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Home , Zhi, Zhuangzi (book)

The idea of in the

Wai Wai Chiu

A thesis in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of

University of New South Wales

School of Humanities

Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences

December 2012

Abstract

This thesis analyzes the idea of ‘zhi’—ψ⍮ω, knowledge, knowing, —in the

rd nd text of the Zhuangzi, compiled around the 3 to 2 century B.C.E. In particular, it argues that the idea of knowledge is not conceptually independent of practice and ideal personality. This feature is shared by the Zhuangzi and other ancient Chinese texts. To show this, the first three chapters explicate the idea of knowledge in three texts of around the same period, namely the Analects, the Daodejing, and the . The

Zhuangzi inherits certain views from each of them. Among them are: the view of the

Analects that attaining knowledge implies transforming one’s emotions and sentiments; the view in the Daodejing that there is a distinction between conventional and non- conventional knowledge; and the view of the Mozi that people have an inclination to insist on what they think is right practice, which provokes disputation. However, the

Zhuangzi challenges the Confucian-Mohist conception of knowledge as reliable correct practice, because the project to fix the correct way of practice is undermined by the indeterminacy of language and justification. Contrary to this indeterminacy, a person’s completed heart takes for granted that there is a fixed scheme of distinctions by which correct practice is ensured. This is a characteristic of petty knowledge, which stands in contrast to great knowledge. Zhuangzi’s great knowledge is a meta-praxis that makes one refrain from attaching oneself to a fixed way of practice. The process of attaining great knowledge is continuous with the process of the heart. By doing so, a person is free from the attachments and psychological disturbances that accompany petty knowledge. For Zhuangzi, being such a person is the end of knowledge.

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Acknowledgements

It would not have been possible to complete this thesis without the influence and assistance I have received from others. The and respect I owe to them extends beyond the acknowledgements here. Since I cannot mention all their names, I focus on those who helped me in the process of planning, writing and finishing. Although they are credited for being the source of support, they have no responsibility for any mistakes or misinterpretations in this thesis.

First, I would like to thank my principal supervisor, Associate Professor Karyn Lai, for her continuous encouragement, suggestions and detailed comments on both style and content of this thesis. Her insight that it is more fruitful if we do not read the

Zhuangzi as prescribing a solution to philosophical issues shaped my understanding of the text. Her emphasis on the clarity of language also helped me to think through several difficulties during writing. Besides theoretical concerns, the most valuable lesson I learned from her is her calm character, for it is the basis of clear thought and efficacious action.

Next, I would thank Professor Chris Fraser at the University of Hong Kong, and

Professor Kwong-loi Shun and Professor Xiao-gan Liu at the Chinese University of

Hong Kong. I benefited greatly from their lectures as well as from personal discussions.

Their methodology of interpreting ancient Chinese texts and conducting research helped me to start my work with conceptual tools and kept me reflecting on what I had written.

Their works taught me how to locate a philosophical problem within a text and analyze it both in a historical context and a contemporary context.

Also, I am grateful to Paul D’Ambrosio, Michaelis Michael, Gerry Nolan, Winnie

Sung and Ranie Villaver who spent time reading draft versions of this thesis and giving

ii me valuable feedback. They provided me with new perspectives so that I could evaluate my work in ways that I would not have found out by myself. The critical questions they asked pushed me to refine my understanding of the Zhuangzi, and pre-Qin Chinese thought in general.

When I was planning the scope for my thesis, it was Suki Ng who gave me inspiration and reminded me of the subtle interactions between the Analects, the

Daodejing and the Zhuangzi. I was fortunate to have his comments.

From time to time I received encouragement and technical assistance from Dido

Tam. Furthermore, her specialization in helped me to better understand the Chinese language, especially the of narrative and poem, and made me realize that knowledge knows no bounds.

Last but not least, I wish to express my gratitude to the sky and rain in Sydney, for they are the first to understand the nature of my work and its association with my personality.

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Contents

Abstract ...... i Acknowledgements ...... ii Introduction ...... 1 Aim and significance ...... 1 Background of the thesis ...... 2 Structure and writing style of the Zhuangzi ...... 2 Intellectual background ...... 4 The issue of authorship and the emphasis on the Inner Chapters ...... 6 Translations and commentaries ...... 8 Past work on zhi in the Zhuangzi ...... 9 Methodology ...... 12 A philosophical reading of the text ...... 12 Zhi and its related terms in the Zhuangzi ...... 15 The use of contemporary philosophical terms ...... 17 Chapter summary ...... 21 Chapter 1 The idea of zhi व in the Analects: account of practical knowledge ...... 24 1.1 Introduction ...... 24 1.2 The term ‘zhi’ before the Analects ...... 24 1.3 The term ‘zhi’ in the Analects ...... 25 1.4 The skill of knowing people ...... 31 1.4.1 Picking out advisors ...... 32 1.4.2 Seeking and giving practical advice ...... 33 1.4.3 Criticizing, appreciating or comparing people ...... 34 1.5 Means of ‘knowing people’ in the Analects ...... 37 1.5.1 Observation of speech and behaviour of others ...... 38 1.5.2 Cultivation of one’s sentiments ...... 42 1.5.3 The use of models ...... 46 1.6 Criteria of knowledge in the Analects ...... 50 1.6.1 The appropriate performance ...... 50 1.6.2 The relevance of words and discursive knowledge ...... 54 1.6.3 The elimination of huo ༝ ...... 57 1.7 Value of knowledge in the Analects ...... 59

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1.7.1 The effect on personality and socio-political life ...... 59 1.7.2 Knowledge as means or end? ...... 62 1.8 Conclusion ...... 63 Chapter 2 The idea of zhi व in the Daodejing: twofold view of knowledge ...... 64 2.1 Introduction ...... 64 2.2 Value of knowledge in the Daodejing ...... 64 2.2.1 Two views of knowledge ...... 65 2.2.2 Conventional knowledge and its effect on government...... 66 2.2.3 Conventional knowledge and its effect on self-cultivation ...... 70 2.2.4 Knowledge as upheld in the Daodejing ...... 75 2.3 Great knowledge, dao ሐ and practice ...... 81 2.4 Means of obtaining great knowledge ...... 86 2.4.1 Reduction (sun ៊)...... 87 2.4.2 ...... 90 2.4.3 Personality, sentiments and community ...... 92 2.5 Criteria of knowledge in the Daodejing ...... 95 2.5.1 Quality of performance ...... 95 2.5.2 Ineffability of great knowledge ...... 97 2.6 Conclusion ...... 100 Chapter 3 The idea of zhi व in the Mozi: the emphasis on standard ( ऄ) ...... 101 3.1 Introduction ...... 101 3.2 The scope of fa ऄ ...... 103 3.2.1 Craft tools and standard ...... 103 3.2.2 Standard and the practical view of knowledge ...... 105 3.2.3 The emphasis on arguments and disputation (bian ᥯) ...... 109 3.3 Benefit ( ܓ): Mozi’s fundamental standard ...... 111 3.3.1 Benefit as the most important justification ...... 111 3.3.2 Benefit and Heaven’s standard ...... 117 3.3.3 Benefit as the goods in the vision of social order ...... 120 3.3.4 Benefit as motivational force ...... 123 3.4 Failure of knowing ...... 124 3.5 Sentiment and emotion in the Mozi ...... 126 3.6 Ideal personality in the Mozi ...... 130

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3.7 Conclusion ...... 133 Chapter 4 Knowing in the Zhuangzi: problem of correctness ...... 134 4.1 Introduction ...... 134 4.2 ‘Right and Wrong’ and the Confucian-Mohist debate ...... 134 4.3 Seeking correctness ...... 137 4.4 Doubt of impartial judge...... 141 4.5 Completed heart and partiality ...... 143 4.6 Indeterminacy of justification ...... 149 4.7 Indeterminacy of language ...... 154 4.8 Skill and language ...... 162 4.9 Conclusion ...... 172 Chapter 5 Great knowledge in the Zhuangzi ...... 174 5.1 Introduction ...... 174 5.2 and great knowledge ...... 175 5.3 Travel into the limitless ...... 182 5.4 Responding to the limitless: axis of ways ...... 184 5.5 Illumination ...... 189 5.6 Illumination and use ...... 194 5.7 Dual procession ...... 199 5.8 Flexibility and concentration ...... 205 5.9 Attainment of great knowledge: fasting the heart ...... 208 5.10 Forgetting ...... 214 5.11 Conclusion ...... 217 Chapter 6 Knowledge and Ideal Peronsality in the Zhuangzi ...... 219 6.1 Introduction ...... 219 6.2 Sentiment, emotion and petty knowledge...... 220 6.3 The ideal person ...... 228 6.4 Having no self: the ultimate person...... 229 6.5 Having no name: the sage ...... 234 6.6 Having no accomplishment: the daemonic person...... 238 6.7 ‘Genuine’ and ‘Heaven’ ...... 242 6.7.1 The first interpretation: Heaven as absence of human effort ...... 245 6.7.2 The second interpretation: Heaven as spontaneity ...... 246 6.7.3 The third interpretation: Heaven’s view as the all-encompassing one . 249

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6.8 The Genuine person...... 251 6.8.1 The plenum of knowledge...... 251 6.8.2 The indeterminacy between Heaven and human ...... 253 6.8.3 Knowledge and the way of genuine person ...... 255 6.8.4 The transformation of the whole person ...... 257 6.8.5 Genuine personhood and death ...... 259 6.8.6 Emotions and inner harmony ...... 261 6.8.7 Equalizing Heaven and human ...... 264 6.9 Conclusion ...... 268 General Conclusion ...... 269 Bibliography ...... 274

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Introduction

Aim and significance

The aim of thesis is to analyze the idea ‘zhi’ —ޟ⍮ޠ, knowledge, knowing, wisdom—in the ancient Chinese text, the Zhuangzi. In particular, it focuses on the relationship between ‘zhi’ and the concern for self-cultivation in the text. It aims especially to demonstrate how our understanding of ‘zhi’ in the Zhuangzi is enhanced by placing it in the context of Zhuangzi’s emphasis on practice, skill and ideal personality.

The thesis expects to reveal that zhi is primarily practical by investigating discussions of zhi in the text, frequently in the context of types of human practices. This includes identification of criteria of zhi in good performance, the means of attaining zhi by cultivation, and the expression of zhi in using language, or to refrain from using it.

Zhuangzi’s criticism of Confucian and Mohist conceptions of zhi can be better understood against this background. In Zhuangzi’s view, Confucians and Mohists treat zhi as an ability to carry out reliable correct practice. But Zhuangzi is cautious about the requirement of correctness when he gives his distinctive account of zhi. However, he still thinks that attaining this special kind of zhi cannot be made independent of cultivation of one’s character or personality.

The significance of the thesis is expressed in three facets: first, it highlights the general feature of zhi in ancient , namely its connection with skill, self-cultivation and social order. Secondly, it helps to unfold an important aspect of

Zhuangzi’s critique of Confucian and Mohist thought, namely their attitude towards the value of zhi. This attitude contributes to our understanding of other texts that respond to, or are responded to by, the Zhuangzi. Thirdly, it provides important points for cross- cultural philosophical comparisons in the areas of the relationship between knowledge and practice, knowledge and emotions, as well as knowledge and personality.

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Background of the thesis

Structure and writing style of the Zhuangzi

The Zhuangzi was not written by a single author, and some of its chapters were written several decades after the earliest ones. Also, the chapters in the extant version are not arranged in chronological order. For example, according to Lao -guang, chapter 33 must have been written earlier than most of the chapters in the Outer Chapters or

Miscellaneous Chapters, and it has a unique status in Chinese intellectual history because it is the earliest record of summary of different strands of thought, which is not shared by other chapters.1 Not only are the chapters not arranged chronologically, there is also a lack of evidence that all authors were concerned with the same philosophical topic. A. C. Graham thinks that, besides the historical Zhuangzi and his disciples, there were at least three groups of thinkers responsible for writing and editing part of the

Zhuangzi, each of them having had different philosophical positions and writing styles.2

Liu Xiao-gan thinks that the disciples of Zhuangzi were divided into three groups of thinkers, with each of them developing the Inner Chapters, which Liu believes is the work of the historical Zhuangzi, in a different way.3

This thesis does not attempt to settle the above philological disagreement, yet the lesson from Graham and Liu is that it is unlikely the text as a whole expresses a well- ordered theoretical construction. Different parts of the text may not be coherent, and at least an interpreter should not make the assumption that they are. To use an analogy, the text is like jigsaw puzzle, but the interpreter does not know whether all the tessellating pieces—the different chapters and sections—can be put together to form a whole picture. If the interpreter wants to know what the text says about a topic, they have to extract passages from different chapters and sections, compare and examine them, and postulate their relationship with a justification.

1 Lao 2002: 244-245. 2 Graham 1981: 27-33. 3 Liu 1988: 58-98, 261-262. See also the comment of Chris Fraser on Liu’s evidence about dating the text (Chris 1997: 155-159). See also Liu’s response to Graham in the English version of Liu’s book (Liu 1994: 157-172).

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The writing style of the Zhuangzi is very different from that of the Analects, the

Daodejing, or the Mozi, and this makes its interpretation more difficult. The Zhuangzi is a masterpiece in both philosophy and literature, and it employs many different linguistic techniques including metaphors, rhetorical questions, paradoxes, fables and poems. For instance, each chapter in the Inner Chapters contains at least one parable: the story of

Peng in chapter 1; the butterfly in chapter 2; Cook Ding in chapter 3; the oak tree in chapter 4; Ai-tai Tuo in chapter 5; the speaking metal in chapter 6, and Chaos in chapter 7. These parables do not merely beautify the content, they also convey important messages. If we take out all parables or paraphrase them using plain language, the insight of the text cannot be preserved. This is because a parable allows for various interpretations, which is difficult to achieve in plain language. Even when the text offers a technical analysis of important terms, sometimes it ends the analysis with questions, not statements: ‘Is there really saying? Or is there not? If one thinks it different from the twitter of hatchlings, is there any distinction? Or is there no distinction?’ (the Zhuangzi chapter 2) is a typical example. Such indeterminacy is common in the text. As a result, the interpretation of its ideas cannot reach the same level of certainty as an interpretation of the Analects or the Mozi, and not even the ambiguous and elusive Daodejing. Steve Coutinho states that such a writing style has no surviving precedent in the Chinese philosophical tradition.4 We may add that such a style actually disappeared from Chinese philosophy after the ,5 until, perhaps, the introduction of . The Zhuangzi thus stands in a unique position in Chinese intellectual history because of the combination of philosophical and literary techniques. There are always new interpretations possible, and the disagreement among interpretive theories can be radical. This point can be illustrated by a sentence in the text. The Zhuangzi chapter 2 says, ‘saying is not the blowing of air, saying says

4 Coutinho 2004: 19. In the same paragraph, Coutinho also speculates that such style may have its roots in a tradition of thinking through narrative that would have been characteristic of , the region of China that appears to have been the home of Daoist Culture. Such a view is similar to Chen Gu-ying’s view about the culture of Chu when Chen analyzes the four different regional cultures in ancient China. See Chen 2002: 352. 5 But, of course, the Zhuangzi always has a tremendous impact on literature and .

3 something; but what it says is indeterminate.’6 This passage is instructive about the interpretation of its own ideas: indeterminacy is always inevitable in interpreting the

Zhuangzi. Although this does not imply that we cannot compare and evaluate different interpretations, it suggests that various interpretations can be very different because the central ideas of the text can have a wide range of implications. The interpretation in this thesis does not attempt to fix the meaning of the text or reconstruct the original meaning, if there is an original meaning, of the text as a whole. Instead, it puts forward an interpretation which is coherent and supported by the text, but may not be the intention of the original authors. The question concerning whether the text itself is coherent remains open.

Intellectual background

Each of the first three chapters of this thesis explains the idea of zhi in a text other than the Zhuangzi. They are the Analects, the Daodejing and the Mozi. Together they constitute the intellectual background for interpreting the Zhuangzi. There are three reasons for this contextualization. The first one is that it shows how the Zhuangzi inherits, develops or rejects the ideas discussed in these three texts, each of which is a foundation of a distinctive strand of thought in ancient Chinese intellectual history. The second is that the meaning of Chinese words cannot be fully grasped without referring to their usage in the past. Usually a word acquires more meanings over time without changing in written form, and new meanings are actualized not by creating new words, but by associating them with an existing word in such a way that the new meaning is analogous to the old one. Many core concepts7 in the Chinese intellectual tradition

,follow the same usage patterns. A core concept, such as dao ሐ, ֚, ո, fa ऄ and, of course, zhi व, transforms whenever a thinker expresses it in a new way, though

(ࡳՈ (Chen 2001: 49-54آߢΔࠡࢬߢृ௽ڶՈΔߢृܬߢॺ֛ 6 7 The term ‘concept’ means the smallest unit in thought, analogous to ‘morpheme’ in a language. In Western philosophy, ‘concept’ is closely related to ‘definition’, ‘proposition’ or ‘essence’. ‘To use concepts’ sounds like engaging in abstract and purely theoretical analysis. We do not assume that such relationship applies to ancient Chinese thought. The term ‘idea’ refers to the elements in thought that can be expressed by a substantial word (shi ci ኔဲ) in Chinese.

4 this new way still draws upon its old usage. For example, before the Analects ‘ren ո’ refers to the aristocratic class, but modified it into a moral concept applicable to all humanity.

The above two reasons apply to interpreting other ancient Chinese philosophical texts as well, but the third reason applies specifically to the Zhuangzi. This reason is that, when interpreting the Zhuangzi, it is easier to see what the text argues against than what it argues for. A large part of the Zhuangzi is devoted to the critique or development of Confucianism and ,8 as well as the Daodejing. But the text seldom formulates its own view clearly. The elusive nature of the Zhuangzi is similar to the Daodejing – when the text seems to uphold an ideal, sometimes it is not explained by describing what it is, but what it is not – an example is the famous three ‘no’s in the

Zhuangzi chapter 1: ‘the ultimate person has no self, the daemonic person has no achievement, the sage has no name.’9. Therefore, a way to understand the text is to examine what Zhuangzi criticizes and what the text is not about, hence avoiding mistakes when we analyze what its ideas are. Thus, it is nearly inevitable that understanding the Zhuangzi presupposes understanding the philosophical doctrines to which the text responds.

There is a point worth noting here; although this thesis discusses the Zhuangzi in its intellectual context, it avoids using the term ‘Daoism’, and does not discuss whether the

Zhuangzi belongs to the Daoist tradition. Not only because no thinker in the pre-Qin period addressed himself or was addressed as a Daoist, the term ‘Daoism’ is also unhelpful in telling us anything distinctive in a doctrine or school, since all thinkers at that time talked about dao. This is why Chapter 33 in the Zhuangzi names some thinkers

8 The Zhuangzi uses ‘ru-’ (ᕢᕠ: Confuian-Mohist) to represent the intellectual debate around its time. The text also refers to Confucian figures (such as Confucius) and ideas from Confucianism or Mohism such as the emphasis on ren- ոᆠ and the emphasis on bian ᥯. Although the Zhuangzi criticizes the Confucian-Mohist debate, it also develops two features of Confucianism and Mohism: that knowledge is practical and that knowledge involves a transformation of one’s person (especially the association between knowledge and sentiments in the Analects and the Zhuangzi). More details will be discussed in the thesis. (Chen 2001: 14-18) ټΔᆣԳྤפԳྤաΔ壀Գྤ۟ 9

5 as people who have ‘dao-shu’ (ሐ๬: way and technique). This term is not exclusive to what we call ‘Daoism’ or ‘Daoist’ nowadays. Even Mozi was regarded as having a dao- shu. Besides these considerations, not using the term ‘Daoism’ also avoids the question whether there was a Daoist ‘school’ in the pre-Qin period. The primary focus of this thesis is the analysis of the texts, not the schools as such. This applies to the analysis of the Analects and the Mozi as well. When the thesis uses the term ‘Confucianism’ and

‘Mohism’, it refers to the doctrines found in the Analects and the Mozi, and avoids the question of exactly which historical figures held these doctrines and what role they played in the Confucian and Mohist schools.

