The Ethics of Confucius and Aristotle: Mirrors of Virtue [First Edition] 9781136748554, 1136748555

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The Ethics of Confucius and Aristotle

The emergence of virtue ethics, which might be the most significant development in contemporary ethics, takes Aristotle’s ethics as the most important paradigm. Aristotle’s ethical thinking, in contrast to modern Western moral philosophy, starts with a reflection on human life as a whole instead of on some moral acts, and focuses on character and virtue instead of on principles and rules. This way of doing ethics is shared by Confucius. First, Confucius seeks to find the human dao, i.e. the way to become a good person. Second, to become a good person, one must cultivate de, that is, a dispositional character (indeed, de has been generally translated as ‘‘virtue’’ in English). Confucius calls this dispositional character ren. Ren has been generally translated as ‘‘benevolence’’ or ‘‘humanity,’’ but is also widely referred to as ‘‘virtue,’’ ‘‘complete virtue,’’ or ‘‘cardinal virtue.’’ It is in elaborating how one person can become a good person by cultivating ren that Confucius reflects on and discusses issues such as human nature and its fulfillment, the doctrine of the mean, the role of social customs and traditions, self-cultivation and moral education, love, family, virtue politics, moral emotion, moral reasoning, family, and so on. These are also the central themes in Aristotle’s theory of virtue. To a great extent, Aristotle’s ethics is taken as the model in contemporary virtue ethics precisely because these important ethical concerns have been left out or at least marginalized in dominant modern moral theories. Jiyuan Yu is Associate Professor at the Department of Philosophy, State University of New York at Buffalo. He is author of The Structure of Being in Aristotle’s Metaphysics; co-author (with Nick Bunnin) of The Blackwell Dictionary of Western Philosophy; and co-editor (with Jorge Gracia) of Rationality and Happiness and Uses and Abuses of the Classics.

Routledge Studies in Ethics and Moral Theory

1 The Contradictions of Modern Moral Philosophy Ethics after Wittgenstein Paul Johnston 2 Kant, Duty and Moral Worth Philip Stratton-Lake 3 Justifying Emotions Pride and jealousy Kristja´n Kristja´nsson 4 Classical Utilitarianism from Hume to Mill Frederick Rosen 5 The Self, the Soul and the Psychology of Good and Evil Ilham Dilman 6 Moral Responsibility The ways of scepticism Carlos J. Moya 7 The Ethics of Confucius and Aristotle Mirrors of virtue Jiyuan Yu

The Ethics of Confucius and Aristotle Mirrors of virtue

Jiyuan Yu

First published 2007 by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Transferred to Digital Printing 2007

# 2007 Jiyuan Yu Typeset in Times New Roman by Taylor & Francis Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Yu, Jiyuan. The ethics of Confucius and Aristotle : mirrors of virtue / Jiyuan Yu. p. cm. – (Routledge studies in ethics and moral theory ; 7) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Virtue. 2. Ethics. 3. Confucius. 4. Aristotle. I. Title. BJ1531.Y8 2007 170.92’2–dc21 2006033158 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 0–415–95647–1 ISBN 978–0–415–95647–5

For Norman

Contents

Preface and acknowldgements Abbreviations

ix xi

Introduction

1

Two revivals 1 The meaning of comparison 3 The possibility of comparison 6 The nature of ethical thinking 10 The scope of comparison 17 The structure of the book 20 1

Eudaimonia, dao, and virtue Human good: eudaimonia and dao Virtue: arete- and de 28 De and ren 32 The beginning of ethics 35 Doing ethics and being pious 43 The ways of ethics 46

2

24 25

Humanity: xing and ergon

53

Human nature and humanity 54 Function and good nature 57 Humanity as the foundation of ethics 61 Justifying humanity 67 Actualization of humanity 71 From humanity to virtue 74 3

Virtue, the mean, and disposition The mean: inner and outer 80 Hitting the mean 83 The inner mean and virtue 88

79

viii

Contents Disposition and second nature 90 The components of virtue 92

4

Habituation and ritualization Social value: li and ethos 96 The training of emotion 102 Political animal and relational self Nature and cultivation 113 Family and virtue 120 Politics and virtue 130

5

96

108

Practical wisdom and appropriateness

140

Ethical wisdom and traditional value 142 The structure of ethical wisdom 148 Harmony of emotion and reason 152 Ethical reasoning 154 Particular virtues 158 The unity of virtues 162 6

The highest good and external goods

169

Virtue, activity, and happiness 171 Contemplation and self-completion 177 Being one with God and being one with Heaven External goods 185 Virtue and good 192 7

180

The practical and the contemplative Contemplative activity and contemplative life Self and self-actualization 200 Self and the others 205 The value of contemplation 219 Greek glossary Chinese glossary Notes Selected bibliography Index of names Index of subjects

195 196

222 224 226 263 272 274

Preface and acknowledgments

What follows is a comparative study of how the ethics of Aristotle and Confucius reflect upon human good and virtue out of their respective cultural assumptions, conceptual frameworks, and philosophical perspectives. It does not simply take one side as a ready-to-use framework to understand the other side; rather, it seeks to develop new interpretations of both ethics through comparison. The primary means for understanding Aristotle and Confucius is, of course, to read their own original texts, yet a comparison of them can suggest readings and perspectives that would be unattainable if each were studied on its own. Furthermore, this work focuses on singling out the most significant issues which not only are commonly exploited in these two ethics, but are also of great interest in contemporary virtue ethics. I first became interested in this subject in 1996 when Nicholas Bunnin invited me to speak at a conference on Chinese philosophy that he organized at Oxford University. By that time, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics had been intensively studied as the most important model of virtue ethics for decades. As a student of Aristotle, when I turned my eyes to Chinese philosophy, the first thing I noticed is how similar the Confucian approach to ethics is to Aristotle’s in many aspects. Hence I chose to present a paper dealing with how Aristotle and Confucius conceive the conception of virtue. The paper was later published in the Philosophy East and West 48 (1998), with the title of ‘‘Virtue: Aristotle and Confucius.’’ It became the seed of this book. The completion of this work has taken longer than I expected, partly because of other projects in Greek philosophy, but more importantly because of the complex and difficult nature of doing comparative philosophy. The interpretation of each of these two theories faces numerous linguistic, textual, and philosophical problems, and each has a long and complicated exegetic tradition. It is by no means easy to avoid saying silly things even in the discussion of just one of them; yet to bring them together more than doubles the difficulties. For such a task requires us not only to deal with scholarly issues on both sides, but also to tackle thorny theoretical problems that the comparison itself generates, such as cross-cultural translatability and commensurability.

x

Preface and acknowledgements

I would like to thank National Humanities Center for awarding me the 2003–4 Herford fellowship which enabled me to spend a whole academic year to prepare this book in optimal research conditions. Without this opportunity, the project would have taken much longer to complete. While writing at NHC, frequent discussions with Michael Ferejoin and C. D. C. Reeve have advanced this work in many ways. I am in particular indebted to David Wong who, in an extraordinary spirit of generosity, read the first draft of each chapter and provided numerous valuable comments. The Department of Philosophy at SUNY Buffalo has been generous with collegial encouragement. I am especially grateful to Jorge Gracia, John Kearns and Carolyn Korsmeyer. Each of them provided sound advice about the project and made numerous suggestions for improvement of the text. I would also like to thank Kenneth Barber for his effort of arranging graduate assistants for my study. I owe a lasting debt to Nick Bunnin, who has been a continuing source of support and inspiration from start to finish. I am also grateful to many friends who read all or part of the manuscript at its various stages and have provided helpful suggestions and corrections: in particular, Roger Ames, Chung-ying Cheng, Timothy Connolly, Roger Crisp, David Glidden, P. J. Ivanhoe, Xinyan Jiang, Joel Kupperman, Gareth Matthews, Zisong Wang, Huang Yong, Jinmei Yuan. Thanks are also due to two readers from Routledge for their constructive and useful criticisms. Of course any weakness in the arguments and infelicities of style that may remain are my own. Karen Carroll at NHC, Amy Cedrone, and Eric Chelstrom have given invaluable help in proofreading the original typescript. Tim Connolly carefully prepared the indices, supported by a grant from UB’s College of Arts and Sciences. Finally, I would like to thank my editor Max Novick and my production editor Ulrike Swientek at Routledge for their patience and help in the process of publication. I have used materials which have already appeared in print, although on most occasions significant modifications have been introduced. The fourth and fifth sections of Chapter 1 appeared as an article entitled ‘‘The Beginnings of Ethics: Confucius and Socrates,’’ in Asian Philosophy 15 (July 2005); parts of the first and second sections are from ‘‘Virtue and Nature in Mencius and Xunzi: An Aristotelian Interpretation,’’ in Dao 5 (December 2005); part of Chapter 3 is developed from ‘‘Aristotelian Mean and Confucian Mean,’’ in Journal of Chinese Philosophy 29 (September 2002); and the second section of Chapter 4 is from ‘‘Aristotle’s Political Animal and Confucius’s Relational Self,’’ in History of Philosophy Quarterly 22 (October 2005). I am grateful to the editors of these journals for their permission to re-use these materials.

Abbreviations

Aristotle’s works APo APr DC Cat DA DI EE GA GC HA MA MM Meta Meteor NE PA Ph Pol Rh SE Top

Posterior Analytics Prior Analytics De Caelo Categories De Anima De Interpretatione Eudemian Ethics De Generatione Animalium De Generatione et Corruptione Historia Animalium De Motu Animalium Magna Moralia Metaphysics Meteorologica Nicomachean Ethics De Partibus Animalium Physics Politics Rhetoric Sophistici Elenchi Topics

Unless otherwise stated, I use The Revised Oxford Translations of the Completed Works of Aristotle, ed. J. Barnes (Princeton University Press, 1984) when quoting from Aristotle. However, I translate arete- as ‘‘virtue’’ rather than ‘‘excellence,’’ and e-theke- arete- as ‘‘ethical virtue’’ rather than ‘‘excellence of character’’ or ‘moral excellence.’’ In addition, when a technical term is the subject of discussion but is open to various translations, I leave it untranslated in quotations. All necessary Greek is transliterated and explained. A Greek glossary is appended.

xii

Abbreviations

Confucian classics ‘‘The ethics of Confucius’’ in this book is used in a broad sense, covering the doctrines found not just in the Analects, but in all the Four Books that make up the core texts of classical Confucianism. The abbreviations of the Four Books are: A M Learning Mean

Analects Mencius The Great Learning The Doctrine of the Mean

No unified translation of the Four Books is available at this time, except James Legge’s nineteenth-century translation. Unless otherwise indicated, my translations of the Analects and the Mencius are based on D. C. Lau’s Confucius: the Analects (The Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, 1979) and Mencius (The Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, 1984). Quotations of The Great Learning and The Doctrine of the Mean are from W.-T. Chan’s A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton University Press, 1963). When a technical term is the subject of discussion but is open to various translations, I leave it untranslated. With the exceptions of ‘‘Confucius’’ and ‘‘Mencius,’’ all Chinese names and terms are transliterated according to the Pinyin system, including those in the quotations of other authors who use the Wade-Giles or other systems. A Chinese glossary is appended.

Introduction

Why draw together Confucian and Aristotelian ethics? What can we expect to achieve by comparing them? Is it theoretically possible to compare two ethical systems that originate in different traditions? Do Confucius and Aristotle have comparable views about how ethics should be done? This introduction seeks to answer these questions. In explaining the nature of this project, I also try to provide a defense of comparative philosophy as a philosophical enterprise.

Two revivals In ‘‘Modern Moral Philosophy,’’ Elizabeth Anscombe pointed out that ‘‘anyone who has read Aristotle’s Ethics and has also read modern moral philosophy must have been struck by the great contrasts between them.’’1 Anscombe claimed that all modern major moral philosophers were wrong and that we should stop doing moral philosophy until we have an adequate philosophical psychology. Ethics should be grounded in the notion of virtue, and we must get a better grip on terms like ‘‘intention,’’ ‘‘wanting,’’ ‘‘pleasure,’’ and ‘‘action’’ in order to explain what type of thing a virtue is and how it relates to the virtuous actions. Her paper effectively initiated the contemporary revival of virtue ethics which takes Aristotle as the dominant model and which significantly changed the landscape of contemporary ethics. Anscombe’s paper was published in 1958. In the same year, a group of Confucian scholars published ‘‘A Manifesto for a Re-Appraisal of Sinology and Reconstruction of Chinese Culture.’’2 This was intended to show the contemporary philosophical significance of Confucian ethics by contrasting it to modern Western moral philosophy: In Western ethical studies, discussion of morality is usually devoted to consideration of the regulations of human behavior, or the social or religious values of moral codes. Few writers have particularly stressed this thorough transformation of man’s natural life by moral practices so that his attitudes and manners manifest his inner virtues and enrich and

2

Introduction illuminate this life. In contrast, it is precisely what traditional Confucianism has greatly emphasized. (Chang et al., 1962, 466)

This document became the landmark of the contemporary revival of Confucianism, a movement that has been called ‘‘New Confucianism,’’ or ‘‘The Third Epoch of Confucian Humanism.’’ New Confucianism can be traced back to the 1920s and 1930s when scholars tried to identify the unique value of Confucianism in the wake of the systematic introduction of modern Western culture into China. The 1958 Manifesto made the revival of Confucianism an international movement. The revival was greatly encouraged and promoted in the 1970s and 1980s by industrial success in nations that share Confucian culture. Confucianism was seen as being able to provide an alternative view to modernity.3 The revival of Aristotelian ethics is mainly an academic phenomenon, whereas the revival of Confucianism appears to have broad cultural and sociological dimensions. Nevertheless, these two revivals share the same target of criticism, that is, Enlightenment values and modern Western morality. Indeed, their philosophical orientation of these two rivals is the same, that is, a virtue approach to ethics. The major differences between Aristotle’s ethical thinking and modern moral philosophy are usually said to be the following. First, whereas modern ethics focuses on moral acts, Aristotle’s ethics concerns the goodness of the agent’s whole life. Second, whereas modern ethics considers the task of ethics to formulate rules and principles to govern moral acts, Aristotle’s ethics centers on the character and virtue that a person must have in order to live happily or to flourish. The value of an action can only be judged in relation to the character of the agent. It is not difficult to see that these two features of Aristotle’s ethics also characterize the ethics of Confucius. First, the concern of Confucius is to find the human dao, i.e. the way to become a good person. Second, to become a good person, one must cultivate de, that is, a dispositional character (indeed, de has been generally translated as ‘‘virtue’’ in English translations). Confucius calls this dispositional character ren. Ren has been generally translated as ‘‘benevolence’’ or ‘‘humanity,’’ but is also widely referred to as ‘‘virtue,’’ ‘‘complete virtue,’’ or ‘‘cardinal virtue.’’ James Legge (1815–97), who laid down the foundation of the Western translation of Chinese classics, translated junzi (the Confucian concept of the good man, that is, the man equipped with ren, usually translated as ‘‘gentleman’’) as ‘‘a man of complete virtue.’’4 It is in elaborating how one can become a good person by cultivating ren that Confucius reflects and discusses issues such as human nature and its fulfillment, the doctrine of the mean, the role of social custom and traditions, self-cultivation and moral education, love, family, virtue politics, moral emotion and reasoning, and so on. These are also central themes in

Introduction

3

Aristotle’s theory of virtue. To a great extent, Aristotle’s ethics is taken as the paradigmatic model in contemporary virtue ethics precisely because these important ethical concerns have been left out or at least marginalized in dominant modern moral theories. The contrast between Confucianism and modern Western moral theory is not simply a contrast of East and West, but also one between a character-based ethics and a rule-based or rights-based ethics.5 Since both revivals share a virtue approach to ethics, but point to Confucius and Aristotle respectively, a sense of wonder naturally arises about the extent to which the ethics of Aristotle and Confucius compete or complement, and about the philosophical significance we can draw from their similarities and differences. Propelled by this curiosity and the desire to know, I venture to develop a philosophical comparison of these two ethics.

The meaning of comparison There are various understandings of what a comparative philosophical study is and what counts as an appropriate way of practicing it. In its prevailing meaning, ‘‘comparative philosophy’’ is usually associated with nonWestern philosophy and, to a great extent, even sounds like a different name for the latter. This is at least partly because, while the study of Western philosophy seldom refers to non-Western philosophy, comparison with Western philosophy has been a major approach in the study of non-Western philosophy. Broadly speaking, two major interpretive approaches are used in Chinese philosophy. One is to find out how the traditional Western philosophical issues are dealt with in Chinese texts; the other is to show how Chinese philosophy differs from Western philosophy by identifying its own unique sensibility and rationality.6 Although these two approaches are opposed to each other, they share the attitude that doing Chinese philosophy indispensably requires a comparison with Western philosophy. Needless to say, both approaches have contributed greatly to our understanding of Chinese philosophy. Our comparative study, however, is conceived in a different way.7 When comparison is used in the study of non-Western philosophy, Western philosophy is usually treated as some established framework or tool of analysis to be applied rather than as a subject matter that is itself subject to investigation. The focus of discussion has always been on the non-Western side. In contrast, in this book, although we appropriate Aristotle’s methodology, his ethical doctrines are also the object to be studied. This book treats both sides equally and aims at developing an interpretation of each side through comparison. In fact, it is difficult to see how one can take Western philosophy as a ready-to-use framework, for there is hardly any concept or issue in it that is not subject to controversy. Consider Aristotle, for example. It does not take

4

Introduction

much expertise to know that almost each view of his has been subjected to different and even contradictory interpretations. The Nicomachean Ethics is by no means an exception. There are numerous ongoing disputes not only about the contents of particular views presented in it, but even about the structure of Aristotle’s theory of eudaimonia and about whether the NE is a unified and consistent work.8 Most contemporary discussions of virtue ethics go back to Aristotle, but it is far from being the case that they share the same understanding of Aristotle. Rather, as one influential virtue ethicist puts it: ‘‘Any virtue ethics which is ‘Aristotelian’ as described inevitably aims to stick to the author’s interpretation of Aristotle, and interpretations of Aristotle, on many of the relevant issues, vary.’’9 Our comparative approach, then, requires a defense of our own understanding of Aristotle, just as it requires a defense of our own understanding of Confucius. As it turns out, Aristotle himself is most helpful in illuminating the kind of comparative philosophy I pursue. Two of his ideas can be fruitfully appropriated for this purpose. The first is the ‘‘friend-as-mirror’’ thesis, and the second is the method of ‘‘saving the phenomena.’’ Aristotle uses the metaphor of a mirror to explain what real friendship is: [W]hen we wish to see our own face, we do so by looking into the mirror, in the same way when we wish to know ourselves we can obtain that knowledge by looking at our friend. For the friend is, as we assert, a second self. If, then, it is pleasant to know oneself, and it is not possible to know this without having some one else for a friend, the selfsufficing man will require friendship in order to know himself.10 A friend is a second self, and can be used as a mirror. Such a mirror is essential for one to know oneself better, and the self-knowledge obtained from a real friend is needed for one’s happiness. The doctrinal meaning of the ‘‘friend-as-mirror’’ thesis will be discussed in due course, and here let us focus on its methodological implication for comparative philosophy. Aristotelian and Confucian ethics can be viewed as mirrors for each other. One lives one’s own life, but still needs friends in various ways. Similarly, we must read the original works of Aristotle and Confucius to understand them, but a comparison could help have them better understood. Taking them as mirrors for each other leads us to reflect upon the traditional roots of both ethics, to examine their otherwise unexamined presuppositions, and to generate alternative perspectives to determine why each side proceeds in the way it does. One main task of philosophy is to uncover hidden assumptions, and cross-cultural philosophical comparison has a lot to contribute in this regard. Furthermore, by promoting mutual understanding, comparison will also help philosophy transcend cultural boundaries and reach genuine insights that are not culturally bound. ‘‘Saving the phenomena’’ is Aristotle’s characteristic philosophical methodology.11 In NE vii.1, he presents us with an outline of this method:

Introduction

5

We must, as in all other cases, set the phenomena [phainomena] before us and, after first discussing the difficulties [aporiai], go on to prove, if possible, the truth of all the reputable opinions [endoxa] about these affections or, failing this, of the greater number and the most authoritative; for if we both resolve the difficulties and leave the reputable opinions undisturbed, we shall have proved the case sufficiently. (NE, 1145b1–7) The term phenomena, literally meaning ‘‘things that are present or are evident,’’ derives from the verb phainesthai, and means ‘‘to appear.’’ It can be translated as ‘‘appearances,’’ but in Aristotle, it means mainly ‘‘what people commonly say’’ (ta legomena), i.e. ‘‘common belief,’’ rather than empirical appearance. Phenomena also include views that are not so commonly accepted but are held by a small number of wise people, or even by a single wise person. In this sense it is used interchangeably with endoxa (‘‘reputable opinions’’). According to the quoted passage, Aristotle’s method of ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ consists of the following procedures: (1) collecting and establishing the phenomena; (2) discussing and analyzing the conflicts of these phenomena and the difficulties to which they give rise; and (3) saving the truth contained in all reputable opinions.12 This is meant to solve conflicts between phenomena by showing that each phenomenon is neither completely wrong nor completely right. It identifies each phenomenon‘s limit and adjusts ‘‘what is said’’ by all sides of a debate. As Aristotle describes it: We must, then, find a method that will best explain the views held on these topics, and also put an end to difficulties and contradictions. And this will happen if the contrary views are seen to be held with some show of reason; such a view will be most in harmony with the phenomena; and both the contradictory statements will in the end stand, if what is said is true in one sense but untrue in another. (EE, 1235b13–17) The ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ method can be extended to comparative philosophy to the effect that to compare entails saving the phenomena from different cultures. Inspired by the spirit of this method, our comparative project will proceed as follows: (1) since both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics are about how to be a good person, they can be seen as comparable phenomena from different philosophical traditions; (2) we examine points of congruence and contrast that arise from bringing Aristotelian and Confucian phenomena together; and (3) we seek to save the truth present in these phenomena. The mirror and the ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ methods are consistent and complementary. The mirror method requires first of all bringing together different traditions, i.e., establishing comparable cross-culture phenomena, and then examining and revealing the differences and similarities between

6

Introduction

the two. This is precisely the requirement of the second step of the saving the phenomena method. It is through mirroring that we know the strengths and weaknesses of each ethical system, and are thus able to identify the truth that needs to be saved, the truth which leads to fruitful dialogues. This is similar to the third step of the ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ method. The bulk of this book will consist of a comparative analysis of the questions, approaches, concepts, and doctrines on either side. I will cite substantial textual evidence to show that all the views I compare are actually held by each side. I will discuss each main concept and its translation(s), and trace the development of each within its own tradition by placing the views of each side in their own intellectual, sociological, and religious contexts. Since one major mistake of doing comparative philosophy is the unreflective imposition of assumptions of one’s own tradition on the other, extra caution will be exerted not to fall into this trap. I will also take into account the rich scholarship on each side, and deal with relevant controversies on either side before a comparison is drawn. In the end, I hope to demonstrate that neither Aristotle nor the Confucians are completely right or completely wrong. Each side has said something significant on some issues or some aspects of the same issue, and each side has also failed to address some issues or some aspects of the same issue. It is the combination of the elements of truth contained in each phenomenon that provides a better understanding of virtue and human perfection.

The possibility of comparison Comparative philosophy always faces a skeptical challenge about its possibility. The challenge is usually expressed in the form of the problem of incommensurability. It says that two theories from different cultural contexts embody different internal conceptual schemes and sociological backgrounds, so that they are incommensurable like apples and oranges. There are many versions of the problem of incommensurability.13 Here I shall focus on the version that directly threatens our project of comparing the ethics of Aristotle and Confucius. Ironically, it is most clearly stated by Alasdair MacIntyre, one of the most prominent contributors to the revival of Aristotelian virtue ethics. According to MacIntyre, Indeed in their overall doctrines and perspectives Confucianism, whether that of Confucius or that of the Neo-Confucians, and Aristotelianism, whether that of Aristotle or that of Aquinas, present crucially different and incompatible accounts of the best ways for human beings to live, so that even theses about which there is substantial agreement function in significantly different ways.14 The incompatibility is generated, according to MacIntyre, because each system has its own internal standard of explanation and justification, and

Introduction

7

each has its own philosophical psychology, politics, and sociology. As a result of their incompatibility, There is just no neutral and independent method of characterizing those materials in a way sufficient to provide the type of adjudication between competing theories of the virtues which I had once hoped to provide and to which some others still aspire. (MacIntyre, 1991, 105) I have learned greatly from MacIntyre. Nevertheless, I do not find his rejection of the possibility of the comparison between Aristotelianism and Confucianism to be acceptable. To begin with, MacIntyre’s position is not as clear as it appears to be. He claims that the incommensurability of Aristotelianism and Confucianism leads to the impossibility of adjudicating their rival claims, but all the same he acknowledges that it is possible for them to have a genuine ‘‘rational encounter’’ and that they can even be brought into ‘‘a potentially creative dialogue’’ (MacIntyre, 1991, 116). In other words, incommensurability does not rule out or preclude mutual understanding and intellectual dialogue. MacIntyre indeed acknowledges that ‘‘such understanding is possible only for those adherents of each standpoint who are able to learn the language of the rival standpoint, so that they acquire, so far as is possible, that other language as a second first language’’ (MacIntyre, 1991, 111). In saying this, however, the problem is no longer about the possibility of comparison, but about how comparison should be done and what qualities a comparativist need possess in order to get the job done appropriately. These are very different issues. In MacIntyre’s view, as quoted above, Aristotelianism and Confucianism are incommensurable because they are ‘‘incompatible and rival schemes’’ and ‘‘present crucially different and incompatible accounts of the best ways for human beings to live.’’ How, then, does he establish this view? When we examine his way of arguing, it shows that ironically, he draws this conclusion through a comparative study of these two theories. In his 1991 paper, he first acknowledges that there are resemblances between them, such as the method of moral education and the view on non-rule-following moral capacity. He then announces that ‘‘these important areas of agreement coexist with equally striking areas of disagreement’’ (MacIntyre, 1991, 106), and proceeds to present some major differences to prove that Aristotelianism and Confucianism are incompatible. As I will show in the body of this book, all the differences that MacIntyre establishes are oversimplified and problematic.15 For now, the important thing is not how we disagree about the similarities and differences between these two systems. What is at stake is the possibility of comparison, not the result of comparison. To say that two philosophical systems are different does not mean that they are incommensurable. Aristotle himself presents

8

Introduction

numerous incompatible or seemingly incompatible views in his philosophy, but this does not mean that these views are incommensurable and should not be studied together. On the contrary, most Aristotelian scholarship addresses these conflicting or seemingly conflicting views. MacIntyre seems to be caught in confusion between the result of comparative philosophy and its mere possibility. Just as a philosophical text can be interpreted and re-interpreted, two different systems can be compared and re-compared. Interpreters might have different views about whether and how two theories are similar or different. Yet to say that they are different is already a comparison, and it is not a ground for ruling out the comparison itself. One cannot deny the possibility of comparative philosophy on the basis that different traditions have different psychologies, sociologies, and conceptual schemes. To find out that different traditions have different assumptions and modes of reasoning, one has to compare them. Cultural differences are not obstacles to comparative philosophy. On the contrary, to reveal and appreciate these differences is precisely the greatest benefit that comparative philosophy can provide. To a great extent, it is interesting to compare Confucius and Aristotle because they address the same question about how to become a good person from different cultural traditions and social structures, and from alternative philosophical points of view. It appears that, for MacIntyre, incommensurability becomes such a crucial issue only because it is difficult to adjudicate between rival claims and determine which side is the winner for truth. But it is an extremely narrow conception of comparative philosophy that the goal of it is to determine, between the parties being compared, which side is the winner.16 It is indeed un-Aristotelian to think that truth can only be in one tradition or one philosophical system. For Aristotle, the search for truth is not the business of one person or one group of people, but needs to be a collective human endeavor: The investigation of truth is in one way hard, and in another easy. An indication of this is found in the fact that no one is able to attain the truth adequately, while, on the other hand, no one fails entirely, but every one says something true about the nature of things, and while individually they contribute little or nothing to the truth, by the union of all a considerable amount is amassed. Therefore, since the truth seems to be like the proverbial door, which no one can fail to hit, in this way it is easy, but in fact that we can have a whole and not the particular part we aim at shows the difficulty of it. (Meta, 993a28–993b7) Confucius, like Aristotle, also hits on something that is right. Following the two Aristotelian methods that we introduced in the previous section, the goal of comparative philosophy is for each to mirror the other to enhance

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self-understanding and mutual understanding, and to bring to light the elements of truth contained in a variety of phenomena. It is unnecessary and unhelpful if a comparison is meant to establish a sole winner. MacIntyre indeed acknowledges that the mutual understanding of two incommensurable systems is necessary because ‘‘without rational encounter with some other rival theory, whether incommensurable or not, we have not tested its claims to truth’’ (MacIntyre, 1991, 112). Yet, if two incommensurable systems can reach mutual understanding, why are they still incommensurable? MacIntyre himself even offers concrete proposals about how Aristotelianism and Confucianism could have a rational encounter or creative dialogue, with the main point that each side should reconstruct the other side ‘‘in the light of its own standards, in respect of the difficulties or problems internal to it’’ (MacIntyre, 1991, 117). Consequently, when certain conditions are satisfied, we can reach a point at which ‘‘these two systems of thought and practice have become commensurable’’ (MacIntyre, 1984, 119). Given these remarks, it is not impossible in principle to overcome incommensurability, and the issue of incommensurability does not really pose such a serious challenge to comparative philosophy, after all.17 Although it might be difficult to find an absolutely neutral standard by which to measure degrees of truth among conflicting moral views, there is indeed a substantial cross-cultural reference that can serve as the ground for us to compare different virtue theories. Once again, Aristotle himself provides help at this juncture. In the De Interpretatione he says, Spoken sounds are symbols of affections in the soul, and written marks symbols of spoken sounds. And just as written marks are not the same for all men, neither are spoken sounds. But what these are in the first place signs of – affections of the soul – are the same for all; and what these affections are likenesses of – actual things – are also the same. (DI, 16a3–8) This passage shows Aristotle’s view regarding the relation between the world of actual things (i.e. reality), affections (pathe-mata, literally meaning, ‘‘suffering’’ or ‘‘experience’’) of the soul, and human language (including both spoken and written words). Human beings have different languages. Yet different languages are the expressions, symbols or signs of the same experiences that human beings share. Human beings have the same experience because reality, which affects human souls through our common perceptual and cognitive faculties, is the same for all men. Following this position, we can say that human beings live in the same world, possess the same psychic capacities, and share many of the same basic relationships and institutions such as father-son, brothers, friends, family, community, politics, etc. Hence, there is a set of basic desires, feelings, beliefs, and needs which all human beings share and which are necessary for living a human life. This forms the common ground for comparative studies of different

10

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cultures. In Martha Nussbaum’s terminology, this common ground can be called ‘‘human grounding experience’’ and she rightly takes them as ‘‘reasonable starting points for cross-cultural reflection.’’18 The ultimate basis for us to take the ethics of Aristotle and the ethics of Confucius as mirrors of one another and to save the phenomena from both of them is the grounding human experiences. Both are concerned with the same issue regarding how one can be a good person, and both sides seek to understand what is good for human beings as such, rather than just for the Greeks or for the Chinese. Neither side is doing philosophy according to race, geography, or culture. Needless to say, each ethical system has its own language and conceptual scheme, its own cultural and social background. Yet what has its origin in culture is not necessarily culturally limited; rather, their cultural contexts shape their distinct perspectives in addressing the common issue of humanity, and make a comparison of them significant. Both of these ethics were developed more than 2,000 years ago, in social contexts that were sharply different from each other and from our time, yet both have been revived in our time. This itself is a strong indication that their insights rise above the limits of their local cultural values and grasp something that is universally significant about human life.

The nature of ethical thinking When we open the NE, we find that it contains substantive doctrinal discussions. Yet when we open the Analects, we find that it is composed of numerous short aphoristic sayings that are not apparently related. Given this, one question might arise: how can Aristotle’s well organized ethical system be effectively compared with Confucius’ isolated and fragmented pieces of moral wisdom? This question is, to a great extent, related to the traditional perception that Chinese philosophy represented by Confucianism lacks argumentation and systematization and is therefore not seriously philosophical.19 The philosophical nature of Chinese philosophy has been a much discussed issue. One of the most effective lines is to distinguish between the characteristic Chinese mode of thought and the dominant Western rational thinking. A number of scholars have developed a theory that whereas Western thinking is primarily analytical and causal, the Chinese intellectual world is dominated by correlative thinking which is not associated with definition and logical order, but explains in terms of metaphorical meanings and analogical relations.20 It would be a bit tedious to rehearse such a defense here. However, since the dominant Western logical analysis and argumentation is always associated with Aristotelian logic, I would like to introduce what Aristotle himself has said about the nature of ethical thinking. This should be interesting for this Aristotle–Confucius comparison. There is no doubt that Confucius is much less analytic and systematic, compared with Aristotle. Nevertheless,

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we have reasons to believe that Aristotle would be very sympathetic to the way that Confucius does his ethics. Regarding the issue of how ethics should be done, they are much closer than many people would think. Two points are in particular relevant here. One is the distinction between ethical reasoning and mathematical reasoning, and the other is the practicality of ethics. Regarding the first, Aristotle explicitly remarks: We must be content, then, in speaking of such subjects and with such premises to indicate the truth roughly [pachlo-s] and in outline [tupos], and in speaking about things that are only for the most part true and with premises of the same kind to reach conclusions that are no better. In the same spirit, therefore, should each of our statements be received; for it is the mark of an educated man to look for precision in each class of things just so far as the nature of the subject admits: it is evidently equally foolish to accept probable reasoning from a mathematician and to demand from a rhetorician demonstrative proofs. (NE, 1094b19–28) Philosophy requires careful argumentation. Nevertheless, it would be misguided to try to find universally applicable knowledge in ethics as one does in mathematics, and it is also wrong to demand that ethical knowledge be as accurate as mathematical knowledge.21 Aristotle even says that One should not demand to know the reason why, either, in the same way in all matters: in some cases, it will suffice if that something is so has been well shown, as indeed is true of starting points; and that something is so is primary and a starting point. (NE, 1098b1–4)22 Aristotle establishes the model that a science should be a deductive system of demonstration in his Organon, in particular in the Posterior Analytics. It means that a science should start from a small set of axiomatic first principles that are self-evident and are grasped by nous (intuition); then it proceeds from these first principles to a larger set of theorems by deduction. To be demonstrative, a science must be concerned with one genus, for demonstration can only be conducted within a genus and cannot pass from one genus to another.23 This conception of science is modeled on geometry. However, although Aristotle puts forward such a model, he does not apply it in his own theoretical sciences. He classifies science into three kinds: theoretical sciences, practical sciences, and productive sciences.24 Theoretical sciences include mathematics, physics (natural philosophy), and theology (or metaphysics).25 Practical sciences include ethics, political science, and economics.26 Productive sciences include poetry and rhetoric. Except for mathematics, Aristotle has contributed major works to each of these areas, yet in none of them does he implement his model of science. The areas

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where his methods would fit best would be the theoretical sciences that are concerned with objects that cannot be otherwise and are about necessary and universal truth. Yet neither his physics (in many of its sub-areas) nor his metaphysics is demonstrative.27 Ethics is even further away from such a model. It belongs to practical sciences and is concerned with the objects that occur ‘‘for the most part’’ (epi to polu), but not always.28 Ethical truth is not necessary and universal, and it can only be true for the most part, and should be treated as such. Since ethical knowledge is true only for the most part, Aristotle believes (in contrast to the dominant modern moral philosophy) that ethics cannot establish one or a few general principles to provide clear guidance on how to act in all possible situations. This must be agreed upon beforehand, that the whole account of matters of conduct must be given in outline and not precisely, as we said at the very beginning that the accounts we demand must be in accordance with the subject-matter; matters concerned with conduct and questions of what is good for us have no fixity, any more than matters of health. The general account being of this nature, the account of particular cases is yet more lacking in exactness; for they do not fall under any art or set of precepts, but the agents themselves must in each case consider what is appropriate to the occasion, as happens also in the art of medicine or of navigation. (NE, 1104a3–10) Human situations and actions display an infinite variety and are indeterminate. The rule of conduct always admits of exceptions and cannot be mechanically applied to all particular situations. This is why Aristotle emphasizes the particularity and contextuality of practical reasoning. In his ethics, Aristotle uses deductive reasoning, but he puts more emphasis on inductive reasoning (1095a30–b2, 1139b24–31). He also claims that ‘‘of first principles we see some by induction, some by perception, some by a certain habituation, and others too in other ways’’ (1098b3–4). One of his most clearly stated methods in ethics is that of ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ which we have appropriated as a method for our comparative project. The method seeks to find elements of truth in each of seemingly conflicting views (including common opinions and philosophical views). Apparently, for Aristotle, there are many ways of giving reasons or arguing. Furthermore, although the Nicomachean Ethics is probably the most important masterpiece in ethics, it cannot be said to be the paradigm of rigorous argumentation, logical consistency, and definitional clarity. Readers who are reasonably familiar with this great work know how difficult it is to read. Commentators frequently debate about precisely how his argument should be construed and understood. Some views are simply not furnished with any justification. There are many passages that are simply too cryptic

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for any serious elucidation. One might think that the unsatisfactory situation of Aristotle’s arguments is due to the way that the treatise was produced. The works attributed to Aristotle, as is well known, were not prepared by Aristotle himself with publication in mind. Rather, most of them are unpolished lecture notes or working drafts used in the Lyceum. The NE is a work of this sort.29 I agree that this is certainly part of the reason, as it explains well why there are numerous digressions within each book and there are many inconsistencies between different books. Nevertheless, Aristotle’s own understanding of the nature of ethical thinking also plays a role. He indeed repeatedly claims that his theory of eudaimonia is only given in outline and roughly.30 When we evaluate the philosophical nature of Confucian ethics in the light of Aristotle’s above position, we can reach the following points. First, it would be inappropriate to demand that Confucian ethics satisfy the model of the demonstrative science that Aristotle establishes in the APo. Rather, it should have its job done if it provides insights that are for the most part true and has a theory ‘‘roughly and in outline,’’ and we should treat it that way. Second, one major characteristic of the Analects is that when different disciples ask the same question about what ren (excellence) is, Confucius does not define ren in a general way. Instead, he offers specific responses to different disciples, depending on each student’s particular situation and background. This feature suggests that Confucius does not aim at establishing one or a few universal principles in his ethics, but seeks to guide each student towards achieving virtue in that student’s own life situation. Third, it is admitted that Confucius is weak in definitional clarity and abstract argument. But this does not mean that he does not give reasons for his views. He adopts a different style of reasoning by providing metaphors, illustration through examples, analogies, etymological relations, and so on. Confucius provides the insights about what dao is for our life to follow, but often demands that his disciples work out the implications of his teaching. I never enlighten anyone who has not been driven to distraction by trying to understand a difficulty or who has not got into a frenzy trying to put his ideas into words. When I have pointed out one corner of a square to anyone and he does not come back with the other three, I will not point it out to him a second time. (A, 7:8) His best student, Yen Hui, is one who ‘‘understands ten things when he is told only one’’ (A, 5:9). Moreover, although the sayings in the Analects are not arranged with doctrinal continuity, it is wrong to think that its ethics is nothing more than an aggregate of isolated and dogmatic pieces of moral wisdom, as the traditional prejudice holds. Confucius explicitly declares: ‘‘There is one single

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thread binding my dao together’’ (4:15). Dao, literally meaning ‘‘path’’ or ‘‘road,’’ is consistently translated as ‘‘way.’’ It refers to each thing’s characteristic way of existing or functioning, and is also derivatively used to mean ‘‘discourse,’’ ‘‘teaching,’’ or ‘‘method.’’ Confucius’ teaching is about human dao, the right dao or way which a human life should take, and his teaching itself is also a dao in the sense of ‘‘discourse.’’ Confucius’ ethics is called the ‘‘dao of the Master’’ (A, 6:12). Apparently, he thinks that his work forms a coherent ethical worldview or outlook. Hence, when we read the Analects, we must assume that there is a coherent moral vision that is implicit in the fragmented sayings. A good reader of the Analects must grasp this moral vision. Needless to say, this vision is open to different interpretations,31 but if we fail to see its unity, we fail to understand Confucius. In this book, I attempt to construe a unified Confucian dao by grouping related passages, classifying them under different themes, and demonstrating the relationship of these themes. What is compared with Aristotle’s ethics in this book is a coherent Confucian dao. Doing ethics should involve three aspects: (a) providing substantial ideas to guide people’s lives; (b) working out the grounds and reasons for these ideas; and (c) systematizing these ideas. We have shown that Confucius provides (b) and (c), albeit in his own style. We should also note that Confucius puts greater emphasis on (a). Indeed, the attitude that providing the guiding ideas is more important than engaging in a process of arguing is widely shared in ancient Chinese philosophy. Mencius argues rigorously against the opponents of Confucius, but he confesses that arguing is simply not something he enjoys. He argues not because he feels that this is what philosophy is about, but because he has to: ‘‘I am not fond of disputation. I have no alternative’’ (M, 3b/9). He enjoys conveying what he thinks is the truth, rather than refuting what other people say. Daoists are the rivals of Confucians so far as the orientation of ethics is concerned; yet they share the same attitude with Confucians regarding the subordinate value of arguing in philosophical ethics. In the Daodejing, we read that ‘‘true words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not true. A good man does not argue; He who argues is not a good man’’ (ch. 81). Zhuangzi also says: ‘‘Great speech is simple whereas small speech is full of details.’’32 And, There are things that analysis cannot analyze, and there are things that argument cannot argue. Why? The sage keeps it in his mind while men in general argue in order to brag before each other. There it is said that arguments arise from failure to see [the greatness of Dao]. Great Dao has no appellation. Great speech does not say anything. . . . Speech that argues is futile. (Chan, 1963, 186) There are schools in ancient Chinese philosophy, such as the Later Mohism and the School of Names, that are very interested in logical analysis and

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argumentation, but they are not highly regarded in Chinese intellectual history. Angus Graham explains this phenomenon well: We might sum up the Chinese attitude to reason in these terms: reason is for questions of means; for your ends in life listen to aphorism, example, parable, and poetry. . . . Since means are dependent on ends, it is inevitable that on the Chinese scale of value the wise dicta of Confucius and Lao-zi are primary, the practical rationality of Mo-zi and Han Fei is secondary, the games with logical puzzles of Hui Shih and Kung-sun Lung are at best tertiary. (Graham, 1989, 7) This scale of value has not been completely abandoned. It is evident even today when we overwhelmingly identify the function of philosophy with analytic reasoning. The majority of contemporary philosophical books at Barnes and Noble are much better argued than the Analects. Yet I wonder how many of them can claim to be more philosophically valuable than the Analects. Confucius’ Analects has been read for more than 2,000 years and in many different languages. Obviously, despite its weakness in conceptual analysis and abstract argumentation, the book has been regarded as a work that is extremely original and significant. The questions it discusses still fundamentally matter to us; its approaches to these questions remain inspirational and illuminating; and its ideas still strike us as forceful. In contrast, many books that are argued even with logical perfection are bound to be forgotten, if they do not really have original ideas to offer. Finally, we must mention the common emphasis of Confucius and Aristotle on the practicality of ethics. Although ethics seeks to understand the supreme good of human life and develops an account of how human beings should live their lives, it is not a purely intellectual exercise. For Aristotle, ethics is a practical science, meant to have considerable practical value. He describes the purpose of ethical investigation in this way: Our present discussion does not aim, as our others do, at study; for the purpose of our examination is not to know what virtue is, but to become good, since otherwise the inquiry would be of no benefit to us.33 A good ethics, then, is not just one that just presents rigorous argumentation, but one that can most influence people’s lives. Aristotle believes that his ethics can make his audience better human beings. We usually think that if a theory is well argued in logic, it is more persuasive and effective. But Aristotle thinks differently. For him, ethical argument works only for those who already have a good character. ‘‘Any one who is to listen intelligently to lectures about what is noble and just and, generally, about the subjects of political science, must have been brought up in good habits’’ (NE, 1095b4–5). For the person who already

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has good character, not so much reasoning is necessary: ‘‘For the facts are the starting-point, and if they are sufficiently plain to him, he will not need the reason as well; and the man who has been well brought up has or can easily get starting-points’’ (NE, 1095b6–8). Again, ‘‘neither in that case is it reason that teaches the first principles, nor is it so here – excellence either natural or produced by habituation is what teaches right opinion about the first principle’’ (NE, 1151a17–19). ‘‘Starting points’’ or ‘‘first principles’’ in the above quotations from the Oxford Revised Translation are translations of the same Greek word archai. In this context, it means ideas of what sorts of thing one should do and should not do. The well brought up students have already had the right sort of life experience. They are willing and also prepared to become good, and just need to understand better why the sort of life experience they have had is good. In contrast, the argument does not work for those people who are not properly brought up and do not have good character. For he who lives as passion directs will not hear argument that dissuades him, nor understand it if he does; and how can we persuade one in such a state to change his ways? And in general passion seems to yield not to argument but to force. (NE, 1179b26–30)34 People who are led by passions respond to force or fear, but not to philosophical arguments. Their bad habits make them unreceptive to moral reasoning, and shame would have little impact on them (NE, 1179b10–11). There is little room for philosophy to improve individuals of this kind. For them, no matter how profound Aristotle’s ethical theory is, it would not lead them to do what is noble and to refrain from what is shameful. Whereas Plato fights against moral skeptics or nihilists such as Polus and Callicles in the Gorgias and Thrasymachus in the Republic, Aristotle clearly does not seem to have much patience for converting wicked adults. Aristotle has a good point here. Nowadays, ethics is full of endless debates. These debates cannot end not because the argument on either side is logically unsound, but because each side has its basic values or beliefs, expressed as premises, that are hardly shakable by the opposite argument. Like Aristotle, Confucius believes that ethics is not just a theory of dao to be elaborated on and discussed, but a vision to be practiced and lived. Confucius studies ethics because he takes himself to have a practical mission to restore the dao in the human world (A, 4:12). The Analects begins by emphasizing the inseparability of learning and practice: ‘‘Is it not a pleasure, having learned something, to try it out at due intervals?’’ (A, 1:1) The final goal of ethics is meant to practically affect the reader’s way of life. One point where Confucius differs from Aristotle is that he does not require good character in his audience. ‘‘The Master said, ‘in instruction there is no such thing as social class’’’ (A, 15:39).35 As long as one is willing

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to learn and is able to pay him something as a present, one can be his student. ‘‘The Master said, ‘I have never denied instruction to anyone who, of his own accord, has given me so much as a bundle of dried meat as a present’’’ (A, 7:7). To a great extent, Confucius seems to have a much stronger belief than Aristotle in the power of education and learning.

The scope of the comparison Philosophy does not occur in a vacuum. Hence, our comparison takes into account all kinds of contexts (social, political, cultural, and theoretical backgrounds) in ancient China and Greece that affect Confucian and Aristotelian ethics respectively.36 The focus of our comparison, however, is on what each ethics actually says, that is, on the ideas and arguments in ethical texts of each side. This is essential for the sake of avoiding bold and ill supported comparative generalizations. The Aristotelian corpus contains four treatises on ethics: Nicomachean Ethics (NE), Eudemian Ethics (EE), Magna Moralia (MM), and On Virtue and Vice. We leave aside On Virtue and Vice, as it is generally agreed not to be authentic. The thinking of the MM is Aristotelian, but most, although not all, scholars treat it as lecture notes by one of Aristotle’s disciples.37 The EE and the NE cover almost the same range of subjects, and indeed share three books in common: NE books v, vi, vii are EE‘s books iv, v, vi. In the history of Western ethics, it is the NE that has been read as the canon for Aristotle’s ethics and has been referred to as the Ethics,38 whereas the EE has been thought to be inauthentic until Jaeger who, in his interpretation of the development of Aristotle, argued that it belongs to an earlier period of Aristotle. In the current prevailing position, the EE and the NE are not two entirely different treatises. The NE appears to be a partial revision of the other, and represents Aristotle’s last and most mature thought about the topics it treats.39 I follow this general position and take the NE as the definitive presentation of Aristotle’s ethics, although I shall quote the EE and also the MM where I find they help to clarify or supplement the ideas in the NE. To better understand Aristotle’s ethics, however, we cannot confine ourselves to the NE. At the beginning of the final chapter of the NE (x.9), Aristotle himself emphasizes that his program remains incomplete (1179a33). Towards the end section of the NE, we read: Now our predecessors have left the subject of legislation to us unexamined; it is perhaps best, therefore, that we should ourselves study it, and in general study the question of constitution, in order to complete to the best of our ability the philosophy of human nature. (NE, 1181b12–15) According to this passage, what he says in the NE is a part of ‘‘the philosophy of human nature’’ (e- peri ta anthro-pina philosophia, literally, ‘‘philosophy of

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human affairs’’). The work that is entitled Politics is the sequel to his ethical philosophy and forms another part of the same effort. For Aristotle, one cannot study ethics in isolation from politics. The goal of ethics is to make one become good, and for this goal habituation is crucial. Right habituation requires the law of the political community. A study of legislation and therewith the constitution (politeia) generally is therefore indispensable. ‘‘The constitution is so to speak the life of the city’’ (Pol, 1295b1). The best political arrangement is the one ‘‘in which every man, whoever he is, can act best and live happily’’ (Pol, 1324a24–25). The treatise Politics covers many topics that are closely related to the discussion of virtue. Even in the NE itself Aristotle emphasizes the political nature of his study. At the beginning of the NE, the investigation of the supreme human good is said to be the proper business of the science of politics, and Aristotle keeps referring to his discussion as ‘‘politics.’’40 He also maintains that the goal of politics is to make people good,41 and that it is the province of political science to study pleasure and pain.42 Accordingly, in constructing Aristotle’s ethics, I shall include the Politics (especially its discussions that are closely related to theories of character, such as the human being as political animal, the role of family and politics in the cultivation of virtue, the relation between the political life and philosophical life, etc.).43 On the Confucian side, my discussion is not confined to the Analects. When I first embarked on this project, I intended to just compare the NE and the Analects. But it quickly became clear that, although conceiving the project in that way appeared to have a kind of neatness that one would like, it was philosophically less rewarding and interesting. Indeed, it could not even go very far. There are two main reasons for this. First, the Analects itself is not Confucius’ own work, but rather a collection of sayings and conversation fragments attributed to Confucius, compiled and edited by his disciples and their disciples over several centuries. Disciples who contributed to the contents of the Analects out of their recollections had different understandings of Confucius’ teachings, and editors who brought these pieces together over many generations had different interests and agendas.44 Furthermore, the inclusion of the materials must have been selective. Many sayings found in other classic texts such as the Mencius, the Zuo Commentary to the Spring and Autumn Annals, and the Xunzi are not included. Hence, the Analects is actually a mixture of Confucius’ own thought and his disciples’ interpretations.45 This means that, even if we reconstruct Confucius’ ideas solely out of the textual evidence of the Analects, it is already a Confucius that is transmitted by compilers and editors. There have been scholarly efforts to distinguish authentic Confucian dicta from later interpolations; yet a consensus is difficult to achieve, if it is in fact achievable.46 The second, and more important reason, is theoretical. Confucius explicitly says that his moral reflection has a unified vision (A, 4:15). Nevertheless, he

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never elaborates how his dao is unified. We need to gather scattered sayings in order to piece together a complete picture. One has to admit, however, that if based solely on the evidence of the Analects the picture we can get, no matter how it is construed, is a skeletal vision or a basic blueprint, which must be extended, improved upon, and filled with details. In Chinese intellectual history, Confucianism refers more often to the ideas that are presented in the ‘‘Four Books,’’ which include, in addition to the Analects, the other three crucial Confucian texts of the classical period: Mencius, The Great Learning (Daixue) and The Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong). The Mencius, written by the second Confucian Master, Mencius (c. 372–289 BCE), is a collection of sayings and dialogues of considerable length. Historically, the Mencius exerted enormous influence. ‘‘It is not an exaggeration to say that what is called Confucianism in subsequent times contains as much of the thought of Mencius as of Confucius.’’47 The Great Learning was a chapter of The Records of the Rituals (Li Ji), and it contains, in the arrangement of the Sung Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi (1130–1200), one text and ten chapters of commentary. Zhu Xi claimed that the text was the words of Confucius, while the ten chapters of commentary were the ideas of Confucius’ disciple Zengzi (505–436 BCE). This view of the authorship has been controversial, but there is little doubt that thoughts expressed in this classic are consistent with the thoughts of Confucius. Indeed, the Learning concisely outlines the Confucian moral and political project. The Mean was also originally a chapter of The Records of the Rituals, and contains many quotations that are attributed to Confucius himself and that are about ideas of Confucian psychology and metaphysics. Traditionally, its authorship was ascribed to Confucius’ grandson, Zisi (491–431 BCE), although it is controversial. The Sung Neo-Confucians group these four texts together as the essential Confucian corpus. Zhu Xi edited them and wrote an influential commentary. Since then, they have been the core of the classics of orthodox Confucianism. They were the basic textbooks in early education until the twentieth century, and became the basis of the civil service examination from 1313 until 1905. Although the grouping of these four texts is a Neo-Confucian work, it seems to me that to put them together represents a profound philosophical insight about what classical Confucianism is about. Of course, there are differences among these Confucian texts, which we will explain in due course. Yet overall, the ideas found in these texts enable us to grasp the unified and systematic dao that Confucius claims he has, but does not deliver in the Analects. The seed ideas of the Analects grow up in the other three texts, which share the same framework and same dominant concerns central to Confucius in the Analects. The other three texts shed a great deal of light on the Analects and help make sense of its many concepts and the relations between these concepts. They also defend Confucius’ dao in the Analects by responding to the critics of Confucius and extending Confucius’ thinking to deal with new problems.

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More important, it is the virtue ethics found in the Four Books as a whole that matches well with the scope of Aristotle’s ethical theory. Many ideas that are major themes in Aristotle’s ethics are only hinted at or are completely untouched within the Analects; but they, or their comparable counterparts, are developed in the other three texts. We shall see this as we move on, but here I have to mention the following three major corresponding aspects. First, Aristotle’s ethics is inseparable from his politics, for the aim of the state is to nurture the virtues of its citizens. Confucius holds the same idea by claiming that to do politics is to rectify the virtue of the rulers and to restore the rule of li (the rituals or rites). This Confucian virtue politics, however, has its full-fledged unfolding in Mencius’ theory of benevolent government and in the Learning. Second, Aristotle’s ethics is related not only to politics, but also to other branches of knowledge, particularly to psychology. His ethics is based on the ‘‘function argument’’ according to which what determines humanity is the activity of the rational soul. Hence Aristotle requires that ‘‘clearly the student of politics must know somehow the facts about the soul’’ (NE, 1102a20). The Analects lacks a counterpart of Aristotle’s function argument or moral psychology, but Mencius’ theory of innate goodness fills the gap. Indeed, a rich moral psychology can be extracted from the Mencius and the Mean. Third, Aristotle’s ethics has a metaphysical basis. The theory of potentiality and actuality developed in the Meta. is heavily used in the NE, and the theology of Meta. xii is connected to the theory of contemplation in NE x.6–8. Confucius in the Analects presupposes a notion of heaven and thus a cosmological foundation for his ethics. Yet it is in the Mencius and the Mean that a Confucian moral metaphysics is fully developed. To sum up, Aristotle’s ethics is a part of his whole knowledge system, and a good discussion of it needs to draw on the relevant ideas from his politics, metaphysics and psychology. The version of Confucian ethics that matches Aristotle’s ethics is the ethical theory extracted and reconstructed from the Four Books. This is the ‘‘ethics of Confucius’’ that is compared with Aristotle’s ethics in this book. Together, these four books can be taken to present an integrated Confucian virtue ethics in which ethics and politics are inseparable and which has strong metaphysical and psychological foundations. Of course, among them, the Analects is the center of focus, and other texts are read as elaborations and extensions of the central points of the Analects.48

The structure of the book The book is divided into seven chapters. Chapter 1 compares the central questions and approaches of the ethics of Confucius and Aristotle, and explores how they are shaped by their respective cultural and philosophical

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traditions. Aristotle is concerned with how one can achieve eudaimonia (happiness, or human flourishing), and he approaches this issue by focusing on the cultivation of arete- (translated as ‘‘virtue’’ or ‘‘excellence’’). Confucius is concerned with the dao (way) for one to become good, and he approaches this issue by focusing on the cultivation of de (virtue) or ren (human excellence). Clearly, both ethics are concerned with the whole life of a human being rather than particular moral acts, and both choose to focus on the qualities that make a person a good person. Aristotle, however, works within the eudaimonistic framework that Socrates set. In contrast, Confucius is the founder of Chinese ethics. Chapter 1 therefore also discusses the status of Socrates by investigating how Socrates and Confucius initiate their respective ethical traditions and how Aristotle responds to Socrates. The chapter ends by demonstrating why the Confucian approach is closer to Aristotle’s than to Socrates’. Both Confucius and Aristotle approach the issue of how one should live in terms of virtue, and then relate virtue to the characteristic features of being human (that is, humanity or humanness). Both happiness and human dao lie in the actualization or fulfillment of what is genuinely human. Chapter 2 proceeds to explore their respective views on what is genuinely human. In Aristotle’s ethics, it is based on the function argument, and in Confucian ethics, it is given by the Mencius’ theory that xing (usually translated as ‘‘nature’’ or ‘‘human nature’’) is good. Each side adopts a humanity-based approach by emphasizing the importance of the development of humanity and connecting virtue with the fulfillment of humanity. Aristotle, on the basis of the function argument and a theory of soul, classifies the virtues into practical virtues (including habit-based moral virtue and practical wisdom) and theoretical virtues. There is no such classification in the ethics of Confucius. The general Confucian virtue, ren, largely corresponds to Aristotle’s practical virtues. Yet its final stage, cheng (translated as ‘‘self-completion’’ in this book) is the full actualization of what is genuinely human, which formally corresponds to Aristotle’s contemplation (the exercise of theoretical virtue) insofar as contemplation is also the final actualization of human rational function and is primary happiness. Chapters 3–5 focus on Aristotelian practical virtues and Confucian ren as virtuous character. Both ethics claim that virtue is the mean, and both identify the mean with what is right. Chapter 3 attempts to explain why they independently develop a doctrine of the mean, and my position is to link the doctrine to the model of archery. A virtuous agent forms and exercises his virtue, just as an archer develops and exercises his archery. Both ethics also claim that virtue is an entrenched disposition, and my study shows that for both, the virtuous disposition is constituted of three major aspects: (1) internalized social value; (2) moral feeling; and (3) moral wisdom. It is the fusion of these elements that forms a virtuous character. Chapters 4 and 5, then, examine and compare their accounts of each of these three aspects and discuss how their views on these aspects are interwoven.

22

Introduction

Chapter 4 focuses on how an agent internalizes social values and shapes moral feeling. For Aristotle, it is a process of habituation (ethismos), and for Confucius, it involves a process of ritualization. I argue that behind Aristotle’s theory of habituation there is his thesis that a person is a political animal; correspondingly, behind Confucian theory of ritualization there lies the concept of the relational self. Virtue has a natural basis, but must be formed through ethical training. The recognition of the importance of human interrelationships and social nature leads both Confucius and Aristotle to stress the role of family and politics in the cultivation of virtue. Their views on the role of family in ethical education and on the relation between virtue and politics are therefore compared. Chapter 5 focuses on ethical wisdom. Both ethics pay special attention to the intellectual aspect of virtue. For Aristotle, it is practical wisdom (phronesis), and for Confucius, it is appropriateness (yi). This chapter covers a number of topics that are heavily debated in the scholarly works on either side, including ethical wisdom and tradition, reason and character, reason and emotion, and moral particularism, etc. Towards the end of the chapter, I examine the relation between the general notion of virtue and the particular virtues, as well as the issue of the unity of virtues in each ethics. I then turn to the highest good in each ethics, that is, Aristotle’s theory of contemplation, and the Confucian doctrine of cheng (‘‘self-completion’’). Aristotle’s theory of contemplation brings forth two distinctions which are essential to Aristotle’s ethics but which are missing in Confucian ethics. First, there is a clear-cut distinction between virtue and activity in Aristotelian ethics. Contemplation for Aristotle is not a virtue, but a virtuous activity. Yet Confucian ethics does not seem to admit this distinction. Cheng is the highest virtue, and is also the highest good. Second, there is a distinction between practical virtue and theoretical wisdom and between practical activity and theoretical activity in Aristotle. The theory of contemplation gives rise to a tension with the theory of practical virtue in the middle books of the NE. Aristotle concludes that a life of contemplation is primary happiness, whereas a life of practical virtue is happiest in a secondary way. In contrast, Confucian cheng as the highest good is the ultimate stage in the cultivation of ren, and there is no tension between them. They refer to one and the same virtuous disposition. These distinctions make our comparison more intriguing but also more exciting. For they reveal a number of significant differences between the general projects of the ethics of Confucius and Aristotle. Chapter 6 explains the difference between virtue and activity in Aristotle’s general framework of ethics and from there I develop a new understanding of Aristotle’s conception of happiness (eudaimonia), namely, that happiness in his ethics is applied to both ‘‘acting well’’ and ‘‘living well.’’ It turns out that whereas for Aristotle the final end is happiness but not the possession of virtue, for Confucius possession of virtue is the actualization of dao and hence is the final end. Cheng and contemplation, as the highest goods in

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their respective ethics, have two major similarities: (1) both are the highest fulfillment of humanity; and (2) both ethics relate the highest good to the divine being (for the ethics of Confucius, it is the unity between human being and Heaven, and for the ethics of Aristotle, it is the unity between human being and God). However, cheng as a virtue is only a first actuality in Aristotelian sense, whereas contemplation as activity is a second actuality. Both Aristotle and Confucius believe that external goods are significant in a virtuous life. Chapter 6 also undertakes to compare their theories of the role of external goods. It turns out that for this comparison, the distinction between virtue and activity is also essential. Whereas Confucius concentrates on the relation between external goods and virtue, Aristotle focuses on how external goods contribute to acting well and to living well. Chapter 6 ends by exploring the problems that the distinction between virtue and activity causes for each ethics. Chapter 7 turns to the comparative implications of the second distinction, that is, the practical and the theoretical. Although both self-completion (cheng) and contemplation represent the actualization of what is genuinely human, there is a fundamental difference. Contemplation is not directly related to practical function and is only a partial actualization of humanity, whereas self-completion is the realization of humanity as a whole. This is because whereas Aristotle, in his notion of human function, draws a distinction between practical reason and theoretical reason and implies an internal split or tension, the Confucian conception of humanity is unified. I first explore the nature of the tension between the practical and the contemplative in Aristotle’s ethics, and provide an answer to the dominant inclusivism-intellectualism debate by applying the thesis that happiness refers to both ‘‘acting well’’ and ‘‘living well.’’ Then I show that with or without the distinction of the practical and the contemplative, the two ethics present important differences in (1) their conceptions of the self in self-actualization; and (2) their views on the relation between the self and the good of others, that is, the role of moral virtue in the actualization of the highest good. Finally, I discuss the different attitudes towards the value of theoretical inquiry in Chinese and Greek philosophical cultures. The ethics of Aristotle and Confucius are concerned with the development and realization of what is human qua human. Their overall frameworks are strikingly parallel, but there are significant differences in unfolding their visions of human self-fulfillment. Now let us get into the details of their visions.

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Eudaimonia, dao, and virtue

Happiness [eudaimonia] is an activity of soul in accordance with complete virtue. (Nicomachean Ethics, 1102a5–6) I set my heart on way [dao], base myself on virtue [de], lean upon human excellence [ren] for support and take my recreation in the arts. (Analects, 7:6)

For both ethics of Confucius and Aristotle, the central question is about what good life is or what kind of person one should be. More strikingly, both ethics answer this central question by focusing on virtue, that is, the quality that makes a person a good person. However, they formulate the question in different ways. In Aristotle, it is ‘‘what is eudaimonia [happiness]?’’ and in Confucius, it is ‘‘Where is the dao [way] to be a good person?’’ They also have different names for virtue: arete- in Aristotle and de or ren in Confucius. In this chapter, I set out to show how this central question and this general approach are developed in these two ethics by putting them respectively into ancient Chinese and Greek ethical traditions. Both ethics are shaped by their traditions, and they in turn influence the subsequent course of their traditions. The first section is an inquiry into the notions of eudaimonia (happiness) and dao (way); the second section studies two concepts of virtue (arete- and de); and the third section discusses the relation between de and ren in Confucius. While Confucius is the founder of Chinese ethics, Aristotle works in the eudaimonistic framework that Socrates has established. I am therefore led to compare how Confucius and Socrates initiate their respective ethical traditions (the fourth and fifth sections). Since a comparison with Socrates is useful not only for better understanding the Confucian approach (especially the relation between religion and philosophy in his ethics), but also for appreciating Aristotle’s originality, I develop it in great detail. Aristotle’s ethics follows Socrates’ orientation, yet it becomes the most important

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representative of virtue ethics and the dominant paradigm for contemporary virtue ethics. It is therefore significant to know how he differs from Socrates. The final section shows that the differences between Aristotle and Socrates run parallel in many ways to the differences between Confucius and Socrates.

