from as early as the Shang period include mantic texts, astro-calendrical texts, daybooks, records of personal prognostication and instruments including oracle bone inscriptions, turtle plastrons, astronomical instruments, dice and Liubo boards.4 Studies by Mu-chou Poo reveal extensive details of prognostication practices undertaken by ordinary people concerning a wide range of matters within agricultural cycles and the life cycle, such as auspicious and inauspicious times for tailors to make new garments, for people to take baths and, especially, when to travel (Poo 1998: 123–56). Edward Shaughnessy notes that “examples from both the daybook [excavated from a Shuihudi tomb] and the [Mawangdui] Changes could be multiplied many times over. It seems clear that both texts derived from much the same sort of cultural context” (Unearthing the Changes, 2014: 11; annotations by author). What is this cultural context, and why were prognostication practices so widespread? How do these details contribute to our understanding of Chinese philosophy? Here, we should probe the assumptions that motivate such practices. Why is it important to prognosticate, for example, to work out whether one’s intended actions might create trouble or not (jiu/bujiu); be ominous (xiong), auspicious (ji), beneficial or not (li/buli); or cause disorder (luan) (ibid.: 9–10)? Might these practices arise from a lack of confidence or conviction about one’s plans and deliberations? For example, in the Analects, there are concerns about perplexity (huo) in the face of alternatives, with Confucius himself having said to overcome such anxiety only at forty (2.4; see also 12.10; 14.28). It is likely that early Chinese divination practices were partly fuelled by the belief that change is imminent and therefore one can never be certain that the world is a stable place.5 In philosophical terms, the

4

See Loewe 1986; Kalinowski 1998–9; Lewis 2006: 273–84; Raphals 2010; 2013: 40–6, 128–46.

5

Indeed, this belief contributes to the ongoing interpretation of the various versions of the text by contemporary scholars: “Scholars who attempt to recover the original meaning of the Changes as a divination manual are less troubled by the apparent contradictions of the determinations. They tend to regard these terms as prognostications produced at different times by different diviners, some of whom may have interpreted the text of the Changes – and even the nature of divination – differently” (Shaughnessy, Unearthing the Changes, 2014: xviii).

The Yijing

metaphysical view of the world, as the early Chinese saw it, was underpinned by change. Elements that contribute to this worldview include belief in the following:  metaphysical plurality rather than monism (e.g. as expressed in the sixtyfour hexagrams)  interdependence rather than independence (most clearly expressed in the yin-yang polarity)  dynamism (expressed in the hexagram sequences where one is generated by the previous one and, in turn, generates the next). In the sections to follow, we explore these elements as they are embedded in the philosophy of the Yijing. In particular, we will examine the Appendices of the Yijing, which are philosophically interesting because they reflect on the rationale for divination, expressing a belief in interdependence, resonance, dynamism and transformation. In the next two sections, we examine two important features of thinking in the Han: the use of the method of synthesis and the theme of correlative thinking. Understanding these facets of Han thinking will help us situate the ideas in the Yijing.

Synthesis and the Intellectual Foundations of Empire The downfall of the Qin dynasty was brought about by a revolt against Qin Legalist rule (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 228). After defeating his rivals, Liu Bang (256–195 BCE), the son of a peasant, who held office under Qin rule, set up social, intellectual and political structures to maintain his grip on the vast empire set up by Qin Shihuang. Intellectual resources were required for two primary functions: to justify the emperor’s rule and to guide the emperor in his control over the empire. As a result, texts commissioned by or associated with the courts, including commentaries, reflect the concerns of those in power and the views of their advisers. Authors of these texts drew from an eclectic mix of sources, including doctrines from different thinkers and their traditions, which they grouped as “jia” (lit., family, often translated as “school”). They set about consolidating ideas articulated in the past, but they would typically also re-create and reposition doctrines and traditions. They created syntheses of existing views, drawing from what we now see as a range of disciplines: cosmology, astronomy, politics, society and its institutions, ethics, health and personal well-being.

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Two significant histories of the period, the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) by Sima Tan and the History of the Former Han (Qian Hanshu, also known as the Hanshu), a project begun by Ban Biao (3–54 CE), retold the past in order to learn from its lessons. These histories articulated a sense of respect for the past and its traditions; they established the purpose and style of historical writing in ancient China and they helped legitimise the emperor’s rule. These “accounts” of history were partly historical and mostly didactic, using events of the past to discuss difficult issues, ethical paradigms and cases of moral decrepitude. Burton Watson expresses this twofold function of historical writing, of which the Shiji and Hanshu are paradigmatic examples: The function of history . . . is twofold: to impart tradition and to provide edifying moral examples as embodied in the classics. These two traditions, one recording the words and deeds of history, the other illustrating moral principles through historical incidents, run through all Chinese historiography. (1999: 368)

Naturally, the compilation of ideas to justify the rule of particular emperors, and to provide intellectual resources for the emperor, did not suddenly begin with the Han. The Lüshi Chunqiu, written prior to the Han (at around 239 BCE), synthesised elements from a range of doctrines, including those aligned with the Confucian, Mohist, Legalist and Daoist traditions.6 It has therefore been described as a miscellany of doctrinal views (zajia 雜家) (Knoblock and Riegel, Annals, 2000: 43). While the Lüshi Chunqiu borrows from different traditions, it generally avoids arguments for or against any one of them. The most comprehensive compendium of its time, it brought together a vast number of topics including beliefs and customs, the administration of government, moral cultivation, technical knowledge, agriculture and music. The text expounds views and ideals but, just as important, contains many “case studies” of exemplary action (and of some that are not as exemplary), presumably intended to educate the young man who

6

The text bears the name of Lü Buwei (c. 291BCE–235 BCE), Prime Minister of the Qin state from 250 to 235 BCE, who commissioned it. Although scholarly opinion generally agrees that the text was completed before Qin unification (221 BCE), there is some uncertainty regarding the date of the completion of the text and the dating of its sections. In light of these and other factors, John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel suggest that the extant text is incomplete with respect to the design that Lü originally had in mind for the book (Annals, 2000: 32).

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would later become the Qin emperor. A prominent theme of this text is appropriate and timely action (Sellman 2002; Hetherington and Lai 2015).7 In the early Han, the courts tended to favour Daoism as the doctrine that would provide a framework for a comprehensive philosophy. While it would be naïve to draw clear lines of differentiation between sets of ideas as if they were discrete, we may nevertheless speak of broad tendencies; the Shiji and Huainanzi are examples of earlier Han texts that promote Daoist ideas.8 The success of Daoism in the early Han was due to a range of reasons. For example, Emperor Jing (r. 157–141 BCE) and Emperor Wu (r. 141–87 BCE) were captivated by what Huang-Lao ideology had to offer, including especially the possibility of superhuman powers offered by health practitioners, diviners and magicians. Practitioners of magical feats, fangshi, also promoted immortality elixirs (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 293; see Puett 2002). Textual

Early in the Han, texts outlined and debated the faults of Qin,

matters

diagnosing the nature of its problems and suggesting how these might be avoided in the future. The significant texts include New Discourses (Xinyu), attributed to Lu Jia (?–170 BCE), and New Writings (Xinshu), by Jia Yi (201 BCE–c. 168 BCE), of

7

This practice of synthesising and learning from the past persisted through the Han and after. The Huainanzi, compiled for Liu An (c. 180–122 BCE), the king of Huainan, quotes extensively from the Zhuangzi, Laozi, Han Feizi and the Lüshi Chunqiu, commenting on their passages. In the Huainanzi, ideas are handled in a syncretic manner, integrating conflicting views (for instance, of Zhuangzi and Han Fei) so that they complement each other. The text promotes a view that aligns closely with Daoist ideals (Major et al., Huainanzi, 2010). Like the Huainanzi, the Taixuanjing by Yang Xiong (53 BCE–18 CE) brings together strands of Daoist and Confucian thought as well as ideas from the Yijing to articulate the place of humanity within the cosmos.

8

The preference for Daoism over Confucianism had carried over from the Qin dynasty. Recall, for instance, the attempts of Legalist thinkers such as Shen Buhai and Han Fei to synthesise elements of Daoist philosophy in their discussions of the ruler’s strategy. In the Shiji, Sima Tan classified existing doctrines into six families (jia), categorising each of five doctrines – the Yin-Yang jia, Ru-jia (Confucians), Mo-jia (Mohists), Fa-jia (Legalists) and Ming-jia (Disputers concerned with names) – as deficient in some respect. The sixth, the Daoist (Dao-jia), is the culminating comprehensive vision. Sima Tan argues that this view “is grounded in the overall harmonies of the Yin-Yang school, selects the best from the Ru and Mohists, [and] picks out the essentials of the Schools of Names and Law” (Sima Tan, Shiji 130, cited in Graham 1989: 379).

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which “The Faults of Qin” (Guo Qin Lun) section sets out the mistakes of the past so as to learn from them (Kwok 1999a; 1999b). Both Lu Jia and Jia Yi were court officials in the Han. In their deliberations, they drew on classical Confucian ideas to emphasise the centrality of the ruler’s cultivation and ritual practice, brought together in an integrated conception of the human and natural orders. These thinkers were aware of the need to adapt “old” ideas to the new context – as indicated in the titles of their works. The Shuo Yuan, compiled by Liu Xiang (79 BCE–8 BCE), an imperial librarian, is a collection of historical accounts that capture the complicated position of the advisers from a Confucian perspective, who had to persuade (shuo) rulers to their cause. Liu Xiang’s Zhanguoce purports to chronicle tumultuous scenarios in history in the absence of Confucian principles. An important text of this period, the Lienü Zhuan, captures the lives of exemplary women within the Confucian worldview of the time (Kinney, Exemplary Women, 2014). This text is attributed to Liu Xiang.

The didactic histories and compendiums were not the only kind of texts produced during the Han. With many thinkers drawing from a wide range of traditions and synthesising ideas, it would have been important for them to have some basic shared understanding of the criteria for appraising, selecting and rejecting ideas. The discussion of such methods by Wang Chong (27–97 CE) in his Lunheng makes this work a distinctive one. The Lunheng is best known for its discussions of the physical and material world, and interest in it often focuses on its contribution to science in China (McLeod 2007: 593, n. 1). Alexus McLeod suggests that the key parameters of critical inquiry in this text are wen (to question) and nan (to challenge): one asks questions to clarify ideas or doctrines, and, if these are insufficiently clear or if they are faulty, they ought to be challenged (ibid.: 588).9 In a chapter, “Wen Kong” (“Asking Confucius”), certain passages in the Analects are held up for scrutiny, giving the impression that ideas associated with Confucius are being challenged. While the text may be read as a doctrinal 9

McLeod discusses the connection between wen and nan in detail, demonstrating how, in the text, the relation is not always clear (2007: 586–91).

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work, its significance is more pronounced if we understand it as a treatise on critical methodology. The text highlights how superstitious or unquestioned beliefs arise as a result of the failure of common people, as well as those who held official positions, to exercise wen and nan. Towards the latter half of the Han, more texts of a Confucian persuasion were produced, such as the Chunqiu Fanlu (Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn Annals). In this text, Dong Zhongshu (c. 195 BCE–c. 115 BCE) and others drew concordances between the moral order of heaven and the transformative, pivotal rule of the sage.10 While debate between thinkers of different persuasions continued, the later Han court sought to implement Confucianism as the state ideology (Nylan 1999; Loewe 2011). In 136 BCE, official posts were created for literati known as the “Erudites of the Five Classics,” and in 124 BCE an Imperial College was set up to train future officials in these classics (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 294).11 The impact of the consolidation of intellectual resources during this period cannot be underestimated: The contribution of the Han dynasty in setting the formal structures of intellectual growth is enormous: the proliferation of official institutions such as imperial libraries and court bureaucracies, the first attempts to compile comprehensive histories, the editing and designation of a literary canon and the beginnings of the commentarial tradition in “the study of the classics” jingxue 經學, the establishment of the long-lived examination system that provided China with its government officials until its final abolition in 1905, the ascendancy of Confucianism as a state ideology which would shape the

10

The Chunqiu Fanlu outlined correspondences between heaven and humanity using numerological, anatomical and psychological details. It proposed a vision of the Confucian triad of heaven, earth and humanity, explicating the trinity in terms of yin-yang, qi (vitality, energies) and Daoist passivity (Chunqiu Fanlu (excerpts); trans. Queen 1999: 295–310). The triadic relationship between heaven, earth and humanity is a fundamental idea in a number of Confucian texts of the Warring States period, including the Xiao Jing (Book of Filial Piety) and the Daxue (Great Learning). It became a central theme in the Neo-Confucianism doctrine of Wang Yangming (1472–1529).

11

The Han Confucian literati became “the teachers and guardians of the ancient literature, originally not exclusively Confucian but embracing the best in China’s literary heritage . . . Yet once established as the state teaching, with the examination system and the imperial college to ensure its continuance, it became almost a fixture of the imperial system itself” (ibid.: 317–18).

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content of the examination curriculum throughout the life of the empire, and so on. (Lau and Ames, Yuan Dao, 1998: 9)

Correlative Thinking Correlative thinking was a particular feature of philosophy during the Han. Quite a few texts from this period expressed their worldviews based on a correlative model; they understood phenomena in the human world in terms of their concordances and connections with cosmic processes and phenomena. Connections were made between planetary movements, affairs of heaven and earth, meteorological conditions, political affairs, agricultural yields, the welfare of humankind and individual human health. Not only did these expansive pictures help to situate the ruler within an integrated human-cosmic context, it also connected the divine rule of heaven in the cosmological sphere with the inspired statesmanship of the ruler in the socio-political realm. Many Han authors interpreted history as part of the process of the unfolding world, as explained by Burton Watson: “Han scholars, influenced by yin-yang and Five Phases theories, conceived of history as a cyclical succession of eras proceeding in a fixed order. Not only this succession but all of history was a manifestation of the universal process of birth, growth, decay, and rebirth, constantly coming to realization in the course of human events” (1999: 368). Correlations were not simply comparisons; they focused on parallel events or chains of events, often across different domains of life. John Henderson describes the reasoning processes:12 Correlative thinking draws systematic correspondences among various orders of reality or realms of the cosmos, such as the human body, the body politic, and the heavenly bodies. It assumes that these related orders are homologous, that they correspond with one another in number, in structure, in kind, or in some other basic respect. (Henderson 2003: 187)

Some Han thinkers posited resonances, a particular type of correlation – a causal one – whereby one or both correlates act(s) in response to the other. The term ganying captures the idea of resonance, and it may be described in 12

The origins of correlative thinking are debatable. There were probably earlier and simpler correlations, perhaps in a farmer’s almanac, describing plants, animals and climactic conditions of each month (Henderson 1984: 21).

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the following way: “[t]hings of the same category but in different cosmic realms [are] supposed to affect one another by virtue of a mutual sympathy, to resonate like properly attuned pitchpipes” (Henderson 1984: 20).13 The idea of resonance was used, for example, in the interpretation of natural disasters as portents of crises in the socio-political realm and, conversely, of disturbances in the natural order (involving, e.g. stars and planets, winds and rains and birds and insects) as a result of misgovernment (ibid.: 190). If correlations are ignored, consequences can reverberate across domains. For instance, the Book of Documents states, “If throughout the year, the month, the day, the seasonableness is interrupted, the various kinds of grain do not become matured; the operations of government are dark and unwise; heroic men are reduced to obscurity; and in the families of the people there is no repose” (Hong Fan; trans. Legge, Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 2: 341–2). Three ideas that operated within the framework of correlative thinking were yin-yang, wuxing and qi. Yin-yang and wuxing were referred to independently and sometimes together; the two concepts captured the dynamism that underlies correlative relationships. Qi was used with a variety of meanings in relation to the idea of resonance. We explore the three terms before returning to consider how correlative thinking was expressed in discussions of the natural, religious and human worlds.

Yin-yang, Wuxing and Qi It was only around the Han period that yin-yang had the connotation of dynamism. In earlier in texts such as the Book of Poetry, it expressed complementarity but not dynamism. For example, yin is paired with rain, and yang with the sun that dries the dew.14 In another poem, yin and yang denote the complementary shady and sunny sides of a mountain.15 Even in the Daodejing, where yin-yang is mentioned (chapter 42), there is no explicit reference to 13

Henderson suggests that this concept of resonance is associated with the experience of music and musical instruments where, for instance, a vibrating lute string will generate a response from a sympathetic string on another lute that is nearby. In addition, there are musical “numbers,” such as the five tones, eight voices and twelve pitchpipes, that

14

are applied to health and weather changes (Henderson 2003: 189–90). Guofeng section, Beifeng; trans. Legge,Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 4: 55; Xiao Ya section, Baihua; ibid.: 276, respectively.

15

Da Ya section, Sheng Min; ibid.: 488.

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a dynamic cosmological framework (Schwartz 1985: 355). In the Han, yin-yang was conceived of as an alternating pattern which explained change. The use of numerological categories such as wuxing (five elements, five phases) in explanatory schemes also developed during the Han. Prior to this, numbers were used in classification or to suggest simple correspondences as, for example, with reference to the four seasons, five tastes, five colours, five tones, six illnesses and six qi.16 The notion of five elements may have developed from the idea of the five materials (wucai), mentioned twice in the Zuo Zhuan.17 During the Han period, wuxing – wood, fire, earth, metal and water – referred to the defining qualities of a particular element rather than the element itself (Henderson 2003: 191). Wuxing was also sometimes conceived of in phases, for example, in the Huainanzi, where each elemental phase proceeds to the next in time-bound, cyclical fashion; this sense of wuxing is most aptly captured by the translation “five phases” rather than “five elements” (Graham 1986: 77). The thinker Zou Yan (c. 305 BCE–c. 240 BCE) is widely regarded as the originator of yin-yang and wuxing theory within a framework of cosmological concordances.18 Qi had numerous meanings in early Chinese philosophy, including energy, spirit, vitality, energies, temperature, (a person’s) temperament and essence. In its earliest usage, qi referred to “the mists, the fogs, and moving forms of clouds that are what we see of the atmosphere” (Sivin, in Henderson 2003: 190). In the Zuo Zhuan, qi refers to aspects of the climate: shade, sunshine, wind, rain, dark and light are the six qi of heaven.19 Examples of qi within the framework of correlative cosmology during the Han include the following:

16

In the Zuo Zhuan, a pre-Han text. Zhao Gong 1.8, in Graham 1986: 71.

17

Xiang Gong 27.2, Zhao Gong 11.4, in Graham 1986: 74, n. 52. These five materials are “the

18

resources provided by Earth for human labour” (ibid.: 77). Fung 1952: 159–63. Sima Tan in the Shiji names him as the founder of the Yin-Yang school and attributes to him a treatise on the five virtues or powers (wude): “Now among his books there is an Ends and Beginnings of the Five Virtues” (cited in Sivin 1995b: 11). Unfortunately, the treatise is no longer extant. The issue of Zou Yan’s status as a thinker of some capacity is debated. Graham argues that Zou Yan’s fame rides on his ability to persuade the powers that be to accept his views (1986: 11–13). Graham’s remarks run against the commonly held estimate of Zou Yan. Sivin argues that Zou Yan’s ideas had

19

an important impact on Chinese intellectual history (Sivin 1995b: 8). Zuo Zhuan 1.8, in Graham 1986: 71. Graham notes that, outside of cosmological discussions, qi featured in discussions of human health, relating to the breath and energies of the body, and was frequently paired with blood (in the circulatory system) (1986: 71–2).

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 Qi denoted the medium by which resonances were conducted.  Qi has the capacity to transform into various states, for instance, congealing to form solids or dispersing to make up fogs and mists.  Two entities may resonate because they share the same qi.20  Qi was critical to health. For instance, in the Guanzi’s “Inner Enterprise” (neiye) chapter, there are descriptions of Daoist meditation techniques in light of qi, shen (life-spirit) and essence (jing) (Roth 1999).21

The Natural, Religious and Human Worlds Discussions about the administration of the state and the legitimacy of the ruler’s power were often expressed in terms of correlations between the natural and human worlds. These correlations often incorporated religious overtones, augmenting the emperor’s power and status by claiming divine right. 22 In what follows, we examine a number of texts that draw correlative connections between heaven, the natural world and the ruler. The pre-Han Lüshi Chunqiu sets out correspondences between various realms.23 The ruler is the ultimate authority, but administration is the task of his officials. Through moral cultivation, the ruler effectively manages the interdependent relationship between himself and his officials, taking charge of “all-under-heaven” (tianxia). The Lüshi Chunqiu adapts the theme of “heaven 20

John Major notes that “action at a distance between two resonating entities might be facilitated not only by vibrations emitted through the medium of the qi connecting them, but also because they are composed of the same general type of qi” (Major, cited in Henderson 2003: 190).

21

The Guanzi was named after the statesman Guan Zhong, although it was actually compiled and edited over two centuries, reaching its final form in the first century BCE. It had at various points been classified as Legalist, and then as Daoist (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 256–7).

22

Michael Puett suggests that, in many of the Han texts, the emperor’s charisma, capabilities and position were central to “self-divinization” claims about the emperor’s proper relationship to the spirit world (Puett 2002: 28). Han emperors undertook sacrificial and ritual practices to forge links between the human, natural and religious domains. According to Puett, because the correlative model posited links between individuals and the phenomenal world, it rendered the spirit world redundant (2002: 28–9). Puett’s thesis challenges influential sinological interpretations, including Granet’s (1934), that a correlative cosmological framework arose after this period in China.

23

Graham states that the Lüshi Chunqiu is possibly the “earliest firmly dated philosophical text to lay out schemes of correspondences” (Graham 1986: 13).

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is round and earth is square” in its notion of ideal kingship, a familiar theme during the third century BCE that is also discussed in the Yijing.24 The Lüshi Chunqiu drew on observations of natural events and applied them metaphorically to discussions about good government. The interdependence between heaven and earth, one being round and the other square, was expressed in terms of yang (of heaven) and yin (of earth). Yang and yin in turn were associated with complementary opposites such as creative and receptive, comprehensive and bounded, ruler and official. “The Round Way” in the Lüshi Chunqiu connects the paradigmatic way (dao) of heaven with the ideal leadership of the sage, which is interdependent with the administration of his bureaucracy: The Way of Heaven is round; the way of Earth is square. The sage kings took this as their model, basing on it [the distinction between] above and below. How do we explain the roundness of Heaven? The essential qi alternately moves up and down, completing a cycle and beginning again, delayed by nothing; that is why we speak of the way of Heaven as round. How do we explain the squareness of Earth? The ten thousand things are distinct in category and shape. Each has its separate responsibility [as an official does], and cannot carry out that of another; that is why one speaks of the way of Earth as square. When the ruler grasps the round and his ministers keep to the square, so that round and square are not interchanged, his state prospers. (trans. Sivin 1999a: 239)

As a text of encyclopaedic proportions, the Lüshi Chunqiu also applies qi to human health: “Human beings have nine orifices. If [the qi] abides in a single one, eight will be depleted. If eight are depleted for a very long time, the body will die . . . stagnation results in failure. That is the Round Way” (“The Round Way”; ibid.: 239–40). The Huainanzi, also a pre-Han text, brings together the Daoist themes of quiescence (jing) and wuwei, and the Confucian theme of human nature (xing), to enlighten discussions on the rule of the sage. The cultivated sage is quiescent yet responsive when he needs to be (“Yuan Dao”; Lau and Ames,

24

According to Nathan Sivin, this theme probably had naturalistic origins, derived from measurements in astronomy. More specifically, it “probably originated in the astronomer’s difference between measuring locations in the sky in degrees radiating from the North Pole and those on Earth in linear distances north and south, east and west” (1999a: 238; see also Major 1993: 32–5).

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Yuan Dao, 1998: 71). In the “Tian Wen Xun” chapter (“Treatise on the Patterns of Heaven”), the text refers to numerological and calendrical details, including, for instance, planetary movements, solstices, seasons and equinoxes, lunar lodges and omens (Major 1993: 55–139), to emphasise the reciprocity of humanity and heaven. These correspondences at times appear simplistic, for example, where it is said that “Heaven has twelve months, to regulate the 360 days, Man also has twelve joints, to regulate the 360 bones” (“Tian Wen Xun” 41; trans. Major 1993: 135). The Chunqiu Fanlu focuses on a dual-pronged approach to the “health” of the state and that of the human body, perhaps implicitly suggesting that the principles underlying good health are analogous to those for running the state: The purest vital force (qi) is vital essence. The purest men are worthies. Those who regulate their bodies consider the accumulation of vital essence to be a treasure. Those who regulate the state consider the accumulation of worthy men to be the Way. The body takes the mind-and-heart as the foundation. The state takes the ruler as the master . . . Only when the body is free from pain can it achieve tranquillity. Only when the numerous offices each obtain their proper place can the state achieve security. (trans. Queen 1999: 297)

The twin issues of political life and health are discussed extensively in a set of three texts: the Huangdi Neijing: Basic Questions (Huangdi Neijing Suwen), the Divine Pivot (Huangdi Neijing Ling Shu) and the Grand Basis (Huangdi Neijing Taisu) (Sivin 1999b: 273–8). The texts discuss topics that cut across what we now think of as belonging to the disciplines of philosophy, medicine and politics. They draw correspondences between the cosmic order and individual well-being. In some sections of these texts, the Yellow Emperor, Huangdi, asks questions, with his minister providing the answers. The minister takes on dual roles, that of a master instructing his disciple and a minister advising his sovereign. This form of dialogue between the emperor and his minister “mirrors the political ideals of the elite in its master image of the emperor as a man of knowledge concerned not with running a government but with embodying the link between the cosmic order and the individual” (ibid.: 274).