The issue of authorship and the emphasis on the Inner Chapters

Traditionally, it is said that certain parts of the text are the product of the thinker

Zhuangzi living in the ,10 who showed no interest in wealth, rank or honour and lived a simple life away from government. The traditional view also claims that Zhuangzi was the author of the Inner Chapters. Such a view remains influential although not unanimously accepted. We must bear in mind that the text was significantly altered by Xiang Xiu (c. 300 C.E.) and (252 – 312 C.E.) in the

Jin dynasty and, as shown by their commentary, their philosophical views might have been different from that of the Zhuangzi.11 For example, in chapter 1 the commentary says that the Peng and the cicada are the same as long as they fulfil their nature.12 But the term ‘nature’ does not appear in the original text, nor does the original text claim that they are the same because of nature. Moreover, in chapter 2 when the text talks

10 In the early Han dynasty, the Records of the Grand Historian stated that (Zhuangzi) had a work chapter 31 of the extant version), Dao Zhi ࿋◠ (chapter 29) ׀of hundred thousand words, including Yu Fu ድ of the extant version), Qu Qie ầⲂ (chapter 10 of the extant version). In the later Han dynasty, Han Shu stated that there were 52 chapters of the Zhuangzi, without specifying their authors. Neither the Records of the Grand Historian nor Han Shu divided the text into Inner Chapters, Outer Chapters and Miscellaneous Chapters. This classification was probably made by Xiang Xiu and Guo Xiang in the . However, since it is doubtful whether Xiang Xiu and Guo Xiang’s commentaries are faithful to the original text, their classification should not be accepted with full confidence. 11 There is still no reliable method for distinguishing the parts authored by Guo and the parts by Xiang. For the sake of convenience, this thesis only uses ‘Guo’ or ‘Guo Xiang’ to stand for the authors of the commentary. 塒ߎΖਚ՛Օឈ௘Δຎ᎟ԫՈΖڶΔۖዊᣋۃ၆࣍՛຺Δ՛຺ྤᆡ֚࣍۞א૕ߩ࣍ࠡࢤΔঞឈՕᣛྤ !12 (Guo 1961: 9)

6 about different organs of a person and the problem of asserting a ‘true self’ among them, the commentary claims that a person’s social roles, such as being a or a concubine, are just part of their nature and the cosmic order.13 The relationship between a person’s social roles and the cosmic order is analogous to that of different organs and a person. When reminding the reader of the difference between the original text and the commentary, Livia Knaul states that, according to the commentary, ‘. . . society for

[Guo Xiang] is part of the cosmos; morality, rites, and music have to exist because they are there . . . [the] ideal society is hierarchical. It is closely-knit and well-ordered according to cosmic principle . . . ’14 Even if the original text proposes this view, it is not found in every chapter, and some chapters either do not discuss it or even criticize it.15 If we expect that Guo Xiang’s criteria of editing and re-arranging the text was shaped by his own philosophical position, rather than historical and philological research, then we should not be too confident in agreeing with his claim that the first seven chapters were written by the historical Zhuangzi. This, plus the fact that the extant version does not arrange the chapters in chronological order, makes it difficult, if at all possible, to ascertain that the Inner Chapters, and the Inner Chapters only, represent the earliest stratum of the text and most faithfully represent Zhuangzi’s thought.

This thesis, however, does not attempt to solve this problem. It assumes only that most of the text reflects the philosophical views of later Warring States period, and that all of the text was written after early Confucianism—represented by Confucius and his first-generation disciples—and Mohism had become two dominant schools. This thesis focuses on what philosophical ideas can be extracted from the text without associating the text with any definite historical figure.

۝ܩ࡟հٚΔঞ؈ߎΖਚव۝ڜ࡟հթΔۖլ۝࡟ߎΖ۝ૉઃߏհΔঞݳመࠡ։ΔՂՀઌকΔۖ๕੡ !13 ౨խ࣐ࠡࢤڶΔಡڽ۟אৱึΔۖჟृࣄჟאवښ։ΔਚवृڶٺՂՀΔ֫ߩ؆փΔԯ֚෻۞ྥΞࢤ ृՈΜ (Guo 1961: 58-59 ) 14 Knaul 1985: 441. Knaul also notes that Guo Xiang uses three ways to use the Zhuangzi to explain his own world view. See Knaul 1985: 430, 438-440. 15 An example is that, in chapter 2 of the original text, Chang Wuzi sighs that ‘ruler, shepherd, incorrigible!’ (ܩ (׏Δड׏ΔࡐবΜ) (Chen 2001: 85-88

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When analysing the idea of knowledge and its relationship with personality, this thesis draws upon all parts of the Zhuangzi, with emphasis on the Inner Chapters. This is not because it assumes that the Inner Chapters present a single unified view on philosophical issues, or because it assumes that the Inner Chapters are written by a single person or arranged by later editors, but because the Inner Chapters contain more detailed arguments and elaborations. This can be seen in chapter 2, Qiwulun; the passage about ‘fasting the heart’ in chapter 4, Renjianshi, and the passage about

‘authentic person’ in chapter 6, Dazongshi.

Translations and commentaries

When interpreting the Zhuangzi, the thesis focuses on the primary text. The two main

Chinese commentaries used in the thesis are by Guo - (1844 – 1896 C.E.)16 and

Chen Gu-ying.17 Guo’s work collects the most important traditional commentaries on the primary text, and incorporates some philological studies from the Qing dynasty. For instance, in chapter 1 the phrase ‘wu jiang wei shi hu ⛍⺖䍉⹵⃝’ is changed to ‘wu jiang wei bin hu ⛍⺖䍉形⃝’ according to Yu Yue (1821 – 1907 C.E.). Based on

Guo’s work, Chen’s work picks out words that do not fit the context, and replaces them with appropriate words based on comparison among different commentaries from as old as Guo Xiang in the Jin dynasty and Lu Ming (d. 630 C.E.) in the to contemporary scholars such as Yan Ling Feng and Wang Shu Min.

The main translations used in this thesis are by A. C. Graham,18 and Victor H.

Mair.19 Graham’s translation is very sensitive to the technical terms in the text, such as shi-fei 㢾槭 and bian 戾, based on his understanding of pre-Qin Chinese philosophy,

16 Guo 1961. 17 Chen 2001. 18 Graham 1981. 19 Mair 1994.

8 especially of the later Mohists. However, as pointed out by Harbsmeier20 and Goldin21 in their reviews, at times Graham’s interpolation and re-arrangement of different passages seem to lack justification. His interest in separating the text into different strata leads him to use some misleading names such as ‘rationalizing tendency’ and

‘irrationalizing tendency’ to label different passages, thus imposing a distinction that may not be well supported by the text.22 Furthermore, the emphasis on technical terms the text’s brevity and elegance. It is for this reason that Mair’s translation helps to balance Graham’s meticulousness. Throughout this thesis, a footnote shows the page number of Graham or Mair’s translation when one of their translations of a passage is quoted. If a footnote shows the page number of Chen’s book, it means the translation is done by the author.

Past work on zhi in the Zhuangzi

When the Zhuangzi first entered contemporary discussion of Chinese philosophy in

English, it was regarded as a work of . This view was held by scholars such as

Feng You Lan,23 Wing-Tsit Chan,24 Lee Yearley,25 Benjamin I. Schwartz26 and A. C.

Graham.27 They focus on how the Zhuangzi presents a sublime experience beyond words, and how this mystical experience is different from mysticism in other tradition.

For example, Yearley proposes that there are three kinds of mysticism: mysticism of union, mysticism of unity and ‘intraworldly’ mysticism which is the distinctive feature of the Zhuangzi.28 Schwartz proposes that mysticism in the Zhuangzi, just as the mysticism in the Daodejing, is about the ineffable , which is the elusive whole that holds the parts in order.29 There is relatively little emphasis on explaining how one

20 Harbsmeier 1984: 579-581. 21 Goldin 2003: 201-214. 22 Hoffert 2006: 159-173. 23 Feng 1952: 119-128. 24 Chan 1963: 221-245. 25 Yearley 1983: 125-139. 26 Schwartz 1985: 215-237. 27 Graham 1989: 170-211. 28 Yearley 1983: 131. 29 Schwartz 1985: 194.

9 comes to know, zhi, the mystical experience, because that is supposed to be ineffable.

The mysticism approach has remained influential until the present day, with some proponents being Carlo Kwan,30 Harold D. Roth31 and Livia Kohn.32

Although this thesis does not deal with the Zhuangzi by appealing to mysticism, it acknowledges that there is an insight behind these interpretations, namely that the primary concern of the Zhuangzi is the transformation of the individual, in other words, self-cultivation. However, there are two questions that are not fully answered by the mysticism approach: the first is how to relate the technical analysis of language and shi- fei judgements to the critique of Confucianism and Mohism and the transformation of the individual. The second is how a transformed person responds to the world and carries out practices. The investigation of the concept zhi in the text helps us to answer these two questions.

Graham’s work contributes to the first question by stating that the Zhuangzi is well aware of, and make many responses to, the epistemological and linguistic issues discussed by thinkers such or the later Mohists. Graham also uses the term

‘skepticism’ to refer to the Zhuangzi's position on these issues.33 Although he does not explain clearly the relationship between skepticism and mysticism in the text, his work has provoked many subsequent discussions. In the last twenty years there have been many publications devoted to the issue of knowledge in the Zhuangzi. Most notable of these is the debate on whether the text embraces skepticism, and if so, what kind of skepticism is expressed. Chad Hansen is noted for proposing reading the Zhuangzi as a skeptical rather than a mystical text. His work on the Zhuangzi focuses primarily on the technical analysis of linguistic and epistemological concepts in the text.34 Scholars such

30 Kwan 1999: 137-172. 31 Roth 2003: 15-32. 32 Kohn 1991. Although this book is not about the Zhuangzi, the author regards the Zhuangzi as a part of the Daoist tradition, which is constituted by unique mystical practices. See pp. 13-15. 33 Graham 1989: 186. 34 Hansen 1992: 265-303.

10 as Paul Kjellberg,35 Lisa Raphals,36 Eric Schwitzgebel,37 Jung H. Lee38 and John

Trowbridge39 disagree with Hansen’s proposal that the Zhuangzi advocates radical skepticism,40 but they all think that deep reflection of knowledge is an indispensable element of the text. What is seldom addressed among these scholars is the intellectual background against which the Zhuangzi voiced opinions, especially how it emerged as a response to the Confucian-Mohist debate, so that on the one hand it shared some assumptions with Confucianism and Mohism, and on the other hand criticized their methodology as well as ideals. Hansen’s work does include an elaboration of how the

Zhuangzi refutes the philosophy of language of Confucianism, Mohism and what he calls ‘primitive Daoism’.41 Nonetheless, what remains to be explored is how such elaboration can help us to understand the issue of self-cultivation in the Zhuangzi, which is an important theme for nearly all pre-Qin Chinese thinkers. Words such as

‘personality’ or ‘character’42 never appear in the chapter about the Zhuangzi in Hansen’s book, but the Zhuangzi shares a concern with the Analects and the Daodejing, namely the discussion about yan ߢ and zhi व is entertained because they are related to our desires, emotions and eventually personality. This is highlighted by the title of one of

Joel Kupperman’s articles, ‘Spontaneity and Education of Emotions in the Zhuangzi’,43 and those of scholars who investigate the impact of chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi on —in a broad sense, including everything that contributes to a good or ideal life.44

This thesis contributes to the discussion of zhi in the Zhuangzi by accepting the insight that the text has deep reflections on knowledge, and the insight that the primary concern of the text is transformation of the individual. Consequently this thesis analyzes

35 Kjellberg 1994: 111-133. 36 Raphals 1996: 26-49. 37 Schwitzgebel 1996: 68-96. 38 Lee 1998: 447-470. 39 Trowbridge 2006: 249-265. 40 See also Hansen’s response to some critics in Hansen 2003: 128-162. 41 Hansen 1992: 277-292. 42 Character of a person, not character in a general sense which is similar to ‘feature’ or ‘quality’ of anything. 43 Kupperman 1996: 183-195. 44 See, for example, Lusthaus 2003: 128-162, Fraser 2008: 123-147.

11 zhi in the context of self-cultivation, and shows that this context cannot be made clear by referring to the ethical ideal set by the Confucians, Mohists as well as the Daodejing.

Methodology

A philosophical reading of the text

A philosophical reading of the text can be characterized by differentiating it from philological study. This is not to say that a study cannot be both, but these two modes of study are conceptually distinguishable. Philological study aims at revealing the pristine form of the text or determining the authenticity of the text, or, when it is impossible to achieve these two tasks, philological study may aim to reconstruct an intelligible and reasonable reading of the text, based on an examination of etymological, historical, syntactic and semantic issues. A typical example of philological study is what Liu Xiao- gan describes as the study of versional divergence.45 Such study points out the differences in wordings and sentence structure in different versions of the text and gives a causal explanation of the differences. It may also be used as preparatory work for those who want to improve the readability of the text.

Philological study does not focus on evaluating the judgements or arguments of a text, that is, it is not supposed to assert whether the ideas or claims in the text can be justified or should be criticized, whether they have any contemporary relevance, and so on. On the other hand, a philosophical reading must evaluate what the text says. It identifies the problems that the text responds to, judging whether those problems have philosophical significance, examining the responses made by the text to the problem, and deciding whether these responses are reasonable. A philosophical reading takes a particular version of text for granted. It may consult the philological studies to learn what versions are available for interpretation, but its aim is to reflect on the content of a given text.

45 Liu 2006: 4-7.

12

It is this that takes us to the issue of criteria behind the judgement of whether the content of a text has any philosophical significance. There is an on-going debate about whether ancient Chinese texts are philosophical, and whether the authors of texts should be called ‘philosophers’ in retrospect. Carine Defoort points out that this debate of legitimacy of Chinese philosophy ‘cannot be simply solved because of the absence of a transparent definition of philosophy as an absolute norm against which the ancient

Chinese texts could be checked’.46 One can indeed have a working definition of philosophy, but it will either be too broad or too narrow, and there will always be cases that cannot be determined whether it fits the definition. For example, a common definition mentioned by Defoort in an earlier article is that ‘philosophy must give the appearance of systematicity, reflection, and rationality; it must differ from science and , and it must be divisible into various sub-disciplines such as , logic and .’47 This definition would exclude most ancient Chinese texts as not philosophical, but Defoort and Raud worry that it will also exclude many ancient and medieval Western philosophers, and neglects the self-regulating aspect of philosophy.48

However, the difficulty of fixing a definition does not prevent us from trying to articulate our reflection about what is usually regarded as philosophy. There may be at least two ways: first, it might be the case that we, as contemporary people, are puzzled by certain important problems which are not answered by science. Examples are the , the methodology of thinking, the fundamental values in society, and so on. The attempts to tackle these problems results in religious or philosophical activity. It is difficult to maintain a clear distinction between these two, but we might say that philosophy is more self-reflective and does not hesitate to criticize itself, and is relatively ‘socially tolerant’.49 The ancient Chinese texts seem to discuss those important problems, and their approach emphasizes reflection, analysis and making

46 Defoort 2006: 637. 47 Defoort 2001: 396. 48 Defoort 2001: 401 and Raud 2006: 623-624. 49 This point is noted by Raud 2006: 622. Usually philosophy does not aim at setting up a social institution in which the members submit themselves to a higher authority by following ceremonies or dogmas strictly.

13 inferences. Secondly, it might be the case that we learn from other traditions that some problems can be regarded as philosophical problems, and find similar problems in the ancient Chinese texts. The nature of knowledge is an example, but this does not mean that the ancient Chinese texts must address the problems in the same way as in another tradition. In fact, it will be more interesting if we allow the possibility that similar problems can be treated differently.

Note that, in the above two ways of locating a philosophical issue, our judgements of philosophical significance are partially dependent on a context different from that of the ancient Chinese texts. This is inevitable because is not our first language. We cannot experience and think in exactly the same way as the authors of ancient Chinese texts. Precisely speaking, it is relatively unimportant whether the texts themselves, written many centuries ago, are merely ‘philosophically interesting’ or can be considered philosophy,50 it is more important whether we can offer an interpretation to make them resources of doing philosophy. Since philosophy is self-reflective, our judgements of philosophical significance must be continuously fine-tuned when we engage with the texts. Here the issue of translation is critical, regardless of whether we translate the texts into Indo-European languages or simply modern Chinese. We should be careful that sometimes a translation may put the original term in an alien conceptual framework, which might create unnecessary confusion.51 That is, the interpretation is always ‘from’ us but ‘through’ the text.

Given the necessity of starting from a different context, this thesis does not claim to be a reconstruction of the original text. It only expects to find in the text some reflection on what we nowadays call knowledge or knowing. It analyzes and evaluates such reflections in the text and makes the implicit insights explicit. The search and extraction of insights is what Shun Kwong-loi calls ‘articulation’: ‘an activity that looks both ways, both toward the text and the latent insights from the past, and toward ourselves

50 This distinction is proposed by Defroot 2006: 628. 51 See the subsection ‘The use of contemporary philosophical terms’ below.

14 and our own present concerns and experiences.’52 It is toward the text because it explains the text, but such an explanation is guided by a question in mind: how does the text offer an insight into the issue of knowledge or knowing, which is regarded as a philosophical issue? Therefore, the analysis of Chinese terms for zhi in the Zhuangzi is not merely etymological or semantic53, like drafting a lexicon or dictionary, but treats the text as containing certain views that can be justified and make sense philosophically to a contemporary reader. For example, the emphasis on skill and practice may be relevant to a contemporary reader if they are interested in a practical theory of knowledge. The issue of concentration and flexibility in practice, as well as their relationship to self-cultivation, may also be relevant to a contemporary reader provided they are interested in the method of self-cultivation.

Zhi and its related terms in the Zhuangzi

Instead of providing an explanation for each occurrence of the term zhi in the text, in order to explain the relationship between zhi and the concern of self-cultivation, there

,ګ shi-fei ਢॺ, cheng ,إ are some key terms that deserve special attention: zheng

ming ࣔ, zhai ֨ស and zhen ren టԳ. Each of these terms helps to clarify an aspect of zhi and will, therefore, be analyzed in detail in this thesis. Their relevance to this study is briefly indicated below:

can mean correct, both as a verb or as an adjective. In Confucianism and :إ zheng

Mohism this term often carries a moral dimension. To zhi x is to have a reliable

correct practice regarding x. For example to zhi (li ៖) is to correctly

perform it. Being only proficient is not enough, because it does not guarantee

rightness. The emphasis on zheng plays an important role in Confucian and Mohist

52 Shun 2009: 462. 53 A semantic study is to provide the meaning of a term by constructing a lexicon-like or dictionary-like report. This study does not explain why a thinker uses a particular term to express his or her philosophical view.

15

as well, because an important function of government is to

correct people’s practice, to guide them to zhi what is right and wrong.

Shi-fei ਢॺ: the distinction between shi (this, right, approve) and fei (not-this, wrong,

disapprove) is first mentioned by the Mohists to contribute to their project of

establishing correctness. Precisely speaking, to have a correct practice requires one

to have an ability to distinguish what is shi and what is fei in regard to a norm. This

distinction is manifest both in one’s attitude and action, but the agent needs not be

conscious of the distinction each time they make a judgement or perform an action.

For Zhuangzi, the debate between the Confucians and Mohists can be regarded as a

disagreement about how we should draw shi-fei distinctions. Besides, Zhuangzi

also thinks that if one becomes obsessed in making shi-fei distinctions, one will fall

into the trap of petty zhi, an unfavourable kind of zhi. Those who are not confined

by petty zhi possess another kind of zhi, namely great zhi.

can mean complete, achieve, succeed, as a verb or an adjective. In the :ګ cheng

Analects or the Mozi, not only is attaining zhi itself an achievement, zhi also

contributes to the success of a task (shi ࠃ) or the perfection of a person (ren Գ),

which means the attainment of an ideal personality. In the Zhuangzi, attaining zhi is

also an achievement, but it is not praised as in the Analects or the Mozi. Such an

achievement may simultaneously be an obsession, a limitation, a petty zhi rather

than a fixed valuable goal. ming ࣔ: refers to a state in which one is free from rigid shi-fei judgements. Literally, it

means ‘illuminating’ or ‘clear’. It is contrary to the state in which one is entangled

in cheng. The opposition between ming and cheng can help us to explain the

difference between Zhuangzi's account of great zhi and petty zhi.

xin zhai ֨ស: refers to the process of attaining the state of ming and hence great zhi. In

the state of cheng, one’s xin, heart or heart-mind, is full of rigid shi-fei distinctions.

16

To turn to ming, one needs to stop listening to the guidance of xin, that is suspend

the shi-fei distinctions. During this process one also concentrates on the context in

which one is, and it is the pre-requisite for a person to advance their zhi from the

petty to the great. zhen ren టԳ: refers to the ideal personality in the Zhuangzi. The attainment of great

zhi is simultaneously an attainment of this ideal personality. Analyzing zhen ren

helps us to understand why the attainment of zhi is not just a cognitive process, but

a transformation of the whole person.