Human good: eudaimonia and dao Aristotle starts his ethics by saying that there is a supreme end for a human life as a whole, and that this end is the human good. The end or good is supreme in the sense that it is not pursued for any further end, while everything else is desired for the sake of it. An understanding of this supreme end or good is of central importance for us if we are to conduct our lives well, and it is the task of ethics to help us grasp it. Aristotle claims that, just as an archer must know the mark at which to aim at, ‘‘we must try, in outline at least, to determine what it is.’’1 The Greek term eudaimonia has traditionally been translated as ‘‘happiness.’’ Strictly speaking, the translation is somewhat misleading. The English word ‘‘happiness’’ means mainly a feeling of pleasure or contentment, and is only in a secondary sense associated with the objective sense of fortune, attainment of good, or well-being. Yet eudaimonia has the etymological meaning of ‘‘favored by the gods,’’ and was originally associated with ‘‘prosperity’’ or ‘‘good fortune’’ (in the Greek mind, fortune is distributed by the gods).2 In Greek ethics from Socrates on, eudaimonia has been taken to be synonymous with ‘‘doing well’’ or ‘‘living well,’’3 and signifies ‘‘wellbeing,’’ ‘‘achievement’’ or ‘‘flourishing.’’ To give an account of eudaimonia means to specify what kind of life is flourishing. For Confucius, the task is to find human dao, the right way which a human life should take. The knowledge of dao is of central significance for human life. ‘‘He has not lived in vain who dies the day he is told about the dao’’ (A, 4:8). In Confucius’ time, however, dao has been lost, and Confucius takes finding it to be his task: ‘‘I set my heart on the way [dao]’’ (A, 7:6). In the Analects, this pursuit is conceived as a mission from Heaven. As one of his visitors remarks to Confucius’ disciples: ‘‘The world has long been without the dao. Heaven is about to use your Master as the wooden tongue for a bell’’ (A, 3:24). Hence, Aristotle’s eudaimonism is about what is a good human life, and Confucius’ theory of dao is about which way a human life should take. Confucius’ dao corresponds to Aristotle’s eudaimonia in the sense that each refers to the highest human good. These two concepts are deeply embedded, respectively, in Greek and Chinese cultural traditions. That life has an overall end or goal is what the Greeks generally believe. Aristotle himself tells us how popular this belief is: ‘‘It may be said that every individual man and all men in common aim at a certain end which determines what they choose and what they avoid.’’4

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Greeks also generally agree about what this end is called: ‘‘Both the general run of men and people of superior refinement say that it is eudaimonia, and identify living well and faring well with being eudaimon’’ (NE, 1095a16–17). When Socrates examines the moral beliefs of his fellow Athenians, the goal of his cross-examination (elenchus) is to make people happy: ‘‘The Olympian victor makes you think yourself happy; I make you be happy’’ (Apology, 36e1).5 Yet he also claims that his examination is to make people ‘‘live in the right way’’ (Apology, 39d4). There is no tension between these two statements insofar as the goal of the examination is concerned, because being happy is synonymous with ‘‘living well.’’ ‘‘How one ought to live’’ is repeatedly claimed as the central question of the philosophy of Socrates and Plato.6 Almost all major Greek ethical theories start from the premise that happiness is the ultimate answer to explain the end of one’s life, and that it determines the rationality of any action. This constitutes the axiom of Greek eudaimonism. Every action and every thing has an end, but happiness is the only end that we do not pursue for the sake of a further end. Why is happiness such an end? It is the final reason for one’s action. With regard to every action, we can always ask what an end is for, yet happiness is an exception. ‘‘There is no need to ask further, ‘What’s the point of wanting happiness?’’’ (Symposium, 205a2–3). Plato’s Socrates even says that whoever raises such a question is said to be stupid (Euthydemus, 278e– 279c). It would not make sense to ask why one wants happiness. When Aristotle starts the NE with the thesis that there is a supreme end for the human life and that end is happiness, he apparently follows the same line of thinking.7 To call happiness the final end, however, gives it only a formal sense. One needs to specify in a substantial way what constitutes happiness. In Aristotle’s words, ‘‘To say that happiness is the chief good seems a platitude, and a clear account of what it is is still desired’’ (NE, 1097b22–24). A history of Greek ethics is a history of disputes about what happiness is and how to achieve it. Different eudaimonistic theories define and rank the goods in life in different ways, and provide answers about what we should aim at finally. Just as happiness is the common concern of ancient Greek ethics, way (dao) is the common object of ancient Chinese ethics. Since it is Heaven that is said to have commanded Confucius to find the way, to understand how the way becomes a central concern of Confucius, we begin with the concept of Heaven (tian, meaning literally ‘‘sky’’).8 Heaven was an object of religious reverence in the early Zhou (traditionally 1122–256 BCE). It means heavenly bodies (or sky) and the impersonal ordering force of the universe. As an impersonal ordering force, Heaven was conceived mainly in two ways: one was as an incomprehensible and unpredictable force, similar to fate. In this sense, Heaven is morally indifferent and is the cause of all the events that are beyond human control and comprehension, such as natural disasters, fortunes, diseases, etc. The other sense is as the ultimate guarantor of moral

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value and world order. These two ideas exist side by side for many ancient Chinese philosophers (including Confucius in the Analects) who, however, never try to reconcile these two aspects.9 The concept of the benevolent Heaven is used as the theoretical justification by the Duke of Zhou, one of the founders of the Zhou dynasty, for the Zhou’s overthrow of the Shang dynasty (traditionally 1766–1122 BCE), the earliest dynasty of Chinese civilization that has written records. According to the record of the pre-Confucian classic TheBook of Documents, the Duke of Zhou claims that the revolution is justified because the Shang dynasty, due to its misrule, has forfeited the Mandate of Heaven (tian-ming). The early Zhou is thought to be a golden era and a model society. Its social and moral system is that to which Confucius aspired to return. The Zhou dynasty governed with a form of feudalism and parceled out authority over different areas to kinsmen and other nobles. Yet, over time, these feudal lords turned the regions under their immediate control into more and more independent states. The Zhou ruler’s power declined gradually and this resulted in the breakdown of the original moral and political order. In 771 BCE, a coalition of feudal lords and barbarians invaded the Zhou’s capital, and forced the Zhou eastward. The event marked the end of the Western Zhou and the beginning of the Eastern Zhou. The Eastern Zhou, during which period the Zhou ruler is more of a figurehead than an actual ruler, is subdivided into the Spring and Autumn period (named after the title of the pre-Confucian classic Spring and Autumn Annals, a court chronicle of Confucius’ home state Lu, 722–481 BCE), and the Warring States period (403–222 BCE). Confucius (551–479 BCE) lived during the late Spring and Autumn period, an era marked by endless warfare, brutal violence, and frightening suffering, as the classic Commentary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals testifies. Apparently, the ‘‘Mandate of Heaven’’ that Zhou once claimed to possess was thought to be lost. The ‘‘Mandate of Heaven’’ theory presupposes that Heaven has its own will and issues commands. In the Spring and Autumn period, this is said to be the dao of Heaven. Heaven was thought to have its own norm, and humankind has its way as well.10 When Analects 3:24 claims that Heaven commands Confucius to restore the dao, it shows that Confucius introduces the concepts of Heaven and dao (way) into the center of ethics. He explains the turmoil of his time on the grounds that the dao of Heaven does not prevail and human dao has also been lost. ‘‘The Master said, ‘who can go out without using the door? Why, then, does no one follow the way?’’’ (A, 6:17) He takes seriously the divine nature of his task: ‘‘There is no one who understands me,’’ he says, ‘‘It is only Heaven that understands me.’’11 The divine mission indicates that the correct way of being a human is that which is in accordance with the way of Heaven.12 Confucius’ question, then, is ‘‘where is the human dao?’’ To answer this question means to wake people up and bring them back to the correct path. This question sets the agenda for subsequent Chinese philosophy. Shortly

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after Confucius, in the Warring States period, a number of philosophical schools (called the ‘‘hundred schools’’) emerge and develop.13 Their common goal is to find and establish the Heaven-based human dao, the dao that can best guide how one should live and how a society should be organized.14 Although the way (dao) is the common goal, ancient Chinese philosophers differ about what it is. Philosophical schools in the classical period of Chinese philosophy offer competing accounts of what the way should be. The way in Chinese philosophy goes in all different directions.15 A. Graham felicitously calls ancient Chinese philosophers ‘‘the Disputers of Dao.’’ To appropriate this term and apply it to Greek philosophy, we can also call ancient Greek ethicists ‘‘disputers of eudaimonia.’’16

Virtue: arete- and de Although Confucius starts from dao and Aristotle from eudaimonia, the next step on each side is strikingly similar: that is, to focus on virtue. Having laid it down that eudaimonia is the object of his ethics, Aristotle proposes that a satisfactory theory of happiness can be provided ‘‘if we could first ascertain the function of man’’ (NE, 1097b25). Human function (ergon) means the characteristic human activity or work, that is, rational activity (we will examine the function argument in detail in the next chapter). The function argument concludes that happiness or human good ‘‘turns out to be activity of soul in conformity with virtue’’ (NE, 1098a16– 17). From this conclusion, Aristotle proceeds to discuss virtue: ‘‘Since happiness is an activity of soul in accordance with complete virtue, we must consider the nature of virtue; for perhaps we shall thus see better the nature of happiness’’ (NE, 1102a5–7). The bulk of the NE, then, is dedicated to the examination of the virtues of various parts of the soul. In this way, Aristotle’s eudaimonism becomes an ethics that focuses on virtue. Confucius’ goal is to seek dao (way), but it is also to cultivate de (virtue): ‘‘I set my heart on dao, and base myself on de’’ (A, 7:6). ‘‘How can a man be said either to have anything or not to have anything who fails to hold on to virtue [de] with all his might or to believe in the way [dao] with all his heart?’’ (A, 19:2). He emphasizes that the cultivation of de is his major concern (A, 7:3), although to obtain it is difficult (A, 9:18; 15:13). He also claims that the supreme de (virtue) is the mean (A, 6:29). In Chinese philosophy, dao and de are usually combined together as one term (dao-de). Daode is also the term to translate the English word ‘‘morality.’’ To what extent, then, do Chinese de and Greek arete- correspond? To answer this question, we need to trace the development of these two concepts in their respective cultural traditions. The term arete- is related to the Greek god of war, Are-s. In Liddell-Scott’s Lexicon, arete- means the following: ‘‘goodness, excellence, of any kind, esp. of manly qualities, manhood, valour, prowess.’’ It is from the sense of manhood that arete- is translated in Latin as virtus (vir means ‘‘man’’ in

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Latin). For the Greeks, virtues are good and noble (Rh, 1366b28–29). In ancient Greece, the idea of virtue appears early. In Homer, what makes a man good (agathos) includes both character traits (such as bravery and intelligence) and bodily/external goods (such as good birth, honor, physical strength, wealth, power). It is easy to see that these qualities are strongly related to aristocrats and warriors. Hesiod focuses on the virtue of justice. The Delphic inscriptions advocate the virtue of temperance.17 In the fifth century BCE, Greeks ordinarily regard virtue as an ability to achieve practical advantages in daily life. Aristotle reports: ‘‘Virtue is, according to the usual view, a faculty of providing and preserving good things; or a faculty of conferring many great benefits, and benefits of all kinds on all occasions’’ (Rh, 1366a36–b1).18 We mentioned earlier that the objective of Socrates’ cross-examination is to make people happy. Socrates believes that his activity can achieve this goal on the grounds that the elenctic examination takes the best care of the soul (Apology, 29e) and can ‘‘make one’s soul as good as possible’’ (Apology, 30b). In the Apology, the phrases ‘‘to care for the soul’’ and ‘‘to care for virtue’’ are used interchangeably (31b1–4; 41e3), for the reason that virtue is taken to be ‘‘the best possible state of the soul’’ (30b1–4).19 Virtue is the only thing worth having and is all that is relevant and sufficient for happiness.20 When Socrates claims ‘‘to take care of your soul’’ and associates virtue with the state of the soul, he shifts the notion of virtue away from its relation to aristocrats and warriors, and extends it to every human being. This is an implicit criticism of Homer’s understanding of human good. Socrates also insists on the central position of virtue in making a good life and reduces the role of bodily and external goods. ‘‘Wealth,’’ he claims, ‘‘does not bring about excellence, but excellence makes wealth and everything else good for men, both individually and collectively’’ (Apology, 30b). In Plato’s dialogues, a list of virtues has been repeatedly mentioned to explain what a good man is. This list is comprised of the four traditional ‘‘cardinal virtues’’ – wisdom (sophia or phrone-sis), justice (dikaisune-), courage (andreia), and temperance (so-phrosune-) – plus piety (hosiote-s).21 In his examination, Socrates complains that people have only belief but no knowledge about what a virtue really is, and their beliefs are conflicting and inconsistent. By asking the ‘‘what is it?’’ question of each virtue and virtue in general, Socrates seeks to provide an objective guide for virtue. At the end of Republic, book 1, Plato follows Socrates’ view that virtue is the state of the soul, and proceeds to define virtue in terms of the ergon (‘‘function’’) of a thing. Each thing has a function (ergon) that can be done only by it or best done by it, i.e. its characteristic activity. Its virtue is what enables it to carry out this function well. Although nowadays virtue always refers to moral virtue, in ancient Greek it includes the excellence of everything if the thing performs its function well. Greeks talk about the virtue of a knife when the knife is sharp in cutting, the virtue of an eye when it can see well, the virtue of a horse when it runs fast. When a thing has its virtue,

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it is good among its kind. Furthermore, what makes a man live well or happily is the well functioning of his soul, which is attained through the exercise of his virtue and justice (Republic, 352d–354b). It shows significant progress to connect arete- with human function and with what a person is, thus associating a man’s goodness with his excellence in performing the human function. It is particularly progressive when compared to the early use of the term arete- in relation to aristocrats and warriors or to a person’s strength and ability. Aristotle follows in Plato’s footsteps when he defines arete- as the state or quality that makes the thing perform its function or characteristic activity well. ‘‘Each thing is completed well when it possesses its proper virtue’’ (NE, 1098a15). In relation to human beings, Aristotle says, ‘‘The virtue of man also will be the state which makes a man good and which makes him do his own work [ergon] well’’ (NE, 1106a21–23). The above discussion indicates that to focus on virtue in studying happiness is not an approach that begins with Aristotle. Indeed, it has been a central line of thinking in the Socratic tradition of Greek ethics. Aristotle works within the framework set up by Socrates and Plato. However, although the eudaimonia-arete- framework is not his discovery, Aristotle differs from Socrates and Plato in his description of the characteristic activity and the content of virtue. He seizes on their valuable insight to develop a new and full-blown theory of virtue. His inquiry into virtue is so successful that his ethics becomes the most important and the paradigmatic articulation of ancient virtue ethics. Let us now turn to the Chinese term de. De has been consistently and widely translated as ‘‘virtue.’’ This term has a long and complex history.22 It has appeared in ancient oracle bone inscriptions, referring to the psychic power (the Chinese character of de has a ‘‘heart’’ as one of its elements of composition) that an individual possesses to influence and attract other people and even the surrounding environment. The term, widely used in pre-Confucian texts, can be taken in a formal sense to refer to any inherent power to influence others (even if the power is immoral or amoral),23 but mainly refers to the beneficent power that a ruler holds that enables him to command his people without appealing to physical force, and especially to the bounty a ruler bestows upon his people. De (virtue) is also expected to evoke gratitude and be repaid by the recipient(s) of it. The root sense of de (virtue) is associated with the verb ‘‘to get’’ or ‘‘to attain.’’ ‘‘Power [de] is obtaining [de], obtaining that by which things are what they are.’’24 So far as the ruler’s good power is concerned, it is obtained from Heaven. One inscription reads: ‘‘Of old . . . God on High sent him down good virtue, and greatly helped him, so that he spreads his influence over all the lands.’’25 Heaven, then, is the source of a ruler’s de or power. Only a ruler who has de keeps ‘‘the Mandate of Heaven’’ in his ruling. De, however, is not constant. It grows and increases, and its recipient must maintain and nourish it. In the Zhou bronze inscriptions there are frequent

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demands that the king must ‘‘reverently care for his virtue’’ (jing de). If a ruler fails to take care of his de, his reign loses its legitimacy, and he is no longer the one who ought to rule. ‘‘To reverently care for his virtue’’ (jing de) requires behaving well and fulfilling religious duties. Indeed, the exertion of de as psychic power is associated with desirable attributes such as kindness, dutifulness, etc. Gradually, de comes to refer to these and other desirable attributes or qualities as exhibited not only by the kings, but also by officials, ancestors, and people in general. In the Spring and Autumn period it was used extensively to refer to moral conduct (Zhang, 1989, 337–40). De becomes a crucial concept in the Analects. Confucius retains the original sense of the good power of a ruler. If a ruler rules with virtue, he is compared to ‘‘the Polar star which commands the homage of the multitude of stars without leaving its place’’ (A, 2:1). But Confucius applies the idea of de to every person. Following the ancient idea of jing de (‘‘to reverently care for his virtue’’), he puts forwards to the notion of shiu de (‘‘the cultivation of de‘‘).26 Consequently, the subject matter of his ethics is to search for dao (way), but it is also to cultivate de (virtue). How, then, is de (virtue) related to the dao of Heaven? Confucius once says: ‘‘Heaven is author of the virtue in me’’ (A, 7:23). The original sense of de is ‘‘to get’’, and this saying suggests that the source from which to get is Heaven. This is in line with how other major Chinese philosophers conceive the relation between dao and de. The Daoist classic Dao-de jing (literally, ‘‘The Classic of Dao and De‘‘) describes in this way: ‘‘Dao produces them [the ten thousand things]. Virtue (de) fosters them. . . . Therefore the ten thousand things esteem dao and honor virtue [de].’’27 And ‘‘The all-embracing quality of the great virtue [de] follows alone from the dao.’’28 The Zhuangzi also says: In the great beginning, there was not-being. It had neither being nor name. The One originates from it; it has oneness but not yet physical form. When things obtain it and come into existence, that is called virtue [de] (which gives them their individual character).29 In the Mean (ch. 27), we read: ‘‘Unless there is perfect virtue, the perfect way cannot be materialized.’’ These remarks show that de is the manifestation of dao. De is the power of the dao. Dao-de is a shared conceptual framework among early Chinese philosophers. The relation among Heaven, way (dao), and virtue (de) can be described as follows. Heaven has its way; everything in the world has its own way as well. Yet each thing’s virtue is the manifestation of Heaven’s way in that particular thing and becomes that thing’s way. In other words, the particular way of each thing is the individualization of the way of Heaven in that thing. Each thing’s well-being depends on whether it develops its own potential virtue or way, that is, whether it exists or acts in accordance with

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the way of Heaven. If everything follows its imparted or natural way, the way prevails throughout the whole world and makes the world a harmonious and integrated organism. Pursuant to this, the human way is thought to be the way of Heaven as individualized in a human life. The manifestation of the way of Heaven in humans is human virtue. The cultivation of human way makes a human life such that it follows the way that embodies the way of Heaven. This is why Confucius’ search for human way amounts to a search for human virtue. If this is right, Confucius’ theory of the cultivation of virtue (xiu de) implies that each person’s heavenly imparted virtue is the potential to be a good person. Human virtue, however, must be nourished and cultivated. Just as a ruler must nourish his own virtue in order to become a good ruler, a person must nourish his own virtue in order to become a good person, or the person that he should be. Once one possesses the cultivated virtue, he has the charismatic power to influence others just like wind (A, 12:19). The cultivation of virtue is also called xiu ji (‘‘cultivation of the self’’). An excellent person (junzi), is he who ‘‘cultivates himself and thereby achieves reverence’’ (A, 14:42). It is also called xiu sheng (cultivation of personal life). The object of xiu ji or xiu sheng is to nurture virtues: the Mean (ch. 20) quotes Confucius as saying that ‘‘He who knows wisdom, ren, and courage knows how to cultivate his life [xiu sheng].’’ The Learning also describes this project of cultivation as the central concern: ‘‘From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, all must regard cultivation of personal life as the root or foundation’’ (Chan, 1963, 87).

De and ren The previous section showed that, just as the eudaimonia-arete- scheme is a shared framework in Greek ethics, so is the dao-de structure in Chinese ethics. Earlier I mentioned that Greek moral philosophers are disputers of eudaimonia, yet they are also disputers of virtue (arete-). More precisely speaking, they are disputers of eudaimonia-arete-. Similarly, Chinese philosophers are disputers of dao, and they are also disputers of de. They should be called, more precisely, the disputers of ‘‘dao-de.’’ In his approach to what virtue (de) is, Confucius introduces another term, ren. De in the Analects is generally translated as ‘‘virtue,’’ and ren is also widely referred to as ‘‘virtue’’ or ‘‘complete virtue.’’ Perplexities therefore arise regarding the relation between these two terms. Is the virtue ethics in the Analects an ethics of de or an ethics of ren? My understanding is as follows. Ren is what Confucius believes human de (virtue) is or should be.30 Confucius develops a distinct theory of de (virtue) in which human de (virtue) is also called ren. In other words, his theory of ren is his version of the theory of de. A person of de amounts to a person of ren. Human dao, de, and ren are inseparable. When the Master says that

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‘‘I set my heart on dao, base myself on de, lean upon ren for support’’ (A, 7:6), the distinction among ‘‘set my heart on,’’ ‘‘base myself on,’’ and ‘‘lean upon’’ should be nothing more than rhetorical. Indeed, there are some intrinsic relations between ren and dao-de. The two major features of ren are ‘‘to love’’ (A, 12:22), and ‘‘to return to li [rites or rituals]’’ (A, 12:1). Love is related to the traditional sense of de as kindness or bounty. Li refers to the set of ceremonies and social practices of the Zhou dynasty which is thought to be endowed with de: ‘‘The virtue [de] of the Zhou dynasty can be said to have been the highest’’ (A, 8:20). Furthermore, the rites of the Zhou have de because they are endowed with the dao of Heaven. Hence, to return to li amounts to returning to de or dao. The theory of ren will be unfolded in subsequent chapters. Here I would like to introduce its historical origin in order to establish its affinity with the Greek term arete- (virtue). There are different views about the use of this word in pre-Confucian texts, but the concept clearly involves a process of evolution. In the Book of Poetry or the Book of Songs, a noble hunter is praised as ‘‘so handsome, and so ren,’’ ‘‘so handsome, so good,’’ ‘‘so handsome, so brave,’’ ‘‘so handsome, so strong.’’ Lin Yu-Sheng accordingly thinks that ren originally means ‘‘manly,’’ ‘‘manliness,’’ or ‘‘manhood,’’ and refers to a man’s distinctive quality.31A different view, proposed by Graham, is that ren is a term ‘‘which aristocratic clans of Zhou used to distinguish themselves from the common people,’’ and which ‘‘covers like English ‘noble’ the whole range of superior qualities distinctive of the human breeding’’ (1989, 19). Chan holds that in the pre-Confucian texts, ren is ‘‘a particular virtue of kindness, more especially the kindness of a ruler to his subjects.’’32 This view is in line with the interpretation in Xu Sheng’s Shuowen (the earliest Chinese lexicon, 100–121 AD), which defines ren as ‘‘affection.’’ Different understandings lead to various translations of this term, including: ‘‘humanness,’’ ‘‘humanity,’’ ‘‘benevolence,’’ ‘‘love,’’ ‘‘manhood,’’ ‘‘the noble,’’ ‘‘goodness,’’ ‘‘authoritative person,’’ etc. Ren is the most important but also the most difficult concept of Confucius’ ethics. ‘‘Ren seems to be surrounded with paradox and mystery in the Analects.’’33 The Analects preserves the relation between ren and the quality of kindness or affection. Indeed, one of the major aspects of ren is ‘‘to love one’s fellow men’’ (A, 12:22).34 Nevertheless, Confucius goes far beyond this. It is essential to know that in the Analects, there is a distinction between ren as a eneral virtue and ren as a particular virtue. In a number of places, ren is a particular virtue and is distinguished from other particular virtues, such as courage (A, 9:20; 14:28), knowledge (A, 4:2; 6:21; 9:20; and 14:28), and trustworthiness, uprightness, resoluteness (A, 17:8). In these places, ren can be conceived of as independent from knowledge and courage. This particular sense is related to love and affection, and should be translated as ‘‘benevolence.’’ However, in most places, ren is described as a general quality that embraces particular virtues or character traits, and is thus virtue in its

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entirety or in its inclusiveness. Ren includes knowledge (A, 5:18), courage (A, 14:5), filial piety (A, 17:21), loyalty (A, 5:18; 18:1), li (A, 12:1), ‘‘respectfulness, tolerance, trustworthiness in word, quickness and generosity’’ (A, 17:6) and so on. Ren is said to be even more important than one’s life (A, 15:8). This observation has been explicitly made by Chan: ‘‘Except in a few instances Confucius understood ren not as a particular virtue but as a general one’’ (1955, 298). Current translations of the Analects usually do not reflect the distinction between the general ren and the particular ren. However, if we take the distinction as seriously as we should, one single translation can hardly cover both general ren and particular ren. The distinction between the general ren and the particular ren is also in Mencius. On the one hand, ren, as one of the four mature virtues, grows from the root of ‘‘unbearable mind’’ and is the affective concern for others. This corresponds to the particular ren of Confucius and can be translated as ‘‘benevolence.’’35 On the other, however, Mencius also claims: ‘‘Ren zhe ren ye’’ (M, 7b/16; cf. also Mean, ch. 20). This means literally ‘‘to be ren is to be a person.’’ Chan translates this sentence as that ‘‘Humanity [jen] is [the distinguishing characteristic of] man.’’ In this rendering, the sentence appears to be tautological. I would like to suggest that the sentence means that ren is the quality that makes a person truly a person. A person of ren is one who has fulfilled and manifested what is genuinely human. Given this, it does not seem to be right that ren here still means ‘‘benevolence.’’ Rather, it seems to correspond to the general virtue in Confucius. The definition ‘‘to be ren is to be a person’’ enables us to render the term ren in a different way. It corresponds well with Aristotle’s remark that ‘‘The virtue of man also will be the state which makes a man good and which makes him do his own work [ergon, characteristic activity] well’’ (NE, 1106a21–23). Following this, ‘‘virtue’’ is a good choice for ren, as a general quality. However, since de has been translated as virtue, it should help to have an alternate but closely related term. Chan, as just mentioned, uses ‘‘humanity.’’ This is far better than ‘‘benevolence’’ in catching the meaning that ‘‘to be ren is to be a person.’’ However, ‘‘humanity’’ (or its close relative ‘‘humanness’’) has the following shortcomings. First, it is too general a philosophical notion to be used as a technical term. Second, it usually refers to the inborn characteristic of a person, whereas ren, although based on the characteristic human feature, is a cultivated disposition, that is, humanity in its cultivated form. An appropriate translation should reflect this feature.36 Here is my suggestion. In English translation of Aristotle, ‘‘virtue’’ and ‘‘excellence’’ become interchangeable translations of arete-. In Confucius, although de has been generally rendered as ‘‘virtue,’’ the term ‘‘excellence’’ is rarely employed.37 Given what I believe to be the connection between de and ren, and the general definition of ren in the Mean (ch. 20) and Mencius (7a/16), I prefer to translate this general sense of ren as ‘‘human excellence’’ or simply ‘‘excellence,’’ although, for the sake of reducing confusion, I still

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leave the term untranslated from time to time. When the particular meaning of ren is at issue, I will use ‘‘benevolence.’’ It is ren as excellence that is the focus of the Analects. The conception of ren has the markings of the traditional relation between ren and the aristocratic clan, but Confucius has made significant changes. The person who has cultivated ren is called ‘‘junzi,’’ which literally means ‘‘the lord’s son.’’ Corresponding to the shift within ren from denotation of an aristocratic quality to a quality applicable to all human beings, junzi shifts away from its reference to the aristocrats or the feudal princes, and comes to mean ‘‘the man possessing ‘princely’ moral qualities.’’38 The term junzi has been translated in many ways, including ‘‘gentleman,’’ ‘‘noble person,’’ ‘‘authentic person,’’ ‘‘profound person,’’ ‘‘exemplary person,’’ ‘authoritative person,’’ etc. Since junzi is the person who has cultivated ren, and I choose to translate ren as excellence, I prefer to render junzi as ‘‘the excellent person.’’ Based on the previous discussion, we are in a better position to answer the question we asked earlier: to what extent de and arete- (both translated as ‘‘virtue’’) correspond? Confucius proceeds from dao to de and then to ren, and Aristotle from eudaimonia to arete-. It turns out that: De-ren Arete-

‘‘What makes a person a person.’’ ‘‘The state that makes a man good and that makes him do his own work well.’’

Aristotle’s inquiry into eudaimonia and Confucius’ inquiry into dao lead in the same direction. They both focus on virtue, and virtue makes one a true human being.

The beginning of ethics Before we proceed to compare how virtue and the characteristic human feature are related in both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics, we need to pause to consider the following question. In Chinese ethics, it is Confucius who is responsible for setting the dao-de-ren scheme at the center of ethical reflection. In Greek ethics, it is Socrates who contributes most to the establishment of the eudaimonia-arete- scheme in systematic moral consideration, and Aristotle appears to be working within the framework that Socrates has set. Hence, it is Socrates who matches Confucius’ status as the founder of an ethical tradition. One might ask: why is my comparison between Confucius and Aristotle rather than between Confucius and Socrates? A simple reply to this question is, although Socrates is the founder of Greek virtue-centered eudaimonism, it is Aristotle who emerges as the representative of virtue ethics in the history of philosophy, and his ethics becomes the model that contemporary virtue ethics seeks to revive. As was shown in the first section of the Introduction, the project of bringing together Confucius and Aristotle is motivated by the contemporary revival of

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virtue ethics. Nevertheless, an understanding of how Socrates initiates Greek ethics is indeed significant and even indispensable for this Confucius– Aristotle comparison. We can better understand how Confucius is the founder of Chinese ethics if we compare how ethics begins with Socrates and Confucius, and we can also better understand Aristotle’s original contribution to virtue ethics if we know how Aristotle differs from Socrates. Therefore, in the remainder of this chapter, I will discuss the role of Socrates in our Confucius–Aristotle comparison. In discussing Socrates, one inevitably faces the notoriously difficult ‘‘Socrates problem.’’ Socrates’ philosophy is mainly preserved in the dialogues of Plato.39 Plato, however, uses Socrates as the principal speaker for almost all of the major doctrines in his dialogues. How do we determine to what extent the Socrates in Plato’s dialogues represents the historical Socrates, and to what extent he serves only as the mouthpiece of Plato? Needless to say, different solutions to the ‘‘Socrates problem’’ result in different pictures of Socrates. The Analects, as mentioned in the Introduction, is compiled and edited by his followers over several centuries. There is a similar problem of how to distinguish between Confucius’ authentic dicta and later interpolations. In a sense, this can also be called the ‘‘Confucius problem.’’ Nevertheless, whereas the ‘‘Socrates problem’’ has had a profound impact on our reading of Plato’s dialogues, the ‘‘Confucius problem’’ does not cause much trouble in Confucian scholarship. It is still usual practice for commentators to reconstruct Confucius from the Analects as a whole. I can think of two reasons for this difference. First, in contrast to the case as we see in Plato’s dialogues, the ideas in the Analects are not systematically different; second, none of the editors of the Analects assumes the towering status that Plato has. It is not necessary for me to get into the details of the ‘‘Socrates problem’’ here, but I should briefly state where I stand. In the spectrum of various solutions to this problem in our time, there is the maximal view, represented by Gregory Vlastos, and there is the minimal view, represented by Charles Kahn, and there are numerous others that fall somewhere between these two. The maximal view holds that the early and pre-middle Platonic dialogues are reproductions of the thought of the historical Socrates,40 and the minimal view claims that there is a crucial distinction between the Apology (which is not a dialogue) and the dialogues proper.41 The common point that is accepted across the board is the high degree of historical accuracy of the Apology.42 The Apology is, of course, Plato’s writing; yet, Socrates’ trial is a historical event that takes place in public, and that puts constraints on Plato’s invention. In the following comparison, I concentrate on the ‘‘Socrates’’ depicted in the Apology, but will use materials from other dialogues when I think they are consistent with and can help make sense of the views of the Apology. In this way, I hope that the Socrates who is compared with Confucius here is a widely acceptable one. Confucius’ ethical inquiry is regarded as a Heavenly mission (A, 3:24). This sense of divine mission is lacking in Aristotle. However, with striking

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similarity to Confucius, Socrates also claims that he is divinely ordered to investigate ethical issues: I was attached to this city by the god – though it seems a ridiculous thing to say – as upon a great and noble horse which was somewhat sluggish because of its size and needed to be stirred up by a kind of gadfly. It is to fulfill some such function that I believe the god has placed me in the city. (Apology, 30e)43 Like Heaven using Confucius as the wooden tongue for a bell, the Delphic god uses Socrates as a gadfly. Confucius’ divine mission leads us to question whether he is Heaven’s emissary or a rational philosopher. Socrates’ divine mission also makes us question the rationality of his ethics. When we draw them together and see that both Socrates and Confucius, as the founders of their respective ethical traditions, have a divine mission, this raises a more general and significant question: Is the beginning of ethics based in rational grounds, or is it the result of divine command? Socrates’ announcement of his divine mission seems to have stood in sharp contrast with his well known statement ‘‘the unexamined life is not worth living for men’’ (Apology, 38a). In the history of Western philosophy, the image of Socrates is that of the ideal representative of rigorous rational inquiry, and he is thought to have laid down the basis for Western rationalism. Indeed, he himself issues a manifesto of rationalism: We must therefore examine whether we should act in this way or not, as not only now but at all times I am the kind of man who listens only to the argument that on reflection seems best to me. (Crito, 46b) Such a rational Socrates is apparently at odds with a religious Socrates who claims to do philosophy at the god’s command. How to deal with the tension between Socrates’ divine mission and his rationalism has been a topic of intense debate among interpreters of Socrates. A considerable amount of literature has been produced. Among the various interpretations, some suggest that Socrates’ belief in the divine command should not be taken seriously and that there is ‘‘not a trace of voluntarism in Socrates’ ‘obedience’ to the god’’;44 others hold that Socrates is serious about the god’s command, for it assures him of the moral certainty of his undertaking;45 still others seek to show that Socrates’ commitments to rationalism and his commitments to the obedience of the divine command can somehow be reconciled, although they differ as to how it should be done.46 It is interesting to note that Confucius’ self-proclaimed divine mission has never been an issue of scholarly dispute among Confucian commentators.47

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It has not been considered a disturbing problem, and there has been little attempt to explain it away. The scholarly indifference in this regard can be explained partly because, unlike Socrates, Confucius does not make an explicit announcement of rationalism and hence does not present a sharp conflict between religion and rationalism in his own thought. Also, there is a traditional assumption that, whereas Western philosophy is purely rational, Chinese philosophy is a sort of religion, or at least a mixture of religion and philosophy. Following this line of thinking, the divine mission in Confucius does not come as a surprise. Now, since both these founders of ethics have such a divine mission, we should look at Confucius’ mission in a different light, and also think about the tension between religious belief and rationalism in Socrates in a different way. What is at issue is how religion and rational philosophy are related when ethics is started. Let us first have a look at how Socrates gets his command from the god to do ethics, and how Confucius receives his mission from Heaven. We shall begin with Socrates. According to the Apology, Socrates’ friend Chaerephon once visited Delphi to ask the oracle whether there was anyone who was wiser than Socrates, and the Delphic oracle replied that there was no one wiser (Apology, 21a).48 Socrates is puzzled by this pronouncement, since he is well aware of his own lack of wisdom. He also knows that the god does not lie. To solve the puzzle, he sets out to question his fellow Athenians, who have the reputation for being wise, in order to find someone wiser than himself. The idea is that if he can find a counter-example to the oracular pronouncement, he refutes (elegchein) the oracle. In the course of his questioning, however, he finds that people do not really know what they claim to know, whereas he himself at least knows that he does not know. Hence, instead of a refutation of the oracle, he comes to an understanding of it. The god, in saying that Socrates is the wisest, uses him as an example to show that ‘‘Human wisdom is of little or no worth’’ (Apology, 23a). Socrates, however, does not stop his examination when he has found the meaning of the oracle’s pronouncement. On the contrary, as he himself claims in the trial, ‘‘even now I continue this investigation.’’ Furthermore, the scope of his examination is broadened from those who have reputation for being wise to ‘‘anyone I happen to meet, young and old, citizen and stranger’’ (Apology, 30a). This is because, as he himself directly announces, he has been ordered or commanded (prostetaktai, 33c4; 33c7) to do philosophy by the god, and his investigation is ‘‘according to the god’’ (kata ton theon, 22a, 23b). Here the problem arises. The oracle says only that no one is wiser than Socrates. There is no explicit command originating with the oracle about what he should do or how he should do it. Clearly, it is Socrates himself who chooses to continue his examination beyond a test of the meaning of the oracle, and he turns it into his full-time occupation. As he himself says, he ‘‘thinks’’ (o-ie-the-n) and ‘‘believes’’ (hupelabon) that God has ordered him

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‘‘to live the life of a philosopher, to examine myself and others’’ (Apology, 28e). In other words, he interprets himself, based on his own thinking and belief, that his work is a divine mission. Similarly, Confucius’ Heaven never directly orders him to discover and restore the dao. Heaven does not really say anything, let alone give explicit commands. Socrates’ god has at least the oracle and other channels such as dreams and daimonion to communicate with him. Confucius’ Heaven does not even have that. How, then, does Confucius get the order from Heaven? He never explains it explicitly. In one place, Confucius contends that, although Heaven does not speak, it can still convey its message. ‘‘What does Heaven ever say? Yet there are the four seasons going round and there are the hundred things coming into being. What does Heaven ever say?’’’ (A, 17:19) This passage seems to suggest that Heaven’s will can be known through observation and understanding. It can also be used to explain how Confucius derives his sense of the divine mission. If this is the case, the divine mission, for both Confucius and Socrates, is a self-conceived obligation rather than a direct prescription. Each of them appears to believe, on his own understanding, that his mission is divine. What, then, are the reasons that Confucius and Socrates have for such a belief ? There is not sufficient evidence to determine whether Socrates started his ethical investigation before the Delphic oracle’s pronouncement about his wisdom. However, the fact that Chaerephon is motivated to visit Delphi to ask about Socrates’ wisdom and the reply of the Delphic oracle suggests that Socrates has already enjoyed a reputation for wisdom. Hence, he must have already been philosophically active.49 What kind of philosophy did he do, then? Socrates starts Greek ethics, but does not start Greek philosophy. There is a pre-Socratic period in Greek philosophy that is predominantly concerned with the investigation of nature. In Phaedo 96a–99d, a text usually regarded as Socrates’ ‘‘intellectual autobiography,’’ Socrates tells us that, when he was young, he was enthusiastic about learning natural philosophy. But he came to be dissatisfied with this kind of study and finally gave it up, because it cannot really explain the causes of things. In the Apology, he denies that he conversed with people on these topics. According to Aristotle’s report (Meta, 987b1–3), Socrates ignores the world of nature as a whole and occupies himself solely with ethical matters. This accords well with Cicero’s well known remark that Socrates is ‘‘the first to call philosophy down from the heavens and set her in the cities of men and bring her also into their homes and compel her to ask questions about life and morality and things good and evil.’’50 Therefore, we have reason to believe that, because of his dissatisfaction with natural philosophy, Socrates turns his attention to ethical issues and thus shifts the course of philosophy. Since he enjoyed a reputation for wisdom before the oracle’s pronouncement, he must have already been discussing ethical issues.

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Nevertheless, it is Socrates’ reaction to the oracle that starts his characteristic activity of examination. Having heard the oracle, he seeks to find a counter-example to the oracular pronouncement in order to elegxein it (Apology, 21c). Elegxein means ‘‘refute,’’ ‘‘cross-examine,’’ ‘‘censure,’’ and it is out of this term that Socrates’ examination is called an ‘‘elenchus’’ or ‘‘elenctic examination.’’ An elenchus does not have a standard structure; typically, however, it proceeds thus. Socrates asks a question, and the interlocutor affirms some proposition as an answer (A). Under Socrates’ questioning, a further answer (B) is derived from A, and, as the process goes on, an answer C is derived from B. Finally, C is shown to imply not A ( A). The process always ends with the interlocutor abandoning his original position and being reduced to perplexity about what to believe. For Socrates, the elenchus not only reveals what the god means by his oracle, but also demonstrates that the god is right about human arrogance. Furthermore, the process of the elenchus also turns out to be the most effective way to make people realize their self-conceit. Thus, his examination or refutation of the oracle develops into Socrates’ characteristic way of doing ethics, that is, the examination and refutation of people’s moral beliefs. This way of philosophizing is apparently Socrates’ own creation. Although moral reflections existed before Socrates, he marks a crucial turning point in this area through his elenchus. First, pre-Socratic moral reflections were associated with natural philosophy and were often taken as implications of the latter. Socrates shifts the central attention of philosophy away from knowledge of nature, and makes the discussion of ethical issues the central area of philosophizing. His belief that moral knowledge is what we need in order to live well, effectively promotes ethics as a separate field. Second, although the idea of eudaimonia is a traditional belief, Socrates makes eudaimonia both the starting point and the goal in his elenchus. As mentioned before, Socrates claims that the goal of his philosophy is to make Athenians happy or to make them live in the right way (Apology, 36e, 39d). It is with Socrates that happiness becomes the common starting point for Greek ethics. Third, Socrates approaches eudaimonia by an appeal to virtue. Although the notion of virtue itself is not new, Socrates associates virtue with a state of the soul and puts virtue at a central position in a happy life. Although Socrates’ examination always ends in aporia (literally, ‘‘no way out’’) and he always claims to know nothing, he raises numerous questions and holds a set of related beliefs about happiness and virtue, virtue and the soul, virtue and knowledge, virtue and other goods in life, and so on. These issues set the agenda for subsequent Greek ethics. Post-Socratic ethics is mainly a matter of how to interpret and respond to Socrates’ beliefs and practices. These points justify Socrates’ status as ‘‘the inventor of ethics.’’51 Apparently, Socrates is inspired by the oracle, but it is his rational reaction to the oracle which determines the nature of his ethical study. Let us have a look at whether Confucius has secular reasons to do ethics. It is true that Confucius inherits the traditional belief in Heaven’s dao and

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that human beings should live in accordance with it. The breakdown of social and moral order in his time, however, prompts him to think about the following question: Where is the dao that the Zhou once claimed to possess but is now lost? It is necessary for the world to have its dao in order to be in a peaceful, prosperous, and harmonious state; it is necessary for human beings to have the dao in order to live in a meaningful and authentic way. As I have shown in the first two sections of this chapter, the question ‘‘where is the human dao?’’ becomes the common starting point and goal for the classic Chinese philosophers. Furthermore, Confucius connects human dao or de (virtue) with ren (excellence), that is, what a human being should be. These significant points have already justified Confucius’ status as the founder of Chinese ethics. This is not all. Even after the establishment of the dao-de-ren structure, Confucius still needs to find out how we should cultivate human excellence (ren) that embodies the way (dao). Heaven does not help Confucius out here, since the way is not written out for Confucius to preach. At this juncture, Confucius makes an original move. He believes that the dao is located in Chinese traditional rites (li) of the Zhou dynasty. This innovative idea is made on the basis of rational thinking, for Confucius justifies it on the grounds of the intrinsic goodness and achievement of the Zhou culture. The Yin [dynasty] built on the rites of the Xia [dynasty]. What was added and what was omitted can be known. The Zhou built on the rites of the Yin. What was added and what was omitted can be known. Should there be a successor to the Zhou, even a hundred generations can be known. (A, 2:23) The Zhou overcame the shortcomings of the two preceding dynasties and developed culture to a flourishing state. It is the intrinsic goodness of the Zhou culture that wins Confucius’ admiration. ‘‘The Zhou is resplendent in culture, having before it the example of the two previous dynasties. I am for the Zhou’’ (A, 3:14). Here, the justification is without any reference to Heaven. It is his admiration of the Zhou culture that leads Confucius to the conclusion that it is where the dao is embedded and embodied, and the admiration is based on his rational assessment. The rites of the Zhou are, therefore, thought to be the concrete representation of Heaven’s dao, and the fact that the dao does not prevail in the empire in Confucius’ time is interpreted as showing the decline of the rituals and cultures of the Zhou (A, 3:24; 16:2; 5:6). Because of the intrinsic goodness of the Zhou rites, Confucius maintains that to be ren is ‘‘to return to li’’ (A, 12:1). That is, for a person to live in accordance with the way, it is essential to be shaped or transformed by traditional values. Confucius figures out where to find the way by establishing the connection between Heaven’s way and the traditional culture. This is his own original

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idea, rather than one coming out of Heaven’s order. Confucius takes it that his divine mandate is to restore traditional culture and values. Once, while traveling to advocate his teaching, Confucius was under siege in a place called Kuang. The Master said: With King Wen dead, is not culture invested here in me? If Heaven intends culture to be destroyed, those who come after me will not be able to have any part of it. If Heaven does not intend this culture to be destroyed, then what can the men of Kuang do to me? (A, 9:5) Restoration of the way becomes a task to regain the spirit of traditional culture. Since traditional culture is recorded in ancient classics, it is necessary to turn to them. However, the way is not clearly written and spelled out in the classics, but needs to be extracted and systematized. Moreover, in Confucius’ time, the classics that record ancient civilization were not even in good condition. Although many contemporaries of Confucius knew traditional rituals (indeed it was a profession to perform the ritual forms in various ceremonies such as marriages and funerals),52 it was Confucius who started serious and systematic investigation of the traditional texts that record these rituals and the civilization of the Zhou. He collected, studied, and edited them, and then used them for the literary curriculum of his own school. Tradition holds that he edited the following books (they were later called the ‘‘Six Classics’’): The Book of Documents (Shujing, records of the legendary sage-kings, the pre-Zhou rulers, and early Zhou rulers); The Book of Odes (Shijing, an anthology of 314 early Zhou poems); The Spring and Autumn Annals (chronicle of the state Lu down to the time of Confucius), The Book of Change (Zhouyi or I Jing, Zhou manual of divination with appendices);53 The Record of Rituals; and The Record of Music. It has been controversial as to how much work Confucius actually did with regard to each of these texts, but there has been wide agreement that Confucius was the first systematic transmitter of ancient classics, and that his work contributed greatly to preserving and continuing Chinese traditional culture. Confucius describes himself as a transmitter: ‘‘I transmit but do not innovate; I am truthful in what I say and devoted to antiquity’’ (A, 7:1). However, to take seriously Confucius’ claim that he does nothing more than hand down the old, however, is as naı¨ve as taking seriously Socrates’ claim that he knows nothing. We have to keep in mind that the reason for Confucius to transmit these classics is to explicate the dao that is supposed to be embedded in them. For this purpose, he has to single out traditional norms and values, select them according to certain standards, explain them by means of some refined notions, justify their significance, and arrange them in some kind of order. Mencius actually has given us his idea of the kind of ‘‘transmission’’ Confucius did with regard to the Spring and Autumn Annals:

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When the world declined and the way [dao] fell into obscurity, heresies and violence again arose. There were instances of regicides and patricides. Confucius was apprehensive and composed the Spring and Autumn Annals. Strictly speaking, this is the emperor’s prerogative. That is why Confucius said, ‘‘Those who understand me will do so through the Spring and Autumn Annals; those who condemn me will also do so because of the Spring and Autumn Annals . . . ’’ Confucius completed the Spring and Autumn Annals and struck terror into the hearts of rebellious subjects and undutiful sons. (M, 3b/9) Scholars have different views about the historical value of Mencius’ testimony. Yet according to this passage, at least Mencius believes that Confucius, in his transmission of the classics, puts in his own ideas and sets up moral standards for future generations. Finding the embedded way in traditional classics is a rational process of original inquiry and reflection.

Doing ethics and being pious We have explained the rational grounds for Socrates’ and Confucius’ ethics. Given the rational basis, why does each of them claim that his practice of ethics is in obedience to the divine command? Socrates’ examination is inspired by the god, but the god says nothing about his method and nothing about eudaimonia and virtue. Confucius’ thinking is influenced by the traditional belief that there is a way of Heaven, but Heaven does not say what the way is that needs to be restored, nor does it say how to restore it. Heaven also suggests no connection between Heaven’s way and the traditional culture. Given the strong secular motivation to do philosophy shown on both sides, it is tempting to think that the divine mission is a concocted story in each case for the purpose of facilitating their own causes. This is hardly convincing. For each, the belief that his mission is divinely charged is so sincere and serious that neither is willing to give in, even in the face of grave danger. In Confucius’ case, when the minister of war in Sung (a person called Huantui) threatens to kill him, ‘‘The Master said, ‘Heaven is the author of the virtue that is in me. What can Huantui do to me?’’’ (A, 7: 23) In Socrates’ case, given that he has the opportunity to be acquitted on the condition that he stops practicing philosophy, his response is: ‘‘Men of Athens, I am grateful and I am your friend, but I will obey the god rather than you, and as long as I draw breath and am able, I shall not cease to practice philosophy’’ (Apology, 29d). There is no question that their religious belief is serious. Indeed, although examination of people’s beliefs is Socrates’ daily job, he never applies his elenchus to the issue of the existence of the gods. He makes one significant change in the traditional notion of gods. Contrary to the traditional picture

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of Greek gods, as depicted in the works of Homer and Hesiod, in which they do all sorts of immoral things including deception, adultery, and quarreling, Socrates insists that gods must be morally good. Indeed, the major reason for him to take the Delphic oracle so seriously is that ‘‘surely he [the Delphic god] does not lie; it is not legitimate for him to do so.’’54 Other than this, in being consistent with his disavowal of knowledge and his lack of interest in natural philosophy, Socrates maintains that an adequate knowledge of the gods goes beyond human wisdom, and he disavows any positive knowledge about life after death (Apology, 29a–b, 37b). Equally, Confucius never questions the ordering force of Heaven and, like Socrates, has little desire to theorize about the nature of Heaven and the afterlife.55 In both ancient Greece and ancient China, religion was more a part of daily cultural life than it was a matter of faith. Vlastos says of Socrates: ‘‘Born into this system of religious belief, Socrates, a deeply religious man, could not have shrugged it off’’ (Vlastos, 1991, 158). I think the same is true of Confucius. More significantly, both Socrates and Confucius believe that to conduct their respective missions is what the virtue of piety demands. Impiety is one major accusation against Socrates, and it is also the major task of Socrates’ defense in the Apology to reject the charge. He insists that his philosophical activity is his service (latreia, huperesia) to the god.56 This claim suggests a clue to link the Apology to the Euthyphro. The subject matter of the Euthyphro is the definition of piety. After a series of answers and refutations, Socrates’ interlocutor Euthyphro finally comes up with the answer that ‘‘Piety is that part of justice that is a service [hupe-retike-] of humans to the gods’’ (Euthyphro, 13d7). When Socrates presses Euthyphro to specify what service human beings can provide to the god, Euthryphro fails to do so and loses his patience. Socrates then says to him: You could tell me in far fewer words, if you were willing, the sum of what I asked, Euthyphro, but you are not keen to teach me, that is clear. You were on the point of doing so, but you turned away. If you had given that answer, I should now have acquired from you sufficient knowledge of the nature of piety. (Euthyphro, 14b8–c4) Euthyphro ‘‘turns away’’ at the very moment when he is close to giving an answer that satisfies Socrates. The point at which he turns away is the question of what kind of service we human beings can provide to the god, and if we relate this to Socrates’ claim in the Apology that his elenchus serves the god by improving the moral states of the human soul, we have an answer to the question posed to Euthyphro. According to this reading, Socrates, via his declaration in the Apology that his elenchus is a service to the god, is saying that his philosophical activity is what piety really is. Recall that Confucius takes himself to be the transmitter of the ancient tradition in A, 7:1. In the Mean (ch. 19), the term ‘‘transmitter’’ is related to

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the virtue of piety. It states that what makes a filial son is his ability ‘‘to continue [ji] the will [zhih] and to transmit [shu] the work of his father.’’57 If we relate this statement to Confucius’ self-description as a transmitter, the following two points can be made: First, Confucius’ transmitting the tradition is analogous to what a filial son does to his father’s work. What is emphasized in the passage just quoted is not the son’s personal affection toward his parents or his duty to biologically continue the family line. Rather, what a filial son transmits should be the aspirations, causes, and ideals of his father. Analogically, what Confucius transmits is the spirit, value, and ideals of the tradition. Furthermore, since a filial son does not just hand down his father’s dreams, but seeks to actualize them, Confucius’ transmission can also be taken to mean to bring out and actualize the underlying traditional values and ideals. In short, the purpose of transmission is to carry on and fulfill the dao embodied in the tradition. Second, since a son’s transmission of his father’s work shows his virtue of filial piety, Confucius’ philosophical activity of transmitting traditional values can also be regarded as an expression of his piety with regards to the authentic tradition. Since tradition is where Confucius believes the dao of Heaven is embedded, we can say that to be pious with regards to tradition amounts to being pious with regards to Heaven. The link to piety that can be seen in both Confucius and Socrates provides a perspective for understanding the nature of their respective divine missions. In the Euthyphro, at one stage of the elenctic examination about what piety is, Euthyphro proposes a definition that piety is what all the gods love (Euthyphro, 9e). In response to this definition, Socrates raises his influential question that is often used to criticize the ‘‘Divine Command Theories’’ of morality. ‘‘Is the pious being loved by the gods because it is pious, or is it pious because it is being loved by the gods?’’ (Euthyphro, 10a). We can ask a parallel question about Socrates’ own divine mission, and about Confucius’ as well. Given our discussion of their respective rational grounds in the fourth section above, the answer should be clear. Neither of them holds that their undertaking is noble simply because it is what the god or Heaven commands. Indeed, although the mission is divinely charged for both of them, neither Socrates’ god nor Confucius’ Heaven dictates it explicitly. For each of them, it is because his mission itself is meaningful that he believes that it is divine. Confucius’ and Socrates’ divine missions must, then, be connected with their status as the founders of Chinese and Greek ethics. On the one hand, both of them subscribe to the traditional belief in the existence of a divine being. Yet, neither Greek nor Chinese religion was supported by documents with status comparable to that of the Bible. What the divine being wants humans to do, or the best way to serve the divine being, had not been seriously reflected upon. On the other hand, when Confucius and Socrates think about the issue of how one ought to live, each must have a clear awareness that his undertaking is something fundamentally new and

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important. The unique sense of the significance of their work makes them each connect the traditional faith in the existence of a divine being with the issue of how one should live. They come to the conclusion that what the divine being really wants from human beings is that we lead meaningful and fulfilled lives, and that the best way to be pious is to think about and find out the right way to conduct these lives. Each man is the first in his own tradition, to conduct a systematic reflection upon what the divine being intends human beings to achieve and how human beings should relate to the divine being. We usually think that philosophy develops by breaking away from traditional religious belief, and by replacing the mythological account of the world with a rational explanation of nature. This appears to be true of the beginning of natural philosophy in Thales. Yet, if our above comparison of Confucius and Socrates makes sense, the beginning of ethics seems to be a different story. Instead of breaking away from religious belief, the beginning of rational ethics is a divine mission. Ethics begins by giving new meaning to religious beliefs and a new interpretation of the relation between the divine and the human. Aristotle does not have a divine mission, but he does have a sense of piety in his pursuit of ethics. In NE, i.6, 1096a11–16, we have the following memorable passage: We had perhaps better consider the universal good and discuss thoroughly what is meant by it, although such an inquiry is made an uphill one by the fact that the Forms have been introduced by friends of our own. Yet it would perhaps be thought to be better, indeed to be our duty, for the sake of maintaining the truth even to destroy what touches us closely, especially as we are philosophers; for, while both are dear, piety [hosion] requires us to honor truth above our friends. His piety is not related to god(s), but to truth. It is an obligation to the solemnity of philosophical inquiry insofar as it seeks truth. Piety gives him the reason to choose when there is a tension between loyalty to a beloved mentor and what he thinks is the truth. It requires one to put truth ahead of friendship. Aristotle here is referring mainly to Plato and his followers (Aristotle himself spent twenty years in Plato’s academy from 367 to 347 BCE). As we shall see shortly, however, this sense of piety is also represented in his critique of Socrates’ ethics. Aristotle works within a tradition that Socrates has already initiated. For Aristotle, doing ethics is more of a matter of responding to the predecessors, correcting, revising, and developing their theories. This can probably account for why piety for Aristotle becomes more a matter of respect for truth than one of divine service.

The ways of ethics Although both Confucius and Socrates link doing ethics with the virtue of piety, they apparently have different notions of being pious. For Socrates, to

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be pious is shown through the examination of people’s moral beliefs, whereas for Confucius, to be pious is expressed by transmitting and developing wisdom embedded in the tradition. Different forms of piety entail different ways of carrying out their respective divine missions. As a result, although Socrates’ inquiry into eudaimonia and Confucius’ inquiry into dao both focus on virtue, they differ about what virtue is and how to pursue it. Aristotle’s ethics, to a great extent, responds to the approach of Socrates.58 Aristotle works on the issues that Socrates has raised, but deals with them in significantly different ways. The differences between Confucius and Socrates correspond to the differences between Socrates and Aristotle. I mentioned earlier that the term dao (way) also means ‘‘discourse’’ or ‘‘teaching’’. In this sense, Confucius, Socrates, and Aristotle have different daos of ethics. Yet taking the daos of Confucius and Aristotle together, the dao of Socrates turns out to be their common opponent. In this section, I shall list and analyze the following four important aspects in which Aristotle and Confucius share approaches that are similar in that they differ from Socrates: (a) intellectualism and character cultivation; (b) traditional and social values; (c) politics and virtue; and (d) the function of ethics. Needless to say, the discussion here, in particular the views of Confucius and of Aristotle, will have to be sketchy, for it serves only to single out the general similarities between Confucius and Aristotle by using Socrates as a mirror. The details will unfold in subsequent chapters. Intellectualism and character cultivation Out of his sense of duty to serve the god, Socrates takes it as his mission to ‘‘take care of the soul.’’ Although he does not say much in the Apology about the nature of the soul itself,59 it is beyond doubt that for him the soul is not divided. He identifies the soul with reason only and treats the appetites as properties of the body. The perfection of the soul consists only in exercising the elenchus and in getting the right sort of moral knowledge. The process of perfection of the soul is in the meantime a process of the pursuit of virtue. ‘‘Virtue is knowledge.’’60 Since virtue is sufficient for happiness, it follows that knowledge is sufficient for happiness (Crito, 48b; Gorgias, 471e). The virtuous differ from the vicious not in their motivations but in their intellects; nobody does wrong willingly, and weakness of the will is impossible (Protagoras, 352a–358d; Gorgias, 468c–d). Aristotle, influenced by Plato’s tripartite notion of the soul in Republic iv,61 divides the soul into rational and irrational parts. Ethics concerns the rational part, but it also includes the part of the irrational soul that does not have reason in itself, yet listens to reason. This part of the soul has its virtue, called ethical virtue (e-thike- arete-, also translated as ‘‘virtue (or excellence) of character.’’ For Aristotle, moral virtue ‘‘comes about as a result of habit [ethos], whence also its name is one that is formed by a slight variation from the word for ‘habit’ [ethos]’’ (NE, 1103a16–18). The Greek

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term for habit or custom is ethos, and for character is e-thos. The acquisition of moral virtue is not just a matter of rational examination. Aristotle maintains that human beings are social animals, and stresses the importance of social custom and habituation in character building. One of his major themes is that ethical virtues are acquired out of repeated practice of virtuous actions.62 The theory can be seen as a critical reaction to Socrates’ intellectual account of virtue.63 The part that has reason is further divided into theoretical rationality and practical rationality. Theoretical wisdom (sophia), the virtue of theoretical rationality, is not directly related to ethical virtue. Practical wisdom (phronesis), the virtue of practical rationality, is closely bound up with ethical virtue. Practical wisdom is not just knowledge and understanding of facts of a certain kind, but is intrinsically good because it has a good end in itself. It is moral virtue, however, that makes the end of practical wisdom right (NE, 1144a8; cf. 1144a30–34). ‘‘We cannot be fully good without practical wisdom, or practically wise without moral virtue’’ (NE, 1144b31–32). From his understanding of the relation between reason and virtue, Aristotle directly takes issue with Socrates: ‘‘Socrates thought the virtues were forms of reasons (for he thought they were, all of them, forms of knowledge), while we think they involve reason’’ (NE, 1144b28–29). It is also a foreign idea for Confucius that virtue is purely an intellectual matter. For him, the pursuit of ren (human excellence) involves a full-fledged development of moral character. It requires one to cultivate the traditional ritual practices (A, 12:1), to love her fellow men (A, 12:22; a love that is rooted in filial piety and brotherly love, as A, 1.2 indicates), and also to develop an intellectual aspect in applying the general requirement of traditional values in particular circumstances so as to attain what is appropriate (A, 4:10). Apparently, Confucius would disapprove of Socrates’ intellectualism, but would stay on Aristotle’s side to focus on moral character. Traditional and social values Socrates is critical of traditional and social values. He claims that he is the ‘‘gadfly’’ to ‘‘rouse each and every one’’ (Apology, 30e), and his mission is to examine people’s moral values to show that their priorities in life are wrong (Apology, 30a). These remarks leave the impression that the Athenian ethos is problematic. In his attempt to understand the oracle, Socrates is led to the conclusion that he is indeed wiser than the great majority of his fellow Athenians, because he is aware that human wisdom is worth little or nothing (Apology, 23c). In his effort to expose the inconsistencies of social morality, Socrates embarrasses all sorts of respected people by showing that they know little or nothing, and are ‘‘not living in the right way’’ (Apology, 39d). This must sound startling for the Athenian people, given that Athenians attained so many splendid and unsurpassable achievements in their culture.

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Socrates is accused of corrupting the youth and is taken to court. He defends himself against this charge by denying to be a teacher. His reason is that he does not charge fees and people join in his conversation willingly (Apology, 33a). However, Socrates does not deny that he has attracted young followers, and he himself describes his influence in this way: The young men who followed me around . . . take pleasure in hearing people questioned; they themselves often imitate me and try to question others. I think they find an abundance of men who believe they have some knowledge but know little or nothing. (Apology, 23c) The youth are amused to watch Socrates refute those who make false claims of wisdom (Apology, 23e2–4; 33b9–c4), and they then imitate Socrates and question their elders about their most vital and cherished beliefs. It is not difficult to imagine what impact his activity would have upon the youth. Can one still expect the youth to have much respect for their seniors and for traditional values? Social habituation does not play a role in Socrates’ theory of virtue, at least so far as the Apology is concerned. Worse still, although Socrates’ questioning leads the youth to become challengers of convention and tradition, he claims that he knows nothing and thus offers no positive guidance to the youth (Apology, 21b; 33b). Aristotle must have serious reservations about Socrates’ way of carrying out his mission and his skeptical attitude towards traditional and social values. He has a deep belief that moral virtues are grounded in ethos (social custom). He claims that the environment of one’s early upbringing ‘‘is very important, indeed all-important’’ (NE, 1103b23–25). He has great respect for the moral opinions of ordinary people (which form a major part of ethos) in his discussion of happiness. This attitude forms a striking contrast to that of Socrates. For Aristotle, ‘‘it is not probable that either of these should be entirely mistaken’’; rather ‘‘they should be right in at least some one respect or even in most respects’’ (NE, 1098b26–29). That explains why ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ becomes one of his favorite methods. He is confident that each opinion has some elements of truth which should be saved. Following this, Aristotle would be worried about the negative impact Socrates’ mission would have on the moral education of Athenian youth. He apparently has difficulty taking Socrates as a phronimos (a person with practical wisdom). The phronimos is not only the one that we should consult, but also a role model. Yet in the case of Socrates, ordinary Athenians do not trust their sons with him. Rather than being praised and admired within the community, he is charged with impiety and corruption of the youth and is condemned to death. Aristotle requires his students to have good character. One reason for this requirement must be his view of Socrates. Aristotle realizes that the elenchus itself is insufficient for making

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people act virtuously and only well cultivated students can transfer knowledge to action.64 Similarly, Confucius must have a serious problem with Socrates. For Confucius, tradition is where the dao is embedded. One major dimension of being virtuous is to return to traditional rites or cultural practices. Yet traditional rites would be precisely what Socrates wants to examine. In contrast to Socrates’ hostility towards tradition, Confucius is characterized by his deep respect and affection for the rich cultural past. Whereas Socrates spent his days in the market exposing the inconsistencies of people’s beliefs, Confucius spent most of his time systematically transmitting ancient classics that record traditional values and practices. Contrary to Socrates who tries to correct his fellow Athenians, Confucius emphasizes learning from his fellow men: ‘‘Even when walking in the company of two other men, I am bound to be able to learn from them’’ (A, 7:22). It is important to stretch one’s thinking ability, but it is also important to learn what other people say. These two aspects are related: ‘‘If one learns from others but does not think, one will be bewildered. If, on the other hand, one thinks but does not learn from others, one will be in peril’’ (A, 2:15). Confucius places even more emphasis on learning: ‘‘I once spent all day thinking without taking food and all night thinking without going to bed, but I found that I gained nothing there from. It would have been better for me to have spent the time in learning’’ (A, 15:31). Politics and virtue Socrates sets up a contrast between political life and the pursuit of justice. He claims that his daimonion has forbidden him to take part in public affairs: If I had long ago attempted to take part in politics, I should have died long ago, and benefited neither you nor myself. . . . A man who really fights for justice must lead a private, not a public, life if he is to survive for even a short time. (Apology, 31d–32a) Socrates’ withdrawal from politics sounds startling, in particular if we recall what Pericles says in his famous funeral speech: ‘‘An Athenian citizen does not neglect the state because he takes care of his own household. . . . We alone regard a man who takes no interest in public affairs, not as a harmless, but as a useless character.’’65 In contrast, Socrates seems to completely deny the positive value of politics in the cultivation and exercise of virtue, and he is also deeply contemptuous of politicians (Apology, 21c–d). This position is unacceptable for Aristotle. For him, ethics must be related to politics and they are indeed inseparable, because the right laws ‘‘stimulate men to virtues and urge them forward by the motive of the noble’’

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(NE, 1180a6–7). He also emphasizes that in studying laws and politics, ‘‘experience seems to contribute not a little . . . it seems that those who aim at knowing about the art of politics need experience as well’’ (NE, 1181a11– 12). This implies that one should actively participate in political activities, although Aristotle himself as a resident alien has no political rights in Athens. Although Confucius agrees that if a society is chaotic and one cannot do anything to help, one should stay away,66 his main theme is that ethics and politics are inseparable. For him, politics means ‘‘to rectify’’ (A, 12:17). Accordingly, the most important function of politics is to set good examples to guide people in their cultivation of virtue. On the one hand, political leadership lies in promoting moral cultivation and development in the citizens. On the other, to engage in political activity is an indispensable dimension in each individual’s cultivation. The individual, the family, the state, and the world are bound together in one’s moral cultivation: ‘‘When the personal life is cultivated, the family will be regulated; when the family is regulated, the state will be in order; and when the state is in order, there will be peace throughout the world’’ (Learning; see Chan, 1963, 86–87). As a matter of fact, Confucius, in addition to the compilation of the classics and teaching, takes to the road and travels with his disciples from state to state to persuade the rulers to accept and practice his theory. The function of ethics Ethics can make people live a better life. However, there are different views about how ethics can make people live better. Socrates’ elenchus leads to the exposure of confusions and inconsistencies in the interlocutor’s moral convictions and demonstrates accordingly that these beliefs should be refuted. As a negative test, the elenchus provides exhortation. The exposure of confusions in the interlocutor’s moral convictions will lead him to modify them and change his behavior accordingly. Elenchus has this impact because Socrates requires that the interlocutor must state what he really believes.67 Thus, if that opinion is refuted, the interlocutor’s own life or a part of it will be discredited. However, can the elenchus provide a positive end? Commentators are sharply divided over whether the elenchus can provide the interlocutor with a constructive understanding of how to live. On the one hand, there are reasons to deny the elenchus a constructive role. Socrates himself keeps saying that he is ignorant; and many earlier dialogues in which Socrates thoroughly performs the elenchus are aporetic. On the other hand, there are also reasons to believe that it is constructive. The consistent goal of the elenchus is to have a universal definition of the relevant moral term in question. This can make sense only if Socrates trusts that such inquiry produces moral knowledge. But even if this is the case, Socrates never explains how his elenchus can produce this kind of knowledge. Many commentators seek to

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ascribe a constructive role to the elenchus. Yet the best explanation they offer is that the positive result is inductively generated by Socrates’ extensive examinations, on the basis that the negations of his beliefs constantly fail to survive the elenctic examination.68 This explanation is helpful in understanding how Socrates can claim, despite his disavowal of knowledge, that he knows certain moral truths. Nevertheless, the inductive inference is not a compelling argument and cannot reach the universal definition at which Socrates aims.69 Aristotle seems to think that the elenchus can only be a negative test. As he remarks towards the end of the SE: ‘‘Socrates used to ask questions and not to answer them – for he used to confess that he did not know’’ (183b6–7). For Aristotle himself, ethics needs to provide a positive theory about what happiness is and how we can achieve it. Even at the beginning of the NE, he maintains that knowledge of the highest human good (i.e. happiness) has great influence on life. Shall we not, like archers who have a mark to aim at, be more likely to hit upon what we should? If so, we must try, in outline at least, to determine what it is, and of which of the sciences or capacities it is the object. (NE, 1094a24–26) Similar to Aristotle, Confucius also believes that ethics must provide positive guidance and offer a vision of how to live properly. Whereas Socrates claims that he is aware he knows nothing, Confucius declares that he has a unified theory and maintains that to have positive knowledge of the way is the most important thing in human life. ‘‘He has not lived in vain who dies the day he is told about the way’’ (A, 4:8).