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Textual

Correlative thinking figured prominently in Confucian texts of

matters

the Han period, especially in discussions of the ruler’s moral cultivation. We summarise some of the discussions here, demonstrating how some key ideas were expressed in some of the Confucian texts. The Chunqiu Fanlu associated with Dong Zhongshu discusses correlations between the emperor’s emotions and the seasons and temperatures: “The master’s love, hate, happiness, and anger are tantamount to Heaven’s spring, summer, autumn and winter, which, possessing warmth, coolness, cold, and heat, thereby develop, transform, and complete their tasks” (11: 9a–12a; trans. Queen 1999: 301). Ban Gu (32–92) recorded a set of discussions held at the court of the emperor Zhang (r. 75–88 CE), entitled Bohu Tong (Discourses of the White Tiger Hall). In these discussions, there were elaborate accounts of correspondences between heaven and earth, court protocols, human nature, human relationships and wuxing. This text is an important example of how Confucianism became “codified” through the patronage of the Han court (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 344). In its chapter “Three Bonds and Six Ties” (“Sangang Liuji”), fundamental patterns for relationships are set out, focusing especially on the three bonds: ruler and minister, parent and child and husband and wife. The “mainstays” are the fundamental partner in each of the three bonds, that is, the ruler, the parent and the husband, respectively. In an analogy, the proper relationship between ruler and minister parallels the relation between the sun and the moon: “ruler and minister model themselves on Heaven, as in the going and coming of the sun and moon, following the workings of Heaven” (ibid.: 346). The text Zhonglun (Balanced Discourses) by Xu Gan (170–217 CE) made a distinctive contribution to discussions on the cultivation and conduct of a Confucian ruler. Xu Gan drew a close alignment between the terms actuality (shi) and name (ming), setting out a path for cultivation in line with earlier notions of Confucian rectification of names. When names did not match actualities, there were threatening consequences: an entity’s nature (xing) would be damaged (Makeham 2003).

The Yijing

From a Confucian point of view, such injury could not be easily quarantined; the fundamental mismatch between names and actualities could lead to socio-political collapse. Through engagement in proper ritual practice and self-cultivation processes, the ruler develops his nature and, in that way, rightly holds sway over the people. Other defining texts of Confucianism include the Xiao Jing (Book of Filial Piety) and the Li Ji (Book of Rites), revised and completed during the later Han (25–220 CE). The Xiao Jing emphasised the primacy of filial piety in all strata of life, from the emperor to the common people, and the emperor’s responsibilities to the people.25 It also brought together ethical and spiritual concerns by drawing a continuity between the living and the dead, linking together the creative powers of heaven, earth and the human (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 325–9). The Li Ji articulates the moral significance of rites in spiritual, courtly and ordinary dimensions of life. The book provides a comprehensive vision of a unified world order brought about by the inner moral transformations of the sage and the people. One of its chapters, the “Yueling” (“Monthly Ordinances”), outlines the activities of the emperor according to seasonal cycles, paying particular attention to ritual and prohibitions. For each of the twelve lunar months, the text lists the relevant spirits, animal, musical note, pitch-tube, number, taste, smell, sacrifice and human organ. For each month, there is also a list of the appropriate hall, raiment, accessories and diet of the king, the rituals he should attend to, and prohibitions and warnings, for example, that war should not be undertaken in one particular month (Legge, Chinese Classics, 1991, vol. 3: 92–131). Two of the Li Ji’s sections, the Great Learning (Daxue) and the Doctrine of the Mean (Zhong Yong), received more prominence when they were classified during the Song period by Zhu Xi as

25

The Book of Filial Piety was popular right through to pre-modern East Asia, especially during the Tokugawa period (1603–1868) in Japan (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 325–6).

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two of the Confucian Four Books (Si Shu). These two short treatises embody a distinctively Confucian vision of benevolent government whose leadership has far-reaching effects, transforming the people and realising the Way of Heaven. Additionally, the Kongzi Jiayu (Sayings of the Confucius Group) and the Kongzi Congzi (Kong Masters’ Anthology) were compiled by Wang Su (195–256 CE), supposedly comprising sayings that had not been included in the Analects. Finally, we must mention He Yan’s (195–249 CE) commentary on the Analects, the Lunyu Jijie (Collected Explanations of the Analects), which continues to shape our understanding of the text and its associated traditions up until the present (McLeod 2015: 363).

Notwithstanding the didactic tone in some of the Han texts about the failure to understand correlations or to respond in a way that appropriately recognises correlative relationships, there were problems with the interpretations of correlations. For instance, The imperial Han dynasty changed its patron phase no less than four times. On two of these occasions, the dynasty adopted a different color of ritual paraphernalia, including court vestments of a different color, and a calendar beginning in a different month, both of which had to correspond to the newly inaugurated phase. (Henderson 2003: 192)

These are some of the difficulties associated with a system that was very much subject to interpretation and therefore open to abuse. But, conversely, if we were to pin down the specificities of the correlations, the entire system would become a dreary rule-book, leaving little to the imagination. Graham highlights this difficulty using the example of yin-yang within a cosmological scheme. When the correlates of yin and yang are clearly specified (e.g. yin with female, cold, water, square, descending; and yang with male, hot, fire, round, ascending), yin-yang loses its significance as a spontaneous, resonant conceptual framework within which to interpret events: With the specifying of the respects [of yin and yang], correlative thinking becomes explicit; it is no longer just the spontaneous formation of a Gestalt . . . The great interest of such system-building . . . is that it is the only kind of thinking which makes this try at bringing everything submerged to the

The Yijing

surface. The result is a coherent but of course very simplified scheme . . . But once imprisoned in formulae correlative thinking loses its capacity for fine discriminations and assimilations. (1986: 34)

The issue of correlations was a complicated one for cosmologists of the Han period, for they had to strike a balance between mechanically mapping the correlations, on the one hand, and leaving scope for interpretation, on the other. Articulating the correlative relationships was an especially important issue for the Yijing as a divination manual, given that each hexagram reading had potentially limitless applications. In the next section, we turn our attention to the views of the Yijing.

The Spirit of the Yijing The Appendices of the Yijing reflect on a number of topics raised in the Basic Text and its use as a manual for divination. These issues include the rationale for divination, composition of the symbols, interpretation of the symbols, cosmological underpinnings of divination, and the place of individual and collective human action in the transformation of society. Neither the Basic Text nor the Appendices section is a systematic philosophical treatise. However, the reflections in the Appendices are built on metaphysical, epistemology and ethical assumptions about the world. The analysis in this section will focus on the more philosophically significant chapters in the appendices, the Xici zhuan (Great Commentary) and the Shuogua (Commentary on the Trigrams). We cover six themes in the Yijing.

The Primacy of Observation Chinese thought places emphasis on observations of the concrete, phenomenal world as the basis of reflection. As we have seen, careful observation of one’s world was prominent in the pre-Qin debates. These thinkers were curious about how best to order their world; the solutions to their questions required close attention to the detail of the world so as to understand the natural, political and social environments as well as the relations between beings, entities and forces. In the Yijing, we find explicit acknowledgement of the importance of observation, giving it a foundational role in its worldview:

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When in ancient times Lord Bao Xi ruled the world as sovereign, he looked upward and observed [guan] the images in heaven and looked onward and observed [guan] the models that the earth provided. He observed the patterns on birds and beasts and what things were suitable for the land. Nearby, adopting them from his own person, and afar, adopting them from other things, he thereupon made the eight trigrams in order to become thoroughly conversant with the virtues inherent in the numinous26 and the bright and to classify the myriad things in terms of their true, innate natures. (Xici zhuan 2.2; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 77; annotations by author)

Lord Bao Xi’s observations are comprehensive, covering both cosmic and human realms and their correspondences. Chung-ying Cheng highlights the primacy of observation in the text, calling it “the observational origins of the Yijing” (2003: 517–24). This passage reveals another important feature of the philosophical commitment of the Yijing, that is, that attentiveness to the plurality in the world helps to heighten a person’s awareness of the sources and triggers of change. Underlying this belief is a broad cosmic vision of all things that may impact on the self and of how the self, in turn, may impact on others. Given this conception of self, it is critical for a person to understand his or her place in an environment that has many interconnected dimensions and within which there is a rich diversity of beings and entities.

A Holistic, All-Encompassing Perspective The tendency of Chinese philosophy to take a holistic perspective is articulated in different conceptions of the “whole.” The early Confucians focused on human society, Mohists on a utilitarian concern for the benefit of all, and Daoists on the overarching perspective of dao. The Yijing similarly has a holistic focus, in one of its passages describing dao in terms of an encompassing whole in which events and processes are situated: The Changes deals with the way things start up and how matters reach completion and represents the Dao that envelops the entire world. If one puts 26

The “numinous” is Lynn’s translation of the term shen, which has a sense of the transcendental. The Yijing emphasises a person’s ability to understand the numinous realm. In some cases, sages are said to have numinous power to apply the wisdom of the Yijing in alignment with the numinous realm of heaven and earth (refer to Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 70, n. 11).

The Yijing

it like this, nothing more can be said about it. Therefore the sages use it to penetrate the aspirations of all the people in the world, to settle the great affairs of the world, and to resolve all doubtful matters in the world. (Xici zhuan 1.11; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 63–4)

The notion of dao in this passage as the conveying medium of resonating influences is sometimes expressed using the term qi.27 The idea of dao in this passage may operate at either or both of two levels: we may understand it literally, as an ontological account of existence, or metaphorically, as an image designed to encourage a spirit of cooperation. In either case, we need to be clear that the term “holism” does not necessarily imply unity or harmony of all things. Rather, the passage above takes dao as a locus within which all individuals and events are located and from which none is exempt.28 The following passage in the Yijing presents a Confucian perspective on this view, fitting dao within its doctrine of the tripartite heaven, earth and humanity: As a book, the Changes is something which is broad and great, complete in every way. There is the Dao of Heaven in it, the Dao of Man in it, and the Dao of Earth in it. It brings these three powers together and then doubles them. This is the reason for there being six lines. What these six embody are nothing other than the Dao of the three powers. (Xici zhuan 2.10; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 92)

Heaven, earth and humanity are integrated and their interactions are fully captured in the lines of the sixty-four hexagrams. In the Yijing, the broader, holistic context is not viewed in transcendent or exclusive terms; although the Dao of Heaven is the larger, cosmic vantage point, it is not detached from the human world. Indeed, the wisdom of the Yijing is a resource also for the “ordinary folk” (Xici zhuan 2.12; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 94). The emphasis is on resonances between a cosmic macrocosm (e.g. movements of stars and planets) and a microcosm (e.g. the state) rather than a power hierarchy wherein the microcosm is controlled by the 27

In his comments on the Xici zhuan, Wang Bi presents a (materially productive) interpretation of kun (powers of earth), stating, “When it is at rest, it condenses its qi, and when it becomes active, it opens up and so brings things into existence” (trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 56).

28

The pre-Han Zuo Zhuan and Lüshi Chunqiu, and the Chunqiu Fanlu of the Han, are also known to hold this broad, inclusive perspective.

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macrocosm. One implication of resonance across different domains is that individuals and forces can be affected by others in different domains as, for example, between spirit and human beings, or between changes in the climate and human health. However, there is a lack of clarity in outlining correlations, and this impacts on the notions of causation and responsibility, rendering them vague and elusive. The dialectical approach, outlined below, injects even more complexity into these notions.

A Dialectical and Complementary Approach to Dualisms Qian (powers of heaven) and Kun (powers of earth) are two fundamental starting points of the conceptual framework of the Yijing; they are the first two hexagrams in the received Yijing, and the starting points of the Mawangdui hexagrams, with Qian at the start of the first thirty-two hexagrams and Kun at the start of the next thirty-two. Their relationship, one of interdependence, is central to the spirit of the text. The opening passage of the Xici zhuan sets out the complementarity between Qian and Kun and their associated characteristics: As Heaven is high and noble and Earth is low and humble, so it is that Qian and Kun are defined. The high and the low being thereby set out, the exalted and the mean have their places accordingly. There are norms for action and repose, which are determined by whether hardness or softness is involved . . . The Dao of Qian forms the male; the Dao of Kun forms the female. Qian has mastery over the great beginning of things, and Kun acts to bring things to completion. (1.1; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 47)

There is dialectical complementarity between each set of polarities: high and low, noble and humble, exalted and mean, action and repose, hardness and softness, male and female, beginning and completion. Although there is a hierarchy in some of the binary pairs, for instance in the contrast between noble and humble, the hierarchy is nevertheless a complementary one. The meaning of each term, say of humility, is not a matter of simple definitions. Rather, the meanings of the terms in each binary set are relative, each being defined in terms of the other depending on the situation at hand. John Henderson explains how the interdependent, complementary relationship between each binary set is captured in relative rather than absolute terms:

The Yijing

Even at the height of the yang there exists the germ of yin, and vice versa. Yin and yang, moreover, are not absolutes but relational ideas: an old man may be yang with respect to a woman but is yin with respect to a young man. (Henderson 2003: 191)

Views on yin-yang were sometimes expressed in terms of gender and its associations. Here, we might raise the concern that the female element, yin, is degraded by its association with the lowly, humble, mean, soft and nonassertive (see e.g. Rosenlee 2006: 45–68). However, these associations also need to be placed in context, where the lowly and nonassertive are not necessarily understood as undesirable or inferior. The relation between yin and yang was sometimes represented in terms of cyclical phases rather than static definitions; in Han thought; they were rarely defined in terms of their intrinsic qualities but more often conceived in terms of their relative positions (Wilhelm 1977: 195). The Xici zhuan maintains the place and necessity of both yin and yang in the originating and continuing processes of the cosmic and human worlds. The dualistic schema of yin-yang was used to explain a range of phenomena including seasonal change, the human life cycle and the rise and fall of dynasties. The conceptual binary framework of yin-yang as reciprocal, interdependent and dynamic dominated Chinese thinking, so much as to eclipse earlier conceptions of dualism in China (Henderson 2003: 191). To say that the relationship is reciprocal does not mean that it is without tension; it would be naïve to conceptualise the yin-yang relationship as intrinsically harmonious or to assume that imbalance must be eliminated. In fact, imbalance is a necessary factor in the search for harmony. This means that what best characterises yin-yang polarity is not univocity but dynamism. The dynamic waxing and waning of yin-yang is also captured in the Xici zhuan (1.5), where dao is pictured as a provident source of renewal: “‘As replete virtue and great enterprise,’ the Dao is indeed perfect! It is because the Dao exists in such rich abundance that we refer to it as the ‘great enterprise,’ it is because the Dao brings renewal day after day that we refer to it here as ‘replete virtue’” (1.5; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 54). The dialectical relation between binary terms is symptomatic of philosophy in the Han period, which emphasises correlations between entities such that a change in one of them may produce resonant effects in others.

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Correlative Thinking and Resonance An underlying assumption of the concept of resonance is that one should attune oneself to others, or to aspects of the environment, as an appropriate response to a particular correlative relationship. The passage below from the Xici zhuan communicates the idea of attunement and resonance, in response to change: The Changes manifests the Dao and shows how its virtuous activity is infused with the numinous. Thus one can through it synchronize himself with things and with it render service to the numinous. (1.9; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 62)

There is a metaphor in this passage not articulated in the translation here, although it is spelt out in a note. The phrase to “synchronise himself with things” is a translation of chouzuo, which means “host toasts guest (chou) and guest returns toast (zuo)” (ibid.: 73, n. 43). The imagery of toasting and returning a toast effectively illustrates the concept of responsiveness in correlative thinking. The early divination sections of the Yijing do not explicitly mention correlations, although the Xici zhuan asserts that the text is itself a microcosm that corresponds to patterns in the macrocosmic heaven and earth: The Changes is a paradigm of Heaven and Earth, and so it shows how one can fill in and pull together the Dao of Heaven and Earth. Looking up, we use it [the Changes] to observe the configurations of Heaven, and, looking down, we use it to examine the patterns of Earth. Thus we understand the reasons underlying what is hidden and what is clear. (1.4; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 51)

There is also explicit mention of correspondences where the concept and characteristics of change are explained in relation to different phenomena: In capaciousness and greatness, change corresponds to Heaven and Earth; in the way change achieves complete fulfilment, change corresponds to the four seasons; in terms of the concepts of yin and yang, change corresponds to the sun and moon; and in the efficacy of its ease and simplicity, change corresponds to perfect virtue. (1.6; ibid.: 56)

The correlations in the Yijing and other Han period texts were applied to discussions on alchemy, music, geomancy, astronomy, medicine and religion. An important underlying assumption in the Yijing is that one can – from the

The Yijing

images, their respective associations, and references to the past – work out the fitting or correct response. In the following section, we examine elements of the interpretive approach associated with understanding the Yijing.

An Interpretive Approach to the Meanings of the Hexagrams and Correspondences We have seen how the Xici zhuan affirms the importance of reflecting on the hexagram symbols and the judgements to inform a person’s decision-making. There are extensive discussions of these symbols in the Appendices including in the explicit statement that “[t]o plumb the mysteries of the world to the utmost is dependent on the hexagrams” (Xici zhuan 1.12; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 68). In fact, the origination of the text and its use in divination is couched primarily in terms of the origination and development of the symbols. The symbols are grounded in experiences of the observable world, as we have seen, in the description of Lord Bao Xi (Xici zhuan 2.2). Each hexagram is given a name and assigned a set of characteristics. Understandably, explanations of how the line and hexagram statements might be interpreted rely on ideas drawn from the social realities of the time. For example, the commentary on the judgement of hexagram 37, “the Family” (jiaren), states, “As far as the Family is concerned the woman’s proper place is inside it, and the man’s proper place is outside it” (ibid.: 363). The commentary is primarily Confucian in spirit, setting the boundaries of family life (Wilhelm 1977: 217–19). Different divination instances will involve significantly dissimilar considerations. Might this be indicated by, and help explain, the phonetic and graphical variations in the different versions of the Yijing? This point was raised earlier in relation to a comment by Shaughnessy (Unearthing the Changes, 2014: 65), that word variations might have been intentionally woven into the text so as to accommodate the variety of situations in life. The Xici zhuan notes both the importance and difficulty of interpreting the hexagrams and their implications in particular cases: The way [the hexagrams] are named involves insignificant things, but the analogies so derived concern matters of great importance. The meanings are far-reaching, and the phrasing elegant. The language twists and turns but hits the mark. (2.6; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 87)

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Each hexagram in the Yijing has a list of associated meanings; this means that the enquirer needs to relate his or her situation to a particular symbol. Let us take, for example, the hexagram associated with dui, joy, to examine how it is expressed in the “Judgment,” “Commentary on the Judgment” and “Commentary on the Image” statements: Judgment: Dui [Joy] is such that prevalence is had. It is fitting to practice constancy here. Commentary on the Judgments: Dui means “to give joy.” It is by being hard inside and yet soft outside that one manages to give Joy and still fittingly practice constancy. This is how one can be obedient to Heaven and yet responsive to mankind. If one leads the common folk with Joy, they will forget their toil, and if one has them risk danger and difficulty with Joy, they will forget about dying. Great is Joy, for it is the motivating force of the common folk! Commentary on the Images: Lake clinging to Lake: this constitutes the image of Joy. In the same way, the noble man engages in talk and study with friends. Clinging [li] means “linked” [lian]. No more flourishing application of Joy can be found than this. (hexagram 58; ibid.: 505)

There is little in these judgements and even in the Yijing more generally to guide interpretation or understanding of the hexagram in particular instances. How might this be interpreted, for example, if an enquirer was concerned about the condition of his health? The worldview of the Yijing and its openness to interpretation are simply incompatible with the approach to systematise and standardise cause–effect relationships as one might in post-Galilean science (Graham 1986: 34). The Yijing is grounded in a world that is diverse and irreducibly so, with unlimited relations between the different entities. This does not explain away the problems associated with the interpretive aspect of the Yijing. Rather, it brings to the surface the assumptions of the belief in a manifold and interconnected world. D. C. Lau and Roger Ames discuss the haphazard and unsupervised world of early Daoism, a feature that is also present in the Yijing. Their remarks capture the commitment of the Yijing, which focuses on coordinating or resolving situations in the constantly transforming world: The Book of Changes is not a systematic cosmology that seeks to explain the sum of all possible situations we might encounter in order to provide insight

The Yijing

into what to do, but is a resource providing a vocabulary of images that enable us to think through and articulate an appropriate response to the changing conditions of our lives . . . Rather than a vocabulary of truth and falsity, right and wrong, good and evil – terms that speak to the “whatness” of things – we find pervasively the language of harmony and disorder, genuineness and hypocrisy, trust and dissimulation, adeptness and ineptness – terms which reflect the priority of the continuity that obtains among things: “how well“ things hang together. (Lau and Ames, Yuan Dao, 1998: 34)

Timeliness and Practical Wisdom A fundamental assumption of divination is that a person can discover aspects of the future and is able to influence its course. The Xici zhuan articulates the process of divination in terms of understanding correlations, thus affirming the action-guiding nature of divination: “The means to know the future through the mastery of numbers is referred to as ‘prognostication,’ and to keep in step freely with change is referred to as ‘the way one should act’” (1.5; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 54). While the process of divination is not itself a philosophical process, its practice reveals significant underlying philosophical commitments (Cheng 2003). The philosophical framework is one that attends both to the limitations of the human condition and to freedom in human decision and action. This standpoint emphasises the importance of knowing what to do in particular situations, within environing contexts. Lau and Ames express the centrality of knowing what to do in the Chinese philosophical traditions: “In China, the pursuit of wisdom has perennially centered on finding a way to stabilize, to discipline, and to shape productively and elegantly the unstoppable stream of change in which the human experience is played out” (Yuan Dao, 1998: 38). The Xici zhuan and the Shuogua deal explicitly with the nature of change and issues associated with it, including anticipating and responding to change, understanding occurrences of change in the past in order to deal with changes in the present and knowing when to act. The sense of movement in time, like the seasonal alternation of yin and yang, is repeated in this and many other passages of the Appendices to the Yijing: When the sun goes, then the moon comes, and when the moon goes, then the sun comes. The sun and the moon drive each other on, and brightness is

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generated in this process. When the cold goes, then the heat comes, and when the heat goes, then the cold comes. The cold and the heat drive each other on, and the yearly seasons come into being in this process. What has gone is a contraction, and what is to come is an expansion. Contraction and expansion impel each other on, and benefits are generated in this process. (2.5; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 81)

The cycles of seasonal change are described in terms of a generative metaphor; the opposites “impel each other on.” Although the Yijing does not specifically mention wuxing either in the Basic Text or the Appendices the philosophy underlying change is similar to a particular formulation of wuxing theory. Two significant ways of conceptualising the five phases were in terms of generation and conquest. In the generation model, each phase drives towards the following phase according to this pattern: wood impels fire, fire impels earth, earth impels metal, metal impels water, and water impels wood, and the cycle continues. In the conquest model, wood conquers earth, metal conquers wood, fire conquers metal, water conquers fire, earth conquers water and the cycle continues (Henderson 2003: 191). The Yijing seems to support a generative rather than conquest cycle, as we see in the passage above. In the Shuogua, which comments on the trigrams, there is a list of the defining characteristics of each of the eight trigrams. At the end of the list, there is an argument for the necessity of change: because each triad is associated with a specific set of characteristics, change is necessary to allow “the myriad things to become all that they can be” (Shuogua 6; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 122). A change in each trigram line – a change at the most fundamental level – will effect shifts in the trigrams. In turn, the movement from one trigram to another represents a change in phase. These shifts are symbolic of changes in the world. The replacement of one phase with the next is inevitable; change is unstoppable (Xici zhuan 1.6). As was the case with yin-yang, wuxing was not merely a classificatory scheme. It was a conceptual framework for predicting and explaining change. The primary task of the Yijing from ancient times was to predict change such that the ruler would be able to anticipate and deal with it. Underlying divination practice is an expectation and anticipation of change. Both the Xici zhuan and the Shuogua articulate the rationale for the continued use of the Yijing as a divination manual, drawing on the experiences of enlightened sages in the past who used it:

The Yijing

By virtue of its numinous power, it lets one know what is going to come, and by virtue of its wisdom, it becomes a repository of what has happened . . . [The intelligent and perspicacious ones of antiquity] used the Changes to cast light on the Dao of Heaven and to probe into the conditions of the common folk. This is the numinous thing that they inaugurated in order to provide beforehand for the needs of the common folk. (1.11; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 64–5) . . . the eight trigrams combine with one another in such a way that, to reckon the past, one follows the order of their progress, and, to know the future, one works backward through them. Therefore, the Changes allow us to work backward [from the future] and reckon forward [from the past]. (Shuogua 3; ibid.: 121)

The inductive argument in the first passage implies that these sages were successful (in Confucian terms) in implementing a benevolent government that provided for the common people. The ruler is encouraged to learn from the applications of the oracles. The second passage from the Shuogua spells out how we adapt wisdom from the past to our experiences in the present. The concept of time is fundamental to the practice of divination. These considerations prompt epistemological questions concerning how one reflects on one’s experience, draws from the past, then applies that to the present case. Hellmut Wilhelm explains the process of divination in terms of a synchronic conception of time: . . . each situation can be apprehended in two ways: through direct experience as a consequence of the dynamism of existence, and through theoretical speculation as a consequence of the continuousness of existence and its government by laws . . . The questioner thus obtains access to the theoretically established aspect of his own situation, and by reference to the texts set forth under this aspect in the Book of Changes he obtains counsel and guidance from the experience of former generations and the insights of the great masters. Thus the synchronicity disclosed by the oracle is merely the apprehension of two different modes of experiencing the same state of affairs. (1977: 12)

In Wilhelm’s proposal, interpreting a particular hexagram is described as a synchronous event, as one asks a question and arrives at the answer while reflecting on the past. Wilhelm suggests that there are two modes of reasoning that are part of the interpretive process: one empirical (involving

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concrete, past experiences) and the other theoretical (involving some systematic correspondences between one’s situation and the insights of the Yijing). Wilhelm’s discussion implies that, to avoid a collapse into pure chance, some kind of reflective equilibrium is required, where the empirical and theoretical are engaged (ibid.: 11). At the centre of this engagement involving the two modes of reasoning lies the notion of timeliness: in light of ongoing shifts and changes in one’s situation (reflected in the changing lines, trigrams and hexagrams), it is important for a person to respond appropriately, at that point in time. Cultivating the self and acquiring appropriate resources are necessary but not sufficient for acting well; a person should also be aware of the right time to act: The noble man lays up a store of instruments in his own person and waits for the proper moment and then acts, so how could there ever be anything to his disadvantage! Here one acts without impediment; it is due to this that when one goes out, he obtains his catch. (2.5; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 83)

Wilhelm explains how the concept of timeliness relates to the original meaning of the term. In its original meaning, time (shi) was related to awareness of seasonal changes, which was critical to timeliness in agricultural activities: . . . the Book of Changes eschews such theoretical concepts of time, operating with the word [shi], “time,” in a manner that is much closer to its derivation. The word meant originally “sowing time,” then “season” in general . . . In its early form it was composed of the character for “sole of the foot” (Latin, planta) above that for a unit of measurement. In China, too, the sole of the foot is related semantically to planting; thus, the word means a section of time set apart for a certain activity. Thence its meaning was extended to the four seasons, all of which are correspondingly filled with certain activities, and only then to time in general. The word is often used in the Book of Changes in the meaning of “season,” and many of the characteristic attributes of time can be traced to this heritage. (1977: 17–18)

There is a distinct sense here of waiting for the right moment, of seizing an opportunity. Wilhelm suggests that the conception of time that underlies the reasoning in the divination sections of the Yijing is “concrete,” in that it is filled with possibilities that change in time. Here, is important to consider his reflections at length:

The Yijing

The conception of time that we encounter in these quotations is very concrete. Here time is immediately experienced and perceived. It does not represent merely a principle of abstract progression but is fulfilled in each of its segments; an effective agent not only in which reality is enacted but which in turn acts on reality and brings it to completion. Just as space appears to the concrete mind not merely as a schema of extension but as something filled with hills, lakes, and plains – in each of its parts open to different possibilities – so time is here taken as something filled, pregnant with possibilities, which vary with its different moments and which, magically as it were, induce and confirm events. Time here is provided with attributes to which events stand in a relation of right or wrong, favorable or unfavourable. (ibid.: 17)

The Xici zhuan acknowledges how it is important to turn a situation to advantage (li) (2.12). Advantage is discussed in conjunction with good fortune and misfortune, emphasising the importance of working the situation to achieve the best outcome; this expresses an attentiveness which Lau and Ames call “seizing the moment” (Yuan Dao, 1998: 38). In the popular imagination, then, ideas about good and bad fortune were often interwoven with superstitious beliefs about natural and cosmic events interpreted as portents for humankind; in Chapter 3, we saw how Xunzi deemed it important to eliminate superstitious beliefs. These reflections capture a distinctive element in epistemology in Chinese philosophy which understands knowledge in practical terms. Lau and Ames emphasise the focus on efficacy and pragmatism implicit in the Chinese conception of knowledge; they note its “meliorative” intent (ibid.: 26). Applying the distinction articulated by Gilbert Ryle, “knowing” in the Chinese tradition is “knowing how” rather than “knowing that.”29 Zhang Dongsun makes a similar distinction in his characterisation of Western and Chinese philosophies:

29

In “Knowing How and Knowing That,” Ryle (1946) argues against the prevailing doctrine, which holds “(1) that Intelligence is a special faculty, the exercise of which are those specific internal acts which are called acts of thinking . . . and (2) that practical activities merit their titles “intelligent”, “clever” and the rest only because they are accompanied by some such internal acts of considering propositions . . . ” (p. 1). Ryle transcends the theory–practice gap and contends that (1) knowledge-how cannot be defined in terms of knowledge-that and (2) knowledge-how is a concept logically prior to the concept of knowledge-that (pp. 4–5).