The use of contemporary philosophical terms

Throughout the thesis the term ‘zhi’ is translated as ‘knowledge’, ‘know’ or ‘knowing’, depending on the syntax. This does not mean that ‘zhi’ in the Zhuangzi corresponds to the technical term ‘knowledge’ in Western philosophy. This thesis claims that zhi in the texts surveyed is primarily practical or akin to skill which, given the debate between intellectualism and anti-intellectualism in contemporary Western philosophy, might seem to propose that zhi is knowing-how instead of knowing-that.54 If one follows

Gilbert Ryle’s distinction between knowing-that and knowing-how,55 one might claim that the Zhuangzi proposes that knowing-how is independent of, and more valuable than knowing-that. However, this claim is misleading, for there is no evidence that the ancient Chinese thinkers raised the distinction between knowing-that and knowing-how, then judged that one of them is more valuable than the other. Similarly, the distinction between theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge is alien to the ancient Chinese thinkers.56 They saw knowledge as practical because attaining knowledge has an impact on self-cultivation or social order, which were taken for granted as practical issues. This

54 Intellectualism is the position that all instances of knowing-how can be reduced to, or at least presupposes knowing-that. Anti-intellectualism is the position that intellectualism is false. For a recent overview of the debate, see Fantl 2008: 451-470. 55 Ryle 1945: 1-16. 56 Forgetting this point might result in misinterpreting the skill passages in the Zhuangzi. More will be said in 4.8 of this thesis.

17 does not mean that they did not reflect on or analyze their behaviour and the environment, and it certainly does not imply that they had no abstract thinking. It only means that when those thinkers theorized their opinions about their behaviour and the environment, they still thought that such work could help them deal with practical issues. Therefore, although this thesis sees zhi as primarily practical, it does not situate the discussion in the Western philosophical framework.

That being said, this thesis does assume that ‘zhi’ is in some ways similar to the term ‘knowledge’ in its common usage. After all, ‘knowledge’ is one conventional translation of ‘zhi’. When we zhi (as a verb) something, we become familiar with it, aware of its characteristics, able to express opinions or conduct other intellectual activities about it and so on. These features make the association between ‘zhi’ and

‘know’ intelligible. More about the usage of ‘zhi’ prior to the Zhuangzi, including discussion of its etymological dimensions, will be presented in chapter 1 of this thesis.

A second issue is that there are always questions about whether the Zhuangzi proposes a doctrine or a group of doctrines that can be named in contemporary philosophical terms. These questions usually take the form of asking whether the discourses in the text can be regarded as proposing a theory, characterized as an ‘-ism’.

Some examples include: mysticism,57 radical skepticism—skepticism about ordinary beliefs as well as sophisticated doctrines,58 therapeutic skepticism,59 relativism,60 aporetic ethics.61 If we put the question in ancient Chinese terms, we might say that the question is about which name (ming ฬ) is the correct one for the text. Prescribing a name implies determining the position of the text on an issue. It also guides our interpretation. One who accepts the term ‘mysticism’ will see the text differently from another who accepts the term ‘skepticism’, as we discussed in the background section.

57 See the discussion in Schwartz 1983: 216-217. 58 For example, Hansen 1992: 277-293. 59 For example, Schwitzgebel 1996: 68-96. 60 For example, Wong 1984: 206-215. Hansen also uses the term ‘relativism’ in interpreting the Zhuangzi, but his understanding of relativism and its relationship with skepticism is different from Wong’s understanding. For a discussion of their difference, see Fraser 2009: 439-457. 61 For example, Lusthaus 2003: 128-162.

18

Nonetheless, this thesis will not judge whether these names are correct. It passes over the naming judgement. The reason is not that they cannot improve our understanding of the text. In fact they do, especially when the text is introduced to people familiar with philosophy but know very little about the Zhuangzi, or when the interpreter intends to compare the Zhuangzi with doctrines in another philosophical tradition. However, there are three reasons why this thesis does not give a definite characterisation to the text: first, since it is not engaging in comparative philosophy across traditions, it is unnecessary to introduce terms which do not originate from the

Chinese philosophical tradition and, when they were invented, did not aim at explaining

Chinese thought. Under these considerations, using fewer terms from another tradition might avoid the ‘puzzle of asymmetry’ mentioned by Liu Xiao-gan:62 that while a claim is made that a Chinese idea or doctrine is similar to, or can be deemed as, an idea or doctrine from another, especially Western, tradition, we seldom claim that an idea from another tradition can be deemed as a Chinese idea. For example, we say that Mohism is utilitarian, but we do not say that utilitarianism is Mohist; we use Kant or Aristotle to interpret the Analects, but we do not use the Analects to interpret Kant or Aristotle; we judge whether Zhuangzi proposes Pyrrho’s skepticism, Descartes’ skepticism or

Putnam’s skepticism, but we do not judge whether these philosophers are aligned with

Zhuangzi’s doctrine. While the purpose of this thesis is not to solve this puzzle, at least it tries not to be entangled in it.

Secondly, the fact that these terms themselves often have a broad spectrum of meanings complicates the interpretative issues. The term ‘skepticism’, for example, is a term that itself needs to be explained and clarified, in particular the question of what kind of skepticism we may find in the Zhuangzi. 63

62 Liu 2007: 10-36. 63 See, for example, Ivanhoe 1993: 639-654.

19

Thirdly, the Zhuangzi seems not to make a definite assertion. If we claim that the text is saying ‘x’, we imply that the text is not saying ‘not-x’. However, the text obfuscates the distinction between x and not-x, highlighting their interdependence:

Simultaneously with being allowable something becomes unallowable, simultaneously with being unallowable it becomes allowable. Because of right there is wrong, because of wrong there is right.64

Conventional knowledge is always incomplete in the sense that it always picks out a particular set of distinctions and discards others. But the text then asks whether this includes what the text itself says:

Now suppose that I say something here, I do not know whether it is the same kind as this [i.e. the conventional knowledge], or not the same kind as this. But the distinction between being the same kind and not being the same kind presupposes that they belong to the [deeper] same kind, and so [my words] is not different from this. Nevertheless, let me try to say it.65

This thorough self-criticizing character defies any attempt to say that ‘the text is really saying this but not that’ and ascribe any doctrine to it. Its self-referential questioning applies to any position or perspective that is articulated and fixed apart from the flow of dao in its constant saying and unsaying. The text presents its own views on different philosophical issues, but the self-criticizing character prevents us from determining whether it is x or not-x, no matter what position x represents. This indeterminacy makes questionable each name: skepticism, mysticism and so on . . .

But this does not mean that we should not use any contemporary perspective to evaluate the text, it is impossible not to. Since this thesis is written in modern English, it

64 ᣇนᣇਇนΔᣇਇนᣇนΙ࿃ᤚ࿃㕖Δ࿃㕖࿃ᤚޕ(adapted from Graham 1981: 52) 65 ੹਌᦭⸒ᣈᱝΔਇ⍮౔⥜ᤚ㘃਱Λ౔⥜ᤚਇ㘃਱Λ㘃⥜ਇ㘃Δ⋧⥜ὑ㘃Δೣ⥜ᓐήએ⇣⍬ޕ㔃ὼΔ⺧ ཏ⸒ਯޕʳ(adapted from Graham 1981: 55)

20 is self-defeating to claim that it aims at studying the text by consulting only the text itself. We can only that the awareness of the differences between our own background and the background of the text helps to reduce misinterpretation. Besides, there is another reason why we cannot study the text by consulting only the text itself.

That is, when analysing or evaluating a philosophy, it is inevitable to put it in a broader context, in which we must deal with its relationship with other and compare it with similar or opposing ideas. Understanding x must be interdependent of understanding not-x, this is why we introduce three texts before the Zhuangzi to constitute a reference point, so that we can appreciate the depth of its insight.

Chapter Summary

Chapter 1

This chapter focuses on the idea zhi in the Analects. It aims to show three points: first, that the term zhi is usually mentioned in phrases like ‘zhi li’ (व៖: knowing the rituals) or ‘zhi ren’ (वԳ: knowing people), which stress on actual performance that constitutes zhi. Secondly, such performance can be carried out only by a cultivated person, whose personality is transformed by attending to the and rituals. Thirdly, the Analects holds that knowledge is valuable because it can contribute to self-cultivation and social order, though this does not mean that knowledge has only an instrumental value.

Chapter 2

This chapter focuses on the idea zhi in the Daodejing. It aims to show three points: first, that the attitude towards zhi is ambivalent in the text which criticizes a kind of zhi but upholds another kind of zhi, and this distinction between two kinds of zhi is inherited by the Zhuangzi. Secondly, the text upholds the knowing of dao through contemplation and reduction of desires and conventional knowledge. This approach of attaining zhi is different from that of the Analects, but still focuses on the practical dimension of zhi.

Thirdly, the Daodejing holds that knowledge is valuable because it can contribute to self-cultivation and social order, although such valuable knowledge might be ineffable.

21

Chapter 3

This chapter focuses on the ideas zhi and fa (ऄ: standard) in the Mozi, and shows how the Mohists disagree with the Confucians about the issue of knowledge, morality and ideal society. Understanding this disagreement is essential for understanding the

Zhuangzi. Three points are shown: first, that knowledge for the Mozi is still practical, but the text wants to establish a criterion of knowledge which is independent of custom and one’s personality. Secondly, the criterion they propose is the benefit of the world, which opposes the Confucian emphasis on the rituals and leads to a different vision of social order. Thirdly, the opposition to rituals leads the Mohists to downplay the significance of emotions and sentiments, which in turn shapes their ideal personality to be calculative, focusing on efficiency, yet resolute and determined.

Chapter 4

This chapter analyzes the critique of Confucianism and Mohism in the Zhuangzi. It consists of three steps: first, that the Zhuangzi sees the debate between Confucianism and Mohism as trying to distinguish between right and wrong (shi-fei ᤚ㕖), and determines the correct practice for both individual and society by this distinction.

Secondly, the distinction between right and wrong requires an impartial judge, but the

Zhuangzi doubts the of an impartial judge by raising the idea of completed heart (cheng xin ᚑᔃ). Thirdly, since the implementation and communication of correct practice requires stability of language and justification, the Zhuangzi deduces the indeterminacy of language and justification from the existence of completed heart.

Lastly, chapter 4 explains why the critique of Confucianism and Mohism does not make the Zhuangzi value skill knowledge over theoretical knowledge. This is because, as we have said in the methodology section, the distinction between skill knowledge and theoretical knowledge is not recognized by the Confucians, Mohists and the

Zhuangzi.

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Chapter 5

This chapter analyzes the distinction between petty knowledge and great knowledge in the Zhuangzi, and that how the Zhuangzi follows an assumption shared by the Analects, the Daodejing, and the Mozi: that knowledge is practical. The chapter begins with the image of Peng and the cicada, then it moves to explain why great knowledge can enable one to ‘travel into the limitless’ and ‘respond to the limitless’. Following that, it explains why the ability to travel into and respond to the limitless is illumination (ming

᣿), and how it manifests in practice called ‘dual procession’ (liang xing ౌⴕ). The transformation in practice is attained through a series of cultivation methods, such as

‘fasting the heart’ (xin zhai ᔃ㥲) and forgetting (wang ᔓ).

Chapter 6

In this chapter we analyze the ideal personality in the Zhuangzi, including the ultimate person (zhi ren ⥋ੱ), the daemonic person ( ren ␹ੱ), the sage (sheng ren ⡛ੱ) and the authentic person (zhen ren ⌀ੱ). The main point is to show how the Zhuangzi subscribes to another common assumption in the Analects, the Daodejing, and the Mozi: that knowledge is either for self-cultivation or social order. Great knowledge transforms a person’s sentiments and helps one to achieve inner harmony. This harmony is why a spectator of the authentic person can come to think that great knowledge is valuable. It is also a state of indeterminacy between detachment and attachment, as well as the ultimate distinction between life and death, Heaven and human.

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Chapter 1 The idea of zhi ⍮ in the Analects: account of practical knowledge

1.1 Introduction

This chapter and the following two chapters are devoted to an investigation of the idea zhi ⍮ prior to and around the same period of the Zhuangzi. In particular, this chapter examines the idea zhi in the Analects. It aims to evaluate the view of zhi that the early

Confucians had and its relationship with other important ideas, as well as the philosophical topics it raises. This task will prepare for the discussion of the Daodejing, the Mozi and eventually the Zhuangzi.

In this chapter it is argued that the reflection of knowledge in the Analects is generally subsumed in its vision of self-cultivation. This is done through focusing on the impact of obtaining knowledge, especially that relevant to ethical and social excellence. In other words, the motivation for obtaining, modifying or discarding knowledge is to restore or enhance some ethical qualities for oneself or for the good functioning of government.

1.2 The term ‘zhi’ before the Analects

In modern Chinese, the characterޟ⍮ޠ can be translated as ‘know’, ‘knowing’ or

‘understand’, while the characterޟᥓޠ has a wider range of reference, including

‘knowledge’, ‘wisdom’, ‘cleverness’, ‘intelligence’ and the like. However, in ancient

Chinese, the same character can be used to express all meanings ofޟ⍮ޠandޟᥓޠ.

The Shuo Wen states that the character is composed by a mouth and an arrow, suggesting that it is related to something ‘expressed promptly’66 and ‘expressed about something’. Another view states that the character is composed by ‘man and mouth’ rather than ‘arrow and mouth’,67 thereby making it more closely related to communication. Both views give us a rough picture of how the term was used before

66 Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 2001: 37-39. 67 Karlgren 1972: 228-229.

24 the Analects. However, the thinkers of the subsequent Spring andAutumn and Warring

States periods certainly modified and enriched its meaning. For example, in the

Analects, ‘zhi व’ is primarily associated not with speech but with and cultivation of emotions, as we will see in the following sections.

Lisa Raphals has surveyed two important ancient texts that predate the Analects, the Book of Documents and the Book of Odes for the term ‘zhi’ and its related semantic field.68 Although these two texts do not focus on ‘zhi’, they contain two themes that are later highlighted in the Analects: the first was that wisdom (zhe ୃ) consists in knowing

people, the second was that ‘clever talk’ or ‘cunning words’ (qiao yan ؏ߢ) are opposed to wisdom. The Confucians developed these two themes and placed them in their own account of zhi.

1.3 The term ‘zhi’ in the Analects

In the Analects,69 there are different though related meanings of ‘zhi’. It is sometimes used as a verb, which can be translated as ‘know’ or ‘understand’. For example, the

Analects 1.15 says ‘tell such a man something and he can know what follows from it’

壆࢓ۖवࠐृ).70 If it takes an object, it is usually aܫ gao zhu wang er zhi lai zhe) noun, such as the rituals (li ៖), as in 3.22 ‘did Guan Zong understand the rituals?’

Guan Zong zhi li hu ጥ٘व៖׏)71 This sense of ‘zhi’ is similar to the sense of we say)

‘a person knows about x’. Also, it can be followed by a noun phrase which sometimes refers to an act, as in 5.22 ‘they do not know how to prune themselves’ (bu zhi suo yi

68 Raphals 1992: 10-17. 69 Main reference in this chapter for translation of the Analects is Lau 1979. A Chinese commentary is also used. See Yang 2002. It does not mean, however, that Lau’s own interpretation of Confucius in his introduction is assumed. For a critique of Lau’s interpretation of rituals and rightness, see Chong 1998: 101-130. To the extent that our aim is not to compare the thought in the Analects to some Western schools or ethical systems, the debate over whether the Analects presents a deontological theory, utilitarianism or virtue ethics is not considered. Throughout this thesis, references to the Analects are represented by an ‘A’ and the numbers corresponding to relevant chapters in a bracket, such as (A 1.1). 70 Adapted from Lau 1979: 62. 71 Adapted from Lau 1979: 71.

25

ဪհ).72 This sense of ‘zhi’ is similar to that when we say ‘a personאcai zhi լवࢬ knows how to x’.

The term ‘zhi’ can also take a noun or an adjective form, which has various references. First, it can mean ‘wisdom’, a virtue. The term ‘virtue’73 here is used loosely to mean any human quality that helps a person to become an ideal person.74 For example, the person who possesses the perfect virtue ren ੳ75 surely possesses courage

(A 14.4), mostly because they will not refrain to act always according to yi ⟵

(rightness, appropriateness) (A 2.24), and courage helps them not to be afraid of their loss. Another example is that the paradigmatic person (junzi ܩ՗) has no friends who are not as good as himself (A 1.8), so we would expect that, if he does have friends, he has to choose them, his neighbours and companions in such a way that they enhance rather than undermine his virtue. This is probably why a paradigmatic person needs wisdom in choosing where to live (A 4.1). The Analects describes wisdom in 9.29:

The Master said, ‘The wise man is never in two minds; the benevolent man never

worries; the courageous man is never afraid.’ 76

Here, ‘zhi’ is mentioned with two other virtues, benevolence and courage. ‘Ren’ here is not the perfect virtue but only a component of perfect virtue, and this ‘ren’ can be relatively acceptable to be translated into ‘benevolence’ or ‘humaneness’, for it focuses on the sense of sympathy, a person caring for another. This sense of ren, together with

72 Adapted from Lau 1979: 79. 73 For a brief account of the Chinese character for virtue, ψᐚω in the Analects, see Graham 1989: 13; Van Norden 2007: 21, 67. For studies about ψᐚω in texts earlier than the Analects, see Munro 1969: 185-197. For philosophical reflections about ψᐚω in ancient texts and bringing them in relation to certain contemporary problems, see Nivison 1996: 31-43. 74 Certainly, we must bear in mind that different thinkers give different prescriptions about ‘ideal person’, therefore exactly what qualities count as virtue may differ among different thinkers. 75 The Chinese character ո can be literally interpreted as ‘two people’, that is, a relationship that constitutes one’s virtue. For a detailed discussion of ren as the comprehensive virtue, see Tang 1973: 71-149. (՗ֳΚཕृլ༝ΔոृլᐡΔটृլ᥈Ζ (Lau 1979: 100 76

26 zhi and courage, can be seen conceptually as necessary conditions and practically as subordinate qualities of the perfect virtue.

Zhi as a virtue can be elaborated further if we notice some of its connection with benevolence. Bryan Van Norden thinks that when zhi is mentioned alone with benevolence in the text (A 6.23), it is taken to emphasize the cognitive side of virtue while the latter emphasizes the affective side of virtue.77 The cognitive side emphasizes reasoning and planning, such as finding the quickest way for saving a person; while the affective side emphasizes emotions, such as being happy when a person is saved.

Although Van Norden also points out that this does not mean there is a clear distinction of cognition and emotion in the text and they actually complement each other, he does not talk much about how these two complement each other in practice. We might here consider how a benevolent person can come to possess the perfect virtue through their grasp of zhi, that is, the process through which zhi complements benevolence. Suppose a benevolent person likes to help others, and ‘feels at home’78 when others receive their help. They also have an authentic feeling of sympathy towards suffering people, yet in some cases they cannot find out how to help those people or how to distinguish free riders from people in really dire need. Alternatively, they might find that they are unable to appropriate the relevant resources. This is a benevolent person lacking zhiЁand we may expect that, as soon as they are aware of their deficiency, they will feel uncomfortable or dissatisfied and be motivated to find some methods to improve themselves, such that their benevolence can really ‘reach’ others. This search for improvement can be seen as a way to attain zhi. With zhi, a person can make good decisions and handle their tasks more successfully, as well as facilitate the expression of benevolence. Thus we might translate this sense of zhi as wisdom to emphasize its

77 Van Norden 2007: 124-125. (ո (A 4.2, Lau 1979: 72ڜ 78

27 contribution to self-cultivation.79 This is not to assume it has any relationship to a particular theory of wisdom, but to distinguish it from other senses of zhi which will be discussed later.

In supposing that a benevolent person might lack wisdom, we do not mean that benevolence can operate alone without what we call ‘cognition’, ‘intelligence’ or, in a general sense, ‘reasoning’, for that person can constantly reflect on what they have done or are going to do, and try their best to think about what they have to do in the present situation. These activities are, at least to some extent, cognitive, and it is precisely their presence that marks a difference between a benevolent person and an apathetic one, for the apathetic person is not even concerned about what they have done to others.