2

Humanity Xing and ergon

The virtue of man will be the state which makes a man good and which makes him do his own work well. (Nicomachean Ethics, 1106a22–23) To be ren [excellent] is to be a person. (Mean, ch. 20)

For both Confucius and Aristotle, the issue of how to become a good person is to be approached in terms of virtue. For both, as shown in the previous chapter, virtue is related to the characteristic feature of being a human which, for the sake of simplicity, I would like to refer as ‘‘humanity.’’ In this chapter, we proceed to explore their respective conceptions of humanity, and their views on the relation between humanity and virtue. Confucius does not elaborate his view on human nature. His basic line of thinking, however, is developed by Mencius in detail in the theory that human nature (xing) is good. In my view, just as the function (ergon) argument is the basis for Aristotle’s ethics, the Mencian theory that human nature is good brings forth the metaphysical and psychological basis for the ethics of Confucius. This chapter concentrates on the comparison of the Aristotelian function argument and the Mencian theory that human nature is good. The first section establishes the continuity from Confucius to Mencius regarding the goodness of human nature. The second section demonstrates the parallel between Mencius’ conception of xing and Aristotle’s conception of ergon. The third section explores and compares their reasons to develop an ethics based on what is characteristically human. The fourth section shows that whereas Aristotle never argues why the human function is rationality, Mencius takes pains to justify that human xing is good. The fifth section demonstrates that both sides hold a dynamic view that humanity should be developed and actualized. Finally, in the sixth section, I show how both ethics relate humanity to virtue.

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Human nature and humanity Classical Confucianism is known for its debate regarding the evil or goodness of human nature. The textbook picture looks like this: human nature is neither good nor bad, but is neutral for Confucius, good for Mencius, and evil for Xunzi. The debate on the badness or goodness of human nature has been a central preoccupation of Chinese philosophy from the classical age onward. Historically, Xunzi’s view did not gain favor, and it is Mencius’ view that came to define orthodox Confucianism. However, in modern scholarship which has been heavily influenced by Western philosophy, the tables are turned. Mencius’ position is thought to be naı¨vely optimistic and without empirical support. Xunzi’s view, on the contrary, is thought to be more realistic and closer to the prevailing Western view that humans are by nature egoistic.1 The relationship between Mencius and Xunzi has been a hotly debated topic in recent scholarship, but for the reasons stated in the Introduction to this book, this issue is not my concern in this project. Here I am interested in the following two questions. First, is it right to assert, as the traditional reading does, that for Confucius human nature is morally neutral? What is the connection between Confucius’ view on human nature and Mencius’ ‘‘xing-is-good’’ doctrine? Second, we notice that whereas the goodness and evilness of human nature have been such a dominant theme in Chinese philosophy, it does not excite much interest for Aristotle (and other Greek philosophers). What does this contrast suggest? When commentators claim that Mencius is naı¨ve but Xunzi more realistic, it is usually the Christian theory of original sin and/or Hobbes’ theory of the state of nature that are used as the referential framework(s). Aristotle, whose ethics does not start from the assumed dominant Western view that human beings are naturally egoistic, is rarely mentioned in this context.2 Yet, when we bring in Aristotle, we can see that the role that Mencius’ ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory plays corresponds to that of Aristotle’s function argument. Both represent an approach of connecting ethics to humanity. When commentators ascribe to Confucius the view that human nature is neutral, the main ground is his saying that ‘‘men are close to one another by nature (xing). They diverge as a result of repeated practice’’ (A, 17:2).3 Yet the sentence can be taken in a different way. As pointed out in the previous chapter, the Analects has the conceptual framework of dao (way)-de (virtue)ren (excellence) at its core. Etymologically, de means ‘‘to get,’’ and human de is the manifestation of Heaven’s dao in a human being. This conceptual scheme implies that we must have the root of de in our original nature that is from Heaven. Following this, Confucius presupposes a natural basis for his virtue ethics. If we read Analects, 17:2 in this light, it could mean that in the common nature that human beings share, there is a part that constitutes the natural basis of virtue. Indeed only with such a natural basis can Confucius write: ‘‘Is ren really far away? No sooner do I desire it than it is here’’

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(A, 7:30). A, 6: 19 says that ren zhi shen ye zhe. Chan follows the interpretation of Zheng Xing, Chenhao and Zhu Xi to render the sentence as ‘‘Man is born with uprightness.’’ He then comments that ‘‘This means that Confucius was not only the first one in Chinese philosophy to assume a definite position about human nature, but also the first to teach that human nature is originally good’’ (Chan, 1963, 29). It is true, however, that we do not get much information about Confucius’ view on human nature from the Analects. Even his disciples complain that ‘‘What the Master has to say about human nature and the way of Heaven we cannot get to hear’’ (A, 5:13). This complaint is warranted. Ren (excellence) has a natural basis in our human nature, but Confucius does not elaborate it. He leaves a gap for his followers to fill. The opening passage of the Mean introduces the term xing and connects it to the notion of the way (dao): What Heaven imparts to man is called human nature [xing]. To follow our nature is called the way [dao]. Cultivating the way is called education. The way cannot be separated from us for a moment. What can be separated from us is not the way. We are endowed with a nature by Heaven. The unfolding process of this nature is a process of cultivation or education. This imparted xing should be taken to be the same thing as virtue (de) that is derived from the way of Heaven. In the formulation of the Mean, the question of the cultivation of human way or virtue becomes a question of the cultivation of xing. Mencius follows this line of thinking. He believes that in everyone’s natural endowment, there is an organ called xin (heart/mind) that carries with it four inborn ‘‘roots’’ (duan, also translated as ‘‘beginnings,’’ ‘‘sprouts,’’ ‘‘seeds,’’ ‘‘germ,’’ etc.) of virtue. The heart/mind of compassion is possessed by all men alike; likewise the heart/mind of shame, the heart/mind of respect, and the heart/mind of right and wrong. The heart/mind of compassion pertains to benevolence [ren], the heart/mind of shame to dutifulness, the heart/mind of respect to the observance of the rites, and the heart/mind of right and wrong to wisdom. Benevolence [ren], Appropriateness [yi], Observance of the rites [li], and wisdom [zhi] do not give me a luster from the outside, they are in me originally. (M, 6a/6) These four heart/minds or roots are not fused into us from outside, but were there from the beginning. We do not have to learn in order to get them; in fact, we have them as we have four limbs (M, 2a/6). When these roots grow and become mature, they turn into the four major Confucian virtues: benevolence, appropriateness, propriety, and wisdom.

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In putting forward this theory of innate human goodness, Mencius acknowledges that his position is the one that is already implied by Confucius. Right after the passage quoted above, Mencius says: The Book of Odes says, Heaven produces the teeming masses, and where there is a thing there is a norm. If the people held on to their constant nature, they would be drawn to superior virtue. Confucius commented, ‘‘The author of this poem must have had knowledge of the way. Thus where there is a thing there is a norm, and because the people hold onto their constant nature they are drawn to superior virtue.’’4 On the strength of this passage, human beings, in Confucius’ understanding, possess a constant nature that leads towards virtue. To prove the same point, Mencius also quotes another saying of Confucius: Confucius said, ‘‘Hold on to it and it will remain; let go of it and it will disappear. One never knows the time it comes and goes, neither does one know the direction.’’ It is perhaps to the heart/mind this refers. (M, 6a/8) Accordingly, for Confucius, there is an original constant nature for people to preserve and develop. These two passages are not seen in the Analects, but they are surely in line with the dao-de framework and A, 7:30. I am therefore led to believe that there is intrinsic continuity between Confucius’ thinking and Mencius’ ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory. Now let us turn to ask what Aristotle’s view is on the goodness or badness of human nature. At first glance, Aristotle holds all the three views that are ascribed to Confucius, Mencius, and Xunzi respectively. (1) He claims that ethical virtue does not arise out of nature spontaneously, but results from habit. ‘‘Neither by nature, then, nor contrary to nature do virtues arise in us; rather we are adapted by nature to receive them, and are made perfect by habit’’ (NE, 1103a24–25; cf. EE, 1220a39–b5). If one focuses only on this passage, Aristotle could easily be thought to hold, as Confucius is thought to hold, that human nature is neutral.5 (2) However, Aristotle also claims that human beings have some innate natural capacities for acquiring a particular virtue and natural impulses to act in accordance with the virtue, which Aristotle calls ‘‘natural virtue’’: ‘‘For each of us seems to possess his type of character to some extent by nature, since we are just, brave, prone to temperance, or have another feature, immediately from birth’’ (NE, 1144b3–6). Aristotle also claims that we have a natural sense of good and evil, of the just and unjust (Pol, 1253a16–18). This position suggests that there are good elements in human nature and sounds similar to that of Mencius. (3) Furthermore, Aristotle believes that human beings would be bad if not regulated by law and morality:

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For man, when perfected, is the best animal, but, when separated from law and justice, he is the worst of all; since armed injustice is the most dangerous, and he is equipped at birth with arms, meant to be used by intelligence and virtue, which he may use for the worst ends. That is why, if he has no virtue, he is the most unholy and the most savage of animals, and the most full of lust and gluttony. (Pol, 1253a31–37) This passage suggests that we have inborn desires that inevitably lead to evil, and this sounds similar to Xunzi’s view.6 Clearly, in a comparison between Aristotle and Confucianism, if we just pick out one or two passages, all sorts of conclusions can be drawn. Although Aristotle has these different views on the badness or goodness of human nature, his ethics does not start from any of them. Instead, his ethics is based upon human ergon: ‘‘Presumably, however, to say that happiness is the chief good seems a platitude, and a clear account of what it is is still desired. This might perhaps be given, if we could first ascertain the function of man’’ (NE, 1097a22–25). Human function turns out to be rational activity and this leads Aristotle to affirm that happiness is ‘‘activity of soul in conformity with virtue.’’ Function (ergon) is related to arete(virtue) because ‘‘the virtue of man also will be the state which makes a man good and which makes him to do his work well’’ (NE, 1106a22–23). If we recall that eudaimonia in Greek originally means ‘‘living well’’ or ‘‘doing well,’’ we can see clearly how essential it is for Aristotle to identify human function. The function argument is the basis of his theory of virtue, and his theory of happiness. Aristotle’s function argument is meant to provide a natural basis for his ethics. This inspired us to ask: why does Mencius develop his ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory? For answering this question, we need first to examine the contents of the ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory and the function argument.

Function and good nature When Mencius says that human nature is good, he does not mean that the whole of human nature is good. Although human beings originally have the four roots of virtue, Mencius never claims that these roots constitute the only or the whole content of human nature. There are many aspects of xing that human beings share with other animals and that are neither good nor bad (e.g. M, 7b/24). There are also xing of dogs and xing of oxen (M, 6a/3). Xing includes contents such as physical inclinations for eating certain types of food, listening to certain sounds, feeling aversive towards bad smells, etc. (M, 7b24; 6a/7). Furthermore, there is a natural hierarchy in value and importance among the various parts of a person. ‘‘He who nurtures the parts of smaller importance is a small man; he who nurtures the parts of greater importance is a great man’’ (M, 6a/14; cf. also 6a/15).

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Apparently, Mencius is fully aware that human nature itself is complex, including not only elements that are good, but also of elements that are either morally neutral or of little moral value. When he says that xing (human nature) is good, it cannot be the case that he is referring to human nature as a whole. He must be using the term xing in a special way. Etymologically, xing is cognate in Chinese with sheng (‘‘to be born’’). This root sense is explicitly stated by Gaozi, a character in the Mencius: ‘‘The inborn is what is meant by ‘nature’ [xing]’’ (M, 6a/3). This sense of xing corresponds well with the literal sense of ‘‘nature,’’ as the latter is cognate in Latin with nasci (‘‘to be born’’). It is in this root sense of xing that Mencius affirms there are many xings that human beings share with other animals, and that there are also xing of dogs and xing of oxen. However, when he claims that human xing is good, he refers only to one part of this complex nature, the part that is composed of the four seeds. As he states: ‘‘That which an exemplary person follows as his nature [xing], that is to say, benevolence, rightness, the rites and wisdom, is rooted in his heart’’ (M, 7a/21). Here xing is confined only to the four seeds. There are, then, two senses of xing in Mencius: The root sense The special sense

Xing means what is inborn. Xing means the human characteristic.

When Mencius says that xing is good, he means in the special sense.7 Consistent with the beginning remark of the Mean, he claims that the goodness of human nature is ordained by Heaven: ‘‘The heart/mind is what Heaven has given to us’’ (M, 6a/15). He moves forward, however, to specify the contents of this good nature, that is, the four roots. Now let us turn to Aristotle. ‘‘Function’’ is not a satisfactory translation for his term ergon, as function in modern English is heavily associated with an instrument or something that can be used as an instrument. Such a translation easily invites an objection that man is not a functional term and should not be thought to have a function.8 However, the ergon of each thing, in its original sense, means, as Plato defines it, ‘‘what it alone can do or what it does better than anything else’’ (Republic, 353a). In other words, it is the characteristic activity that a thing uniquely has or can perform. It is in this sense that Aristotle identifies human function as rational human activity (NE, 1098a2–3). To understand Aristotle’s concept of function, we have to relate it to the concepts of essence, form, and primary substance in Aristotle’s metaphysical system. For Aristotle, function is identified with a thing’s essence: ‘‘What a thing is is always determined by its function: a thing really is itself when it can perform its function’’ (Meteor, 390a10–12). What a thing is, is its essence (to ti e-n einai, Meta, 1029b24), and essence is the object of definition (logos). Yet, ‘‘Things are defined by their function and power’’ (Pol, 1253a23–24). It is Aristotle’s standard practice to use ‘‘form’’ and ‘‘essence’’

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interchangeably: ‘‘By form I mean essence’’ (Meta, 1035b34–35).9 The discussion of form is at the same time a discussion of essence. Furthermore, form or essence is identified with primary substance, that is, the ultimate reality. ‘‘By form I mean the essence of each thing and its primary substance’’ (Meta, 1032b1–2).10 Human function, then, is precisely the essence of being human, or human primary substance (primary being). In Aristotle’s view, the soul is the form of a living body,11 a principle (arche-) of living things (DA, 402a7, 403a27–28), and the primary substance (Meta, 1037a28–29). The soul, however, is not an entity by itself, but consists of a list of what he calls ‘‘the psychic powers’’ (dunameis te-s psuche-s, literally, ‘‘the powers of the soul,’’ DA, 414a29). These powers include ‘‘the nutritive, the appetitive, the sensory, the locomotive, and the power of thinking’’ (DA, 414a30–32). To speak of the soul is to speak of these powers, which different forms of living things possess. As long as a thing possesses one of them, that thing is said to have a soul or a life. These powers form a hierarchy, and a human being is distinguished from other animals because he uniquely has the rational power. This, then, is human function. Yet, is human function (ergon) a part of human nature? To answer this question, we need to check Aristotle’s use of the Greek term for ‘‘nature,’’ i.e. phusis. Etymologically, the term comes from the verb phuo-, ‘‘to grow’’ or ‘‘to beget.’’ This corresponds to the Chinese term for ‘‘nature,’’ i.e. xing, which, as mentioned earlier, is cognate with sheng, ‘‘to be born’’ or ‘‘to grow.’’ However, phusis, as with many other key terms in Aristotle’s philosophy, is ‘‘said in many ways.’’ The canonical definition of nature (phusis) is ‘‘a principle of motion and of stationariness’’ that each thing has within itself (Ph, 192b14; cf. also 192a22–23). Aristotle then claims that ‘‘two sorts of thing are called nature, the form and the matter’’ (Ph, 194a11). Form and matter are the components of a thing, yet each of them constitutes a distinct inner principle of motion and is itself a cause (formal cause or material cause, Ph, 192b21–23). Form is more of a nature than is matter. The other major sense of nature is the end towards which a thing develops. Nature as a moving principle and nature as an end are closely related, for in living things (which are paradigmatic substances), the formal cause is also the final cause (Ph, 192b13–15). The end is the final actualization of the form that exists potentially at the beginning (Ph, 193b3–12). It is the formal cause that internally directs and promotes a thing to its actualization. I shall discuss the dynamic sense of nature in the fourth section of this chapter, but focus at this point on nature as original constitution. Both form and matter are original natural components. It is based on this general meaning that Aristotle says human nature is a composite of rational and non-rational parts, a mix of good and evil elements. Now human function, i.e. rational activity is a part of human natural endowment and an inborn human feature. It is an essential property for one to be a normal member of the human species. Human function is thus a part of human nature in its

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general sense. When Aristotle speaks of human function, he focuses on a narrow or special sense of human nature.12 Aristotle’s view of human nature can thus be presented as follows: The general sense The special sense

Human nature is the original constitution of human beings. Human nature is human function, i.e. the characteristic human feature.

It should be evident that these two senses match well with the two senses of human nature (xing) in Mencius. Taken this way, a striking similarity emerges. As Aristotle grounds his theory of eudaimonia on what a human being is essentially, Mencius, through his theory of human innate goodness, bases the Confucian theory of human dao on what a human being is essentially.13 The similarity continues. It turns out that the rationale for Aristotle to single out human function is not different from that used by Mencius to distinguish his special sense of xing from complex human nature. For Mencius, the good part of human nature determines a human being qua a human being, and it distinguishes human beings from other animals. As he says: Whoever is devoid of the heart of compassion is not human, whoever is devoid of the heart of shame is not human, whoever is devoid of the heart of courtesy and modesty is not human, and whoever is devoid of the heart of right and wrong is not human. (M, 2a/6) If one completely casts away these seeds, he is not much different from the beasts (M, 6a/8). If one preserves and develops these seeds, he becomes an excellent person. Mencius further maintains that ‘‘Slight is the difference between man and the brutes. The common man loses this distinguishing feature, while the excellent man retains it’’ (M, 4b/19). To say that the difference between man and the brutes is slight indicates that the greater portion of human nature, that is, desire and appetite, is the same as the nature of other animals. It is the four roots that set us apart from them. Thus, in saying that xing is good, Mencius is referring to the part that embodies the characteristic feature of being a human, and excluding the parts that human beings share with animals. For Aristotle, to determine human function, we need to identify the fundamental feature that determines a human being qua a human being. For this purpose, we must distinguish human beings from other living things: What then can this [human function] be? Life seems to be common even to plants, but we are seeking what is peculiar to man. Let us

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exclude, therefore, the life of nutrition and growth. Next there would be a life of perception, but it also seems to be common even to the horse, the ox, and every animal. There remains, then, an active life of the element that has a rational principle. (NE, 1097a33–98a3)14 Accordingly, rational activity is human function because it is the fundamental feature that distinguishes a human being from animals. Rationality is what is peculiar (idion) to human beings (NE, 1097b23–25).15 Both Aristotle and Mencius distinguish two senses of human nature, and seek to distinguish the distinctive human feature from the human nature complex. For both, the distinctive human feature is what distinguishes human beings from animals, and the foundation of virtue is a special part of human nature.

Humanity as the foundation of ethics Let us further ask: what motivates both of them to ground ethics in humanity? It turns out that for both, this approach is developed out of a criticism of two competing approaches to ethics: (1) egoism; and (2) the consequentialist view of morality. Mencius makes this approach clear in defending Confucius’ dao (way). The major impetus for Mencius to develop his ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory is to defend Confucius’ way against serious challenges from rival philosophical schools. Mencius himself describes the situation as follows: When the world declined and the way fell into obscurity, heresies and violence again arose. . . . The words of Yang Zhu and Mozi fill the empire. The teachings current in the empire are those of either the school of Yang or the school of Mo. . . . If the ways of Yang and Mo do not subside and the way of Confucius is not proclaimed, the people will be deceived by heresies and the path of morality [ren-yi] will be blocked . . . therefore I am apprehensive. I wish to safeguard the way of the former sages against the onslaughts of Yang and Mo and to banish excessive views. (M, 3b/9) The philosopher Mozi, in his influential criticism of Confucius, contends that the way of Heaven should be detected from within men’s natural desires rather than from the ancient classics. Since it is man’s natural desire to seek benefit and avoid harm, the right way is to maximize the amount of material goods of the state and to satisfy people’s natural desires (Chan, 1963, 217–21). Mozi thus rejects the ritually grounded traditionalism that Confucius holds, and seeks to replace it with its own utilitarian position. Little is known about the philosopher Yang Zhu. In Mencius’ report, ‘‘Yang Zhu chooses egoism [wei wo, literally, ‘‘for myself’’]. Even if one

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could benefit the Empire by pulling out one hair he would not do it’’ (M, 7a/26). This appears to be an egoist approach to the way, although there has been controversy regarding precisely what Yang Zhu means. According to Graham’s interpretation, Yang Zhu is saying that our xing is the Heavenly endowed life force, so the correct way is to live out the natural span of one’s life. Since getting involved in political affairs carries with it the risk of being killed, one should stay away from governing positions, even from governing the whole empire. This interpretation is consistent with Mencius’ criticism of Yang Zhu that he neglects social obligation: ‘‘Yang Zhu advocates everyone for himself, which amounts to a denial of one’s prince’’ (M, 3b/9). Taken this way, Yang Zhu’s position is egoistic. If he cannot sacrifice a hair for public affairs, how can he do morally good things at the expense of some of his life energy? Mozi and Yang Zhu are different from each other; yet, each of them effectively puts Confucius’ way on the defensive. As mentioned in Chapter 1, the dao-de framework is shared by classical Chinese philosophers. Heaven has its way and each thing’s well-being depends on whether it exists or acts in accordance with the way of Heaven. Different philosophical schools, however, offer competing accounts of where the way is, although they all believe that their understanding of way is supported by Heaven. The challenges of Mozi and Yang Zhu are serious because each of them makes a convincing case to show that his way, rather than that of Confucius, conforms to the way of Heaven. Both Yang Zhu and Mozi insist that Confucius’ way of traditionalism twists and deforms human nature. The challenges expose a weakness of Confucius’ way in its treatment of the natural basis of ren (excellence). On the one hand, Confucius appeals to the dao-de conceptual scheme and therefore implies that we must have the root of virtue in our original nature that is from Heaven. On the other hand, Confucius maintains that ren (excellence) is to return to the ritual and cultural practices, and the way is to be found in tradition. Yet he does not specify what the natural basis of virtue is, and there is no argument in the Analects to show how ren (excellence), which has a natural basis in human nature, is intrinsically related to social rites. These gaps are filled in by Mencius. His strategy seems to be as follows. The crucial threat that Mozi and Yang Zhu pose is in their claims that Heaven’s way is on their side, whereas the Confucian way is against human nature. If Mencius could prove that genuine human nature is something other than seeking profits or preserving one’s life, both Mozi’s and Yang Zhu’s positions lose ground. If Mencius could further prove that our genuine human nature is something whose maturity leads to Confucian virtues, he would demonstrate that Confucius’ vision is in accordance with Heaven’s way. Accordingly, to fight off Mozi and Yang Zhu, Mencius develops an alternative theory of xing in order to demonstrate what a human genuinely is and to show that the Confucian value is inherent in human nature. He defends the Confucian way by significantly enriching and developing the way itself.

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In opposition to Yang Zhu, Mencius claims that xing is not the life force, and living out one’s natural period of life is not where the true way is. ‘‘Life is what I want; appropriateness [yi] is also what I want. If I cannot have both, I would rather take appropriateness than life’’ (M, 6a/10). For human beings, there are things more important than life itself. It seems to me that this memorable remark is directed at Yang Zhu. Mencius then claims that there are four roots in the genuine xing, and the root of obedience to the rites (propriety) is one of them. In this way, Mencius undermines the Mohist contrast between human nature and tradition. For if obedience to the rites (propriety) is one inborn seed, following Confucius’ way means to follow one’s genuine nature. Furthermore, if there is a distinctive feature of being a human that we must develop, the material consequence becomes something external insofar as human way is concerned. The book Mencius opens with the following passage: Mencius went to see King Hui of Liang. ‘‘Sir,’’ said the King, ‘‘You have come all this distance, thinking nothing of a thousand miles. You must surely have some way of profiting my state?’’ ‘‘Your Majesty,’’ answered Mencius, ‘‘What is the point of mentioning the word ‘profit’? All that matters is that there should be ren-yi.’’ (M, 1a/1) The use of the word ‘‘profit’’ suggests that Mohism is the real target here. Human goodness is based on humanity, and is not determined by consequential benefits.16 Briefly put, it is to fight off the challenges of Mozi’s utilitarianism and Yang Zhu’s egoism that motivates Mencius to develop his humanity-based approach to ethics. For Mencius, to determine human excellence (ren), i.e. what makes an excellent person, we need to appeal to what is distinctive about human beings or what sets human beings apart from animals. The four roots determine what a human being genuinely is, and an excellent person (junzi) is the full actualization of these seeds. ‘‘An excellent person differs from other men in that he retains his heart’’ (M, 4b/28; cf. 7a/1). Since Mencius thinks he is defending Confucius’ way, he must be thinking that the ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory is needed for the Confucian way. This is why I claim that, judging by its role, the ‘‘xing-is-good’’ theory serves Confucian ethics in the same way the function argument serves Aristotle’s ethics. Now let us turn to why Aristotle grounds his theory of eudaimonia in what is distinctively human. When he introduces the function argument in NE, 1.7, it is as a working guide – ‘‘This [an account of eudaimonia] might perhaps be given, if we could first ascertain the function of man’’ (NE, 1097a22–25). There is no explanation why this is the way to proceed. To understand why Aristotle introduces the function argument without offering a reason for taking this approach, we need to trace his relation to Plato, who is indeed the first author of the function argument. Aristotle

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follows in the footsteps of Plato here. It is very likely that Aristotle must have assumed his audience to be already familiar with Plato’s version of the function argument and its motivation, so he does not feel the need to repeat it. Let us then examine how and why Plato introduces the function argument in Republic I, 352d–354b. It proceeds as follows. Each thing, including the soul, has a function. A thing’s virtue or excellence is related to its function and consists in carrying out its function well: ‘‘Anything that has a function performs it well by means of its own peculiar virtue and badly by means of its vice’’ (Republic, 353c). Like a horse or a knife, the soul has its own function and its own virtue. The most general function of the soul is ‘‘living,’’ which is actually a sense of the Greek word for ‘‘soul’’ (psuche-). Plato goes on to affirm that ‘‘justice is a soul’s virtue, and injustice its vice’’ (Republic, 353e), and then concludes that ‘‘a just soul and a just man will live well, and an unjust one badly’’ (Republic, 353e). Since ‘‘to live well’’ is what eudaimonia is, ‘‘a just person is happy’’ (eudaimon, Republic, 354a4).17 The direct target of Plato’s function argument is Thrasymachus, a Sophist who takes it to be foolish and irrational for human beings to be just or moral, since justice is ‘‘another’s good’’ (allotrion agathon, Republic, 343c). Human beings are selfish, and if one is rational and intelligent, one should look after one’s own interest. The function argument is introduced after Socrates claims at 352d–e that ‘‘it is no ordinary matter that we are discussing, but the right conduct of life.’’ This means that Plato, in answering Thrasymachus’ question about why it is rational to do a just act, turns his concern to the whole life of the agent. The function argument connects the issue of justice with a person’s function, virtue, and eudaimonia, and thus shows a shift of focus from a just act to a just person. In the language of contemporary ethics, Plato is an agent-centered rather than act-centered ethical theorist. The position of Thrasymachus in Republic I is re-interpreted by Glaucon at the beginning of Republic II. Glaucon himself says: ‘‘I’ll renew the argument of Thrasymachus’’ (Republic, 358b). He asserts that for most people, morality or justice is a good not for its own sake (auto hauto heneka), but only for its good consequences, and he introduces the story of Gyges’ ring to illustrate that most people would commit unjust actions if they could avoid punishment (Republic, 359b6–360d7). According to Glaucon’s own account, he himself does not really subscribe to this view which is held by the majority, but he is perplexed as to how to prove that it is wrong. So he challenges Plato’s Socrates to justify that morality is good in itself, independent of its consequences: ‘‘I want to hear it praised by itself’’ (Republic, 258d). Thrasymachus’ position is egoistic, and the view stated by Glaucon is a version of consequentialism. What is held in common between the position of Thrasymachus and the one stated by Glaucon is that justice is not good in itself. For Thrasymachus, this means that we have no reason to be moral; for Glaucon, we are moral because we are forced to be and because we

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cannot afford the bad consequences of being immoral. Since Plato’s theory of justice developed in the Republic is an answer to both Thrasymachus’ view and Glaucon’s challenge, and because his theory of justice is based on the function argument, I submit that, by appeal to human function, Plato intends to fight off two types of moral theories: egoism and a version of moral consequentialism. Given the above discussion, the driving force behind the function argument (when Plato first develops it) and that behind Mencius’ ‘‘xing-is-good’’ doctrine are strikingly similar. Yang Zhu’s egoism or individualism is of course different in many ways from Thrasymachus’ egoism, but in essence there is a common belief that, if morality benefits others rather than promoting my health and life, there is no reason to do it. In other words, Yang Zhu’s teaching implies that there is a tension between following one’s endowed nature (xing) and being moral. This is a version of the tension between self-interest and morality that lies at the core of Thrasymachus’s question. Similarly, Mozi’s utilitarianism is of course different from the position stated by Glaucon, yet they share a common point that morality is meaningful because of its consequences. Plato’s approach, in turn, is inspired by Socrates. In Socrates’ view, the goal of philosophical activity is to take care of one’s soul. Why, then, should we care for our soul? It is not for the sake of immortality, since Socrates is agnostic as to whether there is a life after death (Apology, 40c–41d, 42a). Rather, this is where happiness lies. The best possible soul is what is constitutive of our happiness. Yet, if we further ask how a good soul can make one happy, Socrates does not have an effective answer other than insisting that the soul is the most precious of our possessions (Apology, 29d–30a; Crito, 47e–48a). Plato improves this position by saying that the soul is human function. Thus, Plato takes a cue from Socrates, and paves the road for Aristotle. The NE and the Republic have the same subject matter. At first glance, these two classics appear to be different because the Republic is concerned with justice, whereas the NE concerns itself with eudaimonia. However, for Plato, justice and eudaimonia are not separate issues. As the end of Republic I indicates, what justice is and whether its possessor is eudaimon are inseparable questions. Plato investigates justice in order to find out how one should live (Republic, 352d–e). Similarly, as the beginning of the NE shows, the concept of eudaimonia itself answers the question of what the ultimate human good or end is. Hence, it is by no means a coincidence that the NE, just like the Republic, starts with the function argument. When Aristotle introduces the function argument in his lectures on ethics, he must think that Plato’s approach is on the right track. Here we see a tradition carried from Socrates, to Plato, to Aristotle: to discuss virtue and eudaimonia, we need to determine what a human being essentially is. Aristotle, however, makes significant modifications in his version of the function argument. Specifically, I think the following aspects are the most

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important. First, whereas Plato stresses the soul as living (Republic, 353d9), Aristotle starts from ‘‘life’’ and distinguishes rational activity as the human function that sets the lives of human beings apart from other types of lives.18 Second, Aristotle’s notion of rationality includes both the part of the soul that has reason in itself, and the part of the soul that is irrational but listens to reason. This latter part enables him to develop a theory of moral virtues or excellence of character. Third, within the part of soul that has reason in itself, Aristotle clearly draws the distinction between practical rationality and theoretical rationality, and then relates practical rationality to moral virtues. He thus develops a theory of practical wisdom. Finally, Plato focuses on virtue as a state. His definition of justice is the harmony of various parts of the soul in which reason is in the ruling position and the other two parts obey its command (Republic, 442c6–8); such a just soul is analogous to a healthy body. In contrast, Aristotle emphasizes the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue, and he relates function to activity, and to his theory of potentiality and actuality. He develops a theory of virtue that turns out to be more systematic and more influential than either Socrates’ or Plato’s. Just as some commentators in the scholarship of Chinese philosophy think that Mencius’ view of human goodness is naı¨ve, in Aristotelian scholarship there has been a challenge as to how rationality as the distinctive human feature can be related to human good. For the critics, rationality is morally ambivalent, because a power or an ability can be used either for good or for evil. As Bernard Williams puts it, ‘‘If it is a mark of a man to employ intelligence and tools in modifying his environment, it is equally a mark of him to employ intelligence in getting his own way and tools in destroying others’’ (Williams, 1971, 73–74). It is certainly true that to be a rational person is not the same thing as to be a good person, for a vicious person can use rational ability effectively to achieve an evil goal. A person who uses rational ability well is a clever person, but not necessarily a good person. This challenge, however, is too hasty. Aristotle values reason highly. In his view, reason is ‘‘what each person is, and the decent person likes this most of all’’ (NE, 1169a2), and theoretical reason is ‘‘either divine or the most divine element in us’’ (NE, 1177a16). A good life for human beings must involve the exercise and manifestation of this characteristically human feature. If one’s life is dominated by appetite, it ‘‘appears completely slavish’’ and ‘‘is a life for grazing animals’’ (NE, 1095b19–20). This is why he refuses to call natural slaves eudaimon, because they lack the capacity for deliberation.19 Nevertheless, the possession of rationality is not yet a moral good in itself. Aristotle never says that reason is automatically a moral good. His concern is not confined to moral goodness, but includes how a person can lead the best life. As the conclusion of the function argument shows, human good and rationality are related in such a way that the former is ‘‘activity of soul in conformity with virtue’’ (NE, 1098a16–17). Human good is not just

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the employment of intelligence, but the employment of intelligence in conformity with the virtues. It is virtuous rational activity that defines human good. ‘‘The good man is so called from virtue, since it is because he has virtue that he is called good’’ (Cat, 8, 10b7–9).

Justifying humanity I have shown that both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics ground themselves in humanity. Let us further ask: how do they justify their respective notions of humanity? Interestingly, an examination of this issue reveals a counter-example to the general impression that Aristotle’s ethics is well argued, whereas Confucian ethics is not. It turns out that while Mencius at least attempts to explain why there is an original good nature in us, Aristotle does not really argue for the thesis that rationality is what is essentially human. The function argument, as presented in NE, i.7, is sketchy and hardly satisfactory. The general structure of the argument, in summary, is as follows: A The good of a thing depends on its function, meaning that a good x = an x that performs its function well. B To perform a function well means that the function is performed expressing the proper virtue. C If a human being has a function, a good human being performs this function well. D Human beings have a function, that is, the soul’s rational activity. E Conclusion: Human good ‘‘turns out to be the soul’s activity that expresses virtue.’’ (NE, 1098a16) Aristotle’s reasoning for premise C is an analogy, presented in a rhetorical tone: Have the carpenter, then, and the tanner certain functions or activities, and has man none? Is he naturally functionless? Or as eye, hand, foot, and in general each of the parts evidently has a function, may one lay it down that man similarly has a function apart from all these? (NE, 1097b29–33) This is not sufficient to establish his position. From the fact that various parts of the human body and various craftsmen have functions, it does not follow that a human being has a function as well. His reasoning for premise D is as follows. Human function must be a certain kind of life. The major types of life include: the life of nutrition, the life of sense-perception, and the rational life. Human function is something that is special to a human being. The life of nutrition is not peculiar to us, because it is shared even by plants. The life of sense perception is not

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peculiar to us, since it is shared by animals. Hence, human function must be rational activity. Here he argues by exclusion, but there is no positive reasoning as to why rationality is unique to human beings. It turns out that, although the function argument is crucial for Aristotle’s theory, his presentation is not persuasive. That rational activity is the human function is a poorly justified assertion.20 One might think that since Aristotle’s function argument originates with Plato, Plato has probably explained why rationality is human function. Yet Plato’s function argument at Republic, 352d–354b, as shown in the previous section, is also sketchy. Plato relies heavily on the conventional meanings of the key terms psuche-, arete-, and eudaimonia, without explicating them. It appears that, like Aristotle, he also takes the issue as something obvious. In contrast, Mencius takes great pains to explain the existence of innate human goodness. Mencius’ reasoning in this regard has been scrutinized repeatedly and has evoked different evaluations. Nevertheless, compared with Aristotle who does not make an attempt to justify rationality as our unique feature, Mencius’ effort to argue should be appreciated. A brief exposition of the major points of Mencius’ justification will be useful, especially for those readers who are less familiar with Chinese philosophy. Mencius’ arguments that xing is good are directed at three alternative views of human nature. They are: 1 Human nature is neither good nor bad. 2 Human nature can become good or it can become bad. 3 Some are good by nature, and some are bad. The proponents of the second and third views are anonymous, but the first view is ascribed to a figure named Gaozi, although we know little about him beyond what is reported in the book of Mencius. Kungduzi, a disciple of Mencius, after listing these three competing views,21 asks Mencius: ‘‘Now you say human nature is good. Does this mean that all the others are mistaken?’’ (M, 6a6) For Mencius, the answer is yes, and most of his arguments are meant to show why these three views are wrong. In addition to the refutation of these views, Mencius also provides positive proofs that human nature has innate goodness. These arguments are intended to prove that our genuine nature is something other than seeking profits or preserving one’s life, and thus they should undermine the foundations of the competing philosophical schools of Mohism and Yangism. More importantly, these arguments are designed to show that our genuine human nature is something the maturity of which leads to Confucian virtues. In this way, Mencius demonstrates that Confucius’ vision is in accordance with Heaven’s dao. The first competing view, held by Gaozi, is that human nature is morally neutral. Gaozi seeks to illustrate his thesis by means of some analogical models. The first is that human nature is like the Chi willow. The nature of the willow is violated when we chop and carve the wood into cups and

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bowls; by analogy, Gaozi claims, the nature of a human being is also violated if we make a man into a moral person. By using this model he has already implicitly acknowledged that the willow has its own nature (xing), and it is just that cups and bowls are not the fulfillment of this nature. Analogically, human nature has a natural direction of growth, yet morality is not something that conforms to this natural direction. The problem with this model is that, whereas it is clearly doing violence to the nature of the tree to change it into cups and bowls (given that the fulfillment of the nature of a tree should be the flourishing of the tree itself), we do not know yet whether morality is a distortion of human nature. Rather, this is precisely the point in question. Gaozi’s comparison of morality with cups and bowls is thus a non sequitur. Mencius quickly catches this point and replies to Gaozi: ‘‘If you have to mutilate the willow to make it into cups and bowls, must you, then, also mutilate a man to make him moral?’’ (M, 6a/1) We have no report that Gaozi provides any answer to this rebuttal. The second model that Gaozi introduces is that human nature is like whirling water. It will flow east if there is an outlet in the east, and will flow west if there is an outlet in the west. Analogically, human nature does not have any internal natural tendency. Mencius answers this challenge by switching to a different feature of water. Water by nature flows down, and it is against its nature to make it flow upward. Taken this way, the water-human nature analogy leads to a different result: ‘‘Human nature is good just as water seeks low ground. There is no man who is not good; there is no water that does not flow downwards’’ (M, 6a/2). On the strength of this, human nature is not directionless, but moves toward goodness, if it is not forced to divert. These two exchanges have not demonstrated that Gaozi’s thesis is wrong, and neither do they prove that Mencius’ own thesis is right. Yet they show that Gaozi’s models are inappropriate and fail to undermine Mencius’ view. The third exchange is about the definition of human nature. Gaozi mentions the original sense that xing is sheng (‘‘to be born,’’ M, 6a/3), with the implication that since we are born with qualities of different kinds, there is no reason to say that human nature is good (apparently, it is also based on this original sense that Gaozi maintains at M, 6a/4 that appetites for food and sex are parts of human nature). Mencius counters this challenge by pointing out that if xing means only what is inborn, the xing of an ox or of a dog, which is also inborn, would be the same as the xing of a man. Here, Mencius is not saying that Gaozi’s conception is wrong, and actually he himself acknowledges that most of our xing (desires and appetites) are held in common with animals. The point is that the xing that he argues for as good is not construed in this formal or biological sense as ‘‘what is born,’’ but rather in a special way: ‘‘As far as what is genuinely in him (qing) is concerned, a man is capable of becoming good.’’22 The second competing view is that human nature can become either good or bad. Mencius’ answer can be found again in the passage at M, 6a/6. In the root sense of xing, human nature can become either good or bad. Yet in

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the special sense of xing (i.e. what is genuinely human), it is directed only to goodness. If a person becomes bad, it must be because of his failure to preserve and develop what is genuinely human. As Mencius stresses at the end of M, 6a/6: ‘‘There are cases where one man is twice, five times or countless times better than another man, but this is only because there are people who fail to make the best of their native endowment.’’ The third competing view relies on natural inequality to maintain that the xing of some is good, whereas that of others is not good. Mencius rejects this view by insisting that, so far as the special sense of xing (i.e. humanity) is concerned, everyone is the same and we are all equal. He even declares: ‘‘The sage and I are of the same kind’’ (M, 6a/7). Mencius leaves the possibility of cultivation open for everyone. It is, of course, undeniable that in daily life some people are good, whereas others are bad. Yet for Mencius, this is not because human beings are naturally unequal in humanity. Some people are bad because they ‘‘fail to make the best of their native endowment’’ (M, 6a/6). In addition to the agent’s own failure, historical and social environments are also responsible in significant ways for people who do not develop appropriately. At 6a/7, he uses the growth of grain as an example to illustrate this point. The fertility of the soil, the nourishment of the rain and the dew, and the investment of human effort all affect the growth of the plants. He drives this point home in his famous Ox Mountain allegory: There was a time when the trees were luxuriant on the Ox mountain, but as it is on the outskirts of a great metropolis, the trees are constantly lopped by axes. Is it any wonder that they are no longer fine? With the respite they get in the day and in the night, and the moistening by the rain and dew, there is certainly no lack of new shoots coming out, but then the cattle and sheep come to graze upon the mountain. That is why it is as bald as it is. People, seeing only its baldness, tend to think that it never had any trees. But can this possibly be the nature of a mountain? (6a/8) Equally, if someone becomes bad, one major reason is that the environment deprives him of original good nature. When a person is seen to be as bad as an animal, people tend to think that he does not have any innate goodness. Mencius disagrees: ‘‘Can that be what a man is genuinely like? Hence, given the right nourishment there is nothing that will not grow, while deprived of it, there is nothing that will not wither away’’ (M, 6a/8). In addition to the above disputations with competing views, Mencius offers positive proofs for the existence of innate human goodness. He infers from the preferences that our senses share to the sameness that our hearts possess (M, 6a/7). He also seeks to identify spontaneous natural inclinations in humans, which are not socially conditioned but are morally meaningful,

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and then takes these inclinations as real manifestations of good human nature.23 As he says, ‘‘What a man is able to do without having to learn it is what he can truly do’’ (M, 7a/15). It is important to recall that his four roots are not learned or acquired. Rather, ‘‘they are not welded into me from the outside. I had them from the beginning’’ (M, 6a/6). The love all young children show towards their parents is also mentioned as another natural inclination (M, 7a/15). The most compelling justification, however, is the famous Well and Child story that is designed to show how a man reacts instantaneously at the sight of a child about to fall into a well: No man is devoid of a heart sensitive to the suffering of others. . . . My reason for saying that no man is devoid of a heart sensitive to the suffering of others is this. Suppose a man were, all of a sudden, to see a young child on the verge of falling into a well. He would certainly be moved to compassion, not because he wanted to get in the good graces of the parents, nor because he wished to win the praise of his fellow villagers or friends, nor yet because he disliked the cry of the child. (M, 2a/6) The list of possible motives that the person might have in saving the child includes the praise or possible rewards from the child’s parents and the agent’s fellow men. These are the consequences that an action can bring about, and we have reason to believe that Mencius has Mohism’s utilitarianism in mind in writing this passage. In this hypothetical case, the man’s reaction of saving the child is without any calculating consideration of consequences or self-interest. It is instantaneous and spontaneous, and hence, for Mencius, it must be a true aspect of man’s nature. Different commentators have different evaluations of the value of Mencius’ arguments. Some think they are superficial and pointless,24 whereas others contend that they are effective if properly understood.25 I concur with the latter view. In his exchanges with Gaozi, Mencius successfully disarms his opponent. He also distinguishes between two notions of human nature (xing). His Well and Child case and his allegory of Ox Mountain are as powerful in conveying their messages as Plato’s allegory of the Cave. If the allegory of the Cave is a good piece of philosophical work, as we might all agree, Mencius should be given the same credit. Indeed, we would read Mencius’ justification with more appreciation if we take into account that a justification of rationality as the distinctive human feature is also lacking in Plato and Aristotle.

Actualization of humanity Both Confucian and Aristotelian ethics appeal to the distinctive human feature or humanity. Furthermore, they commonly emphasize the development of

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it. This dynamic aspect is implied intrinsically in their respective notions of humanity: Mencius’ xing and Aristotle’s ergon. In the discussion of various senses of xing and of phusis in the second section of this chapter, I left the dynamic aspect aside for the clarity of presentation. Now it is time to turn our attention to this aspect. The root sense of xing (nature) is sheng (‘‘to be born,’’ also meaning ‘‘living’’ or ‘‘growing’’). According to Graham, the term xing came to be used in the fourth century BCE to refer to a thing’s proper course of development or tendency, and thus obtained a dynamic connotation: ‘‘The xing of a living thing was commonly understood to be the way in which it develops and declines from birth to death when not injured and adequately nourished’’ (Graham, 1990, 27–28). In this sense, xing (nature) determines how a thing becomes or develops if nothing external interferes and if adequate external conditions are provided. In Graham’s view, it is Yang Zhu, one of the major opponents of Mencius, who first introduces this dynamic sense of xing into philosophy when he claims that xing as what is inborn is the Heavenly endowed capacity of life force. Mencius also endorses a dynamic sense of xing. Unlike Yang Zhu, however, Mencius emphasizes that it is his narrow sense of xing (i.e. four roots) that must grow. For Mencius, to say that we have an inborn good nature does not mean that every man is born as a sage or even as a virtuous person. He talks about the four innate dispositions as duans (roots), like the seeds of plants. The choice of this term itself has already suggested that these innate dispositions tend towards future development and maturation. The same message is conveyed when he refers to them as ‘‘child’s heart/ mind’’ (M, 4b/12).26 The four seeds must be developed in order for one to become a good person, and a virtuous person is one who has already fully developed this inborn nature. If a man is able to develop all these four beginnings that he possesses, it will be like a fire starting up or a spring coming through. When these are fully developed, he can take under his protection the whole realm within the Four Seas, but if he fails to develop them, he will not be able even to serve his parents. (M, 2a/6) There has been controversy about what the notion of good (shan) means in Mencius. First, does he mean that xing is originally good, or that it is directed towards goodness? Second, is ‘‘good’’ a formal term, referring to whatever conforms to the direction of xing, or does it have substantial moral content?27 I believe that these issues can only be addressed if we take into account the dynamic dimension of Mencius’ theory of xing. Recall the following passage: ‘‘As far as what is genuinely in him is concerned, a man is capable of becoming good. That is what I mean by good’’ (M, 6a/6). On the strength of this, xing is good mainly because it is a natural basis for goodness.

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The four roots as part of our nature provide the potential for us to become good. As inborn tendencies, they distinguish a human being from animals, but it is their full development that makes one a genuine person. They must be mature for a person to be good. When Mencius is asked about what is ‘‘good’’ and what is ‘‘true,’’ he provides the following answer: The desirable is called ‘‘good’’; to have it in oneself is called ‘‘true’’; to possess it fully in oneself is called ‘‘beautiful’’; but to shine forth with this full possession is called ‘‘great’’; to be great and be transformed by this greatness is called ‘‘sage’’; to be sage and to transcend the understanding is called ‘‘divine.’’ (M, 7b/25) Since the four roots comprise the distinctive human feature, I take this passage to be referring to the possession, preservation, and manifestation of this distinctive feature. The good starts from the possession of these seeds and is completed when they are fully actualized. Accordingly, ‘‘good’’ is both a formal term and a term with substantial content. Formally, it is the possession and actualization of humanity, and in its substantial content, the actualization of humanity lies in the manifestation of Confucian values. This is perfectly consistent with the idea that de which is imparted from Heaven increases or withers, depending on whether it is cultivated. Correspondingly, Aristotle’s concept of function (ergon) also has a dynamic aspect. We have shown that function is essence and form, yet it is also the end. ‘‘Everything which has a function exists for its function’’ (DC, 286a8). ‘‘The work [ergon] of anything is its end’’ (EE, 1219a8). This is not surprising, since according to Aristotle’s theory of nature, the formal cause is also the final cause. The term ergon is etymologically related to actuality (energeia): ‘‘The word ‘actuality’ is derived from ergon, and points to the actualization [entelechia]’’ (Meta, 1050a21). When Aristotle uses this term to describe humanity, he is thus seeking that which leads to its fulfillment and actualization. We pointed out earlier that human function (ergon) is a part of human nature. In its original sense, something’s nature (phusis) is its original constitution or state; yet the standard definition of nature is the internal principle of motion of a thing.28 Nature as a principle of motion or of rest is in the genus of potentiality (Meta, 1049b8–9). As function is peculiar to the things of which it is the function, the end is also identified with ‘‘what is peculiar to a species’’: ‘‘For the end is developed last, and the peculiar character [to idion] of the species is the end of the generation in each individual’’ (GA, I.3, 736b3–4). The end or actualized state is always good: ‘‘for the end is best, as being the end: for we assumed the best, the final stage, to be the end for the sake of which all else exists’’ (EE, 1219a10–11). Aristotle always associates the final cause with the good

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of the organism.29 The function argument links Aristotle’s ethics to his teleology, and to the theory of potentiality and actuality. MacIntyre has an influential contention that, before the twelfth century, the basic structure of the moral scheme ‘‘is that which Aristotle analyzed in the Nicomachean Ethics. Within that teleological scheme there is a fundamental contrast between man-as-he-happens-to-be and man-as-he-could-beif-he-realized-his-essential-nature’’ (MacIntyre, 1984, 52). For Macintyre, Aristotle is able to distinguish between the way we actually are and the way we should be by appealing to a telos. In contrast, the Enlightenment philosophers reject Aristotle’s teleology and deny that we have any identifiable purpose independent of our rational choice and will. They insist on the unwarranted bifurcation of ‘‘ought’’ from ‘‘is’’ and seek the autonomy of morals. If the contrast between Aristotle and modern ethics stands, then it is also a contrast between Confucian ethics and modern Western morality. The overall scheme of Confucian ethics, as explicitly brought forth by Mencius, appears to be similar to that of Aristotle. Aristotle’s ethics starts from human function, i.e. what a man essentially is, and then points to the actualization of this human characteristic. Mencius also starts from the characteristics of being a human and seeks to reveal what a person could be if he fully develops his humanity. For both Mencius and Aristotle, then, we are not born good, but are born with a natural basis for goodness. Both start from what is distinctively human, and set out to describe the life that fully develops the human characteristic. Both ethics are about the development and fulfillment of our original and distinctively human feature. As we proceed to compare their views on virtue, we will see in detail how this humanity is developed and fulfilled on each side.

From humanity to virtue Aristotle’s function argument concludes with the view that happiness is the activity of the rational soul in accordance with or expressing virtue or excellence. He then says: ‘‘Since happiness is activity of soul in accordance with complete virtue, we must consider the nature of virtue; for perhaps we shall thus see better the nature of happiness’’ (NE, 1102a5–7). Virtue, therefore, becomes the central topic, and his eudaimonism becomes a virtueoriented ethics. On the Confucian side, the discussion of humanity and the discussion of virtue is one and the same. According to Mencius, when our inborn roots grow and become mature, they turn into the four major Confucian virtues. Apparently, although both ethics concentrate on virtue, they have different views about the function of virtue. For Aristotle, virtues are those qualities that help a person to perform his or her function well (NE, 1106a22–23). For Confucius and Mencius, virtue is the blossom of what is good in our original nature.

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Confucian ethics and Aristotelian ethics also differ with regard to the classification of virtue. This is rooted in the different contents of their respective conceptions of humanity. We have shown a series of formal similarities and differences that exist between these two ethics in treating humanity as the natural basis of ethics. Yet on the Confucian side, what constitutes the distinctive human feature is the innate goodness of human nature, and on Aristotle’s side, it is human rational activity. How different are these conceptions? Some commentators believe that Aristotle’s conception of human function as rationality is too narrow. Sarah Broadie comments, Besides being rational, we are spiritual beings, responsive to beauty, imaginatively creative, capable of humour, pride and compassion, and of who knows what else that must be ethically relevant, as well as being uniquely ours so far as we know. Some of these sides of human nature are largely unexplored in Aristotle’s philosophy.30 I do not think this accusation is fair. It is true that Aristotle underscores human beings as rational animals, and it is also true that there is no mention in the function argument of the role of emotion and his other influential view that ‘‘Man is by nature a political [social] animal.’’ We must note, however, that his notion of rationality is conceived broadly. In NE, i.7, it is said to be activity of the soul ‘‘in accordance with, or not without, rational principle’’ (1098a8). What this means becomes clear in i.13 where he divides the soul into a part that has reason in itself and a part that is non-rational (NE, 1102a26–27). The non-rational part is further divided into the vegetative part and that part which is irrational but ‘‘in a sense shares in [metechousa] a rational principle’’ (NE, 1102b13). Aristotle does not think that the vegetative part has any ethical sense, but he stresses that ethics must take into account the part which is not rational by itself but which participates in the rational part and inquires about its virtue. He describes this part as ‘‘the appetitive and in general the desiring element’’ (NE, 1102b30). It ‘‘listens to and obeys’’ reason, and does so in ‘‘the sense in which we speak of paying heed to one’s father or one’s friends.’’ Furthermore, ‘‘that the irrational element is in some sense persuaded by reason is indicated also by the giving of advice and by all reproof and exhortation’’ (NE, 1102b34– 1103a1). The desiring element cannot initiate cogitation by itself, yet it can respond to and receive advice and orders. On this ground, Aristotle claims that this part should also be said to ‘‘have reason’’ (logon echein, NE, 1103a2), and is one aspect of human function (ergon). Thus, when Aristotle describes human function as ‘‘an activity of soul in accordance with reason [kata logon], or not without reason [me aneu logou]’’ (NE, 1098a8), he has implicitly included this part which is not rational in itself but obeys reason. Aristotle’s notion of rationality is not limited to reason, but involves the relationship between reason and the emotions/desires. Indeed, the inclusion

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of emotion in his ethics is one major feature that makes Aristotle fare much better than Socrates. At first glance, Mencius appears to ignore the rational nature of human beings. It is mistaken to think so, however. Mencius maintains that the human heart has a function to think and to set up priorities. ‘‘The organ of the heart/mind can think. . . . This is what Heaven has given me’’ (M, 6a/15). A human being has various parts with different values. To be a great person, one must be guided by the part of great importance. The heart/mind is the part of great importance and its function is to think and give direction to the rest of the self. In contrast, the sensory organs of hearing and sight, which are easily misled by external things, are parts of small importance. If one follows the guidance provided by the heart/mind, and does not allow it to be displaced by the influence of organs of smaller importance, one will be on the right path to becoming great. What constitutes the heart/ mind is precisely the four roots, as Mencius calls them respectively ‘‘The heart/mind of compassion,’’ ‘‘the heart/mind of shame,’’ ‘‘the heart/mind of respect,’’ and ‘‘the heart/mind of right and wrong.’’ Each root is both emotional and cognitive (I will discuss this further in Chapter 5). Thus, Mencius’ theory of human goodness contains human rational ability. The significant difference between these two notions of humanity, then, is not one between rationality and emotion. Rather, it lies in rationality itself. Aristotle further divides the part of the soul that has reason in itself into two parts: theoretical or scientific reason, and practical or evaluative reason (NE, 1139a5–17). Theoretical reason is about the eternal and necessary things and is not related to emotion and desire, while practical reason is about things that happen for the most part, including ethical matters. In contrast, there is no counterpart to theoretical reason in the Confucian conception of humanity. As will be shown in detail as we move on, the intellectual aspect of Confucian virtue, yi (appropriateness), corresponds mainly to practical rationality. Both Confucius and Mencius focus on a person’s social tendencies and show little interest in reason’s function in pursuing universal and necessary knowledge. Human virtues are of both the soul and the body. For Aristotle, it is the virtue of the soul that matters in his ethics. ‘‘By human virtue we mean not that of the body but that of the soul’’ (NE, 1102a16). Whether a person is good is determined not in terms of health, beauty, or strength of body, but in terms of the qualities of his soul. Now, the human rational soul has been shown to have different parts, and each part has its distinct virtue. The excellent state of the part of the soul that is non-rational but shares in the rational principle is ethical or moral virtue (e-thike- arete-), while the excellent state of the part of the soul that has reason in itself is intellectual virtue (dianoe-tike- arete-). Since there are also two subdivisions of the rational soul, there are two kinds of intellectual virtues: theoretical wisdom, and practical wisdom (phronesis). There seem to be three parts that are ethically relevant, and there are three general types of virtue in Aristotle. However, of these three types of

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virtue, ethical virtue and practical wisdom are interwoven and inseparable. At first appearance, books ii–v of the NE deal with moral virtue, and book vi deals with two kinds of intellectual virtues. This way of dividing up the subject matter is misleading, however. The inquiry concerning practical wisdom, although formally started in NE, vi, has already started in books ii–v. Aristotle’s definition of virtue in book ii is: ‘‘Virtue, then, is a state concerned with choice, lying in a mean relative to us, this being determined by reason and in the way in which the man of practical wisdom would determine it’’ (NE, 1107a1–4). Virtue defined here is a fusion of ethical virtue and practical wisdom.31 On the one hand, a complete ethical virtue ‘‘cannot be acquired without practical wisdom’’ (NE, 1145a16); and, on the other hand, ‘‘practical wisdom, the eye of the soul, cannot reach its fully developed state without virtue’’ (NE, 1144a30–31). This shows that the exercise of practical rationality is intrinsic to moral disposition. A full ethical virtue is a composite product of practical reasoning and desire/emotion and a dispositional unity of these two different parts of the soul. For convenience, I shall refer to this full virtue, which is a fusion of ethical virtue and practical wisdom, as ‘‘practical virtue.’’ Accordingly, NE is concerned with the following two types of virtue: 1 practical virtue (a fusion of (a) habit-based ethical virtue and (b) practical wisdom); 2 theoretical virtue. In contrast, Confucius and Mencius do not have a theory of the division of the soul, and they lack a notion of theoretical reason. Consequently, there is no distinction between practical virtue and theoretical virtue. Confucius, as discussed earlier, distinguishes between ren as a general virtue and ren as a particular virtue in the Analects. As a particular virtue, ren is contrasted with knowledge, wisdom, courage, or propriety, and it emphasizes affection for others (hence, ‘‘benevolence’’ is an appropriate translation). In its general sense, ren refers to an all-encompassing virtue that includes all other moral characters. However, Confucius does not classify ren as a general virtue into different types. To sum up, while virtue in Aristotelian ethics has two general types, practical virtue and theoretical virtue, Confucian ethics has just one general virtue of ren (human excellence). Ren involves the partnership of reason and emotion, and corresponds mainly to Aristotelian practical virtue. However, it is not just a practical virtue. Whereas practical virtue and theoretical virtue in Aristotle have different contents and involve different processes of cultivation, the cultivation of ren is a single but ever-deepening process. At its final stage, it is the unity with Heaven, a stage that has formal similarities with Aristotle’s contemplation (the exercise of theoretical virtue). In Aristotle’s exposition of his ethics, he focuses first on practical virtue, and puts off contemplation, the pinnacle of theoretical virtue. ‘‘The contemplative

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life,’’ he said, ‘‘we shall consider later’’ (NE, 1096a5). Following him, let us also concentrate on ren as practical virtue, and compare it with Aristotle’s notion of practical virtue. The aspect of ren that is comparable to Aristotle’s contemplation will come later. It is in the unfolding of their theories of virtue that we see how humanity is developed and fulfilled in each ethics.

3

Virtue, the mean, and disposition

Virtue is a mean between two vices. (Nicomachean Ethics, 1107a2) Supreme indeed is the mean as virtue. (Analects, 6:29)

When we put together Confucian and Aristotelian theories of practical virtue, probably the first thing to notice is that both of them characterize virtue as the mean. For Aristotle, virtue is a disposition ‘‘laying in a mean [mesote-ti] relative to us’’ (1106b36). Clearly, the mean is essential to what virtue is.1 For Confucius, as the saying quoted in the epigraph to this chapter shows, the mean is the supreme virtue. The term that is translated as ‘‘virtue’’ in this saying is de. Yet, as was discussed in Chapter 1, Confucius’ theory of ren (excellence) is his version of the theory of de (virtue). Hence, to say that de is the mean amounts to saying that excellence (ren), as virtue in general, is the mean.2 The Doctrine of Mean (Zhongyong) is one of the Confucian Four Books and it repeats the statement in Analects 6:29 that the mean is the supreme virtue (ch. 3). The text can be read as an elaboration of this idea of Confucius.3 Why do Aristotle and Confucius, independently from each other, each develop a doctrine of the mean? Is it purely coincidental, or is there a deep philosophical and historical reason for this striking similarity? This chapter seeks to develop a different understanding of Aristotle’s mean as well as Confucius’ mean, and to show that there is deep philosophical reason for their similarity. The first section shows that for both, the mean is divided into inner mean and outer mean. The inner mean manifests itself by hitting the outer mean. In the second section, I argue that, for both ethics, the mean is not a notion of quantity or proportionality, but is identified with what is right. Calling what is right the ‘‘mean’’ happens because both sides follow the model of archery in their effort to explicate the nature of virtue. The third section further suggests that, for both, the doctrine of the mean is meant to show that virtue should be conceived as an archery-like quality,

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and that a virtuous agent who is disposed to act or live rightly is likened to an excellent archer who has the skill to hit the target. A virtuous agent forms and exercises his virtue, just as an archer develops and exercises his archery. The fourth section links the inner mean to second nature and disposition. Since disposition is a complex that involves an arrangement of different parts or components, I proceed in the fifth section to identify the components of virtue on each side.

The mean: inner and outer Traditionally, Aristotle’s mean has been understood as moderation. Taken as such, it is thought to be philosophically insignificant and even false. For instance, Williams dismisses the doctrine of the mean as ‘‘one of the most celebrated and least useful parts of his [Aristotle’s] system.’’4 Yet to interpret the mean as moderation is difficult to square with some textual evidence. Aristotle explicitly remarks: ‘‘In respect of its substance and the account which states its essence it is a mean, with regard to what is best and right it is an extreme’’ (NE, 1107a6–8). The mean is not moderate; rather, it becomes an extreme in doing the best and right thing. He also emphasizes that, while a virtue is a mean, there is no mean state within a virtue, and equally there is no mean state within a vice (NE, 1107a22–26). Virtue is simply right, and vice is simply wrong. If the mean is not moderation, what, then what does Aristotle understand by it? What is the point of claiming that virtue is the mean between two extremes? This issue has been a subject of intense debate among Aristotelian commentators. Equally, what is meant by the mean has also been a topic of controversy among Confucian commentators. According to Chan, ‘‘In the Analects, zhong-yong, often translated the ‘Mean,’ denotes moderation.’’5 Yet, as is the case in Aristotle, the moderation interpretation is difficult to square with Confucian textual evidence. Confucius says, ‘‘The excellent person agrees with others without being an echo’’ (A, 13:23). ‘‘Without being an echo’’ means that the excellent person does not invariably follow the trend and stay safe. Indeed, Confucius names the person who tries to please everyone ‘‘the village worthy’’ (shanyuan) and condemns such a person as ‘‘the ruin of virtue’’ (A, 17:13). When his most beloved disciple Yen-Wei dies, ‘‘in weeping for him, the Master showed extreme grief.’’ Some of his disciples say to him, ‘‘Master, your grief is extreme.’’ ‘‘Is it?’’ Confucius replies, ‘‘If I do not feel extreme grief for this man, for whom should I feel?’’ (A, 11:9) Apparently he does not think that a moderate response in this circumstance is appropriate. The Chinese term zhongyong is composed of two words: zhong and yong. It is generally agreed that zhong is ‘‘middle’’ or ‘‘central;’’ yet there is an age-old debate regarding the meaning of yong in Chinese classical commentaries. Three major interpretations stand out: (1) yong means ‘‘to use,’’ or ‘‘to practice’’;6 (2) it is ‘‘what is unchangeable’’;7 (3) it means ‘‘ordinary,’’

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or ‘‘common.’’8 Different definitions of yong lead to different interpretations of what the Confucian mean is,9 and even to different translations of the book that is entitled Zhongyong.10 Now let us see whether a comparison of Aristotle and Confucius can clarify the situation a bit in each case. Let us start with the issue of the location of the mean. Aristotle applies the mean both to the inner state of character and to the outer expression of virtue in feelings and actions. On the one hand, virtue itself is said to be ‘‘lying in a mean state [en mesote-ti]’’ (NE, 1106b36), a state between two vices, represented respectively by excess and deficiency (NE, 1107a2–3). I call this the ‘‘inner mean.’’ On the other hand, Aristotle also says that virtue ‘‘both finds and chooses that which is the mean [meson]’’ (NE, 1107a5), and that virtue ‘‘is concerned with passions and actions, and in these there is excess, defect, and the mean [meson]’’ (NE, 1106b16–17). Accordingly, the mean is located in passions and actions. I call this the ‘‘outer mean.’’ There has been a debate about which mean, the inner or the outer, is Aristotle’s real concern. This raises the further question of whether the mean disposition should be interpreted independently of the mean expressed in passions and actions, or vice-versa. There are two opposing views on this point. In J. O. Urmson’s understanding, Aristotle’s virtue of character is ‘‘a mean or intermediate disposition regarding emotions and actions, not that it is a disposition towards mean or intermediate emotions and actions.’’11 In other words, it is the inner mean, or the mean disposition, that is Aristotle’s primary interest. The opposite view holds that virtue is a mean state, not because it itself is a mean of something, but because it aims at the mean in passions and actions. For example, Julia Annas says: ‘‘The substance of the claim that virtues are mean states must therefore lie in the way that they aim at the mean in feelings or pathe-.’’12 According to this reading, when one interprets the doctrine of the mean, the focus should be on the mean in passions and actions. My own view is that these two sides do not have to be in conflict. Aristotle locates the mean in both the inner and the outer, in both virtuous character and virtuous passions and actions. This is because for him these two aspects are intrinsically inseparable. On the one hand, Aristotle holds that the virtuous passions and actions issue forth from the virtuous state of character that is the mean state. Proper conduct must emanate characteristically from a fixed disposition if it is to be truly virtuous conduct. Whether an act is good or virtuous should be judged in relation to the agent. In NE, 1105a32– b1, Aristotle lists three conditions that an agent must meet in order for his act to be counted as virtuous: (a) ‘‘he must have knowledge’’; (b) ‘‘he must choose the acts, and choose them for their own sakes’’; and (c) ‘‘his action must proceed from a firm and unchangeable character.’’ Given this, it is the inner state that is more important. On the other hand, virtue is for the human good, i.e. happiness, and happiness consists not merely in the possession of virtue, but in the exercise of it. Happiness must consist in an active life.