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These two kinds of thinking not only differ in terms of categories and the value of their terms, but also differ markedly in their attitudes. If we take inquiry, for example, Western thinking, in respect of any particular thing or event, is inclined to ask “What is it?” before asking “How do we deal with it?” Chinese thinking, on the other hand, is inclined to do the opposite: “How do we deal with it?” takes precedence. Thus I would say that the West has a “what priority attitude” while China has a “how priority attitude.”30

It is important not to dichotomise the two approaches, Western and Chinese. Zhang is careful to note that the difference is one of emphasis rather than a categorisation of two types of approaches that are antithetical. It is important to grasp that, in Chinese philosophy, conceptions of knowledge and action are deeply intertwined. Although there are subtle and important differences across its different traditions, we may nevertheless say that, in Chinese philosophy, priority is given to the realisation of knowledge rather than to knowledge as pieces of belief (Lai and Hetherington 2015). This focal point has been covered in scholarly discussions (in the different traditions) in terms of skill and perhaps cunning (Raphals 1993), thinking that involves the senses or body (Wu 1996; Geaney 2002), efficacy (François 1999; 2004), spontaneity (Bruya 2010a) and effortless attention and action (Bruya 2010b). Summarily, these contemporary discussions establish distinctive terms of reference for conceptualising knowledge, action and agency in Chinese philosophy. While they take different approaches and have a range of aims, a focus they share is how the early Chinese thinkers saw that it was important for a person both to focus on particular situations and to understand how these unfold and change through time. In other words, one should expect change: The Master said: “To get into danger is a matter of thinking one’s position secure; to become ruined is a matter of thinking one’s continuance protected; to fall into disorder is a matter of thinking one’s order enduring. Therefore the noble man when secure does not forget danger, when enjoying continuance does not forget ruin, when maintaining order does not forget disorder. This is the way his person is kept secure and his state remains protected. The Changes say: ‘This might be lost, this might be lost, so tie it to a healthy, flourishing mulberry.’” (2.5; trans. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 1994: 83)

30

Zhang (1995): 375; cited in Lau and Ames (Yuan Dao, 1998: 29).

The Yijing

Complacency is an apt term for describing the potential pitfalls described here. There is contempt, articulated through the voice of Confucius, for short-sightedness that isolates the self from its relationships and contexts. This passage presents the importance of understanding resonances and expecting change in terms of individual benefit. But there are also important moral implications when we understand that many, if not most, of our decisions and actions impact on others. Belief in the potency of resonating effects expresses an outlook that understands causality in complex ways. This belief is also connected with a view of individuals not as isolated entities but as situated within a broader, manifold environment.

The Impact of the Yijing During the Han, a primary application of correlative thinking was in government and political administration. Proposals of correspondences between events of the cosmos and those of the state arose in response to the establishment and justification of empire. In addition, aspects of correlative thinking permeated different spheres of life and continue to persist in different forms in Chinese society today. For example, in Chinese approaches to health, the human body is considered analogous to a smallscale universe. Correlations also extend to poetry, philosophy, religion and aspects of popular culture. The practice of geomancy in contemporary architecture, which considers qi in astrological, geographical, physiological, psychological and aesthetic terms, was and is pervasive (Henderson 1994). The concept of food and its classification in terms of nutritional value (e.g. in yin (cooling) foods and yang (heating) foods) and flavour (the five tastes) is an integral part of Chinese popular belief (Henderson 1984: 46–8). The Appendices of the Yijing are a product of the worldview that understands correlations between individual entities across different realms. They absorbed the philosophical mood of the time and integrated that with Confucian themes. They endorsed key aspects of Confucianism, including the heightened role of the ruler, the providence of heaven and earth, the capacity of human beings to improve their situation and the hope in a socio-political utopia wherein individual and social ends coincide. But the influence of correlative thinking was not confined to the Confucian tradition. The worldview that sees integration and correspondences

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between different entities is pervasive in Chinese philosophy. The description by Lau and Ames of a Daoist view of the world draws on the language of Daoism: There is no principle (archē > principium) of order – no superordinate One standing independent of the world to order it as an efficient cause. Rather, there is only the collaborative unfolding of the myriad things or events – the wanwu 萬物 or wanyou 萬有. Within this collaboration, there is an everchanging processional regularity that can be discerned in the world around us, making experience in some degree coherent and determinate and, given its inherent indeterminacy, in some degree novel and unpredictable. (Yuan Dao, 1998: 19)

The Yijing is both an expression of and a seedbed for beliefs grounded in the idea of correlated domains, events and entities, in a ceaselessly transforming world. This conception of the world is one of the fundamental features of Chinese thought. It is a metaphysical account of the world, but not one that articulates a determinate and static ontology. It focuses on processes and change rather than events and substances. From within this conceptual framework, how one orientates oneself within the environment, interacts with others, and navigates this terrain, are core issues in living life well. The picture of related individuals in a ceaselessly transforming world is a feature of Chinese thought that shaped, and continues to shape, the intellectual and institutional traditions of China.

Suggestions for Further Reading The Annals of Lü Buwei (2000), trans. John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Cheng, Chung-ying (2003) “Philosophy of Change,” in Antonio Cua (ed.), Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, New York: Routledge, pp. 517–24. The Classic of Changes: A New Translation of the I Ching as Interpreted by Wang Bi (1994), trans. Richard John Lynn, New York: Columbia University Press. Csikszentmihalyi, Mark (2006) Readings in Han Chinese Thought, Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. de Bary, W. Theodore, and Bloom, Irene (eds.) (1999) “The Imperial Order and Han Syntheses,” in W. T. de Bary and Irene Bloom (eds.), Sources of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 1600, vol. 1, 2nd edn., New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 283–366.

The Yijing

Early Chinese Medical Literature: The Mawangdui Medical Manuscripts (1998), trans. Donald Harper, New York: Kegan Paul. Exemplary Women of Early China: The Lienü zhuan of Liu Xiang (2014), trans. Anne Behnke Kinney, New York: Columbia University Press. Graham, Angus C. (1986) Yin-Yang and the Nature of Correlative Thinking, IEAP Occasional Paper and Monograph Series no. 6, Singapore: Institute of East Asian Philosophies. Henderson, John B. (1984) “Correlative Thought in Early China,” in Henderson, The Development and Decline of Chinese Cosmology, New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 1–58. Henderson, John B. (2003) “Cosmology,” in Antonio Cua (ed.), Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, New York: Routledge, pp. 187–94. The “Huainanzi”: Liu An, King of Huainan: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early China (2010), John Major, Sarah Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth (trans. and eds.), New York: Columbia University Press. I Ching: The Classic of Changes Translated with an Introduction and Commentary: The First English Translation of the Newly Discovered Second Century BC Mawangdui Texts (1997), trans. Edward L. Shaughnessy, New York: Ballantine Books. Knechtges, David (2014) “Yi Jing 易經 (Classic of Changes),” in David R. Knechtges and Taiping Chang (eds.), Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature: A Reference Guide, part 3. Leiden: Brill, pp. 1877–1896. Major, John S. (1993) “A General Introduction to Early Han Cosmology,” in Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture, Albany: State University of New York Press. Makeham, John (2003) Transmitters and Creators: Chinese Commentators and Commentaries on the Analects. Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press. McLeod, Alexus (2015) “Philosophy in Eastern Han Dynasty China (25–220 CE),” Philosophy Compass 10.6: 355–68. Peterson, Williard J. (1982) “Making Connections: ‘Commentary on the Attached Verbalizations’ of the Book of Change,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 42.1: 67–116. Roth, Harold, Queen, Sarah, and Sivin, Nathan (1999) “Syncretic Visions of State, Society and Cosmos,” in W. T. de Bary and Irene Bloom (eds.), Sources of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 1600, vol. 1, 2nd edn., New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 235–82. Sivin, Nathan (2007) “Drawing Insights from Chinese Medicine,” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, Supplement no. 1, 24.1: 43–55.

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Unearthing the Changes: Recently Discovered Manuscripts of and Relating to the Yi Jing (2014), trans. Edward L. Shaughnessy, New York: Columbia University Press. Watson, Burton (1999) “The Great Han Historians,” in W. Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom (eds.), Sources of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 1600, vol. 1, 2nd edn., New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 367–74. Yuan Dao: Tracing Dao to Its Source (1998), trans. D. C. Lau and Roger Ames, New York: Ballantine Books. Zhouyi: A New Translation with Commentary of The Book of Changes (2002), trans. Richard

Rutt,

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Chinese Buddhism

Buddhism was first introduced into China during the Han dynasty, around the first century CE. However, it was only after the downfall of the Han, when China was once again divided by ethnic and territorial wars and Confucianism lost its footing as the state-endorsed ideology,1 that Buddhist ideas were given serious consideration. Over the third and fourth centuries CE, during the Wei dynasty (220–65) and then the Jin (265–420),2 Buddhist religious and philosophical notions were put through intensive scrutiny, and those who sought to promote this “foreign” ideology primarily articulated its ideas in the language of existing terms and ideas in Chinese thought, especially those aligned with Daoism. Buddhist thought in China was significantly shaped by the ideas of the Xuanxue (mysterious learning) thinkers, who were known collectively by this title as they were preoccupied with the profound, mysterious dao (Chan 2009: 303). It was not until the fifth century that Chinese Buddhism began to establish its ideas in its own terms. In the course of this process, doctrinal differences were articulated, resulting in the development of different strands of Chinese

1

In 184 CE a secret Daoist society led a peasant rebellion against the then Han emperor. The rebellion was called the “Yellow Turban Rebellion” (Huangjin zhi luan), after the headscarves worn by the rebels.

2

While the account here focuses primarily on philosophical details of Chinese Buddhism, it is important to note that, across this same period, Buddhist doctrine was endorsed by non-Han Chinese tribes. For example, during the Southern and Northern dynasties period (420–589), the Xianbei tribe invaded the Jin capital, Loyang. This forced members of the ruling Jin family to flee and reestablish their capital in the south, in Jiankang (modern-day Nanjing). In the north, where the Xianbei people established their stronghold, Buddhist ideas were embraced partly because the Xianbei people were hostile to Confucianism and other characteristics of Chinese culture and partly because they were attracted to the apparent magical powers of the monks (Wright 1959: 42–64; esp. at 56).

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Buddhism. From then, Chinese Buddhist doctrine stood apart from Indian Buddhism, while also establishing itself as a Chinese tradition, distinctive from Confucianism and Daoism. Given the extended period of development of Chinese Buddhism and its eventual division and definition into different strands, the discussion in this chapter will focus on key points of philosophical interest. It is important first to understand the fundamental tenets of Indian Buddhist thought; the sketch here presents brief details of its elements that are relevant to our understanding of Chinese Buddhism. The second section explores the early stages of the introduction of Buddhism into China up until around the fourth century. The discussion here also highlights elements of the indigenous philosophies of China, especially Xuanxue thought, that shaped Chinese Buddhist thought. Third, there will be an overview of the main strands of Chinese Buddhist doctrine, a few of which began to establish distinctive views from around the fifth century. The discussion will centre on developments across the two or three centuries from the fifth century. The final section of this chapter considers some distinctive features of Chinese Buddhist philosophy in light of its engagement with Chinese thought and its contributions to Chinese intellectual history.

Basic Tenets of Indian Buddhist Thought The alleged founder of Buddhism, Siddhartha Gautama, is thought to have lived during the sixth century BCE, though his exact dates are not known. Many aspects of Buddhist philosophy, including asceticism, meditation, belief in extra-sensory perception and yogic intuition, questions about self, consciousness and continuity, and a conception of ultimate reality, were already present in the Upanishadic and Jainist traditions (Kalupahana 1976: 3–15).3 Buddhist thought is characterised by empirical observations of human life coupled with belief in extra-sensory phenomena, the realm within which rebirth and de-individualised consciousness are possible. In the early Indian Buddhist texts, the existence of supernatural beings or 3

Kalupahana examines Buddhist philosophy according to a number of modern philosophical categories including epistemology, causality and ethics. While there may be concerns about the methodological hazards of such projects, the use of these categories allows important parallels to emerge in the discussion.

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domains, including that of gods, hell or heaven, had a primarily regulative role in guiding moral action and did not reflect ontological commitment to their existence (Kalupahana 1976: 66). This is not to say, however, that later developments in Buddhist thought were similarly devoid of these considerations. Buddhism emphasises the limitations of all sources of knowledge, including from the six primary sources: eye, ear, nose, tongue, body and mind. It is concerned with how the objects of perception might be misconstrued, due to the impact of subjective prejudices on one’s understanding of his or her own experiences. In this sense, there are two possible sources of ignorance (avidya, Pali): absence or lack of knowledge, and the imposition of a false view on one’s experiences (Kalupahana 1976: 19–24). The implications of ignorance are far-reaching as they can lead to misconceptions about the nature of self which lead in turn to the human predicament of unsatisfactoriness. A core element of Indian Buddhist thought concerns the nature of suffering and its eradication. The Fourfold Noble Truth, a core doctrine of Buddhism, sets out the nature of suffering: 1. All life is inevitably sorrowful. 2. Sorrow is due to craving. 3. Sorrow can only be stopped by the stopping of craving. 4. This can be done by a course of carefully disciplined conduct, culminating in the life of concentration and meditation led by the Buddhist monk. (Hurvitz and Tsai 1999: 416) Craving is associated with the impulse to gratify one’s sensory pleasures. Suffering arises from craving because objects and their associated pleasures are transient. The pursuit of these pleasures is also associated with a temperament of selfishness, greed and insatiable desire that looks only to the here and now. But Buddhist thought concerns itself with far more than selfish pleasures. At the root of the human predicament is suffering (dukkha, Pali), which refers to both physical and mental anguish. Dukkha can vary in intensity and variety, from agony to an underlying and persistent feeling of unsatisfactoriness. Paradoxically, genuine freedom can be attained only if the primary craving for permanent and independent selfhood is extinguished, for it is after all the self that enjoys the pleasures of life. This theory of emancipation has a cognitivist tone in that it involves realisation about one’s impermanence. In this vein, Leon

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Hurvitz and Tsai Heng-Ting suggest that the “fundamental truths on which Buddhism is founded are not metaphysical or theological but, rather, psychological” (1999: 413). Buddhist doctrine upholds a life of discipline expressed in the Eightfold Path. The Eightfold Path consists of the following stages: right view, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness and right concentration. The phenomenal self in Buddhism – the thinking, volitional and conscious self that acts and interacts in the everyday world – is constituted by five components, or processes:  Form and matter (rupa, Pali): matter, material processes, corporeality  Sensations (vedana, Pali): sense reactions arising as a result of contact with the world through the exercise of the six senses  Perceptions (samjna, Sanskrit): cognition of material and mental objects through the six senses  Psychological dispositions or constructions (samskara, Sanskrit): emotions, impressions and volitional processes that influence behaviour  Consciousness or conscious thought (vjnana, Sanskrit): awareness of self and awareness of the phenomenal world. An individual is made up of combinations of these five components, which are in constant flux. Hence, the self as we know it is impermanent, composite and not correlated with an eternal self or soul. From this picture of self, it follows that the Buddhist conception of human existence has three fundamental characteristics:  Impermanence (anicca/anittya, Pali/Sanskrit): an empirically grounded theory that focuses on arising and passing away  Unsatisfactoriness (dukkha/duhkha; Pali/Sanskrit)  Nonsubstantiality (anatta/anatman; Pali/Sanskrit): nonego, nonself theory; there is no enduring individual personhood. In its reaction to the Upanishadic tradition – which upheld a conception of enduring and immutable self – Buddhism proposed self as impermanent and ever-changing (Kalupahana 1976: 38–9). The Buddhist phenomenal self is effectively a “bundle,” whose existence and continuity are comprised by a series of causal events. Hurvitz and Tsai explain how failure to grasp these aspects of human existence generates more suffering:

Chinese Buddhism

The root cause of the process of birth and death and rebirth is ignorance, the fundamental illusion that individuality and permanence exist, when, in fact, they do not. Hence there arise in the organism various psychic phenomena, including desire, followed by an attempt to appropriate things to itself . . . each act, word, or thought leaves its traces on the collection of the five constituents that make up the phenomenal individual, and their character alters correspondingly. This process goes on throughout life, and when the immaterial and material parts of the being are separated in death, the immaterial constituents, which make up what in other systems would be called soul, carry over the consequential effects of the deeds of the past life and obtain another form in one of the ten realms of existence . . . (1999: 416–17).

Misapprehension about the self, that it is an atomistic entity, is often run hand-in-hand with an incorrect view of causality. According to the (flawed) picture of self as an individual and independent entity, the lines of causation may be identified in a relatively straightforward way. However, Buddhist philosophy holds that there is a chain of interdependent causality that underlies processes and events. According to this view, existence is a dynamic process in which interrelated entities are affected by changes in others. Complex causal relations and caused phenomena pertain not only to the world of physical existence, but also to mental phenomena. The Buddhist doctrine of causality is distinctive in the following ways: 1. Causal events are real and not merely perceived. 2. There is a certain necessity about causality in that all existence is entwined in it. 3. Interdependent causality admits of regularity; it has certain patterns. When we say that events are “accidental,” that reflects only our ignorance of the actual causal processes that were in play in that situation. 4. Interdependent causality is conditioned. This means that events or consequences are not strictly determined, nor are they simply arbitrary. These beliefs may be seen as responses to a number of existing theories about causality. That causal events are real (point (1)) stands in contrast to the idealism of some Upanishadic thinkers, who believed that causations are mental fabrications and have no objective reality. The emphases on necessity (point (2)) and regularity (point (3)) were attempts to address indeterminism, a view expressed in Gautama Buddha’s time. The view that causality is

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conditioned (point (4)) reveals a focus on processes rather than on individual entities or isolated events. All these elements – necessity, regularity and conditionality – work together in any one event. Yet it is important to remember that it is not entirely appropriate to discuss an event in these terms as if one could circumscribe its limits, for the effects arising from a situation will in turn condition other future “events.” Events in time are only snapshots, frozen in time. This account of interdependent causality was a middle-path position taken by the Madhyamaka (middle way) tradition. This strand, associated with the figure Nagarjuna (ca. 100–200 CE), takes an approach that avoids two extremes and tries to incorporate both. In its view of self, it draws together two theories, one of eternal self and the other of annihilation upon bodily death (Kalupahana 1976: 27–9). Madhyamaka thought had elements in common with Chinese thought, and some of its core features have shaped Chinese Buddhist views in significant ways. Many metaphysical questions arise from the Buddhist concept of self. These include questions about the nature of causal interactions between sensory and extra-sensory phenomena, the origination of phenomenal entities (such as the animated human body), feelings of pain and happiness by the phenomenal self given that there is no “individual” as such, the survival of individual personality, knowledge of the past and other issues based on inductive inference, the nature of mind, and metaphysical and epistemological bases for ongoing processes after cessation of bodily form (Kalupahana 1976: 29–31, 84, 153–62). Moral questions about autonomy and free will also arise from the concept of the phenomenal self, which is conditioned by causes and in turn generates consequences that condition other, future events. Every action (karma, Sanskrit), whether physical or mental, is followed by correlated consequences (vipaka, Sanskrit). Even thoughts and thought-processes are considered active from the point of view of karma; hence it is important to cultivate right mindfulness and right concentration as articulated in the Eightfold Path. The doctrine of karma was already present in the early mainstream Brahmanic and ascetic traditions (Kalupahana 1976: 44). In the Upanishadic tradition, the phenomenal self is in control of karma. In the Jainist tradition, once karma is performed, it is out of the individual’s hands. Buddhism rejected the conception of karma in such atemporal, deterministic terms and instead views karma in causal terms. Buddhist karma examines consequences within a dynamic framework of situations that are

Chinese Buddhism

partly determined by circumstances, but which may have also arisen as a result of a particular intended action. On this view, each act or thought will have profound and complex consequences, as they can potentially shape any number of future events. Due to karmic consequences, each individual is subject to the cycle of rebirth (samsara, Sanskrit). Nirvana (Sanskrit), which literally means “to extinguish,” pertains to how individuals can bring the processes of rebirth to a halt. Nirvana is to be understood not negatively, as annihilation of the self, but rather in terms of enlightened detachment from craving and its attendant frustrations. In its broadest sense, nirvana refers to the removal of all craving, including especially craving for an independent and permanent individual self. The individual who attains such emancipation, the arahant (Pali), has acquired a level of understanding that transcends the illusion of separate and permanent selfhood. Yet we need to be cautious about not oversimplifying the Buddhist notion of self or individual as if it were a single, linear stream of consciousness. When Gautama Buddha passed away, adherents of Buddhism believed that he had attained nirvana. As we would expect, many questions were raised about his doctrines as well as his whereabouts after death. These questions instigated a host of different responses, some of which through time became the defining doctrines of different schools of Buddhist thought. Soon after Gautama Buddha’s death, the First Council of Buddhism was held to collate, consolidate and affirm his doctrine, giving rise to a more scholastic strand of Buddhism (Kalupahana 1976: 94). Meanwhile, questions were also raised regarding whether there was some direction for ordinary followers of Buddha, who were in need of religious edification (ibid.: 95–6). One way in which concerns about ordinary and religious ethical life developed involved the doctrine of bodhisattvas (Sanskrit), beings who had attained Buddhahood but who yet chose to re-enter the cycle of rebirth in order to assist others to attain the same condition. The bodhisattva, “being of wisdom,” was first used to refer to a previous incarnation of Gautama Buddha. According to this view, for many years before his life as Gautama, the Bodhisattva carried out mighty deeds of compassion and self-sacrifice. These stories about Gautama Buddha were evoked to inspire lay Buddhists (Hurvitz and Tsai 1999: 418). Through time, this intensely altruistic doctrine developed as the defining characteristic of Mahayana (Sanskrit; lit., “Great Vehicle”) Buddhism. The

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Great Vehicle to salvation offered salvation for all, as opposed to the more established Buddhism, which Mahayana adherents referred to disparagingly as Hinayana, or the “Lesser Vehicle.” It is commonly held that the teaching which the Mahayanists christened Hinayana was in fact Theravada (Pali: “The Way of the Elders”) Buddhism. However, while Theravada Buddhism spread to Sri Lanka and is the oldest surviving school of Buddhist doctrine, the phrase Hinayana Buddhism existed only as a pejorative term, as an appellation for the non-Mahayanist approach to Buddhism. The form of Buddhism that spread to China from northwestern India was primarily Mahayanist. Its introduction brought a range of benefits, especially in literature, philosophy, meditative, dietary, yogic and disciplinary practices, and the arts. Philosophically, it introduced elements as yet not considered by the Chinese thinkers, including in areas corresponding to metaphysics and epistemology. These included elements such as the concept of mind, space and time, psychological phenomena, and introspective selfawareness. We now turn to early Chinese engagements with Buddhist philosophy.