Moreover, we need to note that in the Analects wisdom cannot be appropriated by immoral persons because wisdom consists in admitting the limits and possible ignorance about oneself (A 2.17), so we might infer that a wise person is sincere and modest, among other characteristics. It is not probable that a sincere and modest person will deliberately use others for their own self-interest, as that implies cheating or cruelty, which are psychologically at odds with sincerity or modesty. While wisdom does not determine one’s personality, we can claim that, when one is acquiring wisdom, one is also acquiring certain virtues, and that that person’s personality will be shaped accordingly.80 Therefore, wisdom is not a purely value-neutral quality, but draws one towards the perfect virtue ren.

The saying that a person with wisdom should be able to conduct their behaviour appropriately suggests that wisdom also implies an ability. First, however, we must note that this ability should not be considered to be the same as another, perhaps less important ability, the ordinary sense of zhi. This sense of zhiconsists simply in being able to memorize something or have an impression of something, and it might not be

79 Since such wisdom functions mostly in practice, we might call it ‘practical wisdom’. Yet this should not be taken to mean that there is something called ‘theoretical wisdom’ in the text. So most of the time the attribute ‘practical’ can be omitted. 80 Of course, this does not imply that each person will be shaped in the same way.

28 clear enough to let a person fully understand that thing. So we have the teaching that those who just know it cannot equal those who find joy in it.81 This ‘knowing’ is probably not the same as what ‘wisdom’ implies, otherwise it would be difficult to explain passages like 6.23, in which we are told that the wise are those who find joy in wisdom.

Secondly, such ability must be consistent with the practical character of wisdom.

Van Norden states that wisdom implies an ability to think about the best means and an appreciation of virtuous behaviour.82 Regardless of whether the means-end deliberation model gains textual support, a more general suggestion based on the two features of

Van Norden’s claim is that wisdom implies an ability to act and think virtuously. If we can say that by virtue of such an ability a person ‘knows’ something, a better explanation is that they have mastered an art83 rather than simply possessed some

‘mental’ idea, for example, a belief. Chad Hansen makes a similar point when he contrasts ‘performative language’ with ‘descriptive language’ in his interpretation of the

Analects:

Knowledge is knowledge of dao, knowledge of what to do . . . knowing is more

akin to skill than to information processing.84

It should be noted that ‘what to do’ in the Analects does not mean only the outward behaviour, such as bowing; but also emotions or motivations that are not always obvious. Emotions or motivations might be accompanied by beliefs, for instance my deep respect of someone might be accompanied by the belief that that person is clever.

But they cannot be reduced to beliefs, because people who share the same set of beliefs

(ᑗհृΖ (A 6.20, adapted from Lau 1979: 84ڕհृլړհृΔړڕवհृլ 81 82 Van Norden 2007: 123. 83 In its broad sense. 84 Hansen 1992: 85.

29 might not share the same motivation. So even if ‘what to do’ involve beliefs, it requires more than that. We may use an image frequently found in the Analects to further elaborate: consider a master of ceremony; whether he can reasonably claim that he

‘knows rituals (zhi li ⍮⑥)’Ёa phrase which often occurs in the text, depends on whether he can perform fluently during the ceremony; whether he can look after the guest, prepare the relevant materials, proceed with tasks, and so on. It also depends on whether he carries out all these actions from appropriate emotions, such as authentic sorrow or grief in a funeral (A 3.26, 19.1). Anyway, his claim would be undermined if we observe what he carries out is unsatisfactory or he lacks the emotions. Indeed, to know rituals is to be able to feel and act in a way prescribed by rituals85 in different contexts and to different people. It is highly context-sensitive because the identity of surrounding people, location and time can make a great difference. Therefore it is highly style-sensitive, because every nuance, including facial-expressions, tone, gestures, even the position of items, can count.86

It is somehow difficult to capture this aspect of zhi by translation. Some scholars such as Schwartz87 and Cheng Chung-ying88 sometimes just use ‘knowledge’ with a note that it is different from what we conceive by the term ‘knowledge’ in non-Chinese theories. Perhaps they have in mind a broad sense of the term ‘knowledge’, including whatever that can be said to be grasped by our intellectual faculty. Others point out that

‘knowledge’ too easily makes us think of the piece of information, since it is fixed by the noun form, rather than the improvement of the ability of the knower, which can have a close relationship to his or her character or personality. This is a point we will return to later. Such a consideration may lead to other translations, such as ‘knowing-how’89 or

85 See, for example, the Analects 3.22, 7.31, and the whole chapter 10. Chapter 10 describes in great detail how Confucius paid attention to even seemingly trivial parts in rituals. Schwartz is right in stating that ‘Here we find a Confucius who is devoted to the punctilious observance of what some may regard as trivial and pedantic practices, even involving matters of facial expression and body language.’ See Schwartz 1985: 84. 86 For a brief discussion on the importance of style, see Kupperman 2002: 39-52. 87 Schwartz 1985: 85-99. 88 Cheng 1974: 179-198. In this article he also uses ‘knowing’. 89 Hansen 1992: 86, Hetherington and Lai 2012: 383.

30

‘knowing-to’90, which emphasize the practical dimension of zhi and avoid the possible mistake of identifying zhi as some mental object. Stephen Hetherington and Karyn Lai remark that zhi in the Analects ‘pertains both to the discovery of possibilities for, and implementation of, a particular set of actions relating to the topic in question’,91 which means zhi s dynamic rather than static. Acknowledging this remark, in this thesis we still use ‘knowledge’ and ‘knowing’ interchangeably when the term ‘zhi’ appears as a noun, and ‘know’ when the term ‘zhi’ appears as a verb. This is because it is difficult to use ‘knowing-how’ or ‘knowing-to’ when ‘zhi’ is combined with another word to express a more subtle idea, such as ‘xiao zhi ՛व’ or ‘da zhi Օव’ in the Zhuangzi.

1.4 The skill of knowing people

A distinctive characteristic of the view of zhi in the Analects is that it is not only practical, but also focusing on human relationships. Zhi is usually manifest in the way one treats other people, such as choosing the appropriate person for a particular task, giving the appropriate advice or comment at the right time, as shown in the sub-sections of this section.

In the last section we state that zhi in the Analects implies an ability. But we must also state what such ability is for, or alternatively, given that such ability leads us to a virtuous person, how it does so. Consider 12.22:

Fan asked about benevolence. The Master said, ‘It is to care about people.’ He

asked about wisdom. The Master said, ‘It is to know people.’ Fan Chi did not

immediately understand. The Master said, ‘Raise the upright and set them over the

crooked; this can make the crooked straight.’92

90 Lai 2010. 91 Hetherington and Lai 2012: 383. ሒΖ՗ֳΚψᜰऴᙑ壆ࣩΔ౨ࠌࣩृآᑕᙈംոΖ՗ֳΚψფԳΖωംवΔ՗ֳΚψवԳωΖᑕᙈ 92 ऴΖω (adapted from Lau 1979: 116-117)

31

From this dialogue we know that wisdom consists in knowing people and it can be utilized to transform their character to being more upright. Additionally, there are some passages on the importance of a virtuous person to know people, such as 1.16:

It is not the failure of others to know you; but rather your failure to know others. 93

This sentence suggests that a virtuous person is obliged to know others; it also sets a higher moral requirement for virtuous people. Therefore, when one cultivates to be a virtuous person, one must also come to realize the importance of knowing people. We might also say that knowing and evaluating others appropriately is a necessary condition of perfect virtue. Indeed, this knowing has important practical implications, as discussed below.

1.4.1 Picking out advisors

Referring to the Analects 12.22, after meeting his master, Fan Chi asked another student

Zi Xia about the meaning of ‘knowing people’. Zi Xia uses two examples to illustrate the master’s point. One of them is about a king, King Tang, who knows how to select a minister. This story was later recorded in the Records of the Grand Historian. A minister of King Tang, Yi Yin, who was originally a cook, had spoken to King Tang about the principle of cooking.94 The King sensed that Yi Yin was talking figuratively, implicitly sketching a picture for good government. Believing Yi Yin was able to assist him in the court, Tang appointed him as the prime minister and the state was governed in an orderly manner. This, according to Zi Xia, would be a typical example of

‘knowing people’. If this is correct, then the example suggests that knowing people implies understanding their talent and character and being able to pick out the right

93 լ൛ԳհլաवΔ൛լवԳՈΖ (author’s translation) 94 Book 14 of the Lü Shi Chun Qiu has a detailed description of what Yi Yin said. See Knoblock and Riegel 2000: 308-311. The content might not be exactly corresponding to Yi Yin’s words, we are only certain that Yi Yin used some analogies between cooking and governing.

32 person at the right time. This is basically a skill, just as when in contemporary society a senior official selects the most suitable worker for promotion. It is a skill acquired through careful observation and experience.

We can explicate more on the mode of knowing in ‘knowing a person’ if we contrast it with ‘knowing a state of affairs’. The latter means grasping a piece of information, and is usually projected as a static quality in the mind, regardless of whether it is an image, belief or idea. As to ‘knowing a person’, while it is probable that this involves judgement of states of affairs, for example the status of a person, these judgements are entertained only in so far that they are used in the process of formulating responses to the person. To know a person by merely gathering information about them is not enough, no matter how detailed the information. The important point is that knowing a person entails knowing how to treat and get along with that person, to express emotions towards them appropriately and respond to their behaviour appropriately. In this way the very act of appointing Yi Yin displayed Tang’s wisdom.

Given the status of Tang, if Yi Yin was really talented yet Tang did not appoint him or seek his advices, we could claim that Tang was not wise and did not know Yi Yin well.

The doctrine that picking out the right person is crucial to any government was influential before the Analects95 and, during the Spring and Autumn period, was even more important because of the social turmoil. ‘How can I identify the most suitable person for the tasks at hand?’ became a pressing question to everyone who participates in government and everyone who deeply cares about political issues, such as Confucius.

1.4.2 Seeking and giving practical advice

In the text, Confucius’s knowledge of people is manifest in the advice he gives to others. He gives advice accurately, and tailors them according to the situation. In 11.22, he gives two disciples different advice about whether they need to seek advice before action. To Zhi Lu, Confucius pointed out that he should listen more to his father and

95 See Lao 2002: 85-88.

33 elder brother’s advice, so the answer is positive; but to Ran Qiu, the answer is negative.

Confucius explains that it is because of their personal characteristics that he gave them different advice. In the Analects, Zi Lu’s rashness can be seen in 5.7, 7.11, and Ran

Qiu’s excessive caution can be seen in 6.12. It is reasonable to state that Confucius has a close relationship with his disciples, and that they are familiar with each other’s background. Thus, Confucius is able to devise a specific instruction for the particular individual he is meeting. In another case (A 5.8), when Confucius was asked to introduce the talents of his disciples, his answer also showed that he had an all-rounded understanding of them.

It is also important to note that, when Confucius explained his teachings to Gong

Xi Hua in 11.22, he did not give a principle, at least none is recorded in the text. He did not say something like, ‘it is important to give an advice that suits the individual you are meeting’, or ‘advice is always situational’. This does not mean that Confucius never thought that there can be a principle, but even though there might be a principle, stating it may not be the most reliable method of making Gong Xi Hua understandЁbecause

Confucius knew Gong Xi Hua. Instead, he told Gong Xi Hua something about his fellows and let him sense the explanation. Perhaps Confucius also saw this as a chance for teaching him how to know people.

In this case we see that knowing people includes an awareness of the contexts in which people are speaking, and an ability to direct one’s response according to the context. When a person asks for advice, a person who knows them can create the feeling that the advice is specific to them.

1.4.3 Criticizing, appreciating or comparing people

Confucius did not hide his comments about people, regardless of their relationship with him. In the Analects, there are many scenarios in which Confucius judged people.

Confucius’s capability to know people is reflected in his careful and subtle evaluative words. The people whom Confucius commented on were mostly rulers, high officials or

34 influential figures. For example, in 15.7, Confucius commented on Shi Yu and Qu Bao

Yu, who were officials in the state of Wei. The former is ‘upright (zhi ⋥)’ and the latter a paradigmatic person. Confucius’s comments were reasonable and presented elegantly, showing that Confucius was able to know a person even if they were seldom in contact.

Moreover, knowing people is not limited to knowing one’s contemporaries. Historical figures can be evaluated too: Guan Zhong, King Wen and Wu, ancient ruler Yao and

Shun, being only a few examples (A 3.22, 3.25, 8.15, 8.19, 8.20 14.9, 14.16, 14.17,

15.5).

Sometimes Confucius’s comments can be regarded as an indirect criticism of the government in his time, but other times his approval or disapproval carries little, if any, political concern. One famous example is his favourite disciple, Yan Yuan. He praised

Yan Yuan many times (A 1.9, 6.3, 6.7, 6.11, 7.11, 9.20, 9.21, 11.4, 11.7), not necessarily because it concerned social or political affairs, or because he wanted to teach someone, or because he wanted someone to do things for him or Yan Yuan. What we see are probably Confucius’s authentic feelings, that he must be very delighted and satisfied with Yan Yuan’s accomplishments. Confucius certainly liked Yan Yuan the most, but we can also say that Confucius knew Yan Yuan the most. This does not mean, nor exclude, that Confucius knew many facts about Yan Yuan. The main point is that no one could fully appreciate how admirable or virtuous Yan Yuan was except Confucius.

This appreciateion is manifest in his authentic feelings. Here, Van Norden thinks a wise person is able to evaluate and appreciate virtuous characters.96 We might add that, if such ability admits of degrees, a wiser person is one who can understand virtuous and vicious characters more deeply, and simultaneously shows a stronger approval or disapproval.

96 Van Norden 2007: 123.

35

Another example is 11.26, when Confucius listened to different disciples about what they would do, provided that their abilities were discovered and appreciated.

Confucius’s response to Zhen Dian gives much room for interpretation:

‘Dian, how about you?’

After a few dying notes came the final chord, and then he stood up from his lute. ‘I

differ from the other three in my ambition.’

The Master said, ‘What harm is there in that? After all each man is stating what he

has set his heart upon.’

‘In late spring, after the spring clothes have been newly made, I should like,

together with five or six adults and six or seven boys, to go bathing in the River Yi

and enjoy the breeze on the Rain Altar, and then to go home chanting poetry.’

The Master sighed heavily and said, ‘I am with Dian.’97

Although Confucius did explain his comments about the other three disciples, he did not explain why he was with Dian. However, it can be seen that Dian’s words touched

Confucius. Confucius was absorbed and delighted by the picture sketched by Dian.

Though it was not mentioned, we might expect that the other three disciples could not understand why Dian’s words were so delightful and got the greatest approval. They could not fully appreciate how Dian’s statement was different from, and in what sense it was better than, theirs. Confucius, on the other hand, was clearly aware of its value.

Furthermore, compared to the others, Dian’s words reflected that his character was most in accordance with the teaching of Confucius in the Analects 6.20: ‘the best ones are those who can find joy in it’. In Dian’s picture we can see both discipline and joy, while

ߢٺΔኙֳΚψฆ׏Կ՗ृհᐷΖω՗ֳΚψ۶႞׏Λٍ܂ΛωቔᅖݦΔᣀዿΔॐᅖۖڕױψរΔዿ 97 ΔগृնքԳΔ࿙՗քԮԳΔ௮׏޽Δଅ׏ፘິΔူۖូΖω֛ګࠡݳՈΖωֳΚψᑈਞृΔਞࣚਝ (ፖរՈΜω (adapted from Lau 1979: 110-111ܠ՗ᘯྥᑜֳΚψ

36 other proposals might be morally right, but dry. Dian’s answer, if sincere, was ‘a breath of fresh air’.98

What can we conclude from Confucius’s understanding of the character of his disciples? One possible answer is, the ability of knowing the character of another implies an ability to give approval and disapproval. Note that Confucius’s approval or disapproval is different from a verdict of judge, not just because they may use different criteria,99 but also because the judge’s verdict is supposed to be impersonal and detached. Confucius’s approval or disapproval is like a personal coach commenting on their atheletes’ performance for improvement, which requires the coach actually knows the personal characteristics of atheletes, and their comment usually involves more sympathy than the verdict of a judge. While the extent which the comment of the coach reflects their own style and even personality is debatable, it is more plausible that

Confucius’s evaluation of people actually reflects something about Confucius himself, besides the obvious point that he has the ability to judge. From Confucius’s approval we can know his conception of the ideal personality.

The distinctive characteristic that might distinguish Confucius’s ‘knowing people’ from other theories that also incorporate some kind of practical wisdom, is the emphasis on interaction among people. This is integral to Confucius’s view of self-cultivation, and the ability to approve or disapprove appropriately comes very close to the core of perfect virtue: ‘Only those who are ren ո can like or dislike others.’100

1.5 Means of ‘knowing people’ in the Analects

Next, we will survey the question how we can know people. By this we do not mean to discuss what faculty in a person is responsible for obtaining such knowledge, since the

Analects does not mention this. We know, in ancient Chinese thought, the faculty of

98 For a brief discussion of the four disciples’ character, see Chong 1998: 121-123. Here, ‘a breath of fresh air’ is a quote from his article. 99 Compared to a judge, Confucius put relatively little emphasis on what is legal and illegal. (Գ౨༞ԳΖ (A 4.3, adapted from Lau 1979: 72ړഄոृ౨ 100

37 reflection is usually regarded as xin ᔃ, but this term is not prominent in the Analects, nor did the text associate it with knowledge. The question here is not about the faculty, but methods: ‘what should I do if I want to know others?’. To answer this question, we examine three methods: observation, cultivation of sentiments, and the use of models.

1.5.1 Observation of the speech and behaviour of others

The Analects does point out several necessary conditions for knowing people, one of which is that zhi yan (वߢ, knowing words, speech, language, doctrine). Primarily, it is to know people by understanding their speech or writing. So the text states:

. . . he has no way of judging men unless he understands words.101

Here the text does not tell us the scope of ‘words’. However, we assume that it is not confined to the words said or written by someone, but also comments from other people. A good example is trying to know Confucius through reading the Analects. And there is a point which demands special attention in perceiving the words of others, namely the relationship between their words and their character. There is no fixed correspondence between them, but to the extent that one usually has a habit of using certain terms, tones and gestures instead of others, it is reasonable to think that each character carries a distinctive way of speaking or writing. At this point, the greatest interest of the Analects is the characteristics of the words of a virtuous person. For example, in 12.3, we see ‘a person with ren is loath to speak’.102 The reason is shown in

4.22, ‘it is shameful if people cannot keep up with their words’.103 Since a benevolent person does not make a claim unless he can support it, we can expect that the words of a benevolent person are sensible, serious and reliable. Also, in 1.3, Confucius stated that

(वԳՈΖ (A 20.3, Lau 1979: 160אլवߢΔྤ 101 102 ոृࠡߢՈ⃡ (Lau 1979: 112) (Δ஍ಧհլၚՈΖʳ(Lau 1979: 75נߢհլृײ 103

38

‘it is rare for a man with cunning words to be benevolent’.104 ‘Cunning’ is the translation for ‘qiao Ꮑ’, which can in general mean ‘skilful’. Note that qiao yan Ꮑ⸒ in the Analects are always considered to be antithetical to virtue.105 Although Confucius would allow some kind of skill of words or rhetoric, for example quoting from the Book of Odes, the power of rhetoric itself is something that had better be constrained rather than advocated, as it may be used to rationalize one’s mistakes (A 11.25, 19.8) or confuse others (A 12.20). A paradigmatic person, therefore, uses plain words and common aphorisms as much as he can. However, all these cannot let us to directly infer a person’s character from their word, they only give us hints, not answers. There are always people who deliberately speak like a virtuous person but have no commitment to virtue, they just want to be popular or create an excuse to satisfy themselves (A 12.20).

Therefore, it can take a long time to know how to see through the words of others.

To see whether a person’s words reflect their character, the Analects reminds us to observe their behaviour as well. Confucius himself judged his students, Yan Hui and

Zai Wo, based on both their words and behaviour (A 2.9, 5.10). It is perhaps more important to discover that right words may conceal unacceptable acts, as in Zai Wo’s case.106 The more we see or hear a person’s words and actions the more accurately we know them, and our evaluations and responsese to them change as their attitude and actions change (A 7.31). In particular, carefully comparing a person’s words and behaviour might help us to find out whether there is inconsistency between them. Such inconsistency is hardly acceptable to a paradigmatic person, though Confucius did not think an absolute consistency is needed (A 13.20). We will discuss this point soon. The requirement for consistency comes from Confucius’s view about the coherence and coordination of a person’s virtue and acts, including speech and writing. He sometimes talks about xin ॾ (sincerity, trustworthiness). At first glance it may be read as keeping

(ធߎո (Lau 1979: 59ۥחߢ؏ 104 105 See Raphals 1992: 27-40. 106 See 1.5.2 of this thesis in which Zai Wo tried to use the ‘right words’ to justify an unacceptable practice.