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Aristotle emphasizes: ‘‘It matters quite a bit whether we suppose that the best good consists in possessing or in using, i.e., in a state or in an activity’’ (NE, 1098b33–1099a2). The virtuous agent must manifest his or her virtues in actions. Without achieving the outer mean, the inner mean state does not count for much. It is in pursuing virtuous activities that one obtains happiness. Where, then, is the Confucian mean located? The Analects itself does not give us enough material to reconstruct. Yet in the first chapter of the Mean, we read: Before the feelings of pleasure, anger, sorrow, and joy are issued [fa], one is in a state that is called the mean [zhong]. When these feelings are issued [fa], and each and all hit due measure and degree [zhongjie], one is in a state that is called harmony [he].13 The passage suggests that the mean (zhong) is an inner state of feeling, and there is also an aspect of ‘‘hitting’’ what is appropriate in one’s life or conduct when this inner mean is exercised. This outer aspect is called ‘‘harmony’’ (he). Apparently, the zhong-he structure corresponds to Aristotle’s inner mean–outer mean structure. Since ‘‘the mean’’ is a translation of the Chinese term zhongyong, we are led to ask: Where is the place of yong in this zhong-he structure? How is zhong-he related to zhongyong? As mentioned earlier, there have been three traditional interpretations of yong: ‘‘practice,’’ ‘‘unchangeable,’’ and ‘‘ordinary.’’ For the following reasons, I side with the first interpretation. The earliest Chinese etymological dictionary, Shuowenjiezi, lists ‘‘to use’’ as the basic sense of yong. The word for ‘‘to use’’ sounds the same as yong in Chinese. More importantly, to take yong as ‘‘to use’’ allows us to interpret zhongyong as ‘‘using the mean.’’ ‘‘Using the mean’’ is a recurring idea in Confucianism. In A, 20:1 it is recorded that the sage-king Yao told his successor Shun: ‘‘The succession, ordained by Heaven, has fallen on you. Hold to the mean (zhong).’’ Shun, when handing his position over to his successor (the sage-king) Yu, is reported to have spoken these same words to the latter. Accordingly, ‘‘to hold to the mean’’ seems to be the most fundamental dao (way) of the sage kings. Yet ‘‘to hold to the mean’’ amounts to ‘‘using or practicing the mean,’’ as is suggested by the following passage from the Mean (ch. 6): Shun was fond of questioning others and examining their words, however ordinary. He concealed what was bad in them and displayed what was good. He grasped their two extremes, and then used [yong] the mean [zhong] between them in his dealings with the people. This was how he became Shun. Shun uses the mean in politics, and thereby becomes a great sage-king. Yao, Shun, and Yu are sage-kings and also personify the Confucian paradigm of the excellent person (junzi). If ‘‘using the mean’’ is what makes them great

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sage-kings, it is also what makes them excellent persons. We can therefore say that to be an exemplary person is to hold to or to practice the mean. In understanding yong as ‘‘to use’’ or ‘‘to practice,’’ we are in a position to explain the relation between the mean and zhong-he. In the above-quoted passage from the Mean, when the inner state is ‘‘issued [fa], and each and all hit due measure and degree [zhongjie], one is in a state that is called harmony [he].’’ I would like to propose that the term fa (to issue, or to exercise) here serves the role of yong, or ‘‘practice.’’ When the inner mean is exercised, the agent hits the target in life and conduct. Taken this way, the term zhongyong (mean) combines two ideas: the mean state, and its use or manifestation. For Aristotle, the exercise of virtue is essential, for otherwise one’s life is lived in a sleeping state. When Confucius conjoins zhong and yong, and calls it ‘‘the supreme virtue,’’ he must be stressing, like Aristotle, that one not only needs to possess virtues, but also must manifest or exercise them. If the foregoing discussion is correct, we see a striking structural parallel between Aristotle’s mean and the Confucian mean. Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean involves three aspects: 1 the inner mean in disposition; 2 the outer mean in feeling and actions; and 3 practicing the inner mean to hit the outer mean. The Confucian doctrine of the mean also involves three elements: 1 zhong (the inner mean); 2 he (harmony, the outer mean); and 3 yong, practicing the inner mean to hit the outer mean. Let us proceed to examine in more detail what the outer mean and the inner mean are in both ethics, starting from the outer mean.

Hitting the mean For both ethics, the mean is the middle point between excess and deficiency. A virtue is a mean because there are two vices corresponding to it. Aristotle remarks: ‘‘Virtue is a mean [mesote-s] between two vices, that which depends on excess and that which depends on defect’’ (NE, 1107a2–3). Confucius thinks in the same way. ‘‘Zi Gong asked, ‘Who is superior, Shi or Shang?’ The Master said, ‘Shi goes beyond the due mean, and Shang does not come up to it. . . . To go beyond is as wrong as to fall short’’’ (A, 11:16). Here we have one mean, and two corresponding vices: going beyond and falling short. At A, 13:21, The Master said, ‘‘having failed to find the man who walks in the middle way [zhong xing] for associates, one should, if there were no

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We should keep company with the person who has achieved the mean.14 Here the two vices corresponding to the mean are lack of discipline and over-scrupulousness. W. D. Ross uses the phrase ‘‘trinitarian scheme’’ to refer to Aristotle’s view that for every virtue there are two distinct vices.15 I think this term can also be neatly applied to the Confucian mean. In addition to the trinitarian scheme, both Aristotle and Confucius frequently identify the mean with ‘‘what is right.’’ For Aristotle: ‘‘To feel these feelings at the right times, with reference to the right objects, towards the right people, with the right aim, and the right way, is what is both mean [meson] and best [ariston]; and this is characteristic of virtue’’ (NE, 1106b21–23; cf. 1109a23–29). Again: ‘‘It [virtue] is a mean because the vices respectively fall short of or exceed what is right [to deon, or what ought to be done] in both passions and actions’’ (NE, 1107a3–4; cf. also 1107a12–14). Here the mean is characterized in terms of ‘‘the right’’ and ‘‘what ought to be done.’’ It is associated with and even appears to be a synonym for ‘‘best’’ (EE, 1220b29), for ‘‘good’’ (spoudaion, and eu-), and for ‘‘noble’’ (kalon) (NE, 1109a23–29). The same line of thinking can also be discerned in Confucius: ‘‘The excellent person, in his dealing with the world, is not invariably for or against anything. He follows only what is appropriate [yi]’’ (A, 4:10). Since the excellent person is the virtuous agent who has achieved the mean, to say that he follows only what is appropriate indicates the intrinsic relation between the mean and what is appropriate. Such a relation is more clearly established in the Mean (ch. 25) where we are told that, when the dao (way) of the mean, the supreme virtue, is reached, ‘‘whenever it is employed, everything done is right.’’ In ch. 31, zhong (the mean) and zheng (uprightness, correctness) are sometimes simply grouped together as one term, used as an alternative expression of the mean.16 There are, then, two views about what the mean is in both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics: A The mean lies in the middle of excess and deficiency. B The mean is what is right or appropriate. These two views are clearly different. The first presents the trinitarian scheme and leads many commentators to take the mean as a notion of quantity or proportionality, whereas the second entails that the mean is a normative or prescriptive notion. Since there does not appear to be a direct connection between ‘‘what is right’’ and the middle, one has good reason to wonder why both Aristotle and Confucius conflate them. I find little discussion concerning the relation between these two views in Confucian scholarship. Many Aristotelian commentators, however, tend to

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believe that there is a sort of conceptual confusion and even contradiction between these two views. For instance, W. D. Ross accepts (B) but rejects (A), saying that ‘‘the trinitarian scheme of virtue and vices is mistaken’’ (Ross, 1959, 205; cf. also Hursthouse, 1980–81, 71). In contrast, J. David Blankenship maintains (A) and tries to dismiss (B).17 Yet, since both (A) and (B) are supported by solid textual evidence, we need a better interpretation that can accommodate both. This requires us to show that the middle is also the right, so that the two views are not in tension. Let us start from a clue provided by the Chinese term zhong. In both ancient and contemporary Chinese, zhong is used both as a noun and as a verb. As a noun it has a twofold meaning: ‘‘middle’’ and ‘‘appropriateness.’’ As a verb, it means ‘‘to hit the target,’’ and this usage is related to archery. When an arrow hits the target, it is called zhongdi or mingzhong (‘‘hitting the right target’’). The idiom yijian zhongdi (literally, ‘‘hitting the target with just one arrow’’) is usually used to convey the idea that one gets to the point straightforwardly. Even the Chinese character zhong originally takes the form of a straight line penetrating through a circle in the middle. We are therefore inspired to inquire whether the Confucian mean is related to archery. It becomes immediately clear that this archery analogy can be detected in the Confucian zhong-he (inner mean–outer mean) scheme, presented in the Mean (ch. 1). It indicates that the inner mean (zhong) is the state of feelings before these feelings are issued (fa). ‘‘When these feelings are issued [fa], and each and all hit due measure and degree [zhongjie], one is in a state that is called harmony’’ (Mean, ch. 1). In this passage, the word zhong is used both as a noun and a verb. The passage also employs the verb fa (to issue). In Chinese, fa is directly related to ‘‘shooting,’’ and to the verb zhong (to hit the target). To praise an excellent archer, one says bai fa bai zhong (literally, shooting a hundred arrows and hitting the mark a hundred times). This description of the zhong-he scheme establishes a link between the inner mean of a virtuous agent and the shooting of an arrow by an archer. Earlier I mentioned that fa here serves the role of yong, in the sense of ‘‘to use’’ or ‘‘to exercise.’’ If the current discussion is accurate, yong is not just ‘‘to exercise,’’ but more specifically, ‘‘to exercise and to hit the target.’’ Indeed, Confucius himself explicitly brings the analogy of archery to the fore: In archery we have something resembling the way of the excellent person. When the archer misses the center of the target, he turns around and seeks the cause of failure within himself. (Mean, ch.14) The way of the excellent person is the way of the mean, and to miss the target amounts to failure to practice the mean in one’s actions. An archer examines himself if he misses the target, that is, he reviews the skills of archery that he possesses and continues to improve them. Since the mean is

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likened to the art of archery, we may say that, if a person fails to hit the mean in actions, he should examine himself and continue to cultivate the inner mean. This also indicates that archery is the craft-model for Confucius when he constructs his doctrine of the mean. The same line of thinking is inherited by Mencius, as he likens human excellence (ren) to archery and compares the excellent person to the archer. Thus, we read: ‘‘Ren is like archery: an archer makes sure his stance is correct before letting fly the arrow, and if he fails to hit the mark, he does not hold it against his victor. He simply seeks the cause within himself’’ (M, 2a/7). Again, An excellent person is full of eagerness when he has drawn his bow, but before he lets fly the arrow, he stands in the middle of the path [zhong dao er li], and those who are able to do so follow him. (M, 7a/41) It is clear to me that the model of archery is behind the Confucian doctrine of the mean. This leads me to ask whether the Aristotelian mean is similarly related to archery. The answer is positive. At the outset of the NE when Aristotle says that the task of his ethics is to grasp the supreme human good, he unambiguously likens his project of pursuing human goodness to archery. If, then, there is some end of the things we do, which we desire for its own sake . . . and if we do not choose everything for the sake of something else . . . clearly this must be the good and the chief good. Will not the knowledge of it, then, have a great influence on life? Shall we not, like archers who have a mark to aim at, be more likely to hit upon what we should [ton deon]? (NE, 1094a18–24) A virtuous person seeks to grasp the highest good just as an archer seeks to hit the target. In describing how a virtuous agent exercises the inner mean to reach the outer mean in passions and actions, Aristotle repeatedly uses the expression ‘‘hitting the mean’’ (tou mesou stochastike-).18 The word ‘‘hitting’’ (stochastike-, from the verb, stochazesthai, to aim at or shoot at) strongly suggests that the craft of archery is the model for Aristotle in establishing the doctrine of the mean. He also describes someone who can ‘‘miss [hamartanein]’’ in many ways in achieving the mean (NE, 1106b29). The model of archery has, of course, been noticed in both Aristotelian scholarship and Confucian scholarship.19 However, it has never been given a central place in interpreting either Aristotelian or Confucian mean. By putting these two doctrines together, and noting their similarities, we are led to the view that the model of archery must be of key importance in understanding what virtue is. First, the model of archery explains why, for both Aristotle and Confucius, the mean is both the right and the middle. In shooting an arrow, in

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particular when one is practicing archery, the right target is the bull’s eye, which is the middle point of the target. Here, to hit the right target is precisely to hit the middle. For a virtuous agent, to hit the mean is to say that he, like an archer, hits the right target or gets it right with respect to passions and actions. Second, the model of archery suggests a new answer to the following question: Why does each side, independently, derive a ‘‘trinitarian scheme’’ in which the mean is the middle between excess and defect? There are interpretations for the origin of the trinitarian scheme in the scholarship on both sides. On the Confucian side, Kanaya Osamu relates this scheme to the mode of thinking that has wide currency in ancient Chinese philosophy, that is, the tendency to harmonize opposites. In his understanding, a mean is ‘‘marked by a harmonious structure’’ coming out of two extremes (Osamu, 1996, 91). This view is attractive, but problematic. According to the Confucian structure of zhong (the inner mean)–he (harmony, the outer mean) in the beginning part of the Mean, harmony does not appear to be the cause of the inner mean, but results from the exercise (fa) of the inner mean. Several hypotheses have been presented on Aristotle’s side. The first holds that this trinitarian structure is derived from the Greek medical theory that health lies in balancing contraries. It is suggested that to describe a virtue as a mean indicates that it is a mixture or fusion of a pair of contrary tendencies, a mixture between the associated vices.20 This is rejected by Charles Young, who points out that in the NE, especially in II.6, the locus classicus of the doctrine of the mean, Aristotle ‘‘makes no attempt whatever to construe a virtue as a mixture of contraries’’ (Young, 1996, 94). In place of this interpretation based on the idea of harmony between contraries, Young takes the mean to be ‘‘a pattern of action and passion that falls between the excessive pattern exhibited by persons with one of the vices in that sphere and the deficit pattern exhibited by persons with the other vice’’ (Young, 1996, 94–95). In his understanding, the doctrine of the mean is in contrast to the theory of Contrariety (which he ascribes to Plato), according to which each virtue is associated with but a single vice, its opposite or contrary. Aristotle advances his doctrine of the mean because he ‘‘believes there is a structure to vice that Contrariety cannot describe and organize’’ (Young, 1996, 96). Young’s position is in turn criticized by J. David Blankenship who points out, among other things, that Aristotle himself does not reject the idea that virtue and vice are contraries, and that it is even problematic to say Plato believes in the theory of Contrariety. Rather, the idea of the mean is implied in Plato (Blankenship, 1996, 104–5). The model of archery enables us to propose a different explanation for the origin of the trinitarian scheme. The right point is the bull’s eye that is located in the middle, and there are in general two possible situations in which one would miss the bull’s eye. If we view the target vertically, the arrow misses the target because it goes either too high or too low; and if we view the target horizontally, the arrow misses the bull’s eye because it goes

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either to the left or to the right. In any case, no matter the angle from which we look, the mean or middle point stands between two deviant directions. Analogically, one’s character can be said to err in two ways, and virtue is the mean that stands between two vices. This is apparently what both Aristotle and Confucius are saying. Third, based on the above discussion, the vices of excess and defect cannot be understood strictly as two extreme points. Instead, they are two general headings under which all defective characters and actions are grouped, and under each heading there is a range of characters and actions. This explains why Aristotle sometimes leaves aside the trinitarian scheme, and says that there could be many ways in which one could go wrong (NE, 1106b28–35), and that to hit the mark is difficult, but to miss the mark is easy (NE, 1106b29–33). This is certainly true of the varied and complex situations of human lives and actions. Indeed, the model of archery leads us to appreciate the fact that all vices cannot be equally bad. If point ten is the bull’s eye, points nine to one are all deviant. Nevertheless, hitting nine points is far better than hitting one point. Thus, vices are nothing more than ‘‘going beyond’’ and ‘‘falling short,’’ and, given that ‘‘vice’’ is such a laden term, it is indeed misleading to translate Aristotle’s word kakia as ‘‘vices.’’ Kakia should just mean ‘‘defective.’’ Aristotle says: ‘‘The man, however who deviates little from goodness is not blamed, whether he does so in the direction of the more or of the less, but only the man who deviates more widely’’ (NE, 1109b18–20). At NE, 1106b25–26, he also mentions that excess is ‘‘a form of failure.’’ Confucius equally advises not to reject ‘‘going beyond’’ and ‘‘falling short’’ exclusively (A, 13:21). If you cannot find a person with A+ quality, A or B+ are also acceptable. Finally, if the model of archery explains why the mean is identified with the right and also how the trinitarian scheme is construed, then we should not take too seriously the idea that the mean is quantitative. On some occasions the right manifests itself as quantified determinations of amount, or as proportions, and it can also be the symmetrical middle on a continuum between excess and defect. However, it can also have nothing to do with a continuum. What is essential is to attain the right.

The inner mean and virtue The model of archery makes good sense of ‘‘hitting the mean’’ and hence the outer mean. Now let us extend the model of archery to our inquiry about the inner mean. The outer mean and the inner mean are inseparable and the inner mean–outer mean structure itself reminds one of the image of an archer aiming at the target. What enables the archer to hit the target correctly is his acquired skill in archery. By analogy, for a virtuous agent, since the hitting of the mean in passions and actions is issued from the inner mean, it follows that the inner mean must be a sort of skill-like state

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in the agent, corresponding to the archer’s skill in archery. In other words, the exercise of the inner mean is analogous to shooting an arrow. The possession and exercise of the skills of archery make one good as an archer; correspondingly, the possession and exercise of the inner mean make one good as a human being. I believe this is precisely the approach that both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics take. For both, the central question of moral philosophy is to explain the state that makes one good as a human being and to discuss how one can achieve this state. This state is what Aristotle calls arete- (virtue) and what the Confucius calls ren (excellence). Aristotle says, ‘‘The virtue of man also will be the state which makes a man good and which makes him do his own work well’’ (NE, 1106a21–23). Similarly, ren is what makes a person a person. A person of ren, that is, an excellent person exemplifies the mean and is a paradigm of what human life should be (Mean, ch. 2). We have shown that both Aristotle and Confucius use the model of archery in explicating this inner state that makes one good as a human being. The failure of an archer results from his inappropriate grasp or exercise of archery. By the same token, the failure of an agent in life and action must be due to his or her failure in obtaining or exercising the inner mean (Mean, ch. 14). According to a report in Mean, ch. 10, Confucius characterizes the excellent person as one who ‘‘stands in the middle, without leaning to either side.’’ This trinitarian structure, as we have said, is associated with archery. Mencius most explicitly claims that ‘‘Ren is like archery’’ (M, 2a/7). On Aristotle’s side, we read: If it is, then, that every art [or craft, techne] does its work well by looking to the mean [meson] and judging its works by this standard . . . and if, further, virtue is more exact and better than any art, as nature also is, then it must have the quality of aiming at the mean [meson]. (NE, 1106b7–16) This passage presupposes the analogy between a craft and virtue. If every good art is to aim at the mean in its sphere, virtue must be a kind of quality that enables an agent to aim at the outer mean. It is a commonplace that the craft analogy is regarded as one of the major argumentative strategies in Aristotle’s discussion of virtue. Our discussion shows that archery must be the central craft model he uses in his theory that virtue is the mean. As the above quoted passage indicates, the good of a craft is said to aim at the mean, and for Aristotle, ‘‘Virtue is a kind of mean, since it aims at what is the mean [meson]’’ (NE, 1106b27–28). Hence, virtue is a craft-like quality.21 Just as possession of the skills of archery enables an archer to hit the target, so possession of virtue makes an agent feel and act rightly. This is the reason why he calls virtue itself the mean state.

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Why, then, do both sides, independently, appeal to archery as a model? My suggestion is as follows. We mentioned in Chapter 1 that the Greek word arete- is related to the Greek god of war, Ares, and thus has association with manly qualities. When arete- is translated as virtus (from vir, literally ‘‘man’’) in Latin (from which the English word ‘‘virtue’’ comes), the relation between this term and the manly qualities seems to be emphasized. On the Confucian side, we have mentioned in Chapter 1 that the term ren was employed in the Book of Poetry to describe noble huntsmen, and it has been thought that ren originally meant ‘‘manly,’’ ‘‘manliness,’’ or ‘‘manhood.’’ I am led to think that this parallel of the original senses of arete- and ren can cast light on the parallel between Aristotle’s mean and the Confucian mean. Both Aristotle and Confucius lived in a time which was still heavily influenced by the values of ancient heroic societies, especially the admiration of heroes in war and hunting. This is probably why, when they start to think about what virtue is in an ethical life, each seeks to establish a virtuous agent as a counterpart of the hero in war and hunting. Now archery, given its central role in war and hunting, is one of the most important skills that make a person a hero in ancient heroic societies. It enables a man to show his ‘‘manhood’’ or ‘‘manliness.’’ Could this be the reason that both Aristotle and Confucius appeal to archery as a model in explicating their conceptions of virtue, leading to the formation of two separate doctrines of the mean?

Disposition and second nature Virtue is described as a quality resembling the skills of archery, aiming at or hitting the mean. But it is more than just a craft. For Aristotle, it must be a state or a disposition (hexis, NE, 1106a12). Although ‘‘disposition’’ is an Aristotelian concept, it can also be used to grasp Confucius’ view. Hexis, etymologically related to echein (to have), is translated both as ‘‘state’’ or ‘‘disposition.’’ It is a special form of diathesis (which is translated as ‘‘condition,’’ but also ‘‘disposition’’). In Aristotle’s explanation, ‘‘Hexis means a diathesis according to which that which is disposed is either well or ill disposed, either in itself or with reference to something else’’ (Meta, 1022b10–11). What sets hexis apart from other forms of diathesis is as follows: ‘‘A hexis differs from diathesis in being more stable and lasting longer.’’22 Hexis is a kind of stable and lasting diathesis. Hence, virtue as a hexis means a firm or well entrenched property. There are different ways of distinguishing virtue from skill. The one that most directly pertains to our current discussion is that, for Aristotle, to be a virtuous person, one must not only hit the mean in passions and action, but, more importantly, ‘‘his action must proceed from a firm and unchangeable character’’ (NE, 1105b1). When an agent does the right thing by accident or reluctantly, the good act does not reflect upon the agent himself. Hence, virtue is determined by the goodness of character rather than by the goodness of an act. In other words, it is determined by the inner

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mean rather than simply by hitting the outer mean. The virtuous person is the kind of person for whom proper behavior emanates from an entrenched disposition. Whereas an ability could be used for both good and bad ends, it is the mark of a hexis that it produces only one of a pair of opposite results (NE, 1129a6–17). As an entrenched disposition, virtue is second nature. ‘‘Second nature’’ is in contrast to ‘‘first nature,’’ that is, ‘‘what is inborn.’’ For Aristotle, ethical virtue has a basis in first nature, but it must be habituated. ‘‘We are adapted by nature to receive them, and are made perfect by habit’’ (NE, 1103a23–24). We become just by repeatedly doing just acts and become temperate by repeatedly doing temperate acts (NE, 1103a34–b1). Now, ‘‘habit is hard to change just because it is like nature. As Evenus says: ‘I say that habit’s but long practice, friend, and this becomes men’s nature in the end’’’ (NE, 1152a31–32). Virtue is habituated. Once it becomes habitual, it is very much like a natural thing. If one learns some knowledge over time, the knowledge will finally sumphue-nai (NE, 1147a22), literally, ‘‘become a part,’’ or ‘‘grow into a part.’’ Virtue, then, also becomes a part of the virtuous subject. Indeed, Aristotle claims that ‘‘Justice, temperance, and the rest seem to be not easily changed’’ (Cat, 8b35).23 Confucius does not provide a similar conceptual analysis. Nevertheless, it is clear that he also believes that virtues are eventually internalized as one’s entrenched character and second nature, resulting from the long process of cultivation. In his autobiographical account, he says that at fifteen he set his heart on learning. After a life-long process of cultivation, the eventual result is that ‘‘at seventy I follow my heart’s desire without overstepping the line’’ (A, 2:4). At that point, ren (excellence) becomes an effortless propensity to feel and behave in certain ways. Again at A, 4:2 he uses ‘‘home’’ to describe the relation between ren and the moral subject who possesses it. ‘‘The Master says, ‘The man of ren is attracted to ren because he feels at home in it.’’’ The following passage further indicates the entrenchment of ren: If the excellent person forsakes ren, in what way can he make a name for himself ? The excellent person never deserts ren, not even for as long as it takes to eat a meal. If he hurries and stumbles one may be sure that it is in ren that he does so. (A, 4:5) Accordingly, ren is like a natural part of an excellent person. Furthermore, the phrase ‘‘in what way can he make a name for himself ?’’ can also be translated as ‘‘how can he fulfill that name?’’ Taken in this way, in fact, ren also becomes the identity of an exemplary person. The same point is stressed by Mencius, who claims that the sage-king Shun ‘‘acts out of ren-yi, rather than just practicing ren-yi’’ (M, 4b/19; translation modified). This suggests that ren-yi is the sage-king’s character. He is a person of ren-yi, not just performing some ren-yi behavior.

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Virtue as hexis differs from other forms of diathesis because it is a well entrenched state. However, it is still a species of diathesis. Diathesis literally means ‘‘the arrangement of that which has parts, in respect either of place or of capacity or of kind’’ (Meta, 1022b1–2). Thus, any form of diathesis is a complex of different parts or components. To say that virtue is a disposition entails that it is composed of parts. Although this is Aristotle’s idea, I believe that Confucius can be read in the same way. Confucius makes various remarks about ren (excellence), but does not provide a definition of ren as a general virtue. Thus, although commentators agree that the theory of ren in Confucius is not collection of isolated remarks, it has been a challenging task for commentators to provide an account of the general ren that could accommodate various statements about ren in the Analects. Fingarette understandably complains that ‘‘Ren is surrounded with paradox and mystery’’ (Fingarette, 1972, 70). Since ren is the central notion of Confucius, disparate interpretations of it lead to various pictures of what Confucius’ ethics of ren is about. The comparison with Aristotle suggests to us a different idea. We should see that the Confucian notion of ren, like virtue in general, is a complex of different components. We should see Confucius’ remarks on ren, at least the most significant of them, as related to the formation of different aspects or constituents of his general virtue.

The components of virtue Following this line of thinking, our next step is to identify the components of virtue on each side, and explain the relationship or arrangement of these components in each of these notions of virtue. As it turns out, both Aristotle and Confucius take it that virtue has three major aspects: social value, moral feeling, and moral wisdom. For both sides, these elements are intrinsically interrelated to constitute a unified virtue. In discussing Aristotle’s classification of virtues towards the end of Chapter 2, we have shown that a full practical virtue includes practical wisdom and ethical virtue as complementary and inseparable aspects. Practical wisdom is the virtue of practical reason. Ethical virtue is the best state of that part of the soul which is irrational but listens to reason. It comes about as a result of habit (ethos, NE, 1103a17–19), and this is how it gets its name. Nevertheless, these two virtues are not independent of each other, for the reason to which ethical virtue listens is practical wisdom. ‘‘Practical wisdom is linked to ethical virtue, and this to practical wisdom, since the principles of practical wisdom are in accordance with the ethical virtues and rightness in the ethical virtues is in accordance with practical wisdom’’ (NE, 1178a15–20, see also 1144b31–32). This fusion is clearly presented in Aristotle’s definition that ethical virtue is ‘‘a state concerned with choice’’ (NE, 1106b36). Although the definition is of ethical virtue, practical wisdom plays a crucial role in it.

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What is not mentioned explicitly in this definition is feeling or emotion. For Aristotle, virtue is not just a disposition to act rightly, but also a disposition to feel rightly. He frequently states that virtue is concerned with action (praxis) and feelings (pathe-).24 How we feel has significant impact upon our action (NE, 1105a6). In particular, virtue is concerned with the feelings of pleasure and pain: ‘‘If the virtues are concerned with actions and passions, and every passion and every action is accompanied by pleasure and pain, for this reason also virtue will be concerned with pleasures and pains’’ (NE, 1104b13–15). Pleasure and pain which accompany our actions form signs of dispositions (NE, 1104b4). At one point, Aristotle even emphasizes that to feel rightly is ‘‘characteristic of virtue’’ (NE, 1106b21– 24). A good person pursues and avoids pleasure and pain in an appropriate way, whereas a bad person pursues and avoids them in an inappropriate way (NE, 1104b34–35, 1105a12–13). Hence, feeling must also be a significant constituent of the virtuous disposition. Broadie suggests that feeling is implied in the definition at NE, 1106b36–1107a2. Virtue is a state concerned with choice (that is, a prohairetic state), but what characterizes a prohairetic state includes the agent’s emotional state (Broadie, 1991, 81). I think she is right. As we shall see in our discussion of moral wisdom in Chapter 5, the concept of prohairesis is a unity of reason and emotion. Aristotle’s practical virtue, then, has three major elements: (a) social habit or value (ethos) (b) feeling (or emotion) (c) practical wisdom25 In Confucius, one well known statement about ren is that it is ‘‘to love your fellow men’’ (A, 12:22). For this reason, ren has been interpreted as ‘‘love’’ or ‘‘benevolence.’’ However, we have mentioned that there is a distinction between general virtue (excellence) and particular virtue in the Analects. Ren as love or benevolence cannot be the general quality of ren that Confucius values more than life and the quality that makes a person a person. Although benevolence or love cannot be the general ren, given its recognized importance, it must be one of the most important aspects of this general virtue. One of the most debated issues in the reading of the Analects is the relationship between ren and li. They are thought to ‘‘form the main tension in the Analects.’’26 Various interpretations regarding how these two notions are related have been proposed. Shun divides these interpretations into two general camps, and labels one the ‘‘instrumentalist interpretation’’ (according to which ‘‘Confucius regards the observance of li as standing in a mere instrumentalist relation to the ideal of ren‘‘) and the other the ‘‘definitionalist interpretation’’ (according to which ‘‘Confucius regards the ren ideal as defined in terms of the general observance of those li rules actually existing in the Chinese society of his time’’).27 Simply put, the difference is: Is the

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observance of the rites a means to the cultivation of ren, or is the content of ren determined by the rites? I find this so-called tension puzzling. Related to his belief that social rites are where the way is embodied, Confucius claims that ren is ‘‘to return to the observance of the rites’’ (A, 12:1). Since ren is to return to social rites, it is difficult to say that in Confucius’ mind they form a tension. More importantly, is ren in this so-called tension particular or general? I would like to suggest that, in addition to the statement that ren is ‘‘to love your fellow men,’’ ‘‘to return to li’’ is another aspect of the general ren. These two aspects are inseparable. To hold on to one while ignoring the other would be a gross error. In the Analects Confucius says: ‘‘If a man is not ren, what can he do with the rites?’’ (A, 3:3) He also claims that ‘‘Being fond of ren without being fond of learning [of the rites] is liable to lead to folly’’ (A, 17:18). In these two passages, ren should be taken to mean in its particular sense of love or benevolence rather than the general ren. These sayings are about the interwoven relation between two components of the general ren: ren as love and ren as returning to the rites. On the one hand, without ren as love, the rites will not be respected and followed in a meaningful way. On the other hand, ren as love must be regulated by the rites. Such an association reminds us of the combination of ethical virtue and practical wisdom in Aristotle. Hence, what is at stake is not the relation between ren and li (the rites), but how ren as the observance of the rites and ren as love contribute to the general ren, and how these aspects of the general ren are related to each other. But this is not yet the whole story. Confucius also says: ‘‘In his dealings with the world the excellent person is not invariably for or against anything. He is on the side of yi’’ (A, 4:10). An excellent person is a person of ren, and since he is always on the side of yi and abides by it, yi must be a significant aspect of his ren. Yi literally means ‘‘what is appropriate or fitting.’’ It refers to a property of an action, and also to a quality of an agent to grasp what is appropriate to do. The Mean defines it as ‘‘what sets things right and proper’’ (ch. 20).28 This notion makes it clear that to be ren is neither a matter of mechanically following and applying what the social rites determine nor a matter of blind love, but rather involves an intellectual aspect of understanding and judging. Accordingly, in my understanding, the general ren (excellence) in Confucius is a complex notion. The rites, love (or benevolence), and appropriateness are three key components of the general ren (excellence) in Confucius. In Confucian scholarship, each of these aspects, taken separately, is familiar and well discussed. However, so far as I am aware, they have not been taken together as components of an organic whole. Many commentators choose to concentrate on one of them, and even overemphasize one aspect at the expense of the other(s). Such a partial emphasis is probably one of the major reasons why there are so many different and even conflicting accounts of ren. For instance, Tu Wei-ming stresses ren as an ‘‘inner morality’’ and gives the rites (li) only an external role:

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Table 1

1 Social values 2 Moral feeling 3 Moral wisdom

Aristotle

Confucius

Ethos Feelings Phronesis

Li Love or benevolence Yi

Ren as an inner morality is not caused by the mechanism of li from outside. It is a higher-order concept which gives meaning to li. Ren in this sense is basically linked with the self-reviving, self-perfecting, and self-fulfilling process of an individual.29 In contrast, Fingarette rejects the interpretation of ren as an inner mental or psychic condition. ‘‘The metaphor of an inner psychic life, in all its ramifications so familiar to us, simply isn’t in the Analects, not even as a rejected possibility’’ (Fingarette, 1972, 45). In place of it, Fingarette seeks to explain ren purely in terms of the rites. Influenced by J. L. Austin’s theory of speech acts, he understands the rites as a shared interpretive framework and emphasizes the power and function of social rites in shaping one to be a member of a community. Ren, then, is ‘‘a matter of the person’s deciding to submit to li‘‘.30 Furthermore, the interpretation of Hall and Ames in Thinking Through Confucius is characterized by the focus on yi, and they contend that ‘‘It is a central theme in Confucius, emphatically underscoring the creative and novel dimensions of yi’’ (Hall and Ames, 1987, 95). Each of these views has its ground, but each is partial. The Confucian notion of ren should be viewed as a dialectical unity, composed of these three aspects. It is not difficult to see that these three aspects correspond respectively to the three in Aristotle’s notion of virtue (Table 1). In the next two chapters, I compare their accounts of each of these three aspects and their views on how these aspects are interwoven. Chapter four is about the first two aspects, the internalization of social values and the training of moral feeling; chapter five is about the third aspect, i.e., moral wisdom. Towards the end of chapter five, I examine the particular virtues and the unity of virtues in each ethics. It is one of Aristotle’s frequently employed methods that ‘‘he who thus considers things in their first growth and origin, whether a state or anything else, will obtain the clearest view of them’’ (Pol. 1252a24–25). He applies it in the description of each of the three elements of virtue. The discussion of each of these elements is in the meantime also the discussion of how each is obtained or developed.

4

Habituation and ritualization

Ethical virtue comes about as a result of habit, whence also its name is one that is formed by a slight variation from the word for ‘‘habit.’’ (Nicomachean Ethics, 1103a17–19) To return to the observance of the rites through overcoming the self constitutes ren [excellence]. (Analects, 12:1)

For Aristotle, ethical virtue is grounded in ethos (habit, social customs), and to learn to be virtuous requires a process of habituation (ethismos). For Confucius, ren is to return to the observance of li (social rites), and a good person is formed through a process of ritualization. The role of ethos in Aristotle corresponds to that of the social rites in Confucius. Both habituation and ritualization involve the inculcation or internalization of social values as the source of virtue, and both involve a process of emotional training. My aim in this chapter is to compare Aristotelian theory of habituation and Confucian theory of ritualization. I start with a discussion of the notions of ethos and li (first section), and proceed to show the emotional aspect of virtue that is developed through cultivation (second section). The third section argues that Aristotelian habituation presupposes the thesis that human beings are by nature political animals, and correspondingly Confucian ritualization is based on the belief that the self is relational. The fourth section discusses the relationship between nature and cultivation. The fifth and sixth sections examine, respectively, the role of family and politics in the cultivation of virtue.

Social value: li and ethos For Confucius, ren (excellence) is obtained through the observance of li (A, 12:1). Li has been translated in various ways (ranging from ‘‘rites,’’ ‘‘rituals,’’ ‘‘propriety,’’ ‘‘ceremony,’’ ‘‘manners,’’ etc.). It originally referred to

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the rituals of religious sacrifices,1 but came to be used in a much broader way. In the Analects, its scope ranges from norms of ceremonial behavior to detailed regulations governing various social and political behaviors. It prescribes what the relations between rulers and subjects should be (A, 3:18, 3:19), what one ought to do in supporting one’s parents, in holding a funeral, and in paying for a sacrifice (A, 2:5). It also regulates what kind of ceremonial cap one should wear, and even when one should prostrate oneself before ascending steps to see a king (A, 9:3). The Master said: ‘‘Do not look unless it is in accordance with the rites; do not listen unless it is in accordance with the rites; do not speak unless it is in accordance with the rites; do not move unless it is in accordance with the rites.’’ (A, 12:1) In short, li is the entire body of socially acknowledged behavior patterns, customs, institutions, and lifestyles. To emphasize that li in Confucius is mainly social rather than religious, I choose to render it as ‘‘social rites,’’ although from time to time I leave the term untranslated for the sake of clarity. Social rites constitute a social context within which one learns how to act and live appropriately. The observance of social rites is a process of ritualization in which one is shaped and transformed by learning and internalizing the values that social rites embody. One learns by following the guidance of one’s parents and other guardians, emulating models and heroes, and studying the books that record social rites. ‘‘Unless you study the rites you will be ill-equipped to take your stand’’ (A, 16:13). ‘‘He has no way of taking his stand unless he understands the rites’’ (A, 20:3). The agent internalizes social rites through accumulative learning and repeated practice. Confucius’ view that ren is to observe the social rites might appear to some readers as culturally bound and stifling.2 What is the philosophical significance of this position? I think it can be shown if we put it together with Aristotle’s view that ethical virtue (e-theke- arete-) is formed out of ethos. Ethos refers to the traditional social and cultural settings and accepted ways of behavior. Derived from this term, the Greek term for character, e-thos, in turn, becomes the source for the term ‘‘ethics’’ (meaning literally ‘‘what pertains to character’’; see NE, 1103a17–19). Such an etymological relation reveals the important role of ethos in Aristotle’s ethics. What is ethical is closely associated with the good performance of conventionally accepted behavior. At the beginning of NE, ii, Aristotle explicates the nature of ethical virtue by presenting how it is acquired. It is the result of the repeated practice of corresponding actions. ‘‘We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts’’ (NE, 1103a34–b1). In the process of habituation, values implied in ethos gradually take root in a

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learner. Habituation can be good or bad, depending on the nature of the acts. ‘‘States arise out of like activities’’ (NE, 1103b21).3 Repeated good acts give rise to good character, whereas repeated bad acts lead to bad character. On this ground, Aristotle maintains: ‘‘It makes no small difference, then, whether we form habits of one kind or of another from our very youth; it makes a very great difference, or rather all the difference’’ (NE, 1103b24–26). A number of commentators believe that Aristotle in this text implies that habituation is itself a mechanical and unreflective process. On this reading, Aristotle’s view is not only inconsistent with what he says elsewhere, but also wrong because it ignores the role of reason.4 This reading, however, fails to realize that for Aristotle ethical development proceeds in stages. Indeed, Aristotle himself raises the issue ‘‘whether the training of early life is to be that of reason or habit’’ (Pol, 1334b9). His answer is that the training of habit comes first, and the training of reason is the end. The formation of habit is for the sake of the development of reason. Yet this does not mean that the latter could replace the former. The ultimate goal of moral training is that reason and habit ‘‘must accord, and when in accord they will then form the best of harmonies’’ (Rh, 1334b10–11). The formation of habit, which Aristotle also calls ‘‘training in custom of the citizens’’ (Pol, 1334b17), amounts to the training of the part of the soul that has desires and feelings, and that does not have reason but can listen to reason. It results in ethical virtue, the excellent state of the non-rational part of the soul. The training of reason is a bit complicated. Reason has two parts, and hence its training results in two intellectual virtues: practical wisdom and theoretical wisdom. According to Aristotle, ethical virtue is formed through habituation (ex ethous), while intellectual virtues are acquired through teaching (ek didaskalias). However, practical wisdom is closely associated with ethical virtue. Successful ethical education results in a state or disposition which is the fusion or integration of ethical virtue and practical wisdom: ‘‘It is not possible to be good in the strict sense without practical wisdom, nor practically wise without ethical virtue’’ (NE, 1144b31–32). This state is called ‘‘full virtue’’ or ‘‘virtue in the strict sense’’ (arete- kuria, NE, 144b16). When Aristotle defines virtue in NE, ii.5 as ‘‘a state concerned with choice, lying in a mean relative to us, this being determined by reason and in the way in which the man of practical wisdom would determine it’’ (NE, 1106b36–1107a2), he should be referring to full virtue, as the definition includes both ethical virtue and practical wisdom. Given this, although ethical progress can roughly be divided into two stages, there is hardly a clear-cut demarcation when the first stage ends and the second starts. The division does not mean that in the first stage there is no role of reason at all.5 In the training of habit, the non-rational soul ‘‘does not engage in reasoning but can listen to reason, and thus partakes of reason in a certain way’’ (NE, 1102b14). The division also does not mean that habituation completely stops in the second stage. Aristotle makes it

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clear that habituation is not only indispensable for the learners when they are young; rather ‘‘they must, even when they are grown up, practice and be habituated to them’’ (NE, 1180a2–3). Hence habituation is a life-long process. For most of the ethical training process, habit and reason, ethical virtue and practical wisdom, are developed together in a mutually reinforcing way. Nevertheless, when Aristotle states that the formation of habit comes before the training of reason, his aim seems to be to emphasize that the first stage of ethical development is not simply a matter of rational training. Habituation is not mechanical, but is not purely rational either. Rather, it is the internalization of social values (and the transformation of emotion that accompanies it) through habituation. The development of reason alone cannot make one acquire the virtue of the non-rational part. By dividing moral development into stages, Aristotle finds a significant role for ethos to play and presents an alternative picture to Socratic intellectualism. Habituation is so crucial at the beginning stage of moral education because children cannot engage in rational reflection in a very extensive way. Aristotle believes that children do not share in ‘‘choice’’ (NE, 1111b9) and are ‘‘without thought’’ (NE, 1144b8). They are therefore frequently grouped together with other animals. Of course, children have the potentiality to ‘‘attain the power of choice’’ (EE, 1240b33), and are only ‘‘immature’’ (EE, 1260a13). They will eventually arrive at competent judgments and reactions of their own. At the beginning stage, however, the guidance of the parents and other guardians is essential for a child. ‘‘Obviously his virtue is not relative to himself alone, but to the perfect man and to his teacher’’ (Pol, 1260a31–33).6 Parents and community were there to tell kids, based on ethos, what activities are virtuous and what are not, and to make sure that they do these virtuous activities whenever the occasions arise. Children obey the guidance7 and imitate examples.8 As Aristotle specifies in NE, ii.4, the repeated activities a learner performs in the process of acquiring virtue are guided rather than out of the learner’s own choice. Habituation not only cannot be replaced by rational teaching, but also is a necessary prerequisite for the training of reason. First, without proper habituation, the learner lives on passion and does not have a sense of shame. Habituation shapes patterns of motivation and response in a learner and lays down the ground for him to listen to teaching (we shall discuss this point in the second section of this chapter). Second, habituation provides a starting point for rational thinking (this will be discussed in the first section of Chapter 5). As Aristotelian habituation is neither mechanical nor purely rational, so is Confucian ritualization, as will be seen when we discuss the relation between li and yi (appropriateness, Confucian version of practical wisdom) in the next chapter. For the time being, let us focus on the common emphasis of Aristotle and Confucius on the role of social values. Apparently, Confucian ritualization and Aristotelian habituation are different descriptions of a similar process of person-making or character-building. To

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become a good person, one has to learn li (Confucius) or habitualize oneself into ethos (Aristotle) in order to curb sensuous desires and accept moral constraint. They commonly link virtue with social customs. Character arises out of actions. The goodness of actions is judged by reference to ethos and li, rather than to some universal moral principles. It is social customs that shape acceptable behavior patterns. Instead of adopting a purely abstract and universal point of view, both Aristotle and Confucius employ an approach that starts from the facts of life and recognizes the importance of social conventions and practices.9 There is, however, a difference between Aristotle’s notion of ethos and Confucius’ notion of li. Although Aristotle’s ‘‘philosophy of human affairs’’ requires pursuit of an ideal constitution (as is done in the Politics), ethos that informs ethical virtue in NE, ii, refers to a given society’s existing customs. In contrast, Confucius’ li turns out not to be any kind of existing social practice, but has a particular reference, that is, the social rites of the Zhou. Cultures and social customs vary, and hence Aristotelian ethical virtue has a dimension of social relativity. Aristotle fully realizes that noble and just actions ‘‘exhibit much variety and fluctuation, so that they may be thought to exist only by convention, and not by nature’’ (NE, 1094b14–16). Indeed, when Aristotle defines virtue as a mean state, he also claims that the mean ‘‘is relative to us,’’ and contrasts it with an objective mean (NE, 1106a29–31). This contrast suggests that a mean has no external fixed reference in objects. Nevertheless, commentators still disagree over the meaning of this relativity. Various possibilities have been proposed and discussed by commentators: (1) relative to the circumstances; (2) relative to our character or who we are; (3) ‘‘relative to the individual’’ as the individual agent; and (4) ‘‘relative to us as human beings.’’10 In my reading, the relativity of Aristotle’s mean should be understood in relation to his view about the role of ethos in ethics. The ‘‘us’’ that the mean is relative to should be those human beings who are brought up within a particular ethos. Aristotle’s texts are addresses to the young Athenian aristocrats who are well brought up in the aristocratic Athenian ethos and who are expected to be Athenian legislators. Although Aristotle himself is merely a resident alien in Athens, he must be identifying himself as one who adheres to aristocratic Athenian values. This, I think, is the reason why he uses the word ‘‘us.’’ Taken this way, the relativity of the mean that Aristotle has in mind must come from the historical or cultural background of the values that the agent internalizes in the process of habituation. Ethical virtue is relative to the ethical teaching one receives in an early stage of life. An underdeveloped child depends on his parents and guardians for moral education (Pol, 1260a31–33). The situation appears to be different with regard to Confucius’ li (social rites). When Confucius associates human excellence with social rites, what he actually says is that ‘‘ren is to return to li.’’ The word ‘‘return’’ (fu) means to go back to what one has deviated from. The target to return to is the

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social rites of Confucius’ model society, the early Zhou. We have shown in Chapter 1 that Confucius has a profound admiration for and commitment to the Zhou rites. Ritualization is to internalize the values that are embodied in the Zhou rites. The above discussion seems to point to a contrast: Aristotle’s ethos is descriptive, while Confucius’ li is prescriptive. Yet this difference does not go very deep. For Confucius, the ritual system of the Zhou is not an isolated system imposed externally. Rather, it succeeds the cultures of the two preceding dynasties (Xia and Shang) and has inherited and incorporated a variety of good elements from them (A, 3:14). It represents the best form of a continuing cultural tradition. On Aristotle’s side, although he begins with existing social customs as an inescapable basis for ethical thinking, it is not his view that one should follow whatever ethos is out there. Virtue is formed out of ethos, and virtue in general (universal justice) is identified with what is lawful (NE, v.1–2). Given the intrinsic relation between the lawful and the moral, Aristotle affirms that moral education should be the subject of concern for the laws (nomoi). Etymologically, nomos is related to nemein (‘‘to believe’’), and is hence related to what the community believes to be appropriate. In general, nomoi cover not only the written decrees but also shared social customs and norms of behavior in general.11 So far as habituation is concerned, ‘‘whether written or unwritten would seem to make no difference’’ (NE, 1180b1, see also Pol, 1319b40). A good society must provide good laws that regulate what a virtuous act is, provide the norms for being virtuous, and set standards of practice that lead towards virtue. Legislators should be concerned with habituation. The goodness or badness of a political system is judged according to whether it hinders or neglects the development of virtue, and whether it nurtures good habits in its citizens (NE, 1103b3–6). Hence, like Confucius, Aristotle is also prescriptive in moral education. There seems to be another difference. Given his deep respect and affection for the ritual system of the Zhou, Confucius appears to look to the past, and is thus in contrast to Aristotle, who advocates change and is clearly forward-looking. At one place, Aristotle himself even draws the following contrast: ‘‘Men in general desire the good, and not merely what their fathers had’’ (Pol, 1269a3–4). This contrast is also not as substantial as it appears to be at first glance. It is true that, for Aristotle, traditional customs and laws are changeable, and barbarous old customs and laws should be improved (Pol, 1268b38– 1269a3). He also justifies change on the grounds that politics, as an art, should progress from tradition just as other arts do (Pol, 1268b37). It is impossible for the written laws to codify everything precisely (Pol, 1269a11– 12). Nevertheless, Aristotle also says: ‘‘When we look at the matter from another point of view, great caution would seem to be required’’ (Pol, 1269a13). Change is necessary, but it is a bad thing to change too often. Frequent changes will damage the authority of the laws and lead people to

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develop the habit of disobedience. Traditional norms can be changed only if a change can bring about a significant improvement (Pol, 1269a13–17). Thus, he recommends that, in making new laws, legislators must respect customary laws. ‘‘Customary laws have more weight, and relate to more important matters, than written laws’’ (Pol, 1287b5–8). By emphasizing caution and the importance of the continuity of tradition, Aristotle is more of a conservative than a revolutionary. On the Confucian side, although Confucius respects the tradition, he is by no means a rigid conservative. First, he does not identify the good with the ancient, and does not embrace the ancient at the expense of ignoring the good. He upholds the ritual system of the Zhou not because it is the ancient way of doing things, but because of its excellence (A, 3:14). It happens that in this case what is good is the ancient. Second, when Confucius says that we should return to the social rites, he is not requiring us to adhere to every detailed regulation (this point is to be fully discussed in Chapter 5). If a person submits himself to all the formalities of conventional custom and seeks to please everyone, he is a village worthy, and ‘‘The village worthy is the ruin of de’’ (A, 17:13; cf. M, 7b/37). A good person should neither be liked by all in the village nor be disliked by all, but should be liked by those who are good and disliked by those who are bad (A, 13:24). Confucius fully realizes that the ritual system of the Zhou itself is developed out of the preceding two dynasties (A, 15:11, 3:14), and also endorses some changes in the detailed regulations. For instance, frugality is preferred to extravagance in practicing ceremonies (A, 3:4), and a ceremonial cap of linen can be changed into a cap of black silk for ceremonial reasons (A, 9:3). Indeed, although Confucius gives a central place to the general values and spirit implied in these ritual forms and systems, he does not pay much attention to specific rites.12 It is the spirit and essence of the ritual system of the Zhou on which he focuses. This message is expressed clearly in the Analects by Confucius’ disciple Zi-Xia: ‘‘If one does not overstep the bounds in major matters, it is of no consequence if one is not meticulous in minor matters’’ (A, 19:11). Here ‘‘the bounds in major matters’’ must be the defining meaning and spirit of the ritual system of the Zhou. Its core value or backbone is a humane social hierarchy modeled on family relationships, and what Confucius upholds is a family-based value system. ‘‘Let the ruler be a ruler, the subject a subject, the father a father, the son a son’’ (A, 12:11). Since the family is a universal institution for all human beings, and the ritual system that he advocates a return to is a social system that promotes a family-based value scheme, Confucius’ theory of ritualization is culturally influenced, but is not culturally bound.

The training of emotion Habituation or ritualization, in addition to being a process of inculcation of social values, is also one process of emotional training which enables an

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agent to feel in a certain way. For both ethics of Confucius and Aristotle, virtue has an indispensable emotional or volitional aspect, as it involves acting well with genuine feeling or passion. A virtuous person is one who is disposed to feel rightly as well as act rightly. Whether one has an excellent character depends not merely on what one does but also on what one likes to do. For both, whether someone takes pleasure in doing an action, or feels depressed by doing it, make a great difference. Without this emotional aspect, habituation and ritualization are only a formality, rather than a process for being good. For both, ethics, as the art of living well, includes feeling well in addition to acting well. The Greek term Aristotle employs, which we translate interchangeably as ‘‘feeling,’’ ‘‘emotion,’’ or ‘‘passion,’’ is pathos. In contrast to praxis (action) which means what a subject does, pathos originally means what has happened to a subject.13 Originally, it means what is experienced or affected in misfortune (hence, ‘‘suffering’’), yet it came to be used in a general sense as ‘‘what is experienced,’’ or ‘‘what is moved’’ (kineisthai, NE, 1106a4). Each emotion is a mode in which a subject is being acted upon.14 A good person, then, is disposed both to act and to be acted upon in a certain way. Aristotle’s discussion of ethical emotion concentrates on pleasure (hedona) and pain (lupe). It is worth mentioning that in Greek both terms mean more broadly, ‘‘liking’’ and ‘‘disliking’’ respectively. Pleasure (liking) and pain (disliking) are sometimes said to epigignai (‘‘accompany,’’ ‘‘follow upon,’’ or ‘‘supervene upon,’’ NE, 1104b5) or hepetai (‘‘attend,’’ NE, 1104b15) passions; but sometimes they are just said to be passions themselves (e.g. NE, 1105a3). In Aristotle’s view, we have a natural basis for receiving virtue, but we also have a natural tendency to do bad things because they bring about pleasure, and to avoid doing noble things because they cause pain and no pleasure. Pleasure and pain are the kinds of things that can either corrupt or improve the state of a soul. ‘‘It is by reason of pleasure and pains that men become bad’’ (NE, 1104b21–22; cf. also 1179b33–34). Children, like animals, pursue bodily pleasures to the point of excess (NE, 1153a28–31). The youth also tend to follow sensuous passions and pursue what the passions direct (NE, 1095a4–9).15 Similarly, Confucius also thinks that we have a natural tendency to be attracted to physical pleasure and to avoid living in a virtuous way: ‘‘I have never met a man who finds ren (excellence) attractive or a man who finds being not excellent repulsive. A man who finds ren attractive cannot be surpassed’’ (A, 4:6). Also, ‘‘I have yet to meet the man who is as fond of virtue as he is of beauty in women’’ (A, 9:18; cf.15:13). Nevertheless, both Aristotle and Confucius believe that we should not get rid of pleasure and pain altogether. A virtuous person should not be one who is unaffected or without feeling. Rather, to be virtuous implies a state of feeling pleasure and pain towards the right objects. A virtuous person has a sense of noble joy and noble hatred, and takes pleasure in doing virtuous actions.

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For Aristotle, an agent with this quality is ‘‘a true lover of what is noble’’ (NE, 1179b9; cf. 1099a13–15, 1179b29–31). To learn to be virtuous is to learn to enjoy or take pleasure in doing noble things. This kind of enjoyment constitutes one’s ethical taste. The enjoyment in doing the right thing is a crucial feature of being virtuous, and is a sign of virtue. The man who does not rejoice in noble actions is not even good; since no one would call a man just who did not enjoy acting justly, nor any man liberal who did not enjoy liberal actions; and similarly in all other cases. If this is so, excellent actions must be in themselves pleasant. (NE, 1099a16–21)16 A person who engages in just acts is not necessarily just. A virtuous action is not one that is done reluctantly and grudgingly (NE, 1144a15). It is in light of whether one enjoys doing something rather than merely what one does that we determine whether one truly has a good character. A virtuous person differs from a self-controlled person (enkrate-s) in that whereas a selfcontrolled person does the right thing with an inner struggle and even a sense of pain, a virtuous person does it with pleasure. This is why ‘‘to feel delight and pain rightly or wrongly has no small effect on our actions’’ (NE, 1105a4–7). Similarly, for Confucius, an excellent person is one who ‘‘finds excellence attractive’’ (A, 4:6) and ‘‘is fond of appropriateness’’ (A, 12:20). An excellent person must carry out his actions with ease and enjoyment, for he ‘‘is attracted to excellence because he feels at home with it’’ (A, 4:2). For Mencius, when one enjoys doing the right thing, his ethical root grows and eventually will become irrepressible (M, 4a27). In addition to moral enjoyment, Confucius enriches his description of the emotional state of virtue by introducing the following concepts: reverence (jing), sincerity, and (more importantly) ren as love or benevolence. The performance of sacrifice at religious rites in ancient China was associated with an attitude of reverence (jing) towards ghosts and spirits. This relationship can still be detected in the Analects.17 However, Confucius appropriates it and uses it in his own ethics. He broadens the notion of li from religious rites to all regulations governing human relationships, and then maintains that, as one must show reverence towards the ghosts and spirits in performing religious rites, one must have a committed, attentive, and respectful attitude in observing social rites.18 Following the same line of thinking, Mencius takes obedience to social rites (li) as the virtue developed out of the innate root of respectfulness and reverence (gung jing, M, 6a/6). Confucius also emphasizes sincerity in practicing social rites. ‘‘With the rites, it is better to err on the side of frugality than on the side of extravagance; in mourning, it is better to err on the side of grief than on the side of formality’’ (A, 3:4). When one observes social rites, it is essential for one to be true to one’s own heart. That is far more important than giving

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extravagant gifts or making magnificent arrangements. Once, when one of his disciples intends to save a sheep at sacrifice, Confucius says to him: ‘‘You are loath to part with the price of the sheep, but I am loath to see the disappearance of the rites’’ (A, 3:17). Genuine feeling matters. The most important feature of Confucius’ description of the emotional state, however, is the emphasis on love or benevolence. ‘‘Ren is to love others’’ (A, 12:22). Given the distinction between general ren and particular ren, this sentence must be referring to the narrow sense of ren, that is, benevolence. Confucius has employed ren to denote virtue in its entirety, but still keeps the narrow sense of ren to express the inner attitude that one should possess in the observance of social rites. This by itself indicates the importance he attaches to the emotional aspect of virtue. He even says: ‘‘What can a man do with social rites who is not excellent?’’(ren, A, 3:3) Since the general ren (excellence) has already included ren as the observance of social rites, ren in this saying must be meant in a narrow sense. What Confucius means is that, in observing social rites, one must have a benevolent or caring attitude. Otherwise, the observance of social rites would be empty and meaningless. In Mencius, ren, as one of the four main virtues, is rooted in the feeling of not being able to bear to watch the suffering of others. The stock example of this natural inclination in people is the story of the child who is about to fall into the well (M, 2a/6). It is mainly for this reason that ren is translated as ‘‘benevolence.’’ Thus, for Confucius (and Mencius), to be a virtuous person, one cannot take social rites as a set of external constraints or a kind of necessity. Rather, one should follow their requirements willingly and devotedly. To this purpose, one should love, care about, and be benevolent towards other human beings. To achieve human excellence, the right feeling or emotion is indispensable.19 One major contribution of Aristotle’s ethical theory is that, in responding to Socratic intellectualism, it includes emotion as a major topic and emphasizes the development of good habits of feeling. Confucius, in our interpretation, presents a rich psychological description and puts emotion in a central position in his specification of virtue. Apparently, he has the same orientation as Aristotle. How, then, can an agent achieve the state of feeling well in doing virtuous actions if he starts from an emotional state that is not attracted to virtue? For Aristotle, it is the result of habituation, and for Confucians, it is the result of ritualization. Aristotle says, ‘‘We ought to have been brought up in a particular way from our very youth, as Plato says, so as both to delight in and to be pained by the things that we ought; for this is the right education [paideia]’’ (NE, 1104b11–13). Right education shifts the objects of pleasure and pain. In Aristotle’s understanding, those who live by their (sensuous) passions, ‘‘[1] pursue their own pleasures and the means to them, and [2] avoid the opposite pains, and [3] have not even a conception of what is noble and truly

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pleasant, since they have never tasted it’’ (NE, 1179b13–15, my numbering). To train such a person is to shift his attention away from [1] and [2] and to redirect the feelings of pleasure and pain to objects that are noble, so that the agent is able to take pleasure in doing right things and feel pain for wrongdoing. Aristotle divides desires (orexis) into three kinds: appetites (epithumai, mainly referring to physical desires), passions (thumos, literally, impulses of temper), and boulesis (wish).20 A wish is a desire for something conceived of as good (NE, 1113a15–24), such as the love of what is noble. In a successful habituation, the appetites and impulses should be moderated, but wish (boulesis) is generated. Wish further makes the agent more easily turn attention away from the base objects towards what is noble. The training of emotion involves much pain. It is standard practice that we punish wrongdoing by inflicting pain on the offender and encourage good behavior by giving pleasure. At the beginning, the learners must be painful in performing virtuous acts. For Aristotle, punishment is ‘‘a kind of cure’’ (NE, 1104b16). ‘‘In general passion seems to yield not to argument but to force’’ (NE, 1179b29). This is true not only for those adults who were not properly brought up, but also for the young people. ‘‘For to live temperately and hardily is not pleasant to most people, especially when they are young’’ (NE, 1179b33–34). Yet habitation makes it at least not so painful. As one becomes more and more habitual, one becomes less pain-afflicted.21 The training of emotion should first generate a sense of shame in the learner. Shame is ‘‘a kind of fear of disrepute and produces an effect similar to that produced by fear of danger’’ (NE, 1128b11–12). It means that the learner perceives that something is wrong or should not be done. Habituation should render a learner feel ashamed when acted wrongly and make him blush. Those who are not well brought up do not ‘‘obey the sense of shame’’ (NE, 1079b10–11). A person of this sort obeys only fear, and arguments are not of much use (NE, 1179b29). In saying this, Aristotle implies that shame cannot be a purely intellectual process. Rather, it is a prerequisite for teaching. Furthermore, habituation generates the capacity for noble joy and noble hatred. Aristotle even compares this to ‘‘earth which is to nourish the seed.’’ Habituation lays down the ground for a learner to listen to teaching.22 For arguments ‘‘seem to have power to encourage and stimulate the generousminded among the young, and to make a character which is gently born, and a true lover of what is noble, ready to be possessed by virtue’’ (1179b26–27). Clearly here we have to distinguish types and levels of pleasures and pain. The pleasure which the virtuous person enjoys is not physical, but rather stems from the belief that he is acting for the sake of the noble (to kalon). Now let us turn to the training of emotion in Confucian ritualization. For Confucius, a certain compulsion is necessary to moderate our sensuous desire and emotion. In other words, some pain must be involved. When

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Confucius claims that ren is ‘‘to return to li,’’ the whole expression is ‘‘to overcome oneself [ke ji] and to return to li.’’ Ke literally means ‘‘overcome,’’ ‘‘subdue,’’ or ‘‘conquer.’’ Given that Confucius believes that a man is not naturally attracted to ren, ‘‘to overcome oneself’’ should be taken to mean to control one’s physical and appetitive desires.23 Nevertheless, Confucius believes that ritualization is not a matter of punishment, but should be a matter of guidance and exemplification. He remarks: ‘‘Guide them by edicts, keep them in line with punishments, and the common people will stay out of trouble but will have no sense of shame. Guide them by virtue, keep them in line with the rites, and they will, besides having a sense of shame, reform themselves’’ (A, 2:3). Through positive guidance, a learner develops a sense of shame and a willingness to obey the rites. Furthermore, Confucius in particular emphasizes the expansion of filial love to include other people. For him, love starts from the filial love towards one’s parents, and extends to ‘‘the love of the multitude at large’’ (A, 1:6). Mencius holds equally fast to this idea: ‘‘An excellent man extends his love from those he loves to those he does not love’’ (M, 7b/1). ‘‘Loving one’s parents is benevolence; respecting one’s elders is rightness. What is left to be done is simply the extension of these to the whole empire’’ (M, 7a/15). In the end, ‘‘A man of ren loves everyone’’ (M, 7a/46) and does not like to harm others (M, 7b/31). Love, however, is graded. ‘‘An excellent person shows benevolence towards the people but is not attached to them. He is attached to his parents but is merely benevolent towards the people’’ (M, 7a/45). In general, ren as love should be taken as an empathetic and caring attitude towards one’s fellow human being. Filial love is the source on which one draws in extending this feeling as concern for others. If a person does not even love his parents and brothers, it is difficult for him to love his neighbors. Just as one feels concern for each and every member of one’s family, a virtuous person develops a general emotional concern for members of a larger society. This emotional concern informs his every action. In their views on the formation of emotional patterns, one point Aristotle and Confucius share is the educative role of music in the formation of character. For Aristotle, music is also a ‘‘mode of imitation’’ (Poetics, 1447a15). Rhythm and melody supply imitations of various qualities of character; hence ‘‘in listening to such strains our souls undergo a change’’ (Pol, 1340a21–22). Since music can affect one’s character, it should be a significant part of education. Just as Aristotle, Confucius does not think of music as a mere entertainment. In ancient China, the performance of religious rites was accompanied by music and dancing. Confucius introduces this relation in his ethics, and frequently associates social rites with music (yue). Music and poetry are listed along with social rites as major sources of one’s cultivation of character (A, 8:8). Given the profound effect of music (7:14; 8:15), Confucius is moralistic about what type of music his students should be listening to.24

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Political animal and relational self Having shown the striking parallel between Confucian ritualization and Aristotelian habituation, I proceed to demonstrate that this parallel is rooted in their shared belief that we grow and live in a social web within which each person is formed. For Aristotle, this belief is expressed in his well known thesis that man is a political animal. For Confucius, the same belief is shown in his emphasis on social relatedness and social roles in his conception of the self. Confucius, according to commentators, holds a conception of the relational self which is in sharp contrast to the modern Western liberal conception of the self, and which makes his ethics an alternative model to rights-centered modern ethics. There is not much consensus, however, about what precisely ‘‘relational self’’ means. Numerous different accounts have been proposed.25 Confucius’ conception of relational self is usually discussed through a comparison with the dominant liberal conception of self that is characterized by individual choice and freedom. Little attention has been paid to Aristotle’s thesis that man is by nature a political animal (politikon zo-on).26 Yet this thesis indicates that a human being essentially involves interpersonal relationships, and it appears to be a counterpart to Confucius’ relational understanding of the self. The social nature and interrelationships of individuals constitute an integral part of Aristotle’s ethics. Indeed, if the Confucian relational self is different from rights-based moral theory, so is Aristotle’s political animal. It is a common phenomenon, then, for both Confucius and Aristotle to value human relatedness. This section is devoted to a comparative study of this issue. It should help us better understand not only the Confucian conception of the relational self, but also Aristotle’s conception of the political animal. As with the Confucian relational self, the precise meaning of Aristotle’s ‘‘political animal’’ thesis is a subject of controversy among Aristotelian commentators. More importantly, our discussion should illuminate how each conception plays a role in their respective theories of ritualization and habituation. Let us first focus on Aristotle’s discussion of the ‘‘political animal’’ thesis. In contrast to Confucius, who himself does not employ the concept of the relational self, Aristotle not only puts forward the ‘‘political animal’’ thesis but also engages in detailed discussion on the topic. It is tempting to see whether his general ideas can be used to shed light on our understanding of the Confucian relational self. It is easy to conceive of a Confucian relational self as one that occupies this or that social role and lives within a network of relationships. Aristotle has a similar idea in mind when explaining what the political animal is: ‘‘One cannot live a solitary life, but also for parents, children, wife, and in general for his friends and fellow citizens, since man is sociable by nature’’