The Early Period of Buddhism in China Early efforts to translate Buddhist scriptures were fraught with difficulty as Indian Buddhist missionaries knew little Chinese and their Chinese collaborators likewise knew little Indian or central Asian languages (Wright 1959: 35). During this early period, around the third and fourth centuries, simplistic translations were made using the terms that were available in Chinese and, it seems, without much scrutiny or assessment of Buddhist thought on its own terms. Arthur Wright describes the superficiality of such translations: . . . for example, the ancient and honoured word dao, the key term of philosophical Daoism, was sometimes used to render the Buddhist term dharma, “the teaching”; in other cases it was used to translate bodhi, “enlightenment,” or again yoga. The Daoist term for immortals, chengren, served as a translation of the Buddhist word Arhat, “the fully enlightened one.” Wu-wei, “non-action,” was used to render the Buddhist term for ultimate release, nirvana. The Confucian expression xiaoshun, “filial submission and obedience,” was used to translate the more general and abstract Sanskrit word śīla, “morality.” (1959: 36).

Chinese Buddhism

This method of concept-matching (geyi) reflected a failure to attend to the underlying assumptions and conceptual frameworks of Buddhist philosophy. For example, the Buddhist idea of emptiness (sunyata, Sanskrit) was translated as “wu,” which more accurately means “nothingness” or “nonexistence.” There was some debate about the place of geyi; it was understood as a “method of analogy,” rather than literal translation, by some scholars (Fung 1953: 241–2). One way in which this method was applied was to analogise the five precepts for the behaviour of Buddhist lay adherents with the five virtues of Confucianism (Wright 1959: 37). A biography of Buddhist monks of that period champions the effectiveness of this method of analogy used by the monk Hui Yuan (334–416 CE): In his twenty-fourth year he began to give lectures, the attendants of which, however, on one occasion raised objections against his theory of reality. Though the discussion continued for some time, they became increasingly doubtful and bewildered. Thereupon Yuan quoted ideas of Zhuangzi that belonged to the same category, and in this way the skeptics came to understand.4

Needless to say, although these methods rendered Buddhist ideas more accessible to Chinese thinkers, a good number of the analogies were forced, leading to much inaccuracy and distortion (Fung 1948: 242; Lusthaus 1998: “Earliest Developments”). We get a sense of the uneasy fit in the philosophy of the seven schools or sects (zong) of Buddhist thought during the third and fourth centuries. Six had developed in the south and one, the School of Original Nothingness, in the north.

School of Original Nothingness (Benwu) This doctrine was propagated by the monk Dao-an (312–85 CE). It asserts that all the elements of existence, including physical matter, mental sensations, thoughts and the five skandhas (Sanskrit) are in their original nature void and empty (kong). Everything emerged from a primordial, original emptiness and everything returns to that void (Lusthaus 1998: “Earliest Developments”). 4

The Biographies of Eminent Buddhist Monks (Gaoseng Juan) by Hui-chiao (d. 554 CE), cited in Fung 1953: 241.

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Variant School of Original Nothingness (Benwu Yi) This school, like the previous one, focuses on the precedence and significance of emptiness, kong. Where it differs from the first is that it relies on the Daodejing’s idea of being and nonbeing to explain kong (e.g. “Being is the product of non-being,” Daodejing 40; Fung 1953: 248)

School of Matter-as-Such (Jise) The matter of our experience, that is, matter that is “right here,” does not have an innate nature but exists only as a result of external causes and conditions. Hence, we say that it is empty. This doctrine was further developed in two different ways. In the first view, it was held that the matter underlying the things of our immediate experience was not empty. This distinction was sustained by distinguishing between “coarse matter” – matter of our experience – and its opposite, “fine matter.” The second view was critical of the first, asserting that both forms of matter, coarse and invisible, were both empty (Fung 1953: 248–52).

School of Nonbeing of Mind (Xinwu) This school focuses on the distinction between what we might in contemporary philosophy call “mind and world.” It contends that nonbeing pertains not to existence but to the mind of the sage. In fact, it expressly affirms that material existence is real. The phrase “nonbeing,” when applied to the mind of the sage, means that he lacks any deliberate mind towards the ten thousand things, the wanwu of the external universe. This is the state of perfect understanding, a meta-cognitive state, whereby the sage’s mind is free from erroneous clinging to things. The doctrine of this school skilfully moves between metaphysics and epistemology and suggests that metaphysical statements – such as matter is empty – are effectively psychological-epistemological in nature. They reveal more about the processes of mind than about the nature of things.

School of Stored Impressions (Shihan) All the phenomena of existence are apparitions, as if one was in a great dream. When one awakens, the consciousness that gives rise to illusion is

Chinese Buddhism

extinguished. At this point, the mind is empty and is no longer a part of production (Fung 1953: 256–7).

School of Phenomenal Illusion (Huanhua) All the things of ordinary “truth” are illusory. However, the spirit of the mind (shen) is not empty as there must be a receptacle or capacity to understand and embody Buddhist truth and teaching. The genuine mind attains the highest truth (Fung 1953: 257).

School of Causal Combination (Yuanhui) “Being” results from the combination of causes and as such is called worldly truth. With the dissipation of these causes, however, non-being results, which constitutes the highest truth (Fung 1953: 257). In the classification of these schools, we can see significant wavering between translations of sunyata as “wu” and (the more accurate) “kong” (emptiness, nothingness) and how some schools draw on the contrast between being (you) and nonbeing in the Daodejing to illuminate Buddhist ideas. Dao-an of the School of Original Nothingness also claimed that because the other six schools relied on geyi, they misinterpreted the truth of Buddhist thought. He argued that the method of concept-matching did not adequately capture the Buddhist doctrine of emptiness, which is at the basis of all existence (Chan 1963b: 338). Here, we see an example of the development of Chinese Buddhism, as distinct from both Indian Buddhism and the Chinese traditions of thought (Lusthaus 1998: “Earliest Developments”). Another indication that Buddhism was gaining a foothold in Chinese society at this time is the existence of apologetic texts, wherein authors attempted to defend Buddhism to a Chinese audience by articulating its resonance with indigenous Chinese views or even promoting its merits. Many features in Buddhist thought were alien to Chinese culture and tradition, and these needed to be adequately explained before people would accept

them.

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differences

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familial

relations and responsibility, ritual behavioural prescriptions, prudential economics and finite human existence in the Chinese worldview, as contrasted with monasticism, generosity and transmigration in Buddhism (Wright 1959: 38–9). Wright notes that an apologetic has a special place in the study

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of the interaction of two traditions because “the points at which defense is felt to be necessary are invariably the points of greatest conflict between the two systems of ideas” (ibid.: 38). Some of the topics covered in an apologetic text, Disposing of Error,5 included consideration of why Buddhist ideas were not mentioned in the Chinese classics, why Buddhist monks shave their heads, celibacy of Buddhist monks, Buddhist conceptions of death and rebirth, and the foreign nature of Buddhist thought. Celibacy was an idea alien to the Chinese mind, and Mouzi, the author of the text, argues that there are other things more important than familial life: Mouzi said . . . “Wives, children, and property are the luxuries of the world, but simple living and doing nothing (wuwei) are the wonders of the Way. Laozi has said, ‘Of reputation and life, which is dearer? Of life and property, which is worth more?’ . . . Xu You and Chaofu dwelt in a tree. Boyi and Shuqi starved in Shouyang, but Confucius praised their worth, saying, ‘They sought to act in accordance with humanity and they succeeded in acting so.’ One does not hear of their being ill-spoken of because they were childless and propertyless. The monk practices the Way and substitutes that for the pleasures of disporting himself in the world. He accumulates goodness and wisdom in exchange for the joys of wife and children.” (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 424)

One significant development in the history of Buddhism in China began with the arrival of the Buddhist monk Kumarajiva (Jiumoluoshi) (344–413), in Chang’an, the Chinese capital, in 401. Kumarajiva, who promoted Madhyamaka Buddhism, had the support of a royal patron to translate Buddhist texts into Chinese. These included texts that would shape Chinese Buddhism, including the Lotus Sutra (Fahua Jing)6 and the Diamond Sutra (Jingang Jing).7 There were apparently numerous specialists who worked on this project with Kumarajiva. This was not merely a translation exercise, for the project sparked many doctrinal discussions, with comparisons of the new translations against the old and imperfect ones (Wright 1959:

5

The text Disposing of Error (Lihuo lun) features a person, Mouzi, as the defender of Buddhist doctrine. The date and authorship of the text are unknown; sections of it are reproduced

6

in de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 421–6. The long name of this text is Sutra on the White Lotus of the Sublime Dharma. Its long name in Chinese is Miaofa Lianhua Jing.

7

The long name of this text in Chinese is Jingang Banruoboluomi jing.

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62–3). According to Wright, the project was instrumental in defining Buddhism in China because . . . the ideas of Mahayana Buddhism were presented in Chinese with far greater clarity and precision than ever before. [For example,] Śūnyatā – Nāgārjuna’s concept of the void – was disentangled from the Daoist terminology which had obscured and distorted it, and this and other key doctrines of Buddhism were made comprehensible enough to lay the intellectual foundations of the great age of independent Chinese Buddhism that was to follow. (ibid.: 63)

This project had a lasting impact not only because the quality and quantity of Buddhist scriptures had been greatly increased, allowing for a more substantial consideration of Buddhist thought by Chinese thinkers. It also benefited many monks and thinkers who had come to work with Kumarajiva on the project, who subsequently went on to articulate Buddhist doctrines with distinctive Chinese themes that were not oversimplified by simple assimilations. Two disciples of Kumarajiva’s were prominent in this regard. The first was Sengzhao (394–414), who had studied the philosophies of Laozi and Zhuangzi. He proposed a distinctive, middle-path resolution to a number of topics including the immutability of things, and the emptiness of the unreal. In his discussion of the emptiness of things, he criticised the doctrines of a number of the seven schools, including the School of the Nonbeing of Mind, School of Matter-as-Such and School of Original Nothingness. He argued that their doctrines were one-sided, emphasising only the empty or nonbeing. The middle-path view considered both nonexistence and existence and, indeed, endorsed the excluded ground between the two. Sengzhao adopted an approach – reminiscent of that in Daoist philosophy – that brought together in dialectical interplay paired binaries including motion and rest, cause and effect, action and nonaction, permanence and impermanence, past and present, stability and change, existence and nonexistence, finite and infinite, and actuality and name (Fung 1953: 258–70). Another prominent disciple of Kumarajiva was Dao Sheng (c. 360–434). He discussed topics with a more practical orientation, including retribution and enlightenment. His most distinctive contribution was perhaps his discussions of the place of language in religious life. He focused on instruction, words and religious illumination: once a being has attained illumination,

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symbols (words) should be forgotten. This view also has a Daoist tone as it shares Daoist concerns about the inadequacy of language to capture what is real or important and the ineffable nature of wisdom. Dao Sheng also used the kind of imagery that we see especially in the Zhuangzi; he likens words to fish-traps, to be cast aside once the fish is caught. For Dao Sheng, this theory of learning was consistent with his argument that, if truth is determinate and unified, then the enlightened realisation of this “one vehicle” must be sudden and total. This doctrine was held suspect because it effectively discounted the learning processes and disciplinary practices associated with cultivation. Others, including Sengzhao, opposed it. Dao Sheng’s deprecation of language coupled with an emphasis on intuitive understanding expresses an outlook not unlike that in the doctrine of Chan (Zen) Buddhism that was to develop later. Our final focus in this section is on the influence of Xuanxue thought on Buddhist ideas during this period. Xuanxue thought arose in the context of the Wei dynasty, where criticism of the conduct of officials, who were pale shadows of their avowed Confucian values, extended from the late Han. It has associations with the “Pure Conversation” (qingtan) pursuits, whereby the literati – the educated elite – engaged in intellectual discussions and cultural activities such as music (Chan 2009: 304).8 The intellectual discussions often involved elaborate and lengthy explications of words or phrases in the classical texts. Within this climate, Xuanxue thinkers focused on reviving the classics, criticising the interpretation of Confucian ideas while proposing that they be read in light of the insights of dao (ibid.: 305). He Yan (195–249), Wang Bi (226–49) and Guo Xiang (d. 312) were the three prominent thinkers of this persuasion, and three particular texts – the Yijing, the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi – were the key classical texts the Xuanxue thinkers focused on.9 The three texts were later dubbed the “three profound treatises” (san xuan).

8

This phenomenon may have evolved from the “Pure Criticism” (qingyi) discussions in the Han, led by scholar-officials, who sought to eliminate corruption in the courts. Perhaps because they were suppressed, some disillusioned intellectuals turned towards intellectual discussions and music (Chan 2009: 304).

9

There were of course other prominent thinkers, including the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove, who were preoccupied by the hypocrisy of officials (Chan 2009: 313–17). Refer also to Chan for a summary of issues the Xuanxue thinkers engaged with (pp. 317–21).

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He Yan, who wrote a commentary on the Analects (which remains influential today), highlighted the Daoist notion of wu, that is, being without form or without the kinds of properties that can be expressed in words. In his Discourse on the Nameless (Wu Ming Lun), dao is that which does not have any distinct form or properties (Chan 2009: 307), and therefore it cannot be named. For He Yan, dao is complete as it is not confined by embodied particularity, and, because it is without particular characteristics, it can therefore be the root of all individual things. He Yan refers to the Confucian sage-ruler, Yao, to illuminate his conception of dao: like dao, Yao was complete and no single term could capture his excellence (Wu 2011; cited in D’Ambrosio, forthcoming). Wang Bi’s commentaries on both the Yijing and the Daodejing have shaped, and continue to shape, how we understand the two texts. Wang Bi identified dao as the source of all things, in both metaphysical and epistemological senses. Metaphysically, dao is the one source of all beings, which signifies the unity of the ten thousand things. The assertion of ontological priority is different from He Yan’s conception of wu, which focuses more on the issue of namelessness. For Wang Bi, that “Dao gives birth to One” (Daodejing 42) also suggests the priority of nonbeing – a metaphysical “nothingness” – that precedes being (Chan 2009: 308). Epistemologically, the task of the Daoist sage is to understand that multiplicity stems from oneness and that we should act in accordance with this picture of oneness. Guo Xiang, the foremost commentator of the Zhuangzi, treads a fine line between the self-sufficiency of each being and its interdependence with others. He rejected Wang Bi’s wu as a metaphysical entity. In Guo Xiang’s view, wu in the sense of nonbeing is an abstraction and therefore cannot be associated with the practicalities of the creation process (Chan 2009: 309). In addition, Wang Bi’s wu, qua oneness, highlighted the universality of all things. This sat uneasily with Guo Xiang’s belief that each entity is independent. Alan Chan highlights the difference between the two thinkers in this way: “While Wang Bi celebrates ‘One,’ Guo Xiang focuses on the many” (Chan 2009: 310). For Guo Xiang, while entities are invariably connected to others, they are nevertheless independent, just like a penumbra that is connected to, but not caused by, its (corresponding) shadow. Guo Xiang applied this imagery, taken from Zhuangzi 2, to illustrate his notion of “lone transformation” (duhua) (Ziporyn 2003: 99–123).

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The notion of independence was also central to Guo Xiang’s account of action: a person who is independent is not guided primarily by norms. In Guo Xiang’s view, the sage’s actions lie in his spontaneous actions, and, ideally, people’s actions should be spontaneous. Unfortunately, the sage’s spontaneous actions are misunderstood as traces (ji) – tracks to be followed. As a result, what is spontaneous (and should be understood as such) has been granted a normative role. These norms are then applied normatively to one’s own life (Ziporyn 2003: 31, 36). Guo Xiang’s criticism of official life then was that the classics were read as if they were traces – normative handbooks, so to speak. Proposing an alternative way of reading the Analects, Guo Xiang suggests that the text’s conversations be read as parables, rather than fixed truths to be enacted without variation across different lives. The summaries above highlight features of Xuanxue thought that built on thinking before the Han, and with which Buddhist thought found close alignments. Xuanxue discussions highlighted the inadequacy of language to capture ideals or the ground of existence. For He Yan, the concept dao, and the ideal ruler, should not be hemmed in by and reduced to an assortment – any assortment – of characteristics. Wang Bi and Guo Xiang likewise rejected formulaic and prescriptive learning. In Wang Bi’s case, such learning betrays the ontological oneness which is the ground of plurality. Guo Xiang’s explanation is different: individuals stand to lose if they are taught only to follow normative prescriptions as they are walking in someone else’s footsteps. These discussions exhibit attentiveness to a range of issues that cut across the divisions of metaphysics, epistemology, philosophy of language and ethics. They include conceptions of self and world in light of independence and interdependence; the limitations of the self that shape and affect human pursuits; and the complex and sometimes unknowable lines of causality that result in change. Together, these ideas bolstered scepticism about entrenched ways of life. They opened up possibilities for a deeper sense of individuality, in their rejection of the formulaic and universal. In bringing together Confucian and Daoist ideas of a life well lived, they proposed that the criteria for excellence in life were not about following pre-established patterns but about the experiences and practices which were constitutive of life. In these and other ways, Xuanxue thought prepared the ground for, and also influenced the development of, Buddhism in China. Over the fifth and sixth centuries, Chinese Buddhism developed distinctive characteristics in its views on being, mind and consciousness, the relation between this-worldly

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life and life at a deeper level, independence and interdependence, causality and ethical life.

Chinese Buddhist Doctrines As Buddhist philosophy became increasingly popular in China in the fifth and sixth centuries, doctrinal divisions developed on the basis of different scriptures that were read and interpreted by different thinkers. If the numerous Buddhist texts were the word of Buddha, how might inter-textual inconsistencies be explained?10 Given that Chinese thinkers showed more interest in Mahayana Buddhism, this task was even more difficult because of the nature of the Mahayanist texts. Unlike the case with the Theravadin scriptures, which had been consolidated relatively early at a number of Councils of Buddhism in India, the Mahayanist scriptures were not officially endorsed at any point. The latter not only contradicted Theravadin scriptures, they were often inconsistent with others within the Mahayana tradition (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 434). Some Chinese Buddhist thinkers dealt with inconsistencies and contradictions by claiming that a text, or a set of them, was the final or culminating word of Buddha among the range of Buddhist texts. One prominent method of dealing with this problem was called the “classification of teachings” (pan jiao). This method was: . . . motivated by the need to resolve a basic contradiction: that between the theory that the Buddhist scriptures were all utterances of the Buddha himself, and therefore represented a single unified teaching; and the actual fact that, having really been written by many different persons at different times they were therefore often quite inconsistent with one another. The Chinese solution was to develop the theory that the scriptures were indeed all utterances of the Buddha, but that he had often deliberately varied his teachings to suit the particular occasion and audience for which they were intended. (Fung 1953: 284)

This method was widely used, with different groups proposing different criteria for ranking Buddhist teachings and texts. In fact, the ranking system

10

According to Hurvitz et al., Chinese thinkers did not realise that the texts from India were divided along sectarian lines, and their attempts to create some coherence among them were often fraught (1999a: 433).

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was a catalyst in producing different schools of Buddhism. These include the Consciousness-Only (Wei Shi), Heavenly Terrace (Tian Tai), Flower Garland (Hua Yan) and Pure Land (Jing Tu) schools (Hershock 2015). Other attempts to justify the dharma (Sanskrit) – teaching – of a particular school included pilgrimages to India, which involved not only study but the importation and translation of more scriptures. Over the fifth and sixth centuries and after, the journeys to India by Chinese monks greatly enhanced the depth and complexity of Chinese Buddhist thought. Fa Xian (c. 337–422), the first Chinese monk who successfully returned in 418 from a pilgrimage to China with scriptures, organised a partial translation of the Mahayana Nirvana Sutra (Niepan Jing). One of the discussions in this text was the case of beings who did not qualify for enlightenment: icchantika, incorrigible beings (Lusthaus 1998). Debates ensued, and continued over centuries, about whether these beings were in possession of Buddha-nature (fo xing). Dao Sheng, Kumarajiva’s student, proposed that all beings had Buddha-nature. Through time, this optimistic belief in Buddha-nature became one of the key tenets of Chinese Mahayanist Buddhism (Lusthaus 1998: “Indian transplants: Madhyamaka and Icchantikas”). During the Sui dynasty (581–618), doctrinal discussions on Buddhism flourished. By the Tang (618–907), distinctive doctrinal characteristics had developed, and later in this period, it seems that Chinese Buddhist discussions turned less to Indian connections and treatises and instead took more interest in commentaries on the Buddhist scriptures, such as the Lotus Sutra and the Huayan Sutra (Lusthaus 1998: “Historical Overview”). Close scrutiny on the fine details of doctrinal differences led some to focus on doctrine, while others focused on practice. As we are primarily concerned with Buddhist philosophy, we will focus mainly on the doctrinal sects. It should however be noted that Pure Land (Jingtu) Buddhism, which emphasises religious practice, is possibly the most popular form of Buddhism in China and other parts of Asia, up to the present. Pure Land Buddhism is a Mahayanist movement that believes in a sphere, the Pure Land, which is free from temptations and defilements in the human world (Hurvitz et al. 1999b: 482). The dogma of Pure Land Buddhism was that the world was in decline, hence rendering it almost impossible for people to attain nirvana. In response to this problem, it proposed a doctrine of salvation based on the belief that Amita, a bodhisattva on his way to Buddhahood, had taken

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forty-eight vows, one of which allowed beings who invoked his name, “Amituo Fo,” to attain salvation by being reborn in the Pure Land. We turn now to the Buddhist doctrines that had developed during the fifth and sixth centuries in China, all of which had been influenced to greater or lesser extents by themes and ideas in Chinese thought.

San Lun (Three Treatise) Buddhism This sect advocated Madhyamaka doctrine introduced to China by Kumarajiva. Its name derives from three key texts of the Madhyamaka tradition, The Treatise on the Middle Way, The Treatise on the Twelve Gates and The One-Hundred-Verse Treatise. Madhyamaka doctrine draws a distinction between the phenomenal world as perceived through our senses and the world that is real. To see the phenomenal world as real is an illusion, analogous to one having poor eyesight: one “sees” all things inaccurately, understanding things to be real when they are in fact not (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 436). Reality is captured by the term kong, emptiness (sunyata, Sanskrit). Unlike the phenomena of our ordinary world, the void is absolute and unchanging. Ji Zang (540–623) was the major proponent of San Lun philosophy. His philosophy is also sometimes known as “Double Truth” theory because he proposed two levels of truth, Common Truth (shi) and Absolute Truth (zhen). Common Truth pertains to this world, while Absolute Truth is associated with the noumenal world, the underlying reality. The two types of truth are, to an extent, comparable to the modern metaphysical distinction between appearance and reality. According to Ji Zang, there are three levels of Common and Absolute Truth. At the first, simplistic level, Common Truth affirms “being,” that is, the existence of the phenomenal world. By contrast, Absolute Truth affirms “nonbeing.” At the second level, nonbeing and being are both considered, although Common Truth affirms either being or nonbeing while Absolute Truth denies each position. At the third, most sophisticated, level, affirmations and negations are under scrutiny as both reveal attachment to the phenomenal world. Common Truth either affirms or denies being and nonbeing, while Absolute Truth neither affirms nor denies being and nonbeing. Derk Bodde expresses the two types of truth and their levels schematically:

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Three Levels of Double Truth Common Truth

Absolute Truth

(1) Affirmation of being

(1) Affirmation of nonbeing

(2) Affirmation of either being

(2) Denial of both being and

or nonbeing (3) Either affirmation or denial

nonbeing (3) Neither affirmation nor denial

of both being and nonbeing

of both being and nonbeing11

A person progresses along these levels of truth in a dialectical manner, as indicated by the arrows above:  From Common Truth (1) to Absolute Truth (1), then to Level Two.  At level two, the person progresses from Common Truth (2) to Absolute Truth (2), then to level three, until Absolute Truth (3) is attained. Bodde writes, “The highest level of truth is to be reached through a series of successive negations of negation, until nothing remains to be either affirmed or denied” (in Fung 1953: 295). In its double-truth theory, the middle path is affirmed: while nirvana is to be found in the Higher Truth, one is not required to extract oneself from the life of Common Truth. Meditation is the method to attain insight into the truth. Ji Zang also synthesised Madhyamaka emptiness with Buddha-nature, emphasising the capacity of humans to achieve Buddhahood. San Lun Buddhism declined in the ninth century, although Ji Zang’s ideas were assimilated into later Buddhist philosophy. Many of his writings have survived and have influenced other Chinese Buddhist doctrines.

Wei Shi (Consciousness-Only) Buddhism Wei Shi Buddhism developed from the Yogacara (Sanskrit: Yoga practice) strain in India. Besides Madhyamaka, Yogacara was the other main branch of Mahayanist philosophy. Xuan Zang (602–664) played a significant role in developing Wei Shi doctrine. He journeyed to central Asia to study Buddhism, learning from Vasubandhu (c. fourth to fifth century), one of two brothers who were attributed with the founding of Yogacara Buddhism. Xuan Zang

11

Adapted from Derk Bodde’s translation note (arrows inserted by author), in Fung 1953: 295.