39 promises and being honest with one’s friends (A 1.4, 1.7), but it is more than that.

Recall that some people may deliberately speak like a virtuous person but have no commitment to virtue (A 12.20). Such people could be honest if by ‘honest’ we just mean someone who never lies. However, not lying does not imply sincerity, which focuses less on whether words represent the state of affairs, instead focuses more on what impressions or responses are invoked. With apparently earnest eyes and inconsequential actions, an insincere person can, for example, say ‘being helpful is good’, or even tell others face-to-face that they should be helpful, but always hide themselves away in some places in order to avoid any request for help. Or, they may conceal their mistake and weakness not necessarily by saying something false, but by omitting something true or important. Such cases are surely cases of insincerity, even if they do not cheat or mislead others deliberately. A sincere person must be worthy of trustЁwhen they say ‘being helpful is good’, they believe what they say and are able to help others when needed. As Ames and Rosemont say in their translation of the

Analects,

. . . being simply well intended in what one says and does is not good enough; one

must have the resources to follow through and make good on what one proposes to

do . . . Xin ॾ, then, is the consummation of fiduciary relationships.107

Ames and Rosemont highlight the importance of ability: a sincere person is one who is both willing and able to act according to what they say. They translate xin ॾ into

‘making good on one’s word’. Despite the vagueness of the phrase ‘making good’, this translation is reasonable to the extent that xin ॾ focuses on words, but we must

107 Ames and Rosemont 1998: 53.

40 remember that the problem of sincerity exists even if one does not speak. This is because an insincere person can mislead others by petty actions or hints.

Without sincerity all words and all performances are empty and can no longer express the attitudes and thoughts of the performer. We cannot response to another’s words and deeds properly if we are not certain whether they are sincere or not. Thus sincerity needs to be ascertained before a person’s words and behaviour can be taken as reflecting their character. This is crucial in social interaction because people are vulnerable to suspicion or hypocrisy without it. It is crucial both for common people and a ruler (A 1.5, 1.6, 13.4), without which no act is authentic and admissible (A 2.22).

Nevertheless to observe others does not mean we are primarily spectators, since knowing people implies interacting with them appropriately. When we observe, or hear about, someone’s behaviour, we do not merely look at it superficially, but at the same time recognize it as embedded in a social environment. What we understand would be the significance of the act in the context of the environment, and this in turn guides our response. A good knower is aware of the relevant elements in the scenario while an ignorant person is not. To illustrate, consider we meet a young man wearing white clothes. While some of us may find nothing special about him, others may realize that his white clothes are a sign of mourning and adjust their behaviour towards him, perhaps as Confucius did (A 9.10). Other elements can include the background of other people (A 11.22), signs on their clothes (A 9.10, 10.25), facial expressions, tone of voice and so on (A 16.6). This awareness is what one should develop in order to scrutinize the words and behaviour of people and acquire the skill of knowing them.

Since knowing people is inherent to ren, we may say it has a moral dimension, or it always judges words by their relevance to ren. Therefore, good knower can promptly perceive the moral quality in the words and behaviour of another.

41

1.5.2 Cultivation of one’s sentiments

In order to be a good knower and hence a wise person, it is also necessary to cultivate one’s emotions and sentiments to gradually build up an ideal character. As discussed in last section, knowing people implies interacting with them appropriately. Now we add that this interaction actually involves one’s emotions and sentiments. By ‘emotion’ we mean a psychological state, such as joy or sorrow, in which we have a certain feeling towards something. Emotions usually have motivational power. By ‘sentiment’ we mean a combination of related emotions and the continuous effect of such combination in one’s thought and action, such as sympathy, in which we feel sorrow towards people in need and feel relieved when they receive help. Emotions and sentiments are responses to situations, and, similar to behaviour, they can be evaluated as right or wrong. Although this view of emotions is implicit in the Analects, as we will see in this sub-section, one can appreciate it regardless of whether one approves the approach of cultivating sentiments in the Analects.108

When we say the Analects proposes a skill of interacting with people, we do not mean it is only behaviour that counts. When one observes others, it is crucial to see what they think or feel behind their action. As mentioned before, a subtle difference in apparently trivial things such as facial-expression, tone, gesture, even position of items can point to a very different underlying psychological state or even character. To develop a sensitivity that takes all relevant differences into account requires a long period of practice. It is the same when a person tries to perform the appropriate action themselves. Knowing how to interact with other people implies at the same time having

108 For a brief discussion of how emotions can be regarded as right or wrong, justified or unjustified, see Taylor 1975: 390-402. Whether her way of justifying emotions are applicable to the Analects or Confucianism in general is not our concern here. The point is to show that the view that emotions are essentially related to moral judgements is not necessarily Confucian. Besides, there is a debate in Western philosophy about whether emotions are reducible to beliefs, or combinations of beliefs and desires. For example, Joel Marks thinks that they are reducible. See Marks 1982: 227-242. Peter Goldie thinks that at least some of them cannot. See Goldie 2000: 18-83. We cannot settle the debate here, and we by no means suggest that this debate is central to the thoughts of the Analects. However, the view in this thesis is that knowledge, including moral knowledge, does not necessarily involve beliefs, for knowledge is manifest in practice. If this is the case, and if, for the Analects, moral knowledge always involves emotions, then we might state that at least in some cases, emotions are not reducible to beliefs.

42 the appropriate inner emotion. Emotions are not mere disposition to act, otherwise whoever performs the same action implies that they have the same emotion. To the extent that they are not tangible as body movements, emotions can be qualified as

‘inner’, in contrast to ‘outer’ behaviours. As emotions are ‘inner’, there is always the possibility for disguise or pretention. Otherwise, the idea of sincerity would never arise

Ёany emotion or sentiment would then be acceptable as long as one’s behaviour is acceptable. For example, during a funeral one can act completely in accordance with what is expected, even with the required facial expressions, but he can still lack the emotion – authentic sorrow in this case – and this is what Confucius regarded as unacceptable (A 3.26). What one feels, or ought to feel, is more important than physical movements. Although we cannot know whether other people do possess certain emotions and sentiments without carefully observing their behaviour (A 1.3, 5.25,

11.21, 12.20), that does not imply that emotions and sentiments are not important when we learn how to interact with others. This point is stressed by Wang Yun-ping who states that ‘the Analects, therefore, is not merely a recording of the things Confucius does but the emotions Confucius manifests. . .Without the manifestation of emotions, the picture of the Confucian ethical aspirations will not be so vivid to us’.109 Ng On-cho further explains the importance of emotions, ‘Confucius does not explicitly and directly explore qing ൣ [emotions], but to him, a full and fulfilled emotional life is deemed to be an integral part of everyday living. . .What Confucius seeks is a life-long joy through the attainment of knowledge. . .Thus, to Confucius, emotion is the natural manifestation of our moral-ethical constitution.’110 This comment rightly points out that possession of appropriate emotions is a goal of attaining knowledge.

Also, to the extent that certain sentiments are more critical than observable behaviour, the idea that the Analects does not concern ‘psychology’ needs to be qualified. Hansen states that,

109 Wang 2008: 355. 110 Ng 1998: 173.

43

Now we can see the relation of Fingarette’s examples to his claims about the

absence of psychology in Confucian thought. Notice that the significance of

Fingarette’s handshake does not rest on any mental or psychological act . . . They

shake hands even if they don’t like each other and shake hands even if they are

insincere about the meaning of the gesture . . . What makes this action handshaking

is the existence of a social practice and not the psychological state . . .111

It might be the case that some practice is acceptable in so far as the observable behaviour is carried out according to the social code. Nevertheless, certain practice requires more than behavioural compliance, such as the requirement of grief in funeral, even if the behaviour is correct such that no one except the agent knows whether this requirement is fulfilled. To be fair, Hansen does not think that Confucius asks people to be automatons that only carry out the behaviour mechanically. However, the claim that two insincere persons can still perform a practice with its social significance seems to underestimate the importance of emotions. In this regard, Wang is correct to state that emotions are important not only because they motivate the agent, but the possession of emotions itself is ethically significant.112 This can be explained by a dialogue between

Confucius and Zai Wo (A 17.21). When Zai Wo objected to the three-year duration of funerals, Confucius replied by asking at once whether he ‘feels at ease’, and not point out his incompliance with social practice. Zai Wo might well be familiar with the behavioural code of funeral, and he might be able to display the required behaviour accordingly. Nevertheless, such a funeral would not retain its significance from

Confucius’s perspective, nor would Confucius admit that Zai Wo really knew about funeral in this case. Recall the Analects 6.20 states that the best person finds joy in what they learn, knowledge therefore implies appropriate emotions.

111 Hansen 1992: 77. 112 Wang 2008: 357.

44

It should be noted that Zai Wo used Confucius’s own words – the emphasis on rituals and music – to argue for the reduction of mourning period. However, the reply of

Confucius seemed to imply that it was only sophistry. For a mourning person, the suspension of other rituals, music and enjoyment is just what follows from an appropriate emotion, authentic sorrow in this case. In most rituals, relevant emotions contribute to the full meaning of performance. To emphasize rituals while neglecting this point, as Zai Wo does, is self-defeating. Therefore, possessing the appropriate emotions and sentiments not only triggers but also constitutes the right practice. This is further confirmed by 6.3:

There was one Yan Hui who was eager to learn. He did not vent his anger upon an

innocent person, nor did he make the same mistake twice.113

In explaining why Yan Hui was the best in learning, Confucius pointed to his excellent mastery of emotions. Yan Hui never expressed his anger in a wrong way, which is something other disciples cannot achieve.

Ideally, interacting with people and cultivating emotions may form a virtuous circle. Possession of certain emotions or sentiments improves one’s skill of social interaction, and the engagement in social interaction helps one cultivate and deepen the sentiments. Eventually, appropriate actions are always accompanied by appropriate emotions, and vice versa. To say that the best persons are those who can find joy in what they know (A 6.20) indicates that one’s preferences and motivations will change when one acquires knowledge, and knowing should eventually be a modification of personality. In case of , not only must I know how to act in a filial way, I must also train myself to a state such that I am drawn to act according to it and finally

(ᖂΔլᔢ৷Δլ၁መΖ (Lau 1979: 81ړृڃᠱڶ 113

45 be satisfied with it.114 A person who does not know how to be filial and another person who fully knows it differ not only in behaviour, but also in personality.

1.5.3 The use of models

Since knowing people involves different skills, and we seldom learn a skill without actual participation or exercise, learning through emulation of models is important. It requires more than simple imitation, because imitation itself does not guarantee appropriateness. One is required to distinguish good models from bad ones (A 7.22) and consider how one’s own deeds can follow those of the good models. Thus the existence of a good model in the first place is necessary. This was highlighted by Confucius most clearly when he talked about how a ruler can transform people’s character by being a good model for them:

. . . Confucius answered, ‘In administering your government, what need is there for

you to kill? Just desire the good yourself and the common people will be good. The

virtue of the paradigmatic person 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.’ 115

Confucius thought that people could become good if their superiors themselves demonstrated what is good by their attitude and behaviour. Such demonstration would have motivational power, like the motion of wind, for people to follow the right path.

Although precisely how the motivational power works is not clearly spelled out, the text suggests there is a form of compliance or emulation carried out without brutal force.

This is how a child learns from its parents or a teenager learns from teachers and

114 This is also consistent with the life path of Confucius (A 2.4). Finally Confucius wants to do what he should do Ёhis character fits so smoothly. For a discussion of how character is related to the rightness of action, see Chong 1998: 101-130. ՗հᐚଅΔ՛Գհᐚ౻Ζ౻ՂհଅΔؘܩ࿳ߎΖاවΛ՗඿࿳ΔۖشΞ֞՗ኙֳΚψ՗੡ਙΔ෫ 115 ೘Ζω (A 12.19, adapted from Lau 1979: 115-116)

46 friends, because an ideal family or ideal friendship involves no force, even though there may be emphasis on discipline. In fact, since the ruler is not directly accessible to most people, we constantly need other models who are closer to us or constantly engaging with us. One such example is family members. Usually they are the first models in one’s life, and one learns from them without being told to do so, and without noticing that they are models. As Fingarette comments on the role of parents,

. . .the deepest foundations of a child’s moral and spiritual education are not

established by lecturing, nagging, ordering, prohibiting, by preaching and verbal

teaching. . .[these techniques are] very different from the influence of the parent as

a model human being for the child. This influence is profound. The deep

foundations of character, and much of superstructure, grow organically,

spontaneously, often insivibly ro all concerned in the course of daily life. . .it is

what the parent is. . .that goes deepest. 116

Fingarette’s point is that a part of what one learns from a model human being cannot be learned by other means, say reciting an abstract principle, because the very interaction between one and the model human being constitutes what kind of person they will become. As we will see in chapter 3 of this thesis, this emphasis on attaining knowledge through interaction and modelling makes early Confucianism different from other strands of thought, such as Mohism.

The training in family enables a person to seek and interact with other models as well, because one usually sees that their family members need to interact with other people in the society. Drawing on the family model, the Analects sometimes mentions the relationship between father and son in parallel with that between ruler and people, and suggests that these two are similar (A 9.16, 12.11, 17.9). Also, whether the son

116 Fingarette 1981: 40.

47 faithfully follows his father’s path is also highlighted as one of the indicators of filial piety (A 1.11, 4.20, 19.18), which in turn forms the basis of compliance towards superiors (A 1.2).117 This, together with the consideration that one nearly inevitably imitates the thought and behaviour of family members at the beginning, leads to the emphasis of filial piety as a foundational theme in the Analects. However, it is not blind obedience. What one follows surely is the right path shown by the superiors, but one can point out their divergence (A 14.22, 19.10), just as Confucius could point out how the rulers infract the rituals. This is the same in serving one’s ruler as well as one’s parents, though it is more difficult to resist the wants of the parents (A 4.18). Beides, when we say ‘the right path’, it does not mean that all models, including different sage kings and other virtuous persons, show us exactly the same pattern of action. Personal variance in acts is allowed just like personal variance in music performance.

Nonetheless the Analects believes all good models eventually point to something common and substantial, like all interpretation of Shao music is still the same piece of work. This is one of the reasons why there is a ‘single thread binding it all together’ (A

4.15, 15.3) yet there is also personal style.

To put the point in the context of ‘knowing people’ more clearly, an important way of learning to know people is interacting with a mature skilful agent who is a good model. For example, consider how one comes to know the proper attitude and behaviour when he meets an elder in a festival. In most cases someone will tell him to bow to the elder and then demonstrate the posture. Of course the physical bow is only part of the

117 It must be noted that the suggestion of the affinity between one’s duty towards parents and one’s duty towards political elites is often criticized, because it aggravates paternalism in politics and expects too much from the ruler. Shi Yuan-kang points out that a distinctive characteristic of Confucian philosophers from pre-Qin to Qing dynasty is that they pay insufficient attention to the difference between family and state, and this attitude is incompatible with modern politics. See Shi 2000: 314-324. Li Chen-yang thinks that pre-Qin Confucian political philosophy is paternalistic, which is at odd with the democratic values. See Li 1997: 187-188. Liu Qing-ping thinks that Confucianism can ‘transform’ itself in order to accommodate the idea of basic rights of all humans, but this would mean that we need to give up the aforementioned affinity and even the supreme importance of filial piety. See Liu 2009: 182-185. For a discussion of how Confucianism can nonetheless be a basis for modern politics, especially democracy, see Tan 2012: 293-303. We are not going to settle the debate here, it suffices to state that early Confucians thought that knowledge is inevitably social or even political. As we will see in 4.3 and 4.5 of this thesis, the social characteristic of knowledge makes Zhuangzi worries that .(إ Confucians focus too much on correctness (zheng

48 courtesy, the remaining parts, especially the nuances in the behaviour and the attitude behind, are to be grasped by observation and reflection. Fingarette notes that sometimes one is expected to make a ‘correlative response’, that is one acquires new skill by trying to co-operate with, rather than exactly copy the model.118

Besides one’s family members and other contemporaries, it might be the case that historical figures can be models too,119 and Confucius often cited them during teaching

(A 5.23, 7.15, 16.12, 18.1, 18.8), indicating that they were exemplary, virtuous or wise people. Of course, as long as we hold that reading or recitation by words is not sufficient for learning, this reading of history cannot replace the demonstration and practice of one’s living models. Nonetheless those figures were deemed paradigmatic and teaching and learning of the classics is also a form of modelling, at least to the extent that a function of the classics is showing paradigms. Disciples of Confucius saw images from the classics such as Shun, King Wen, and Duke of Zhou and were told to trace the right path from ancient times to their own times. This does not mean that one simply follows the past unreflectively, as one important function of being familiar with historical figures is to be aware of the subtle differences among each historical figure and the situations they were in. This awareness helps one to make subtle adjustments when one face their own situations. As Karyn Lai suggests, ‘[Confucian learning from history] alerts individuals to the diversity of situations and the possibilities for action and responses [and provides] material to reflect on in one’s development of critical and reflective skills. . .’.120 Furthermore, modelling the paradigmatic persons in the past reminds one that a person is always situated in a tradition. The Confucian insight here is not whether a student should be ‘brought to understand a set of pre-existing truths’,121

118 Fingarette 1981: 35-36. 119 The difference between historical figures and living models is: we can only emulate historical figures after we have acquired certain amount of knowledge from living models (e.g. how to read a text and discuss it). 120 Lai 2008: 115. 121 This is suggested by Ivanhoe 1990: 474-478. Besides, in page 475, Ivanhoe states that ‘Confucius emphasized the need to study the ancients because this is how one obtains moral knowledge’. However, this ‘moral knowledge’ cannot simply be a set of pre-existing truths, because one cannot be qualified as possessing

49 but to be aware of the profound influence of tradition, regardless of one wants to follow it or change it.

1.6 Criteria of knowledge in the Analects

We now turn to the question of knowledge-attribution: if we accept the view of knowledge in the Analects, what are the criteria we will use for judging that someone possesses knowledge? Due to the practical characteristic of knowledge, the first criterion is the appropriateness of performance. Whether one has discursive knowledge about their practice is neither necessary nor sufficient, but in some cases it might be beneficial. There is also a criterion that is especially relevant when one try to judge whether themselves has knowledge, namely the elimination of confusion or perplexity.

We will look into these three issues in turn.

1.6.1 The appropriate performance

Since knowing people in the Analects is built upon practice, that which differentiates appropriate knowledge from its counterfeits should be something that deals with the quality of practice. True judgements can only be entertained insofar as they contribute to correct performance. For example, in the performance of rituals, misjudgement of someone’s social status may result in misbehaviour. Despite this, the focus is whether one can perform the right task or whether they exercise their skill correctly. One knows a person Y well if they can interact with Y appropriately. A knower is primarily a performer. A good knower makes responses at the right time, right place and uses right words and signals. Consider, for example, 15.8:

knowledge until one’s actual performance is appropriate (see the next section), and it is odd to regard performance as pre-existing truth.

50

To fail to speak to a man who is capable of benefiting is to let a man go to waste.

To speak to a man who is incapable of benefiting is to let one’s words go to waste.

A wise man lets neither men nor words go to waste.122

In this passage we see that a wise person speaks if and only if his audience ‘is capable of benefiting’. In 15.8 we also see that one does not discuss his idea with a ruler who pays no attention whatsoever, and at the same time does not miss a chance when he finds a ruler who is a patient and modest listener. Combining this point with 17.1 which states that a wise person is able to seize opportunities, we might conclude that one should act if and only if the context is worth action. This requires one to grasp all the relevant factors in a situation, and to predict and understand the people they meet.

Whether one succeeds in acting can be observed by other people as well as reflected by themselves. This is one of the criteria of knowledge in the Analects. A complementary passage is 17.1:

‘Can he be called wise, who is anxious to be engaged in public employment, and

yet is constantly losing the opportunity of being so? I should say not. The days and

months are passing away; the years do not wait for us.’