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(NE, 1097b9–11). A person lives within a network of relationships, but it would be philosophically meager if the relational self or political animal were to mean merely this. Aristotle, of course, goes much further. In Pol, 1.2, he explicates his ‘‘political animal’’ thesis in association with the thesis that ‘‘the state is a creation of nature’’ (1253a3–4). He justifies both theses on the grounds of a naturalistic and genetic account of the state. Human community starts with the family, develops through the village, and eventually leads to the formation of the state: When several villages are united in a single complete community, large enough to be nearly or quite self-sufficing, the state comes into existence, originating in the bare needs of life, and continuing in existence for the sake of a good life. And therefore, if the earlier forms of society are natural, so is the state, for it is the end of them, and the nature of a thing is its end. For what each thing is when fully developed, we call its nature, whether we are speaking of a man, a horse, or a family. Besides, the final cause or the end of a thing is best, and to be self-sufficing is the end and the best. Hence it is evident that the state is a creation of nature, and that man is by nature a political animal. (Pol, 1252b28–1253a4, emphasis mine) This passage is essential for us to understand Aristotle’s ‘‘political animal’’ thesis. Yet how to interpret this condensed text has been a topic of dispute.27 For my purpose, I will focus on presenting my own reading instead of getting into the details of the dispute here. The key for reading this passage, in my view, is the concept of nature. The canonical definition of nature (phusis) is ‘‘a principle of motion and of stationariness’’ that each thing has within itself (Ph, 192b14. Cf. also 192a22–23). In this sense, ‘‘two sorts of thing are called nature, the form and the matter’’ (Ph, 194a11). Form and matter are the constituents of a thing, each of them being an inner principle of motion and also a cause (formal cause or material cause, Ph, 192b21– 23). Form is more a nature than is matter. The other major sense of nature is the end towards which a thing develops. These two senses are not separate, for the end is the final actualization of the form that exists potentially at the beginning. It is the formal cause that internally directs and promotes a thing towards its actualization. The formal cause is also the final cause (Ph, 192b13–15). Nature as the inner principle of motion and nature as end are both employed in the ‘‘political animal’’ thesis. When Aristotle claims that ‘‘A social instinct [horme-, or impulse] is implanted in all men by nature’’ (Pol, 1253a30), he is using the first sense of nature. Horme- (impulse) is the natural tendency of a thing to attain a specific condition (Ph, 192b13–23). In Politics, 1.2, it is precisely these impulses that serve as the driving force for human beings to form various communities. They propel human beings to

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join with others in order to be fulfilled or perfected, thus initiating the inevitable process of the creation of a state. It is Aristotle’s belief in Pol, 1.2 that human beings have a number of social elements in their innate natural impulses. The first is the desire to have sufficient necessities of life. Family is originally formed for the sake of producing offspring, but it is also for the sake of acquiring the necessities of life. The different functions of male and female complement each other and make what belongs to each available to both in common. Furthermore, some neighboring families are motivated to group themselves together to form a village because it is clear that larger and more complex communities make it easier to survive. It is from the same motivation that the state is formed. The state is the most self-sufficient community and makes it possible for its members to lead richer lives than are available in the household and village alone. The second innate element is our gift of speech (logos, Pol, 1253a9–10). Other animals have voices with which to express emotion and give signals, yet it is only human beings who are able to use words and sentences. This gift of speech is not merely a matter of linguistic ability. Aristotle specifies: ‘‘The power of speech is intended to set forth the expedient and inexpedient, and therefore likewise the just and the unjust’’ (Pol, 1253a15–16). Accordingly, the gift of speech amounts to the ability that enables human beings to discriminate moral as well as amoral things, and to elucidate the intelligible content of what we refer to. Indeed, in Greek, logos is ‘‘speech’’ or ‘‘language,’’ but is also ‘‘reason.’’ The third innate element is our natural moral sense. ‘‘It is a characteristic of man that he alone has any sense of good and evil, of just and unjust, and the like, and the association of living beings who have this sense makes a family and a state’’ (Pol, 1253a17–19).28 All these social elements in our natural impulses are driven to their actualization. In Politics, i.2, Aristotle maintains that they can only be actualized in a state. When Aristotle claims that the state is the final stage or the proper end towards which these impulses move and in which they seek actualization, he is using the second sense of nature. ‘‘For what each thing is when fully developed, we call its nature’’ (Pol, 1252b3–34). It is easy to understand why the desire for the necessities of life can be fully actualized in the state. It is less clear, and also less discussed, why practical rationality and natural moral senses can only be developed in the state. Why does the state become the final stage of the actualization of these social impulses? Actualization means reaching a state of self-sufficiency. A state comes into being because the state is necessary for a person’s life to be self-sufficient. This does not only mean that the state provides the sufficient life necessities. In the passage under discussion, ‘‘the state comes into existence, originating in the bare needs of life, and continuing in existence for the sake of living well.’’ ‘‘Living well’’ (eu ze-n) is synonymous with eudaimonia

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(happiness). This remark shows that the existence of the state is necessary for one to achieve eudaimonia. Self-sufficiency is a criterion for happiness in NE, i.7, and it means that ‘‘which when isolated makes life desirable and lacking in nothing’’ (1097b15–16). What can the state offer to make one’s life self-sufficient in this sense? Since ‘‘political’’ (politikon) is etymologically related to polis, the Greek city-state, it is easy to think that ‘‘political animal’’ means that human beings are by nature adapted to live in a Greek polis. There is not, however, such a straightforward relation. Human beings are not the only species that is called a ‘‘political animal.’’ Aristotle also uses the same title to refer to bees, wasps, ants, cranes, and other gregarious animals (Pol, 1253a7–9; HA, 487b33–488a10). He defines ‘‘political animal’’ as ‘‘such as have some one common object in view’’ (HA, 488a8). Animals are ‘‘political’’ as long as they are involved in cooperative activities that lead to a common end. In this sense, ‘‘political’’ means nothing more than ‘‘communal’’ or ‘‘social.’’ Aristotle also says that a person is ‘‘more of a political animal than bees or any other gregarious animals’’ (Pol, 1253a8). What makes a person ‘‘more of a political animal’’ than other communal animals? When Aristotle claims that human beings are more political than other gregarious animals, the direct reason he gives for this claim is that ‘‘man is the only animal who has the gift of speech [logos]’’ (Pol, 1253a9–10). He also claims that ‘‘it is a characteristic of man’’ that he alone has a natural moral sense (Pol, 1253a17–19). Both animals and human beings need life necessities. Hence, if man is more of a political animal than animals, it must be because of language ability and moral sense and their actualization. For Aristotle, human practical rationality and natural virtue need to be refined and perfected. For man, when perfected, is the best of animals, but, when separated from law and justice, he is the worst of all; since armed injustice is the more dangerous, and he is equipped at birth with arms, meant to be used by intelligence and virtue, which he may use for the worse ends. (Pol, 1253a30–36) Intelligence and natural virtue must be perfected by law and justice. Otherwise, a man would lose his humanity and become ‘‘the most unholy and the most savage of animals, and the most full of lust and gluttony’’ (Pol, 1253a36–37). Where do we find law and justice, then? The answer is in the state. Justice and virtue are precisely the things that bind a political society together (Pol, 1252b37–40). To perfect one’s implanted social nature, one must be a member of a political community. In NE, v.1, he claims that justice in its broad sense (which is the complete virtue in relation to others) means ‘‘what is lawful’’ (nomimon). Aristotle admits that there can be and have been defective and unjust laws (cf. NE, 1129b25; Pol, 1282a41–b13). Nevertheless, he believes that ‘‘Evidently all lawful acts are in a sense just

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acts; for the acts laid down by the legislative art are lawful, and each of these, we say, is just’’ (NE, 1129b13–14). All legal systems are ‘‘in a sense’’ (po-s) just because a community regulated by laws is better off than a lawless state, although a society must have a system of laws based on a proper understanding of human well-being in order to promote the happiness of its citizens. The state is a natural creation because it is grounded in human social nature, and is the actualization of it. Correspondingly, man is by nature a political animal, not only because he has natural social desires, but also because a political community is indispensable for the fulfillment of these desires. Aristotle associates the ‘‘political animal’’ thesis with the ‘‘state as a natural creature’’ thesis, because they are established on the same grounds. ‘‘Political animal’’ is, therefore, meant in two senses. In a low sense, a person must live with others in order to secure the necessities of life. This sense is shared with other gregarious animals. In a high sense, one has a social nature that can only be fulfilled in a community that has law and justice. Having seen that Aristotle’s ‘‘political animal’’ thesis is about human social nature and its actualization, we are inspired to ask: is the relational self related to the Confucian understanding of human nature? At first glance, this does not sound likely, especially if one follows the traditional view that Confucius does not have a theory of human nature. Yet, I have argued in Chapter 2 of this book that although the Analects does not say much about human nature, its ethics presupposes a conceptual framework of dao (way)–de (virtue) at its core. Such a conceptual scheme implies that we must have the root of virtue in our original nature, which is from Heaven. Mencius himself makes it clear that his ‘‘goodness of human nature’’ theory is the legitimate extension of Confucius’ idea (Mencius, 6a/6, 6a/8). Confucius’ teaching unambiguously relates human relationships to what a person should be. In the Analects, the achievement of human excellence is said to be a process of xiu ji (the cultivation of the self). An excellent person (junzi) is one who ‘‘cultivates himself and thereby achieves reverence’’ (A, 14:42). To cultivate oneself is to ‘‘cultivate virtues’’ (A, 7:3).29 The roots of a person’s virtuous character are said to be filial love and fraternal respect.30 Self-cultivation is a process of expanding these roots to larger communities. ‘‘Once the roots are established, the way will grow therefrom’’ (A, 1:2). Family relationships are the source and grounds for the cultivation of the self. Confucius’ key concept ren also points to the significance of relationships in a person’s becoming good. On the one hand, ren is the quality that makes a person a person (Mean, ch. 20, and M, 7a/16); on the other hand, this term consists of two components in Chinese: ‘‘human’’ and ‘‘two,’’ symbolizing the most basic mode of human relatedness. It indicates that relationships must be indispensable in achieving human excellence. Confucius does not believe that one who lives in isolation or seclusion can attain virtues and the way. ‘‘I have heard such a claim,’’ Confucius says, ‘‘but I have yet to meet such a man’’ (A, 16:11). Confucius repeatedly claims that cultivation is a process of examining yourself inwardly (nei xing, A, 4:17, 5:27, 12:4). Yet

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this does not mean that cultivation can be independent of human social relationships. The remark of Zheng Zi in A, 1.3, shows the relation between examining oneself and human relationships: Every day I examine myself on three counts. In what I have undertaken on another’s behalf, have I failed to do my best? In my dealings with my friend have I failed to be trustworthy in what I say? Have I passed on to others anything that I have not tried out myself ? The content of self-examination is loyalty to others, faithfulness to friends, and commitment to learning. All these involve human-relatedness. With Mencius’ theory of human nature, the connection between the relational self and human nature in Confucian ethics becomes more explicit. The four inborn roots, which set a human being apart from an animal and define what a human being really is (M, 2a/6, 4b/19, 6a/8), involve interpersonal relationships and presuppose a community. These seeds must grow in order for one to become a good human being. Yet, they can only grow or gain full expression in a society that has norms which regulate human relationships. For Confucius and Mencius, it is the social rites (li) – that is, the entire body of behavior patterns, customs, institutions, and life-styles, as best presented in the early Zhou.31 Hence, Confucius and Mencius pursue a line of thinking similar to that of Aristotle. Being a relational self, just like being a political animal, means that a person is by nature relational. A community in which human relationships are regulated is indispensable for the actualization of the relational nature.

Nature and cultivation Both Aristotelian conception of the political animal and the Confucian notion of the relational self suggest that political society is indispensable for the actualization of humanity. This, however, invites the following question: If a person is by nature a political or relational animal, why does he still need to go through a process of habituation or ritualization? Aristotle’s case is more complicated in this regard. Parallel to the seemingly tension between his ‘‘political animal’’ thesis and his theory of habituation, there is also an apparent tension between his claims that the state is a creation of nature and his view that the state needs to be founded through a constitution and laws. He likens the lawgivers to craftsmen such as weavers or shipbuilders,32 and even claims that ‘‘He who first founded the state was the greatest of benefactors’’ (1253a30–31). Yet it appears to be a contradiction to say both that the state exists by nature and that it is a product of craft.33 What is at issue here is the contrast between nature (phusis) and art (techne-, craft). Usually, artificial production and natural generation are distinguished from each other.34 Whereas a natural object has an internal source that is responsible for change and explains its characteristic behavior,

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an artifact relies upon an external cause. Whereas in natural generation the form is inherent, in artificial generation the form is imposed from without. Hence, it is difficult to claim that the same thing is both a natural object and a product of craft. However, Aristotle also holds that art or craft completes nature. ‘‘Art in some cases completes what nature cannot bring to a finish’’ (Ph, 199a15–16). For instance, when a doctor cures a sick person, it is the craft of medicine which assists nature. The state is also a case in which art completes nature. On the one hand, the state is grounded in the natural drive to live together for selfsufficiency, and it is in this sense a creation of nature. On the other hand, the growth of the state is not the same as that of plants and animals, but needs to be completed by the art of politics. A plant or an animal has an inner form which propels it from its embryonic stages to its adult forms. The state, although propelled to grow by the inner moving cause, does not contain at the beginning the form or pattern by which these natural impulses should be actualized. It is human efforts that determine the form in which it is actualized. The state, then, exists both as a natural creature and as an artificial product. Aristotle’s view is an implicit criticism of the clear-cut dichotomy between phusis and nomos, or between nature and nurture, a dichotomy that prevailed among the Sophists, according to which the laws are pure inventions without anything natural in them. Aristotle’s view is also in sharp contrast to modern social contract theory according to which the state is created through contracts. When the state is said to be formed out of social contracts and is in contrast to a natural state, human beings are no longer ‘‘by nature’’ political animals. The principle that art completes nature justifies the necessity of habituation. Although human beings have the nature of being political animals, the actualization of this nature cannot happen spontaneously. It does not grow by itself; rather, it is a kind of natural potentiality ‘‘which by nature is made to be turned by habit to good or bad’’ (Pol, 1332b2). Its actualization requires the contribution of humans themselves, through education and habituation. ‘‘The deficiencies of nature are what art and education seek to fill up’’ (Pol, 1337a1). What is achieved through education is virtue, the quality that makes humans function well. In the fifth section of Chapter 2, we have shown that both ethics of Confucius and Aristotle claim that humanity implies a dynamic aspect which must develop from potentiality to actuality. However, at that time, we did not ask precisely how each side thinks that humanity develops from potentiality and actuality. This is the time to turn to it, as the issue is crucial for our understanding of the relation between nature and cultivation in the formation of virtue. There are different types of the potentiality/actuality relationship in Aristotle. The standard or most familiar version of the theory of potentiality and actuality presents a process of the form’s own development from being potential to being actual, exemplified by the development of a natural

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organism from its seed to its maturity. In this process, the initial and potential form serves as an inner force to propel and direct the organism towards its own fulfillment. This standard version (let us call it ‘‘developmental version’’) is related to Aristotle’s theories of nature, four causes, and natural teleology. The formal cause is both the efficient cause and the final cause, and it is the form that inherently drives the process of natural growth and determines how and to what end the organism develops. The final actuality is the full unfolding of the nature that was latent at the beginning. The mature organism is ‘‘that for the sake of which’’ the process of growth has occurred’’ (Ph, 194a27; PA, 641b24). Aristotle’s ethics is based on the function argument. The function argument is internally related to the theory of potentiality and actuality, for function (ergon) points to actuality (energeia). However, what is behind the function argument is not the ‘‘developmental version’’ of the theory of potentiality and actuality. Happiness is the energeia of the soul expressing virtue; yet energeia here means activity, performance, or exercise of the function itself rather than the end that a process leads to. For brevity, let us call this potentiality/actuality relationship the ‘‘exercise version.’’ The ‘‘exercise version’’ is further divided into two sub-types. Aristotle uses knowledge as a paradigm to illustrate his point. ‘‘There are two kinds of actuality corresponding to knowledge and to reflecting’’ (DA, 412a21). If one has learned or possessed certain knowledge, he can be said to have it actually (the first actuality). However, if one applies or uses the knowledge he has already learned or possessed, he is also said to have the knowledge actually (the second actuality). The first actuality is the exercise of the ability of learning, and is in turn the potentiality of the second actuality. The second actuality is the active exercise or manifestation of the power that was present but latent. Knowing in the latter sense means ‘‘the transition from the inactive possession of sense or grammar to their active exercise’’ (DA, 417b1). To reiterate, the two types of relationship of potentiality and actuality involved here are: (a) From the natural ability of knowing (the potentiality) to the exercise of the ability (the first actuality, which results in the possession of knowledge). (b) From the latent possession of knowledge (that is, the first actuality becoming potentiality) to its actual use (the second actuality).35 Does the relationship of potentiality and actuality behind the function argument correspond to (a) or (b)? The answer is both. Aristotle employs the first type, type (a), to explain the relation between our human function and the acquisition of virtue. That is the actualization of the function itself to achieve its virtue or excellence. Our human function is likened to the ability of knowing, and the acquisition of virtue is likened to the possession of knowledge. The acquisition of virtue itself is a type of

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actualization. The bulk of Aristotle’s ethics is about virtue. And since it is Aristotle’s standard strategy to explain a thing’s nature by explaining how it is generated or acquired, he also elaborates the relation between human function (first potentiality) and the acquisition of virtue (first actuality). Aristotle uses the second type, type (b), to explain the relation between the possession of virtue and the activity that expresses it. Virtue is indispensable for the actualization of what is distinctively human. The possession of virtue, however, is not the ultimate end or value. To be good, one must not only possess a virtuous disposition, but also exercise it. It is only in exercising one’s rational function expressing virtue that one can achieve happiness (NE, 1098b32–99a3). To possess virtue without exercising it is like being a person asleep. It is in the virtuous rational activity that human good resides. The relation between virtue and activity corresponds to the second sense of knowing, i.e. the exercise of the possessed knowledge.36 Now let us see how Aristotle applies type (a) of the ‘‘exercise version’’ in discussing how moral virtue is formed. He says, Ethical virtue comes about as a result of habit. . . . [N]one of the ethical virtues arises in us by nature; for nothing that exists by nature can form a habit contrary to its nature. . . . Neither by nature, then, nor contrary to nature do virtues arise in us; rather we are adapted by nature to receive them, and are made perfect by habit. (NE, 1103a16–26) Our human function lays down the basis which enables us to acquire virtue. Without it, the acquisition would be impossible. According to Aristotle’s own examples, a stone cannot be habituated to move upwards, and fire cannot be habituated to move downwards (NE, 1103a21–24). Sheer repetitive training cannot make a human being virtuous if there is no natural basis. Our original nature prepares us to be trained as virtuous agents. Although we are adapted by nature to receive virtue, ethical virtue is not part of natural endowment. It does not arise out of nature, and is not a natural result. If it comes to us by nature, just like our ability for seeing or hearing, we do not need to learn it, but already had it before using (NE, 1103a26–27). Yet virtue has to be learned and cultivated. ‘‘We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts’’ (NE, 1103b1–3). The acquisition of virtue, then, just like the state, is a case in which there is no opposition between phusis and nomos; it is a case in which craft cooperates with nature. On the one hand, the original natural basis is only general and indeterminate; on the other hand, habituation is the craft that builds our natural basis into a mature character. This is why Aristotle says that ‘‘we are adapted by nature to receive virtues, and are made perfect by habit’’ (teleuioumenois de dia tou ethous, NE, 1103a24–25).

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Confucius also holds the idea that virtue is a combination, balance, and harmony of natural basis and artificial refinement. When there is a preponderance of native substance over acquired refinement, the result will be churlishness. When there is a preponderance of acquired refinement over native substance, the result will be pedantry. Only a well-balanced admixture of these two will result in being an excellent person. (A, 6:18) People start with a common nature, but ‘‘diverge as a result of repeated practice’’ (A, 17:2). Virtue is imparted from the way of Heaven, but it can only be developed by returning to the social rites. This requires the agent to practice. The Learning claims that one’s life should be cultivated ‘‘as a thing is cut and filed and as a thing is carved and polished’’ (ch. 3). The idea of xiu ji (‘‘self-cultivation’’) is not far from Aristotle’s thesis that art completes nature and his ‘‘exercise version’’ (a). The difference is that while for Aristotle the natural basis is rational ability, for Confucius the imparted de has moral content to be developed. Mencius expresses most explicitly that virtue has a natural basis by establishing his theory that we have four innate roots or sprouts for virtue. However, precisely how nature and cultivation are related is a complicated issue in his thinking. Many commentators believe that Mencius holds a ‘‘development model’’ to explain the formation of virtue.37 This is based on a variety of agricultural metaphors that Mencius employs to liken the growth of virtue to the growth of the plant, such as the growth of barley (M, 6a/7) and the growth of trees on Ox Mountain (M, 6a/8). Like all seeds, these moral roots require a period of growth in order to reach maturity. At M, 2a/2, the attempt to force these seeds to grow in violation of their natural pace is compared to a foolish farmer of Song who pulled on his plants to help them to grow faster. Just as the five grains, ‘‘with ren the point, too, lies in seeing to its being ripe’’ (M, 6a/19). Consistent with the agricultural examples, Mencius stresses that the healthy and favorable environment plays a large role in the growth of each moral root. It requires ‘‘nourishment by rain and dew’’ (M, 6a/7). ‘‘If it gets its nourishment there is nothing which will not grow, if it loses its nourishment there is no thing which will not deteriorate’’ (M, 6a/8). In analogy to these agricultural metaphors, each ethical root is a potential virtue, and each virtue is the full blossom of its initial root. Innate goodness and virtue are different stages of the development of the same nature. Each root has its proper course of development, and as the roots develop and mature, the agent fulfills its destiny. The process of the attainment of virtue is the actualization of the roots in human nature. Given this, Mencius’ pattern of the growth of virtue matches well with the standard ‘‘development version’’ of Aristotle’s theory of potentiality and

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actuality, of which the growth of an organism from seed to mature state is also a frequent example. If this is the case, Mencius seems to differ from Aristotle, who applies in the NE the ‘‘exercise’’ version rather than the ‘‘development’’ version, and also to differ from Confucius, who emphasizes the combination of a natural basis and the process of cultivation. The agricultural analogy, however, does not represent Mencius’ overall position. It breaks down when Mencius emphasizes the agent’s self-cultivation. The growth of a plant’s seed does not involve any effort on the part of the seed, and it grows when a suitable environment is provided. In contrast, the roots in Mencius can only be grown if the agent constantly exercises great self-effort. They do not grow to become virtuous automatically, even if a suitable external environment is provided (M, 2a/6). Without the agent’s self-cultivation, the roots may easily wither and get damaged. ‘‘What is the most important thing to watch over? One’s own character. . . . There are many things one should watch over, but watching over one’s character is the most basic’’ (M, 4a/19). I take it that by ‘‘watching over,’’ he means that the agent should not let the weak and fragile roots be overwhelmed by strong appetites and passions. The agent should not lose self-respect (zi qi, M, 4a/ 10) and should not cripple oneself by denying one’s own potentialities (zi bao, M, 2a/6). In addition to being aware of the existence of moral roots, the agent should act (M, 1a/7) and should cultivate the vital energy (qi) that is both psychological and moral, and develop the ‘‘state of unmoved mind’’ (bu dong xin, M, 2a/2). Human beings have all the same potential, yet they become rather different as moral beings. Why? ‘‘This is only because there are people who fail to make the best of their native endowment’’ (M, 6a/6). Furthermore, like Confucius, Mencius emphasizes the crucial role of ritualization. Xunzi charges that Mencius’ theory that human nature is good threatens the value of the Confucian tradition (Xunzi, 23.3a). Since then, it has been a popular view that Mencius does not emphasize the role of the rites. Yet I find this view challengeable. Mencius’ whole project is to defend Confucius’ way, and he provides a psychological basis for the latter. He pursues his project not through an extensive discussion of the function of the rites, but by linking them to human nature and pairing the virtue of observing the rites with the sprout of respect and reverence. Indeed, he holds that the rites regulate the other three roots. The content of ren is the serving of one’s parents; the content of yi is obedience to one’s elder brothers; the content of zhi is to understand these two and to hold fast to them; the content of li is the regulation and adornment of them. (M, 4a/27) Hence, the rites inform the growth of roots and play a significant role in the shaping of character. One important aspect of self-cultivation is the constant learning of rites and the classics that record them. Mencius even

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claims: ‘‘To be in accord with the rites in every movement is the highest of virtues’’ (M, 7b/33). If the highest virtue is to conform to the rites, how can we still say that ritualization is not important in Mencius? Therefore, in emphasizing self-cultivation, Mencius is not so sharply different from Confucius and Aristotle, who put emphasis on practice and habituation. To this extent, he also subscribes to the ‘‘exercise version’’ of the potentiality/actuality relationship. I tend to believe that there is an internal tension in Mencius’ view on the acquisition of virtue. This tension is caused by Mencius’ strategy of defending the vision of Confucius. On the one hand, to undermine Mozi and Yang Zhu, he maintains that Confucian values are already in our original human nature. Since xing (human nature) has a dynamic aspect, virtues arise naturally. On the other hand, he seeks to maintain the importance of the ritual practices and preserve Confucius’ traditionalism. This leads him to hold that for the roots to grow, the agent must internalize the values contained in the rites. Let us discuss an influential passage to see how Mencius is caught in this tension. In M, 1a/7, Mencius visits King Xuan of Qi and attempts to transform him into a good king. At the beginning of the conversation, Mencius tells the king that the virtue of a true king is to care for his people. The king asks: ‘‘Can someone like myself tend the people?’’ The question reveals that the king lacks confidence in himself. He knows well that he has caused his people great pain by overtaxing them and by sending them to war in order to expand his territory. He also realizes that he has personal weaknesses (‘‘I am fond of money . . . I am fond of women’’ [M, 1b/5]). Nevertheless, Mencius assures the king that it is still possible for him to become a good king. The king asks again: ‘‘How do you know that I can?’’ To convince him, Mencius brings up a story about the king himself. Once the king happened to see an ox being led to slaughter. He could not bear to see the ox shrinking with fear, so he spared the ox and ordered it to be replaced with a lamb. With Mencius’ therapeutic persuasion, the king comes to see his own motivation clearly: ‘‘Though the deed was mine, when I looked into myself I failed to understand my own heart. You described it for me and your words struck a chord in me.’’ From this, Mencius proceeds to point out that ‘‘The heart behind your action is sufficient to enable you to become a true king.’’ He infers as follows: If one is strong enough to lift a hundred pounds, one must be able to lift a feather; if such a person does not lift a feather, it is only because he fails to make an effort. Now since the king cares about an animal, he has the ability to care for his people. The problem is that the king fails to practice benevolence. What the king needs to do is to ‘‘take this very heart and apply it to what is over there.’’ This text has given rise to many debates about the nature of extension, thanks to Nivison’s seminal paper ‘‘Mencius and Motivation.’’ Nivison observes that, while Mencius certainly shows that the king ought to expand his compassion for the ox to feel compassion for his people out of logical

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consistency, the philosopher does not establish the thesis that it is due to a refusal to act rather than an inability to act that the king lacks compassion for the people.38 Mencius seems to expect the king to generate moral feeling from an extension of judgment, but it is not clear how that is possible. Various solutions have been proposed to respond to the problem Nivison raises.39 To enter into this debate would take me far afield. For my current study, I would like to point out that this passage implies, rather, a problem with Mencius’ theory of cultivation. The major point of the exchange between Mencius and the king is to get the king to see that ‘‘he has the potential to be a good king,’’ that is, that he has inborn moral seeds. When Mencius says to the king that ‘‘all you have to do is take this very heart here and apply it to what is over there’’, and calls the king’s failure to act compassionately a simple omission rather than an ability to act, he is appealing to the ‘‘development model’’ of ethical growth which assumes that the seed can grow by itself. The king’s case shows precisely that this model cannot work on its own. The development of innate natural goodness is not a matter of natural growth, but needs significant expansion and refinement. The king must go through a process of cultivation before he can reach a harmony between reason and feeling. Mencius cannot expect the king to change his behavior right away. In other texts, Mencius himself acknowledges that he cannot win the king over. The king did not listen to him, so Mencius left. When he is on the way, Mencius deliberately traveled slowly, with the hope that the king might send after him. But that did not happen either. Mencius’ failure to convert the king seems to have proved Aristotle’s view that argument cannot change a person who does not have a good character. A moral lecture about how to extend natural ethical roots, no matter how effective logically, is not sufficient to make an uncultivated agent actually engage in extension. Mencius is right that ‘‘the king is still capable of doing good’’ (M, 2b/12), but he has to apply the ‘‘exercise version’’ to demand the king to go through a process of ritualization and emotional training. Aristotle once criticized those people who do not practice repeatedly, ‘‘but take refuge in theory and think they are being philosophers and will become good in this way, behaving somewhat like patients who listen attentively to their doctors, but do none of the things they are ordered to do’’ (NE, 1105b12– 16). Equally, the king cannot become a good person only because he was enlightened by Mencius. More importantly, he has to cultivate himself.

Family and virtue The second section of this chapter has shown that Aristotle’s ‘‘political animal’’ thesis and the Confucian conception of the relational self stand behind their respective theories of habituation and ritualization. From this common view of human social nature, these two ethics develop further some major similar perspectives. First, given the significance of the politically organized community in the fulfillment of humanity, both hold that ethics

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and politics are inseparable. For Aristotle, the project in the NE about happiness and virtue is only part of the ‘‘philosophy of human affairs,’’ and it must be completed by the study of legislation and political institutions (NE, 1181b11–15). Thus, his Politics is continuous with his ethics. For Confucius, just as being a person of ren means a return to the rites (A, 12.1), the best politics implement the rites (A, 12:11). What is essential in defining a ruler’s leadership is that the ruler must be a model in following the rites and in engaging in the rectification of his personal character. ‘‘To govern [zheng] means to rectify [zheng]’’ (A, 12:17). The Chinese term ‘‘politics’’ is etymologically related to the rectification or correction of one’s behavior. Second, since family is the basic unit of social relationship, both Aristotle and Confucius value the role of the family in cultivation. The centrality of the family is a characteristic of Confucianism. It is not often mentioned, however, that family is also a serious topic in Aristotle’s theory of habituation. Like the state, the family is also indispensable for human beings to be able to actualize their humanity. Moral education, according to Aristotle, comes from two levels: the state and the family. ‘‘For as in cities laws and character have force, so in households do the injunctions and the habits of the father’’ (NE, 1180b4–5). In the remainder of this chapter, I discuss and compare how each of these two ethics thinks about the role of the family and the state in the formation of virtue, with this section focusing on the family, and the next section on politics. Taking family seriously in moral philosophy is one point that sets both Confucius and Aristotle apart from modern ethics. Today’s textbooks on ethics are full of extensive discussions about euthanasia, abortion, animal rights, environment, etc. Yet, strangely, family is not one of these hotly discussed topics. In the diagnosis of Sommers, issues such as filial obligation are ignored because both Kantianism and utilitarianism are committed to impartiality. There is no source for dealing with the morality of special relationships.40 For Aristotle, the family, as the first community that human beings form, has deep moral influence. The formation of the family, just like the formation of the state, is related to the human power of language and moral sense: ‘‘The association of living beings who have this sense makes a family and a state’’ (Pol, 1253a17–18). The end of the family is like that of the state, that is, the development of human social nature. It is an educational institution, introducing children into the morality of the community. ‘‘Perhaps one’s own good cannot exist without household management, nor without a form of government’’ (NE, 1142a9–11). Human beings are both political animals and household animals (EE, 1242a22–23). In Pol, ii, Aristotle criticizes Plato’s proposal in the Republic that the family unit should be abolished. He believes that this proposal is impractical and cannot contribute to the unity of the state. It is also not very helpful with regard to the cultivation of virtue. Human beings care for things and

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feel affection toward them for two reasons: ‘‘that a thing is your own and that it is precious’’ (Pol, 1262b19–21). The abolition of the family takes away both these reasons. Furthermore, it also eliminates the ground for virtues such as liberality and temperance (Pol, 1263b7–14). In Aristotle’s notion of the family (oikia), there are three basic relationships: between master and slave, between husband and wife, and between father and children. He maintains that women are subordinate to men, on the grounds that although women have deliberative ability, ‘‘it is without authority’’ (Pol, 1260a13).41 He justifies the existence of natural slaves on the grounds that natural slaves lack practical wisdom and the capacity to deliberate (Pol, 1253b32–33, 1260a9–12). These views on slavery and on women show that Aristotle is not free from the prevailing Greek prejudices, and they have been much scrutinized and criticized in the literature.42 Confucius has a similar weakness. Although his theory of ren (excellence) has been recognized as consistent with feminist ethics of care,43 Confucius himself is gender-biased: ‘‘In one’s household, it is the women and the small men that are difficult to deal with. If you let them get too close, they become insolent. If you keep them at a distance, they complain’’ (A, 17:25). Mencius also holds as an evident truth that those who use their minds should rule those who use their muscles (M, 3a/4). This rationale appears to be the same as one that Aristotle uses in his justification of natural slavery. I am not interested here in launching one more attack on these problematic views. Rather, my goal is to show that, despite these problematical views, Confucius and Aristotle contribute important insights about the role of the family in the cultivation of virtue. For Aristotle, habituation is first of all a household activity. In his division of the soul, there is a part that is irrational but capable of listening to reason (NE, 1102b31). Aristotle likens this ‘‘listening-to’’ relation to the sonfather relationship by saying that this part ‘‘has a tendency to obey as one does one’s father’’ (NE, 1103a3; cf. also 1102b33). The father represents the role of reason in the early upbringing of children, guiding and channeling their desires and emotions. Furthermore, a father should also help his children develop their deliberative abilities. A child has reasoning power, ‘‘but it is immature’’ (Pol, 1260a14–15). Since Aristotle believes that early habituation makes a crucial difference in one’s growth (NE, 1103b24–25), the teaching of the father is significant. Aristotle requires that the students of his ethics ‘‘must first have been cultivated by means of habits for noble joy and noble hatred, like earth which is to nourish the seed’’ (NE, 1179b25–26). Since the most important place to receive moral education before academic instruction is within the family, it must be the family’s function to lay down this foundation. ‘‘Therefore in the household first we have the sources and springs of friendship, of political organization, and of justice’’ (EE, 1242a40–b2). The father’s teaching is effective because of kinship. ‘‘A father’s words and habits have influence, and all the more because of kinship and because of the

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benefits he does; for his children are already fond of him and naturally ready to obey’’ (NE, 1180b5–7). Aristotle in particular stresses the family’s role in the cultivation of temperance. ‘‘To live moderately and hardily is not pleasant to most people, especially when they are young’’ (NE, 1179b33– 34). This is even more difficult if a child is born into a rich family and is not trained to be temperate and obedient (Pol, 1295b16–17). If a father hopes to train his child to check his desire for money and guide him to temperance, he must not seek to increase the family’s wealth without limit (Pol, 1257b41–1258a1). For Confucius, ritualization is first of all a return to the social rites that regulate family relationships. His focus, however, is not on how a father trains his child to obey the social rites, but on how a grown-up son should observe the rites with respect to his parents. When asked what filial piety is, the Master answered: ‘‘Never fail to comply.’’ When asked further about what it means, Confucius explains, ‘‘When your parents are alive, comply with the rites in serving them; when they die, comply with the rites in burying them; comply with the rites in sacrificing to them’’ (A, 2:5). Confucius does not list in detail what the social rites are in serving, burying, and sacrificing. The Analects, however, contains many sayings about what one should do in these respects. I take it that they can be read as Confucius’ own interpretation and understanding of what the social rites require in these areas. These sayings reflect the content of the Confucian conception of filial piety (xiao). Since there is not much available in literature about how grown-up children should treat their parents, it might be useful to list here some of Confucius’ important sayings in this regard. Meng Wu Po asked about being filial. The Master said, ‘‘Give your father and mother no other cause for anxiety than illness.’’ (A, 2:6) Zi-yu asked about being filial. The Master said, ‘‘Nowadays for a man to be filial means no more than that he is able to provide his parents with food. Even hounds and horses are, in some way, provided with food. If a man shows no reverence, where is the difference?’’ (A, 2:7) Zi-xia asked about being filial. The Master said, ‘‘What is difficult is the expression on one’s face. As for the young taking on the burden when there is work to be done or letting the old enjoy the wine and the food when these are available, that hardly deserves to be called filial.’’ (A, 2:9) The Master said, ‘‘While your parents are alive, you should not go too far afield in your travels. If you do, your whereabouts should always be known.’’ (A, 4:19)

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Habituation and ritualization The Master said, ‘‘A man should not be ignorant of the age of his father and mother. It is a matter, on the one hand, for rejoicing and, on the other, for anxiety.’’ (A, 4:21)

In general, to serve the parents when they are alive, the grown-up children should provide them with financial and other material help, and. more importantly, should support them with sincerity and love. Furthermore, the grown-up children should care about their psychological well-being and should not cause them to worry. When they die, the requirement is thus: ‘‘Conduct the funeral of your parents with meticulous care’’ (A, 1:9). Then, Confucius says, there should be a three-year mourning period (A, 17:21). This is certainly different from letting parents spend their final years in nursing homes and in the hands of care workers. Along the same line, Mencius makes a list of things that a filial son should not do: First, the neglect of one’s parents through laziness of limb, second, the neglect of one’s parents through indulgence in the games of po and yi and fondness for drink, third, the neglect of one’s parents through miserliness in money matters and partiality towards one’s wife, fourth, indulgence in sensual pleasures to the shame of one’s parents, fifth, a quarrelsome and truculent disposition that jeopardizes the safety of one’s parents. (M, 4b/30) A filial son should honor his parents (M, 5a/4) and please them (M, 4a/28; cf. 3a/12). Pleasing one’s parents is more important than beautiful companions, wealth, and power, and indeed it is the only thing that can relieve one’s anxiety (M, 5a/1). In addition, it is also a filial son’s primary obligation to produce offspring and continue the family history (M, 4a/26). Furthermore, filial piety has one more important dimension. In the Mean, a filial son is required to continue to pursue the father’s dreams and ideals. Being filial means to ‘‘continue the will and transmit the work of his father.’’44 The above comparative discussion shows that Aristotle emphasizes the role of the father in educating children, and he is primarily concerned with the cultivation of virtues in youth rather than the education of adults. In contrast, Confucius’ primary concern is how a grown-up son should train himself to be pious towards his parents. This divergence reflects two deeper differences between them about precisely how significant the family is in ethics. First, whereas for Confucius ritualization in the family is the root for one to become excellent, Aristotle does not have this aspect, and his root of virtue is human function rather than filial love. Second, whereas Confucius believes that family is more foundational than the state in moral education,

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Aristotle holds that the state is most essential. Let me further elaborate on these differences. In advocating filial piety, Confucius is ascribing a special ethical significance to the family. The family is not just an ordinary part of the overall moral education project; rather, it is the root for the cultivation of all other virtues, the root for a person to be an excellent person. Being a good son is the basis for being a good social animal. Few of those who are filial sons and respectful brothers will show disrespect to superiors, and there has never been a man who is respectful to superiors and yet creates disorder. An excellent person is devoted to the fundamentals [the root]. When the root is firmly established, the way will grow. Filial piety and brotherly respect are the root of human excellence [ren]. (Analects, 1:2, translation modified) According to this passage, filial love is the basis for virtue cultivation, and is also the basis on which the human dao can be achieved. Shortly after this passage, at A, 1.6, Confucius himself says, ‘‘Young men should be filial when at home and respectful to their elders when away from home. They should be earnest and faithful. They should love all extensively and be friendly to [their] fellow men’’ (translation is from Chan, 1963, with modification). The general idea of these two passages is that being filial at home is the root for one to be respectful outside the home, and filial love can be gradually expanded to include all others. Cultivation consists in the transferal of the family’s relation of hierarchy and fraternity to the larger society. Equally, Mencius calls filial love ben (‘‘foundation’’ or ‘‘root,’’ M, 3a/5). He elaborates on the foundational status of filial piety as follows: ‘‘What is the most important duty? One’s duty towards one’s parents. . . . There are many duties one should discharge, but the fulfillment of one’s duty towards one’s parents is the most basic’’ (M, 4a/19). In his view, we are naturally endowed with four roots, and the most important contents of these roots are filial love and fraternal respect (M, 4a/27). Moral cultivation makes these four roots grow; this means first having correct attitudes directed towards family members, and then extending them to everyone else: ‘‘Loving one’s parent is ren; respecting one’s elders is yi. What is left is simply the extension of these to the whole empire’’ (M, 7a/15). Mohism, the rival of Confucianism, claims that there should be no gradation in love, and that parents should be buried in a frugal way. The Mohist Yizi accepts this theory but then he gives his parents lavish burials. In an indirect exchange with Yizi, Mencius says that ‘‘when Heaven produces things, it gives them a single basis, yet Yizi tries to give them a dual one’’ (M, 3a/5). The dual basis seems to refer to the special position of filial love and universal, non-gradated love. For Mencius, however, if Heaven gives only one natural basis, it must be filial love.

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Mencius offers two major points to justify the claim that filial love is deeply inherent in one’s heart. The first concerns how a son feels in seeing his parents’ bodies savaged by beasts: Presumably there must be cases in ancient times of people not burying their parents. When the parents died, they were thrown in the gullies. Then one day the son passed the place and there lay the bodies, eaten by foxes and sucked by flies. A sweat broke out on their brows, and they could not bear to look. The sweating was not put on for others to see. It was an outward expression of their innermost heart. They went home for baskets and spades. If it was truly right for them to bury the remains of their parents, then it must also be right for all dutiful sons and benevolent men to do likewise. (M, 3a/5) Like the Well and Child case, this imaginary situation is intuitive but illustrative. It appeals to human instinct and attempts to persuade one by inviting him or her to be in the situation mentioned in this passage. The second point is: What a man is able to do without having to learn it is what he can truly do; what he knows without having to reflect on it is what he truly knows. There are no young children who do not know how to love their parents, and none of them when growing up will not know respecting their elder brothers. (M, 7a/15) It is taken as a general principle here that the intuitive and immediate reaction is the expression of one’s genuine feeling and thinking. Filial love is thought to be such an intuitive and immediate reaction. Both points aim at illustrating that filial love is a part of human nature, a part of innate human goodness. Bertrand Russell evaluates the Confucian theory of filial piety negatively: ‘‘Filial piety, and the strength of the family generally, are perhaps the weakest points in Confucian ethics, the only point where the system departs seriously from common sense.’’45 It is unclear why Russell thinks that this conception of filial piety departs from ‘‘common sense,’’ but he must have seriously missed the point in saying that this is perhaps ‘‘the weakest point in Confucian ethics.’’ Our discussion shows rather that when Confucius and Mencius focus on how a son should train himself to be pious and to emphasize the expansion of this root of filial love, what they are after is finding a strong theoretical basis for one to become a good social animal. It is a matter of how one can willingly accept the constraints of li or social rites. Filial love is a strong foundation on which we can willingly accept our parents’ order and authority. A family may not be a democratic forum

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based on equality, yet it is a warm place in which one loves to be. Being filial is essential for one to cultivate one’s humanity. To be good is first of all to be pious, which can then serve as a basis for obedience to the entire system of the rites for forming good and harmonious relations with others. A good son makes a good subject.46 Confucius’ problem is that he appears to go too far in pushing the extent of a son’s obedience to the father. When parents do wrong things, a son ‘‘ought to dissuade them from doing wrong in the gentlest way.’’ However, when they ignore a son’s advice, a son should remain reverent (A, 4:18). It goes extreme in the following well known passage: The Governor of She said to Confucius, ‘‘In our village we have an example of a straight [zhi, upright] person. When the father stole a sheep, the son gave evidence against him.’’ Confucius answered, ‘‘In our village those who are straight are quite different. Fathers cover up for their sons, and sons cover up for their fathers. In such behaviour is straightness to be found as a matter of course.’’ (A, 13:18) This passage has been a difficulty for commentators, as Confucius appears to endorse here a typical nepotistic behavior. In Confucius’ judgment, however, this governor is not good because he encourages the disruption of filial love, the root for cultivation of all other virtues. He must be thinking that if the son turns his father in, he undermines the most fundamental human relationship, the basis by which all virtues are nourished. Morally, that would be far worse. Nevertheless, it is difficult to call such behavior ‘‘upright.’’ There is, however, no reason to believe that Confucius would approve of conduct that favors one’s relatives at the expense of other people. Although he emphasizes love and filial piety, he also puts great importance on yi (appropriateness). Appropriateness is ‘‘what sets things right and proper, and the great application of it is in honoring the worthy’’ (Mean, ch. 20).47 Honoring the worthy requires raising a suitable person to office (Learning, ch.10). If one does not do so, or does not remove an unsuitable person from office, he does not have the virtue of appropriateness. Yet, an excellent person should be always on the side of appropriateness (A, 4:10). In the Learning, a person who cultivates his life should be able to regulate one’s family. ‘‘Men are partial toward those for whom they have affection and whom they love.’’ Yet a cultivated person should know ‘‘what is bad in those whom they love and what is good in those whom they dislike’’ (ch. 8). If one cannot regulate one’s family, one cannot govern the state. Now let us turn to Aristotle. In his theory of friendship, he has something to say about how a grown-up son should treat his parents. The standard kind of friendship (philia) involves individuals who have equal status, but Aristotle believes that friendship also exists between people of unequal status such as family members. In the friendship between father and son,

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fathers give their son life ‘‘which is thought the greatest good,’’ and are also the providers of nurturing and education (NE, 1161a10, 1161a15–17, 1162a4ff.). For these reasons, the grown-up son has duties towards his parents, although they are not categorical. If he and his father were both captured, ‘‘It would seem that he should ransom his father in preference even to himself’’ (NE, 1165a2–3). Aristotle believes that we owe our nourishment to our parents, so we must help them get food before we help others. ‘‘It is more noble to help in this respect the authors of our being even before ourselves’’ (NE, 1165a23; see also 1160a4–6). Furthermore, we should also accord honor to our parents (NE, 1165a24–25). There has been a debate regarding whether grown children owe their parents for the sacrifices their parents made for them. Jane English claims that there is no direct filial duty and we cannot use the words ‘‘owe’’ or ‘‘indebtedness’’ in considering the relationship between grown children and their parents. Her two main arguments are as follows. First, the word ‘‘owe’’ can only be used when the favor is asked. Since a child did not request to be born, she does not ‘‘owe’’ the love and sacrifice that parents voluntarily provide in the course of her growth. Grown children may help their parents out of friendship and love, but they are not obliged to reciprocate. Second, the relationship between parents and their children belongs to friendship characterized by mutuality rather than reciprocity. ‘‘After friendship ends, the duties of friendship end.’’48 Confucius would not agree with Jane English. In his concept of filial piety, a son has an obligation to his parents when they are alive and when they die. It presupposes that grown children owe their parents and should pay them back. In a sense, the three-year mourning period is justified on the basis of repayment of the care that one received in early childhood. But for Confucius, this is far more than a problem of repayment. Rather, filial obligation is a matter of humanity that underlies one’s relation to one’s parents. Your nature as a good son is the root of being a good person. Aristotle would not agree with Jane English either. His description of the friendship between father and son indicates that he, like Confucius, believes that the grown-up son should pay his father back. Indeed, Aristotle straightforwardly employs the words ‘‘debt’’ and ‘‘repayment.’’ His reason is that the father is the cause of being of the son, and that life is the greatest benefit which the son can never fully repay. This is why it would seem to be open to a man to disown his father (though a father may disown his son); being in debt, he should repay, but there is nothing by doing which a son will have done the equivalent of what he has received, so that he is always in debt. (NE, 1163b19–22) Accordingly, the friendship between father and son is unique, for it can never end, especially from the son’s side.49

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Although both Aristotle and Confucius agree that a grown-up son owes his parents, Aristotle does not share Confucius’ idea that filial love is the root of one’s virtue. In his view, parents’ love for their children is longer and stronger than children’s love for their parents. It is longer because parents feel affection for their children as soon as they are born, whereas children feel it for their parents only when they have acquired understanding. It is stronger because parents see their children as a continuation of their own lives and have a closer relation of belonging. In contrast, it is to a much lesser degree that a child regards his father as his own (NE, 1160b20, 1161b16). Yet for Aristotle, although family is significant, neither children’s love towards parents nor parents’ love towards children constitutes the foundation of virtue ethics. Whereas filial love serves as the basis for ritualization in Confucius, the basis for habituation in Aristotle is human rationality. The above is the first difference. Now let us turn to the second. For Confucius, the core of the rites is to make a father a father, a son a son, a ruler a ruler, and a subject a subject (A, 12:11). It demonstrates two relationships: one is the father and son relationship in the family and the other is the ruler and subject relationship in politics. Of them, the father-son relationship in the family is the basis of society. The relation of ruler and minister was in later discourse often compared to that of parent and child. Family is more foundational in ritualization, and the state is regarded as the family writ large. In the Learning, the claim is that ‘‘in order to govern the state it is necessary first to regulate the family’’ (ch. 9). If one cannot educate his family, he cannot educate the people of the country. Only if a ruler is a worthy example as a father or son will people imitate and follow him. In contrast, in Aristotle’s view, although the family is an important educational institution, it is only as part of the overall project of moral education. The state plays a much more important role. Habituation is more of an issue for the state than for the family. Aristotle acknowledges that the family has advantages over the state in moral education. First, the parental command is more effective ‘‘because of the tie of blood and the benefits it confers; for the children start with a natural affection and disposition to obey’’ (NE, 1180b5–7); second, it can respond to the individual needs and abilities of each child (NE, 1180b7–13). Nevertheless, the role of politics is more essential. The state has coercive power that paternal instruction lacks. The law can enforce its commands and its enforcement is impersonal (NE, 1180a18–24). Moreover, the law embodies the universal knowledge of human good. Thus, although individual attention in family education is needed, ‘‘it will perhaps be agreed that if a man does wish to become master of an art or science he must go to the universal’’ (NE, 1180b20–22). Consequently, ‘‘it is best that there should be a public and proper care for such matters’’ (NE, 1180a29). Family must help only if the state fails to make it one of its top responsibilities to take care of education in virtue: ‘‘If they are neglected by the community it would seem

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right for each man to help his children and friends towards virtue’’ (NE, 1180a30–31). More importantly, it is in the state rather than in the family that we can better fulfill our function as political animals. Whereas the family is one stage in the generation of the state, the state is the end in the process of actualization of our social nature. It is a mistake to think that a political ruler and a household master differ only in the number of their subjects (Pol, 1252a9–17). The family is subordinate to the state, since the state’s aim is ‘‘the highest of all,’’ and it ‘‘embraces all the rest’’ (Pol, 1252a5–6). Aristotle even declares that ‘‘every family is a part of a state’’ and that ‘‘the virtue of the part must have regard to the virtue of the whole’’ (Pol, 1260b13–15). Accordingly, family education should be subjected to that of the state. Children should grow up as good citizens (Pol, 1260b19–10); hence the teaching of the parents should be in accordance with the constitution and the laws.50

Politics and virtue Although the family is more foundational than the state for Confucius, it does not mean that the state is not significant in his thinking. He shares the same view with Aristotle that ethics and politics are inseparable. At the beginning of the previous section, we have mentioned two points about how ethics and politics are related in Confucius. First, to be an excellent person is to return to the rites; yet politics is also about the restoration of the ritual system. Second, in Chinese, the term for ‘‘politics’’ is etymologically related to the rectification or correction of one’s behavior. This in particular means that the ruler should rectify his behavior (A, 12:17; 13:1). Engaging in the rectification of his personal character becomes essential in defining a ruler’s leadership. The ruler should be an example to his subjects through exemplary behavior, and the art of government is taken to be an extension of moral education. These two functions of politics are closely related because to rule is to follow the social rites, and thus if a ruler is exemplary, he must embody virtues of the ritual tradition. In Aristotle, Politics is a sequel to his ethical philosophy, and in Confucius, the Analects is about how one should cultivate virtue, but it is also about how to govern. This view on the inseparability of ethics and politics distinguishes both Aristotle and Confucius from liberal individualism. In modern ethics, individual rights and obligations are fundamental concepts, whereas politics is understood to be concerned with the limits of political authority, the grounds for political obligation, and the principle of distributive justice. Hence, the prevailing assumption is that morals and politics are two distinct spheres of life, and that there is ‘‘need to employ different languages in private and public contexts, to sharply distinguish moral from political philosophy’’ (Williams, 1971, 81). In contrast, for both Confucius and Aristotle, a person is by nature a political animal or a relational being, and cannot

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live or develop independently of society. The state is not a contrivance for securing the individual’s freedom and other rights. Rather, its aim is to enable the individual to fulfill his humanity. A man’s social nature can only be actualized in a community. Different conceptions of ethics and of politics lead to different views about the relation between ethics and politics. I now proceed to show, in some detail, how politics works in promoting the cultivation of virtue in both ethics. For Aristotle, the existence of the state is not only for survival, but also for living well or happiness. Living well or happiness is described as the chief end both of individuals and of states (Pol, 1278b21–22). In the Politics, happiness is defined, as is in the NE, as the ‘‘realization and perfect practice of virtue’’ (Pol, 1328a35–38, 1332a7–27). Since ethical virtue is acquired through habituation, the state should take care of the cultivation of the social and political virtues of its citizens through legislation (NE, 1180b29).51 ‘‘It is difficult to get from youth up a right training for virtue if one has not been brought up under right laws’’ (NE, 1179b32–33). There are two kinds of laws. One is designed to curb wrongdoing through fear of punishment, and the other aims to bring about human good and to foster a better way of life. Aristotle believes that the aim of the lawgivers should be the second kind of law, that is, to ‘‘stimulate men to virtue and urge them forward by the motive of the noble’’ (NE, 1180a6–7). ‘‘Law must prescribe their upbringing and practices’’ (NE, 1179a35). The law regulates what a virtuous act is by ‘‘commanding some acts and forbidding others’’ (NE, 1129b19–24; cf. 1094b5). It sets standards of practice that lead towards virtue. In this way, the state turns itself into an educational institution. The laws are framed in accordance with the spirit of the constitution (politeia). The constitution is institutional, as it arranges the ruling body of the state and the distribution of power, but more than that, it is also ethical, as it determines the aim or goal of each political community (Pol, 1289a16). The constitution accounts for the identity of a polis and defines it. It is the form of order (taxis) of a given polis or state (Pol, 1274b38, 1276b5–10) and is its way of life (Pol, 1295b1, 1328a35–b2). According to this notion, a constitution enshrines social values and has a deep ethical dimension. If the constitution changes, the polis also changes (Pol, 1276b1–6). The traditional forms of constitution in Greece are of three kinds: ruled respectively by ‘‘the one, the few, or the many’’ (Pol, 1279a27–28). Each of these three types of rule has two varieties, the correct and the deviant. The difference is that while the correct constitution aims towards common interest and justice, the deviant one aims towards the private interests of the rulers. The three correct forms of constitution are: kingship (ruled by the one), aristocracy (ruled by the few), and constitutional government or polity (ruled by the many). The three respective deviant forms are tyranny, oligarchy, and democracy (Pol, 1279a32–b6). These different forms of constitution are formed because different men ‘‘seek after happiness in different ways and by different means, and so make for themselves different modes of

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life and forms of government’’ (Pol, 1328a41–b1). Each constitution is generated with a peculiar notion of happiness as its end. The ends of aristocracy, oligarchy, and democracy are respectively virtue, wealth, and freedom (NE, 1131a27–29; Pol, 1294a10–11; Rh, 1366a2–8). Each state also seeks to preserve its constitution by instilling its notion of happiness in its inhabitants, and educating them to conform to its spirit. The constitutions of most Greek city-states at the time of Aristotle were either oligarchic or democratic (Pol, 1296a22–23). An oligarchy is controlled by a small group of wealthy individuals, and democracy by the majority and the poor.52 Aristotle acknowledges that each constitution is a kind of justice (NE, 1129b11–12, 1241b13–15), but he does not think that the notion of happiness embodied by many constitutions and laws is appropriate. In NE, i.5, Aristotle seeks to establish his own notion of happiness and rejects the alternatives. In the Politics he also takes it to be an indispensable task of his theory of happiness to study constitutions and laws and to seek to determine the best constitution, the one that can best promote the actualization of human social nature. ‘‘The city is best governed which has the greatest opportunity of obtaining happiness’’ (Pol, 1332a4–6). To identify the best constitution then becomes the primary task of the Politics. It is in order to find the best constitution that existing political systems and their defects are discussed. Aristotle distinguishes between ‘‘a good man’’ and ‘‘a good citizen’’ (NE, 1130b28; Pol, 1276b34). The social norms, constitutions, and governmental forms change, and the meaning of a good citizen changes accordingly. ‘‘There is not one single virtue of the good citizen that is perfect virtue’’ (Pol, 1276b32–33). In contrast, there is a single perfect virtue for man as man. A good citizen is relative to the constitution of which he is a member and hence there is a lack of unified standards of virtue for citizens, whereas a good person can be determined in terms of one single virtue (cf. NE, 1130b28–29; Pol, 1276b20–34). This distinction must be understood by recalling the function argument, according to which an excellent person is one who exercises his rational activity well. We can judge a good person according to his virtue in exercising the human function, rather than according to a given constitution. While the distinction between a good man and a good citizen exists in other constitutions, it disappears under the best constitution. ‘‘In the perfect state the good man is absolutely the same as the good citizen; whereas in other states the good citizen is only good relative to his own form of government’’ (Pol, 1293b6–8, 1288a37–39). This is because the best constitution promotes its citizens’ virtue and realizes happiness (as Aristotle understands it) for its citizens. ‘‘It is evident that that form of government is best in which every man, whoever he is, can act best and live happily’’ (Pol, 1324a22–24). In other words, in the ideal state, each person can fully exercise his rational ability and fulfill his rational nature, and all members will be able to realize their highest degree of perfection. The virtues of a good

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man coincide with the virtues of a good citizen. Just as Aristotle appeals to human function to establish his conception of happiness, he appeals to the function argument to determine his best constitution. The function argument is the basis for his theory of happiness, and it is also the basis for his political theory. The best constitution is the best precisely because it fulfills the true end of the polis, that is, the good life or happiness of its citizens (Pol, 1252b29–30, 1329a22–24, 1331b24–1332a7). What, then, is the best constitution? It is not democracy. In Aristotle’s classification, this is a deviant constitution, and as such, it is characterized as one that does not serve the public interest (Pol, 1279b4–10). For Aristotle, ‘‘two principles are characteristic of democracy, the government of the majority and freedom’’ (Pol, 1310a28–29). The will of the majority of the citizens is supreme in democracy. ‘‘Whatever the majority approves must be the end and the just’’ (Pol, 1317b5–6). Since the majority happens to be poor, democracy is ruled by those who lack property (Pol, 1279b19–20, 1280a2–3). In this constitution, political authority is distributed to every citizen without regard for personal qualifications. Everyone is equal and equality is regarded as the principle of justice. ‘‘Men think that what is just is equal, and that equality is the supremacy of the popular will’’ (Pol, 1310a30–33). Freedom, in the common opinion of men, is ‘‘the great end of every democracy’’ (1317b1), and it is identified with living as one pleases (1317b11). Aristotle criticizes both principles. First, he does not approve of the idea that the will of the majority of the citizens is supreme. Although he usually acknowledges that collective judgment has its merit and that the views of many people are worth more than the opinion of a single individual (Pol, 1281b4–10, b34–38, 1287b23–25), he insists that: ‘‘Whether this principle can apply to every democracy, and to all bodies of men, is not clear. Or rather, by heaven, in some cases it is impossible to apply’’ (Pol, 1281b15– 18). This is because he does not believe that people have equal practical wisdom and are therefore equally fit for the highest offices. Many offices require knowledge, experience, and virtue, and the holders of them should not be chosen by lot. ‘‘There is still a danger in allowing them to share the great offices of state, for their folly will lead them into error, and their dishonesty into crime’’ (Pol, 1281b25–27). Second, Aristotle does not think that people should be free in the sense of living as one pleases. ‘‘This is all wrong,’’ he remarks, ‘‘men should not think it slavery to live according to the rule of the constitutions; for it is their salvation’’ (Pol, 1310a31–35). A person’s life should be regulated and guided by the constitution, and he should exercise self-restraint and prudence. Absolute freedom entails the possibility of absolute corruption. Without justice and virtue, a person equipped with rationality will become something worse than a beast. Order and stability are important for personal moral perfection. As a social being, one must take others into consideration in one’s actions. ‘‘Every man should be responsible to others, nor

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should anyone be allowed to do just as he pleases; for where absolute freedom is allowed there is nothing to restrain the evil which is inherent in every man’’ (Pol, 1318b38–1319a1). Partly because the Politics is not a single and coherent text, Aristotle’s description of the best constitution is not always consistent. At one point, Aristotle claims that, ‘‘There is but one constitution which is everywhere by nature the best’’ (NE, 1135a5). Yet he gives more than one in Pol, iii. Kingship, the rule of one man, is said to be ‘‘the first and most divine’’ (Pol, 1289a40). This constitution ‘‘must exist by virtue of some great personal superiority in the king’’ (Pol, 1289b1–2). This ruler must be incomparably superior to all the rest in virtue and be ‘‘a god among men’’ (Pol, 1284a11). If there is such a person, ‘‘he should have the supreme power, and that mankind should obey him, not in turn, but always’’ (Pol, 1288a28–29). The other form of best constitution is aristocracy, the rule of a small group of good men. Aristocracy differs from kingship in that while in kingship one ruler of supreme virtue governs, in aristocracy it is a small number of men equal in virtue that rule (Pol, 1288a15–19).53 In addition to the two best constitutions in Pol, iii, Aristotle describes in great detail an ideal state in Pol, vii and viii, according to which the whole of the citizen body is fully virtuous (1332a32–35). Here, the ruling body is neither one man nor a small group, but the entire body of citizens. Citizens are each other’s equals and hence they take turns ruling and being ruled. Precisely how the best state in books vii and viii is related to the description of the best constitutions has been a topic of controversy. Nevertheless, these best constitutions share one thing in common: the rule of those who are fully virtuous. The conditions that the best constitutions presuppose are difficult to come by, and their execution ‘‘will depend on fortune’’ (Pol, 1331b22). Aristotle therefore refers to the best constitution as the one that we wish or pray for (euche-).54 He acknowledges that ‘‘the best is often unattainable’’ (Pol, 1288b24). There is little chance that such a rule with superior virtue can be found, and even aristocracy (in Aristotle’s sense) is beyond ‘‘the possibilities of the greater number of states’’ (Pol, 1332b24). Yet, he also insists that an ideal sate requires nothing that is impossible (Pol, 1265a17– 18, 1325b38–40). It sets up a goal that human beings can approach in varying degrees. Clearly, Aristotle’s criticism of democracy is consistent with his idea that the best constitution is one in which the rulers have supreme ethical and intellectual virtues. What is behind his upholding of the rule of virtue is his conviction that political leaders need political wisdom to formulate good laws and then apply them to particular situations. The idea of freedom that Aristotle attacks does not seem to be the same as the one that is held in modern democracy. Freedom in a modern free society does not mean to be free from any political and legal constraint; rather, it is regulated in many ways. Nevertheless, Aristotle’s criticism suggests a different attitude towards the position of freedom in politics. In

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liberal democracy, freedom is the defining feature of the human condition. It is the supreme end of the state to protect its citizens’ freedoms and other rights. In contrast, for Aristotle, freedom is important, but it is not the supreme good. The end of the state is to promote personal nobility and perfection. Whether a constitution is good or bad is not determined by its concern with freedom, but by its concern with virtue. Kingship is the rule of one man, but it is paternalistic rather than despotic. It governs in the common interest and rules over willing subjects. Turn to the relation between ethics and politics on the Confucian side. According to Confucius, the proper way to govern the people is as follows. Guide them by edicts, keep them in line with punishment, and the common people will stay out of trouble but will have no sense of shame. Guide them by virtue, keep them in line with the rites [li], and they will, besides having a sense of shame, reform themselves. (A, 2:3) This passage reminds us of Aristotle’s position that legislators should not just establish laws that prohibit bad actions, but should legislate to encourage good conduct that influences the formation of good character. In the passage quoted above, Confucius has the same intent to distinguish between penal laws and regulative social rites. If the people are only prohibited from wrongdoing due to fear of punishment, they will try to avoid the punishment, but will not feel shame for their behavior and reform themselves. Politics should not seek to control through enforcing punitive laws. This is also Mencius’ view: ‘‘To punish them after they have fallen foul of the law is to set a trap for the people’’ (M, 3a/3). The two features of good politics mentioned in this passage – ‘‘keep people in line with social rites’’ and ‘‘guide them with virtue’’ – correspond respectively to A, 12:11, in which Confucius claims that to govern is to restore the rites, and also to A, 12:17, in which Confucius maintains that to rule is to educate one’s subjects through exemplary behavior. In short, the goals of politics are conformity with the rites and moral exemplification. Let us examine in some detail each of these two features of politics. Regarding the first feature of ‘‘keeping people in line with the rites,’’ Confucius believes that the ritual system is not only the best social custom but also the ideal political system. Confucius aspires to an ideal constitution, just as Aristotle does in the Politics. However, whereas Aristotle attempts to find one by examining different constitutions (he is known to have collected 158 constitutions), Confucius believes that the ideal constitution can be found in the social rites of the Zhou, and hence devotes himself to edit the classics that record the Zhou rites. Government of course has a variety of functions, but the ruler’s primary task is to ritualize his state, that is, to make one who occupies a social role perform the role required by the ritual tradition.