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translated seventy-four works (Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools”), but his most significant was A Treatise in the Establishment of Consciousness-Only (Cheng Weishi Lun), in ten volumes. Yogacara doctrine held that everything is empty because it is only a product of the mind. Adopting this philosophy, Xuan Zang proposed that all perceived objects are merely experiences, hence denying the substantial reality of matter. He also posited that Buddha-nature was an intrinsic feature of all beings. He referred to dream experiences to support his claim that it is impossible to find definite proof for the veridical nature of sense experience. Objects possess no reality apart from mind. While we might believe that “objects” such as gardens and villages exist, Xuan Zang argues that they exist only insofar as they are seen at a particular time and place, not at all times and places (Fung 1953: 321–3). For Xuan Zang, our perception of things in the world “is no proof of the independent existence of any entity, and all perceptions may be explained as projections of the percipient mind” (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 441). In epistemological terms this doctrine holds that nothing can be established independently of mind. The world as we know it arises from the transformations of consciousness. Xuan Zang proposed eight levels of consciousness, with the eighth, most mature level of consciousness, called the “storehouse consciousness” (alaya-vijnana, Sanskrit). Storehouse consciousness is a repository of perceptions accumulated through time. Every deed, good or bad, leaves a trace in the storehouse consciousness. Storehouse consciousness is also sometimes called “seed” consciousness as it contains, as it were, the seeds of all things inside and outside the phenomenal world. Each individual being has its own storehouse consciousness that is continually transforming, which means that the “individual” is not a permanent self.12 Proponents of Wei Shi Buddhism proposed different accounts on how storehouse consciousness is influenced (or “perfumed”) by experience. They also debated the identity of the self in light of transmigration processes, an issue that arose as storehouse consciousness is not identified with an individual’s bodily existence. Indeed, storehouse consciousness may exist prior to a person’s bodily existence and it may also survive bodily death (Fung

12

Refer to Lusthaus (1998), “Indian transplants: tathagatagarbha and Yogacara” for a more detailed discussion of consciousness in Yogacara philosophy and how this doctrine played out in tension with tathagatagarba doctrine (respository of Buddhahood), a belief in ontological Buddha-nature intrinsic in all things.

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1953: 305–6). The theory of storehouse consciousness was also riddled with the problem of extreme idealism: is everything we claim to know or understand ultimately subjective? Is storehouse consciousness able to deal with the problem of solipsism? An attempt was made to address the problem of subjectivity by positing a universal storehouse consciousness that includes all of the individual storehouse consciousnesses. However, the concept of universal storehouse consciousness was not without problems as it needed to account for the interactions and causal connections between universal and nonuniversal storehouse consciousness. Some notion of intersubjectivity was suggested, but its details were far from clear (Fung 1953: 308–9). The Wei Shi doctrine of idealism, which Fung describes as “Mere Ideation,” attempted a middle-path solution to consciousness and the phenomenal world of ordinary experiences (ibid.: 319). While it maintained that only consciousness exists, and that there are no real things apart from consciousness, on the other hand, it also asserts that the phenomenal world, a product of consciousness and inseparable from it, does exist. It does not seem to have adequate answers to a number of questions including the role of the human sensory faculties in relation to storehouse consciousness, subjectivity, the distinction between storehouse consciousness in its universal and nonuniversal forms and the problem of other minds (ibid.: 309–10, 326). In practice, Wei Shi Buddhism advocated exhausting the store of consciousness until it became empty. At this stage, we say that a being has attained a state of “thusness” (tathata, Sanskrit). The means of achieving this state is through yogic activity, and, here, Xuan Zang promoted an orthodox form of Yogacara practice from India (Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools”). Wei Shi Buddhism declined in the eighth century, perhaps because its idealism was too far-fetched to capture the imagination of the Chinese.13

Tian Tai (Heavenly Terrace) Buddhism Tian Tai Buddhism remains influential in parts of East Asia. It takes its name after the Tian Tai Mountain in China, where its putative founder, third patriarch Zhi Yi (538–597), spent many years learning and teaching. The 13

Fung Yu-Lan states that the doctrine of the Consciousness-Only sect completely contradicted common sense (1953: 339).

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name is noteworthy because, in pointing to its founding location in China, it emphasises its non-Indian origin. Yet its philosophy is grounded in the Lotus Sutra. The Lotus Sutra was a popular Mahayanist text, and its focus was primarily on religious practice; it was not a systematic treatise. Zhi Yi interpreted the Lotus Sutra in three major texts, Profound Meaning of the Lotus Sutra (Fahua Xuan Yi), Words and Phrases of the Lotus Sutra (Fahua Wenju), and The Great Calming and Contemplation (Mohe Zhiguan). He believed that there was only one Buddhist dharma and, from this angle, set out a hierarchy of texts: When Buddha was enlightened under the Bodhi tree, his vision was described in immediate and exuberant terms, as expressed in the Huayan Sutra. However, upon realising that this text was inaccessible, Buddha focused on preparatory-level teachings, articulated in Hinayana texts. The next level of teachings drew from Madhyamaka and Yogacara texts. This was followed by more advanced Mahayana texts, finally culminating in the Lotus Sutra and the Nirvana Sutra. The Huayan Sutra and the Lotus Sutra were the two highest sutras, but the Huayan was too sublime to be appreciated by anyone but the most advanced or enlightened. Hence, Zhi Yi made the Lotus Sutra the defining text of Tian Tai Buddhism. (adapted from Lusthaus 1998:“The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Tiantai”)

Tian Tai doctrine highlights the idea of emptiness. Drawing on the Indian Madhyamaka distinction between conventional and ultimate truth (Ziporyn 2011: 69–70), Zhi Yi proposed a three-truth theory (sandi), with the following three elements of truth working together as a unit: 1. All things – including entities and points of view – are empty because they are produced as a result of causes and conditions and therefore have no self-nature. 2. However, they do have provisional existence. 3. Being both empty and provisional is the nature of dharmas and is the Mean. (adapted from Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 444) As there is only one reality, the three elements, (1) emptiness, (2) provisional existence and (3) the Mean, must be taken as one. There is no fixed starting point of the three truths; in other words, it does not matter where one starts because the three-in-one is in fact a circular (yuan) interplay between the three truths. The first, emptiness, asserts that there are no independent, intrinsic or fixed qualities that render individual entities or ideas self-sufficient.

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The second points out that they do, however, have provisional existence. According to the third (the Mean), all assertions, even its own, are both empty and provisional. Thinking about how we link the three assertions, if we were to begin with the first two assertions, they will conjunctively lead us to the middle-path, that all things and ideas are both empty and provisional. Nevertheless, the third truth is not the final point of realisation, for it itself embodies the other two truths and is therefore itself empty and provisional, as, indeed, are the first two. This is what is meant by saying that the three truths are circular. Unlike the doctrine of the Wei Shi sect, which understands phenomena entirely as a product of consciousness, Tian Tai emphasises the interconnectedness of consciousness and phenomena: the phenomenal world provides content for consciousness, while, on the other hand, it is interpreted through the exercise of cognitive faculties. Ideally, the cognitive faculties interpret the phenomenal world in light of a deeper, underlying reality (dharmas). This middle-way doctrine advocates nonduality of consciousness and phenomena. Enlightenment begins with epistemological insight, involving the elimination of errors about any of the three truths or the relations between them (Ziporyn 2011: 72–3). Zhi Yi also bridged the gap between contemplative faith and analytical wisdom using the dialectical middle-path approach. In Zhi Yi’s time, Buddhist thought in south China was predominantly theoretical in character, while Buddhists in the north were keen to develop Buddhism as a religion of faith and discipline. Because Zhi Yi was himself from the south, and because he had a teacher from the north, he combined both aspects of Buddhist doctrine. He developed a view that saw the experiential and doctrinal aspects of Buddhism in terms of the two wings of a bird (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 444). In its religious and experiential aspects, Tian Tai doctrine posited a rich phenomenal world of one thousand levels, including the existence of hell beings, heavenly beings, animals, hungry ghosts, humans, Buddhas and bodhisattvas. It also claimed, according to the Lotus Sutra, that there are many Buddhas and that Buddhahood is open to all people. The availability of Buddhahood to all sits well with Mencius’ philosophy of human nature, which holds that all humans have the inherent capacity to develop sagehood. However, unlike Mencius’ theory, Tian Tai believes in essential evil, which even Buddha has, as an element of his nature. Zhi Yi proposes a doctrine of

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repentance as well as a range of purification processes for rectifying evil (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 462–71). Zhi Yi applied the pan jiao method to explain differences in Buddhist doctrines. In the final analysis, he proposed the One Great Vehicle that embraces all humanity in spite of their differences. In a conversation the Buddha is meant to have had with one of his disciples, Sariputra, emphasis is placed on different argumentative techniques such as empirical examples (various causes and conditions), analogies (words of simile and parable), and doctrinal exposition (expounding the Law), to highlight a universal Buddha-nature: Śāriputra, the Buddhas preach the Law in accordance with what is appropriate, but the meaning is difficult to understand. Why is this? Because we employ countless expedient means, discussing causes and conditions and using words of simile and parable to expound the teachings. This Law is not something that can be understood through pondering or analysis. Only those who are Buddhas can understand it . . . Śāriputra, I know that living beings have various desires, attachments that are deeply implanted in their minds. Taking cognizance of this basic nature of theirs, I will therefore use various causes and conditions, words of simile and parable, and the power of expedient means and expound the Law for them. Śāriputra, I do this so that all of them may attain the one Buddha vehicle and wisdom embracing all species . . . (Kumarajiva’s translation of the Lotus Sutra, cited in Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 447)

The view that Buddha-nature is universal was important as it rejected the assumptions of the Indian caste system. But just as important, it affirmed the widely shared optimism in Chinese philosophy that the highest level of achievement was available to all, while maintaining the Buddhist doctrine that all species were included in this consideration. In its use of the term “Buddha” as a generic term, allowing for many Buddhas, the doctrine emphasises the availability of Buddhahood for all.

Hua Yan (Flower Garland) Buddhism The teachings of Hua Yan Buddhism are based on the Flower Garland Sutra (Huayan Jing), a text known for its ornate and obscure language, which describes a Buddhistic vision of the universe. Its doctrine begins not with a diagnosis of the illusory or problematic but with a vision set out from the

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enlightened point of view (Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Huayan”). Within the Mahayana tradition, the Flower Garland Sutra is sometimes said to have been the first sermon of Buddha, composed when he had attained enlightenment (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 471). We have seen this, for example, in the Tian Tai pan jiao classification of Buddhist doctrines, where the Buddha, recognising the profundity of the text and its inaccessibility for most ordinary people, began to preach other sutras that were easier for beginners. Some basic tenets of the Flower Garland Sutra are similar to those in other branches of Mayahana Buddhism, including its focus on the compassion of bodhisattvas and ethically correct conduct. It also agrees with other sects that objects are empty (kong), being devoid of an inherent nature and independent existence. Hua Yan Buddhism in China was said to have been established by five patriarchs. Among them, the monk Du Shun (557–640) is regarded as its founder because he assisted in its formation as a distinct sect. Fa Zang (643–712) is considered its greatest proponent because he systematised the doctrine for lay followers. In his Essay on the Gold Lion (Jin Shizi Zhang), Fa Zang uses the example of a gold lion to explain Buddhist doctrine. He refers to the gold(-ness) of the gold lion, and the lion qua perceived object, to demonstrate a range of Buddhist ideas. Fa Zang is said to have written this essay at the emperor’s palace because the emperor was having difficulty understanding Buddhist insights (Fung 1953: 340). In the Essay on the Gold Lion, Fa Zang also uses the pan jiao method to explain different Buddhist doctrines. Hua Yan Buddhism tops the list, while ‘Hinayana’ Buddhism is presented in a derogatory way: 1. Level one: one realises the impermanence and insubstantiality of objects: “The lion is a product of causation, and undergoes generation and destruction from moment to moment, there is really no quality to the lion that may be grasped” (Fung 1953: 346). This is the most elementary Buddhist teaching, meant for the followers of Hinayana Buddhism. 2. Level two: one recognises the basic Mahayana teaching that “in the final analysis there is only emptiness” (ibid.). 3. Level three: one grasps that emptiness is not inconsistent with (the illusory appearance of) phenomena. 4. Level four: emptiness and existence (of phenomena) are mutually annulled and the false impressions of the senses are cast aside. This is instantaneous, where word and speech are abandoned.

Chinese Buddhism

5. Level five: “All things of the senses are revealed in their true essence, and become merged into one great mass . . . every one of which represents the Absolute” (ibid.). The myriad are one as all things equally have no intrinsic or independent nature. This is the perfect teaching of the One Vehicle. Fa Zang’s “All are One” theory stands in contrast to Tian Tai’s “Three are One.” Tian Tai holds that all things are the same as they each embody the three truths. In contrast, according to Fa Zang, each part of existence embodies or reflects the whole: in and through each being, we see all the others as well.14 He extended this “All are One” dogma in a number of ways, as for instance to assert that all Buddhas are “one.” His interest in deeper metaphysical questions, such as Buddha-nature and the nature of all things, contributed to his decision to leave his position as one of the translators on Xuanzang’s Yogacara text translation project. Fa Zang believed that orthodox Yogacara doctrine did not adequately attend to these questions (Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools”). He appealed to the idea of “suchness” (tathata, Pali/Sanskrit; rulai, Chinese), in the Mahayanist text the Awakening of Faith in Mahayana, to explain his notion of Buddha-nature.15 In this text, suchness is both empty and nonempty. It is empty because it is “beyond predication”: suchness is neither one nor many, and neither the same nor different. It is nonempty in the sense that it has all the qualities and merits of a Buddha (Lusthaus 1998: “The Awakening of Faith in Mahayana”). By contrast, objects in the phenomenal world and in a person’s experiences are unreal and illusory. Fa Zang’s doctrine draws on both metaphysical and epistemological themes. It expresses how reality is constructed, in four ways, in our lived worlds (dharma-dhatu): 1. Realm of things (shi fa jie): things are experienced as discrete, individual items. 2. Realm of principle (li fa jie): seeing the metaphysical order that circumscribes events and the principles that underlie that order 3. Realm of noninterference between principle and things (li shi wu ai fa jie): events are seen as instantiations of principle, and principle is nothing more than the order by which events relate to each other. 14

15

This religious-philosophical outlook would have been appealing in a political climate that sought unification and stability (Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 475). Refer to Lai 2009 for a discussion of the place of the Awakening of Faith in Mahayana in the development of Chinese Buddhism.

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4. Realm of noninterference of all things (shishi wu ai): everything is seen as causally related to everything else. (adapted from Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Huayan”)

Fa Zang’s concept of principle, li, is philosophically noteworthy as later Chinese thinkers such as Wang Yang Ming (1472–1529), the Neo-Confucian thinker, drew extensively from this concept in Buddhist doctrine. In Hua Yan Buddhism, the concept li arose from considerations about the nature of things. The principle holds that, for all things, there is nothing that has (intrinsic) nature. Or, all things have the nature of having no nature. However, each thing has an ability to take on characteristics, and we may therefore say that “the ability to take on characteristics, or to appear to have characteristics, or to temporarily assume characteristics, is itself the only intrinsic characteristic of all things” (Ziporyn 2011: 74). In other words, li holds for all things in that each has this intrinsic characteristic. However, precisely because of this capacity to take on characteristics, each thing has the potential to be distinct. Hence, li simultaneously covers both the sameness of all things and the distinctiveness of each. Interdependence is another important feature of the nature of things in Fa Zang’s doctrine. To exemplify his theory of the distinctive yet interdependent nature of all things, he uses the analogy of the various faculties of the gold lion: . . . if the eyes of the lion are taken to include the whole lion, the all is the eyes. But if the ears are taken to include the whole lion, the all is the ears. And if all the organs are simultaneously taken to include the whole lion, every one of them is the perfect whole. (Fung 1953: 349)

This analogy is not entirely effective. Fa Zang’s intention is to demonstrate that phenomena (the many) are each complete manifestations of the one (absolute) mind in its totality. A more thought-provoking metaphor is that of “Indra’s Net,” found in the text Calming and Contemplation in the Five Teachings of Huayan: The jeweled net of Śakra is also called Indra’s Net, and is made up of jewels. The jewels are shiny and reflect each other successively, their images permeating each other over and over. In a single jewel they all appear at the same time, and this can be seen in each and every jewel. There is really no coming or going.

Chinese Buddhism

Now if we turn to the southwest direction and pick up one of the jewels to examine it, we will see that this one jewel can immediately reflect the images of all the other jewels. Each of the other jewels will do the same. Each jewel will simultaneously reflect the images of all the jewels in this manner, as will all of the other jewels. The images are repeated and multiplied in each other in a manner that is unbounded. Within the boundaries of a single jewel are contained the unbounded repetition and profusion of the images of all the jewels. The reflections are exceedingly clear and are completely unhindered. (trans. Hurvitz et al. 1999a: 473)

The jewels of the net are separate yet bound together. Each single jewel contains reflections of all the others. The concepts of noninterference and interdependence together play an important role in a doctrine that embraces a manifold reality. In other words, a theory that is both holistic and pluralistic is plausible only insofar as it also includes an ordering principle, so to speak, of how the many co-exist. Fa Zang notes explicitly the importance of recognising and maintaining the many: the five organs of the lion are different from the lion as a whole and hence each is unique. They are similar in that they all arise from a cause. But inasmuch as they combine to make the lion, they are integrated. He concludes by drawing out the implications of his analogy: . . . the object [in the phenomenal world] as a whole has the quality of generalness, whereas each of its parts has the quality of speciality. Inasmuch as the object as a whole, as well as its separate parts, are all products of causation, this is their quality of similarity. Yet inasmuch as each part remains distinct from the other parts, this is their quality of diversity. Inasmuch, however, as the combination of the parts results in the formation of the object as a whole, this is their quality of integration. (trans. Fung 1953: 355)

The lion does not have its own being; its existence is dependent on other things and events. While the lion itself does not have an inherent nature, it gives the illusion of having particular qualities and it is on such a basis that it exists. In this way, emptiness is not annihilatory, nor is it external to matter (Fung 1953: 343). Fa Zang’s endorsement of both principle and things is markedly different from Indian Buddhist thought in general, which tends to identify the phenomenal world as the source of illusion to be shunned. It is also different from Tian Tai Buddhism in that it brings together metaphysical

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and epistemological elements, maintaining that enlightenment involves realisation about the true nature of things. By contrast, Tian Tai’s nonduality of consciousness and phenomena is an epistemologically based enlightenment about how things and ideas might be understood.16 In both doctrine and practice, Fa Zang remained committed to the phenomenal world in its plurality – similar to what we see in the Zhuangzi text. There is an interesting anecdote of how he demonstrated to students the essence of the integrated and interdependent nature of everything: He took ten mirrors, arranging them, one each, at the eight compass points and above and below, in such a way that they were a little over ten feet apart from each other, all facing one another. He then placed a Buddhist figure in the center and illuminated it with a torch so that its image was reflected from one to another. His students thus came to understand the theory of passing from “land and sea” (the finite world) into infinity. (Song Gaoseng Juan, cited in Fung 1953: 353)

Fa Zang emphasises that the understanding of Buddhist truth is intuitive and instantaneous. Such attainment is beyond words and concepts, resists analysis and is, at its core, anti-language. That Buddhist enlightenment is instantaneous was an issue that sparked much debate, for, if correct, it would imply the pointlessness of gradual cultivation towards a goal. Furthermore, that enlightenment is primarily intuitive seems to nullify the practice of good acts and living according to moral and disciplinary codes. These issues, as well as the view of enlightenment as essentially the grasping of Buddhist insight, were at the heart of debates in Chan Buddhism.

Chan Buddhism Chan Buddhism is better known by its Japanese name, Zen, as it was introduced to the Western world early in the twentieth century by the notable Japanese scholar and translator Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki (1870–1966). The name “Chan” is a shortened version of “Chan-na,” a phonetic translation of the Sanskrit dhyana. Dhyana is popularly though loosely translated as “meditation,” although it more accurately refers to contemplative rather 16

Refer to Ziporyn (2011: 77) for a more extended discussion of the differences between Hua Yan and Tian Tai Buddhist doctrines.

Chinese Buddhism

than theoretical or detached thinking. In China, Chan Buddhism developed distinctive strands of thought from around the late sixth century. There are stories about the origins of Chan Buddhism including its direct line of transmission from Buddha, method of transmission and Indian origins. According to a popular account, Buddha transmitted his teaching to a disciple and this teaching was different from what he preached in public. Subsequent transmission of this doctrine relied primarily on oral transmission, passed from one patriarch to another. The twenty-eighth patriarch, Bodhidharma (470–543), is said to have brought the teaching into China. Hence he was considered the first patriarch of Chan Buddhism. Divisions developed between thinkers in the south and the north. Ironically because it was more successful, the northern sect was diminished in a purge of Buddhism from 841 (Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Chan”; Hershock 2015).17 As the northern sect subsequently ceased to exist, most accounts of it we now have are from the southern sect and are unreliable. According to an account proposed by the southern sect, there was a split into the northern and southern Chan sects after the fifth patriarch, Hong Ren (601–74). Each claimed its leader as the genuine sixth patriarch. Shen Xiu (c. 605–706) was the patriarch of the northern sect and Hui Neng (638–713) that of the southern. After about a century of rivalry, Shen Hui (670–762), a disciple of Hui Neng, had his views accepted by the Tang court as the genuine Chan strain. This account is dubious, however, for reasons stated above. Contemporary scholars also regard the Indian origins as untrue and doubt whether there was a person named Bodhidharma who transmitted Chan Buddhism during the said period (Fung 1953: 386–8; de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 492–3; McRae 2003). Hui Neng is described as an illiterate person from the south, as presented in the Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch (Liu Zu Tan Jing), which has become a foundational text in Chan Buddhist philosophy.18 The text includes a

17

Hershock writes, “[from 841 to 845], more than a quarter million monks and nuns were forcibly returned to lay life and over 5,000 temples, monasteries and Buddhist libraries were destroyed” (2015).

18

It was said to have been composed by an obscure disciple, but recent scholarship attributes the work to a monk from a different strain of Buddhism who had come into contact with Chan ideas. Moreover there have been additions to the Platform Sutra over the years. In 1967, Philip Yampolsky published an authoritative translation of a version of the Platform Sutra located in Dunhuang; that version turned out to be the earliest

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biography of Hui Neng and a collection of his teachings, which sometimes involves evaluation of Shen Xiu’s ideas. While its information about Hui Neng, Shen Xiu’s views and other historical details may not be accurate, that the text presents Hui Neng’s words is worth noting, for the name “Sutra” had traditionally been reserved for the titles of texts believed to have been the recorded teachings of the historical Buddha (Hershock 2015). In the following discussion, we highlight three distinctive features of Chan Buddhism – enlightenment, mind and cultivation – and explore how they are expressed in the Platform Sutra. Chan Buddhism sets itself apart from other strands of Chinese Buddhism, and Chinese thought more generally, by rejecting scholastic approaches such as doctrinal or text-based discussions. This is clear, for example, in its portrayal of the background of Hui Neng. Some of the early texts attributed to Bodhidharma and other Chan thinkers self-consciously reject the study of doctrines. There are two broad areas of emphasis in the pursuit of Buddhist enlightenment, that is, li, principle, or xing, practice. As we have seen, most of the schools embrace both, with varying degrees of emphasis. In Chan Buddhism, however, the practice-oriented method is advocated almost to the exclusion of doctrine; the attainment of Chan Buddhist enlightenment involves only engaging in practice. These practices are not means to an end. Rather, in doing, one attains Buddhist truth, whether in walking, lying down or sitting (section 14; trans. Yampolsky 2002: 136; Hershock 2015; Broughton 1999). This belief in living the life of Buddhist truth affirms the universality of Buddha-nature; all are capable of embracing such a life. Fung Yu-lan describes Chan engagement in the following way: “in carrying water and chopping wood: therein lies the wonderful Dao” (1953: 390). Like Tian Tai Buddhism, the Platform Sutra does not shun the phenomenal world and deny the pure mind–phenomenal world dualism maintained by many other Buddhist schools. For Hui Neng and his followers, it is inconsequential where or when mental illumination happens.19 A person could be

extant version of the work. However, the text contains numerous errors and is believed to have been a copy made by a semi-literate scribe (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 494). 19

For example, the Platform Sutra argues against belief that the “Pure Land” advocated in Pure Land Buddhism is actually a location: “people of the East [China], just by making the mind pure, are without crime; people of the West [the Pure Land of the West], if their minds are not pure, are guilty of a crime. The deluded person wishes to be born in the

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chopping wood or drinking tea when illumination comes upon him or her. The enlightened person engages in ordinary daily activities, just as everyone else does. The criteria for worthwhile engagements are not determined on the basis of certain types of activities but on the nature of the engagement. Activities in themselves are not good or bad; even to label them as such, mindful of the traps of convention, is to be bound by those values. This is reminiscent of the stance in the Zhuangzi in its rejection of shi-fei knowing, and where the sage does not lodge within any set of shi-fei valuing. In the Platform Sutra, it seems that even to consider the nature of reality is a distraction. Hui Neng claims that, from the ancients, “without-thinking” (wunian) has always been the core teaching of Buddhism (section 17; see Hershock 2015). A second feature of Chan Buddhism that sets it apart from other Chinese Buddhist traditions is its conception of mind. Whereas some other schools might uphold the enlightenment of the mind, in the Platform Sutra, the “sitting in meditation” method is held up for ridicule because it is associated with the search for reality by the pure mind (section 18; trans. Yampolsky 2002: 139). Yet Hui Neng in the text does not simply do away with meditation, arguing instead for a dialectical interplay between meditation (ding) and wisdom (hui): “meditation itself is the substance [ti] of wisdom; wisdom itself is the function [yong] of meditation . . . be careful not to say that meditation gives rise to wisdom, or that wisdom gives rise to meditation, or that meditation and wisdom are different from each other” (section 13, ibid.: 135; annotations by author). Using an analogy of a lamp and its illuminating function, the lamp is the “substance” and its light the “function”; although they have two names, they are one (section 15; see Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Chan”). This nondual approach to meditation and wisdom must be distinguished from the “sitting in meditation” method, as the latter is underscored by a deeper concern to attain reality qua purity. In doing so, one objectifies purity, making it a target of one’s pursuit: “Purity has no form, but nonetheless, some people try to postulate the form of purity and consider this to be Ch’an practice” (section 18; trans. Yampolsky 2002: 139). Here, Chan doctrine brings together its epistemological views, and its metaphysical commitments (of which it has none). How is this so? The lamp East or West; [for the enlightened person] any land is just the same . . . Why should you seek rebirth [in the Western Land]?” (trans. de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 502).