Confucius said, ‘Right; I will go into office.’ 123

This passage reinforces the idea that a good knower seizes the right time and respond to the situation promptly. In most cases, precise timing is a result of long-term practice and gives the participants a sense of satisfaction or perfection. Such perfection reflects a high degree of proficiency as well. Also, since a person must encounter many opportunities in his life, we may project that a better knower is one who can act well in

(ፖߢۖፖհߢΔ؈ߢΖवृլ؈ԳΔٍլ؈ߢΖ (Lau 1979: 133ױፖߢۖլፖհߢΔ؈ԳΙլױ 122 ലܠΖω ψֲִຓߎΔᄣլݺፖΖω ֞՗ֳΚψᘭΔױᘯव׏Λω ֳΚψլױൕࠃۖॻ؈ழΔړψ 123 (ߎΖω (adapted from Lau 1979: 143ד

51 most of the cases, if not all. Even for one single action there is still the requirement of promptness and fluency. Hansen mentions that

What we call is usually the acquired skill to process contextual clues and

react to them quickly enough to adjust our action to ever-changing circumstances...

Intuition yields not propositional knowledge, but timely responses.124

To elaborate, we might consider a musician—this example is not extraordinary as

Confucius himself appreciated music so much and decided to incorporate music into his education scheme. The knowledge of a flute player is manifest in the performance of playing the flute, and the quality of their performance can be assessed without reference to whether they know anything about the music or instrument theory. The flute player’s students might be able to memorize and cite quotations from notes or theoretical books yet still perform poorly. They cannot move their fingers according to the rhythm nor co- ordinate their lips and teeth, thus they do not count as people who know how to play a flute, although they may be good flute-theory-memorization-practice player. Similarly, a paradigmatic person can treat others appropriately, using the right gestures, words and expressing the right attitude, while someone who only starts to learn to be a paradigmatic person may be clumsy and awkward. Furthermore, a good flute player has a playing style which is different from others but still beautiful, and a paradigmatic person also has a unique style of thinking and acting but is still virtuous. Their styles are signs of excellence in practice. Indeed, given the similarity between music and rituals

(A 3.3, 8.8, 11.1, 11.26, 13.3, 14.12, 16.2, 16.5, 17.11, 17.21), a paradigmatic person who knows rituals is similar to a good flute player as both of them stress on performance with an elegant personal style. This is one reason why Lai suggests that the

124 Hansen 1992: 73.

52 moral cultivation of the Analects has some parallels with musical training. When discussing the expression of personal style, Lai states that

The personal aspect in every performance is emphasized particularly in works of

improvisation. When a musician improvises on a piece of music, there are several

important considerations. These include the nature of the piece, its general mood,

structure, length and tempo, and where the improvised section sits within the whole

work. It is in the light of such considerations that a true virtuoso performance

stands out. . .Drawing on this model of improvisation, it is interesting to note the

striking similarities in the modification of [rituals]. . . 125

‘Modification’ here should refer to the subtle adjustments of one’s performance according to the current situation. This is a reason why style is possible. When a paradigmatic person interacts with other people according to the rituals, there are several important considerations. These include the personality of people, the social setting of the place, the resources available, and so on. Hansen’s ‘timely response’ aforementioned is to swiftly find a way that takes all relevant considerations into account and incorporates them in the performance.

However, a person who can make timely responses may not be able to tell in words how to carry out the performance in the right way, while an apprentice may be able to tell others in detail about the right acts. In other words, whether one can spell out in words, either to themselves or others, how they can perform the task smoothly, fluently and even elegantly, is neither a sufficient nor a necessary condition for correct performance. It is not sufficient as both an apprentice and a master may say exactly the same thing when asked to state the guidelines, and it is not necessary because one can become a master without ever being told the rules, provided that the teacher is a good

125 Lai 2003: 123-124.

53 model for emulation. If a person has to justify their performance, that is, to show that their performance is reliable instead of a result of luck, like pressing the right key accidentally when playing instruments, they can show that their performance is satisfactory across different contexts, like a flute player who can play different songs or play a repeatedly without a mistake. In this sense, justification is also a practice.

Reflectively, one might be able to determine whether their knowledge of people is justified by noticing how frequently their words are delivered and actions done appropriately (A 11.14). This is also a skill that needs to be trained.

1.6.2 The relevance of words and discursive knowledge

Are words still relevant to the criteria of knowledge? We may think of it in this way: it is not essential for a knower to put their skills into words, at least not to the same degree of proficiency as their skills. Although Confucius required one to be able to interpret the words of others accurately, as discussed in preceding sections, he did not emphasize the cleverness in speech or fine words in speaking. This, together with the precaution taken against plausible people (A 11.25), is probably based on the thought that words can have a highly misleading power, and that one’s words had better be kept within the scope of what one has actually done or performed.

However, as verbal explanation is able to transmit what one knows to other people, it is possible that the ability to explain one’s performance, a kind of discursive knowledge,126 can still be relevant to one’s skill. Given the same quality of

126 There is an on-going debate in contemporary Western philosophy about whether this discursive knowledge is fundamentally a knowing-that, and whether other abilities or knowing-how one might possess are reducible to knowing-that. This view is called intellectualism. Fantl: 2008: 451-459 offers a brief summarization of the debate about intellectualism. According to Fantl, Ryle was most responsible for bringing the debate to the forefront of epistemology. See Ryle 1945: 1-16. Although Ryle seems to think that intellectualism was originated by ancient Greek philosophers such as , Smith 1998: 129-161 thinks that ancient Greek philosophers focused on technê rather than simply knowing-how or knowing-that. This might make the ancient Greek epistemology closer to ancient Chinese epistemology. Besides, Fantl 2008: 464-466 mentions that there are perhaps different ‘levels’ of knowing-how, the higher levels being that one is able to reflect on one’s own knowledge. This implies that one’s skill is improved when one is able to explain it, which comes close to our point that being able to transmit one’s knowledge, at least in some occasions, is a better form of knowledge. That being said, it should be emphasized that the distinction between knowing-how and knowing-that is alien to the Analects, and to pre-Qin Chinese philosophy in general.

54 performance, the ability to use words can, though not necessarily, make it easier to teach the skill to others, as Confucius did on several occasions (A 2.5, 11.22, 11.26,

13.3). In other words, since a better knower can make others know, and the skill of interacting with people is not something ineffable,127 it is acceptable that words are beneficial when they lead people to do what is appropriate. One’s reflection on, and explanation of, one’s own practice actually makes it more reliable.

That being said, the view in the Analects is that one should always pay more attention to practice, as we noted in the last sub-section that verbal expression is neither necessary not sufficient for knowledge. The ability to act and achieve deserves more attention than the ability to speak and teach, that is why arguing is never regarded as something important in the text. Strictly speaking, in 17.21, Confucius did not argue with Zai Wo, but only pointed to his deficiency in character. For Confucius, such deficiency can only be removed after practice, not just the understanding of words.

Another dimension of relevance of words concerns vindication, for example to show that a particular act in the past is appropriate.128 Vindication is also a skill but it is a skill of using words. A. S. Cua has explained the characteristics of vindication:

To justify his ruling in exigent situations is in effect to vindicate himself, to clear

away any suspicion or charge of a wrong or arbitrary action . . . The process of

vindication is a dialogic process, i.e. an open discourse that may well involve a

wide range of factors not readily captured in some predetermined set of criteria of

relevance.129

.(֚ There is something in Confucius’s teaching that may be ineffable (A 17.19), which is about Heaven (Tian 127 Confucius noticed that Heaven functions without words, so it might be the case that the function of Heaven is ineffable. That being said, Confucius still needed to tell others that Heaven does function (A 7.23, 9.5). 128 Examples are the Analects 7.29, 14.32, 17.7, in which Confucius was asked to show why his act was right. 129 Cua 1973: 60-61.

55

There is no predetermined set of criteria as vindication has no fixed rules such that one must master those rules before one can carry out the practice. One learns how to vindicate oneself just like one learns how to greet others, give an order, share a joke (A

17.4). These are learnt without being told the rules. That is why we say it is a skill.

However, since vindication involves justification, one might state that there are certain rules that determine whether an act of justification is reasonable, such as the logical rules governing inferences. Are these rules ‘predetermined set of criteria’? A Confucian might reply that it is not necessary for one to learn the logical rules in order to master the skill of vindication; otherwise Confucius should have been trained in these rules.

Besides, learning the logical rules is not sufficient, as there are other factors that one must consider in vindication. An example is the choice of words and tone that can best express the speaker or writer’s sincerity, which is essential for vindication. This choice of words and tone is context-sensitive and cannot be predetermined by rules.

Furthermore, though Cua only mentions exigent situations, in normal situations an agent can still be required to justify their past acts, especially when people requiring justification foresee that they will act differently under similar conditions, hence a need for reconciliation. In normal situations, such as one trying to justify the arrangement for a funeral, one’s justification is constrained by the rituals, but knowing rituals is still different from knowing some predetermined rules.

If we are asked, ‘how do you justify that you know how to conduct an orchestra appropriately?’ We may actually do it to show our capability. If the question is ‘how do you justify that, at that particular past moment, you knew how to conduct an orchestra appropriately?’ We would often rely on speech or writing to express our justification.

At this point, discursive knowledge is helpful. But it must be associated with the awareness of different factors relevant to the audience, that is people130 who demand

130 It can include the agent themselves.

56 justification. Since different people need different words to understand why someone knows something, the skill of justification is related to the skill of knowing people.

1.6.3 The elimination of huo ༝

A criterion of knowledge, stated negatively, is that there is no huo ᖺ in the knower.

Some scholars translated the term in 9.29, 14.28 into ‘perplexity’,131 some give the translation ‘in two minds’132, others use ‘confusion’.133

From the text, an obvious point is that huo ᖺ is a state to be avoided, the question is how it should be described. We may first consider the term ‘perplexity’ as a translation of ‘huo ༝’. It seems to involve at least two possibilities, though they do not cover all the meanings of ‘huo ༝’: the first is being unable to figure out which alternative is the best, given the principle of choice, for example given that one should make a proposal that will please the king, one may still be unable to predict what kind of proposal will be welcomed by the king. A second possibility is being unable to proceed at all because the agent fails to grasp even the direction of their action. For example, imagine a person sees the king in court for the first time and does not know what they should or should not do; they have no idea of what is appropriate to the scenario. Though these two possibilities show different defects in ability, they have one thing in common, namely the agent has to hesitate and, probably, seek guidance. This is usually accompanied by anxiety, worry, frustration or fear. It may be the case for 11.22, in which Gong Xi Hua told Confucius that he could not understand Confucius’s different attitudes towards Zi Lu and Ran You.

Nonetheless, there are also three other possibilities of huo ༝ in which the agent is proceeding, without hesitation or the need for considering alternatives, the first being a loss of self-control due to overwhelming emotions, such as anger (A 12.21). The agent

131 Legge 1966. 132 Lau 1979, Hall and Ames 1987. Hall and Ames also state that huo ༝ is a kind of confusion. See Hall and Ames 1987: 55-56. 133 Graham 1989: 28-29.

57 in a good temper might act without any problem, but the force of anger makes them

‘forget the safety of themselves or even that of their parents’, that is they forget to take important factors into consideration, resulting in a temporary deviation from appropriateness. This supports the claim that cultivation of sentiments is indispensable on the path towards being a paradigmatic person.

The second possibility is inconsistency. An example is that when one wanted another person to live because of and simultaneously die because of hate (A 12.10).

The agent might not be aware of such inconsistent emotions so they might not be like a person who is frustrated when facing alternatives. When interpreting this case, Herbert

Fingarette emphasizes that ‘the meaning is not that of mind in doubt as to which course to choose but of a person being inconsistent in his desires or acts’.134 This is right to the extent that one does not choose to love or hate, so Fingarette’s point that the idea of choice is not applicable to a person in huo ༝ is reasonable, though the idea might still be relevant in other contexts.135

Regardless of whether the inconsistent emotions or actions are discovered, it implies that the agent is unable to give a reliable and comprehensive evaluation of others. In the long term, inconsistency implies unreliable practice and goes against fluent performance. It also implies deviation from appropriateness. When Confucius said that only a person with perfect virtue ‘is capable of liking or disliking others’,136 he did not mean that ordinary people cannot, or should not express their likes and dislikes.

Rather, he worried that thry could not constantly and consistently like those who should be liked, and dislike those who should be disliked. In contrast, the emotions of a person with perfect virtue are always in accordance with the requirement of the virtue.

The last possibility concerns the case in the Analects 14.36, in which someone said the minister was convinced of a slander against Zi Lu. Believing in slander is not

134 Fingarette 1972: 21-23. 135 It is not clear whether choice is totally absent in the Analects since one is supposed to have a personal style in performing the rituals, and it is hard to think that style involves no choice at all. (Գ౨༞Գ (A 4.3, Lau 1979: 72ړഄոृ౨ 136

58 always inconsistent, though it is always inappropriate, that is, the agent showed a lack of ability to distinguish the words of others. ‘Huo ༝’ here might refer not to any contradictory beliefs, emotions or acts of the minister, but to their deviation from the right path. Had a person taken any action based on the slander, it would have moved them further away. They might be led astray, but still be acting without hesitation.

Therefore, ‘huo ༝’ can exist even if the agent does not feel or identify any problem by themselves. The five possibilities in this section explain how one can locate failures when they proceed along the right path, that is, the path of becoming a paradigmatic person.

1.7 Value of knowledge in the Analects

For the Analects, teaching, learning and examination of one’s words and behaviour have a purpose: the moral improvement of individual and society. This is also the answer one should give when being asked why a person should pursue knowledge. We are going to discuss the effect of knowledge on personality and socio-political life, and clarify that knowledge is not merely a means although it serves a purpose.

1.7.1 The effect on personality and socio-political life

In the Analects, the main concerns are always self-cultivation and social order. The issue of knowing, ability or skill receives attention primarily because it contributes to realization of the ideal personality, personal relationships and government. The focus is the use and value of knowing. When people think one should know something, their concern is eventually directed to how to act it out, and what kind of person would an individual, or people in general, becomes if it is done. Cua calls this ‘the primary of practice’, and he explains by quoting Munro’s claim:

The consideration important to the Chinese is the behavioural implications of belief

or proposition in question. What effect does adherence to the belief have on

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people? . . . there was no thought of ‘knowing that did not entail some consequence

for action.’137

Instead of caring much about justification, their attention is focused on the role of knowledge in the context of personal development or social governance. We have already mentioned that wisdom as a virtue is an essential component of the perfect virtue, ren ո. This can be further supported by the observation that what is known when the text mentions knowing: besides knowing people, knowing ren ո, he (๺, harmony) (A 1.12), li ៖ (A 2.23, 3.15), de ᐚ (A 15.4) are the most common examples.

All these refer to certain human relationship, or qualities that help to sustain such relationship and shape a paradigmatic person. It is fair to say that a good knower is already on the way to becoming a paradigmatic person.

Besides, we can also consider the ‘primary of practice’ in a social and political dimension. The appointment of Yi Yin by King Tang has already reflected the social embedding of knowing. Knowing is valuable because it brings about social order: when we combine 12.22, ‘raise the upright and set them over the crooked’ with 2.19:

The Duke Ai asked, ‘What must I do before the common people will look up to

me?’

Confucius answered, ‘Raise the upright and set them over the crooked and the

common people will look up to you. Raise the crooked and set them over the

upright and the common people will not look up to you.’ 138

The phrase ‘Raise the upright and set them over the crooked’ means knowing how to select people, that is part of what we mean by knowing people. The person selected

137 Cua 1996: 154. լࣚΖω (LauاࣚΙᜰࣩᙑ壆ऴΔঞاࣚΛω ֞՗ኙֳΚψᜰऴᙑ壆ࣩΔঞا঩ֆംֳΚψ۶੡ঞ 138 1979: 65)

60 knows how to govern the people, that is another part of knowing people. Why must the upright know how to govern the people? To ask the question more generally, why must a virtuous person know how to handle social and political relationships? It is because, as we have discussed, the text seems to say that human relationships form the basis of politics and society. So, learning how to treat one’s parents, brothers, elders, and friends appropriately is also learning how to treat one’s superiors and the masses. When

Confucius taught his students, he surely expected them to perform well in various important scenarios (A 6.8, 11.26, 13.20), especially political ones. He sometimes explained knowledge in terms of its function in public affairs (A 6.22). Some of his disciples think it is problematic for a learned person to withdraw from politics (A 18.7), because to learn involves devoting oneself to being a paradigmatic person who can be a model for others and, therefore, also suitable to participate in government.

Consequently, the way that knowledge helps social order is twofold: in one way, it is good for the people to learn how to perform well different tasks according to their role or status, to fit into the network of interaction. In another way it is good for the ruler to know how to choose officials and treat the people with care and concern (A

17.4). These two ways may form a virtuous circle: the ruler being the model who helps the people engage in self-cultivation (A 12.17), and the people accordingly know how to behave properly and gradually find joy in the process of cultivation, with the result that the society as a whole is more stable.

For people who engage in self-cultivation, why is their personality compatible with and even supports social order? In the vision of the Analects it is because the process of self-cultivation entails the internalization of rituals, which are supposed to make human interaction harmonious and cause each person to respect the tradition in which they receive education and nurture. The tradition is respected not simply because older is better, but because one comes to realize that any action or change of action must start with the tradition. The codes of rituals guide and regulate everyone’s life from personal diet to the behaviour in court. Since these codes constitute the criteria of appropriateness

61 of performance, internalization of them by everyone in the society would minimize conflict and give each person a suitable ‘place to stand’.

1.7.2 Knowledge as means or end?

Given the previous discussion, one may wonder if knowledge in the Analects has no intrinsic value. This would mean that we do not treasure knowledge as such, but only circumscribed by the need for self-cultivation, to become a virtuous person and, if chance permits, an upright official in the government. All knowledge is entertained only in so far it can at least be conceived to facilitate self-cultivation. As we have suggested, this is probably the motivation for seeking knowledge. Nevertheless, this does not imply that knowledge has no intrinsic value. When we talk about means-end relationships, we sometimes think that the means merely helps to realize the end, but the means is no longer valuable if the end is secured or achieved. For example, we take medicine in order to recover health, and medicine is valuable only when there is illness. It is no longer needed if we can stay healthy all the time. On the other hand, it is possible for the means to be internalized in the end, that is, the means helps to realize and sustain the end. In this case, even the end is realized, it is impossible to withdraw or cease the means without ceasing the end. This is common in the cases of skill. Suppose one wants to be a professional flute player. In order to attain this end, one learns how to use the flute, how to move the fingers, memorize the rhythm, catch the right time during performance, and so on, all of which eventually lead to their achievement as a flute player, yet they still need the skill and exercise because they are qualified as a good player only as long as they are able to demonstrate those skills. Therefore, while the skill as a means leads to the achievement as an end, the means at the same time constitutes the end. Regarding self-cultivation, a person’s individuality is shaped by their interaction with other people and the cultivation of sentiments, together with all the skills they have obtained. Thus, one cannot at some point claim that they are able to abandon knowledge without denying the whole project of self-cultivation. Although one

62 may say that the value of knowledge is derived from the value of perfect virtue, in the sense that the latter has evaluative priority, the perfect virtue cannot be sustained without the existence of knowledge. There is no point at which a person can remove themselves from their life-long practice. No doubt Confucius would think himself as one who is always pursuing knowledge (A 7.19).

1.8 Conclusion

In this chapter, we have seen why and how the Analects tackled the issue of knowing, that is by placing knowing in the context of self-cultivation and social order. To know is to be able to think, feel and act in the way of a paradigmatic person, which is the crux of personality development. The Analects projects the ideal personality as wholly virtuous and who has internalized the Confucian rituals. To measure a person’s knowing is to measure how much they have realized this goal.

In next chapter, we will turn to another view of self-cultivation and a different conception of ideal personality, in which the Confucian virtues, rituals and even learning are not considered as enhancements. This is the elusive and ambiguous discourse in a complicated text, the Daodejing.

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Chapter 2 The idea of zhi ⍮ in the Daodejing: twofold view of knowledge

2.1 Introduction

This chapter examines the idea of zhi व in the Daodejing139 to highlight the difference in the idea between the Daodejing and the Analects. This difference is important to understanding the Zhuangzi, as some ideas in the Zhuangzi can be seen as a development of, or response to, the Daodejing.140

The Daodejing is an elusive and ambiguous text. Although such features might have been intended by the author, or authors, to be part of the messages of the text, they also make interpretation less definite and we probably have to accept the possibility that any interpretation cannot reach the same certainty as when we interpret the Analects.

However, at the same time we must remember that the Daodejing shares a basic insight of the Analects, that is the discussion or reflection of knowledge can always be put in the context of self-cultivation or social order, although their resemblance vanishes when we see the method of self-cultivation of the two texts.