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Habituation and ritualization If a man is able to govern a state by observing the rites and showing deference, what difficulties will he have in public life? If he is unable to govern a state by observing the rites and showing deference, what good are the rites to him? (A, 14:13) The Master also says, ‘‘When those above are given to the observance of the rites, the common people will be easy to command.’’ (A, 14: 41)

Just as Aristotle’s ideal constitution, the Confucian ritual system is also not democratic. In this system, the king is the sole decision maker, but he is not elected by the people. The undemocratic ritual system, however, is by no means oppressive. The rule of the social rites is an extension of parental authority. The state is a family ‘writ large’ in which the ruler’s relation to his subjects is comparable to that of a father to his children. State authority is in the form of benevolent paternalism. The king is the decision maker, but if he is good and is the guardian of the social rites, his decisions are guided by the interests of his subjects. He must provide his people with security, ensure them decent living conditions, and nurture their virtue through education and exemplification. The mandate of Heaven lies in the ruler putting the interests of the people first. ‘‘Heaven sees as the people see and Heaven hears as the people hear’’ (M, 5a/5). Confucius holds that the material well-being of the people is not only necessary for the existence and endurance of a state, but is also a precondition for virtuous activity (A, 11:17; 13:19). Mencius takes it as one of his major concerns to advise the kings to serve the needs and interests of the people (M, 1a/7, 1b/1, 3a/3, 7b/14). The characteristic virtue of the ruler is being benevolent (ren in its narrow sense). A good king should extend his heart of benevolence to establish a ‘‘benevolent government’’ (ren zheng). A benevolent ruler should first make sure that people have land, food, and other life necessities. Economic deprivation is a primary external cause of evil conduct, but a decent economic situation helps put people on the path to virtue (M, 3a/3). When people are well housed and well clothed, the benevolent ruler must establish an education system to ‘‘teach the people human relationships: love between father and son, duty between ruler and subject, distinction between husband and wife, precedence of the older over the young, and faith between friends’’ (M, 3a/4). Such an emphasis on the interests of the people finally leads Mencius to his theory of min-ben (‘‘people as the foundations’’), according to which ‘‘the people are the most important element [in a state]; the spirits of the land and the grain are secondary; and the sovereign is the least’’ (M, 7b/14). The ruler exists for the sake of the people and not the other way round. Accordingly, although the rule of the rites is not ‘‘by the people’’ or ‘‘of the people,’’ it is ‘‘for the people.’’ According to Aristotle’s standard, concern

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for the people rather than for the interests of the ruler is a mark of a correct constitution. He would therefore regard the rule of the social rites as a correct constitution. The second feature of ‘‘guiding people with virtue’’ means that the strong moral character of the ruler, if he has one, has great political significance. Having it or not having it directly influences the efficacy of his leadership. ‘‘If a man is correct in his own person, then there will be obedience without orders being given; but if he is not correct in his own person, there will not be obedience even though orders are given’’ (A, 13:6; cf. also 13:13). If a ruler is virtuous, the people will look up to him and follow him. The good ruler must serve as a model for others to emulate. ‘‘The rule of virtue can be compared to the Pole Star which commands the homage of the multitude of stars without leaving its place’’ (A, 2:1). His exemplification leads people to be correct themselves. ‘‘When the gentleman feels profound affection for his parents, the common people will be stirred to ren. When he does not forget friends of long standing, the common people will not shirk their obligations to other people’’ (A, 8:2). Through model emulation, people inculcate the values inherent in the behavior of the model and duplicate them in their own attitudes and behaviors. ‘‘When one sees a worthy, one should think of equating him’’ (A, 4:7). Confucius likens the ruler’s exemplification to the wind that would bend people in the same direction. ‘‘The virtue of the gentleman is like wind; the virtue of the small man is like grass. Let the wind blow over the grass and it is sure to bend’’ (A, 12:19). Mencius quotes this passage (see M, 3a/2), and he also elaborates on this point: When the prince is benevolent, everyone else is benevolent; when the prince is dutiful, everyone else is dutiful; when the prince is correct, everyone else is correct. Simply by rectifying the prince one can put the state on a firm basis. (M, 4a/20) The Mean further brings out the relation between the ruler’s moral model and the dao: ‘‘If the ruler cultivates his personal life, the dao will be established’’ (ch. 20). However, the Mean also pushes Confucius’ emphasis on the ruler’s character to the extreme, in that a good government essentially depends on the ethical quality of those who govern. ‘‘The conduct of government depends upon the men. The right men are obtained by the ruler’s personal character’’ (ch. 20). This, together with Confucius’ distrust of the punitive law (A, 2:3), has led to the prevailing reading that Confucianism advocates the rule of man but does not value the rule of law. The position here, however, should be taken as an affirmation of the role of moral exemplification in politics. The ruler’s character can be exemplary only if he embodies the values of the rites. Since only a king who satisfies

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the ritual requirement is a true king, it is more appropriate to say that what Confucius advocates is ‘‘the rule of the social rites’’ rather than ‘‘the rule of man.’’ The ruler is the guardian of the rites, and the ideal way of governing a society is through observing the rites and practicing civility. It is the rule of the rites that creates and maintains an ideal network of human relationships and promotes the common good. Once again, Confucius’ view is not far away from that of Aristotle. The law-versus-men debate, that is, the debate about ‘‘whether it is more advantageous to be ruled by the best man or by the best laws’’ (Pol, 1286a7–8), seems to have been popular in Aristotle’s time. Aristotle’s position is as follows. Under a certain circumstances, that is, when all citizens are alike and equal in moral and intellectual virtues, ‘‘The rule of the law, it is argued, is preferable to that of any individual’’ (Pol, 1287a19–20). Law represents reason and impartiality (Pol, 1287a32), whereas man is affected by desire. ‘‘Desire is a wild beast, and passion perverts the minds of rulers’’ (Pol, 1287a29–31). Between passionate man and dispassionate law, the rule of law is of course preferable to the rule of corruptible and fallible men. The rule of law, however, has its disadvantages as well. Law speaks only in general terms and is therefore deficient in judging individual cases; yet human situations are various. An individual can deliberate better in particular cases (Pol,1286a10–11, 21–22). Also, not everything can be comprehended under the law (Pol, 1287b18–19). The rule of man becomes desirable, Aristotle holds, if we can find a person who is preeminent in moral virtue (Pol, 1288a29–30). If there is such an infallible and unequalled individual, he does not rule under the law but provides the law himself (Pol, 1288a3). This is why he characterizes absolute kingship (the rule of one man) as the best constitution. For Aristotle, such a king can decide any political issue on the ground of his own judgment, without being bound by any law. This advocacy of the rule of one man presupposes that the king possesses the highest ethical and intellectual virtues. If the individual ruler does not possess virtue and seeks to satisfy his own interest, he is a tyrant. Tyranny is the perverse form of absolute kingship. Neither Aristotle nor Confucius seems to think that law imposes obligations and confers rights. For Aristotle, as mentioned before, law is of two kinds: (a) curbing wrongdoing through fear of punishment; and (b) fostering a better way of life. Confucius identifies the rule of law with the rule of force, and thus understands only the first kind of law in Aristotle. Hence, his conception of law is narrower than Aristotle’s. Aristotle makes it clear that law represents reason and impartiality, whereas man is affected by desire. Hence, under normal circumstances the rule of law is preferable to the rule of an individual. It is a weak point of Confucius that he does not deal with the effects of appetite and emotion in discussing the rule of the social rites. However, Confucian social rites overlap considerably with the second kind of law in Aristotle. The rule of the social rites corresponds to Aristotle’s

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rule of virtue-promoting law. They all seek to put the person of virtue in the ruling position. In the end, what both Aristotle and Confucius aspire is neither the rule of man nor the rule of law, but the ‘‘rule of virtue.’’ To conclude, for both Confucius and Aristotle, to cultivate good character we must have the ideal political system, which is the one in accordance with virtue and which can best promote the actualization of humanity.

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Practical wisdom and appropriateness

It is not possible to be good in the strict sense without practical wisdom. (Nicomachean Ethics, 1144b30) In his dealings with the world the excellent person is not invariably for or against anything. He is on the side of what is appropriate (yi). (Analects, 4:10)

We have shown in the previous chapter that, for both Aristotle and Confucius, acquisition of a virtue involves habituation (for Aristotle) or ritualization (for Confucius) through which social values (ethos and li) are internalized, and in which emotion is trained. Furthermore, for both of them, acquisition of a virtue involves a rational development as well. Virtue must have an intellectual aspect. For Aristotle, ‘‘The characteristic virtue of man belongs to his nature as rational’’ (NE, 1098a3). A learner cannot simply obey those who have practical wisdom, but must become a person of practical wisdom himself. Aristotle calls the intellectual aspect of practical virtue phronesis. The term is from the verb phronein (‘‘to think’’), and there are a number of English translations of it, including ‘‘prudence,’’ ‘‘practical intelligence,’’ ‘‘intelligence,’’ and ‘‘wisdom.’’ I prefer the traditional rendering, ‘‘practical wisdom,’’ since it better indicates that phronesis is a technical term in Aristotle’s ethics. Practical wisdom is the virtue of practical rationality, that is, the disposition for making right ethical judgments. Similarly, for Confucius, being virtuous must involve an intellectual aspect, which he calls yi ( ), a term which is etymologically related to yi ( ,’’what is fitting,’’ or ‘‘what is appropriate’’), and which I choose to translate as ‘‘appropriateness.’’ Appropriateness is even said to be the most important factor for being an excellent person. In addition to A, 4:10, quoted as one epigraph of this chapter, Confucius also says: ‘‘For the excellent man it is appropriateness [yi] that is supreme’’ (A, 17:23). Mencius inherits this line: ‘‘A great person needs not to keep his word nor does he necessarily see his action though to the end. He aims only at what is appropriate’’ (M, 4b/11).

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This chapter is devoted to a comparison of Aristotelian practical wisdom and Confucian appropriateness, that is, their respective notions of ethical wisdom. Aristotle’s theory of practical wisdom is a prominent feature that sets his ethics apart from dominant modern Western ethics, and it has been highly acclaimed in contemporary ethics. As we shall see, Confucius’ explication of the intellectual state of a virtuous agent shows numerous striking similarities. Aristotle’s notion of practical wisdom and Confucius’ notion of appropriateness are both extremely difficult to understand, and each has been the subject of numerous intense debates. Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, vi, is the text dedicated to the discussion of practical wisdom. His general strategy seems to be clear, that is, to explicate the nature of practical wisdom by contrasting it with other intellectual virtues: craft (techne), scientific understanding (episteme), theoretical wisdom (sophia) and intuition (nous). Of these, theoretical wisdom includes both scientific understanding (the state that deduces conclusions from universal premises) and intuition (the state that apprehends the first principles from which scientific deduction starts). Hence, the main contrasts are between practical wisdom and craft, and between practical wisdom and theoretical wisdom. However, Aristotle’s detailed discussion about these contrasts is notoriously thorny, with numerous passages that are open to different and even conflicting interpretations. Furthermore, virtue is a disposition that issues a decision or choice (prohairesis), and choice is related to deliberation. What is the relation between practical wisdom and choice or deliberation? How is NE, vi, related to NE, iii 2–3, a text that also analyzes the concepts of decision and choice? There are indeed good reasons to agree with Sarah Broadie that the topic of practical wisdom ‘‘more than most is rough terrain for commentators, being densely thicketed with controversy’’ (Broadie, 1991, 179). On the Confucian side, the notion of appropriateness (yi) appears in the Analects twenty-four times but receives no elaboration, let alone a definition. Appropriateness is also a key notion in Mencius, but he does not do much to clarify it either. Furthermore, there are a number of other intellectual qualities in Confucius and Mencius, such as zhi (wisdom), quan (discretion), and xin (heart/mind). It is far from clear how appropriateness (yi) is related to each of these. Commentators have provided various and even contradicting interpretations on these issues. My discussion will have to focus on the issues in which meaningful contrasts and similarities can be drawn. The first section is about the relation between ethical wisdom and traditional values. The second section discusses the structure of ethical wisdom. The third section shows the harmony of reason and emotion that is required by both ethics. The fourth section reveals the patterns of ethical reasoning. It was mentioned earlier that, for both ethics, a virtue must have three components: ethical wisdom, emotion and internalized social values; and for both, these components are intrinsically related. After examining each of these components, in the fifth and sixth sections of this chapter, I present

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their respective lists of particular virtues and how these virtues are connected in each ethics. The latter issue involves the controversial thesis of the unity of virtues.

Ethical wisdom and traditional value It should first be noted that neither Aristotelian practical wisdom nor Confucian appropriateness is ethically neutral. Aristotle distinguishes between cleverness (deinotes) and practical wisdom. Cleverness is the ability ‘‘to be able to do the things that tend towards the mark we have set before ourselves and to hit it’’ (NE, 1144a25–26). It is a rational ability that places no ethical constraints on its target, and hence may be applied equally in any practical sphere, either noble or base. Practical wisdom has the problemsolving capacities of cleverness, but differs from the latter on the grounds that it is not ethically indeterminate. It is sound reasoning with regards to a noble end, and a practically wise person is an ethically admirable agent. In contrast, a clever person can be either laudable or a mere villain, depending on the goodness of his aim (NE, 1144a26–28). It is possible for a vicious deliberator or an incontinent person to be very clever. In short, the good end sets practical wisdom apart from neutral practical ability. The relation between practical wisdom and a good end can also be seen by means of the distinction between craft and practical wisdom. Aristotle frequently uses craft examples to illustrate the general nature of practical rationality, a tradition inherited from Socrates and Plato. Practical wisdom shares an intellectual structure with craft, but they are different due to the following two major differences. First, they have different spheres. Whereas craft is a rational capacity for making or producing (poie-sis, NE, 1140a9– 10), practical wisdom is a developed intelligent disposition for acting (praxis). Second, whereas making has an end other than itself, acting has its end in itself. ‘‘Good action [eupraxia] itself is its end’’ (NE, 1140b6–7). It is the good end of practical wisdom that distinguishes it from craft. Similarly, it would be a mistake to think of appropriateness in Confucius only in terms of ethically neutral practical reason. Appropriateness is a quality that only an excellent person possesses. It is the excellent person’s ‘‘essential stuff’’ (zhe, A, 15:18; zhe literally means ‘‘basic stuff,’’ but here it is related to the excellent person and should be taken as a reference to the cultivated second nature). The small person and the excellent person have the same sort of intelligence or rational structure. Yet they differ in their goals. When they face material gains, appropriateness enables the excellent person to make correct moral judgment and always to be on the side of what is right. ‘‘The excellent person understands what is appropriate, whereas the small person understands what is profitable’’ (A, 4:16). Since neither Aristotelian practical wisdom nor Confucian appropriateness is ethically neutral, the question arises: how does each of them get the good end?

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On Aristotle’s side, it is precisely the issue of the good end that causes so much trouble.1 Aristotle unambiguously divides the respective contributions of habit-based ethical virtue and practical wisdom as follows: ‘‘Virtue makes the aim right, and practical wisdom the things leading to it’’ (ta pros touton, NE, 1144a7–9).2 Virtue determines the end, and practical wisdom works on how to achieve that target. Many commentators are puzzled by this view of Aristotle for the following two reasons. First, practical wisdom is supposed to recognize the ethical value of an ethical action. If the contribution of practical wisdom is confined to finding a means for a fixed end but does not establish the end, it appears to be instrumental and not significant in informing ethical goodness. Second, the instrumental view conflicts with the deeply rooted assumption in the modern Western world that, as self-determining agents, human beings reason about and choose the ends in their lives. Hence, there have been constant efforts to interpret Aristotle’s view in the way that it leaves room for individuals to deliberate about what end (s) to pursue. The most prevalent interpretation focuses on the phrase ta pros ta tele-. Traditionally the phrase is taken to mean ‘‘the means to the end;’’ yet the prevalent interpretation argues that it should be understood more broadly to mean ‘‘what contributes to the end,’’ including not only the ‘‘means’’ properly speaking, but also things that are constituents or ingredients of that end. We do not deliberate over whether to pursue happiness or a good life, but we deliberate about the ends that constitute happiness, or the ends that contribute to the attainment of happiness.3 The problem with this interpretation, however, is that when Aristotle says that practical wisdom is about ta pros ta tele-, he adds clearly that the end is provided by ethical virtue.4 To make things more complicated, Aristotle, while claiming that ethical virtue provides the end for practical wisdom, also states unambiguously that one cannot be virtuous without practical wisdom (NE, 1144b30–32; cf. 1178a17–19). The official definition of virtue in NE, ii.6, indicates that it is practical wisdom that determines virtue as a mean. In other words, ethical virtue itself requires practical wisdom. There appears to be circularity between practical wisdom and virtue. Just as the relation between practical wisdom and virtue becomes the central difficulty in reading Aristotle, the relation between appropriateness (yi) and social rites (li) is a major disputed issue in reading Confucius. There is even a debate about whether appropriateness is a moral standard or an intellectual faculty. According to one interpretation, appropriateness is simply a quality of ethical action. This is why the term yi has been translated as ‘‘righteousness,’’ ‘‘what is moral,’’ ‘‘morality,’’ ‘‘altruism,’’ etc. Lau explicitly claims that: ‘‘Rightness [yi] is basically a characteristic of acts, and its application to agents is derivative. . . . The rightness of acts depends upon their being morally fitting in the circumstances and has little to do with the disposition or motive of the agent’’ (1979, Introduction, xxiii). In contrast, other interpreters view appropriateness as a quality of the ethical agent

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rather than an ethical standard in itself. Appropriateness is the intellectual capacity for judging and choosing, and the ability to adapt social rites to one’s life situations. In Chung-ying Cheng’s understanding, ‘‘A man of yi, therefore, must be a man of creative insights who is able to make appropriate ethical judgments in particular situations.’’5 According to Tu, ‘‘Explicitly defined as fitness or appropriateness, yi mediates between the universal principle of humanity and the particular situations in which the principle is concretely manifested’’ (Tu, 1989, 52). Hall and Ames claim that one of the most serious problems in the traditional interpretation of Confucianism is that it overemphasizes the role of social rites and ignores the creative and innovative role of appropriateness. ‘‘From the very beginning of the Confucian tradition the problematic status of yi has made possible rigidly narrow and conservative interpretations of Confucianism’’ (1987, 90). To correct this problem, Hall and Ames insist that appropriateness involves ‘‘a process of personal articulation’’ or ‘‘the dynamics of personal making’’: ‘‘At its most fundamental level, yi denotes the importation of aesthetic, moral, and rational significance into personal action in the world’’ (1987, 95). The relation between ethical wisdom and traditional value, then, is the common problem we face in understanding both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics. In drawing them together, it becomes clear to me that both sides lead towards a similar solution. Let me first discuss the Confucian side, and then move to Aristotle. Appropriateness (yi), as presented above, has been interpreted either as an ethical standard or as a faculty of practical reason. Each interpretation has textual support. On the one hand, the former position appears to have a solid textual basis. In many sayings of the Analects, appropriateness is the standard for right behaviors.6 On the other hand, the Analects also makes it clear that appropriateness is in an agent’s disposition (A, 15:18). The Mean (ch. 20) explicitly defines appropriateness as ‘‘what sets things right and proper.’’ An appropriate interpretation should be able to accommodate different and even contrasting textual evidence. My view is that appropriateness has two aspects. The term can be understood as ‘‘what is appropriate to do,’’ or as ‘‘the virtue of judging and doing what is appropriate.’’ In the former sense, appropriateness is an attribute of ethical action and overlaps significantly with social rites (li). Usually the appropriate behavior is also the behavior that is in accordance with social rites (let us call it ‘‘outer appropriateness’’). In the latter sense, it is the intellectual quality of the agent (let us call it ‘‘inner appropriateness’’). These two aspects are closely related and indeed are inseparable. It is the inner appropriateness that enables a virtuous agent to reach what is appropriate in action. Whether appropriateness has an inner or outer locus already became an issue of dispute shortly after Confucius, as indicated clearly in Mencius. In many passages of the Mencius, appropriateness governs the relations

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between the ruler and the ruled (M, 3a/4, 7b/24), one’s relations to parents and elder brothers, and one’s relations with the elders.7 Here, appropriateness means a quality of an action and is therefore ‘‘outer appropriateness.’’ However, when Gaozi claims that ren is inner, whereas yi is external (M, 6a4–6; also cf. 2a2) on the grounds that the reverence that a younger man shows towards an old man is because of the old age of the latter, Mencius rejects this position. ‘‘Gaozi never understands appropriateness because he looked upon it as external’’ (M, 2a/2). Appropriateness cannot be a natural quality like whiteness, since we do not respect an old horse as we respect an old person. Rather, it is a virtue to treat an old person as an old person with the feeling of reverence. Yi is one of the four major virtues, and it grows from the sense of shame and aversion.8 Shame presupposes a consciousness of wrongdoing, and motivates the agent to control physical appetites and disruptive emotions and to restrain from doing something that he is not supposed to do.9 If the outer appropriateness governs good behavior, how then is it related to the social rites (li)? Recall from the previous chapter that it is the social rites that determine a good person’s behaviors (A, 12:1). ‘‘Unless you study the rites you will be ill-equipped to take your stand’’ (A, 16:13). ‘‘He has no way of taking his stand unless he knows the rites’’ (A, 20:3). Many scholars believe that the difference between appropriateness and the social rites is a matter of two objective and external ethical standards. Schwartz holds that appropriateness is simply what is right beyond the reach of the prescription of social rites, and is an independent source of right behavior alongside social rites (Schwartz, 1985, 79–80). Hansen maintains that the distinction between social rites and appropriateness is the distinction between etiquette (social mores) and real morality.10 To understand the relation between the outer appropriateness and li (social rites), we must note the role of the inner appropriateness. One generally follows social rites. Yet there are occasions on which the rites do not specify what is right to do, or a ritual action is not the appropriate action. This is why Confucius needs both rites and the outer appropriateness. When he says that the excellent person is not invariably against anything but is always on the side of appropriateness, and when he says that appropriateness is supreme, it is clear that appropriateness is the only thing that can never be overridden, and implicitly, that social rites (li) lack such an imperative. Clearly, then, there are discrepancies between what is appropriate and what is ritual. When such a discrepancy occurs, the appropriate comes before the ritual. Given the difference between what is ritual and what is appropriate, it requires an intellectual quality to determine whether social rites can be departed from and what it is appropriate to do under a given circumstance. This should be the function of inner appropriateness. From here we can understand why Confucius says that ‘‘Appropriateness the excellent person regards as the essential stuff [zhe] and the rites are his means of putting it

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into effect’’’ (A, 15:18). I take zhe in this saying to mean the cultivated second nature, and thus the saying means that the inner appropriateness is the cultivated nature that determines how to apply the ritual norms. What Confucius has in mind seems to be something like this: to be a virtuous person, one must internalize traditional values, and this process involves intellectual reflection rather than a matter of blind observance. We have shown that although Confucius thinks that to be an excellent person is to return to social rites, he is not a rigid conservative. He approves of the changes in ritual regulations in small matters. That function of approval must belong to the role of appropriateness (yi). The departure from social rites, however, cannot be as dramatic as abandoning the fundamental efficacy of social rites. An excellent person cannot ‘‘overstep the bounds in major matters’’ (A, 19:11). In his intellectual autobiography, Confucius also says that ‘‘At seventy I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the line’’ (A, 2:4). These sayings indicate that the inner appropriateness is not just an ethically neutral practical reason, and is not a matter of individual autonomy. Rather, it is constrained and conditioned. ‘‘The bounds in major matters’’ or ‘‘the line,’’ as mentioned above, must refer to the fundamental spirit of the social rites. The excellent person, while altering some concrete norms, would never violate the basic spirit or goal of the ritual tradition. It is this kind of constraint that makes the inner appropriateness the virtue of rational ability. In short, appropriateness makes social rites more appropriate. Now let us turn to the relation between practical wisdom and virtue in Aristotle. We should first remind ourselves that the view that virtue sets the end right is consistent with his position that habituation provides the starting point for rational thinking. Anyone who is to listen intelligently to lectures about what is noble and just and, generally, about the subjects of political science must have been brought up in good habits. For the facts [to hoti] are the startingpoint, and if they are sufficiently plain to him, he will not need the reason [to dioti] as well; and the man who has been well brought up has or can easily get starting-points. (NE, 1095b2–8) Here to hoti should mean ethical beliefs and values, such as ‘‘do not steal,’’ ‘‘be temperate,’’ etc. These facts are instilled in those who are well brought up. Without these instilled values, teaching is futile. For teaching must start from them, and proceeds to explain why right acts are right. It is in providing the reason and training a learner to find the reason that a teacher promotes the learner’s own deliberative ability to understand and judge. Of course, when parents and community habituate the learner to social values, some sort of explanation must be involved as well. Yet Aristotle’s teaching/ habit dichotomy (NE, 1103a14–17, 1179b20–24) shows that any serious

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rational explanation and understanding must presupposes appropriate habits. It is interesting to note that Aristotle himself has anticipated the criticism of his view that the end comes from virtue. A critic, Aristotle assumes, might raise the following question. If habit-based virtue provides the end for practical wisdom, we were already good before we had practical wisdom. If one can be virtuous without practical wisdom, the latter seems to have little role to play in making people good. ‘‘For what purpose do we need it?’’ (NE, 1143b21)11 Aristotle’s introduction of this question indicates that he is fully aware of the reaction people have to his view of the relation between practical wisdom and virtue. In reply to this question, he first points out that practical wisdom is intrinsically valuable and choiceworthy taken by itself. It is a virtue of a part of the rational soul (NE, 1144a1–3), and its possession and exercise contributes to happiness.12 More importantly, with regard to the contribution of practical wisdom towards virtue, Aristotle distinguishes between different degrees of virtue, and then holds that practical wisdom is indispensable for fully developed virtue. As in the part of us which forms opinions there are two types, cleverness and practical wisdom, so too in the ethical part there are two types, natural virtue and virtue in the strict sense, and of these the latter involves practical wisdom. (NE, 1144b14–16) ‘‘Natural virtues’’ (arete- phusike-, NE, 1144b3 and b16) are inborn aptitudes for various virtuous qualities. They only resemble full virtues, and will become ‘‘full virtue’’ or ‘‘virtue in the strict sense’’ (arete- kuria) only when they are combined with reason. Practical wisdom is indispensable for full virtue, but not for natural virtue. It is strange that Aristotle does not mention habit-based ethical virtue here. An ethical virtue is formed by habituation and is hence different from a natural virtue. Elsewhere Aristotle indeed distinguishes between them (NE, 1151a17–18); and furthermore, since that ‘good in the strict sense’ cannot be without practical wisdom (NE, 1144b31–32), it cannot be the habit-based virtue either. Apparently, there should be three levels of virtues: (a) natural virtue that we are born with; (b) trained or habituated virtue discussed in NE, ii; and (c) full virtue that is a fusion of ethical virtue and practical wisdom.13 It is worth noting that when Aristotle himself replies to the question about the status of practical wisdom, he does not say that it can develop an end by itself by criticizing and rejecting values in ethos. Instead, he only says that it is necessary for full virtue. When he says that one cannot be virtuous without practical wisdom, he means that one cannot be fully virtuous. Full virtue is not generated by the external combination of practical wisdom and

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an already habituated ethical virtue. The process in which natural virtue is developed to ethical virtue and then to full virtue is also the process in which practical rational ability transforms itself gradually into practical wisdom. Ethical virtue and practical wisdom are developed together in a mutually reinforcing way. In full virtue, practical wisdom and ethical virtues are integrated: ‘‘It is not possible to be good in the strict sense without practical wisdom, nor practically wise without ethical virtue’’ (NE, 1144b31–32). What the previous comparison has shown is that both Confucius and Aristotle appreciate the connection between practical wisdom and traditional values. It has been a familiar contrast in contemporary ethics that whereas modern ethics separates practical rationality from traditional values by upholding the autonomy of reason and seeking to establish universal and trans-cultural principles of morality, the ethics of Aristotle maintains that practical wisdom is embedded in traditions. When Confucian ethics is judged in relation to this contrast, it is a friend to Aristotelian ethics. For both, ethical wisdom is historically and culturally rooted. This similarity is consistent with their common emphasis on human beings as social animals. Individuals could not be completely free of the constraints of tradition in their quest for self-actualization. Ethical wisdom does not determine its own end solely by means of individual autonomy. Rather, it is within tradition that one develops a general conception of what a good life is. A corollary to the above common position is that the ethics of Confucius and Aristotle both respect the practically wise persons within a given tradition. Confucius esteems the cultural hero, and Aristotle values the phronimos (a person with practical wisdom). Respect for elders is a major Confucian virtue, and it is also an Aristotelian one: ‘‘We ought to attend to the undemonstrated sayings and opinions of experienced and older people, or of people of practical wisdom no less than to demonstrations; for because experience has given them an eye they see aright’’ (NE, 1143b11–14).

The structure of ethical wisdom Having shown ethical wisdom’s relation to traditional values, I proceed to examine how it is structured in both ethics. At NE, 1105a30–31, Aristotle lists three conditions for an agent to perform a virtuous action: (1) the agent must know; (2) the agent must choose the act, and choose it for its own sake; and (3) the action flows from a fixed character. I gather from this passage that knowing and choosing constitute the intellectual aspect of an Aristotelian virtue. Virtue is a disposition for knowing what to do and choosing to do it. On the Confucian side, in addition to appropriateness (yi), there is another intellectual virtue, zhi (wisdom). Neither Confucius nor Mencius, however, explains clearly the relation between wisdom and appropriateness.

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In this section, I will first examine the two intellectual functions of knowing and choosing in Aristotle, and then discuss the relation between appropriateness and wisdom in Confucian ethics. It turns out that, to a great extent, the knowing-choosing structure in Aristotle and the wisdomappropriateness structure correspond to each other. Knowing and choosing Knowing The child has a deliberative faculty, ‘‘but it is immature’’ (Pol, 1260a13–14); therefore he needs guidance from his parents and teachers.14 At the beginning of moral training, he does what he is told to be just and temperate without engaging substantively in a reasoning process himself. On the basis of good habit which makes a learner to grasp ethical facts (to hoti), teaching provides the reason (to dioti), that is, explaining why right acts are right. In rational training a learner comes to understand why the things he was told to do are good and sees the point of the advice that he has received. Furthermore, the learner not only comes to know the value in a particular area of feeling and action, but also develops a general idea of what a good life is. Such a notion is implicit in the numerous and repeated ethical instructions that the learner receives. The learner, having been instilled with various values, gradually becomes aware of the connection between these values and their relative importance. On this basis, he forms a sense of the overall goal of living and a rough outlook on how to live. The cultivation of various virtues and the establishment of this general notion of the good life go hand in hand. ‘‘Vice destroys our conception of the good life while virtue preserves that conception’’ (NE, 1140b11–12). To have a general conception of the good life is necessary. Practical wisdom is defined as the ability to deliberate well with regard to the good life in general (pros to eu ze-n).15 It is not about some particular sphere (such as how to be a good doctor or a builder), but is about the well-being of a human life as a whole. For Aristotle, this end is something of which practical wisdom has a true grasp (NE, 1142b32–33).16 If we do not know the general end, we are like archers who are confused about the target at which they are supposed to aim (NE, 1094a22–26). In discussing practical virtues, Aristotle never seeks to spell out the detailed contents of the general good, but always speaks in a formal and non-specific way. This must be because such an outlook is formed through habituation. Social customs vary, and so do the contents of such an outlook. Neither does he say that a virtuous agent must be able to put this general goal into words. For many people, what they know about a single virtue and the general notion of a good life must be more a matter of true belief or right opinion, a belief that they might not be able to articulate

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clearly. It is the job of philosophers to be systematically reflective, as Aristotle does in his Nicomachean Ethics. Choosing To be virtuous, knowledge itself is necessary but not sufficient. Choosing is a function of greater importance. Aristotle defines practical virtue as hexis prohairetike- (1106b36). Prohairetike is the adjectival form of prohairesis (choice, decision). The Lexicon of Liddell and Scott explains it as ‘‘inclined to prefer, deliberately choosing a thing.’’17 In general, it involves a tendency to choose or decide. The Greek term for what we translate as ‘‘choice’’ is prohairesis,18 composed out of pro (before) and haireton (chosen). In Aristotle’s own explanation, ‘‘the name seems to suggest that it is what is chosen before other things’’ (NE, 1112a15–16).19 In rational training, the learner not only comes to know what is valuable, but also develops an ability to assess the situation and see what is called for. He who is equipped with virtue not only chooses an action for its own sake, but also chooses it with a view to the overall end. Furthermore, choice is related to the emotional component of virtue. ‘‘By choosing what is good or bad we are men of a certain character’’ (NE, 1112a2–3).20 Wisdom and appropriateness Let us turn to the intellectual structure of a Confucian virtue. Confucius considers appropriateness (yi) to be supreme; yet he also introduces another major intellectual virtue, wisdom (zhi), without telling us how wisdom is related to appropriateness. Sometimes, wisdom means an amoral cognitive state or intelligence. As an amoral cognitive state, it can be shared by both the virtuous and the non-virtuous person.21 Whether it is a positive or negative thing depends on whether the dao prevails in the world. Confucius suggests that when the dao does not prevail, a good person should pretend to be stupid (A, 5:21). Sometimes it is said that to enjoy is better than to like, and to like is better than to know (A, 6:20). More often, however, wisdom is taken as a virtue. It is frequently mentioned in conjunction with ren, though the relationship between the two is not clear.22 According to Chan, ‘‘In the Confucian system, humanity [ren] and wisdom [zhi] are like two wings, one supporting the other. One is substance, the other function’’ (Chan, 1963, 30). This remark is hardly helpful, since ‘‘substance’’ and ‘‘function’’ are loaded concepts and their relationship itself is highly controversial. Since ren is distinguished between general ren (the cultivated humanity, i.e. virtue or excellence) and particular ren (love or benevolence), I think that when wisdom and ren are mentioned as a contrasting pair, ren should be taken in its particular sense, that is, love or benevolence. General ren should include wisdom in itself. As a virtue, wisdom refers to the honest mind that one has regarding one’s knowledge state and level (A, 2:17). Listed together with ren and

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courage, it is said to ‘‘dispel confusion’’ (A, 9.2, 14.28), apparently meaning to dispel moral confusions. It cannot be the knowledge of small matters, as an excellent person should be able to undertake big tasks (A, 15:34). It is the knowledge of the social rites. ‘‘He has no way of taking his stand unless he knows [zhi] the rites’’ (A, 20.3). Furthermore, it is also the knowledge of one’s (ming): ‘‘A man has no way of becoming an excellent person unless he knows [zhi] ming [mandate, destiny]’’ (A, 20:3). Confucius claims that he himself knows ‘‘the ming of Heaven’’ (A, 2:4). I will discuss the term ming in due course, and here it should be sufficient to say that since to know the ming of Heaven is a quality of an excellent person, it is the ontological ground of Confucian morality. For Confucius, early Zhou enjoyed the ming of Heaven and the rites of the Zhou dynasty embodied virtue and the dao of Heaven. What, then, is the relation between wisdom and appropriateness? A difference we immediately notice is that, while appropriateness is about practical affairs, wisdom seems to be both theoretical and practical. It is theoretical because it is the knowledge of the ming of Heaven, the ontological premise of the good human life;23 it is practical because at A, 12: 22, when ren is said to love fellow human beings, wisdom is to ‘‘know one’s fellow human beings.’’ The distinction between theoretical wisdom and practical wisdom is clearly drawn by Aristotle. According to him, practical wisdom is about ‘‘what sorts of thing conduce to the good life in general’’ (NE, 1140a27–28), whereas theoretical wisdom is about the unchangeable things such as the components of the universe (NE, 1141b1). What is comparable with appropriateness, then, is wisdom (zhi) in practical affairs. At A, 6:21, wisdom is said ‘‘to work out what is appropriate to the common people.’’ Wisdom is about what is appropriate in human affairs. Since the inner appropriateness also grasps the outer appropriateness, inner appropriateness and wisdom appear to have the same object. Confucius says no more about their relationship. Since wisdom is both theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge, while appropriateness belongs to an excellent person who ‘‘is not invariably for or against anything ‘‘(A, 4:10), I tend to believe that, roughly, to have wisdom is to know the social rites and their ontological grounds, while appropriateness is more closely associated with the agent’s choosing and determining.24 If this is tenable, Confucius’ position seems to be close to Aristotle’s view in NE, 1105a30–31, that a virtuous agent must know and choose what is right. The Confucian wisdom/appropriateness seems to correspond roughly to the Aristotelian knowing/choosing. Just as Confucius, Mencius also introduces wisdom in addition to appropriateness,25 yet remains obscure regarding the relationship of these two concepts. He treats wisdom as an amoral intellectual state (e.g. in M, 4b/26, it refers to astronomical knowledge), but more often lists it as one of his four major virtues, along with appropriateness, propriety, and benevolence. While appropriateness is developed out of the feeling of shame,

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wisdom is developed out of the feeling of right and wrong. How, then, are they related? At one place, Mencius says that wisdom is to ‘‘understand what is appropriate’’ (M, 4a/27), but he does not go further than this. Interpreters of Mencius have attempted to sort out their relationship. Munro proposes that wisdom and appropriateness differ only in their scopes. Wisdom is broader than appropriateness in the sense that whereas a person of appropriateness is involved in the activities he is evaluating, a person of wisdom does not have to get involved (Munro, 1969, 76). Shun claims that these two concepts differ only because they have different emphases. For the notion of appropriateness, ‘‘what is emphasized is a firm commitment to proper acts, while for the notion of wisdom what is emphasized is the ability to tell what is proper’’ (Shun, 1997, 71). These two interpretations do not appear to differ from each other in a significant way, and they should be correct, because for Mencius, appropriateness arises out of a sense of shame.26 It is also interesting to note that they do not seem to be far away from Aristotle’s distinction between knowing and choosing.

Harmony of emotion and reason In Aristotle’s ‘‘knowing – choosing’’ structure, choice itself involves two elements: desire and deliberation. It is ‘‘desiderative thought’’ (orektikos nous) or ‘‘intellectual desire’’ (orexis dianoe-tike-, NE, 1139b4–5), and also called ‘‘deliberative desire’’ (bouleutike- orexis, NE, 1113a11, 1139a23). Choice grasps a practical truth that is ‘‘truth in agreement with right desire’’ (NE, 1139a31). In choice, thought converges with desire, and what is affirmed coincides with what is pursued. Reason does not determine the good independently of emotion and desire. Rather, together they prescribe what to do. Reason and emotion have been thought to be in conflict with one another. Some philosophers, such as Socrates and Plato, emphasize the control of reason over emotions; others, such as Hume, claim that reason does not include any kind of desire and it is not the nature of any kind of thought to motivate one to act. Yet Aristotle’s theory of practical wisdom does not admit this contrast between reason and emotion.27 For him, appropriate emotional responsiveness is an important part of good deliberation. An agent’s motivational states and his cognitive states are not entirely distinct from each other. Aristotle can hold his view because he classifies desires into three types: appetites, emotion and wish. What is associated with deliberation in choice is wish, which is generated in emotional training. The harmony of desire and deliberation once again indicates that the cultivation of habit and rational process are inseparable. Confucian ethics shares the position that emotion and reason are inseparable. For Confucius, appropriateness is essential for one to be virtuous, and so is ren as love. When Mencius says that we have an innately good nature, he calls it xin (‘‘heart/mind’’). Heart/mind is inborn (M, 6a/15), yet

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the four inborn roots are also called four heart/minds: the heart/mind of compassion, the heart/mind of shame, the heart/mind of respect, and the heart/mind of right and wrong (M, 6a/6). We have therefore the following question: Is the heart/mind a faculty that has its own nature, or is it something that is nothing else but these four roots? On the one hand, the heart/mind appears to be just these four roots. A person who does not cultivate his roots is said to have lost the ‘‘original heart/mind’’ (ben xin, M, 6a/10). For those who let the heart/mind go astray, cultivation is a matter of ‘‘going after this strayed heart/mind’’ (M, 6a/11). Furthermore, ‘‘An excellent person differs from other men in that he retains his heart/mind’’ (M, 4b/28). Since an excellent person who has developed these roots is said to possess his own nature, the heart/mind amounts to innate human goodness. On the other hand, the heart/mind is said to have its own function, that is, to think or reflect (si): ‘‘The organ of the heart/mind can think’’ (M, 6a/15). Mencius believes that the various parts of human beings have various values, with the heart/mind being the part of greatest importance. A person who can actively exercise the function of his or her heart/mind can sort out priorities correctly. For Mencius, if people do not think, they can hardly be virtuous (M, 6a/15; cf. 6a/13). Apparently, ‘‘thinking’’ must be ethical thinking.28 However, if it is the function of the heart/mind to think and reflect, what is its relationship to the two intellectual virtues: wisdom and appropriateness? Although it is difficult to summarize Mencius’ view in a neat way, his general tenor, I think, is like this. The heart/mind is nothing else but the four roots. To say that each root is a heart/mind amounts to saying that each constitutes one aspect of a single unified heart/mind. The heart/mind is a combination of emotion and reason. The four virtues that are developed out of them are four distinct particular virtues, but are also different aspects of the general human excellence (ren). In a fully developed virtuous state, emotion and reason are interwoven.29 What the above comparison shows is that, for both Confucian ethics and Aristotelian ethics, the intellectual aspect of virtue must be harmonious with its emotional aspect. For both ethics, action and feeling are harmonious in a virtuous agent. The agent is inclined to do the action and does it willingly and enjoyably, and he does not experience any serious internal struggle between reason and passion. Ethics is not a matter of how we should be bounded, but rather how we can follow social rules willingly and naturally. Consequently, neither of these two ethics faces what Michael Stocker calls ‘‘the problem of schizophrenia.’’ Schizophrenia is a disharmony between what one values and one’s own motives. According to Stocker, modern morality ignores ethical motives in talking about actions; and even where motives are considered, modern theories evaluate them incorrectly.30 If a person does not really want to visit a sick colleague in a hospital, but still

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chooses to do it out of duty, this person’s action is good according to Kantian theory, at least from his position in the Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morality.31 However, Aristotle would certainly say that since such an act is done ‘‘unwillingly,’’ it is not enough to be virtuous. Confucius holds the same view that a person has nothing worthy to note if he does not have a sense of sorrow in attending a funeral (A, 3:4; 3:26; cf. M, 7b/33). If you tell your sick friend that your visit is not really what you want to do but is done out of duty, your friend would certainly want you to go away quickly. Equally, if you attend a funeral, but tell the family of the deceased that you attended the funeral not because you feel sorrow but because you are externally obliged to do so, it is almost certain that the family of the deceased would ask you to leave.

Ethical reasoning Choice in Aristotle has two elements: wish and deliberation; and in Confucius, yi is also inseparable from the emotional aspect. Having discussed the harmony of reason and emotion, let us further ask how deliberation itself functions and how yi operates. This amounts to a comparison of their ideas about ethical reasoning. In the division between theoretical reason and practical reason in NE, vi.1, Aristotle describes the part of the soul with practical reason as ‘‘the calculative’’ part (logistikon, NE, 1139a12); and he then claims that ‘‘to deliberate and to calculate are the same thing’’ (NE, 1139a14–15). Aristotle often describes ‘‘deliberation’’ (bouleusia)32 as the faculty to work out how and by what means a previously chosen end can be achieved.33 Deliberation must always be about some envisaged goal that is within one’s reach. It takes time (NE, 1142b2–5), involves a search (zetesis, NE, 1112b20–23, 1142a31-b15), and is a temporal process in which alternatives are envisaged and weighed. Roughly put, there are two main patterns of deliberative process in Aristotle: (1) universal-particular reasoning; and (2) means-end reasoning. In Confucian ethics, reasoning process also has two general patterns: (1) ethical particularism, which is comparable to Aristotle’s universal-particular reasoning; and (2) analogical reasoning. In the following, I first bring together their shared position on ethical particularism, and then present respectively Aristotelian-type means-end reasoning and Confucian analogical reasoning. For both ethics, ethical reasoning operates both in the acquisition of virtue and in exercising an established virtue in action.34 Ethical particularism For Aristotle, the universal-particular reasoning is one about how a general goal is achieved in a particular circumstance. He maintains that practical wisdom requires knowledge of the universal premise and knowledge of the

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particular case.35 He thinks that the form of reasoning can be represented in syllogistic form, and uses the technical language of his syllogistic logic, such as ‘‘middle term’’ (meson horon, NE, 1142b24), ‘‘premise’’ (protasis, NE, 1143b3), etc. At NE, 1144a31, he uses the term sullogismoi to-n prakto-n, which is sometimes translated as ‘‘practical syllogism.’’36 A standard form of practical syllogism is that the major premise is universal, the minor premise deals with the particular, and the result is what ought to be done, which in turn originates action (DA, 434a17–19). For example, light meats are digestible and wholesome; chicken is wholesome; so eating chicken is healthy.37 At first glance, the universal-particular mode of reasoning is just the ruleinstance reasoning that is typical in modern Western ethics. Yet there is a significant difference. In modern ethics, the focus is always on the universal. The universal rules are themselves the ultimate authorities, and the particular cases are instances or exemplifications of the universal. The mode of reasoning focuses on whether the particular case satisfies the universal requirement. The particular is meaningful only if it falls under the general rules. For Aristotle, practical wisdom needs universal premises, for the man of practical wisdom deliberates with a view not merely to particular goals but to the good life in general (NE, 1140a25–31). The judgments of practically wise people in a society’s history and culture summarize experiences of the conditions of human life and provide stable and valuable guides. They also help grasp the salient features of particular cases. However, Aristotle does not regard the universals as ultimate authorities. He is skeptical about the possibility of establishing indisputable universal guidelines for ethical actions: Matters concerned with conduct and questions of what is good for us have no fixity, any more than matters of health. The general account being of this nature, the account of particular cases is yet more lacking in exactness; for they do not fall under any art or set of precepts, but the agents themselves must in each case consider what is appropriate to the occasion, as happens also in the art of medicine or of navigation. (NE, 1104a3–10) There is no universally applicable rule of conduct. Practical matters are contextual and indeterminate, and universal principle can capture all the significant details of the particular cases. Ethics should not try to attain the precision of the natural sciences. One of the major distinctions Aristotle draws between practical wisdom and theoretical wisdom is that whereas theoretical wisdom is about universal knowledge, practical wisdom focuses on the particulars and emphasizes the importance of attending to particular situations in applying the universal values.38 Action takes place in particular circumstances

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and varies with occasions. Hence, ‘‘the agents themselves must in each case consider what is appropriate to the occasion’’ (NE, 1104a7–8). They cannot decide what to do through deductive scientific inference, but must assess critically the salient features of the circumstances and determine what is called for. In Confucian ethics, the regulations of social rites (li) are of a general nature. Appropriateness (yi) adjusts the generality of social rites and brings them to bear on particular circumstances. Confucius himself claims to be the kind of person who ‘‘refuses to be inflexible’’ (A, 9:4). His value of flexibility can be seen in his way of teaching. One remarkable feature of the Analects is that when different disciples ask the same question about what human excellence is, Confucius answers them differently according to each questioner’s particular circumstances and conditions.39 Mencius comments on Confucius as follows: While other people would only serve the right principle and rule over the right people, others would serve any principle and rule over any people, Confucius was such that he would take office, or would remain in a state, would delay his departure or hasten it, all according to circumstances.40 In the Mean (ch. 2), the mean cannot be fixed in advance and we need to see what is called for in each particular situation. This idea is called ‘‘timing the mean’’ (shizhong). Although ritualization is significant in Mencius’ thought, he makes it clear that one should never mechanically follow everything that the classics say. It is appropriate to hold a critical and evaluative attitude towards traditional rites and to apply them with ethical sensitivity in particular situations. It is not wrong, for instance, for one to violate social rites to get food if the alternative would be to starve to death. For at that time, ‘‘the greater importance of food is not the only absurd conclusion you can draw’’ (M, 6b/1). Mencius introduces a special term, quan, to explain that we should not hold to social rites too rigidly.41 Quan originally means ‘‘weighing objects,’’ and comes to signify ‘‘weighing the circumstances to arrive at an appropriate decision,’’ or ‘‘discretion.’’ For instance, social rites prescribe that man and woman should not touch each other. Mencius argues, however, that one should help pull out a sister-in-law who is drowning (M, 4a/ 17; cf. 7a/26). This is the function of discretion. This idea is perfectly consistent with Confucius’ saying that ‘‘the excellent person is always on the side of appropriateness.’’42 Given this, discretion (quan) must be a specification of appropriateness. It has been a well known contrast that, while modern moral philosophy pursues the ideal of a law-like and mechanical decision making procedure, leaving little room for individual deliberation, Aristotelian practical wisdom emphasizes the particularity and contextuality of practical reasoning.

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Confucius apparently stays on Aristotle’s side in this contrast. Both of them show little interest in establishing a small set of general rules that can be applied universally. Aristotle focuses on the salient features of particular situations and circumstances in which each action is taken. Confucius suggests that a virtuous person should be flexible and always seek what is appropriate in a particular circumstance. For both, the most important feature of ethical wisdom is sensitivity to the actual situations of human life rather than universality and consistency. Means-end reasoning This is the type of reasoning that is prominent in Aristotle but not in Confucius. In this mode of reasoning process, deliberation works out how to achieve the wishful end. It is clearly described by Aristotle in the following passage: Having set the ends they consider how [po-s] and by what means [dia tino-n] it is to be attained; and if it seems to be produced by several means they consider by which it is most easily and best produced, while if it is achieved by one only they consider how it will be achieved by this and by what means this will be achieved, till they come to the first cause, which in the order of discovery is last . . . and what is last in the order of analysis seems to be first in the order of becoming. (NE, 1112b15–24) There might be several ways available, or only one. If there are several ways, one needs to weigh these alternatives and identify the most meritorious one. If there is only one way available, the agent proceeds to consider how this course of action itself is reached. When one deliberates about how this course of action itself is reached, what is initially a means to the primary end (end 1) might become an end in itself (end 2). Then, the means to end 2 will also become end 3, and so on. The chain of reasoning stops when the agent reaches something that he can directly act on. This is the ‘‘last order of analysis.’’ He then begins to act by moving back through the middle steps until he achieves the initially desired end. Analogical reasoning This is a way of deciding what to do which plays an important role in Confucian ethics but not in Aristotle. It is to see the similarities between different situations and occasions, and draw appropriate analogies. Confucius remarks that there is a single thread pervading his doctrine (A, 4:15), but does not say what this single thread is. His disciple Zhengzi interprets it as ‘‘zhong and shu.’’ Zhong is traditionally rendered as ‘‘loyalty’’ or ‘‘doing one’s best.’’ Shu, etymologically related to ‘‘as,’’ has been variously translated as

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‘‘altruism,’’ ‘‘consideration,’’ ‘‘reciprocity,’’ ‘‘putting oneself in the other’s place,’’ and so on. It has been a major source of debate about how zhong and shu serves as the ‘‘single thread,’’43 or whether Zhengzi’s interpretation is correct.44 However, there is no doubt that the ideas of zhong and shu are central to Confucius’ ethics. Here I focus on shu. The Chinese character is composed of ‘‘liken’’ and ‘‘heart.’’ In A, 15:24, shu is directly explicated as ‘‘Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire.’’ If this is a negative formulation, Confucius also provides a positive version: ‘‘A man of ren helps others to take their stand in so far as he himself wishes to take his stand, and get others there in so far as he himself wishes to get there’’ (A, 6:30). These are two aspects of the Confucian Golden Rule. How, then, could an agent be led to think and reason in this way? Right after his exposition of the positive version, Confucius says, ‘‘The ability to take as analogy what is near at hand can be called the method of [acquiring and practicing] ren’’ (A, 6:30; my emphasis).45 What does ‘‘what is near at hand’’ refer to? At A, 1:2, filial piety and fraternal love are said to be the root of ren. ‘‘Once the roots are established, the way will grow therefrom.’’ The expansion of filial love to members of the larger community is the major method of the cultivation of human excellence. We start from our feelings towards the aged of our own family and extend these to the aged of other families. We start from our feelings towards the young of our own family and extend these to the young of others. Eventually, ‘‘A man of ren loves everyone.’’ (M, 7a/46, cf.7b/1) To connect the root of ren in this passage to the method of ren at A, 6:30, I tend to think that ‘‘what is near at hand’’ must be parents and brothers. The method of (obtaining and practicing) ren should be taken to mean that ‘‘we should take as analogy our love towards our parents and brothers in dealing with others.’’ Reading this into the two versions of the Confucian Golden Rule, we get the following: ‘‘Do not impose on others what one does not want to do to one’s parents and brothers,’’ and ‘‘Help others as one wants to help one’s own parents and brothers.’’ In deliberating what to do, one should take one’s feeling towards one’s family members as a guide and then extend this sort of feeling to others. Chinese conventional morality is full of advice such as ‘‘think of him as your brother’’ or ‘‘think of her as your sister,’’ when deciding what you should or should not do in dealing with others. Filial love is the source of altruistic concerns. A virtuous person develops a general emotional concern for members of the larger society.46

Particular virtues So far, I have been discussing the components of a virtuous disposition (internalized values, intellect, and emotion) in the ethics of Confucius and Aristotle. When Aristotle provides an account of the general nature of virtue in NE, ii.1–6, he proceeds to discuss particular virtues.

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We must, however, not only make this general statement, but also apply it to the individual facts. For among statements about conduct those which are general apply more widely, but those which are particular are more true, since conduct has to do with individual facts, and our statements must harmonize with the acts in these cases. (NE, 1107a28–32) Following Aristotle’s strategy, the next task of ours is to compare how, for each ethical theory, the general notion of virtue is related to their respective particular virtues. I will first take a look at their respective lists of particular virtues. The procedure for Aristotle to determine his list of particular virtues is as follows. He first locates the areas of human life in which feeling and action are involved, and then shows that in each of these areas there must be a disposition that enables one to feel, choose, and act appropriately.47 This disposition is the virtue in this particular area of human life. Applying the trinitarian scheme of his doctrine of the mean, he maintains that, in each of these spheres, there is a virtue that is the mean and there are two vices that are the excess and the defect. Aristotle then remarks: ‘‘We may take these cases from the diagram’’ (NE, 1107a32–33). Here he must be referring to a chart in his lecture room (a clear indication that the text is a lecture note). The diagram itself is not recorded in the text, but can be reproduced from his account in ii.7 and his analysis of particular virtues (Table 2). In addition, there is also justice, the subject matter of NE, v. There are also some mean states that are not virtues, such as shame and proper indignation. Of these virtues, courage (andreia, also translated as ‘‘bravery’’ or ‘‘manliness’’) is a quality that enables one to stand firm in the midst of danger, especially in war. It involves two distinct feelings: fear and confidence. Table 2 Spheres

Fear Confidence Pleasure and pain Money: giving Money: taking Grand spending Great honors Minor honors Temper Truth-telling Conversation Social conduct

Disposition Excess

Mean

Deficiency

cowardice rashness self-indulgence prodigality meanness vulgarity vanity ambition irascibility boastfulness buffoonery obsequiousness

courage courage temperance liberality liberality magnificence [magnanimity] [nameless] patience truthfulness wittiness friendliness

[nameless] cowardice insensibility meanness prodigality niggardliness undue humility unambitiousness inirascibility mock modesty boorishness quarrelsomeness

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Temperance (sophrosune, literally, ‘‘soundness of mind,’’ also translated as ‘‘moderation’’) means self-restraint, in particular self-restraint with physical pleasures such as eating, drinking, and sex. It is the right disposition towards the pleasures of touch and taste. Liberality (eleutheriotes, also translated as ‘‘generosity’’ or ‘‘open-handedness’’) is the correct disposition towards taking and giving wealth (mainly towards giving rather than taking). Magnificence (megaloprepeia) is a right disposition regarding money as well, but as compared with liberality, it is associated with spending on a large scale. It is a virtue that a wealthy Athenian citizen displays in performing public services and duties. Magnanimity (megalopsuchia, also translated as ‘‘pride’’ and ‘‘the greatness of soul’’) is the virtue with regard to one’s own worth or merit. It is associated with great honor. There is also a virtue concerned with small honor, although Aristotle says that it does not have a name. The next three on the chart, patience (praotes, or mildness), truthfulness (aletheutikos), and wittiness (eutrapelia), are virtues concerned with social life. In addition, there is a mean state related to putting up with the right things in the right way. In NE, ii.7 Aristotle calls it philia (1108a28), but in iv.6 he specifies that this state is not philia (friendship), the subject matter of NE, 8 and 9. It resembles the latter, but ‘‘implies no passion or affection for one’s associates’’ (NE, 1126b20–23). Philia is not really a suitable name for it. In the Confucian classics, a number of lists of particular virtues or desirable character traits are presented. Let us collect them here. 1 2 3 4 5 6

benevolence (ren), wisdom, and courage (A, 9:29, 14:28; Mean, ch. 20) loyalty, trustworthiness in word (A, 1:4, 9:25, 12:10, 15:6) respectfulness, reverence, generosity, appropriateness (A, 5:18) cordiality, goodness, respectfulness, frugality, and deferentiality (A, 1:10) respectfulness, care, courage, uprightness (A, 8:2) respectfulness, tolerance, trustworthiness in word, quickness, and generosity (A, 17:6) 7 benevolence, wisdom, trustworthiness in word, forthrightness, courage, unbending strength (A, 17:8) 8 benevolence, appropriateness, propriety, and wisdom (M, 2a/6, 2a/7, 6a/6).

Although some virtues are cross-listed, none of these lists is completely the same. We are not given the rationale for the production of each of these lists. Furthermore, despite the variety of lists, some key virtues, such as piety and reverence, do not appear on either of them. It is difficult to say which list is the cardinal one, and they are emphasized in different texts. Confucius speaks of list 6 as follows: ‘‘There are five things and whoever is capable of putting them into practice in the Empire is certainly human excellence (ren)’’ (A, 17:6). For the Mean, however, list 1 is the most important: ‘‘Wisdom, benevolence, and courage, these three are the universal virtues. The way by which they are practiced is one’’ (Mean, ch. 20).

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For Mencius, the virtues on list 7 are cardinal and are developed from the four innate ethical seeds, but he does not provide an explanation as to why he picks these four and leaves out others such as courage. Putting together these lists of particular virtues with Aristotle’s list, we see that although Confucius and Aristotle present striking similarities in their respective conceptions of virtue, they differ remarkably about what sort of character-traits count as virtues. Other than generosity and courage, few seem to correspond, and some are very different. For example, Aristotle holds that wit is a virtue; yet Confucius believes that a virtuous person should not talk too much. ‘‘It is rare, indeed, for a man with cunning words and an ingratiating face to be excellent (ren)’’ (A, 1:3). Generosity and courage are two commonly recognized virtues in both ethics. However, there is no textual treatment of generosity in both Confucius and Mencius. Confucius describes a courageous person as one who has no fear (A, 14:30) and also remarks that ‘‘faced with what is right, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage’’ (A, 2:24). Yet he provides little analysis of this complicated concept. Mencius has a rich discussion of courage, but treats it mainly as a matter of overcoming adversity in self-cultivation and of achieving selfconfidence and self-respect.48 His presentation of courage differs substantially from Aristotle’s, which is mainly concerned with fear on the battlefield. Furthermore, Aristotle’s conception of courage is not easy to understand, and commentators are puzzled as to why he places a single virtue on two different graduated scales of fear and confidence.49 I confine myself to making a few brief remarks about the relation between these lists with their respective cultural backgrounds. It is natural to think that different lists of virtues come from different cultural traditions. However, while cultural context certainly plays a considerable role here, the lists themselves are not simply presentations of the traits of character that are admired in each tradition. Rather, they appear to be the combined products of cultural background and philosophical outlook. Aristotle shares the same cultural background as Plato, but his list is different from Plato’s. In Plato’s dialogues, the standard list of virtues is comprised of the four traditionally called ‘‘cardinal virtues’’ – wisdom (sophia or phrone-sis), justice (dikaisune-), courage (andreia), and temperance (so-phrosune-) – plus piety (hosiote-s).50 Plato never explains how he establishes this list. Perhaps it reflects the general view of the Greeks about what qualities are required for a person to be good or virtuous, although Plato gives different interpretations as to what each of these virtues means. Aristotle does not simply repeat the same list. He not only makes his own list based on his psychological view of the spheres of human life that involve feeling and choice, but also gives names to many virtues he puts on his list. ‘‘We must try, as in other cases, to invent names ourselves so that we may be clear and easy to follow’’ (NE, 1108a17–18). Some are simply nameless (for instance, the virtue with respect to small honor). The introduction of these nameless virtues clearly indicates that they are not referred to in Athenian

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society. Furthermore, Aristotle’s list of virtues is presented in accordance with the theory of the mean, which is his own theoretical invention. Similarly, the Confucian lists are not direct products of culture. Daoism shares the same cultural background as Confucianism, yet it rejects human excellence (ren) and appropriateness (yi) as virtues. In the Laozi, we read: ‘‘When virtue (de) is lost, only then does the doctrine of ren arise’’ (ch. 38). If the same cultural background generates different and even contradictory views about which qualities count as virtues, the difference must be philosophical rather than cultural. Confucius enumerates these virtues because he believes that the dao of Heaven is implicit in the ancient classics, so he singles out those character traits that were attributed to ancient sages and heroes in the classics. If one does not share the respect he has for the classics, the list of virtues must be different. Just as with Aristotle, particular virtues on the Confucian list are also about the areas in which human feeling and action are involved. Given that there are indeterminate areas of human feeling and action, and that each area has a good disposition, the list of particular virtues should be open. Indeed, it remains one of the major tasks for contemporary virtue ethics to work out a relatively undisputed list that can be applied to all human beings.