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and illumination analogy is helpful here: Chan doctrine understands that we have a lamp to illuminate, and that is all. There is no deeper metaphysical commitment, say, to the lamp or the light produced by it. It would be misguided for a person to pursue the lamp’s light qua object in the same way that attaining purity is seen as the pinnacle of achievement. Likewise, the person who pursues mind as object is deluded. The text contrasts two views, the first attributed to Shen Xiu of the northern sect and the second, Hui Neng’s response: The body is the Bodhi tree, The mind is like a clear mirror. At all times we must strive to polish it, And must not let the dust collect. (section 6, ibid.: 130) Bodhi originally has no tree, The mirror also has no stand. Buddha nature is always clean and pure; Where is there room for dust? (section 8, ibid.: 132)

The first verse upholds the enlightened person whose mind is clear like a mirror, and which requires watchful diligence in keeping it clean. The second verse claims that there was nothing originally, neither Bodhi tree nor mirror. From Hui Neng’s first principle that there is originally nothing, there is no dust either. The text asserts that, whereas the northern sect seeks to preserve or nurture an undefiled mind, Hui Neng’s enlightenment does not have an object to work with. We can perceive here some semblance of a distinction between consciousness (mind as subject) and mind (mind as object) that does not seem to have arisen elsewhere in Chinese philosophy. We continue with the two verses on the mirror to explore the third distinctive feature of Chan Buddhism, its stance against cultivation. To say there is no dust on the mirror is a metaphorical way of saying that cleaning the mirror is a futile exercise. In the first verse, enlightenment is understood as a (gradual) process while, in the second, it is a(n instantaneous) state.20 The former is more closely aligned with theories of cultivation in China at that time. Cultivation theories typically involved physical and mental exercise as 20

Fung traces the idea of instantaneous enlightenment back to Dao Sheng (1953: 388).

Chinese Buddhism

well as ethical self-restraint. The doctrine of instant enlightenment does not accept that there is a developmental path towards enlightenment. Instantaneous enlightenment is in one sense timeless: it looks neither to improve the picture of the past nor to positively influence the future but to embrace the moment of enlightenment, that very present. This view of enlightenment is underscored by a notion of Buddha-nature (fo xing) not as something latent or yet to be developed. It is, rather, manifest in our engagements. The phrase fo xing utilises the term xing, (human) nature, and therefore inherits the complexity and richness of the term in Chinese thought. Recall that the Mencius and Xunzi dwelt extensively on the nature of xing and how it should be nurtured or regulated. This allows for “Buddha-nature” to have a range of meanings in the doctrines of different Buddhist sects. In Chan doctrine, Buddha-nature is not necessarily a disposition or attribute of entities but rather a quality manifest in a person’s engagement with the world, in ordinary activities (Hershock 2015) The elements of Chan doctrine we have seen so far align closely with Daoist themes, especially in the Zhuangzi. Chan’s wordless realisation, its focus on engagement with the affairs of this world, and its epistemological doubts about the pursuit of predetermined goals, resonate with views expressed in the Zhuangzi. As with Zhuangzi’s Daoism, Chan Buddhism needs to address the paradoxes of communication, that discuss mental illumination but which in the final analysis reject language. Later in the Tang dynasty, Chan Buddhism developed practical ways in which instantaneous mental illumination could be acquired. Paradoxes known as gongan (Japanese, koan) were designed with a “shock value” to challenge everyday logic so as to provide that jolt to illumination. Famous gongans include puzzles such as “Does a dog have Buddha-nature?,” stories of a monk who attained enlightenment when he was asked to wash his bowl after his meal (alluding to the simplicity of the Chan message), and queries about whether the flag or the wind moves (to which Hui Neng’s answer was that it was the mind that was moving).21 These gongans are suggestive rather than

21

These examples are from the text The Gateless Gate (Wumenguan in Chinese; Mumonkan in Japanese), published in 1228 by the Chinese monk Wumen. Another famous collection is the Blue Cliff Records (Biyan Lu), which was compiled during the Song dynasty in 1125 and subsequently expanded into its present form by the Chan master Yuanwu Keqin (1063–1135).

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informative and are intended to push their readers or listeners beyond the familiar. Their role in illumination raises the paradox about language mentioned earlier: if there is an irreconcilable mismatch between language and truth, then why bother reading the sutras, or contemplating the gongan?22 As Chan Buddhism developed, series of gongans were developed as planned programs of instruction. Furthermore, other methods were incorporated, to shock a person into instantaneous enlightenment. Some of these methods were violent, including beatings and whippings: Frequently these gongan could not be answered verbally, which accounts in part for the beatings, shouts and gestures so often described in the stories. Often the Master would find his disciple’s mind so sensitized and receptive, that a scream, a blow of the stick, or a blasphemous word would be the cause of his awakening to Truth. (de Bary and Bloom, Sources, 1999: 492)

Extreme scenarios like this were part of the philosophy of Linji Yixuan (d. 866), one of the most influential monks in Chan Buddhism. After the purge of Buddhism in the ninth century, rural communities of Chan flourished; its popularity was intertwined with the fact that its texts from the various “Five Houses of Chan” were among the first to be written in vernacular Chinese (Lusthaus 1998: “The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Chan”). Chan continued to flourish in the Song dynasty (960–1279), although the Linji lineage is the only tradition that has survived into contemporary times (Hershock 2015). In contemporary scholarship, the question arises concerning whether Chan Buddhism is properly considered a philosophical doctrine or a practice.23 In considering this question we should be mindful that, while its extreme gongan stories might capture the popular imagination, Chan doctrines which resist objectification of the mind and reality, its focus on the experience of illumination and its emphasis on ordinary life are important contributions to debates in the Chinese intellectual context.

22

Chung-ying Cheng (1973) raises the paradox of the gongan in Chan enlightenment. His discussion has instigated many responses to the paradox.

23

See, for example, Rosemont, “Is Zen Buddhism a Philosophy?” (1970). In the compilation of source materials by de Bary and Bloom (Sources, 1999), Chan Buddhism is classified under the “Schools of Buddhist Practice” rather than with the “Schools of Buddhist Doctrine.”

Chinese Buddhism

Chinese Buddhist Philosophy By the Tang dynasty, strands of Chinese Buddhism with a variety of religious, ethical and doctrinal emphases had developed, in ways that were quite distinct from its Indian origins. Chinese Buddhism developed its distinctive character by incorporating a number of ideas that were integral aspects of Chinese philosophies. However, Buddhism was not only at the receiving end. In its engagement with elements of Chinese thought, it changed the landscape of Chinese intellectual history. Since its arrival in China, it instigated new questions in methodology, approaches and doctrine. In its early encounters in China, translation of Indian Buddhist texts prompted questions about the methodology of translation, interpretation and transmission of ideas. In later interactions, methodological questions concerning the nature of discourse also emerged, with Chinese Buddhism developing a distinctively middle-path approach inherited from Madhyamaka Buddhism (e.g. in San Lun and Tian Tai doctrines). However, while Indian Buddhist schools maintained the dichotomies – as for instance in the distinction between the phenomenal world and reality – Chinese middle-path doctrines tended to embrace both polarities, taking the excluded middle position. Tian Tai upheld a vision of the enlightened life that incorporated both Common and Higher Truths, while in Hua Yan, li, principle, underlies an entity’s distinctiveness as well as its sameness with all other entities. In terms of philosophical content, Buddhist doctrines of ignorance and the illusory nature of reality generated scepticism about language in terms not entirely unknown to the Daoist tradition. Buddhist preoccupations about the inadequacies of language, as for instance, in San Lun’s assessment of Common Truth, would have stood against the attempts to fix the meanings (or their referents) of names in the Confucian and Mohist traditions. Discussions about Buddhist beliefs also prompted consideration of metaphysical issues, providing additional alternative pictures of reality, including the pluralistic views of Tian Tai and Hua Yan. No less significant is the Buddhist doctrine of emptiness, importantly different from Daoist considerations of being and nonbeing. In Buddhism, to say that an entity is empty is an ontological claim not about whether it exists but about the nature of existence. Entities that are empty have neither an intrinsic nor an independent nature. While interdependence would have resonated with

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themes of relationality in the Chinese context, the topic of the lack of intrinsic nature was rarely investigated. In the Chinese context up to the Han, philosophical discussions about human nature, especially in the Confucian tradition, focused on its cultivation, emphasising the centrality of practice within a life well lived. While most other Chinese Buddhist sects saw the necessity of cultivation and practice – and developed distinctive notions and methods of self-cultivation – Chan Buddhism rejected this view entirely. Its discussions brought to the fore many assumptions about mind and consciousness that were previously unexplored in the Chinese context, adding depth to the existing discussions on the heart-mind and its capacities. Yet it embraced a dominant Chinese view about the shared human condition. Wei Shi, Hua Yan and Chan views of Buddha-nature optimistically maintained its universality. However, more subtlety in the Buddhist view was articulated in Tian Tai Buddhism, which proposed that there is some good, as well as some evil, in human nature. Additionally, Chinese Buddhist views on the nature of consciousness and its continuity added another stratum to the ideas of human personhood and individuality. Finally, it must not go unnoticed that the Chinese Buddhist reflections staunchly reject the view that enlightenment consists in living a life isolated from ordinary and mundane preoccupations. In this way, it spoke to laypersons, as we have seen, in Chan Buddhist developments. Pure Land Buddhism, a devotional Buddhist sect popular in modern-day China, holds up for veneration a range of figures. Amongst these, Amita has the power to place beings in his Pure Land, a place where relationships are thought to continue.24 Amita is a returning bodhisattva who suspends nirvana in order to assist others to attain enlightenment. This altruistic feature of the bodhisattva was an expression of the ethico-social contributions of the enlightened person, a prominent theme also articulated in the ideas of the Confucian paradigmatic person and the Daoist sage. Chinese Buddhism established itself within the Chinese intellectual tradition as a distinct field in later developments. During the Tang dynasty, many Buddhist themes were drawn into ongoing debates, for example, in the philosophies of Han Yu (768–824) and Li Ao (d. c. 844), key figures in the 24

Refer to Lusthaus (1998): “The Chinese Buddhist Schools: Pure Land,” for an overview of Pure Land Buddhism.

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development of Neo-Confucianism (Lai 2003: 18). Across the ninth to the eleventh centuries, while Buddhist ideas contributed to the further development of Neo-Confucian philosophy, Buddhist philosophy nevertheless remained distinct, establishing Chinese Buddhism as a tradition in its own right.

Suggestions for Further Reading Chan, Alan K. L. (2009), “Neo-Daoism,” in Bo Mou (ed.), History of Chinese Philosophy, Routledge History of World Philosophies series, vol. 3, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 303–23. Chan, Wing-tsit (1957–8) “Transformation of Buddhism in China,” Philosophy East and West, 7.3/4: 107–16. Fung, Yu-Lan (1953) “Buddhism and Its Critics during the Period of Disunity,” in A History of Chinese Philosophy (trans. Derk Bodde), vol. 2, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 237–92. Hershock, Peter (2015) “Chan Buddhism,” in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Available at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/buddhism-chan/ (accessed 8 January 2015). Hurvitz, Leon, and Tsai, Heng-Ting (1999) “The Introduction of Buddhism,” in W. Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom (eds.), Sources of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 1600, vol. 1, 2nd edn., New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 415–32. Hurvitz, Leon, et al. (1999) “Schools of Buddhist Doctrine,” in W. Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom (eds.), Sources of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 1600, vol. 1, 2nd edn., New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 433–80. Lai, Whalen (with assistance from Yu-Yin Cheng) (2009) “Chinese Buddhist Philosophy from Han through Tang,” in Bo Mou (ed.), History of Chinese Philosophy, Routledge History of World Philosophies series, vol. 3, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 324–61. Lusthaus, Dan (1998) “Buddhist Philosophy, Chinese,” in Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Available at www.rep.routledge.com/articles/buddhist-philoso phy-chinese/v-1 (accessed 15 January 2016). McLeod, Alexus (2015) “Philosophy in Eastern Han Dynasty China,” Philosophy Compass, 10.6: 355–368. Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch (2002), trans. Philip B. Yampolsky. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Wagner, Rudolf G. (2003) Language, Ontology, and Political Philosophy in China: Wang Bi’s Scholarly Exploration of the Dark (Xuanxue), Albany: State University of New York Press. Zhuangzi: A New Translation of the Daoist Classic as Interpreted by Guo Xiang (2016), trans. Richard John Lynn, New York: Columbia University Press. Ziporyn, Brook (2003) The Penumbra Unbound: The Neo-Taoist Philosophy of Guo Xiang, Albany: State University of New York Press. Ziporyn, Brook (2011) “Chinese Buddhist Philosophy,” in William Edelglass and Jay L. Garfield (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of World Philosophy, New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 68–81.

Glossary

Texts and Sections of Texts 本經

Ben Jing

Section of the Yijing

Ben Sheng

Chapter in the Lüshi Chunqiu

本生

Bingfa

Art of War

兵法

Biyan Lu

Blue Cliff Record

碧巖錄

Bohu Tong (or Baihu

Discourses in the White Tiger Hall

白虎通

Cheng Gongsheng

Mingjia text, no longer extant

成公生

Cheng Weishi Lun

A Treatise in the Establishment of

成唯識論

Tong)

Consciousness-Only Cheng zhi

Unearthed text from Guodian

成之

Chun Qiu

The Spring and Autumn Annals

春秋

Chunqiu Fanlu

Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn

春秋繁露

Da Cheng Qi Xin Lun

The Awakening of Faith in Mahayana

大乘起信論

Dao Yuan

Origins of the Way

道原

Daodejing

or Lao Tzu

道德經

Annals

Daqu

Greater Selection; Mohist Canons

大取

Daxue

Great Learning

大學

Dazhuan

Great Commentary, of the Yijing

大傳

De Chong Fu

Chapter 5 of the Zhuangzi

德充符

Ersanzi Wen

Two or Three Disciples Asked (part of

二三子問

Mawangdui Zhouyi) Fahua Jing

Lotus Sutra

法華經

Fahua Wenju

Words and Phrases of the Lotus Sutra

法華文句

Fahua Xuan Yi

Profound Meaning of the Lotus Sutra

法華玄義

Fuyang Han Jian

Fuyang Han Bamboo Slips

阜陽漢簡

Gongsun Longzi

or Kung-sun Lung-tzu

公孫龍子

Guanzi

Kuan-tzu

管子 305

306

Glossary

Gui Cang

Divination text, mid-third century BCE

歸藏

Gui Sheng

Chapter in the Lüshi Chunqiu

貴生

Guo Qin Lun

The Faults of Qin, section of the Xinshu

過秦論

Han Feizi

Han Fei-tzu

韓非子

Hong Fan

Chapter of the Shu Jing

洪範

Hou Hanshu

History of the Later Han

後漢書

Huainanzi

Huainan-tzu

淮南子

Huang Gong

Mingjia text, no longer extant

黄公

Huangdi Neijing

Inner Canon of the Yellow Emperor

黄帝內經

Huangdi Neijing

Divine Pivot of the Huangdi neijing

黄帝內經靈樞

Basic Questions of the Huangdi neijing

黄帝內經素問

Huangdi Neijing Taisu

Grand Basis of the Huangdi neijing

黄帝內經太素

Huangdi Si Jing

Yellow Emperor’s Four Canons

黄帝四經

Ling Shu Huangdi Neijing Suwen

Huang-Lao Boshu

Huang-Lao Silk Manuscripts

黄老帛書

Huayan Jing

Flower Garland Sutra

華嚴經

Huizi

Mingjia text, no longer extant

惠子

Jie Bi

Chapter in the Xunzi

解蔽

Jin Shizi Zhang

Essay on the Gold Lion

金獅子章

Jing Fa

Canonical Law

經法

Jingang Jing, or

Diamond Sutra

金剛經, or 金

Jingang

剛般若波羅蜜

Banruoboluomi jing

經

Kong Congzi

Kong Masters’ Anthology

孔叢子

Kongzi Jiayu

Sayings of the Confucius Group

孔子家語

Laozi

or Daodejing

老子 or 道德經

Laozi Bing

Laozi C

老子丙

Laozi Jia

Laozi A

老子甲

Laozi Yi

Laozi B

老子乙

Lelang Lunyü

Lelang Analects

樂浪論語

Li Ji

Book of Rites

禮記

Li Lun

Chapter in the Xunzi

禮論

Lianhua Jing, or

Sutra on the White Lotus of the Sublime

蓮華經 or 妙法

Miaofa Lianhua Jing

Dharma

蓮華經

Lienü Zhuan

Categorised Biographies of Women

列女傳

Liezi

Lieh-tzu

列子

Lihuo Lun

Disposing of Error

理惑論

Glossary

Liu De

Unearthed text from Guodian

Liu Zu Tan Jing

Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch

六德 六祖壇經 論衡

Lunheng Lunyü

Analects of Confucius

論語

Lunyü Jijie

Collected Explanations of the Analects

語語集解

Lüshi Chunqiu

Spring and Autumn Annals of Mr Lü

呂氏春秋

Mao Gong

Mingjia text, no longer extant

毛公

Mawangdui Boshu

Mawangdui Silk Manuscripts

馬王堆帛書 孟子

Mengzi Ming Shi

Names and Objects

名實

Mohe Zhiguan

The Great Calming and Contemplation

摩訶止觀

Mozi

Mo-tzu

墨子

Mu He

Part of the Mawangdui Zhouyi

繆和

Mu Min

“Shepherding of the People”; in the

牧民

Guanzi Neipian

Inner Chapters of Zhuangzi

內篇

Neiye

“Inner Enterprise/Training”; in the

內業

Guanzi Niepan Jing

Nirvana Sutra

涅槃經

Qian Hanshu

History of the Former Han (also known as

前漢書

Qing Yu

Chapter in the Lüshi Chunqiu

情欲

Hanshu) Qiwu Lun

Chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi

齊物論

Ri Shu

Daybooks, used for prognostication

日書

Rong Ru

Chapter in the Xunzi

榮辱

Sangang Liuji

Chapter in the Bohu Tong

三綱六紀

Shang Shu

Also known as Book of History; see Shu

尚書

Jing Shangjun Shu

Book of Lord Shang

商君書

Shen Wei

Chapter in the Lüshi Chunqiu

審為

Shi Jing

Book of Poetry or Book of Odes

詩經

Shi Liu Jing

Sixteen Classics

十六經

Shi Yi

Ten Appendices

十翼

Shiji

Records of the Grand Historian

史記

Shu Jing

Book of History; Classic of History or Book

書經

of Documents 說苑

Shuo Yuan Shuogua Zhuan

Commentary on the Trigrams

說卦傳

307

308

Glossary

Shuowen Jiezi

Shuowen Lexicon

說文解字

Si Shu

(Confucian) Four Books

四書

Si Wei

“Four Cardinal Virtues” (Four Cords);

四維

in the Mu Min chapter of the Guanzi 太玄經

Taixuanjing Tian Wen

Chapter 3 of the Huainanzi

天文

Tianlun (from Xunzi)

Discourse on Heaven

天論

Tuan Zhuan

Commentary on the Judgements

彖傳

Waipian

Outer Chapters of Zhuangzi

外篇

Wen Kong

Chapter of the Lunheng

問孔

Wenyan

Commentary on the Words of the Text

文言

Wu Jing

(Confucian) Five Classics

五經

Wu Xing

Unearthed text from Guodian

五行

Gateless Gate (Collection of Chan

無門關

Wumenguan

gongan) Xiang Gong

Section of Zuo Zhuan

襄公

Xiang Zhuan

Commentary on the Images

象傳

Xiao Jing

Book of Filial Piety

孝經

Xiaoqu

Smaller Selection; Mohist Canons

小取

Xiaoyao you

Chapter 1 of Zhuangzi

逍遙遊

Xici Zhuan

Commentary on the Appended Phrases

繋辭傳

Xing Zi Ming Chu

Unearthed text from Guodian

性自命出

Xinshu

New Writings

新書

Xinyu

New Discourses

新語

Xugua Zhuan

Commentary on the Sequencing of the

序卦傳

Hexagrams Xunzi

Hsun-tzu

荀子

Yangsheng Zhu

Chapter 3 of Zhuangzi

養生主

Yueling

Chapter of the Li Ji

月令

Yi Wen Zhi

Section of the Han Shu

藝文志

Yi Zhi Yi

The Meaning of Yi (part of Mawangdui

易之義

Zhouyi) Yi Zhuan

Commentaries on the Yijing

易傳

Yijing

Book of Changes

易經 尹文

Yin Wen Yu Cong 1, 2, 3, 4

Unearthed texts from Guodian

語叢一、二、

Yu Jing

Expounding the Canons; Mohist Canons

語經

三、四

Glossary

Yu Yan

Argument from a Lodging-Place; in

寓言

Zhuangzi Yuan Dao

Chapter 1 of the Huainanzi

原道

Zagua Zhuan

Commentary on the Hexagrams in

雜卦傳

Irregular Order Zapian

Miscellaneous Chapters; in Zhuangzi

雜篇 戰國策

Zhanguoce Zhao Gong

Section of Zuo Zhuan

昭公

Zhao Li

Part of the Mawangdui Zhouyi

昭力

Zhi Shi

Chapter in the Xunzi

致士

Zhong Ji

Chapter in the Lüshi Chunqiu

重己

Zhong Lun

Balanced Discourses

中論

Zhong Yong

Doctrine of the Mean

中庸

Zhou Yi

Changes of Zhou; see Yijing

周易

Zhuangzi

Chuang-tzu

莊子

Zuo Zhuan

Tso Chuan

左傳

Names and Proper Nouns Amituo Fo

Amitabha

阿彌陀佛

Baijia zhi xue

Hundred Schools of Learning

百家之學

Ban Biao

(3–54)

班彪

Ban Gu

(32–92)

班固

Ban Zhao

(35–100)

班昭

Ben Wu

(School of) Original Nothingness

本無

Ben Wu Yi

Variant School of Original Nothingness

本無異

Bianshi

Masters of disputation

辯士

Bianzhe

Disputers

辯者 長安

Chang’an Chan-na

Chan Buddhism

禪那

Chunqiu

Spring and Autumn Period (722–476

春秋

BCE) Dao-an

(312–85)

道安

Dao Sheng

(c. 360–434)

道生

Daojia

Daoists

道家

Daojiao

Daoist religion

道教

Deng Xi

(d. 501 BCE)

鄧析

Dong Zhongshu

(c. 195 BCE–c. 115 BCE)

董仲舒

Dong Zhou

Eastern Zhou

東周

309

310

Glossary

(557–640)

杜順

Fa Xian

(c. 337–422)

法顯

Fa Zang

(643–712)

法藏

Du Shun

Fajia

Legalist thinkers

法家

Fangshi

Practitioners of magical feats

方士

Feng Youlan

Fung Yu-lan (1895–1990)

馮友蘭

Fu Xi

(c. 2800 BCE); mythical?