2.2 Value of knowledge in the Daodejing

We mention the Daodejing after the Analects, not because the Daodejing as a text is dated later than the Analects,141 but because some points in the Daodejing might be better understood in contrast with other doctrines. In this section, we first note that while knowledge and wisdom in the Analects are explicitly valued for their enhancement of self-cultivation and social order, the attitude towards them is twofold in the Daodejing: the text criticizes conventional knowledge but upholds great knowledge.

139 Main references for translation of the Daodejing are Chan 1963 and Lau 2001with some amendments. Sometimes we slightly modify the order of sentences according to Chen 2003 and Liu 2006. Throughout this thesis, references to the Daodejing are represented by a ‘D’ and the numbers corresponding to relevant chapters in a bracket, such as (D 7). 140 We believe that most of the chapters of the Daodejing were written before the Zhuangzi. See note 141. 141 Chen Gu-ying has given extensive evidence to support the claim that the Daodejing should be dated before Confucius. See Chen 2007: 5-52. Note that this does not mean that the extant version of the Daodejing is also dated before Confucius.

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Next, we will discuss the effect of conventional knowledge on government and self- cultivation. Then we will discuss the effect of great knowledge as well.

2.2.1 Two views of knowledge

Unlike the Analects, some passages in the Daodejing criticize zhi व harshly:

Abandon the wise, discard the eloquent,142 And the people will benefit a

hundredfold . . .143

The reason why the people are difficult to govern is that they possess too much

knowledge. Hence to rule a state by wisdom will be to the detriment of the state;

not to rule a state by wisdom will be a boon to the state.144

These two passages suggest that the people or the state will be improved when knowledge or wisdom (zhi व) does not prevail in the society. They also seem to suggest that knowledge is detrimental to the well-being of people. If we assume that a society generally upholds the pursuit of wisdom, these passages can be regarded as a critique of conventional social practices. Yet on the other hand, there are other passages that approve knowledge or wisdom:

142 Even in ancient Chinese, the Daodejing has different versions. One of the versions states ‘abandon sageliness, discard zhi’ (jue sheng zhi ࿪ᆣඵव) instead of ‘abandon zhi, discard the eloquent’ (jue zhi qi bian ࿪वඵ ᥯). See Liu 2006: 230-242. Nonetheless, the textual difference needs not burden us here. It suffices to say that there is evidence to claim that the Daodejing does oppose zhi, or at least some kind of zhi. (଍Ζ (D 19, Chan 1963: 149ۍܓا࿪वඵ᥯Δ 143 ཕएഏΔഏհ壂Ζ (D 65, adapted from Lau 2001: 96-אཕएഏΔഏհᇶΔլאΖਚڍࠡཕאհᣄएΔا 144 97)

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Know the male but keep to the role of the female, and be a ravine to the empire . . . Know the white but keep to the role of the disgraced, and be a valley to the empire.145

. . . Know contentment and you will suffer no disgrace; know when to stop and you will meet with no danger. You can then endure.146

Here, both passages seem to recommend knowing something. The first quoted passage describes how the sage governs the empire by first knowing a series of methods, while the second quoted passage offers advice for those who want to endure, though the original text lacks the subject of last sentence, so it is unclear what can endure. These passages tell us that the Daodejing does not always reject knowledge. There is something that can be known, and there is something one had better know if one wants to achieve certain goals.

To maintain coherence, it seems acceptable to think that the term ‘zhi’ in different contexts has different references. We will discuss the different references in next three sub-sections, but here we have already sensed that the text has a subtler view of ‘zhi’ than does the Analects: it criticizes that certain kinds of knowledge are in some sense detrimental, that such knowledge may actually pull people away from their ideal state, while there is another kind of knowledge that helps people avoid or minimize such unfavourable effects. We begin with an elaboration of the first kind of knowledge.

2.2.2 Conventional knowledge and its effect on government

Since the Daodejing criticizes conventional social practice, we might call the kind of knowledge rejected in the text ‘conventional knowledge’. It is rejected most of the time

(Ζ (D 28, adapted from Lau 2001: 40-43ڤࠡ႕Δ੡֚ՀښࠡᎿΔ੡֚Հ᝘ΞवࠡػΔښवࠡႂΔ 145 (९ՆΖ (D 44, Lau 2001: 64-65אױवߩլಫΔवַլ੃Ι 146

66 in a context where the text talks about the nature or method of government. Besides the aforementioned chapters 19 and 65, there is chapter 3:

Not to honour men of worth will keep the people from contention; not to value rare goods will keep them from theft; not to display what is desirable will keep their hearts from being disturbed. Therefore in governing the people . . . He always keeps them innocent of knowledge and free from desire, and ensures that the people with knowledge never dare to act . . .147

Here we see a similar rationale to that in the Analects, that is when we judge the value of knowledge we consider its effect in the social and political context. However, the

Daodejing criticizes conventional knowledge because it fails to preserve two necessary conditions of a good society: the first is the peaceful relationship among people, indicated by absence of theft and contention; the second is the peace in people’s hearts, indicated by absence of disturbance. Actually, according to the text, conventional knowledge might aggravate social problems. Chapter 3 tells us ‘not to honour men of worth’ which, at first glance seems to mean that men of worth are problematic. Suppose this is so, it is confusing: if men of worth are problematic, are we supposed to honour worthless men? This would seem self-contradictory, but one might reply that the text here is specifically criticizing ‘men of worth’ in Confucianism or Mohism, such as the

Analects 4.17, 13.2, 15.10; and the Mohist doctrine of ‘exalting worthiness’ (sheng

ࡸᔃ); not all kinds of ‘men of worth’.148 However, this seems to allow that the

Daodejing implicitly admits that some kinds of ‘men of worth’ should be honoured, provided that they are not honoured by Confucians or Mohists. There is no passage in

ྤاᆣԳհएΞൄࠌאլ႖Ζਢ֨ا඿Δࠌױլ੡࿋ΙլߠاլञΙլ၆ᣄ൓հຄΔࠌاլࡸᔃΔࠌ 147 (वྤ඿Δࠌ֛ཕृլཊ੡ՈΖ (adapted from Chan 1963: 140-141, Lau 2001: 6-7 148 Schwartz once states that the Daodejing rejects certain Mohist ideas and quotes chapter 3 as an example. See Schwartz 1985: 191. However, from a historical perspective, it is doubtful whether the writer (or writers) of the Daodejing aimed at rejecting Mohism. See the discussion in Chen 2007: 15-16, 22-23.

67 the Daodejing that supports this view. Besides, Chen Gu-ying highlights the fact that the idea of promoting ‘men of worth’ was popular in the Spring and Autumn period, not just confined to Confucianism and Mohism.149 In other words, when the text criticizes

‘men of worth’, it is criticizing the general practice of honouring ‘men of worth’, including but not limited to the Confucian and Mohist conception of ‘men of worth’.

Another possible interpretation is to shift the point of attention to the very act of

‘honouring’. In this way the problem does not reside in choosing what kind of men we should honour, instead, the problem becomes that people are driven to contention by the promotion of some people by the ruler or, more generally, that the ruler displays his favour towards people with certain characteristics. The reason why the text mentions men of worth may just be that it is the conventional practice. When the ruler honours them, everyone willing to follow the ruler would be provoked into competing with each other in order to gain the ruler’s honour. While the Analects would allow that it is alright, and most of the time favourable, for the ruler to explicitly advocate certain kinds of people as role models or paradigms, the Daodejing worries that this might bring about unrest rather than peace. The ruler may finally get what he wants only at a great cost—fierce or even harmful competition, just as in the case of people stealing from each other when the value of goods is promoted. Sometimes it could be much worse: during competition people may strive hard only ‘to be recognized as men of worth’ but not ‘to be men of worth’. Thus the policy induces pretentiousness and hypocrisy, as in chapter 18, ‘great hypocrisy comes after wisdom’, ‘wisdom’ here refers to clever distinction and institution.150 Pretentiousness and hypocrisy will be even more likely to occur if the government seeks to use rules to control or manipulate the people to enforce the policy, since fear or uneasiness is opposing to trust and devotion (D 38, 57). Yet even if people deemed as men of worth are really men of worth, they may be praised

149 Chen 2007: 15-16. 150 Chapter 18 in the common version of the text contains the sentence ‘...... when wisdom appears there is great Օೕ), but this sentence does not appear in the same chapter of theڶנhypocrisy’ (zhi hui chu you da wei ཕᐝ Guodian strips version. That being said, the wordings of the Guodian strips do not oppose to our interpretation here.

68 and respected not because they are men of worth, but because they are deemed as men of worth. In other words, the government is successful in promoting the men of worth, but the result is that people respect them for the wrong reason.

When people are not made conscious of the distinction between men of worth and worthless men, there is no motivation to treat men of worth as special. By honouring men of worth, people learn to dislike worthless men. This is similar to the case in chapter 2 of the Daodejing, which states that we know what is beautiful at the same time when we also know what is not beautiful. Again, these labels may induce people not to dislike ‘men of worthless’ but ‘men recognized as worthless’. Even if people deemed as worthless are really so, they may be despised and hated, not because they are worthless men, but because they are deemed to be worthless men. The whole set of our responses towards them is constructed by the scheme of distinction implemented by government. Again, the case of theft is similar: when the government implements a distinction between valuable and valueless goods, people learn to like the valuable and dislike the not valuable even though the goods may not be intrinsically valuable.

However, in practice, people may focus on the value of possession of goods rather than the value of goods. Failure to possess may become a stigma and hence a stimulus to steal. The more kinds of distinction between valuable and valueless that people have in mind, that is, the more conventional knowledge they have, the more probable it will be that they cannot possess all the goods, and the more probable that they would risk themselves to obtain them. This is why conventional knowledge is not beneficial to social order and the text recommends that the government had better not urge the people to spend their time and effort on a particular ‘preferable’ goal. A result of not ruling by conventional knowledge is ‘that the people with knowledge never dare to act’. It can mean that the people with conventional knowledge dare not use their cleverness for self- gain, because there is no chance for pretentiousness and hypocrisy. Or it can mean that the people with great knowledge dare not act when the action might induce too many desires and fail to preserve spontaneity, as we will see in 2.2.4 of this thesis.

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2.2.3 Conventional knowledge and its effect on self-cultivation

Another major reason for dismissing conventional knowledge is that it is detrimental to self-cultivation. This can be explained by two related reasons: the first one concerns desires, the second one concerns spontaneity ( ⥄ὼ).

By ‘desire’ we mean generally the impulse, strong or mild, to acquire something and the feeling of being drawn towards that thing (for example, D 29, 46).151 A necessary condition of desire is preference and conventional knowledge always comes with preferences.

People who know what is meant by ‘men of worth’ would at the same time treat men of worth differently, ascribing a higher status to them, and prefer to become men of worth themselves. The same applies to goods and abstract values, such as beauty. Only when we are able to compare two or more things will we be able to have preferences, and only when we have preference will we have desire. Otherwise we will just see things indifferently without any motivation to pursue, aspire, occupy, and so on. Chad

Hansen notes that,

. . . It requires not only correct distinctions, but correct desires associated with the

distinctions. The Daoist twist is this. Learning social distinctions typically involves

internalizing society’s preferences . . . This is because we learn names by

mimicking their use in guiding choices in ordinary contexts. We do not learn them

in classes by recitation. Hence we learn to let names guide us to make the same

choices that our social models (teachers) do.152

For now, we will leave it open whether it is mainly ‘names’ that function in guiding behaviour. But the point is that the accumulation of conventional knowledge leads to

151 This conception of desire focuses only on its psychological quality and practical implication, not on its ontological nature, if any. 152 Hansen 1992: 212.

70 instilling more and more desire in a person. This is a process of socialization: internalizing what is external. During this process one gains more and more desires. The problem with increasing desires has two aspects: first, it initiates conflict and struggle among people, thus undermining one’s relationship with others. Secondly, it can endanger one’s life, as ‘there is no disaster greater than not being content’.153 When one desires more and more, it is more likely for they to risk themselves for the object of desire. Hence their health will be more likely to be harmed, and their hearts154 will lose the direction and concentration, resulting in a deep feeling of dissatisfaction and frustration (D 12). Such feeling, being irritating in themselves, can also make a person persist in chasing their desires even at the expense of their security. That is why the text asks the questions with sorrow in chapter 44,

Name or person, which is dearer?

Person or goods, which is worth more?

Gain or loss, which is a greater bane?

That’s why excessive meanness is sure to lead to great expense;

Too much store is sure to end in immense loss . . .155

The word ‘name’ here refers to the ‘preferred name’ resulting from a distinction.156 For example, when there is a distinction between wealthy and poor, people love the name

153 ጞ๕Օ࣍լवߩ (D 46, Lau 2001: 66-69) Heart (xin ֨)’ is not an important idea in the Daodejing. Here, it suffices to say that it is the faculty‘ 154 responsible for emotion, reasoning and judgement. It bears both cognitive and sentimental functions. The reason why it is not translated into ‘heart-mind’ is because using two terms may mislead the readers to think that Chinese thinkers already make the distinction between heart and mind. Using the term ‘heart’ also makes it in ’(֨ګ easier to combine with other terms to form a more subtle idea, such as ‘completed heart (cheng xin the Zhuangzi. See 4.5 of this thesis. ؘদՋΖ (adapted from Lau 2001: 64-៲ڍΛ൓ፖՋഩఐΛਢਚ੷ფؘՕ၄ΔڍፖߪഩᘣΛߪፖຄഩټ 155 67)

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‘wealthy’ and desire to acquire the name ‘wealthy’. The last two sentences remind us that desire can also be restrictive: that is, because of meanness, one may be eager not to lose one’s possessions instead of being eager to add to one’s treasure, so one becomes too hesitant to act. But this kind of restrictive desire is also harmful: the more insistently one guards his treasure, the more anxious they would be, and the more dissatisfied and frustrated when those things are lost.

Another way in which knowledge disrupts self-cultivation is more subtle: knowledge suppresses spontaneity (ziran ⥄ὼ). There are many translations of the term

‘ziran ’. The most famous two are ‘nature’ and ‘spontaneity’. Both of them are acceptable, depending on which part of the text the interpreter is focusing on. If we view ‘ziran’ as the ideal development or transformation of all things, ‘spontaneity’ may be better since it sounds more dynamic.157 It is not a completed or finished state, but always involves continuous movement, change or transformation.158 To grasp what spontaneity is, we start with chapter 51:

Dao ሐ generates them; virtue rears them;

Things shape them; circumstances complete them.

Therefore the myriad creatures all revere dao and honour virtue.

Dao is revered and virtue honoured without anyone’s order, it always comes

spontaneously . . .159

the myriad creatures ,160 but the process of generation is (س Dao ሐ generates (sheng not intentional. It involves nothing like will, plan, command or manipulation. Such a

ω(being famous) in theټګωhere does not refer to ‘names’ in general, it has similar meaning as ψټψ 156 Analects 9.2. Being famous implies one acquires a ‘good name’ or a ‘preferred name’, not just any name. This .’?ፖߪഩᘣ can be translated into ‘Fame or person, which is dearerټ is also a reason why the sentence 157 For a brief comparison between these two translations, see Lai 2007: 325-327. 158 Wang 1995: 11. 159 Adapted from Chan 1963: 163.

72 process is spontaneous, not in the sense that it is chaotic or irrational, but in the sense that it lacks deliberate planning or control. The text makes a contrast between ‘ordered’ and ‘spontaneous’. ‘Order’ (ming ๮, here as a verb) in ancient Chinese has a cluster of meanings, the most relevant ones here are ‘giving an order’ and ‘giving a name’. Both would suggest something unfavourable in the view of the text. We have discussed the problem of government giving orders in the preceding section. Here, we see that the practice of giving orders, even outside the government, fails to ‘revere’ dao. This reverence is different from the reverence of a particular person or not only because there is no one giving orders, but also because the myriad creatures are not aware of that they are revering something. This can be seen by the description in chapter 17 that, for an ideal ruler, the people neither love nor praise him. Since an ideal ruler models dao in various aspects (more will be said in 2.5.1 of this thesis), and dao gives no order, it is reasonable to suggest that the myriad creatures neither love nor praise dao, which is not an anthropomorphic being after all. The reverence, therefore, can only be manifest in their modelling of dao (D 25), which is nothing more than the spontaneous development of myriad creatures. Ideally, there is no deliberate force needed to give things life, rear them, shape them and bring them to maturity. All creatures can have their own development free from intervention or manipulation. However, the frequent human orders spoil this situation. The promotion of a particular value, such as wealth, men of worth or rituals, risks distorting the spontaneous development of the myriad creatures.

Another sense of ‘ming’,‘giving names’, which is equal to making distinctions and thus adding to conventional knowledge, causes the same problem. Ideally, one’s self- development is allowed without being bounded or manipulated. It follows its own way.

This is the original meaning of ‘ziran’: ‘self-so’. It is typically characterized by the lack of violence, propaganda or interference. Of course, it does not reject any external

160 In the whole chapter 2 of this thesis, the term ‘dao ሐ’ is left untranslated so as to preserve its ambiguity and avoid the English grammatical requirement of putting an article before it. For a discussion about the meaning of the term and its association with knowledge, see section 2.3 of this thesis. Besides, I use the term ‘generate’ .because ‘create’ too easily suggests a ,س rather than ‘create’ to translate the Chinese word

73 influence, which would be impossible,161 but it rejects that someone forces or manipulates another to change their self-development. If a person fixes their eyes on a name, they may be deliberately following an ‘external’ guidance. It is external because the distinction is imposed and not made by themselves,yet he devotes his attention and energy as if it is the only right way for him.

Here we find why the text seems to move us to view the Analects with caution and perhaps regret. This is because the Analects seems to suppose that the society should be run by a series of names, each one prescribing how people should behave when they bear those names. This is the doctrine of (A 12.11, 13.3). The

Analects takes the distinction between names very seriously, and believes this will eventually be beneficial to the self-cultivation of people, so this is the right thing they should do. The Daodejing is doubtful whether these distinctions can really achieve their purpose, given that they are no less ‘external’ than other possible sorts of distinction, say, a society ruled by a power that uses different names, like Legalism. Let us think about a simple example: suppose people are taught to be polite. That is, they are taught to make a distinction between being polite and impolite, and value the former. Before that, they had no idea of politeness. Now, if people are already living together peacefully, such teaching will be redundant and may make someone greet others politely not because they really want to, but because they have to conform to the new norm. This seems to contradict the point of politeness, because it would be fake politeness. What if people are impolite before the introduction of the idea of politeness?

Would it not be helpful for the introduction to correct their behaviour? But how does one know that they are impolite, unless they have already accepted the distinction between being polite and impolite? Moreover, if someone senses that their attitude towards other people needs to be changed, it can be done in a way that does not require the imposition of the rule of politeness. Therefore, the obligation to be polite and the

161 Liu 2006: 210-211.

74 requirement to shape one’s behaviour according to this norm is also viewed as a kind of intervention of one’s spontaneity, a less violent but more penetrating one. If the problem of desires is that they trigger disturbance by driving the heart simultaneously in different directions, the problem of suppressing spontaneity is that it imposes constraints by interfering with the person’s self-development.

2.2.4 Knowledge as upheld in the Daodejing

The text introduces another form of knowledge, using the term ‘zhi’ favourably, in the social and political context. To contrast this knowledge with the unfavourable knowledge, we may call it ‘great knowledge (da zhi ᄢ⍮)’. This term does not appear in the text, but the term ‘great’ is sometimes used to distinguish a certain quality or characteristic from its conventional counterparts, such as ‘great skill (da qiao ᄢᏁ)’ (D

45) as opposed to ‘skill (qiao Ꮑ)’ (D 57), ‘great eloquence (da bian ᄢㄕ)’ (D 45) as opposed to ‘disputation (bian ㄕ)’. In the text, skill is not welcomed but great skill is praised; disputation is criticized, but great eloquence is exalted. So, in order to distinguish between two forms of knowledge, we use the term ‘great’.

The value of great knowledge is sometimes mentioned negatively, which means that it is manifested in understanding the shortcomings of conventional knowledge (D

57, 65). A ruler understanding this would not be keen on multiplying names and orders.