The unity of virtues For both Confucian and Aristotelian ethics, there is a general virtue in addition to particular virtues. For Confucius and Mencius, this is the general ren (human excellence). Aristotle claims that there is a ‘‘whole virtue’’ (NE, 1144a5) or ‘‘complete virtue’’ (EE, 1219a38), and a particular virtue is ‘‘a part of the whole virtue.’’51 He remarks: ‘‘Just as general good condition of the body is compounded of the partial virtues, so also is the virtue of the soul’’ (NE, 1220a2–4). This general virtue amounts to the agent’s ethical character.52 How, then, are these particular virtues related to their respective general virtue? Aristotle considers virtues to be inseparable and reciprocal. Virtues do not exist in isolation from each other. An agent cannot have acquired one virtue without having obtained another. If one possesses practical wisdom, which is only one virtue, he acquires all ethical virtues (NE, 1144b32–1145a2). This theory is often referred to as the thesis of the unity of virtues. Yet Socrates also holds a thesis of the unity of virtues, according to which all virtues are present in one state, that is, knowledge. Aristotle himself distinguishes his thesis from that of Socrates: ‘‘Socrates thought the virtues were forms of reason (for he thought they were, all of them, forms of knowledge), while we think they involve reason’’ (NE, 1144b28–29). Since Aristotle maintains only that virtues entail each other, his thesis has a much weaker form than Socrates’. Aristotle’s thesis, however, still appears to conflict with our common sense. In daily life we often find that a generous person turns out to be a

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sexual abuser or that a temperate person turns out to be a coward. Even Aristotle himself knows well this sort of common experience: ‘‘For some who in the danger of war are cowards are liberal and are confident in face of the loss of money’’ (NE, 1115a20–21). It is also possible that one can have small-scale virtues such as generosity without the corresponding largescale virtues such as magnificence and magnanimity (NE, 1122a8–9, 1123b5– 6). Given these cases, how can he still maintain that the virtues are inseparable and reciprocal? It has been a topic of dispute as to how Aristotle’s thesis should be taken. Some commentators claim that ‘‘Aristotle’s own argument is very unsatisfactory’’;53 others contend that ‘‘Aristotle has powerful arguments for accepting’’ this thesis.54 It should be noted that the thesis is put forward amid concern about the relation between practical wisdom and virtue of character. Immediately before it is brought in, the text reads: ‘‘It is clear, then, from what has been said, that it is not possible to be good in the strict sense without practical wisdom, nor practically wise without ethical virtue’’ (NE, 1144b30–31). Immediately after its introduction, Aristotle concludes his view on the value of practical wisdom. It is plain that, even if it were of no practical value, we should have needed it because it is the virtue of the part of us in question; plain too that the choice will not be right without practical wisdom any more than without virtue. (NE, 1145a2–5) The thesis, then, is a part of Aristotle’s answer to the critics regarding the usefulness of practical wisdom, and it serves as an argument in support of the crucial importance of practical wisdom in virtuous character. The key for this thesis is the value of practical wisdom. It is because of practical wisdom that virtues do not exist independently of each other. The acquisition of practical wisdom entails possession of all ethical virtues. Why, then, does practical wisdom have such an impact? Aristotle’s answer is that it is ‘‘one’’ (mia), that is, a single state or quality (NE, 1145a1–2).55 To understand how practical wisdom is a single state, we should turn to Aristotle’s view that practical wisdom is concerned with life in general (NE, 1140a25–28). A true conception of the good life as a whole is the starting point of deliberation. Such a conception forms the final good pursued by virtues. This good is not divisible, but as the common premise of practical wisdom, it operates in each particular virtue. Each virtue is concerned with one sphere of human life and thus has its own particular good. Yet practical wisdom in each virtue must take into account the place of this virtue in one’s life as a whole and explain how this particular virtue contributes to one’s overall end. The consideration of what is good in one sphere of human life cannot be separated from other spheres. For Aristotle, the general good of a human life lies in the relationship between many particular goods. To truly

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know what is good in one area, one must know its position among the constituents of the overall good. To know other constituents, however, one cannot lack other virtues. Accordingly, no virtue can truly be a virtue in isolation, for in that case one cannot have a proper notion of the general life. Although virtues cannot be reduced to practical wisdom, practical wisdom underlies all of them. This is why, on the one hand, Aristotle maintains that Socrates is wrong ‘‘in thinking that all the virtues were forms of practical wisdom,’’ but, on the other hand, he also acknowledges that Socrates is right ‘‘in saying they implied practical wisdom’’ (NE, 1144b18– 20). If this is the reason that Aristotle holds his thesis of the unity of virtues, he has not yet explained our daily experience that a person is virtuous in one area but not in the other. We still need to return to the context in which this thesis is raised, that is, the relationship between practical wisdom and ethical virtue. For Aristotle, only in a state of full virtue can practical wisdom and ethical virtue be combined. Similarly, he claims that the inseparability or reciprocity of virtues holds only for full virtue. That is, only one who has full virtue possesses other virtues as well. The same man, it might be said, is not best equipped by nature for all the virtues, so that he will have already acquired one when he has not yet acquired another. This is possible in respect of the natural virtues, but not in respect of those in respect of which a man is called without qualification good. (NE, 1144b33–1145a1) Natural virtues are separable from one another, whereas full virtues are not separable. What, then, is the case with the third type of virtue, which lies between natural virtue and full virtue, that is, the trained or habit-based ethical virtue? Are virtues of this type separable from one another or not? A habituated virtue is on the way to a full virtue which involves three aspects: internalized social values, emotion, and practical wisdom. In moving towards full virtue, habit-based virtue goes through a process in which these three aspects develop in a mutually reinforcing way and in which they are integrated with one another more and more closely. Full virtue must be the perfectly harmonious state in which they are completely interwoven into an organic whole. Such full virtue, however, can only be achieved when the agent’s practical wisdom has already fully grasped the overall good of life and understood the position of this virtue in the hierarchy of goods. Only in that state does a person who has achieved full virtue have all other particular virtues as well. If a virtue is still in the developing process, so is practical wisdom in its grasping of the correct conception of eudaimonia and its understanding of this virtue in the good life as a whole. A virtue at this stage can still be separated out from other virtues. Following this, Aristotle is not contradicting himself

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when he acknowledges the possibility that one can be generous but cowardly and that one can have small-scale virtues but lack the large-scale one. When this sort of situation occurs, it must be because a virtuous character trait is not a full virtue yet and is still developing. Only at the highest level of full virtue does it become impossible for one to be virtuous in one area and yet vicious in another area.56 On the one hand, the whole or complete virtue is one’s second nature; on the other, it must also be in an ever-deepening process of development. The development of a single virtue from habit-based to full virtue is also the process in which the whole virtue emerges, a process in which different virtues come to be closely related. A fully developed virtue is a perfect ethical character. Since the acquisition of a full single virtue entails other virtues, when one acquires one full single virtue, one acquires all full virtues. Let us turn to the Confucian side. Although Confucius does not present a thesis of the unity of virtues, the idea that virtues are reciprocal seems to be implied in his thinking. We have shown that a Confucian virtue must have three aspects: the observance of social rites, ren as love, and appropriateness. Each particular trait of character must have these three aspects to be a true virtue; and these aspects are themselves three particular virtues. As a result, particular virtues are interlocked. First, social rites regulate all virtues. No particular trait of character is a true virtue without being constrained through the learning of social rites. To love ren without loving learning is liable to lead to foolishness. To love wisdom without loving learning is liable to lead to deviation from the right path. To love trustworthiness in word without loving learning is liable to lead to harmful behavior. To love forthrightness without loving learning is liable to lead to intolerance. To love courage without loving learning is liable to lead to insubordination. To love unbending strength without loving learning is liable to lead to indiscipline. (A, 17:8) Thus, without rites, the traits of character such as ren as love, wisdom, trustworthiness, forthrightness, courage, and unbending strength cannot really be virtues. Social rites underlie all of them. In A, 8:2 we also read: ‘‘Unless a man has the spirit of the rites, in being respectful he will wear himself out, in being careful he will become timid, in having courage he will become unruly, and in being forthright he will become intolerant.’’ Second, ren as love, according to 17:8 and 8:2, must be regulated or constrained by social rites to count as a virtue. However, Confucius also claims that without ren as love, social rites, no matter how ideal they are, will lose their meaning and will not be respected: ‘‘If a man is not ren, what can he do with the rites?’’ (A, 3:3) At first glance, Confucius is circular here about the relation between ren as love and social rites. The truth, however, is that just as the relation exists between practical wisdom and virtue of

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character in Aristotle, what Confucius suggests is that the observance of social rites (li) and ren as love are inseparable and interwoven with each other in full virtue. Finally, yi (appropriateness) is indispensable. ‘‘For the excellent person it is appropriateness that is supreme. Possessed of courage but devoid of appropriateness, a excellent person will make trouble while a small man will be a brigand’’ (A, 17:23). Without appropriateness, courage as a trait of character is not a true virtue. The same should be true of other traits of character. The foregoing discussion shows that for Confucius, if a particular trait of character counts as a real virtue, it must imply these three aspects (which are themselves virtues as well). For any single virtue, a process of cultivation is one in which these three aspects come to be integrated more and more closely. Different aspects are interwoven and together they form the general ren. A fully cultivated virtue is a state in which these three aspects form a harmonious whole. The same kind of relationship between general ren and particular virtues is at the core of Mencius’ thinking. He has four major particular virtues: ren as benevolence, appropriateness, propriety, and wisdom. But his ren also refers to a single overall quality that makes people good. ‘‘Ren means what makes a person a person’’ (M, 7b/16). A reconciliation of these different views is that the four particular virtues are also different aspects of the general ren. If we group wisdom and appropriateness together as the intellectual aspect, plus obedience to the rites (internalized social values) and ren as benevolence and love, we can see precisely the three aspects of general ren in Confucius.57 Ren as human excellence includes the particular virtues as components. At A, 17:6, one disciple Zizhang asks what ren is; the Master replies that ‘‘There are five things and whoever is capable of putting them into practice in the Empire is certainly ren.’’ These five things are five particular virtues: respectfulness, tolerance, trustworthiness in word, quickness, and generosity. Ren, then, contains at least these five particular virtues. At A, 5:18, we are told that a person is not ren without wisdom and loyalty. Thus, wisdom and loyalty are also necessary components of ren. We are therefore led to the conclusion that general ren is a complex or sum of particular virtues. It corresponds to Aristotle’s full virtue, inasmuch as both refer to the virtuous character as a whole. Regarding the relation between the general ren and particular virtues, Tu Wei-ming remarks, ‘‘Ren is also a unifying concept. It not only gives meanings to other important Confucian concepts, but it also shapes their characteristics and unifies them in a comprehensive whole.’’58 This is helpful; yet we still need to know a bit more about how ren ‘‘gives meanings’’ to particular virtues and how it ‘‘shapes’’ and ‘‘unifies’’ them. In Confucius’ view, if a character trait exists in isolation, it cannot be a true virtue. However, if one has general ren, one must have all the virtuous

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traits of character. This is the relationship that A, 14:4, describes: ‘‘A man of ren is sure to possess courage, but a courageous man does not necessarily possess ren.’’ On the surface, this is saying that ren and courage are separable. Courage can exist independently of ren, but only as a natural, precultivated trait of character rather than as a true virtue. Confucius states clearly that without being associated with the three components of ren, courage cannot be a good quality. ‘‘To love courage without loving learning [of the rites] is liable to lead to insubordination’’ (A, 17:8). ‘‘Possessed of courage but devoid of appropriateness, a excellent person will make trouble while a small man will be a brigand’’ (A, 17:23). ‘‘Being fond of courage while detesting poverty will lead men to unruly behavior’’ (A, 8:10).59 I tend to believe that when Confucius says that courage cannot be a true virtue without appropriateness, he seems to have the similar ideas as Aristotle’s that virtues are connected because practical wisdom is one state. Appropriateness as practical wisdom knows the requirements of the social rites and also grasps when and how one can depart from the rites but without violating the fundamental spirits of the rites. From the social rites, appropriateness obtains a grasp of a general notion of the good which reflects the dao of Heaven. In Confucius, if a particular trait of character counts as a real virtue, it must imply a grasp of what is appropriate to do in any given area of feeling and action. This includes not only an understanding of the general requirement of the social rites, but also a sense of how to applying the rites in a given circumstance. Each virtue must also carry out what is appropriate. ‘‘Faced with what is appropriate, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage’’ (A, 2:24). Apparently, appropriateness must be present in and underlines all of Confucian virtues. Without it, courage and other traits of character cannot be the real virtues. The Confucian general ren is not static, but is an ever-deepening process. A person of ren must be at one of many different levels. At the beginning, various character traits are unconnected. In the process of cultivation, each trait comes to be connected with social rites, the expansion of filial love, and appropriateness, and gradually develops into a real virtue. In the meantime, all characters traits are connected to form a general ren. Observance of social rites, love, and appropriateness are three aspects of any single virtue, but are also three aspects of general virtue. The development of each aspect in the general ren takes place through its development in each single virtue. With the cultivation of various particular virtues, one follows social rites more easily; ren as love is extended further; and appropriateness comes to grasp the genuine spirit of social rites and dao more deeply. The above discussion, however, gives us the impression that for both Aristotle and Confucius, any single full virtue is extremely difficult for an agent to achieve, if it is possible at all, and so is the perfect character. Aristotle indeed expresses this position clearly when he says that a full virtue is only for a man who can be called ‘‘good without qualification’’ (NE, 1145a1). On the Confucian side, we read that:

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What this implies is that for both ethics, we are always on the road of cultivation and refinement, with regards to both particular virtue and general virtue. A full single virtue and a perfect character are only ethical ideals. With cultivation, we are moving towards them and we are more virtuous than ever. As Aristotle says: ‘‘The more any state is a virtue, the more it is a mean; so that not only will excellence as it becomes great not make a man worse, but it will make him better’’ (MM, 1200a31–34). However, the cultivation of virtue is a life-long process: It is surely not enough that when they are young they should get the right nurture and attention; since they must, even when they are grown up, practice and be habituated to them. We shall need laws for this as well, and generally speaking to cover the whole of life. (NE, 1180a1–4) For Confucius, as the saying at A, 8:7 (quoted above) shows, only death can relieve one from a ceaseless process of self-actualization or completion.60

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It makes, perhaps, no small difference whether we place the chief good in possession or in use, in state or in activity. (Nicomachean Ethics, 1098b32–33) The excellent person worries about the way [dao], not about poverty. (Analects, 15:32)

So far we have concentrated largely on Aristotle’s theory of practical virtue (including both practical wisdom and habit-based ethical virtues) and its counterpart in Confucius’ theory of ren (excellence). Aristotle, however, distinguishes between practical wisdom and theoretical wisdom. The theory of practical virtue is only a part of Aristotle’s virtue theory. In addition, there is theoretical virtue (sophia, wisdom) and its exercise, contemplation (theoria, also translated as ‘‘study’’). According to NE, vi, theoretical wisdom includes intuitive intellect (nous) and deductive knowledge (episteme). In addition to the discussion of theoretical wisdom, Aristotle further studies the exercise of theoretical virtue in x.6–8 and presents a theory of contemplation. While the supreme virtue of theoretical reason in NE, vi, is theoretical wisdom, in NE, x, the contemplative activity is characterized as ‘‘the activity of wisdom’’ (he kata te-n sophian, 1177a24). Based on his account of theoretical activity, Aristotle concludes that a life of contemplation is primary happiness, whereas a life of practical virtue is secondary. Confucian ethics is not merely a moral and social theory either. Rather, its culmination is the ultimate realization of original good human nature which is called cheng (self-completion). Cheng is more than a counterpart of practical virtue. It puts human excellence within a broader vision of the cosmological order. The person who achieves cheng is a sage.1 Since the highest good is contemplation in Aristotelian ethics and cheng in Confucian ethics, this invites a comparison. Are they comparable phenomena? At first glance, insofar as the content is concerned, these two ideas of human good are very different. Confucian cheng seems hardly to be a counterpart of Aristotelian contemplation. Contemplation (theoria) is from

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the verb theorein (of which the root meaning is ‘‘watch’’ or ‘‘see’’) and comes to mean ‘‘seeing with the eye of the mind,’’ that is, intellectual inquiry, research and study. Contemplation is the exercise of nous in accordance with theoretical wisdom (sophia), and is identified with happiness in x. 6–8.2 In contrast, although commentators have different views about the meaning and nature of cheng, it is evidently not a cognitive activity of pure rationality. More important, I note that there are two significant structural differences between these two ethics. First, there is a distinction between practical wisdom and theoretical wisdom in Aristotle, and the theory of contemplation gives rise to a tension with the theory of practical virtue in the middle books of the Nicomachean Ethics. In contrast, there is no division between practical virtue and theoretical virtue in Confucian ethics. Cheng as the highest good is the ultimate stage in the cultivation of ren (excellence), rather than forming a tension with the latter. Second, contemplation for Aristotle is not a virtue, but a virtuous activity. There is a clear-cut distinction between virtue and activity in his ethics. In contrast, Confucian ethics does not seem to admit this distinction. Cheng is the highest virtue, and is also the highest good. These two structural differences complicate our comparison of these two ethics considerably, but also make it more intriguing. Precisely because one side admits neither of the two major distinctions that the other side draws, we are compelled to see how each side conceives its notion of the highest good. Such a comparative discussion should enable us not only to learn a great deal about the nature of the highest good in each ethics, but also to better grasp their whole project. I shall leave the distinction between theoretical virtue and practical virtue for the next chapter, and in this chapter focus on the implications of the distinction between virtue and activity for our comparison of these two ethics. The first section explains the difference between virtue and activity in Aristotle’s general framework of ethics, and shows how it in turn helps illuminate the Confucian general framework. I then proceed, in the second and third sections, to demonstrate that cheng and contemplation, as the highest goods in their respective ethics, have two major similarities. (a) Both are the highest fulfillment of humanity, and (b) both ethics relate the highest good to the universe and the divine being. Just as cheng involves the unity between human beings and Heaven, contemplation involves the unity between human beings and God. These similarities, however, are understood within the structural difference according to which cheng is a virtuous state, and contemplation is an activity. The distinction between virtue and activity is important not only for our comparison of contemplation and cheng, but also for the topic of external goods that concerns both ethics. In the fourth section, I compare their theories of the role of external goods in a virtuous life, in order to show that while in Confucius external goods do not affect whether one achieves the

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highest good, in Aristotle external goods contribute significantly to happiness. Finally, in the fifth section, I evaluate the theoretical value of the distinction between virtue and activity itself.

Virtue, activity, and happiness Both ethics of Confucius and Aristotle seek to determine their respective conceptions of the highest good: human dao or happiness, and both approach this central concern by appealing to virtue. There is, however, a major difference between them about the status of virtue in the best life. For Aristotle, virtue is a state or disposition (hexis), but happiness ‘‘is not a hexis’’ (NE, 1176a33). Although virtue is the central topic of Aristotle’s ethics, we must note that it is not the ultimate end that his ethics pursues. The ultimate end is happiness, and virtue is cultivated for the sake of happiness. There are two further major factors for a virtuous agent to achieve happiness: First, virtue has to be exercised. For Aristotle, virtue and virtuous activity are different. Activities are of two types. One means what they do in the formation of virtue, and the other means the action which is exercised by the agent (who has already acquired virtue) and which embodies virtue. It is the latter one, the virtuous activity, that is at issue here. Aristotle repeatedly draws a distinction between virtue and activity, and stresses that happiness lies in doing virtuous activity rather than in possessing virtue. He even likens a life which possesses virtue but does not exercise to a sleeping life (let me call it the ‘‘sleeping thesis’’): It appears somewhat incomplete; for possession of virtue seems actually compatible with being asleep, or with lifelong inactivity, and further, with the greatest sufferings and misfortunes; but a man who was living so no one would call happy, unless he were maintaining a thesis at all costs. (NE, 1095b32–1096a2) And: For the state may exist without producing any good result, as in a man who is asleep or in some other way quite inactive, but the activity cannot; for one who has the activity will of necessity be acting, and acting well. (NE, 1098b33–a3) In short, a virtuous agent who does not exercise his own virtue cannot be said to be happy. It is the virtuous soul’s activity, not virtue as a state of the soul, which is the bearer of value. Second, even if one exercises virtue and engages in virtuous activities, a happy life needs, in addition, external goods and a complete life. ‘‘Why then

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should we not say that he is happy who is active in conformity with complete virtue and is sufficiently equipped with external goods, not for some chance period but throughout complete life?’’ (NE, 1101a14–17). Furthermore, I would like to draw attention to the point that Aristotle applies the term ‘‘happiness’’ to refer to both virtuous activity and the whole life. In other words, happiness in Aristotle is a term of ambiguity. This point is significant not only for understanding the nature of the distinction between virtue and activity, but also for the theory of contemplation and even for his whole project. However, it has not been appropriately noticed. Let me therefore defend and elaborate it before we pursue our comparison further. Happiness (eudaimonia) in its popular sense is synonymous with ‘‘living well’’ (to eu ze-n) and ‘‘acting well’’ (or faring well to eu pratten, NE, 1095a19–20). How, then, does Aristotle himself conceive of happiness? Does it refer to the good life that a human being lives (‘‘living well’’), or good rational activity (‘‘acting well’’), or both? Although the issue has not yet become the focus of attention, different views can be found in the literature. The first can be called the ‘‘LivingWell-Only’’ position. Cooper, for example, understands happiness to mean ‘‘a humanly flourishing life’’ or simply ‘‘a good life.’’3 Then, in explaining the first sentence of NE, x.7 – ‘‘If happiness is activity [energeia] in accordance with virtue, it is reasonable that it should be in accordance with the highest virtue’’ (1177a12–13), he insists that ‘‘This first sentence of Book x, chapter 7, should not be taken to identify happiness with any single virtuous activity alone.’’ Rather, it means that ‘‘happiness especially requires the activity of the most superior virtue.’’4 Yet this is hardly a natural reading.5 Indeed, the identity of happiness with activity is not only the main theme of x.6–8, but also a position Aristotle holds throughout the NE.6 The second can be called the ‘‘Acting-Well-Only’’ position. C. D. C. Reeve is the most explicit representative. He contends that ‘‘eudaimonia is neither a biographical life nor a mode of it’’; rather, it can only be an activity that is operative within a biographical life or a mode of it.7 The problem for this view is that there are places where happiness must be referring to a whole life. At NE, 1097b1–5, Aristotle says that we choose honor, pleasure, reason, and virtue for themselves, and ‘‘also for the sake of happiness, judging that through them we shall be happy.’’ He even explicitly speaks of ‘‘happiness and its components’’ (eudaimonia kai ta moria aute-s).8 The third position is that Aristotle switches back and forth between ‘‘living well’’ and ‘‘acting well.’’ As Broadie puts it: It is necessary now, for the sake of clarity, to register the fact that Aristotle’s discussion swings between the notion of the supreme good as a certain sort of life, and the notion of it as some element within a life which may dominate that life in the logical sense of typifying it.9

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I think the third position is the closest to the truth, but it should be revised and developed. Broadie registers her insight, but does not make it a focus of discussion and does not explore its implications for various disputes about the Nicomachean Ethics. In general, the issue of whether happiness refers to a whole life or an activity has always been overshadowed by the dominant debate regarding whether Aristotle’s happiness is inclusive of all sorts of goods (‘‘inclusivism’’) or is devoted to contemplation (‘‘intellectualism’’). This debate, which we will deal with in the next chapter, is about the content of Aristotle’s conception of happiness. I would like to suggest that whether happiness means ‘‘living well’’ or ‘‘acting well’’ is a more foundational issue. To a great extent, the inclusive–intellectualism debate occurs precisely because both sides of the debate fail to differentiate between happiness as ‘‘living well’’ and as ‘‘acting well.’’ They commonly assume that happiness means ‘‘living well,’’ and then fight over whether it is a complex of various goods or it is devoted to contemplation. My view is that eudaimonia in Aristotle’s ethics is a term ‘‘said in two ways’’ instead of just one. It is both ‘‘living well’’ and ‘‘acting well.’’ This does not mean that he embraces a contradiction, or that he replaces the first one with the second in the course of his argument. It is true that Aristotle slides between these two positions, but this is not a confusion on his side. Rather, Aristotle is exercising the ‘‘saving the phenomena’’ method, and thus seeks to preserve the popular sense of happiness as both ‘‘living well’’ and ‘‘acting well.’’ The way he treats happiness as a term of ambiguity is as follows. His initial goal is to study happiness as the best life to lead. He approaches this question by appeal to human function, the activity of the rational soul (NE, 1098a16–17). Then, he applies the term ‘‘happiness’’ to the activity of the rational soul itself as well. As a result, the well performed rational activity is, on the one hand, a happiness-making ingredient for a happy human life, but on the other hand it is itself happiness. As an example of the former, we read: ‘‘Virtuous activities or their opposites are what determine happiness or the reverse’’ (NE, 1100b9–10). As an example of the latter, we read that ‘‘Activities, or one – the best – of activities, we identify with happiness’’ (NE, 1099a30–31). These two conceptions of happiness are of course closely related, since happiness as ‘‘living well’’ is characterized by happiness as ‘‘acting well.’’ Nevertheless, they involve different theoretical issues and conceptual analyses, and have to be distinguished. Their differences underlie the argument of the Nicomachean Ethics. Unfortunately, Aristotle himself does not spell them out explicitly, and this has become one major reason why the interpretation of the NE has been such a battlefield. Through the comparison with Confucius in this and the next chapter, I will demonstrate gradually how the distinction between ‘‘living well’’ and ‘‘acting well’’ is a single thread that underlies the argument of the NE. The distinction of these two uses can provide a consistent solution to a number of major disputes, and in particular, it enables us to read the thorny text of

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NE, x.6–8 in a far less laborious way. The explanatory power of the distinction between happiness as ‘‘living well’’ and happiness as ‘‘acting well’’ in turn indicates that it is deeply embedded in Aristotle’s project and should be seriously treated. For it will in turn ground our comparison on a solid basis. Differentiation of two senses of happiness enables us to understand how the distinction between virtue and activity figures in the structure of Aristotle’s eudaimonism. Aristotle seeks to determine the nature of happiness by an appeal to human function. The function argument in NE, i.7 concludes that human good or happiness ‘‘turns out to be activity of the soul in conformity with virtue’’ (1098b17–18). The confusion begins here: does happiness here refer to a whole life or an activity? The conclusion itself seems to identify happiness with activity. Yet only in one Bekker line, happiness is said not to be a matter of a summer or one day, but to take a whole life. In i.8, we are further told that happiness also needs external goods (1099a32, b6–7). From such a context, the conclusion of the function argument should be taken to mean that human good ‘‘consists mainly in’’ the rational soul’s virtuous activity. The way Aristotle presents his discussion after the function argument is also puzzling. Since happiness is the activity of the soul in conformity with virtue, we expect him to proceed to inquire into the activity of the rational soul. Since Aristotle’s notion of the rational soul includes theoretical reason, practical reason, and the part that does not have reason in itself but listens to reason, he should examine the activity of each of these rational parts of the soul. However, instead of discussing activities, he proceeds to a discussion of the virtues of different parts of the soul (NE, 1102a5–6). We then have books ii–v devoted to the virtue of the reason-listening part, and book vi to the virtues of practical reason and theoretical reason. Yet, Aristotle holds the thesis that if a virtuous agent does not exercise his virtue, he is asleep (the ‘‘sleeping thesis’’). Hence, the discussion of virtue and the discussion of activity are not the same. Given this, how do we explain that Aristotle concentrates on virtue rather than on activity? Indeed, where does he discuss activity in the NE? At the outset of NE, x.6, Aristotle remarks: ‘‘Now that we have spoken of the virtues, the forms of friendship, and the varieties of pleasure, what remains is to discuss in outline the nature of happiness (1176a30–32; my emphasis). This is an odd claim, because in the chapters before x.6, Aristotle has already discussed virtues of different parts of the soul and various related topics. In this way, he has already provided a substantial discussion of happiness. How can he still assert that happiness is yet to be discussed? We note that immediately after this claim, Aristotle re-introduces the distinction between the dispositional state and activity: We said, then, that it is not a state; for if it were it might belong to someone who was asleep throughout his life, living the life of a plant,

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or, again, to someone who was suffering the greatest misfortunes. If these implications are unacceptable, we must rather class happiness as an activity, as we said before. (NE, 1176a33–36) This leads me to think that when Aristotle says that he has not yet inquired into the nature of happiness, he must be referring to happiness as ‘‘acting well’’ rather than happiness as ‘‘living well.’’ His point is that, although he has examined virtues of different parts of the soul in the bulk of the NE, he has not yet addressed activity yet, and it is the time to turn to it. Aristotle, therefore, seems to structure his account of happiness in this way: A A general introduction to the nature of happiness, with the conclusion that happiness is the activity of the rational soul in accordance with virtue (NE, i.1–7), plus external goods. B A discussion of external goods. C A discussion of virtues of various parts of the soul (NE, ii–vi). D A discussion of activities of various parts of the soul in accordance with virtue (of which NE, x.6–8 is a part). Given this structure, Aristotle has reason to proceed from the function argument to virtue instead of activity. Although activity is the final end or the bearer of the ultimate value, it must come out of a virtuous disposition (NE, 1105a33). Hence, virtue should be discussed prior to activity. C and D in the above structure are successive layers of discussion. Given this structure, it makes perfect sense that NE, x.7 begins by declaring that it is going to discuss the happiness which is the activity in accordance with highest virtue, and then proceeds to assert that ‘‘the activity [energeia] of this [i.e. intellect, nous] in accordance with its proper virtue will be teleia [happiness],’’ and that this activity is ‘‘contemplative’’ (theore-tike-, 1177a17–18). The task of NE, x.6–8 belongs to part D in the structure shown above. The distinction between virtue and activity has been drawn in book i, so a discussion of activity must have already been envisioned there. NE, x.6–8, then, is not a new turn in Aristotle’s theory of happiness; rather, it is a completion of his plan, as is originally conceived. This reading provides a justification of why x.6–8 is an intrinsic part of the Nicomachean Ethics. Some commentators propose that x.6–8 must be an independent essay and is a disposable later insertion, since this text introduces a conception of happiness that is not consistent with the one expounded in the rest of the NE.10 The standard defense against this view is to quote NE, i.5 (1095b17–19) where Aristotle lists the contemplative life as one of the three candidates for a happy life and promises to deal with it later. This defense is correct, but it relies on one single reference and does not seem to be strong enough. The structure presented above, however, makes it clear

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that without the discussion of activity in x.6–8, Aristotle’s theory of happiness is simply not complete. Nonetheless, we should point out that NE, x.6–8 does not contain the whole discussion of activity, but only a part of it. Since there are three parts of the soul which are relevant to the inquiry of happiness, and Aristotle has discussed the virtue of each of them, we reasonably expect him to cover the virtuous activity of each of these parts as well. Since he combines virtue of character with practical wisdom, he should discuss (1) the activities of moral virtues and practical wisdom (P-activity),11 and (2) theoretical or contemplative activity (C-activity). However, when we read x.6–8, we see that it does not address all of the topics, but concentrates mainly on C-activity. Pactivity is mentioned only when C-activity needs to be explained by means of a comparison with it. Before going further with Aristotle, I would like to turn to the structure of Confucian ethics. There is no clear-cut distinction between virtue and its activity. For Confucius, to be virtuous is the final end, and the attainment of ren (excellence) amounts to the fulfillment of human way. This does not mean that Confucius and his followers ignore the practice or exercise of virtue. The Analects begins with an emphasis on practicing what is learned: ‘‘Is it not a pleasure, having learned something, to try it out at due intervals?’’ (A, 1:1) One quality of being an excellent person is to be ‘‘quick in action’’ (A, 4: 24). To judge a person one should not just listen to what he says, but should ‘‘go on to observe his deeds’’ (A, 5: 10). Confucius even realizes that under certain circumstances, virtue must be shown in action if one does have it. ‘‘Faced with what is right, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage’’ (A, 2: 24). We have also argued that the Confucian mean (zhongyong) stresses that virtue should be exercised. Virtue as a disposition to act is logically connected with activity. In the Learning, the agent who has cultivated his personal life should extend his virtue to regulate the family, to order the state, and to bring peace to the whole world. The combination of inward sageliness (nei-sheng) and outward kingliness (waiwang) has been thought to be the highest ideal. Although it is mistaken to think that Confucius and his followers do not pay attention to the exercise of virtue, it seems that in general they do not take the exercising of virtue as a separate issue. Rather, they seem to assume that if the agent possesses virtue, then when in a position to practice it, he will do it. However, even if a virtuous agent does not exercise this virtue or his activity is blocked, the value of his life will not be diminished. Confucius encourages an excellent person to engage in public affairs, but he also advises that if the way should fail to prevail in the state, one should ‘‘put to sea on a raft’’ (A, 5:7) or ‘‘hide himself’’ (A, 8:13). Mencius expresses this point more clearly: ‘‘In obscurity a man makes perfect his own person, but in prominence he makes perfect the whole Empire as well’’ (M, 1a/9). In short, virtue is the bearer of value. As long as one has virtue, one fulfills human good. Virtuous activity is not a further end than the possession of virtue.

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To sum up, Aristotelian ethics involves three layers: having virtue, exercising virtue (virtuous activities), and achieving happiness for a whole life. These layers are of course related, but not the same. Happiness does not lie in having virtue, but in virtuous activity and in the flourishing of the whole life. In contrast, Confucian ethics concentrates on virtue, and identifies virtue as the final goal of the life. It gives little attention to the theoretical issues related to virtuous activity.

Contemplation and self-completion Having clarified the structural differences of these two ethics, we are now in a position to compare their respective conception of the highest good: cheng and contemplation. Cheng is a difficult concept, and is even said by one prominent scholar to be ‘‘the most obscure concept in Chinese philosophy.’’12 There is little agreement even about how the term cheng can be rendered into English. In the earliest Chinese lexicon Shuowen, cheng means being true to one’s words (xin). The term is hence first translated by James Legge as ‘‘sincerity.’’ Other translators use similar terms such as ‘‘integrity,’’ ‘‘honesty,’’ or ‘‘truthfulness.’’ These translations represent cheng mainly as an ethical quality. Yet cheng, the ideal at which human cultivation aims, is also the way of Heaven. ‘‘Cheng is the way of Heaven. To think how to achieve cheng is the way of man’’ (Mean, ch. 20; cf. Mencius, 4a/12). Commentators who emphasize cheng as the way of Heaven tend to render this term as ‘‘reality’’ or ‘‘truth’’ rather than ‘‘sincerity’’ or ‘‘integrity.’’ Since cheng is both a human virtue and Heaven’s way, a faithful translation should be able to express both aspects. It remains unclear how this challenge can be appropriately met.13 The reason is that it is not just a matter of translation, but a matter of how to reconcile these two aspects of cheng to make it a unified and intelligible idea. In my view, the nature of cheng is perfectly intelligible once it is taken as a part of Confucian virtue ethics. Cheng is the Confucian notion of the highest good and is the highest level of the cultivation of humanity. Of the various translations of this term we mentioned above, each has its merit, yet each appears to be one-sided. Etymologically, cheng is composed of two parts: ‘‘to speak,’’ and ‘‘to complete’’ or ‘‘to fulfill.’’ In the Mean, ch. 25, the term is explicated as follows: ‘‘Cheng means the completion of the self.’’ I think this provides a clear clue as to how this term should be rendered. If we follow it, the term should be translated as ‘‘self-completion.’’ ‘‘Selfcompletion’’ can be used to refer to both human nature and Heaven’s way, both a process and a state. It is neutral and comprehensive enough to include all the facets that are represented separately by terms such as ‘‘sincerity,’’ ‘‘reality,’’ or ‘‘creativity.’’ More importantly, ‘‘self-completion’’ indicates well that it is the highest manifestation of human excellence (ren). Once we understand cheng as self-completion, the highest level of cultivation at which the originally good human nature imparted by Heaven is

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fully actualized, it emerges as a phenomenon that is comparable to Aristotle’s contemplation. In Chapter 2, I proposed that both ethics are about human nature and its development. Both ethics start from an essential human feature, and end with the fulfillment of this feature. Now I would like to show that the full actualization takes different forms in each of these two ethics: it is contemplative activity in Aristotle, but self-completion (cheng) in Confucian ethics. According to Aristotle’s function argument, happiness is activity expressing virtue. If there is more than one virtue, it should be the activity that expresses the highest virtue. At the beginning of NE, x.7, Aristotle echoes the function argument in 1.7: ‘‘If happiness is activity in accordance with virtue, it is reasonable that it should be in accordance with the highest virtue; and this will be that of the best thing in us’’ (1177a12–18). The best thing in us is intellect (nous), and its virtue, i.e. the highest virtue, is wisdom (sophia). Hence, ‘‘the activity of this [nous] in accordance with its proper virtue [i.e. wisdom] will be teleia happiness,’’14 and ‘‘this activity is contemplative.’’ Intellect, according to NE, x.7, characterizes a person. Even if intellect be small in bulk, much more does it in power and worth surpass everything. This would seem, too, to be each man himself, since it is the authority and better part of him. . . . Intellect more than anything else is man. (NE, 1178a1–7) Furthermore, ‘‘what is proper to each thing is by nature best and pleasantest for each thing.’’ Thus, the exercise of intellect, that is, contemplation, is the best and pleasantest for a human being. Although the claim that intellect determines what a man is has given rise to controversy among commentators,15 it is Aristotle’s own claim. It establishes a special relation between intellect and humanity, and lays ground for contemplative activity to be primary happiness. Rationality is at the teleological peak of the hierarchy of psychic faculties. Within rationality, intellect is higher than practical rationality, and is the highest part of our human function. Contemplation is primary happiness not because it is just a mental activity to search for solutions to scientific or metaphysical problems, but because it is the actualization of the best part of the human function. Aristotle’s discussion of intellect in De Anima should be helpful for enriching our understanding of this idea. In that work, intellect is defined as ‘‘the part of the soul with which the soul knows’’ (DA, 429a10).16 It ‘‘can have no nature of its own, other than that of having a certain capacity’’ (DA, 429a21). If intellect, which thinks everything, has its own nature, that would affect its thinking of things that are alien to its own nature. Intellect, then, is a pure potentiality. As potential, it needs to be actualized. The activity of the intellect (nous), that is, noesis, is a process in which intellect is affected by intelligible objects

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(noema). At the beginning of the process, the intellect is only potentially like what the intelligible object is actually. In the process, the intellect receives the intelligible form of an object (DA, 429a16). This is analogous to perception, in which each sense is receptive of ‘‘the sensible forms of things without the matter, in the way in which a piece of wax takes on the impress of a signet-ring without the iron or gold’’ (DA, 424a18–21).17 At the end of the process, since intellect has accepted the intelligible form of the object, it actually becomes identical with the formal character of its object.18 This gives us a clue as to the importance of contemplation. Intellect is the divine element in us. Yet before it thinks, it is nothing in particular except for a capacity to receive intelligible forms. If it is not active and does not contact intelligible objects, for ‘‘it is just like one who sleeps’’ (Meta, 1074b17–18). We are already familiar with Aristotle’s idea that to have virtue without exercising it is like being in a sleeping state. To say that to have nous without exercising it is also like one who sleeps suggests that a person fails to actualize her most valuable part of human function if she does not exercise intellect. On the Confucian side, self-completion (cheng) is the full actualization of Heaven-imparted nature and is the most genuine manifestation of humanity. According to the Mean, cultivation is the proper way of becoming a human, and it is the unfolding of Heaven-endowed nature. The treatise starts with the remark: ‘‘What Heaven imparts to man is called human nature. To follow our nature is called the way. Cultivating the way is called education.’’ The human way is not located elsewhere, but consists in following, developing, and fulfilling our Heaven-endowed nature. When his own nature is actualized, a person achieves the proper way of being a human. Since it is Heaven that imparts good human nature, such a realization is also the full embodiment of the way of Heaven. Self-completion, as the full actualization of Heaven-endowed good nature, is the way of Heaven and also the ideal way of man. A person reaches the level of self-completion when she fully actualizes her nature. ‘‘Those who are self-completing [cheng] uttermost can fully develop their nature’’ (Mean, ch. 22). Both Aristotelian contemplation and Confucian self-completion are, then, about the same goal: the perfection or full blossoming of what is distinctively human. What is achieved is not only the humanity of the cultivated agent, but humanity per se. A problem, however, emerges. We have shown that self-completion is a virtue, whereas contemplation is the exercise of theoretical virtue. Now both self-completion and contemplation turn out to be the actualization of humanity. If self-completion is an actualization, does that mean it is an activity? To understand the status of self-completion, we need to revisit Aristotle’s theory of first and second actuality which was discussed in the third section of Chapter 4. There are different types of the potentiality/ actuality relationship in Aristotle. The most familiar version of the theory of potentiality and actuality, called the ‘‘developmental version,’’ presents a process of the form’s own development from being potential to being actual,

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exemplified by the development of a natural organism from its seed to its maturity. Yet what is behind the function argument is not the ‘‘developmental version,’’ but the ‘‘exercise version’’ of the theory of potentiality and actuality according to which actualization means activity, performance, or exercise of the function itself rather than the end that a process leads to. The ‘‘exercise version’’ is further divided into two sub-types. Using knowledge as a model, if one has learned or possessed certain knowledge, one can be said to have it actually (the first actuality). However, if one applies or uses the knowledge one has already learned or possessed, one is also said to have the knowledge actually (the second actuality). The first actuality is the exercise of the ability of learning, and becomes in turn the potentiality of the second actuality. The second actuality is the active exercise or manifestation of the power that was present but latent. For Aristotle, the acquisition of virtue is the first actuality, and the exercise of virtue is the second actuality. It is only in exercising one’s rational function expressing virtue that one can achieve happiness. Illuminated by the distinction of the first and the second actuality, we see that self-completion, as actualization of good human nature, is the first actuality, analogous to the exercise of learning to obtain knowledge. Thus, although both Confucian and Aristotelian ethics share a dynamic aspect that humanity must develop from potentiality to actuality, and although both contemplation and self-completion (cheng) are the full actualization of humanity, there is a significant difference: whereas self-completion is the first actuality, contemplation is the second actuality.

Being one with God and being one with Heaven We have seen that self-completion and contemplation, despite their difference as first and second actuality, respectively, are both actualization of humanity. Further, both contemplation and self-completion connect human being with the divine being or the grand scheme of the universe. In Confucius, self-completion is a unity between Heaven and man, and for Aristotle, contemplation is a unity between God and man. Self-completion as both Heaven’s way and the supreme human ideal brings Heaven and human beings together. This idea, therefore, is summarized by later Confucians as tian-ren-he-yi (‘‘the unity of the human being and Heaven’’) and has been regarded as a characteristic feature of Confucianism. Yet precisely what this man/Heaven unity means is far from clear. Some commentators take it as a sort of mystical experience; others claim that it is an aesthetic harmony between man and nature; still others treat it an issue of ecological ethics; furthermore, there are commentators who consider it a matter of spirituality.19 Although it has been thought that Confucian ethics is primarily concerned with human affairs, one of its constant themes is the intimate relationship between Heaven and man. Confucius thinks that his search for

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human dao is a Heavenly mission, and that it is Heaven that understands him (A, 14:37). The Mean begins by saying that human nature is imparted by Heaven and human dao is to follow one’s nature (ch.1). For Mencius, For a man to give full realization to his heart is for him to understand his own nature, and a man who knows his own nature will know Heaven. By retaining his heart and nurturing his nature he is serving Heaven. (M, 7a/1) The idea is that Heaven’s way and each particular thing in the world are related in the sense that each thing has its nature imparted by Heaven, and each thing fulfills its destiny when its nature is actualized. The relation between humans and Heaven is just a special instance of this general relationship and is reflected in terms of self-completion. A self-completed person fully actualizes his innate good nature, and thus embodies the way of Heaven. The theory of self-completion in the Mean further specifies that since the way of man and the way of Heaven are the same in content, in self-completion man is unified with Heaven, and joins in the same ontological stream as Heaven. Since self-completion is the way of Heaven and the goal of human cultivation, if we know what the way of Heaven is, we have some clues about what this unity between man and Heaven means for a human life. First, self-completion as the way of Heaven ‘‘is the beginning and end of things. Without self-completion there would be nothing’’ (Mean, ch. 25). It is that ‘‘by which all things are completed’’ (ch. 26). The idea here can be grasped in terms of Aristotle’s notion of nature. Nature is the inner principle of movement and rest, and form qua nature is a moving cause, a formal cause, and a final cause. It is form that develops itself from a potentiality to actuality. Now in the description of the Mean, to say that self-completion is at the beginning of things sounds like it is a potential form. To say that it is the end of things sounds like it is the final cause. To say that it ‘‘completes all things’’ sounds like it is the internal moving cause that actualizes everything’s potential form. The cosmos is self-unfolding and self-fulfilling. Following this, the first implication of the human being’s unity with Heaven is that the agent should develop and actualize his or her own nature. When that is achieved, the agent is participating in cosmic activity and is flourishing. Otherwise, as a plant that fails to develop is a sick one, the person who fails to do it is also sick. Second, if we look at the phenomena in the sky above and on the earth below, All things are produced and developed without injuring one another. The courses of the seasons, the sun, and moon are pursued without conflict. The lesser forces flow continuously like river currents, while the

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The highest good and external goods great forces go silently and deeply in their mighty transformations. It is this that makes heaven and earth great. (Mean, ch. 30)20

Of the myriad things in the universe, although each develops and actualizes its own nature, together they develop in a harmonious way. Following this, the second implication of man’s unity with Heaven is that the agent should be harmonious with others. A virtuous person should not only fulfill his or her own nature, but also develop in a way that is harmonious with others, rather than in conflict with them. Third, ‘‘cheng, like the earth, carries everything, like the heaven, shining over everything’’ (Mean, ch. 26). The sky contains stars and constellations, and shines from above so that every thing grows. Earth sustains rivers, seas, creatures, etc. Following this, the third implication of man’s unity with Heaven is that the agent should not only be harmonious with others, but also help them fulfill their nature. A virtuous agent who achieves self-completion in the uttermost sense not only fulfills his or her own nature, but can and also should influence, change, and transform other people. ‘‘Only those who are absolutely cheng can fully develop their nature. If they can fully develop their nature, they can then fully develop the nature of others.’’21 Indeed, this ability for transforming others makes a self-completed man shine on others like heaven and support others like earth, and thus forms a trinity with heaven and earth. According to the Mean, ‘‘Great is the way of the sage! Overflowing, it produces and nourishes all things and rises up to height of heaven’’ (ch. 27). For Mencius, ‘‘An excellent person transforms where he passes, and works wonders where he abides. He is in the same stream as heaven above and earth below’’ (M, 7a13). In this way, the excellent agents ‘‘assist in the transforming and nourishing process of heaven and earth, they can thus form a trinity with heaven and earth’’ (Mean, ch. 22). Aristotelian contemplation also forges a special relation with God. In NE, x.7, God is introduced as a part of the theory of contemplation. Aristotle’s God is not one of the personified Olympian gods in which Athenians believe. It is also not the Christian conception of God, who creates the world and is absolutely good. Rather, for Aristotle, God’s life consists entirely of contemplative activity and is simply contemplative activity per se. ‘‘The activity of God, which surpasses all others in blessedness, must be contemplative’’ (NE, 1178b21–22). This does not mean that God is an entity. Rather, God is nothing but the activity of pure rationality. In Aristotle’s description, the properties of God are all the same as the properties of contemplation. In short, God in NE, x.8 should be seen as contemplative activity ‘‘writ large,’’ and the highest human good and God share the same content. To exercise contemplative activity puts one in the state of being one with God. It is a familiar idea that Aristotle in Meta, xii, describes God as the Prime Mover and the principle upon which ‘‘depend the heavens and the world of

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nature’’ (Meta, 1072b14). Yet in Meta, xii, God is also described as contemplative activity: ‘‘The act of contemplation is what is most pleasant and best. . . . For the actuality of thought is life, and God is that actuality’’ (Meta, 1072b23–27). How do we understand that God is both the Prime Mover and contemplative activity? For Aristotle, God is the Prime Mover, not because he acts, but because he is ‘‘the object of desire and the object of thought’’ (Meta, 1072a25). ‘‘The primary object of desire and of thought is the same’’ (Meta, 1072a28). What is this same object? Why does everything desire or think about it? These are complicated questions to which Aristotle provides no explicit answers. If we piece together what he says in different places, the picture is roughly like this. The object of desire and of thought is immortality. Each natural thing has an inner tendency towards or desire for immortality or eternity, and God symbolizes eternity or immortality.22 This is why God moves without being itself moved. Animals and plants have natural impulses to reproduce. Reproduction is a way to continue life (DA, 415a27–b1). It is done ‘‘in order that, as far as its nature allows, it may partake in the eternal and divine’’ (DA, 415a31–32). To pursue eternity through generation is ‘‘the closest approximation to eternal being’’ (GC, 336b34–35). A planet moves in a circular motion, because circular motion is the only motion that is continuous and unceasing (GC, 337a2). Similarly, material elements have a tendency to keep themselves from destruction by imitating circular motion (Meta, 1050b28–30) and reciprocally transforming their qualities and their powers (GC, 337a1–4). In short, the Prime Mover is the cause of the eternal motion, because everything in the world has an immanent driving force, that is, a seeking after immortality. Each kind of thing pursues immortality in a different way, because it can only do so to the extent that its nature permits. However, all beings in the universe share a common end, that is, pursuing the good of immortality represented ultimately by the Prime Mover (Meta, 1075a19). The function of Aristotle’s Prime Mover is to provide a rational account of this universal phenomenon of continuous activity. Although the growth of each individual natural thing is determined by its own nature, the continuous movement of each species is accounted for by the Prime Mover. Furthermore, all the things in the universe are ordered to one end and form an orderly whole in which each thing’s position is determined by its own nature. Hence, the Prime Mover is not only the cause of eternal motion, but is also responsible for the kosmos (universe or world) being a well ordered, organic, and dynamic world (Meta, 1075a11– 14). It is in causing eternal motion that the Prime Mover also becomes both the order and the cause of the order of the world. How, then, does God as contemplative activity fit in this picture? Surely it would be unintelligible to say that everything exists for contemplation. For Aristotle, a human being, as a part of nature, must also be attracted by the Prime Mover. That is, he must have a natural desire to seek eternity or immortality. To actualize this desire, he can, like other animals, reproduce

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and leave behind another being like himself (Pol, 1252a27–30). Yet Aristotle believes that a human being stands out over other animals because he has a much nobler and higher road to immortality than reproduction. This higher road is contemplation (NE, 1177b31–33). It seems that immortality must have different forms, and Aristotle’s God symbolizes all forms of immortality or eternity. Aristotle, however, especially characterizes God in terms of contemplative activity (NE, 1178b17– 23), and also claims that the best human activity is contemplation. This establishes a special link between human beings and the universe. Of all the activities that exist for the sake of immortality, contemplative activity is simply the best form. Although ‘‘all things have by nature something divine in them’’ (NE, 1153b32), human beings are the only species that can contemplate, and ‘‘other animals have no share in happiness, being completely deprived of such activity’’ (i.e. contemplation, NE, 1178b24–25). In contemplation, we are in the same state as God, although God is always in that state, and human beings can be there only for a limited time (Meta, 1072b24). It is natural for human beings to aspire to godlike existence, and we ought to assimilate ourselves to God as much as possible. The above discussion has shown that for both Aristotle and Confucius, the fulfillment of what is genuinely human is a process of moving towards divinity. Furthermore, for both of them, this process does not lead towards an external goal, and does not consist in following the orders of some external deities. Rather, it is internal and is the actualization of what is divine in us. Contemplation is what characterizes God, but it is the actualization of our intellect and a satisfaction of our desire to know. Self-completion is the way of Heaven, but it is also the actualization of the originally good human nature. The Confucian idea of unity between man and Heaven is usually compared with Christianity. In doing so, two contrasts are usually drawn: first, Confucianism lacks a creation myth in its cosmology, and second, Confucianism eliminates the ontological gap between creator and human creature (Tu, 1989, 68–69, 129; Hall and Ames, 1987, 242). While these contrasts are sound when it comes to Confucianism and Christianity, they do not apply to the relation between Confucians and Aristotle and are thus not among the general East/West philosophical contrasts. As we have seen, Aristotle also does not believe that the relationship between the divine being and man is that of creator and creature. His God is the pure rational life ‘‘writ large.’’ There is no ontological gap between humans and God insofar as contemplative activity is concerned. The idea that the highest human good is related to cosmic nature is not only rejected by modern ethics, it is also discarded by contemporary virtue ethics.23 We should note, however, that for both Aristotelian and Confucian ethics, the link between human life and the universe does not mean that nature has its requirements and that humans have to satisfy them. For both, human beings have a unique position in the universe. Their understanding

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of cosmic nature is derived from their understanding of what is the highest human good. In Aristotle, the divine being is characterized by contemplative activity, which in his understanding is the highest human activity. For Confucius, human nature is imparted by Heaven, but this is only a formal principle. It is for human beings themselves to find precisely what the content of the nature is. One knows the way of Heaven by knowing one’s own nature. I think this is why Confucius claims that ‘‘It is man who is capable of broadening the way. It is not the way that is capable of broadening man’’ (A, 15: 29). Apparently, the conception of way (dao) is valueladen. What is significant in their common emphasis on the continuity between the highest human good and nature is that both look at one’s life in a greater context. Aristotle overcomes the dualism between the transcendent deity and the world, and Confucian ethics rejects the bifurcation of man and nature. They seek to understand the meaning of life not only in a social community, but also in cosmic nature. A human being is a part of nature, and an excellent human being is also an excellent member of the ordered universe. The highest good is not a human-all-too-human practical life, but rather is to take one’s position in the structure of the universe. There is of course, a difference between Aristotle and Confucius as well. That is, for Confucius, once we possess virtue (the first actuality in Aristotle’s sense), we are connected with the divine being. In contrast, for Aristotle it is in the exercise or activity of virtue that we are linked to the God.

External goods We next turn to compare their views on the role of external goods in a virtuous life. Both Aristotle and Confucians believe that human life is vulnerable to external conditions or fortune. According to Aristotle, a happy life is made up of various goods as its constituents.24 In addition to the goods of the soul which are the principal components, ‘‘evidently, happiness needs the external goods as well’’ (NE, 1099a32; cf. 1101a14–16). The lack of them can significantly diminish and even destroy happiness. A prosperous person like Priam of Troy suffers grave misfortune in old age, and hence ‘‘no one calls [him] happy’’ (NE, 1100a8–9). He also rejects those who say that the victim of the rack is happy as ‘‘talking nonsense’’ (NE, 1153b19–21). External goods include: (a) the goods external to a human being (as a composite of body and soul), such as good birth, friends, good children, wealth; and (b) bodily goods that are external to the soul, such as good looks, health, strength.25 External goods are also called goods of fortune, because they are controlled by chance (Pol, 1323b25–27; MM, 1206b33–34). They are unstable, variable, and beyond the agent’s planning and reasoning.26 Similarly, Confucius also acknowledges that an agent cannot control many important aspects of life, such as health and disease (A, 6:10), life and death (A, 11:9, 12:5), or wealth and poverty (A, 12:5). Mencius, more

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explicitly, draws the distinction between ‘‘what is within oneself’’ and ‘‘what is outside oneself’’ (M, 7a/3). ‘‘What is within yourself’’ refers to the four inborn sprouts in human nature and their growth is up to the agent. In contrast, ‘‘what lies outside oneself’’ refers to anything that is external to the original good nature. The force that determines what is outside oneself is called ming (variously translated as ‘‘command,’’ ‘‘destiny,’’ ‘‘fate,’’ ‘‘mandate,’’ ‘‘decree,’’ or ‘‘what is given’’). Confucius assumes that ming is related to Heaven, the impersonal force of the universe, although he does not have the idea of predetermined blueprint. We have mentioned in Chapter 1 that Heaven in Confucius contains two distinct meanings: a normative conception according to which Heaven is responsible for the way things ought to be, and a descriptive conception according to which Heaven is responsible for the way things are. It is not clear whether or how they can be unified. Correspondingly, there also seems to have two kinds of ming, respectively from the normative conception of Heaven and from the descriptive notion of Heaven. The sense of Heaven we have been familiar with as the ground of Confucian morality is normative. This is the Heaven that imparts good human nature, and the one with which human beings aim to be unified. The ming issuing from this sense of Heaven can be retained through the agent’s virtuous conduct. However, when Confucius talks about ming that affects a person’s life and death, wealth and poverty, etc., it is in reference to the descriptive sense of Heaven. In this sense, ming is morally neutral. It causes both natural disasters and the harvest, and also determines one’s natural life span and human abilities. It could not be controlled or altered by a human agent, regardless of whether he or she is virtuous. This is indeed the unexpected and uncontrollable condition that human beings face. In my view, it corresponds to fortune, chance or luck in Aristotle.27 Mencius puts it clearly: ‘‘When a thing is done though by no one, then it is the work of Heaven; when a thing comes about though no one brings it about, then it is ming’’ (M, 5a/6). Thus, to say that ming determines many significant happenings in human life amounts to Aristotle’s view that fortune or chance is the author of external goods. Both Confucian and Aristotelian ethics believe that external goods play an important role in a virtuous life. However, we have also shown that these two ethics have different structures. The distinction between virtue and activity, which is so central in Aristotle, is missing in Confucian ethics. Whereas for Confucius, having virtue is the human good itself, for Aristotle a virtuous agent has to do something to manifest and fulfill virtue. This section will propose that the difference in their general framework affects their ways of discussing external goods. Confucius is mainly concerned with the relation between external goods and excellence (ren), while Aristotle is interested in how external goods are related to virtuous activity and to the whole life. Let us first present briefly what each thinker’s general view is. In the ethics of Confucius, self-cultivation is to achieve ren (excellence), yi (what is

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appropriate) and the fulfillment of human dao. To a great extent, this is to be distinguished from a concern with external goods such as wealth or other possessions. Confucius says: ‘‘The excellent person devotes his mind to attaining the way and not to securing food. . . . The excellent person worries about the way, not about poverty’’ (A, 15:32). ‘‘The excellent person seeks neither a full belly nor a comfortable home . . . He goes to men possessed of the way to have himself put right’’ (A, 1:14). What sets an excellent person apart from a small person is that ‘‘The excellent person understands what is right. The small person understands what is profitable’’ (A, 4:16). Once this priority is reversed, one is hardly an excellent person any longer. Mencius also maintains that for a virtuous ruler, ‘‘all that matters is that there should be excellence and appropriateness [ren-yi]’’ (M, 1a/1). Of course, this does not mean that, for Confucius and his followers, being moral and being wealthy are by nature in conflict or incompatible. Rather, the idea is that the goods of fortune are acceptable if their attainment is in conformity with what is appropriate.28 An excellent person is one who ‘‘remembers what is right at the sight of profit’’ (A, 14:12). This is true also of a state (Learning, ch.10). In short, as the Learning well summarizes, ‘‘Virtue [de] is the root, while wealth is the branch’’ (Learning, ch.10). A virtuous or excellent person should not be disturbed by the lack of external goods. Rather he should be ‘‘poor yet delighting in the way, wealthy yet observant of the rites’’ (A, 1:15). ‘‘It is not the failure of others to appreciate your abilities that should trouble you, but rather your failure to appreciate theirs’’ (A, 1:16) This idea is expressed more clearly by Mencius: ‘‘That which an excellent person follows as his nature is not added to when he holds sway over the empire, nor is it detracted from when he is reduced to straitened circumstances’’ (M, 7a/21). The fulfillment of one’s original nature is within the agent’s firm grasp. It can neither be enhanced by the possession of great external goods, nor be diminished by great misfortune. The achievement of ren (excellence) brings about inner serenity, harmony, integrity, strength, and satisfaction. This inner state of ren cannot be destroyed by misfortunes. An excellent person enjoys peace of mind and experiences no worries, fear and inner conflict (A, 4:4, 12:4). ‘‘The person of ren is easy of mind, while the small man is always full of anxiety’’ (A, 7: 37). His goal is ren, which is up to him to grab. If he gets it, he should not have any complaints (A, 7:15; Mean, ch. 14). Mencius also holds: ‘‘The excellent person is free from vexations. He never does anything that is not ren; he does not act except in accordance with the rites. Even when unexpected vexations come his way, the excellent person refuses to be vexed’’ (M, 4b/28). The excellent person’s heart cannot be stirred by external circumstances (M, 2a/2). What affects the serenity of a virtuous agent is the self-consciousness of failure in the cultivation of virtue. It is these things that cause me concern: failure to cultivate virtue, failure to go more deeply into what I have learned, inability to move to

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The highest good and external goods where it is when I am told what is right, and inability to reform myself when I have defects. (A, 7:3)29

This kind of worry prompts one to work hard at cultivation. Furthermore, the virtuous disposition enables the agent to endure and survive straitened circumstances (A, 4:2). It shines more brightly in the unfavorable situation. ‘‘The Master said, ‘‘Only when the cold season comes is the point brought home that the pine and the cypress are the last to lose their leaves’’ (A, 9: 28). Turn to Aristotle’s side. When he says that happiness needs external goods, he mentions two roles that they can play: (1) some types of external goods are instrumental means towards further activities; and (2) other types are not just instrumental; rather, the lack of them directly ‘‘mars’’ or ‘‘disfigures’’ (rupainein) one’s blessedness (NE, 1099a32–b8). The first role is easy to understand, but what does the second mean? Is it an intrinsic good or only instrumentally valuable? Commentators have different views. In Cooper’s understanding, to say that lack of some type of external goods disfigures happiness means that these external goods provide the normal contexts or opportunities for the exercise of the virtues and make possible the full exercise of virtuous activities. They are the constituents of happiness, but are still not intrinsically valuable in themselves. For their value is never independent of their contribution to the agent’s virtuous activity (Cooper, 1999, 292–311, esp. 300). Irwin, however, contends that not all external goods are goods because of what they contribute to virtuous activities. Rather, some are goods ‘‘that are valued for their own sake, and therefore belong to a complete life’’; and they are necessary ‘‘because they are intrinsic (i.e. not purely instrumental) goods.’’30 Annas maintains that Aristotle is caught in a tension between his ‘‘theoretical pull’’ that happiness really consists in virtuous activity and his ‘‘intuitive requirement’’ that external goods are significantly important in human life. Hence, Annas thinks that Aristotle does not have a clear position: ‘‘Aristotle needs, but has not thought through, a satisfactory account of just how the external goods do figure in the happy life’’ (Annas, 1993, 384). Since we have said that for Aristotle two further factors are required for the transition from having virtue to a happy life, we need to ask two questions in order to fully understand Aristotle’s view about the role of external goods: (a) what is the relation between external goods and virtuous activities (‘‘acting well’’); and (b) what is the relation between external goods and the whole life (‘‘living well’’). The answers to these questions are related, but are not the same. External good and happiness as acting well Virtuous activities, including both practical activity and contemplative activity, need a healthy body and all sorts of life necessities.

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No activity is complete when it is impeded, and happiness is a complete thing; this is why the happy man needs the goods of the body and external goods, i.e. those of fortune, viz. in order that he many not be impeded in these ways. (NE, 1153b15–18; cf. also 1178b33–35) There are, however, two ways that external goods can impede virtuous activities. This first is to be used instrumentally, that is, the first role of external goods mentioned in NE, 1099a32–b8. The second is that they can also constrain the exercise of virtuous activity in a non-instrumental way (in the sense that they are included in the specification of virtuous activity itself). However, virtuous activities are further divided into two types: contemplative activity and practical activity. The second constraint applies only to practical activity, not to contemplative activity. Practical activity involves human relationships and demonstrates our nature as social animals. The greater or nobler a practical activity is, the more external goods it requires to accomplish. One must have money to exhibit the virtue of generosity (NE, 1178a33), and one cannot be magnanimous without being rich (NE, 1124a20). When we specify a morally virtuous action, external goods are included. Clearly, the lack of external goods can impede or block practical activity qua that practical activity, and hence ‘‘impairs’’ happiness as ‘‘acting well.’’ The lack of external goods, however, does not constrain internally contemplative activity. ‘‘Indeed they are, one may say, even hindrances (empodia), at all events to his contemplation’’ (NE, 1178a34–b4). The exercise of contemplative activity has no internal reliance on external goods as a part of the specification of what the activity is. This point will be further elaborated in the next chapter. External goods and happiness as living well Each human being has a body and is a social animal. ‘‘He will,’’ as Aristotle remarks, ‘‘need the sorts of external goods required for living a human life’’ (NE, 1178b5–7). His good life is made of ‘‘constituent parts’’ (Rh, 1360b9, 11, 18),31 and many parts are external goods. The good life, or happiness as ‘‘living well,’’ is an outcome which is nothing other than the sum of various worthwhile goods (NE, 1097b1–5). This composite character of happiness as ‘‘living well’’ makes it liable to reversals of fortune. ‘‘A multitude of great events if they turn out well will make life more blessed . . . while if they turn out ill they crush and maim blessedness; for they both bring pain with them and hinder many activities’’ (NE, 1100b25–30). Misfortune can remove or eliminate some constituent parts, and thus ‘‘impair’’ happiness as ‘‘living well.’’ As activity is divided into two types, happy life is further divided into the practical life and the contemplative life. They are respectively characterized by practical activity and contemplative activity. Both, as human lives, need

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external goods as constituents to sustain them. There is, however, a difference. Although the contemplative life requires a certain moderate level of external goods – ‘‘for our nature is not self-sufficient for the purpose of contemplation’’ (NE, 1178b33–34) – it needs less than the practical life: ‘‘The wise man, even when by himself, can contemplate truth, and the better the wiser he is’’ (NE, 1177a32–33). This is because contemplative activity which characterizes the contemplative life is self-sufficient and does not rely on external resources, in contrast to practical activity which is internally constrained by external goods. Once we distinguish the role of external goods in different types of happiness, we can see that when Irwin says that external goods are valuable apart from their connection to activity, he is actually referring to their relation to happiness as ‘‘living well.’’ When Cooper thinks they are not intrinsic, he is actually referring to their relation to happiness as ‘‘acting well.’’ The truth, however, is that happiness is said in both ways. External goods can impair ‘‘living well’’ because the lack of them makes a happy life incomplete. External goods can also impair ‘‘acting well’’ because their lack can impede and even block the exercise of the activity expressing practical virtues.32 The differences between Confucius and Aristotle should be seen more clearly if we test out their positions in the case of Yen Hui, the favorite disciple of Confucius. The Analects is full of lavish praises of this student from Confucius. Yen Hui ‘‘did not vent his anger upon an innocent person, nor did he make the same mistake twice’’ (A, 6:3; cf. 11:7). He is the most eager to learn: ‘‘If anyone can listen to me without unflagging attention, it is Hui, I suppose’’ (A, 9:20). He embodies ren longer than anyone else: ‘‘In his heart for three months at a time Hui does not lapse from ren. The others attain ren merely by fits and starts’’ (A, 6:7). Yen lacks external goods, but he keeps a high spirit and enjoys his ren (excellence) even in dire circumstances. For that Confucius admires him: ‘‘How admirable Hui is! Living in a mean dwelling on a bowlful of rice and a ladleful of water is a hardship most men would find insupportable, but Hui does not allow this to affect his joy. How admirable Hui is!’’ (A, 6:11) In talking to Yen Hui, Confucius says: ‘‘Only you and I have the ability to go forward when employed and to stay out of sight when set aside’’ (A, 7: 11). In speaking to another disciple, Zhi Kung, about Yen Hui, the Master even says ‘‘You are not as good as he is. Neither of us is as good as he is’’ (A, 5:9). Has Yen Hui, then, manifested or exercised his exemplary character to result in some achievements in this world? The answer is disappointing. There is little historical record about Yen Hui’s deeds. No significant intellectual contribution is attributed to him. Confucius is not blind to this aspect: ‘‘I watched him making progress, but I did not see him realize his capacity to the full. What a pity!’’ (A, 9:21) Nevertheless, his appreciation of Yen Hui does not diminish a bit. Clearly, his praise is purely based on Yen Hui’s character. When Yen Hui suffers a premature death, Confucius weeps

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for him. Other disciples think that the Master shows undue sorrow, yet Confucius says: ‘‘If not for him, for whom should I show undue sorrow?’’ (A, 11:10) He seems to regard Yen Hui as the best candidate to continue his own cause. For this reason the premature death of Yen is viewed as a great misfortune for himself: ‘‘Heaven has bereft me! Heaven has bereft me!’’ (A, 11:9) Mencius, who ranks Yen Hui along with the legendary sage-kings, Yu, who solves the flooding problem, and Chi, who teaches the people the art of agriculture, provides a justification of Confucius’ praise of Yen Hui. Mencius’ reason is that Yen Hui has embodied the same dao as the sage-kings, so that ‘‘Had Yu, Chi and Yen Hui changed places they would not have acted differently’’ (M, 4b/29). This is to say that once one has virtue, one will always act well if put in a given situation.33 What matters is virtue rather than its activity.34 If Aristotle were invited to evaluate Yen Hui’s life, the result would be different. Following his view that happiness requires a complete life, Aristotle would say that Yen Hui’s premature death impairs his happiness. Following his theory that happiness lies in activity and that activity needs external goods, Aristotle would say that although Yen Hui can exercise some self-regarding virtue (for example, he is apparently modest regarding the life necessities), his poverty blocks the exercise of the other-regarding virtues such as generosity. For Aristotle, the winner in the Olympic games is not selected from those who are thought to be the strongest or the most beautiful, but rather from those who compete: ‘‘Those who act rightly win the noble and good things in life’’ (NE, 1099a5). Aristotle draws a distinction between being praised and being prized. People praise good deeds, but it is what they prize that they really want. ‘‘Praise is appropriate to virtue . . . but to us it is clear from what has been said that happiness is among the things that are prized and complete’’ (NE, 1101b31–1102a2). If one has virtue, one is praiseworthy; but happiness as a prized object lies in activity. Hence, in Aristotle’s judgment, Yen Hui’s life would be praiseworthy, but not prized. According to Confucius, Yen Hui, despite his poverty, enjoys his life. The source of this joy is from the possession of virtue. Confucius also experiences such joy.35 This so-called ‘‘joy of Confucius-Yen Hui’’ has been inspirational for later Confucians. Aristotle agrees that a happy life must be pleasant (NE, 1099a15–16, 1099a24). However, he defines pleasure as the unimpeded activity (energeia) of the natural state (NE, 1153a15) or as what completes the activity (NE, 1174b31–33). Precisely how these two views can be reconciled has been a matter of dispute in Aristotelian scholarship. Yet for our purposes we only need to point out that what is common between his two views is that the pleasure of a virtuous life is associated with activity. A virtuous agent takes pleasure in doing the virtuous activity. Following this position of Aristotle, Yen Hui would lack the pleasure that comes from virtuous activity.

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It must sound disheartening that Aristotle could have ranked the life of Yen Hui so low. I must point out that there is reason to believe that Aristotle would think Yen Hui as a good person and respect him. This is because although Aristotle holds that virtue must be exercised, he also claims that a virtuous person cannot be truly wretched in misfortunes. ‘‘The happy man can never become miserable – though he will not reach blessedness [makarios], if he meets with fortunes like those of Priam’’ (1101a6– 7). In another place, he also remarks: ‘‘Even in these [misfortunes] nobility shines through, when a man bears with resignation many great misfortunes, not through insensibility to pain but through nobility and greatness of soul’’ (NE, 1100b30–32). Aristotle would believe that Yen Hui is a noble person, but just would not think that his life is flourishing.

Virtue and good This leads us to an evaluation of Aristotle’s distinction between virtue and activity. The direct target of the sleeping thesis is the view which identifies virtue with happiness (NE, 1098b30). Aristotle regards this position as one of the major rivals in his discussion of external goods.36 According to it, virtue is sufficient for happiness, and human goodness is not vulnerable to external misfortune. Although Aristotle does not directly name the advocates of this position, Socrates in the Apology apparently fits the description. For Socrates, virtue is the only thing worth having and is all that is relevant to happiness, even at the risk of death (Apology, 28b5–6), and he also explicitly says: ‘‘Wealth does not bring about virtue, but virtue makes wealth and everything else good for men, both individually and collectively’’ (Apology, 30a6–b3). Apparently, Confucius’ position sounds similar to that of Socrates, and hence it would also be subject to the criticism of the ‘‘sleeping thesis.’’ Since Aristotle’s position on external goods, to a great extent, is a criticism of Socrates’ intellectualism, Aristotle would also criticize Confucius’ position. Indeed, although Confucius acknowledges that fortune affects many aspects of human life, he does not think that it affects one’s moral life. The achievement of virtue, even if it is not exercised, amounts to the fulfillment of human way which is the highest good. He realizes that virtue should be exercised, and also knows well that practicing virtue is vulnerable to external conditions (A, 14:36; 7:5). Yet in his view, the lack of external goods is simply a matter of ming (‘‘what is given’’). As long as an agent possesses virtue, his or her life shines even without exercising virtue. Ren is the bearer of value.37 By taking Aristotle as a mirror, we see that the issue of external goods is not only about how a virtuous agent should have a correct attitude towards material goods, but also a matter of how the lack of them could internally impede virtuous activity. This is one area that the ethics of Confucius should have developed its position, and it is not enough to reduce everything to ming (the inevitable). Indeed, after Aristotle,

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although the Stoics returns to the Socratic position that virtue is sufficient for happiness, they nevertheless develop a theory of the indifferents.38 The idea of the preferred goods gives people a reason to value the commonly recognized goods. However, from Confucius’ point of view, it is disturbing that Aristotle compares a virtuous life to a sleeping state. While Aristotle’s ‘‘sleeping thesis’’ emphasizes the necessity of activity, it attributes to the possession of virtue an insignificant status in determining happiness. In the view of Confucius, this must be questionable. Virtue or ren is the quality that makes a person truly a person (ren zhe ren ye, Mean, ch. 20). To cultivate ren amounts to developing one’s humanity, and the achievement of ren means the fulfillment of humanity. Having virtue, then, must already be a significant achievement. How could such a life be equivalent to a sleeping life? In fact, Aristotle himself defines virtue as ‘‘the state which makes a man good and which makes him do his own work [ergon] well’’ (NE, 1106a21– 23). In NE, vi, 12, in answering the question regarding the utility of (practical and theoretical virtue) virtue, Aristotle remarks: ‘‘In themselves these states must be worthy of choice because they are the virtues of the two parts of the soul respectively, even if neither of them produces anything’’ (NE, 1144a1–3). Virtue as a disposition is choice worthy, since it is the quality that makes a person a good person. Such a position is consistent with Confucian ethics, but how can it be reconciled with his ‘‘sleeping thesis’’? It is certainly strange that Aristotle takes virtue as the central topic of his eudaimonism and devotes the bulk of the Nicomachean Ethics to virtue, but then claims that without activity, a virtuous life amounts to a life asleep. We have mentioned that Aristotle admits that a virtuous person cannot be truly wretched in misfortunes. What, then, makes Aristotle think that a happy man will not be wretched (athlios)? His direct answer is: ‘‘If activities are, as we said, what determines the character of life, no blessed man can become miserable; for he will never do the acts that are hateful and mean’’ (NE, 1100b33–34). Although misfortune disrupts or blocks virtuous activity, only bad actions can make one miserable. Although a good person cannot perform virtuous activity in circumstances of adversity, he won’t do evil or hateful things and is therefore not miserable. This still appeals to activity. Yet we can further ask: what keeps a happy person from doing despicable actions? The answer must be virtuous character. Virtue makes an agent stick to his values and preserve his integrity, even when catastrophe befalls him. It is virtue rather than activity that is responsible for one not being miserable under dire circumstances. Accordingly, having virtue makes a person’s life admirable, even if it is not exercised. This position is close to Confucian ethics, and this is why it becomes the reason for Aristotle to respect Yen Hui. Yet how is it reconciled with the ‘‘sleeping thesis’’? Aristotle makes different claims concerning external goods and they are hardly compatible. The most serious difficulties that his theory of external goods causes are the following two. First, what really determines happiness?