伏羲

Gaozi

or Kao Tzu (c. 420–350 BCE)

告子

Gongsun Long

(b. c. 380 BCE)

公孫龍

Guan Zhong

(d. 645 BCE)

管仲

Guo Xiang

(d. 312)

郭象 郭店

Guodian Han Chao

Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE)

漢朝

Han Fei

(c. 280 BCE–c. 233 BCE)

韓非

Han Huanhui Wang

King Huanhui of Han (272–239 BCE)

韓桓惠王

Han Wang An

King An of Han (238–230 BCE)

韓王安

He Yan

(195–249)

何晏

Henan

(province)

河南

Hu Shih

Hu Shi (1891–1962)

胡適

河上公

Heshanggong Hu Zi

“Vessel” (Name of Liezi’s teacher)

壺子

Hua ji

Court actors and comics

滑稽

Hua Yan

Flower Garland (Buddhism)

華嚴 淮南

Huai Nan Huan Hua

(School of) Phenomenal Illusion

幻化

Huangjin zhi luan

Yellow Turban Rebellion

黄巾之亂

Huang-Lao

(lit., Yellow Emperor/Laozi)

黃老

Hubei

(province in China)

湖北

Hui Neng

(638–713)

惠能

Hui Shi

(c. 370 BCE–c. 310 BCE)

惠施

Hui Yuan

(334–416)

慧遠

Huo

Common name, in later Mohist text

獲

Ji Se

(School of) Matter as such

即色

Ji Zang

(540–623)

吉蔵

Jia Yi

(200–168 BCE)

賈誼

Jin Chao

Jin dynasty (265–420)

晉朝

Jing Tu

Pure Land (Buddhism)

淨土

Jingdi

Emperor Jing of Han (r. 157–41 BCE)

景帝

Jiumoluoshi

Kumarajiva

鳩摩羅什

Glossary

稷下

Jixia Kongzi

Confucius (551–479 BCE)

孔子

Kong Chuan

A descendant of Confucius who

孔穿

Lao Dan

or Laozi

老聃

Lao Tzu

老子

debated Gongsun Long 老莊

Lao-Zhuang Laozi Li Si

(c. 280 BCE–c. 208 BCE)

李斯

Liang Qichao

(1873–1929)

梁啟超

Linji

(Branch of Chan Buddhism)

臨濟

Linji Yixuan

(d. 866)

臨濟義玄

Liu An

(c. 180–122 BCE)

劉安

Liu Bang

(256–195 BCE)

劉邦

Liu Chao

Six Kingdoms period

六朝

Liu Xiang

(79–8 BCE)

劉向

Liujia

Six schools (of thought)

六家

Lu Jia

(? – 170 CE)

陸賈

Lü Buwei

(c. 291–235 BCE)

吕不韋

Mengmu

(Mencius’ mother)

孟母

Mengzi

Mencius (c. 385 BCE–c. 312 BCE)

孟子

Mingjia

Disputers concerned with names

名家

馬王堆

Mawangdui

Mouzi

Master Mou

牟子

Mozi

Mo Tzu (c. 480 BCE–c. 390 BCE)

墨子

Nanbei Chao

Southern and Northern dynasties

南北朝

(420–589) Qin Chao

Chin dynasty (221–206 BCE)

秦朝

Qin Er Shi

(229–207 BCE)

秦二世

Qin Shihuangdi

(260–210 BCE)

秦始皇帝

Qing tan

Pure Conversation

清談

Qing yi

Pure Criticism

清議

Ru

A name for Confucianism

儒

Ru-Mo

Confucian-Mohist

儒墨

San Lun

Three Treatise (Buddhism)

三論

San xuan

Three profound treatises

三玄

Sanguo

Three Kingdoms period (222–63)

三國

Seng Zhao

(394–414)

僧肇

Shang Yang

(d. 338 BCE)

商鞅

Shen Buhai

(d. 337 BCE)

申不害

311

312

Glossary

Shen Dao

(c. 350–275 BCE)

慎到

Shen Hui

(670–762)

神會

Shen Xiu

(c. 605–706)

神秀

Shi Han

(School of Stored) Impressions

識含 石家莊

Shijiazhuang

睡虎地

Shuihudi Sima Qian

(c. 145 BCE–c. 86 BCE)

司馬遷

Sima Tan

(d. 110 BCE)

司馬談

Sui Chao

Sui dynasty (581–618)

隋朝

Sun Zi

Sun Tzu (c. 544–496 BCE)

孫子

Taiji

Supreme Ultimate

太極

Tang Chao

Tang dynasty (618–907)

唐朝

Tian Shi Dao

Celestial Masters

天師道

Tian Tai

Tian Tai (Buddhism)

天台 拓跋

Tuoba Wang Bi

(226–49)

王弼

Wang Chong

(27–97)

王充

Wang Ni

Figure in Zhuangzi

王倪

Wang Su

(195–256)

王肅

Wang Yangming

(1472–1529)

王陽明 王家台

Wangjiatai Wei Hui Wang

King Hui of Wei (r. c. 370–319 BCE)

魏惠王

Wei Shi

Consciousness-Only (Buddhism)

唯識

Wudi

Emperor Wu of Han (r. 141–87 BCE)

武帝

Xianbei

Nomadic tribe in Han China

鮮卑

Xin Wu

(School of) Nonbeing of Mind

心無

Xu Gan

(170–217)

徐幹

Xuan Zang

(602–664)

玄奘

Xuanxue

“Mysterious learning”

玄學

Xunzi

Hsun Tzu (c. 310 BCE–c. 219 BCE)

荀子

Yan Hui

Yen Hui (Confucius’ disciple)

顏回

Yang Xiong

(53 BCE–18 CE)

揚雄

Yang Zhu

Yang Chu (370–319 BCE)

楊朱

Yin Xi

Gatekeeper in the Shiji

尹喜

Yinxu

(region in Henan province)

殷墟

Youshui zhi shi

Itinerant disputers

游說之士

Yuan Hui

(School of) Causal Combination

緣會

Yuanwu Keqin

Chan Buddhist master (1063–1135)

圜悟克勤

Zai Wo

Follower of Confucius

宰我

Glossary

Zajia

(belonging to) a syncretic tradition or

Zang

Common name, in later Mohist text

雜家

(having) a syncretic style 臧

Zeng Zi

(505–436 BCE)

曾子

Zhang Daoling

Founder of the Celestial Masters

張道陵

Zhanguo

Warring States period (475–221 BCE)

戰國

Zhao Gao

(d. 207 BCE)

趙高

Zhengtong

(Emperor’s title) (1427–64)

正統

lineage (34–156)

Zhou Chao

Zhou dynasty (1122–221 BCE)

周朝

Zhou Wen Wang

King Wen of Zhou (1099–50 BCE)

周文王

Zhu Xi

Chu Hsi (1130–1200)

朱熹

Zhuangzi

Chuang Tzu (c. 399 BCE–295 BCE)

莊子

Zi Gong

Tzu-kung

子貢

Zi Lu

Tzu-lu

子路

Zi Si

Tzu-ssu (c. 483 BCE–c. 402 BCE)

子思

Zi Xia

Tzu-hsia

子夏

Zi You

Tzu-yu

子游

Zi Zhang

Tzu-chang

子張

Zou Yan

(c. 305 BCE–c. 240 BCE)

鄒衍

Concepts and themes ai

love

愛

ai ren

to love all humanity

愛人

ai ren ruo ai qishen

valuing others as one values oneself

愛人若愛其身

ai wu cha deng

love without distinctions

愛無差等

aidi

love for a (younger) brother

愛弟 or 愛悌

an

safety

安

bai ma fei ma

white horse (is) not horse

白馬非馬

bai ma fei ma, ke fu

White horse (is) not horse; is this

白馬非馬,可

possible?

乎?

bai ma, ma ye

white horse (is) horse

白馬馬也

bao zhen

preservation of the genuine self

保真

ben

source, root

本

bi

necessary/necessity

必

bi

that

彼

bian

debate, disputation

辯

313

314

Glossary

bian

discriminate, distinguish

辨

bian

flat

扁

bie

(drawing) a sharp distinction

別

bu xiang ai

lack of mutual concern

不相愛

bujiu

no trouble

不咎

buke

not possible

不可

buli

not beneficial

不利

buran

not-so

不然

cai

ability

才

cai

wealth

財

can

savage (adj.)

殘

chang dao

enduring dao

常道

chen

weighing by the scales

稱

chi

guilt/shame

恥

chi zhi

training the will

持志

chouzuo

toast

酬酢

ci

phrase/proposition

辭

ci

warmth and affection

慈

dan

(musical) bow

彈

dang

fit the fact

當

dao

way, path

道

daoshu

pivot of dao

道樞

dazhi

great(er) wisdom

大知

de

power, virtue

德

de

to obtain

得

di

younger brother; respect for an older

弟

ding

meditation (in Buddhism)

dingfa

fixing the standards

定法

duhua

lone transformation

獨化

brother 定

dui

body of water

兌

e (or “wu”)

evil, aversion to evil

惡

fa

punishment, standard, penal law

法

fan

return, reversion

反

fei

negative, is not the case that

非

fei zhi

nonpointing or pseudo-pointing

非指

fen

portion, duty

分

fen

social distinctions (in Xunzi)

分

fen

fury

忿

Glossary

fo xing

Buddha-nature

佛性

fu

reunion

復

ganying

resonance

感應

gen

hills

艮

geyi

concept-matching

格義

gongan

Zen Buddhist koan

公案

gou

dog

狗

gu

ill, corrupted or decayed

蠱

gua

symbol, of trigram or hexagram

卦

guaci

trigram or hexagram statement in

卦辭

Yijing guan

observe

觀

guishen

ghosts and spirits

鬼神

hao

like, seek

好

hao ran zhi qi

floodlike qi

浩然之氣

he

matching name with thing (in

合

Mohism) heng

perseverance, permanence

恆

huan

dispersion

渙

huang

yellow

黃

hui

wisdom

慧

huo

confusion, perplexity

惑

huo qi xin

confused heart-mind

惑其心

ji

auspicious

吉

ji

traces

跡

jia

family, school

家

jiaren

family (members)

家人

jian

see

見

jian

whole, unit

兼

jian xiang ai, jiao

showing impartial mutual concern

兼相愛, 交相利

xiang li

and reciprocally benefiting others

jianai

Mohist universal concern

兼愛

jing

essence

精

jing

well

井

jing

trap

阱

jingxue

study of classics

經學

jiu

trouble

咎

ju

carpenter’s square

矩

junzi

paradigmatic man

君子

315

316

Glossary

kan

moon, clouds, streams

坎

ke

possible

可

kong

empty

空

kun

earth

坤

lei

category, type

類

clinging, fire, sun (one of the eight

離

li

trigrams) li

principle

理

li

propriety

禮

li

benefit, advantage, profit

利

li fa jie

realm of principle

理法界

li shi wu ai fa jie

realm of noninterference between

理事無礙法界

principle and things li tianxia

benefit all under heaven

利天下

lian

integrity

廉

luan

disorder

亂

lun lie

relational proximity

倫列

maodun

contradiction (lit., spear and shield)

矛盾

meiren

beautiful/handsome person

美人

milu

(deer)

麋鹿

ming

illumination

明

ming

name, term

名

mu

mother

母

nei

inner

內

nei-wai

inner-outer (debate)

內外

pan jiao

classification of teachings

判教

pi

obstruction

否

pu

simplicity

樸,朴

qi

vitality, energies

氣

qian

heaven

乾

qin

love for parents

親

qing

emotions

情

qing

genuine

情

quan

weigh/weigh up (evaluate)

權

ran

so

然

rang

amenability

讓

ren

human-heartedness, compassion

仁

ren

person

人

renzheng

benevolent government

仁政

Glossary

rong

honour

榮

rulai

“suchness”

如來

ruo shen

like a spirit

若神

sandi

Three Truth (theory)

三諦

shadao

to kill a robber

殺盜

shan

good/goodness

善

sharen

to kill a person

殺人

shen

spirit, life-spirit, numinous (realm)

神

sheng

ascend

升

sheng

birth, growth

生

shi

actuality

實

shi

time

時

shi

affirmative, is the case that

是

shi

power, momentum

勢

shi

scholar official

士

shi

world

世

shi fa jie

realm of things

事法界

shi qi qin

serve one’s parents

事其親

shi ren

serving her husband

事人

shi shi wu ai

realm of noninterference of all things

事事無礙

shifei

this/not this

是非

shijun

regicide

弒君

shu

count

數

shu

method

術

shu

mutuality

恕

shui

persuade

說

shuo

speak, say, persuade

說

si

reflecting

思

siduan

four roots (Mencius)

四端

ti

part/body

體

ti

substance/essence (in Buddhism)

體

tian

heaven

天

tian di zhi dao

way of heaven and earth

天地之道

tian yu yi

heaven desires righteousness

天欲義

tianxia

all-under-heaven (all people)

天下

tianzi

son of heaven

天子

tong

sameness

同

tongyi

sameness/difference

同異

tuan

judgement (in the Yijing)

彖

317

318

Glossary

tui

extension, analogy

推

tui lei

extend from kind to kind

推類

wai

outer

外

wanwu

manifold reality (lit., ten thousand

萬物

things) wei

act, deem

為

wei

regard, deem

謂

wei

authority

威

weishu

apocryphal texts

緯書

weiwo

each for himself or herself

為我

wen

script, culture

文

civil virtue in the Huangdi Si Jing wen

listen, hear

聞

wen

to ask (questions)

問

wu

nothing, nonbeing

無

wu

martial vigour in the Huangdi Si Jing

武

wu (or “e”)

evil, aversion to evil

惡

wu ming

nameless

無名

wucai

five materials

五材

wude

five powers

五德

wulun

five relationships

五倫

wuwei

nonaction; without conditioned action

無為

wuwei er wuyiwei

without action and holding nothing in

無為而無以為

regard wuxing

five phases

五行

xi

practice

習

xianzhi

sageliness and wisdom

賢智

xiao

filial piety

孝

xiao

small

小

xiaozhi

small(er) knowledge

小知

xin

heart-mind

心

xin

sincerity, trustworthiness, doing one’s

信

word xin wang dian (ding) zhi xinzhai

heart-minds have no (fixed)

心亡奠(定)志

inclinations fasting the heart-mind

心齋

xing

proceed

行

xing

form

形

xing

punishment

刑

Glossary

xing

(human) nature

性

xing

ancestral name

姓

xing e

human nature (is) evil

性惡

xing ming

fixing names

刑名

xing shan

human nature (is) good

性善

xiong

ominous

凶

xiu

shame, disgrace

羞

xiushen

cultivation of self

修身

xu

emptiness

虛

xuan

mystery

玄

xun

wind, wood

巽

yang

male, sun

陽

yang

nurture

養

yangqi

nurturing qi

養氣

yao

line on a trigram or hexagram

爻

yaoci

line statement

爻辭

yi

easy, change

易

yi

different/difference

異

yi

right, righteousness

義

yi ji yi shi

to benefit the world/ to gain the world

以濟一世

yiguan

one thread

(phrase in the Liezi) 一貫

yimin

unify the masses

一民

yin

female, dark

陰

ying

respond/responsiveness

應

yinyang

shady/sunny; female/male

陰陽

yong

function/use

用

you

anxiety, anxious

憂

you

have, possess

有

yuan

round

圓

yue

music

樂

yuyan

argument from a lodging-place

寓言

zei

robber

賊

zhen

genuine, real

真

zhen

thunder, shake

震

zheng

govern, government

政

zhengming

rectification of names

正名

zhenren

genuine person

真人

zhexue

philosophy

哲學

319

320

Glossary

zhi

knowledge, wisdom

知,智

zhi

point

指

zhi

will

志

zhi

innate quality, substance

質

zhiren

(to) know men

知人

zhong

conscientiousness, being one’s best

忠

zhongguo zhexue

Chinese philosophy

中國哲學

ziran

spontaneous, natural

自然

zong

ancestor, sect

宗

zuo chan

sitting in meditation

坐禪

zuowang

sitting and forgetting

坐忘

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Index

action in the Analects, 26–29, 36, 38 in Buddhist philosophy, 267–268, 270, 272, 277 in the Daodejing, 92, 104, 107, 109, 112, 114, 116–117 in Later Mohist philosophy, 152, 155 in the Lüshi Chunqiu, 235

anthropocentricity, rejection of in the Daodejing, 12, 117–120 in the Zhuangzi, 195 anti-Confucian Daoist, 5, 110–111 in Legalist thought, 169, 174–175, 178–182, 186 in Mohist philosophy, 73, 80, 91

in Mingjia debates, 150

Appendices, of the Yijing, 226, 230, 233, 247,

in the Mozi, 77, 80, 87–88, 90 in the Xunzi, 64–71

253, 255, 261 assertions/propositions

in the Yijing, 241, 255–261 aesthetic dimension in the Analects, 29 (lack of), in the Mozi, 78, 83

in Later Mohist philosophy, 150–155, 157, 160–161 in Mingjia discussions, 137–138 attunement

of qi, 261

in the Analects, 59

in the Xunzi, 62

in the Xunzi, 58, 62, 68

in the Zhuangzi, 194 affection

in the Yijing, 239, 252 in the Zhuangzi, 216, 220, 222

in the Analects, 27 in Guodian texts, 57 in the Mencius, 46, 48, 50 in Mohist philosophy, 49, 79–80 agency

baijia zhi xue (Hundred schools of learning), 3, 11 Ban Biao, 133, 234 Ban Gu, 133, 244

in the Analects, 36–39

Ban Zhao, 133

in the Mozi, 89 in the Yijing, 255–261

Bárcenas, Alejandro, 176 being and nonbeing

Ames, Roger, 108, 197–198, 222, 235, 254–255, 259–260, 262 Analects, 4–5, 12, 18, 20–39, 41, 59, 63, 74, 166–167, 179–180, 182–183, 227, 232, 236, 246, 279–280 antagonism between ruler and people, in Legalist thought, 169, 178, 180, 187

in Buddhist philosophy, 274, 283–284, 301 in the Daodejing. See wu (nonbeing, nothing) benefit, mutual in the Analects, 26 in Later Mohist philosophy, 159

349

350

Index

benefit, mutual (cont.) in the Mozi, 79–84

care ethic, feminist, 36 causality

benefit, one’s parents, in the Mozi, 80

in Buddhist philosophy, 269–270

benefit, oneself

in the Daodejing, 108–109

in Later Mohist philosophy, 159

in Later Mohist philosophy, 156

in the Mozi, 81

in the Yijing, 261

in the Yijing, 261 best man or best system, 181–182 bian (disputation), 89, 131, 147, 149 in the Zhuangzi, 199–202 bian (distinguish, discriminate)

in the Zhuangzi, 222 Celestial Masters, 95, 98 Chan, Alan, 47, 279 Chan, Wing-tsit, 100, 107, 134, 188 change, 13–16, 247–262

in Later Mohist philosophy, 147

Cheng, Chung-ying, 107, 248, 300

in the Mozi, 89

Cheng Zhi, 46

in the Zhuangzi, 201

child about to fall into a well, 53

Bianzhe, 15, 130–133, 136, 146–147,

Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals), 67,

159–162 Bloom, Irene, 2, 71

226, 237 Chunqiu fanlu, 237, 243–245, 249

Bodde, Derk, 283–284

cicada-catcher, 7, 217, 222

bodhisattva, 271, 282, 290, 302

collective and individual interests, 7, 10

Bohu Tong, 244

collective welfare, maximising, in the Mozi,

brothers vying for property, 56, 61 Buddha-nature, 282, 284–285, 289, 291, 296, 298–299, 302 Buddhism, Chan, 278, 294–300, 302 Buddhism, Hinayana, 272, 287, 290 Buddhism, Hua Yan (Flower Garland), 289–294 Buddhism, Jingtu (Pure Land), 282, 296, 302 Buddhism, Mahayana, 271, 277, 281–282, 287, 290–291, 302 Buddhism, San Lun (Three Treatise), 283–284

78–84 collectivist and individualist societies, 10, 11 commentarial tradition, 4, 16 common people in the Analects, 28, 126, 183 in Han thought, 245 in Legalist thought, 163, 171, 179–181, 187 in the Mozi, 76, 78, 85, 87 in the Xunzi, 60 in the Yijing, 257 compassion

Buddhism, Theravada, 272

in the Analects, 24

Buddhism, Wei Shi (Consciousness-Only),

in Buddhist philosophy, 271, 290

284–286, 288 bureaucracy, in Legalist thought, 165, 169–173, 176, 183–185, 187

in the Mencius, 41, 51, 53–54, 80 complementarity in the Daodejing, 108, 124 in the Shi Jing, 239

Canons, Later Mohist, 144, 147–150, 155–158 capabilities human, 6–8, 69, 71 of the junzi, 34 moral, 65 of the ruler, 182, 241

in the Yijing, 240, 242, 250 complementation between opposite polarities, 15, 105, 123 compound names, 144, 150, 153 concept-matching, in Buddhist philosophy, 273 conformity, 12–13, 28, 32, 178

Index

Confucius, 20–24, 28, 31–32, 35, 38–39,

in Xuanxue discussions, 278–279

41–42, 77, 92, 110, 166, 226, 232,

in Xuanxue thought, 280

236, 246, 261

in the Xunzi, 58, 64 in the Yijing, 249, 251

confusion in the Analects, 38, 232 in Later Mohist philosophy, 154, 161 in the Xunzi, 58 consciousness, in Buddhist philosophy, 266, 268, 271, 274, 284–286, 288, 294, 298, 302 context. See environment controlling the populace (large numbers), in Legalist thought, 169, 171, 180 conventional values, rejection of, in the Daodejing, 100, 106, 113–114,

in the Zhuangzi, 189, 206, 210–211, 216, 221 dao (generative) in the Daodejing, 102, 125 in Guodian texts, 103 in Mawangdui texts, 98 in the Yijing, 256 dao (reality), in the Daodejing, 99 dao (way, path), in the Daodejing, 109–114 Dao Jing, 97 Dao Sheng, 277, 282, 298

116–117, 163 Cook Ding, 196, 207, 214, 217, 219–220

Dao-an, 273, 275 Daodejing, 4–5, 7, 9, 92, 97–128, 130, 177,

correlative relationships, 239, 246–247

188, 190, 195, 202, 218, 221, 235,

correlative thinking, 15, 63, 261 during the Han dynasty, 224–233 cosmic order, in Han period discussions, 243

274–275, 278–279 Daoism, Huang-Lao, 93–95, 98, 164, 173, 187, 192, 235 Daoism, Lao-Zhuang, 93, 95–97

cosmic processes, 225, 238

Daoism, religious. See Daojiao

cosmic vision, 99, 248 cosmogony, in the Taiyi Sheng Shui, 102

Daojiao, 94–96 Daozang, 95, 145

Creel, Herrlee, 163, 165

Daqu, 144, 158

criteria

Dayi. See Taiyi

in Later Mohist philosophy, 157, 161 in the Mozi, 75, 90 in the Zhuangzi, 199, 236

de (potency), in the Daodejing, 95, 105–109, 122, 128 de Bary, William Theodore, 2, 36

criteria (san fa)

De Jing, 97

in Mohist philosophy, 84–91 Cua, Antonio, 27, 123

de Reu, Wim, 132 Dedaojing, 98

cultivation, 6–8

Defoort, Carine, 75, 83, 220

in the Analects, 26, 30–39

Deng Xi, 132–134, 147

in Buddhist philosophy, 294, 296, 298,

desires

302 in Confucian philosophy, 20, 41, 68, 70, 89 in the Mencius, 49, 55, 65, 80 in the Mozi, 83

in the Analects, 25 in Guodian texts, 57 in Legalist thought, 178 in the Mozi, 80 in the Xunzi, 56–59

in the Xunzi, 64

Diamond Sutra, 276

in the Zhuangzi, 207–221

discretion in the Analects, 28, 35, 39

dao in Mawangdui texts, 98

in Legalist thought, 171 in the Mozi, 90

351

352

Index

discretion (cont.) in the Xunzi, 58 divination, 9, 13–14, 224–225, 227, 230–233, 247–248, 253, 255–257 in Daoist philosophy, 103 doctrine in the Daodejing, 110 in Gaozi’s view, 47 in Later Mohist philosophy, 161 in the Mencius, 47

in the Zhuangzi, 209 environment, external, in the Mencius, 49, 52–53 environmental ethics in Confucian philosophy, 36 in the Daodejing, 109 epistemological issues in the Analects, 38 in Buddhist philosophy, 267, 270, 272, 285, 288, 291, 294, 297, 299

in the Mohist Yi Zhi’s view, 48–49

in the Daodejing, 104–105, 112–114, 128

in the Zhuangzi, 195, 218–219

in Later Mohist philosophy, 154

Dong Zhongshu, 237, 244

in the Mozi, 75, 89

Du Shun, 290

in Xuanxue thought, 278–281

dualism, in the Yijing. See complementarity

in the Zhuangzi, 189, 195, 198–207,

dukkha. See suffering, in Buddhist philosophy Duyvendak, Jan J. L., 106, 166–168, 177, 180–183, 185–187 dynamism, 239

221–222 ethical issues in the Analects, 22–23, 30–39 in the Daodejing, 100, 113 in Han period discussions, 233

in Buddhist philosophy, 269–270

in the Mozi, 90

in the Daodejing, 101, 106

in the Zhuangzi, 195, 198, 210, 212, 215,

in the Yijing, 233, 237, 240, 251, 257 efficacy, 62, 106, 213, 220, 252, 259–260 Eightfold Path, 268 emotions in the Analects, 26, 29–31, 33–34 in Buddhist philosophy, 268 in Confucian philosophy, 36, 71 in Guodian texts, 57, 61, 211 in the Mencius, 50–57 in the Xing Zi Ming Chu, 51, 63 in the Xunzi, 56–59, 61 in the Zhuangzi, 217 emptiness, in Buddhist philosophy, 273–275, 277, 283–288, 290–291, 293, 301 Engraver Qing, 196, 209 enlightenment, n Buddhist philosophy, 272, 277, 282, 288, 290, 294, 297–299, 302 environment, 9–11, 13, 16–17

221 ethics Confucian role ethics, 37 consequentialist, 37 virtue ethics, 37, 71 exemplary lives, in Confucian philosophy, 24, 35, 37 Explanations of the Canons, Later Mohist, 144 fa (models) in the Daodejing, 112 in Mawangdui texts, 98 in the Xunzi, 56, 64 fa (penal law), 95, 126 in Legalist thought, 163, 165, 177 fa (standards) in Later Mohist philosophy, 130, 136–137, 147, 149, 161

in the Daodejing, 106–109, 122, 124

in Legalist thought, 168

(family), in the Analects, 27

in the Mozi, 75, 77, 84–91

in the Mencius, 47

in the Xunzi, 41, 59, 62

(natural), in the Daodejing, 117–120

Fa Xian, 282

in the Yijing, 247–248, 252, 261

Fa Zang, 290–294

Index

father covers for his son, 22

in Mawangdui texts, 98

feelings. See emotions

in the Mencius, 53–55

femininity. See yin, femininity, receptiveness

in the Xunzi, 60 government, benefiting the people

Feng, Youlan. See Fung, Yu-lan

in the Daodejing, 111, 118

Five Confucian Classics, 237

in Later Mohist philosophy, 158

flexibility

in the Mencius, 53–55

in Confucian life, 35 in the Daodejing, 93, 112, 121 in the Zhuangzi, 195, 207, 220 flourishing life in the Analects, 37, 39 in Confucian philosophy, 37, 71 in Huang-Lao thought, 95 in the Mozi, 90 flourishing society in Confucian philosophy, 71 in Legalist thought, 182 four roots of human goodness, 51

in the Mozi, 86 in the Yijing, 248 government, benevolent, in Confucian thought, 169, 178, 181–182, 237 government, compassionate, in the Mencius, 43, 53–55 Graham, Angus C., 50–51, 57, 70, 75, 115, 123, 132, 137–138, 140–145, 147, 149–152, 154–159, 161, 165, 176, 188, 190, 194, 196, 198, 203–205, 207, 210–211, 214–215, 217–218, 227, 235–236, 239–241, 246, 254