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On the one hand, following his function argument, Aristotle claims that virtuous activities as the goods of the soul are the principal constituents of happiness (NE, 1098b14–15), and ‘‘virtuous activities or their opposites are what determine happiness or the reverse.’’39 On this account, external goods must be peripheral and subordinate. On the other hand, he claims that great disaster can block one’s activity and deprive a happy person of his or her happiness. Happiness is subject to great turns of fortune. If virtuous activities themselves are vulnerable to external goods, how can he claim that they determine happiness? Second, Aristotle insists that happiness is ‘‘permanent and by no means easily changed’’ (NE, 1100b2–3; cf. 1095b25–26, 1099b18–19), and is ‘‘something of one’s own’’ (NE, 1095b24–25). This is because, as he explicitly claims, virtuous activities are more permanent and durable (1100b13–15). However, since activity itself is liable to disruption and even destruction by external goods, how can Aristotle still maintain that happiness is stable and under the agent’s control? Through the comparison with Confucian ethics, I tend to think that these difficulties of Aristotle are, to a great extent, related to the clear-cut distinction between virtue and activity. Aristotle gives too much credit to virtuous activity, but inappropriately reduces the value of having virtue. His ‘‘sleeping thesis’’ is simply too strong and he should have said that what determines happiness is not just virtuous activity, but virtue as well, even if it is not exercised.40 Since external goods can impair virtuous activities but cannot impair virtue, and virtue is cultivated as a second nature, it is virtue that is really stable and not easily changed. It is only if virtue is a determining part of happiness that Aristotle can defend the truth in our intuition that ‘‘the good we divine to be something of one’s own and not easily taken from one’’ (NE, 1095b25). Although a good life is more complete if one can actualize virtue as far as possible, the joy of a virtuous life comes from both the possession of virtue and unimpeded activity.

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For man, the life according to intellect is best and pleasantest, since intellect more than anything else is man. This life therefore is also the happiest. But in a secondary degree the life in accordance with the other kind of virtue is happy. (Nicomachean Ethics, 1178a6–10) Only those who are absolutely self-complete (cheng) can fully develop their nature. If they can fully develop their nature, they can then fully develop the nature of others. (Mean, ch. 22)

As mentioned in the previous chapter, there are two major distinctions in the ethics of Aristotle that are missing in the ethics of Confucius: that between virtue and activity, and that between the practical and the theoretical or contemplative. We have already shown the implications of having or not having the first distinction in the previous chapter; now let us turn to the second. Self-completion and contemplation are respectively the final actualization of humanity in these two ethics, yet there are differences between them. We have shown that self-completion is the first actuality, whereas contemplation is the second actuality. A further and more important difference is that, whereas self-completion is the realization of humanity as a whole, contemplation is only a partial actualization of humanity. This difference is rooted in different conceptions of humanity. Aristotle, in his notion of human function, draws a distinction between practical reason and theoretical reason. These two kinds of reason lead to different virtues, and eventually to a hierarchy of happiness in the ethics of Aristotle. The position that contemplation is primary happiness in book x.6–8 appears to have created a tension with Aristotle’s position in the middle books of the Nicomachean Ethics, in which happiness is defined in terms of practical virtues. This tension has given rise to the long-standing inclusivism-intellectualism debate in Aristotelian scholarship about how to unify the theory of contemplation with the theory of practical virtue and about the precise nature of Aristotle’s mature notion of happiness.

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The Confucian conception of humanity, in particular in Mencius’ exposition of it, is a composite of four beginnings. Nevertheless, these four beginnings can be and indeed must be actualized simultaneously in the excellent person. They constitute different aspects of the general virtue or excellence (ren). There is no tension between the practical and the theoretical in the intellectual aspect of the Confucian notion of humanity. Selfcompletion (cheng) is the highest good, but it is continuous with excellence (ren). There is no tension between cheng and ren as general virtue. The achievement of cheng amounts to the highest achievement of ren. On the one hand, ‘‘cheng means the completion of the self,’’ and on the other, ‘‘the completion of the self means ren’’ (Mean, ch. 25). The following our original nature amounts to the process of cultivating the general virtue of ren, and cheng is nothing but the higher manifestation of ren. They refer to one and the same virtuous disposition.1 This chapter will examine the implications of having or not having the distinction between the practical and the contemplative. It is another major standpoint that enables us to better grasp the overall projects of these two ethics. Since both ethics are about actualization of what is genuinely human, and since cheng in Confucian ethics as the highest good means ‘‘the completion of the self’’ (Mean, ch. 20) and contemplation in Aristotle is the primary happiness, I concentrate on the following two issues: (a) the notion of the self in self-actualization; and (b) the relation between self and the good of others, that is, the role of moral virtue in the actualization of the highest good. The second and third sections are devoted to these issues. The fourth section explains why Aristotle has, and Confucius does not have, a theory of contemplation from the larger background of Greek and Chinese philosophy. However, before entering the detailed comparison, I would first like to explain, in the first section of this chapter, the nature of the tension between the practical and the contemplative in Aristotle’s ethics and provide an answer to the inclusivism–intellectualism debate by applying the thesis explicated in the previous chapter that happiness refers to both ‘‘acting well’’ and ‘‘living well.’’ This is necessary because different positions lead to different understandings of Aristotle’s conception of happiness. If one holds a partisan position in this debate, the comparison of Aristotle and Confucius will surely be partisan as well.

Contemplative activity and contemplative life Commentators dispute about precisely what Aristotle’s final position is on happiness. According to the inclusivist interpretation, happiness for Aristotle is a complex of various human virtues (moral and intellectual) and external goods; according to the intellectualist interpretation, happiness for Aristotle is defined by the single most perfect virtuous activity, that is, contemplation.2 There are also commentators who suggest that Aristotle holds an inclusivist notion in NE, i, but an intellectualist notion in NE, x;

The practical and the contemplative 197 accordingly, the NE contains an internal incoherence.3 Gallons of ink have been spilled over this issue, yet there is hardly any consensus in sight.4 Needless to say, different interpretations of Aristotelian happiness lead to different and even conflicting readings of the theory of contemplation. I have defended the thesis in Chapter 6 that happiness in Aristotle is an ambiguous term and it refers to both ‘‘acting well’’ and ‘‘living well.’’ These two meanings are connected, but each has its own theoretical issue. Following this thesis, we should distinguish, in Aristotle’s theory of contemplation, between contemplative activity and contemplative life. As we will show, this distinction could result in a far less laborious reading of NE, x.6–8. Contemplation: activity or life? In x.7, having argued that contemplation is teleia happiness,5 Aristotle claims: It follows that this [haute-] will be the teleia happiness of man, if it be allowed a teleion life [bios] . . . But such a life [ho toioutos bios] would be too high for man; for it is not insofar as he is a man that he will live so, but in so far as something divine is present in him. (NE, 1177b24–28) This passage leads many commentators to charge against Aristotle that his ethics starts with the goal of grasping human good, but ends with a life that humans cannot live. According to their reading, the contemplative life is impractical, it is not a genuine human goal, and it has no significance for human welfare.6 Yet this charge can be disarmed if Aristotle’s distinction between ‘‘living well’’ and ‘‘acting well’’ is observed. In his discussion of contemplation in x.6–8, Aristotle takes great pains to distinguish between happiness as contemplative activity and happiness as a contemplative life. The contemplative life (the C-life, for abbreviation) is characterized by contemplative activity (C-activity). Yet they are not the same, and Aristotle’s concern in that text is to argue that it is C-activity that is teleia happiness. The failure to follow the subtle distinction between C-activity and the C-life is probably the main reason why the interpretation of this text is so controversial. This is how Aristotle himself draws the distinction: The man who is contemplating the truth needs no such things [i.e. external and social goods], at least with a view to the exercise of this activity; indeed they are, one may say, even hindrances, at all events to his contemplation; but in so far as he is a man and lives with a number of people, he chooses to do excellent acts; he will therefore need such aids to living a human life. (NE, 1178b2–7, my emphasis)

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The distinction between the contemplator ‘‘with a view to the exercise of this activity’’ and the contemplator ‘‘in so far as he is a man’’ is one between what I call ‘‘C-activity’’ and the ‘‘C-life.’’ Elsewhere, this is also formulated as a distinction between one who lives ‘‘in so far as he is a man’’ and one who lives ‘‘in so far as something divine is present in him’’ (NE, 1177b27–28), and more briefly, a distinction between contemplation and contemplator (theorountos, NE, 1178b4–6). C-activity is only the exercise of intellect, ‘‘the highest thing in us’’ (NE, 1177a21). A living person, in addition to intellect, must have a body and other psychic parts. Although C-activity is the dominant aspect of a C-life, it cannot be the sole content of a C-life. The difference between them, according to 1178b2–7 (quoted above), is that various goods are obstacles to C-activity, but are necessary for the C-life. This point is further reinforced when Aristotle describes God, whose life is nothing but C-activity, as not possessing any moral virtue or vice (NE, 1178b16–17). And at NE, 1178b32–34, Aristotle introduces another difference: whereas C-activity in itself does not need external prosperity, the C-life needs food and other necessities.7 If we keep in mind this distinction and read again NE, 1177b24–28 (quoted above), it is clear that the impracticality charge against contemplation misses the point, because it wrongly takes what Aristotle says about Cactivity as his position about the C-life. In this passage, ‘‘it follows that’’ should be glossed as: ‘‘It follows from the view that C-activity is teleia happiness that . . .’’ This view has been his theme in the first part of x.7. ‘‘This’’ [haute-] in 1177b24 should be C-activity, which Aristotle has just argued as identical with teleia happiness. He uses the subjunctive mood, saying that if C-activity could be pursued as the complete (teleia in this context should be taken as ‘‘complete’’) content of a person’s life, it would constitute the teleia happiness for man. However, this is not true, given the distinction between one who lives ‘‘in so far as he is a man’’ and one who lives ‘‘in so far as something divine is present in him’’ (NE, 1177b27–28). The phrase ‘‘such a life’’ refers to C-activity. A livable human life cannot be constituted only of C-activity (hence it is ‘‘too high for a man to live’’). What Aristotle tries to say is that there is an activity (i.e. theoria) which is best, although it cannot be the whole content of human life. There are of course human contemplators: Anaxagoras and Thales are cited as examples (NE, 1141b3–7). Yet although these people are characterized by C-activity, they are not identified with the latter, for they have to eat, drink, and deal with human relationships. The hierarchy of happiness: lives or activities? At NE, 1178a8–10, Aristotle provides a hierarchy or rank of happiness: This [houtos] is therefore also the happiest. But in a secondary degree the life in accordance with the other kind of virtue [ho kate ten allen bios] is happy.

The practical and the contemplative 199 How to understand the hierarchy has been a topic of dispute. The term bios is one major source of controversy.8 One view takes it only to mean a person’s biographic total life or a mode of it.9 A person can only have one bios in any period of time. Following this view, Aristotle must be comparing two actually livable lives in this remark. Most commentators seem to read it in this way, although there are still many debates about what kinds of lives are in contrast here.10 The other view, however, contends that bios can signify both a person’s whole life and one aspect or phase of it (Keyt, 1978, 145– 46). Accordingly, the hierarchy should be taken as comparing ‘‘two distinct aspects of a total life’’ (Keyt, 1978, 145). If the distinction between happiness as ‘‘living well’’ and happiness as ‘‘acting well’’ is tenable, I think what are ranked here cannot be two (well lived) lives, but must be two (well performed) activities: contemplative activity (C-activity) and practical activity (P-activity). In this hierarchy, bios must refer to a phase or an aspect of a total life. The pronoun ‘‘this’’ (houtos), which is the subject of ‘‘the happiest’’ at 1178a8, should refer to ‘‘the life according to intellect’’ (ho kata ton noun bios) mentioned in the previous line at 1178a7. This should be the life that one lives ‘‘not in so far as he is a man, but in so far as something divine is present in him’’ (NE, 1177b27). Aristotle here is not talking about the life that a contemplator leads, but the exercise of his intellect. Furthermore, what is compared with primary happiness is ‘‘the life in accordance with the other kind of virtue.’’ By the other kind of virtue Aristotle means practical wisdom and ethical virtue. Since intellect is in everyone, ‘‘the life in accordance with the other kind of virtue’’ must be P-activity, that is, activities expressing moral virtues, rather than a person’s total life.11 Hence, in the two bioi compared, one excludes moral virtue and practical wisdom, and the other does not include contemplation. If bios can only mean an actually lived life, he would have left out many activities that each lived life must have, and the comparison would not make much sense.12 Of course, C-activity and P-activity are dominant in the C-life and the Plife respectively. In such a derivative sense the ranking of activities can also be said to be the ranking of these two lives. Yet Aristotle’s analysis here is about C-activity, and the central point of x.6–8 is to show that C-activity is the best human activity. What, then, is the rationale behind this hierarchy of C-activity and Pactivity? Having said that P-activity is secondary, Aristotle remarks that it involves bodily passion and is related to social morality. He does not explain, however, why these are the reasons for its being secondary. We might be able to understand his view from what he says about the distinction between theoretical and practical wisdom, since C-activity and Pactivity are the activities of these two intellectual virtues. Indeed, in the chapters before NE, x, Aristotle has made it abundantly clear that theoretical reason is higher than practical reason, and that theoretical wisdom is higher than practical wisdom. Intellect, not practical reason, is ‘‘the best

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thing in us’’ (NE, 1177a21). ‘‘The objects of intellect are the best of knowable objects’’ (NE, 1177a22), and this entails that the objects of practical rationality are not the best of knowable objects. Theoretical rationality is concerned with ‘‘the kind of things whose principles cannot be otherwise’’ (NE, 1139a7), which are ‘‘the highest objects in nature’’ (to-n timio-tato-n; NE, 1141a20, b4). In contrast, practical rationality is about human affairs, but ‘‘man is not the best thing in the world’’ (NE, 1141a21). For Aristotle, unchanging things such as the constituent parts of the universe have a far more divine nature (polu theiotera te-n phusin) than do human affairs (NE, 1141b1–2). Eternal objects generate eternal and necessary truth, whereas from human affairs we get knowledge that is true only for the most part. Theoretical wisdom is said to be the most precise mode of knowledge (eakiribetate-; NE, 1141a17). In contrast, practical wisdom, since it is about things that are good or bad for human beings, is denied the status of ‘‘the best knowledge’’ (spoudaiotate-n, NE, 1141a20). He even explicitly declares that practical wisdom is ‘‘inferior to [theoretical] wisdom’’ (NE, 1143b33). What the ranking indicates is the superiority of unchanging objects over changing things, and the superiority of eternal knowledge over contingent truth. What lies behind the hierarchy of happiness is Aristotle’s deep-seated enthusiasm for the pursuit of knowledge of necessary and unchanging things.

Self and self-actualization Theoretical self and practical self Equipped with the above understanding of Aristotle’s distinction between practical activity and contemplation, we are in a better position to see precisely how his ethics and Confucian ethics differ. The central project of both ethics is the matter of self-actualization. Since Aristotle’s notion of human function contains different parts that eventually lead to tension, does he have a unified notion of the self ? What is the ‘‘self’’ in Aristotelian selfactualization? What is the ‘‘self’’ in Confucian self-actualization? Aristotle distinguishes two kinds of self-love. One, the base form of selflove, gratifies the non-rational part of the soul by pursuing things such as money, honors, or bodily pleasures.13 The other, the noble form of self-love, seeks to gratify the rational part of the soul (NE, 1168b32–33; cf. 1166a17– 18). Each type of self-love involves a notion of the ‘‘self.’’ The self of the base self-lover is defined by the appetitive part of the soul, whereas the self of the noble self-lover is identified in terms of his reason. Consistent with the function argument, Aristotle repeatedly identifies reason with selfhood. In a self-controlled person, the intellect is in control, and intellect is thought to be ‘‘the man himself’’ (NE, 1168b35; cf. 1166a14– 18). Rational acts are thought most properly to be a person’s own act, because ‘‘this is the man himself, or is so more than anything else’’ (NE,

The practical and the contemplative 201 1169a1–2). The selfhood of a human being lies in his rationality, which a good self-lover seeks to develop and actualize. Since rationality is divided into the theoretical and the practical, it follows that the rational self should also have two kinds: the theoretical rational self and the practical rational self. The lover of either kind of rationality is a noble self-lover. Aristotle indeed presents these two conceptions of the self. In the discussion of NE, ix.8, where the theory of two kinds of self-love is introduced, the examples show that he mainly has practical rationality in mind. At NE, 1168b25–26, such a self-lover is said to be one who is always eager to act temperately, justly or in accordance with the other moral virtues. Rational actions are noble actions. In this way, the self of the noble self-lover turns out to be her virtuous character. Let me call this the ‘‘practical self.’’ In Aristotle’s discussion of virtue friendship, the self is more explicitly identified with virtuous character. He explains the nature of friendship in terms of the objects of love (phile-ta). There are three objects: the useful, the pleasant, and good character or virtue. Correspondingly, there are three types of friendship: utility friendship, pleasure friendship, and virtuefriendship. In the first two kinds of friendship, people love one another ‘‘incidently’’ (kata sumbebe-kos), given that one wishes the other well only insofar as he is conceived of as a source of pleasure and usefulness (NE, 1156a10–19), which, however, is only a person’s incidental feature rather than something that determines who the person is. In contrast, virtue friendship is ‘‘the friendship of people who are good and alike in virtue’’ or ‘‘the friendship of good persons’’ (NE, 1156b6, 1164a12, 1165b8–9). In this friendship, one loves the other for himself (kath hautous or di hautous). Since people love each other for good character or virtue, ‘‘love the other for himself’’ turns out to mean ‘‘love the other for the good character or moral virtue that the person possesses.’’ It is in this sense that Aristotle calls a virtuous friend ‘‘another self’’ (NE, 1166a32) or a ‘‘second self’’ (MM, 1213a20–26). A friend is a second self because he or she is fundamentally the same in character. In addition to the identification of the self with one’s character and practical reason, Aristotle also identifies the self with theoretical intellect. He says at NE, x.7, This [nous] would seem, too, to be each man himself, since it is the authoritative and the better part of him. It would be strange, then, if he were to choose not the life of himself but that of something else . . . nous more than anything else is man. (1178a1–7) In this passage, a person’s selfhood lies in his intellect. In choosing to live the intellectual life, he is choosing his own life. Let me call this the ‘‘theoretical self.’’

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Each of Aristotle’s two notions of the self is the subject of controversy. Regarding the practical self, commentators question whether Aristotle should have identified the self with character on the grounds that a person cannot be reduced to her character.14 Aristotle’s idea certainly has its difficulties, for it is unclear why character is essential. Whereas an essential property is shared by all the members of a kind, virtue is not a universally shared property. And while an essential feature is something that one cannot be without, a change in character does not entail that the person himself no longer persists. Aristotle’s identification of the self with intellect also gives rise to controversy.15 The conception is inconsistent with the function argument of i.7 according to which humanity includes the exercise of all rational parts. It is also inconsistent with ix.4 and ix.8 in which it is the rational part in general that determines what a person is. Commentators have made various suggestions to sort out the inconsistencies, but agreement has not been reached (Bostock, 2000, 197). Let me deal with the theoretical self first. In light of my interpretation that the notion of happiness contains the activity–life ambiguity, my view is this: the identification of intellect with human nature must be taken in an evaluative rather than in a biological sense. Aristotle distinguishes between a person and the virtuous activity which characterizes her. This is what the distinction between the contemplator who lives ‘‘in so far as man’’ and one who lives ‘‘in so far as the divine element’’ is all about. Although the contemplative life must include practical activity and external goods, it is the contemplative activity, the exercise of intellect in accordance with theoretical wisdom, which characterizes such a life. On this account, intellect, more than anything else, determines the identity of a contemplator. This is why Aristotle identifies contemplative activity with the selfhood of a contemplator, but can in the meantime say that the life that is constituted purely of contemplative activity is too high for man to live. The same interpretation goes for the identification of self with virtuous character. Practical virtues are not essential properties of humankind; yet they are essential properties for being a virtuous agent.16 Virtue is the second nature of a virtuous person. A person remains when her character changes for the worse, but no longer persists as a virtuous agent. Metaphysically, a person remains the same person even if her moral character changes, and she cannot be reduced to abstract attributes. Yet Aristotle’s concern is not the metaphysical identity of a person, but the identity of a person as being a morally virtuous person or the identity of a person as a contemplator. He applies the concept of ‘‘self’’ to each of these two identities. The status of the relational self In Confucius, there also seems to be a distinction between a person and the virtuous character that characterizes an excellent person. In his view, to

The practical and the contemplative 203 achieve ren or virtue, one first of all has a ji (self) to overcome (ke ji, A, 12:1), that is, one has to moderate appetitive desires. Moreover, there is a ji (self) to be cultivated, that is, to develop the original good nature into virtuous character. A noble person is he who ‘‘cultivates himself and thereby achieves reverence’’ (A, 14:42). Ke ji (‘‘to overcome oneself’’) and xiu ji (‘‘to cultivate oneself’’) are not two separate processes, given that the process of virtue formation is also the process that moderates desires. A virtuous agent is one who has developed her good nature and has overcome appetitive desires. Clearly, Confucius, like Aristotle, is concerned with moral rather than with metaphysical identity of the self. The cultivation of the self is not an issue about what it is that remains the same person over time; rather, it is about how to develop an ethical character that manifests humanity. In Chapter 4, I have shown that Confucius is thought to hold a notion of relational self. A Confucian excellent person is one who has actualized human social nature, or her relational self. This actualized relational self is identified with excellence (ren). Self-completion (cheng), as the highest manifestation of ren, is also the highest manifestation of the relational self. We have also compared Confucius’ conception of relational self with Aristotle’s notion of a political animal (politikon zo-on), and found that both sides emphasize human social or relational nature. Being a relational self, like being a political animal, means that a person is by nature relational and that a community in which human relationships are regulated is indispensable for the actualization of our relational nature. Aristotle has two notions of the self (theoretical and practical). When we put the political animal together with Aristotle’s two notions of the self, the political animal clearly corresponds only to the practical self, given that the political animal (more specifically its higher sense) is defined by the human power of language and moral sense. The Confucian relational self corresponds to the Aristotelian political animal, and hence also to Aristotle’s practical self. The relational self and the practical self each involve the internalization of social values, and family and community play a great role in shaping both of them. There is, however, a difference. In Aristotle there is a theoretical self that is in contrast to the practical self. In Confucius, there is not such a contrast between the relational self and self-completion. Self-completion (cheng), which has a formal similarity to Aristotle’s theoretical self, given that both are the highest goods, is the highest manifestation of the relational self. Thus, the relational self, although corresponding to Aristotle’s practical self in content, is not the same as the latter in theoretical status. The development of the virtuous self Different notions of self entail different models of self-actualization. Since Aristotle has two conceptions of the self, self-actualization in his ethics cannot be a single or unified process. Rather, it has two processes: one for

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the realization of the practical self, and the other for that of the theoretical self. The difference in cultivating these two selves can be better understood if we look at the distinctions between theoretical wisdom and practical wisdom. First, whereas practical wisdom concerns ‘‘what sort of things conduce to the good life in general’’ (NE, 1140a27–28), theoretical wisdom has nothing to do with practical human affairs. ‘‘For wisdom will contemplate none of the things that will make a man happy (for it is not concerned with any coming into being)’’ (NE, 1143b19–20). Second, since theoretical wisdom does not concern human affairs, it does not provide an end for practical wisdom. Instead, practical wisdom achieves its end from moral virtue cultivated out of moral habituation. ‘‘Virtue makes the goals correct’’ (NE, 1144a8–9; cf. 1144a20, a30–31, 1145a5–6). Third, whereas practical wisdom is related to the reason-listening part of the soul and is interwoven with moral virtue, theoretical wisdom is not.17 Given these distinctions in Aristotle, the fulfillment of the practical self does not lead to the fulfillment of the theoretical self, and vice-versa. These are two models of human flourishing that cannot be fulfilled within a single career, and Aristotle ranks the actualization of the theoretical self higher than the actualization of the practical self. In contrast, in Confucius, there is only one continuous process of the development of the relational self, in which one’s virtuous character keeps deepening and perfecting. Confucius describes his own development in an autobiographical passage (A, 2:4): At fifteen I set my heart on learning; at thirty I took my stand; at forty I came to be free from doubts; at fifty I understood the Decree of Heaven; at sixty my ear was attuned; at seventy I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the line. This is a continuous process in which his inner state becomes increasingly polished and profound. Mencius also describes the development of a virtuous agent in this way: The desirable is called ‘‘good.’’ To have it in oneself is called ‘‘true.’’ To possess it fully in oneself is called ‘‘beautiful,’’ but to shine forth with this full possession is called ‘‘great.’’ To be great and be transformed by this greatness is called ‘‘sage.’’ To be sage and to transcend the understanding is called ‘‘divine.’’ (M, 7b/25) Although it is difficult to explicate the clear-cut distinctions among these different levels, the general tenor is clear. Human beings have an original good nature. The agent develops by desiring to show it, holding on to it rather than losing it, developing it fully and further influencing others.

The practical and the contemplative 205 Eventually he or she becomes a sage and also joins the profound state of divine being. Since the development of the virtuous self is the unfolding of the originally good human nature, the process of cultivation is an ever deepening process of one’s self-understanding. It is a central theme in Confucianism that the way of the sage and the way of the ordinary person are the same, and it is cultivation that sets them apart (M, 3a/1, 6b/3). We are always in the process of cultivation towards sagehood. These different views of self-actualization are related to the place of the doctrine of the mean in each ethical system. As shown in Chapter 3, both ethics hold a doctrine of the mean. Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean is a part of his discussion of moral virtue/practical wisdom, but is not mentioned in his discussion of contemplation. The mean is relative to us, for ethical virtue (e-theke- arete-) ‘‘comes as a result of habit (ethos). Since ethos is relative to some particular society, contemplation is the exercise of pure human rationality, and is not said to be a disposition formed through habituation. The mean belongs only to ethical virtue, but not to theoretical virtue. The cultivation of the mean cannot be a part of contemplation and of primary happiness. In contrast, for Confucius, the mean is not limited to ethical virtue. Rather, the mean is the supreme virtue, and, furthermore, it is ‘‘the great foundation of the world’’ (Mean, ch.1), i.e. the way of the world. Thus, if one acquires the mean as moral character, one is unified with the mean in the world. ‘‘He who is self-completed is one who hits upon what is right without effort and apprehends without thinking. He is naturally and easily in harmony with the way [of the middle]. Such a man is a sage’’ (Mean, ch.20; translation modified). Towards the end of Chapter 5, I pointed out that for both Aristotle and Confucius, the cultivation of moral virtue is a life-long and ceaseless process. Now, we must add another element to this picture. For Aristotle, although the cultivation of moral virtue is life-long, the process itself does not lead to theoretical virtues. Self-development is not a unified process; different parts of human function lead to different and even incompatible processes of growth. In contrast, in Confucian ethics, it is the same nature that unfolds more and more fully.

Self and the others Let us proceed to examine how the self and the good of others are related in Confucian and Aristotelian self-actualization. Does self-actualization exclude altruistic behavior? The issue is complicated in either ethics, but in different ways. On Aristotle’s side, given that the theory is about how each agent promotes her well-being, the traditional reading has been that Aristotle’s eudaimonism is essentially egoistic.18 Egoism and altruism are not Aristotle’s terms, but this does not mean that he is not familiar with the problem. The dichotomy

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between self-interest and goods for others is explicitly established when Thrasymachus asks: since it is rational for one to seek one’s own good, why be moral, if morality is ‘‘another’s good’’ (Republic, 343c)? One of the major concerns of the Republic is to answer this question. Nevertheless, Aristotle’s approach has its distinctive features. ‘‘Egoism’’ in contemporary ethics always refers to base egoism, and usually, the issue about egoism and altruism is conceived as a tension between selfish desire and morality. Aristotle, however, distinguishes two types of self-love. He condemns base egoism (that is, the type of egoism that Thrasymachus advocates), but pursues the noble form of egoism (that is, to satisfy one’s rational part) at the core of his ethical project. Hence, the issue about egoism and altruism is one between noble egoism and the good of others, that is, between the pursuit to satisfy one’s rational self and the requirements of social morality. Since the noble rational self in Aristotle is further divided into two kinds (the practical self and the contemplative self), we have two issues to examine in discussing whether Aristotle’s eudaimonism is egoistic: (a) the goods of others in the actualization of the practical self; and (b) the good of others in the actualization of the contemplative self. Confucian ethics, as indicated by the fact that ren is frequently translated as ‘‘benevolence,’’ is known for its emphasis on the care of the others. This, however, leads to the question of whether a Confucian self has any selfinterest other than those that are also communal interests.19 To discuss this issue appropriately we must deal with a more foundational problem, that is, since the Confucian self is intrinsically relational, does it remain individual? Only if we understand whether a Confucian self has individuality can we see what its self-interest is. According to some commentators, the Confucian relational self is submerged in human relationships, for an agent’s identity is constituted by nothing more than the sum of the roles she assumes in various relationships, and it changes as the relationships change.20 Other commentators contend that the relational understanding of the self does not entail that a Confucian self lacks individuality. Of those who hold the latter position, however, there are different views about what kind of individuality it is.21 In this section, I examine the relationship between the self and others first in Aristotle’s practical self, then in the Confucian relational self, and finally in Aristotle’s contemplative self. The practical self and the good of others It might be thought that the practical self, defined in terms of ethical virtues and practical wisdom, must be concerned with the good of others. However, when Aristotle’s eudaimonism is accused of being egoistic, the main target is his theory of ethical virtue. This is because the overarching concern of an Aristotelian ethical agent is for his or her own happiness. At first glance, both ethical virtue and practical wisdom appear to be self-regarding. Virtue

The practical and the contemplative 207 is necessary for an agent to be eudaimon and hence the acquisition of ethical virtue benefits the agent. Also, a person of practical wisdom should ‘‘deliberate well about his own happiness’’ (NE, 1140a25–28). Yet the picture is not so simple. Even at the beginning of the NE when happiness is said to be the supreme end, Aristotle claims that the end of the state is higher than the individual’s end (NE, 1094b7–12). Furthermore, ethical virtue is explicitly said to have an aspect of altruistic concern. In NE, v.1–2, Aristotle distinguishes two senses of justice. The broad one means lawfulness or law-abidingness, and the narrow one means fairness.22 The general sense of justice as lawfulness is ‘‘teleia virtue’’ (NE, 1129b27).23 Aristotle quickly adds, however, that this is meant ‘‘not absolutely [haplo-s], but in relation to others [pros heteron]’’ (NE, 1129b27–28). Virtue exercised ‘‘in relation to another’’ is contrasted with virtue exercised in relation to oneself and one’s own affairs. Hence, virtues can be either self-regarding or other-regarding. This does not mean that some virtues are self-regarding, and others are other-regarding. Rather, ‘‘he who possesses virtue can exercise his virtue towards others and not merely by himself [kath hauton]’’ (NE, 1129b33–34). The same virtue can be both self-regarding and other-regarding. A courageous person can exercise courage to save himself when he himself faces a great danger (say, attacked by a shark when swimming alone in the ocean), and he can also exercise courage to fight for his country in war. All virtues have an aspect involving others, and justice in its broad sense is the sum of the other-regarding aspects of all virtues. Aristotle summarizes the relation between justice and virtue in this way: ‘‘They are the same but being them is not the same; what, as a relation to others, is justice, is, as a certain kind of state without qualification, virtue’’ (NE, 1130a13–14). Virtue and justice cover the same state or disposition. The disposition is a virtue insofar as it is one ‘‘without qualification’’ (meaning that it can be related both to others and to oneself). It is justice insofar as it is one in relation to others and is viewed from the standpoint of their functioning in a community. To have a practical virtue intrinsically implies a tendency to do good for other people. Indeed, justice as lawfulness ‘‘is thought to be another’s good, because it is related to others; for it does what is advantageous to another, either a ruler or a partner’’ (NE, 1130a3–5). Aristotle places friendship within the framework of happiness and regards it as an essential ingredient in the good life. Yet his theory of friendship makes the issue of egoism and altruism more complicated. The Greek term philia, translated as ‘‘friendship,’’ means more than what its English counterpart suggests. It covers all sorts of relationships that involve mutual loving and liking, including family relationships and certain business relationships. Greeks divide their acquaintances into friends and enemies, and the popular morality requires that one should do all in his power to benefit friends and harm enemies (e.g. Republic, 334b). Aristotle follows this tradition in emphasizing that friendship involves well-wishing and well-doing for someone the agent regards as a friend, and for the friend’s own sake.24

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Some commentators are therefore led to believe that Aristotle’s theory of friendship advocates a genuine concern for the other’s good, and modifies a previously egocentric ethic expounded in the middle books.25 Yet, how is this apparent altruism related to the quest for one’s ultimate goal of happiness? Let us examine Aristotle’s theory of friendship in some detail. He divides friendship into three types: utility friendship, pleasure friendship, and virtue friendship. For our purpose, it would be sufficient to concentrate on the perfect type, that is, virtue friendship (NE, 1156b7). As the paradigm friendship, virtue friendship exhibits perfectly the features of philia. The other two are derivative. In virtue friendship, people love each other because of character or virtue. What, then, is the motivation for one to love another’s character? Aristotle’s view is that a friend is another self or a second self (NE, 1166a32; MM, 1213a12). This, in turn, is because I and my friend have the same character and virtue, and we thus have the same source and contents for our practical self. Following this, a true friend’s love for his friend ‘‘has come from [eleluthenai, 1166a2]’’ his love for himself. How one feels towards one’s friend is how one feels towards oneself. The love for one’s own rational self and the love for the rational self of one’s friend is the same in kind. The love of others is an expression of self-love. If a friend is another self, why do we need friends? Why is it not enough to just love oneself ? Aristotle explains: [W]hen we wish to see our own face, we do so by looking into the mirror, in the same way when we wish to know ourselves we can obtain that knowledge by looking at our friend. For the friend is, as we assert, a second self. If, then, it is pleasant to know oneself, and it is not possible to know this without having some one else for a friend, the selfsufficing man will require friendship in order to know himself. (MM, 1213a20–26) A similar idea is also expressed in NE, 1169b23–24. I appropriate the idea as a methodology to conduct comparative philosophy in the Introduction. Now let us discuss the doctrine itself. A friend is a mirror. It helps one recognize the quality of one’s own character by seeing it reflected in one’s friend, and it enables one to avoid partiality and blindness when one sees one’s own life, and to obtain an objective assessment of one’s own faults or strengths. In short, friendship is a matter of self-knowledge and self-discovery. This is a prerequisite of human flourishing. The ‘‘other self’’ theory apparently blurs the distinction between egoism and altruism. In virtue friendship, one has genuine concern with the good of others; yet this is because the other-regarding is an expression of one’s selfconcern. As Annas nicely puts it: ‘‘The agent acts out of self-concern, but whereas this is a concern for oneself as a rational agent aiming at the fine,

The practical and the contemplative 209 this will take the form of other-directed and moral actions’’ (Annas, 1993, 260). Altruism is not pursued independently of one’s own happiness. A genuine concern with the good of others is an intrinsic part of one’s own happiness. Aristotle does not have a clear-cut distinction between self-love and other-concern. On the one hand, virtue is defined in terms of social values and hence is in part intrinsically other-regarding; on the other, the function of virtue is to promote self-development and self-realization. This point becomes even clearer when Aristotle explains self-sacrifice in terms of self-love: The intellect always chooses what is best for itself, and the good man obeys his intellect. It is true of the good man too that he does many acts for the sake of his friends and his country, and if necessary dies for them; for he will throw away both wealth and honors and in general the goods that are objects of competition, gaining for himself nobility; since he would prefer a short period of intense pleasure to a long one of mild enjoyment, a twelve month of noble life to many years of humdrum existence, and one great and noble action to many trivial ones. Now those who die for others doubtless attain this result; it is therefore a great prize that they choose for themselves. (NE, 1169a16–26) To sacrifice one’s own life for others is the ultimate form of altruism. Yet, for Aristotle, the primary aim of this deemed unselfish action is to secure nobility for oneself. Through self-sacrifice, the agent gets what matters for herself. In doing this, she is seeking to secure for herself what is noble and thus assigning to herself the greater good. It is still a matter of self-love. The individuality of the relational self Let us turn to Confucian ethics. It has been a recurring thesis in the Four Books that a man of ren is concerned with the good of others. The Confucian Golden Rule is not merely prohibitive in the sense that one should not impose on others what one oneself does not desire, but has an emphatically positive dimension: ‘‘A person of ren helps others to take their stand in so far as he himself wishes to take this stand, and gets others there in so far as he himself wishes to get there’’ (A, 6.30). Confucius himself emphasizes: ‘‘Make it your guiding principle to be zhong [doing your best] and xin [trustworthy in what you say]’’ (A, 9:25). Zhong and shu (putting oneself in other’s place) are said to be the unifying dao of Confucius (A, 4:15). A gentleman is required to cultivate himself ‘‘and thereby brings peace and security to the people’’ (A, 14:42). Following the same line of thinking, Mencius claims that ‘‘the taste for benevolence is part of what it is to be a human being’’ (M, 7b/16), and ‘‘there is nothing more important to an excellent person than helping others do good’’ (M, 2a/8).

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Being concerned with others is essential for one to achieve ren and cheng. Self-completion (cheng), in turn, is both a necessary and a sufficient condition for one to transform others. The epigraph of this chapter (Mean, ch. 22) explicates the idea in its clearest form. An agent who achieves self-completion not only fulfills her own nature, but can help others fulfill their good nature by means of moving and changing them. Mencius shares the same thinking: ‘‘There has never been a man totally true to himself who fails to move others. On the other hand, one who is not true to himself can never hope to move others’’ (M, 4a/12). This ability to transform others enables an excellent person or a saint to form a trinity with heaven and earth (M, 7a/13). The transformation of others is not achieved by imposing any coercive force upon them. Indeed, it is not even deliberative. ‘‘Such being its nature, it becomes prominent without any display, produces changes without motion, and accomplishes its ends without action’’ (Mean, ch. 26). Instead, the impact results from her exemplary living and from the persuasive force of the virtue that she embodies. This idea is perfectly consistent with Confucius’ faith in the power of exemplary teaching and in the perfectibility of human nature through following the good model: ‘‘The virtue of the excellent person is like wind; . . . let the wind blow over the grass and it is sure to bend’’ (A, 12:19). The Learning, an outline of the Confucian educational and ethical program, explains in its first paragraph the relation between helping others and achieving the highest end: ‘‘The dao of learning to be great consists in (a) manifesting the clear character of man (mingde), (b) loving the people, and (c) abiding in the highest good’’ (Chan, 1963, 86; my numbering). These three points are connected in that (a) and (b) are two aspects of (c). The ideal of ‘‘sageliness within (nei-sheng) and kingliness without (wai-wang),’’ although introduced in Zhuangzi, ch. 33, is always thought to be more appropriate for summarizing this Confucian ideal. ‘‘Manifesting the clear character of man’’ pertains to ‘‘inner sageliness’’ and ‘‘loving the people’’ to ‘‘outer kingliness.’’ Together, they constitute two mutually entailing aspects of the Confucian highest good. At the beginning of this section, I mentioned that Aristotelian and Confucian ethics face opposite charges with regard to their positions about the relation between the self and others. Whereas Aristotle’ ethics has been accused of being egoistic, Confucian ethics is thought to have ignored selfinterest. An underlying view of this charge against Confucian ethics is that a Confucian self lacks any individuality apart from the sum of the relationships it assumes. In a sense, the concept ‘‘relational self’’ invites debate regarding the individuality of the self. For on the one hand, relationships and individuation are thought to form a contrast;26 on the other, the notion of self leads to the traditional question of self-identity. Does the Confucian relational self, then, lack individuality? Individuality has many meanings. The word ‘individual’ is from the Latin individuum, which is a literal translation of the Greek term atomon (literally,

The practical and the contemplative 211 indivisible). When Aristotle employs atomon, he refers not only to things such as ‘‘Socrates’’ or ‘‘this horse,’’ but also to infima species (e.g. Meta, 1034a5–8). Infima species is universal in the sense of being predicated of many subjects, but is also individual in the sense of being indivisible into further kinds of the same nature. Hence, in Aristotle, all particulars are individuals (indivisibles), but not vice-versa. What is opposed to the universal (katholou) is particular (kath hekaston), and they are distinguished on the ground of predicability (DI, 17a39–40). A particular is not predicable of anything further, and is not repeatable. In my following discussion, by ‘‘individual,’’ I mean a uninstantiable particular who can deliberate and choose, and who can bear responsibility. This sense is what the debate regarding the individuality of the Confucian self is about.27 Furthermore, it is one thing to say that a relational self is more than the sum of its relationships, and it is another to say that it is individual. For Confucius, although the self is relational, it is not submerged in social relationships. Nevertheless, the relational self itself is not individual in the sense of a uninstantiable particular. The goal of self-cultivation is to learn to be a virtuous person by acquiring ren. Ren involves human relationships, but it is the character that defines an agent as being virtuous. To become virtuous, one is not merely getting into a network of relationships, but is developing a disposition to treat others appropriately. The disposition is not itself a relation, but a sensitivity to human relatedness and a sense of one’s place in a community. It is in the extension of one’s benevolence from family to state to the whole universe; one is engaged in an ever-deepening understanding of humanity. Confucius emphasizes a distinction between the self (ji) and others in the cultivation of ren. ‘‘The practice of benevolence depends on oneself alone, and not on others’’ (A, 12:1). ‘‘Men of antiquity studied to improve themselves; men today study to impress others’’ (A, 14:24). A person of ren ‘‘helps others to take their stand in so far as he himself wishes to take his stand, and gets others there in so far as he himself wishes to get there’’ (A, 6:30; cf. 1:8, 9:25, 15:21, 15:23). Confucius repeatedly claims that cultivation is a process of examining oneself inwardly (A, 4:17; 5:27; 12:4). Furthermore, Confucius does not think that when these relations change, character changes. Rather, once nature is actualized to a certain degree, and ren is formed, the outside relation is not so significant. The cultivated ren grants the agent a high degree of moral independence, so that she can live in a different society but still exercise her virtue to influence the new environment.28 Furthermore, the formed character confers on the agent a strong integrity and inner dignity. ‘‘The Master said: ‘The three armies can be deprived of their commanding officer, but even a common man cannot be deprived of his zhi [‘‘will’’ or ‘‘resolve’’]’’’ (A, 9:26). It enables the agent to turn away from what is merely conventional, and turn to one’s inner resources and value. Although an independent character is formed through human relationships, it is, nevertheless, not individual in the sense of uninstantiable particularity.

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Before I go further on this point with Confucius, I would like to introduce the issue regarding the individuality of Aristotle’s political animal. In Aristotelian scholarship, there is no corresponding debate about whether a political animal is individual. Apparently, there is no reason to think that for Aristotle a political animal is submerged in social relationships. Aristotle’s ethics is concerned with one’s own happiness. The development of one’s nature qua being a political animal is not to let go of one’s own self; rather, it is essential for the formation of the practical self. Nevertheless, there is an issue of whether the Aristotelian political animal or practical self is individual in the sense of uninstantiable particularity. Since the political animal is analogous to the Confucian relational self, it should be useful to discuss them side by side. Neither the Confucian relational self nor the Aristotelian practical self, defined in terms of virtuous character, can be individual in the sense of uninstantiable particularity. A character is not private or particular, but is constituted of social values. It can be instantiated many times and identify a certain social group (namely, virtuous people). In Confucius’ ethics, ren is a quality that is shared by all virtuous agents. There is a human way that is the embodiment of the way of Heaven. The goal of self-cultivation (xiu ji) is to lead one’s life in accordance with the way of Heaven. Ren, the quality that makes a person a person, is not meant to make a person a unique individual. It is meant to make one an ideal person.29 In Aristotle’s ethics, a moral character is developed and perfected through social habituation and is informed by social ethos and laws. The content of a virtue is the same for all virtuous agents; indeed, when Aristotle defines virtue as a mean disposition, he specifies that it be ‘‘in the way in which the man of practical wisdom would determine it’’ (NE, 1107a1–2). Each virtuous agent is a noble self-lover. The self she loves, however, is her virtuous character, which is more or less commonly shared by other virtuous agents. Furthermore, the paradigm friendship is character-based friendship, in which the virtuous agent’s genuine concern for his friends is justified on the ground that the friend is another self. This is not because his friend is a particular individual, but because his friend has the same character that defines the virtuous agent as such.30 In short, both ethics believe that there is an objective good that each human being should achieve, and the content that makes a person a virtuous agent is shared and common. For both sides, self-actualization is to become a person of a certain type or an ideal human being, rather than becoming a particular individual that is distinct from other human beings. A virtuous character is shared and instantiable. Yet the virtuous agent as the subject of virtue is not simply a physically discernible neutral medium to embody the common character. The self or virtuous character is not, as it were, ‘‘a ghost in a machine.’’ There are at least the following reasons for granting individuality in the sense of particularity to a virtuous agent. These reasons are commonly held by both ethics.

The practical and the contemplative 213 (a) Although the content of virtue is objective, its achievement involves conscious personal effort. For Confucius, the root of cultivation is the love that one has for one’s own parents. Furthermore, cultivation needs personal effort, and this is why only a few can actualize the originally equal potentiality to become a sage. The Analects is full of sayings that exhort us to show our personal determination and commitment in the pursuit of ren. Confucius also attends to the need of each student as an individual in his teaching. On Aristotle’s side, although moral virtues are generated in and by social habituation, habituation is not a passive and mechanical process of following norms. It involves one’s active engagement, and one is at least partly responsible for one’s character (NE, 1114b2–3). (b) The possession of virtue involves personal understanding. Aristotle stresses that to be a virtuous agent, in addition to having a fixed disposition, one must have knowledge, must ‘‘choose the acts and choose them for their own sakes’’ (NE, 1105a31–32). For Confucius, knowing is a necessary quality of excellence, as one who does not possess knowledge cannot be excellent (A, 5:18). An excellent person must have his own understanding about what to do. ‘‘The excellent person agrees with others without being an echo. The small person echoes without being in agreement’’ (A, 13:23). (c) The possession of virtue must involve personal feeling. For Aristotle, an agent with this quality is ‘‘a true lover of what is noble’’ (NE, 1179b9). This kind of enjoyment constitutes one’s ethical taste. It is a sign of virtue: ‘‘The man who does not rejoice in noble actions is not even good; since no one would call a man just who did not enjoy acting justly, nor any man liberal who did not enjoy liberal actions; and similarly in all other cases’’ (NE, 1099a16–20).31 A person who engages in just acts is not necessarily just. It is in light of whether one likes or enjoys doing something, rather than merely what one does, that we determine whether one truly has a good character. Correspondingly, for Confucius, ren must involve love or benevolence (‘‘ren is to love your fellow men,’’ A, 12:22), and one’s actions must be carried out with ease and enjoyment. A man of ren is one who ‘‘finds ren attractive’’ (A, 4:6) and ‘‘is fond of what is appropriate’’ (A, 12:20). ‘‘The man of ren is attracted to ren because he feels at home with it’’ (A, 4:2). (d) The exercise of virtue requires individual discretion. Both Confucius and Aristotle hold that a virtuous agent must bring the general requirements of virtue to bear appropriately in particular situations. A virtuous agent must critically assess the salient features of the circumstances and determine what is called for. For Aristotle, practical wisdom is concerned with actions we can do by means of our own agency. While it requires knowledge of the universal about what should be done, it focuses on the salient features of particular situations and circumstances in which each action is taken (NE, 1141b14–15, 1142a14, a21).

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The practical and the contemplative It is likened to perception, that is, the individual practical sensitivity of how to act (NE, 1142a23–30). For Confucius, the regulations of social rites are of a general nature. The intellectual aspect of virtue, yi (‘‘appropriateness’’), requires adjusting the generality of the social rites and bringing them to bear in particular circumstances. Indeed, ‘‘In his dealing with the world the excellent person is not invariably for and against anything. He is on the side of what is appropriate’’ (A, 4:10). What should be guarded against is loss of one’s unique character (A, 13:23).

Having seen that the Confucian relational self still has a definite character, we are in a position to answer the question of whether Confucian ethics is altruistic to the extent of being selfless. Given the relational nature, the agent, in her quest for self-realization, must be concerned with others. This is, however, conceived as a good in the fulfillment of one’s own nature. As is the case with Aristotle, the distinction between egoism and altruism is blurred here. Perfecting others is an intrinsic part of the fulfillment of what is genuinely human. We have seen that Aristotle demands that a good person should sometimes choose to sacrifice life itself for a noble cause. Confucius is also unambiguous in saying that ‘‘For men of purpose and men of ren while it is inconceivable that they should seek to stay alive at the expense of ren, it may happen that they have to accept death in order to have ren accomplished’’(A, 15:9).32 The relation between the self and the good of others in Confucianism is therefore similar to that in Aristotle’s practical self. Neither of them embraces a clear-cut contrast between self and others, and neither of them believes that the development of one’s character necessitates a denial of one’s sociality. For both, moral cultivation and altruistic behavior entail each other, for the reason that altruistic behavior is a matter of fulfilling human social nature. It must be pointed out, however, that both Confucian and Aristotelian altruism are limited. For Confucius, ren is to love people. Yet although benevolent love is in the end inclusive of all people under heaven, it is a graded rather than an impartial universal love. The love of others is based on one’s filial love of parents. In his criticism of Mozi, Mencius pointedly remarks that disinterested altruism is unnatural. The problem with Mohism is that ‘‘Mo advocates love without discrimination, which amounts to a denial of one’s father.’’ Williams’ famous problem regarding whether a rescuer is permitted to rescue his wife first will present a dilemma for an advocate of impartial love, but not for Confucius. Aristotle’s altruism is also limited. Virtue friendship, which involves genuine altruistic concerns, is available only for a small group of people who are equally virtuous. Furthermore, friends are required to spend time together and share lives (NE, 1157b5–1158b11). This is necessary for them to pursue virtuous activities together and get to know each other’s character,

The practical and the contemplative 215 but this certainly limits the circle. Moreover, Aristotle’s justice, the sum of the altruistic aspect of each virtue, is confined to one’s own polis and its laws. Even in a polis, it is extended only to citizens, with women and slaves excluded.33 The contemplative self and morality I have compared the Confucian relational self and the Aristotelian practical self. For Aristotle, however, there is a distinct contemplative self. How is it related to the good of the others, and how does it fare in comparison with the Confucian relational self and its highest actualization, self-completion? Probably the most serious charge that the theory of contemplation faces is that not only does it not have room for altruistic behavior, but it also entails immoral consequences. As Anthony Kenny points out, The main reason why interpreters are motivated to reject this intellectualist position is that they do not find the position credible as a piece of philosophy, and as admirers of Aristotle they are unwilling to saddle his mature ethical work with such a strange doctrine. In particular, they find the contemplative who is the hero of NE 10 a strange and repellent human being. (1992, 89) Given that Aristotle has ranked contemplation as primary happiness and practical activity secondary, and given that he claims that one should do one’s best to live in accordance with theoretical intellect (NE, 1177b31–34), it is certainly not difficult to draw the conclusion that contemplative activity could be pursued at the expense of morality. Following the position that happiness in Aristotle is applied to both life and activity, we should distinguish between the following two questions: whether the contemplative self, defined by contemplative activity, is intrinsically altruistic, and whether the contemplator is altruistic. These two questions are different, because the contemplative life must have, in addition to contemplative activity, external goods. Hence, to know whether a contemplator is altruistic amounts to a discussion about how contemplative activity is related to practical activity in his life. Given that practical activity amounts to moral activity, this amounts to the question of the role of morality in a contemplative life. Aristotle’s view, indeed, is not ambiguous. For him, insofar as contemplative activity is concerned, political and social involvement is not necessary, and can even be an obstacle. Nevertheless, insofar as a contemplative life is concerned, practical activity is an indispensable necessity. For deeds many things are needed, and more, the greater and nobler the deeds are. But the man who is contemplating the truth needs no such

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The practical and the contemplative thing, at least with a view to the exercise of this activity; indeed they are, one may say, even hindrances, at all events to his contemplation; but in so far as he is a man and lives with a number of people, he chooses to do excellent acts; he will therefore need such aids to living a human life. (NE, 1178a34–b7; my emphasis)

The reason for virtuous acts being ‘‘hindrances’’ to contemplative activity (NE, 1178b4–5) might be the following. Time and energy are limited for any contemplative life. Yet practical activity is distinct from contemplative activity. Consequently, the more time and energy the contemplator spends engaging in practical activity, the less there is available for him to pursue contemplative activity. Nevertheless, a living contemplator is a human being. His biological conditions and the nature of being a social animal make it impractical for him to concentrate solely on contemplative activity. Rather, he has to engage in all sorts of moral activities. Practical wisdom and virtues of character are necessary constituents for the happiness of the contemplator as a human being. To pursue happiness as contemplative activity at the expense of others would seriously mar the happiness of a contemplator’s whole life. Evidently, Aristotle’s contemplator is not a moral saint. Indeed, since a contemplator is characterized by contemplative activity, morality is not the central part of his life. However, since practical activity is necessary for him to ‘‘live a human life,’’ he is by no means a person who would do anything monstrous to promote his contemplative activity. It would not be a practically wise thing to do and would end up costing him his contemplative activity as well. Simply put, the attitude of Aristotle’s contemplator towards morality is this: morality is not a good in itself for his contemplative activity, but is a necessity in the context of human existence. It is a constituent of life-happiness. One cannot be a living contemplator without it. This attitude reminds us of the attitude of Plato’s philosopher-king. When the philosopher is compelled to return to govern, he ‘‘regards the task not as a good [kalon], but a necessity [anagkaion]’’ (Republic, 540b5). How, then, should a contemplator handle practical activity? Aristotle’s advice is that the contemplator should mostly use it to serve his contemplative cause: Practical wisdom is not supreme over wisdom, i.e. over the superior part of us, any more than the art of medicine is over health; for it does not use it but provides for its coming to being; it issues orders, then, for its sake, but not to it. Further, to maintain its supremacy would be like saying that the art of politics rules the gods because it issues orders about all the affairs of the state. (NE, 1145a6–10) Medicine is not a part of health, but it gives directions about how health can be achieved and maintained. Analogically, practical wisdom itself is not

The practical and the contemplative 217 a part of theoretical wisdom, but it can be used to promote it. Practical activity is different from contemplative activity; yet the contemporary life, which must have both, should make its practical activity provide favorable conditions for theoretical contemplation. In other words, a wise contemplator should organize various parts of his happiness in a hierarchic system with contemplative activity at the peak of the hierarchy. The passage in NE, vi.13, 1145a6–10 appears to suggest that practical activity is merely of instrumental value. In x.7, it is said more explicitly, as one of Aristotle’s major arguments to identity happiness with contemplative activity, that contemplative activity is the only activity that is desirable in itself, whereas practical activity is for a further end and is simply not chosen for its own sake (NE, 1177b1–3, b12–18). Yet this position of Aristotle is difficult to square with what he says elsewhere, that morally virtuous actions (i.e. practical activities) are pursued for their own sake because they are virtuous or noble (kalon) (NE, 1144a1–2), and not for some further reason.34 Even at x.6 he still maintains that all virtuous activities, including moral ones, are desirable for their own sake. ‘‘Nothing is sought from them over and above the activity’’ (NE, 1176b6–7). Aristotle appears to get involved in a self-contradiction here which has long perplexed commentators.35 Given the living well–acting well ambiguity in Aristotle’s conception of happiness, we can see why there are two different positions. Aristotle’s meaning seems to be the following. Practical activity has its own happiness or flourishing (‘‘acting well’’). It is also sought because it is noble, and hence has independent reasons for being desirable in and of itself. The ‘‘acting well’’ of practical activity does not depend on contemplation, since contemplation is not related to practical wisdom. Yet practical activity is a constituent of ‘‘living well.’’ It is never peripheral. In a practical life, practical activity is the characteristic feature, and is pursued for itself and as the central target. In contrast, in a contemplative life, which is characterized by contemplative activity, practical activity is a necessity which, according to Aristotle, should be handled as a means for contemplative activity. This latter aspect seems to be emphasized when Aristotle speaks of how contemplative activity and practical activity are related in a contemplative life. Nonetheless, Aristotle never says that practical activity is valuable only if it promotes contemplative activity, or that making contemplation possible is the only thing that the activity of moral virtue has to do. He is only talking about the role of practical virtue in a contemplator’s life. Aristotle even spells out in some detail how a contemplator could benefit from practical wisdom. At EE, vii.15, the good use of practical wisdom is the noblest limit to measure the pursuit of natural goods (1249b9–21). At MM, i.34, practical wisdom can serve contemplation in such a way that it ‘‘procures leisure for it and for the doing of its work, by subduing the passions and keeping them in order’’ (1198b18–20). In short, a contemplator, if she is practically wise, is able to get on well with other members of the

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community and is able to manage external goods well. Living in this way, she can secure for herself the conditions for exercising her contemplative activity. The utility of practical activity, however, has a limit. It can be utilized in a helpful way for contemplative activity only if there is no serious conflict between them.36 How should the living contemplator handle such a conflict if it occurs? Again, Aristotle’s view is not ambiguous. At NE, x.7, 1178a1–8, he says: This [intellect] would seem, too, to be each man himself, since it is the authoritative and the better part of him. It would be strange, then, if he were to choose not the life of himself but that of something else. . . . Since intellect more than anything else is man. Intellect is the selfhood of a contemplator. As a noble self-lover, the contemplator should choose to live the intellectual life, given that this is her own life. Contemplation is clearly the incommensurably more valuable activity. Aristotle also claims at NE, 1177b31–34: But we must not follow those who advise us, being man, to think of human things, and, being mortal, of mortal things, but must, so far as we can, make ourselves immortal, and strain every nerve to live in accordance with the best thing in us. Since we should do our best to maximize the pursuit of contemplative activity which makes us immortal, the implication is that when a practical activity conflicts, the agent should put theoretical activity first.37 This prescription should come as no surprise, as it is consistent with the superiority Aristotle ascribes to theoretical wisdom over practical wisdom, and also the superiority he ascribes to eternal truth over contingent human affairs. We have a sharp contrast here between Aristotle and Confucius. Contemplation as the highest good in Aristotle, then, can be without moral good. It is an intellectual ideal in which morality not only does not play a key role, but can even become an obstacle. On the contrary, in Confucian self-completion, the good of the others is conceived as an intrinsic part. Whereas for Aristotle ‘‘we must not follow those who advise us, being men, to think of human things, and, being mortal, of mortal things’’ (NE, 1177b31–34), Confucius would say that we can only get the way by taking care of human affairs. The Confucian sage embodies the way (dao), but is not a contemplator in Aristotle’s sense. The contrast can be seen from the role of the highest good. As shown earlier, in Confucius, the transformation of other people is not achieved by imposing any coercive force upon them. Rather, it results from the persuasive force of virtue that the virtuous agent embodies in his exemplary living, and which comes from him as an object of emulation (Mean, ch. 26). Aristotle’s

The practical and the contemplative 219 Prime Mover, which is contemplative activity ‘‘writ large,’’ also moves things without exerting any physical force, but as the object of desire and understanding. Nevertheless, whereas a Confucian excellent person changes others via his moral strength, the Prime Mover is an object of desire because of immortality, not because it is morally paradigmatic. Indeed, God does not possess any moral virtue or vice (NE, 1178b16–17).

The value of contemplation We have seen that with or without the tension between practical virtue and theoretical virtue, Aristotelian ethics and Confucian ethics show a series of contrasts. However, Confucian ethics does not have this tension, not because it has some way to resolve it, but rather because in its notion of humanity there is not a part of theoretical rationality which is distinct from practical rationality and which is concerned with universal and necessary knowledge. Aristotle’s theory of contemplation has been criticized in many ways among commentators, as we have shown. The contemporary revival of virtue ethics, although embracing Aristotle’s theory of moral virtue and practical wisdom, does not judge the theory of contemplation well either. MacIntyre, for instance, claims that the telos-providing metaphysical contemplation does not deserve a serious treatment: ‘‘It is nothing other than thought timelessly thinking itself and conscious of nothing but itself’’ (1984, 158). However, when we see the theory of contemplation through the mirror of Confucius, there appears a standpoint to appreciate the value of contemplation. For Aristotle, the difference between theoretical wisdom and practical wisdom is that the former is concerned with eternal truth, the latter with human affairs. The former is ranked higher than the latter because it is concerned with unchangeable principles, things such as the constituent parts of the universe. In contrast, practical rationality is about human affairs, things that admit of variation. For Aristotle, unchangeable things in the universe have a far more divine nature than human affairs (NE, 1141a20–21, b1–4, 1177a21). The rationale behind Aristotle’s hierarchy of happiness is the deep-seated enthusiasm for the pursuit of eternal and universal knowledge. The enthusiasm for pure theoretical inquiry is precisely what is lacking in Confucian ethics, and thus a theory of contemplation is also missing. Confucius is preoccupied with human affairs and never seems to think that there is a kind of knowledge that is higher than the knowledge of things that are of immediate human concern. He limits his discussions to things within the bounds of empirical experience and dismisses speculation about non-practical issues. ‘‘The topics the Master did not speak of were prodigies, force, disorder and gods’’ (A, 7:21). ‘‘You do not understand even life. How can you understand death?’’ (A, 11:12) Regarding the spiritual brings,

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he adopts a pragmatic attitude: ‘‘to keep one’s distance from the gods and spirits while showing them reverence’’ (A, 6:22). ‘‘You are not able even to serve man. How can you serve the spirits?’’ (A, 11:12). Mencius also maintains that knowledge must be put in practice. ‘‘What one dislikes in clever men is their tortuosity. If clever men could act as Yu did in guiding the flood water, then there would be nothing to dislike in them’’ (M, 4b/26). Confucian ethics has a metaphysical ground in the conception of Heaven, and his ideal life is the embodiment of Heaven’s way. Confucian ethics indeed requires that an excellent person knows ontological issues such as human nature and Heaven’s mandate or dao (A, 2:4, 20:3; M, 7a/1; Mean, ch. 20). Nevertheless, Confucius never conducts a theoretical investigation into Heaven. Rather, he leaves his notion of Heaven profoundly unclear and keeps his cosmological vision implicit. Knowledge of human nature or Heaven’s ming or dao is not to be pursued for its own sake, nor for explaining natural phenomena and solving the cosmological problems, but is used for a human purpose. Furthermore, knowledge does not come from intellectual inquiry about the world. Rather it means the self-reflection of Heaven-endowed nature, and it is achieved through self-cultivation and education. The way of Heaven is not external, but is immanent in the classics, in the exemplary lives, and in one’s daily life. ‘‘For a man to give full realization of his heart is for him to understand his own nature, and a man who knows his own nature will know Heaven’’ (M, 7a/1). An excellent person or a sage is one who has actualized her original nature, but not one who is a contemplator. In Joseph Needham’s evaluation, the Confucian ‘‘intense concentration of interest upon human social life to the exclusion of non-human phenomena negated all investigation of Things, as opposed to Affairs,’’ and this attitude ‘‘injured the germs of science.’’38 It is not clear to me that Confucian ethics adversely affects the development of theoretical sciences in Chinese intellectual history, but its lack of interest in pure theoretical inquiry is undeniable. In contrast, Aristotelian contemplation, although causing much trouble for commentators, has an immensely positive value for theoretical inquiry. He maintains that it is in the pursuit of contemplation that human beings most fully manifest our rational essence. Contemplation of eternal truth, despite its potential tension with practical wisdom and social morality, is the highest and most valuable human activity, and the life characterized by this activity is the best. Needless to say, such a value and spirit have played a significant role in promoting theoretical sciences and philosophy in the West. This important difference between Aristotle and Confucius has its background in the broad cultural difference between ancient Greece and ancient China. Greek philosophy, as Aristotle describes it, starts from wonder. ‘‘It is owing to their wonder that men both now and at first began to philosophize’’ (Meta, 982b13–14). The first Greek natural philosophers speculated how the cosmos originated, was composed, and changed. The inquiry into

The practical and the contemplative 221 the universe was driven by intellectual curiosity rather than by practical need. The search for truth was not for any practical result or pleasure, but for dispelling ignorance. ‘‘And a man who is puzzled and wonders thinks himself ignorant. . . . Therefore since they philosophize in order to escape from ignorance, evidently they were pursuing science in order to know, and not for any utilitarian end’’ (Meta. 982b18–22). The metaphysical inquiry into first principles and causes, because it is grounded in the human’s natural desire to know, is the most divine. ‘‘All the sciences, indeed, are more necessary than this, but none is better’’ (Meta, 983a9–10). To a great extent, Aristotle’s theory of contemplation is the best articulation of this Greek spirit. In contrast, the origin of Chinese philosophy, as has been shown in Chapter 1 of this book, is not to satisfy wonder and get rid of ignorance, but lies in a strong practical urge to search where the human dao is in a time in which the old orders and systems are collapsed. Whereas Greek philosophy begins with natural philosophy, Chinese philosophy starts with Confucian ethics. In Greek philosophy, Socrates initiates ethics. Yet there was a period called the ‘‘Pre-Socratic,’’ the central (although not universal) concern of which is the generation and composition of the natural world. Furthermore, although Socrates claims to be interested only in ethics, Plato and Aristotle quickly broaden such a narrow focus in philosophical inquiry and proceed to construct comprehensive systems in which metaphysics and epistemology are the core. In Chinese philosophy, however, Confucius’ ethical interest determines the scope of philosophizing of his followers and other schools. His position is challenged or defended; yet no other Chinese philosopher goes beyond him in the sense of extending the scope of philosophical interest from ethics and politics to epistemology and metaphysics. The contrast between Greek interest in theoretical pursuit and Chinese preoccupation with practical affairs is well known and has been well expressed by Lloyd as follows: On the one hand there is Greek preoccupation with the foundational questions and a readiness to countenance extreme or radical solutions to theoretical issues. On the other the Chinese manifest well-pragmatic tendencies, with a focus on practicalities, on what works or can be put to use: while often engaging in sophisticated theorizing, the idea of pursuing abstract speculation for its own sake is alien to them.39 Our comparison further shows how the difference between Greek theoretical interest and Chinese practical mind deeply affects how Aristotle’s ethics and Confucius’ ethics think of human good and human flourishing.

Greek glossary

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