Fourfold Noble Truth, 267

guan (observation), 14, 29, 37, 242, 247

Fox, Alan, 220

Guan Feng, 190

Fu, Wei-hsun, Charles, 102, 104

Guan Zhong, 164, 166, 174

funeral practices, 77, 89

Guanzi, 52, 94, 97, 192, 211

Fung, Yu-lan, 74, 101, 137–138, 196, 286, 296

Gui Cang, 231 Guo Xiang, 5, 96, 190, 278–281

Fuyang Han Jian, 230

Guodian, 5, 44, 46, 51, 57–58, 66, 68, 99, 102, 111

ganying, 13, 124, 233, 238, 241, 250, 252–253, 261 Gaozi, 44, 52, 57, 61, 64 geomancy, 252, 261 Goldin, Paul, 163, 165, 176, 184 gongan, 299–300

Han dynasty, 3–4, 9, 13, 15, 69, 73, 96, 110–111, 226–227, 231, 233–235, 237–238, 240–241, 243, 246–247, 249, 251–252, 261, 265, 278, 280, 302 Han Fei. See Han Feizi

Gongduzi, 43, 45

Han Feizi, 74–75, 175–187, 235

Gongsun Long. See Gongsun Longzi

Han Yu, 302

Gongsun Longzi, 133, 138–144, 148, 202

Hansen, Chad, 75, 112, 116, 138, 140, 145,

in relation to the Zhuangzi, 189, 198

195, 197, 211–212

good life. See flourishing life

Hanshu, 73, 99, 234

goodness in human nature. See human

Happy Fish dialogue, 196–197

nature government

harmony, 11, 13 in Chinese Buddhism, 12

in the Analects, 20, 22, 36

in Confucian philosophy, 35

in Confucian philosophy, 41, 57

in the Daodejing, 108, 110

in the Daodejing, 111, 116, 125–127

in the Xunzi, 63 in the Yijing, 251

in Han period discussions, 226, 234, 237, 239, 242–243, 257, 261

in the Zhuangzi, 12

353

354

Index

He Shang Gong, 97 He Yan, 246, 278–281

in Yang Zhu’s view, 68, 214 human rights, in Confucian philosophy, 36

heaven. See tian (heaven)

huo, perplexity. See confusion

heaven and earth, 14

Hurvitz, Leon, 267–268, 271, 281–283, 285,

in the Daodejing, 102–103, 117–120

287–289, 291, 293

in Guodian texts, 102 in the Huangdi neijing ling shu, 246

ignorance, in Buddhist philosophy, 267,

in the Taiyi Sheng Shui, 102 in the Yijing, 252

269, 301 illumination, in Buddhist philosophy, 277,

in the Zhongyong, 70 in the Zhuangzi, 236 heaven, earth and humanity, 9, 69, 237, 249 Henderson, John, 238–240, 250–251, 256, 261 Henricks, Robert, 98, 111 hexagram, 224–225, 230, 232–233, 247, 253–254, 257 historiography, in the Han, 233–234 Hong Ren, 295

297–300 illusion/illusory, in Buddhist philosophy, 269, 271, 274–275, 283, 289–291, 293, 301 impartiality in the Daodejing, 107, 124 in Mohist philosophy, 49 the Mozi, 77, 79 in the Zhuangzi, 199 impermanence, in Buddhist philosophy, 267–268, 277, 290

Hou Hanshu, 96, 188

Indraccolo, Lisa, 141

Hu Shi, 138, 146, 154

Indra’s Net, 292

Huainanzi, 9, 94, 97, 134, 192, 235, 240, 242,

ineffability

245 Huangdi neijing ling shu, 243 Huangdi neijing suwen, 243 Huangdi neijing taisu, 243 Huangdi Si Jing, 5

in the Daodejing, 101 in the Zhuangzi, 218 instantaneous enlightenment, in Buddhist philosophy, 290, 294, 298–300 interdependence, 10, 13

Huayan Sutra, 282, 287

in the Analects. See relationships

Hui Neng, 295–299

in Buddhist philosophy, 269–271,

Hui Shi, 55, 132–138, 140, 149, 157, 160, 162, 236 in relation to the Zhuangzi, 189, 193, 196–198 Hui Yuan, 273

292–294, 301 in the Daodejing, 105, 109 in Xuanxue thought, 278–281 in the Yijing, 233, 241–242, 250 Ivanhoe, Philip, 57, 106, 196, 208, 212

human health, 233, 238–241, 243, 246, 250, 254, 261 human nature

Ji Zang, 283–284 Jia Yi, 235

in Legalist thought, 178–179

jianai (impartial concern), 48, 75–76, 78–84,

in the Mencius, 42–43, 49–50 neither good nor bad, 43–44

166 in Later Mohist philosophy, 138, 153, 155,

not all people are naturally inclined toward goodness, 44, 49–55

158–159 Jin dynasty, 265, 290

not naturally inclined toward goodness, 43, 49–53

jing, quiescence, 229, 241–242

in the Xunzi, 56, 61, 64

junzi (exemplary person), 34–39

Jixia, 17

Index

Kaltenmark, Max, 106 karma. See action, in Buddhist philosophy ke-buke (may be affirmed or not), 147, 161, 204 knowing how

in the Analects, 28, 30–31 in the Xunzi, 59–64 Li Ao, 302 Li Ji, 93, 226, 245 Li Si, 164, 186

in the Analects, 38

Liang Qichao, 146

in the Yijing, 259

Lienü Zhuan, 236

in the Zhuangzi, 218 knowledge. See epistemological issues

Liezi, 7, 67, 97 Liu Xiang, 73, 236

kong. See emptiness, in Buddhist philosophy

Liu Xiaogan, 192

Kongzi. See Confucius

Liude, 57

Kongzi Congzi, 246

living life to its full term, 67

Kongzi Jiayu, 246

lodged perspectives, in the Zhuangzi,

Kumarajiva, 276–277, 282–283, 289

204, 205, 206

Kun, 224–227, 250

Lotus Sutra, 276, 282, 287–289

language

loyalty in the Analects, 23, 27, 39

in Buddhist philosophy, 265, 277, 289, 294, 299–301 in the Daodejing, 98, 100, 105, 112–113, 128

in the Han Feizi, 169 in the Xunzi, 56 Lu Jia, 235 Lu, Xun, 32

in the Gongsun Longzi, 138–144

Lunheng, 236

in Later Mohist philosophy, 14

Lunyu Jijie, 246

in the Mozi, 75 in Xuanxue thought, 278–281

Lüshi Chunqiu, 67–68, 92, 234, 241–242, 249

in the Zhuangzi, 194–196, 198, 201–204, 221–222 Laozi. See Daodejing

Madhyamaka tradition, 270–271, 276, 282–284, 287, 301

Laozi A, 99, 111

mastery, in the Zhuangzi, 207–221

Laozi B, 99

Mawangdui Boshu Yijing, 229

Laozi C, 5, 99, 102–103, 111

Mawangdui Laozi A, 98

Lau, Dim-cheuk, 97, 102, 105, 118, 124, 235, 254–255, 259–260, 262

Mawangdui Laozi B, 98 McLeod, Alexus, 236, 246

learning. See epistemological issues

meditation, in Buddhist philosophy,

Legge, James, 25

266, 267, 284, 294, 297 Mencius, 42–55, 57, 64–66, 68–69, 82, 191,

lei (type, kind), 148–151, 154, 160 li (behavioural propriety), 30–34, 36–37

211, 214

in the Analects, 28–30

Mencius, Mengzi, Meng Tzu. See Mencius

in the Mencius, 51

metaphysical issues

in the Xunzi, 59–64 li (benefit)

in Buddhist philosophy, 267–268, 270, 274, 283, 291, 293, 297, 301

in Later Mohist philosophy, 158

in the Daodejing, 99, 101

in the Mozi, 76–79, 86, 89–90

in Xuanxue thought, 278–281

li (principle), in Buddhist philosophy, 291, 292, 293, 296, 301 li (ritual), 28

in the Zhuangzi, 195, 202, 212 middle-path, in Buddhist philosophy, 270, 277, 284, 286, 288, 301

355

356

Index

military issues in Legalist thought, 166–167, 178, 186 in the Mozi, 73

Nagarjuna, 270 namelessness, of dao, in the Daodejing, 101, 102

in the Yijing, 230

Narcissus and Goldmund, 123–124

mind, in Buddhist philosophy, 267, 270,

natural disasters, 224, 238

272, 274–276, 285, 292, 296, 298–300, 302

nei-wai (inner-outer) debate, 30–34 Gaozi, 44

ming (destiny, conditions of life), 65 ming (illumination), in the Zhuangzi, 206

Mencius, 42–55 New Discourses (Xinyu), 235

ming (names), 15, 137

New Writings (Xinshu), 235

in the Daodejing, 112

nirvana, 271–272, 282, 284, 302

in the Gongsun Longzi, 140–141

Nirvana Sutra, 282, 287

in Han period discussions, 244

numerological categories, 231, 237, 240,

in Later Mohist philosophy, 150–155, 160 in Legalist thought, 171–172 in Mawangdui texts, 98 the Zhuangzi, 189, 202, 206, 218, 220

243, 246 nurture in Confucian philosophy, 80 in the Mencius, 41–42, 49–50, 52, 57, 65

Ming dynasty, 74, 95

in the Xunzi, 61

Mingjia, 3, 8, 11, 59, 130–132, 160, 162

in the Zhuangzi, 207, 213–214

in relation to the Zhuangzi, 189, 195–196, 198, 202, 205, 218, 221

ox, led to slaughter, 53

moral development. See cultivation moral guidance in Gaozi’s view, 47, 57 in the Mencius, 47 moral resources

pan jiao, 281, 289–290 paradigmatic person. See junzi (exemplary person) paradoxes, of Hui Shi, 134–138

in the Mencius, 47–48

partiality, in the Mozi, 76, 78, 81–83

in the Mozi, 80, 83

patterns

in the Xunzi, 64 motivation

in the Analects, 38–39 in the Bohu Tong, 244

in the Analects, 29, 31, 36

in Buddhist philosophy, 269

in Confucian philosophy, 71 in the Mencius, 46

in the Daodejing, 108, 117 in Guodian texts, 65

in the Mozi, 82

in Later Mohist philosophy, 130, 150

in the Xunzi, 59

in Mawangdui texts, 98

mou (parallelising propositions), in Later Mohist philosophy, 150–155 mourning period, 77 Mozi, 73, 132, 136, 144, 147, 154, 156, 158 Mozi ten doctrines, 75–78 Mozi, Mo Tzu. See Mozi music in the Analects, 28, 30–31 in the Mozi, 77, 84, 88 in the Xing Zi Ming Chu, 63 in the Xunzi, 63

in the Xunzi, 56, 59 in the Yijing, 248 in the Zhuangzi, 212 patterns, recognition, in the Mozi, 89 Peng the giant bird, in the Zhuangzi, 199, 200, 203, 205 Perkins, Franklin, 61, 67, 90 perspective, in the Zhuangzi, 196, 199–200, 203–206, 221 perspective, indexical in Hui Shi’s paradoxes, 137

Index

in the Zhuangzi, 204–205 phenomenal self, in Buddhist philosophy, 268, 270 phenomenal world, in Buddhist philosophy,

pu (simplicity), in the Daodejing, 113–114, 120, 126 Puett, Michael, 67, 208, 235 punishments

268, 283, 285–286, 288, 291, 293–294,

in the Analects, 22, 29

296, 301

in Legalist thought, 164, 166–167, 169,

pi (illustrating), in Later Mohist philosophy, 151 Pines, Yuri, 171, 176 plurality, 12, 14, 16, 85

171, 177, 181, 184–186 qi (vitality, energies), 239–241, 248, 261 in the Guanzi, 52

in Later Mohist philosophy, 14, 157

in the Mencius, 47, 52–53

in the Yijing, 233, 248

in the Yijing, 249

in the Zhuangzi, 194–195, 200–203, 216, 219

in the Zhuangzi, 210–211 Qian, 224–227, 250

polarity, in the Daodejing, 104–105,

Qin dynasty, 4, 145, 162, 164–166, 176, 186,

122–123 political administration, in Han period

192, 209, 213, 233–235, 237 qing (feelings). See emotions

discussions, 234, 241–242, 261

qing (genuine), in the Mencius, 51

political life, in the Zhuangzi, 213–216

Qing dynasty, 41, 74

Poo, Mu-chou, 28, 87, 232

Qiong Da Yi Shi, 68

practical wisdom, 16, 27, 255–261

qu (selecting, picking-out), 143–144, 149,

practice in the Analects, 6, 28–31, 35–37, 81 in the Xunzi, 60, 64 practices

155, 160 quan (to weigh), in Later Mohist philosophy, 158

in Buddhism, 2, 272, 276, 278, 280, 296

ran-buran (so or not-so), 147

Daoist, 7, 92–93, 95, 103, 110, 114–115,

Raphals, Lisa, 195, 204

127 divination, 13, 208, 224–225, 232 in the Han, 241 in the Mozi, 75, 77, 87, 89 religious, 95–96 in the Zhuangzi, 194, 208 precedent, in the Mozi, 75, 87, 89 primitivist (strand), in the Daodejing, 101, 120

reality in Buddhist philosophy, 266, 269, 273, 283, 285, 287–288, 291, 293, 297, 300–301 in the Zhuangzi, 195, 201–202 rebirth, 266, 269, 271, 276, 297 reciprocity in the Analects, 25–26 in Confucian philosophy, 12

primitivist ideas, in the Zhuangzi, 191

in the Daodejing, 124

profit

in the Mozi, 83 in the Yijing, 243

in Confucian philosophy, 79 in the Daodejing, 110–111 in the Xunzi, 56 Yang Zhu, 67 propositions, in Later Mohist philosophy. See assertions/propositions provisional existence, in Buddhist philosophy, 287

Reding, Jean-Paul, 137, 142 relational attachment in Confucian philosophy, 6, 29, 81 in Later Mohist philosophy, 159 in the Mozi, 81 relational self. See relationships

357

358

Index

relationships, 9–11, 163

sage

in the Analects, 23, 25–27, 29, 39

in Confucian philosophy, 11, 181

in Chinese Buddhism, 10

in the Daodejing, 102, 116–117, 123,

in Confucian philosophy, 11, 25, 42 the Daodejing, 101, 109, 117, 121, 124

125–127, 279, 302 in the Huainanzi, 242 in Huang-Lao Daoism, 187

relativism, in the Zhuangzi, 195

in the Li Ji, 245

religious dimension in Han period discussions, 241, 248

in the Lüshi Chunqiu, 242 in the Zhuangzi, 206

of the Taiyi Sheng Shui, 103

scepticism, in the Zhuangzi, 192–193

in the Xunzi, 69

Schwartz, Benjamin, 50, 75, 119, 126, 157,

ren, 30–34, 36, 177–178. See also ren and li affection, 26 in the Analects, 23–28 compassion, 81–82

160, 164–167, 170–171, 173, 176, 180, 182, 187, 189, 195, 212, 214, 240 scientific discussions, in Later Mohist philosophy, 155–158

Confucian golden rule, 25 in Confucian philosophy, 81

secrecy, of the ruler, in Legalist throught, 185–186

general concern for humanity, 24

self in environment, 107

kinship, 81–82 in the Mencius, 45, 51 ren and li, 30–34

in Confucian philosophy, 71 in the Daodejing, 107, 109, 122 self-serving, 56–57, 59, 61, 67, 71

interdependent concepts, 33–34

Sengzhao, 277

li is fundamental, 33

Shang dynasty, 224, 232

ren is fundamental, 31–32 resonance. See also ganying in the Daodejing, 124 responsibility in the Analects, 26, 33 in Confucian philosophy, 71 in the Daodejing, 109 in Han period discussions, 242 in the Xunzi, 64, 68–69 in the Yijing, 250 responsiveness, 7

Shang Yang, 164–169, 171, 173, 177, 180–181, 183, 185–186 Shanghai Museum Zhou Yi, 228 Shangjun Shu, 167–169, 180, 182–183, 185 Shaughnessy, Edward, 228–229, 232, 253 Shen Buhai, 55, 163, 165–166, 169–170, 172–173, 176–177, 183, 185, 237 Shen Dao, 55, 164, 166, 173, 175–176, 181, 236 Shen Xiu, 295, 298

in the Daodejing, 93, 121, 124

sheng (birth, growth), 70

in the Huainanzi, 242

shi (actuality, actually-existing things), 130,

in the Zhuangzi, 206–207, 218, 222 rewards and punishments, 86 in Legalist philosophy, 127 in the Mozi, 84 Rishu, 15, 231 Robins, Dan, 75, 151–152, 154, 220 Roth, Harold, 192, 198, 211–213 Ru, 20, 32

134, 139, 141, 144, 160 in Han period discussions, 244 shi (power), in Legalist thought, 173–175 shi-fei in Later Mohist philosophy, 147, 157 in the Mozi, 76, 85 in the Zhuangi, 207 in the Zhuangzi, 199, 204–206, 211, 297

Rutt, Richard, 226, 230

Shi Jing, 23, 39, 226, 239

Ryle, Gilbert, 259

Shiji, 3, 92, 131, 234–235, 240

Index

shu (statecraft), in Legalist thought, 165, 169–173, 176, 185

tian (heaven), 9 as agent, 64–65

Shu Jing, 23, 226, 239

in the Bohu Tong, 244

Shun, Kwong-Loi, 34, 36, 51

in the Chunqiu, 237

shuo (explanation), in Later Mohist

in the Chunqiu fanlu, 244 in Confucian philosophy, 64–71

philosophy, 151 Shuo Yuan, 134–135, 236

in Han period discussions, 238, 240

Shuowen Jiezi, 70, 121 Si Shu, 246

in the Huainanzi, 242 and human affairs, 68

Siddhartha Gautama, 266

in the Lüshi Chunqiu, 241–242

silver rule. See golden rule

in the Mencius, 49–50, 65

Sima Tan, 3–4, 93–94, 131, 163, 234–235, 240 situated self. See self in environment Sivin, Nathan, 240, 242–243, 246 six schools of thought (Sima Tan), 3, 93, 235 Skaja, Henry, 33

in the Mozi, 77, 86, 89 source of moral goodness, 64, 66 in the Xunzi, 64 in the Yijing, 224–226, 248, 252, 261 tian (naturalistic view), 9, 65, 69 Tian Tai (Heavenly Terrace), 286–289

Slingerland, Edward, 117, 212–213, 217

timeliness, 16, 255–261

Song dynasty, 95, 98, 233, 302

tong (sameness), 143–144, 147–148

Song Xing, 55

transformation, of all things, in the

sophistry, 131, 134, 139, 144, 159

Daodejing, 101, 107

Southern and Northern dynasties, 265

trigram, 224, 227, 230, 248, 256–258

spirituality, in the Zhuangzi, 208–213, 216

truth, in Buddhist philosophy, 275, 278,

spontaneity/ spontaneous in the Daodejing, 92, 101, 105, 117–118,

283–284, 287, 294, 296, 300–301 Tsai, Heng-Ting, 267–268, 271

121–123 in Han period discussions, 246, 280 in the Zhuangzi, 191, 213, 217–218, 260 Spring and Autumn period, 2, 16, 20, 28

Tu, Weiming, 30, 32 tui (analogical argument), in Later Mohist philosophy, 150–152 tui (extending compassion), 53–55, 78–84

storehouse consciousness, 284–286 suchness, in Buddhist philosophy, 291

uncarved block, 101, 117

suffering, in Buddhist philosophy, 267–268 Sui dynasty, 41, 145, 282

uniformity, 11, 85, 160 utility, in the Mozi, 75, 77, 87–88

superstitious beliefs, rejection of, in the Xunzi, 68

veracity, in the Mozi, 87

syncretic method, 9, 17 Synthesis, during the Han dynasty, 224–233

Waley, Arthur, 106, 130 Wang Bi, 5, 96–97, 104, 117, 128, 278–281

Taixuanjing, 235

Wang Chong, 236

Taiyi (Great Unity), 103 Taiyi Sheng Shui, 99, 102–103

Wang Su, 246 Wang Yang Ming, 292

Tang dynasty, 95, 98, 282, 295, 299, 301

wanwu (myriad things), 118

teachers, in the Xunzi, 59, 64

in Buddhist philosophy, 274

teaching, in the Daodejing, 112–114

in the Daodejing, 101–102, 107, 109

three bonds, in Confucian philosophy, 244

in the Yijing, 262

thrift, in funerals, 48

in the Zhuangzi, 195

359

360

Index

Warring States period, 2, 4, 13, 15, 17, 28,

Xiao Jing, 245

65, 96, 131, 147, 159, 163, 165, 170,

Xiaoqu, 144, 151

172, 183, 231, 237

xin (heart-mind) in Guodian texts, 58

water in the Daodejing, 102–103, 108, 120, 125

in the Mencius, 41–55

in Gaozi’s view, 45

in the Xunzi, 55–64 in the Zhuangzi, 208–213

in Guodian texts, 102 Watson, Burton, 64, 234, 238 wei (act, regard), in the Daodejing, 114,

xin (reliability, trustworthiness) in the Analects, 27, 38 person standing by his word, 38

125–127

in the Xunzi, 61

Wei dynasty, 265, 278 Wei-Jin period, 95–96

xin zhai (fasting of the heart-mind), in the Zhuangzi, 208–213

weiwo. See Yang Zhu well-being, 15, 47

xing ming (fixing names), in Legalist thought, 171–172, 183

in the Analects, 26, 32, 39 in Confucian philosophy, 71 in the Daodejing, 106, 126

Xing Zi Ming Chu, 51, 57, 63, 211 xu (vacuity, emptiness), in the Daodejing, 94, 101–105, 127

in Daoist philosophy, 15 in Han period discussions, 233, 243

Xu Gan, 244

in Legalist thought, 186–187

Xuan Zang, 284, 286

in the Mozi, 76–84

Xuanxue, 265–266, 278–281, 301

in the Yijing, 13

Xunzi, 55–64, 68–69, 131–135, 148, 154, 160, 203, 221

in the Zhuangzi, 201 Western Zhou period, 28 Wheelwright Bian, 196, 208, 218–219

Xunzi, Hsun Tzu. See Xunzi

white horse not horse, 138–144

Yampolsky, Philip, 295

Wilhelm, Hellmut, 227, 251, 253, 257–258

yan (speech, words)

Wright, Arthur, 265, 272–273, 275, 277

in the Analects, 37

wu (nonbeing, nothing), in the Daodejing,

in Later Mohist philosophy, 150–155 in the Mozi, 89

101–105

in the Zhuangzi, 201–206, 218

Wu Guangming, 213, 220 Wu Jing, 226 Wu Xing, 58

Yan Hui, 30, 209, 214–215 yang, masculinity, firmness, 224–226, 231, 237, 239–240, 242, 246, 251, 255

wuwei, in the Zhuangzi, 189, 212–213, 217 wuwei (nonaction), 242 in Legalist thought, 164, 171–172, 187

Yang Zhu, 7, 67 in relation to the Zhuangzi, 189, 191, 208, 213–214

wuwei (unconditioned action), in the Daodejing, 7, 92, 95, 114, 124–125, 127 wuxing, 158, 238–241, 244, 256 xiao (filial piety)

Yearley, Lee, 198, 212 yi appropriateness in the Analects, 29, 35, 38 righteousness in Legalist thought,

in the Analects, 26–27, 81 in Buddhist philosophy, 272

righteousness in the Guanzi, 164

in Confucian philosophy, 88

righteousness in the Mencius, 45–46, 51

in Han period discussions, 245

rightness in the Analects, 28

in the Mozi, 80

rightness in Gaozi’s view, 45

177–179

Index

rightness in the Mozi, 76–77, 86

in the Daodejing, 114, 117

rightness in the Xunzi, 60–61

in Guodian texts, 57

yi (difference), 143–144, 147–149 Yi Zhi, 48–49, 77, 82 Yijing, 5, 9, 13–14, 16, 224–233, 247–262 yin, femininity, receptiveness, 224–226, 239, 242, 246, 251, 255, 261 in the Daodejing, 122, 124 in the Yijing, 224 yin-yang, 237, 239–241, 251, 256

great knowledge and little knowledge in the Zhuangzi, 205–206 in the Mencius, 51 Zhi Yi, 286–288 zhong (doing or being one’s best), in the Analects, 26 Zhonglun, 244 Zhongyong, 50, 69 Zhou dynasty, 2, 225–226

in Huang-Lao thought, 95

Zhu Xi, 5, 231, 245

reciprocal relationship, 251

Zhuangzi, 3–5, 7, 9, 12, 15, 18, 53, 55, 59,

Yogacara, 284–287, 291

74–75, 85, 93–97, 105, 118, 133–135,

you (being, existence), in the Daodejing, 99

137–138, 144, 147, 160, 162, 173,

youwei. See wei (act, regard) Yucong 1, 46, 57

188–223, 235, 273, 277–279, 294, 297, 299 Zhuangzi, Chuang Tzu. See Zhuangzi

Zai Wo, 39, 77

Zi Xia, 30

Zeng Zi, 30

Zi You, 30

Zhang Dongsun, 222, 245

Zi Zhang, 30

zhengming (rectifying conduct), in the

ziran (nature), in the Daodejing, 117–121

Analects, 59, 202

ziran (self-so-ness), in the Daodejing, 7,

zhengming (rectifying names), in the Xunzi, 59–64, 174

121–128 Zisi, 42, 44

zhi (pointing), in the Gongsun Longzi, 142

Zou Yan, 240

zhi (wisdom, knowing) in the Analects, 27, 31

Zuo Zhuan, 63, 239–240, 249 zuowang (sitting and forgetting), 209, 211

361