The result as described in chapter 57 is:

. . . Hence the sage says,

I take wuwei (ྤ੡, non-action) and the people are transformed of themselves;

I prefer stillness and the people are rectified of themselves;

I engage in no activity and the people prosper of themselves;

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I am free from desire and the people of themselves become simple like the uncarved

block. 162

Here, the focus is the effect on people when the government avoids ruling by conventional knowledge. In this scenario, people do not act according to the promotion of values by government, thus they are free from pressure or coercion. They also

(إ become rectified and free from the disturbing desires. In one sense, ‘rectified’ (zheng here is similar to that in the Analects: there is a radiating effect from the self-cultivation of the ruler to the people (A 12.17). If the ruler cultivates himself, it would be easier for people to cultivate themselves. Again, however, their difference lies in the design of institution—if the Daodejing will ever agree with the term ‘institution’. In the Analects, there is at least one institution, namely the rituals, based on the traditional system of

Zhou,163 such that when all people from the top to the bottom internalize it, there will be highest order and harmony. In the Daodejing, the wisdom of the ruler lies in withholding such internalization, precisely letting-go the will of dominance and allow the people to take care of themselves. ‘Stillness’, as it is used here, does not mean to strictly stop doing anything. Using the water metaphor, a common symbol in the text, still water can mean ‘calm’ water instead of ‘unmoving’ water. A ‘still’ ruler is governing the state yet is barely recognized by the people (D 17). All change is carried out flexibly and leaves room for everyone. Similarly, ‘prosperity’ does not mean strictly the accumulation of material wealth, but the self-sufficiency of people (D 33, 46).

In terms of its role in self-cultivation, the kind of knowledge upheld in the

Daodejing may help to emancipate a person from psychological disturbance. We may elaborate the emancipation in two steps: the first is how it deals with the problem of desires, the second is how it deals with the problem of making distinctions.

ᖦΖ (adapted from Chan۞ا༄Ιݺྤ඿Δۖ۞اΙݺྤࠃΔۖإ۞اᙩΔۖړ֏Ιݺ۞اݺྤ੡Δۖ 162 1963: 167, Lau 2001: 82-85) 163 The system includes not only the code for governing behaviour, but also the cultivation of sentiments, as discussed in 1.5.2 of this thesis.

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It is psychologically impossible to remove all desires, and the Daodejing does not advocate , the suppression of desires. This is not only because some desires are part of nature, that is they are not caused by external socialization, but also the urge to remove desires can be a harmful desire itself. Chapter 19 reads:

. . . Exhibit the unadorned and embrace the uncarved block, have little thought of

self and diminish the desires.164

The unadorned and uncarved block symbolizes something before decorating or cutting.

When people become like the uncarved block (D 19, 28, 57), they return to a state that resembles that before socialization. In other words, they attain a state as if conventional knowledge is no longer their burden. Of course, it cannot mean that the ideal person has discarded their memories or experiences, after all they are still in a society with government and production activities, and must in some sense retain what they have learnt. However, they are moved by the questions in chapter 44, to mitigate their desires so that they do not take over the person. To do so, they are supposed to ‘have little thought of self’, because thinking of oneself will usually strengthen desires. To be conscious of a desire as my desire will make me identify with it, to feel as if my whole person is filled with it. Not to entangle oneself, one is advised to know when to stop:

. . . Know contentment and you will suffer no disgrace; know when to stop and you

will meet with no danger. You can then endure.165

Contentment is a form of self-sufficiency. To be self-sufficient includes not to be filled with desires, as they pull one towards something which cannot be fully secured. Self-

(ߠైࣄᖦΔ֟৸ኒ඿Ζ (adapted from Lau 2001: 26-29 164 (९ՆΖ (D 44, Lau 2001: 64-67אױवߩլಫΔवַլ੃Δ 165

77 sufficiency would mean preventing the identification just mentioned. Notice that this does not imply calculation, it is not about specifying a point by measurement, by which you sum up that you should stop. Otherwise, this may become an urge to deliberately focus on the desires. Rather, it is to let the feelings ‘take a rest’ and eventually one will not be conscious of the force of their desires, hence will not be overwhelmed by them.

A spontaneous person, therefore, is not only free from intervention and manipulation, but also free from their own sudden, chaotic impulses. This is what Liu Xiao-gan calls

,’a characteristic derived from ‘self-so 166,’(ڼڕnormally-so (tong chang ru ci ຏൄ‘ that is, spontaneity. Note that ‘normal’ here does not mean ‘conventional’. It is the opposite of ‘chaotic’ and ‘disturbing’.

Since most of the desires are brought about by social distinction, the ideal person is supposed to have an insight to alleviating distinction as well. That is why the text mentions the opposites; high-low; hard-soft; bright-dark and so on. Not surprisingly, the text views conventional knowledge as solely advocating the ‘preferred values’: high, hard, bright, clever, dominant and so on, and the text proposes another set of values; low, soft, dark, dull, submissive, and so on. At first glance, the text introduces the

‘unpreferred values’ in order to explore how they can overcome the preferred values.

The desires are strong, so we have to be weak; the conventional knowledge is sharp, so we have to be soft; as the weak overcome the strong (D 36, 78). Readers may be amused by this turning the convention around. Benjamin I. Schwartz even states that,

In all cases. . .[the unpreferred values] is definitely ‘preferred’. It enjoys a higher

‘ontological’ status, just as water is preferred to stone; it seeks lowly places, and it

is, in a profounder sense, stronger than stone. . .Lao-tzu’s mysticism is thus closely

linked to the injunction in the imperative mode, ‘abide by the soft!’167

166 Liu 2006: 291-292. 167 Schwartz 1985: 203-204.

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Here, Schwartz seems to think that the text simply reverse the conventional norm of practice and set ‘softness’ as the new norm. Also, Mou Zhong-jian states that,

Real strength lies in being last, in non-conflict, in yielding, in taking the lowest

place, in submission, in not acting purposively. This is because the life force of

what is really strong is deep and supple. . .That ‘the weak overcome the strong’ was

Laozi’s important discovery.168

Mou seems to think that the text actually ‘discovers’ a principle in the world, namely by being soft and submissive one will acquire real strength. Mou’s interpretation implies that the Daodejing only changes the content of conventional norm but still sets a definite norm for people. Nevertheless, proposing that the Daodejing simply changes the strength-based convention to a weakness-based imperative can at most explain why the text does not commit to the conventional ideal, but cannot explain how the disruption brought by setting up distinctions can be solved, as the distinctions are still there no matter which side one takes. There must be something that lets us go beyond the disagreement. Hansen suggests:

. . . its theoretical point must be more subtle than merely reversing conventional

guidance and dogmatically pushing the negative discourse dao [i.e. the path of

‘unpreferred values’] . . .169

Note that the opposite values are mutually dependent. In each pair, neither of the two sides can claim permanent supremacy over the other. If the text concerns the interdependence of opposites, as ‘by recognizing the beautiful as beautiful there is also

168 Mou 1998: 86-87. 169 Hansen 1992: 223.

79 ugliness’,170 then, by the same rationale, ‘by recognizing the low as low there is also high’. This shows that even if we change from exalting strength to exalting weakness, the problem of being disrupted by a set of distinctions still persists. So it is implausible to interpret the text as simply promoting the weak. To point out that hard is better than soft is problematic, not because it should be soft which is better, but because ideally both hard and soft supplement rather than exclude each other. Here, it is useful to think about the distinction between something (you ᦭) and nothing (wu ή). Their distinction is manifest in the contrary between existence and non-existence, as well as the contrary between something has and does not have a characteristic. Similar to the distinction between high and low, strong and weak, and so on, the text seems to prefer wu over you

(D 1, 2, 3, 10, 37, 40, 41, 48, 57, 63, 69). However, note that wu has two meanings:171 it may simply be the negation of something, like ‘having some money’ and ‘having no money’. It can also be associated with dao (D 40), which is unbounded, because both sides of the dichotomy can be used to talk about it (D 1, 34), but no name could eventually fit it (D 32, 41). As Cheng Chung-ying states, ‘Wu is like the Way standing out against all things in language [i.e. use of names] and is not to be conceived as absolutely nothingness: it is by implication of not being nameable devoid of distinctions and determinations by language’.172 If this is reasonable, we might think of nothing not as a negation of something, but a negation of the distinction between something and nothing, for this can explain why it is unbounded and why it can settle the problem of using names. In practice, exalting nothingness is not to treat anything as being fixed in either the category of preferred values or unpreferred values, not to act as following only the preferred values or unprefered values. As A. C. Graham says:

170 ઃवભհ੡ભΔཎ༞բ (D 2, adapted from Lau 2001: 4-5) 171 Chen 2003: 49, 63, 105. Chen states that there are two senses of nothingness: nothingness in phenomena and nothingness in transcendence. Here we do not judge whether the distinction between phenomena and transcendence is applicable to the text. The point is to show that nothingness can be a result of distinction, or be the negation of distinction. 172 Cheng 2004: 146.

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The reversal [i.e. reverse the conventional ideal] smashes the dichotomy of A and

B; in preferring to be submissive the sage does not cease to be oriented towards

strength . . . [But] If it is by yielding the weak becomes stronger, might one say that

the sage is simply using submission as a means to conquer, so that at bottom he still

draws the dichotomy and prefers A to B? No, for that would imply analysis and

calculation of means to end. The sage, perfectly illuminated about his situation . . .

simply settles in a direction towards both the preceding submission and later

conquest.173

That is, we should not treat the proposal of unpreferred values as an imperative. A spontaneous person does not aim at overcoming the strong when they are weak, nor do they aim at overcoming the weak when they are strong. Acting spontaneously is to act without consciously focusing on a particular value in one’s decision-making. This seems to be the point made by Hektor K. T. Yan who states that the Daodejing criticizes any moral theory that emphasizes too much theoretical reflection and deliberation, because ‘the conscious pursuit of virtue or goodness itself produces the very opposite effect. . .’.174 Such ‘conscious pursuit’ is typical for conventional knowledge but not great knowledge.

2.3 Great knowledge, dao and practice

Compared with the Analects, great knowledge in the Daodejing is usually mentioned as knowing about dao. In this section, we look at some passages in the text, elaborate some characteristics of dao, then discuss its relationship with great knowledge.

173 Graham 1989: 228-230. 174 Yan 2009: 177. It should be noted that Yan’s insightful paper makes two controversial claims that is not directly relevant to this thesis, so we do not pass judgements on them. The first claim is that the Daodejing needs to admit that everything, at least every moral agent, has an essence in order to make it possible that one can act without any theoretical reflection. The second claim is that the Daodejing and the share very similar views on moral psychology.

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The first issue is the meaning of the term ‘dao’. Liu states that there are basically four kinds of interpretation of its meaning:175 1) that dao is the origin of the world, however the term ‘origin’ is explained; 2) that dao is irreducibly multi-dimensional and it can be, say, the origin of the world, the way of an ideal person’s practice, the vision of ideal government, and so on; 3) that dao is the realm ( jie ቼ੺) attained by an ideal person; 4) that dao is the underlying order of the world and/or its value, however the term ‘order’ is explained. According to 2), many scholars have divided the term into different yet related meanings. For example, Charles Fu divides it into six,176 Chen Gu- ying divides it into three.177 Liu recognizes that, given the multiplicity of meanings of dao, it is difficult to offer an interpretation that can unify all meanings. Although Liu himself seems to propose a unifying interpretation, our approach here is more modest.

We only focus on a particular characteristic of dao without claiming that this characteristic is the fundamental one, or that it is conceptually prior to other characteristics. This most relevant characteristic here is dao as the way of spontaneity.

This spontaneity can be manifest in the non-human realm, since both Heaven and earth model dao (D 25). It can also be manifest in the human realm, since sometimes the text mentions it as a proposal that people can follow or deviate from it (D 14, 30, 48), that is, it suggests a way of life for people. Sometimes the text mentions it as a generalization of observation of human activities, as if there are general principles in society, such as chapter 18 talks about the consequences of the cessation of dao in society. The relationship among these three meanings of dao is not clear in the text. A possible interpretation is that the text thinks that we can know spontaneity in the human realm by knowing spontaneity in the non-human realm, for example we know ‘the highest goodness is like water’178 by knowing the way of water and take it as a symbol for goodness. So dao in the human realm is the way for human well-being, with the

175 Liu 1997: 183-229. Note that Liu does not intend his list to be exhaustive. 176 Fu 1973: 367-394. 177 Chen 2003: 2-29. .Ղ࿳ૉֽ (D 8, Lau 2001: 10-11). How this is possible will be discussed in the next section 178

82 assumption that spontaneity is a necessary condition for human as well as non-human well-being. Interpreting dao in this way does not exclude the ontological dimension of dao, for example the view that dao is the ultimate source of all existence—in this sense it is called ‘the Way’. Liu claims that parts of the Daodejing deal with , and

௅)’. Liu alsoء since dao generates all things, it can be called ‘original root (ben gen claims that other meanings of ‘dao’ are derived from the meaning of ‘original root’.179

While it is easy to see the ontological dimension of dao in some chapters (D 1, 4, 21,

42, 51), our point here is to investigate dao at its closest connection with human development and practical implication.

Next, in order to understand how the characteristics of dao can be known, we examine chapter 28:

Know the male but keep to the role of the female, and be a ravine to the empire . . .

Know the white but keep to the role of the sullied, and be a valley to the

empire . . .180

The words ‘female’, ‘sullied’, ‘ravine’ and ‘valley’ are all symbols of dao. However, this passage does not suppose us to know only the female or sullied, it encapsulates both sides of the distinction. To attain the preferred values one must first turn to the unpreferred values (D 36, 39), as they are interdependent and may revert to each other.

The Daodejing not only states an observation that an object, such as a piece of beautiful jade, or event, such as reaping profit, that encapsulates preferred values may turn to encapsulate unpreferred values, but also suggests a method181 for ruling a state and preserving oneself based on such observation. This is the behind ‘if you would

which is sometimes ’᧯ء Liu 2006: 123-125, 136-137, 728-730. Liu deliberately avoids using the term ‘ben 179 a translation for the English term ‘substance’, thus avoiding the problem of forcing a Chinese concept to fit into a non-Chinese philosophical system. (Ζ (adapted from Lau 2001: 40-43ڤࠡ႕Δ੡֚ՀښࠡᎿΔ੡֚Հ᝘ΞवࠡػΔښवࠡႂΔ 180 181 Liu 2006: 380-382.

83 have a thing shrink, you must first stretch it; if you would have a thing weakened, you must first strengthen it’.182 By the same rationale, in order to rule the empire, be the highest, one must first become a valley to the empire, which means one must know both the highest and the lowest position, as well as their relationship. Moreover, it is only when one knows about their interaction that one can know dao, which is not bounded to any one side of distinction. Knowing only the preferred values and keeping to their role is precisely the problem of conventional knowledge. Since knowing dao involves overcoming conventional knowledge, it involves balancing the distinction, so one can keep to the female even when people think male is dominant and vice versa.

Besides, dao is sometimes known to be ‘constant’ (chang Ᏹ). Consider chapter 16:

Knowledge of the constant is known as discernment.

Woe to him who wilfully innovates while ignorant of the constant.

But should one act from knowledge of the constant . . . to the end of one’s days one

will meet with no danger.183

Conventional knowledge does not lead one to know about the constant, because it only emphasizes one side of the opposites of high-low, hard-soft, bright-dark and so on.

Typically it emphasizes the preferred values. There will be times when those who know only the preferred values will suffer, be puzzled or they cannot handle the situation, for example those who are violent and strong cannot appreciate how empty space can be put into use (D 11), or how softness like water can overcome hardness (D 78); they cannot even come to a natural end of life (D 42). So conventional knowledge cannot constantly preserve human well-being, because it deviates from dao.

(ലࡐᖴհΔؘࡐ്հΙല඿இհΔؘࡐൎհΞ (D 36, Lau 2001: 52-55 182 (ֈΖवൄ୲Ξ޲ߪլ੃Ζ (Lau 2001: 22-25܂ڐवൄֳࣔΔլवൄΔ 183

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The reason for saying here that ‘the constant’ refers to dao is still because dao is not bounded to any one polarity of the distinction, for either of the two sides of a distinction does not stand on its own, but always has the potential to change to its opposite. This process of change is the ‘movement’ of dao (D 40), as it is manifest by the becoming of one thing to another, such as when the higher becomes the lower and the lower becomes the higher. In other words, neither the higher nor the lower is constant in themselves, they constantly change, but they change according to the same form—reversal of opposites. This reversal, the movement of dao, is always shown in the change of things, but does not change itself, that is why it can be called ‘the constant’.

The point of chapter 16 includes how one can preserve oneself, that is ‘meet with no danger’, which is effected by one’s acting from knowledge of the constant. As we have discussed, this is not surprising as in the end great knowledge still lies in self- cultivation. However, this does not mean that one should take ‘meet with no danger’ as a fixed goal, for this implies that one actively promotes a particular value, namely safety. Then ‘meet with no danger’ becomes conventional knowledge. A more reasonable interpretation is that it is at best a natural result from one who knows dao, because they encounter less obstacles, such as psychological disturbances. Moreover, when the text says ‘walking on the great way’ (D 53), it suggests that the great way is something that we can follow and shape our lives according to. In other words, the great way seems to be guidance for us. Knowing the great way is knowing how it guides us.

However, as the great way is just spontaneity in itself, this ‘guidance’ is different from conventions. The great way does not guide us to embrace a particular value or prescribe a particular goal, but always moves us to see another way around. In other words, it

‘guides without guiding’, a paradox embedded in spontaneity.

If knowing the great way is knowing how the great way guides us by not-guiding, what could we say about the nature of this sort of knowledge? Here we suggest that it is basically a skill: understanding how to live a life free from an imbalance of distinctions

85 and constantly placed oneself within dao. Analogous to the contrast between conventional knowledge and great knowledge, there is a contrast between conventional

,skill and great skill (da qiao Օ؏). Conventional skills are useful for a particular task for example the skill of building. Great skill is not useful for any particular task and can only be manifest in an ideal person’s personality, who appears to be foolish (D 20).

More about personality and sentiments will be discussed in the next section.

We might contrast the great skill in the Daodejing with the skill in the Analects, which is a sophisticated skill of interacting with people in a social context. However, the Daodejing is careful to point out that conventional skills are dangerous to the social order (D 19, 57), which might include, but are not limited to the skills introduced by early Confucianism. Since dao is always changing, if there is a skill for ideal life, it will contain an element of un-skill because it makes one unlearn the conventional knowledge. For an ordinary person, ‘the greatest skill seems to be clumsy’.184 It does not set imperatives and does not fit any particular purpose, it just lets every existence develops spontanesouly. So if a person wants to directly apply the great skill for a particular task, say building a house, they will find that the great skill is not useful, hence the description ‘clumsy’. However, the great skill might make one exercise other skills in a spontaneous way. One then knows how to take the characteristics of dao into account in doing something, such as the reversal of opposites. Therefore, the skill of acting spontaneously, acting in accordance with dao, is the skill of exercising all skills, that is the greatest skill. This echoes the relationship between something and nothing at the beginning: it is a skill good for nothing but yet for everything.

2.4 Means of obtaining great knowledge

We now turn to the question of how one attains great knowledge, which is how one knows dao, not knows about dao. ‘One knows about x’ is usually characterized by

(Օ؏ૉࢿ (D 45, Chan 1963: 161 184

86 memorizing certain facts about x or having a general impression of x. Such knowing is not necessarily related to one’s experience and practice. On the contrary, ‘one knows x’ is usually characterized by a more intimate relationship between x and the knower.185

We may consider the difference between a person who can memorize all the passages in the Daodejing and all commentaries and a person who lives their life spontaneously and puts dao into practice (D 41). The second person is one who knows dao.

Different from the Analects, the Daodejing suggests ‘reduction’ and contemplation as two means. However, similar to the Analects, the attainment of great knowledge is intertwined with a transformation of personality. We will discuss the two means as well as the issue of personality in this section.

2.4.1 Reduction (sun ៊)

How can we know dao? This question cannot be answered in a straightforward manner, for one cannot deliberately aspire to knowing dao. Some skills might be acquired by fixing one’s attention on a goal with clear criteria for success, such as the skill of playing chess. Some skills might not have such criteria but they still have steps for improvement or definite methods of instruction, such as composition or the learning of rituals in the Analects. Nevertheless, chapter 19 of the Daodejing states:

Abandon learning and there will no longer be worries.186

According to this passage, the Daodejing proposes unlearning or, using the paradoxical tone, knowing dao through unlearning. For conventional knowledge, to learn is to crave something, to crave something is to attach to something, to attach to something is to worry about gain and loss. On the contrary, great knowledge avoids worrying by

185 The difference between ‘know x’ and ‘know about x’ is suggested by Karyn Lai in a conversation. 186 ࿪ᖂྤᐡΖThe common version puts this sentence in chapter 20. But Chen and Lau argue that it should be a part of chapter 19. See Lau 2001: 29 and Chen 2003: 136-138.

87 avoiding learning. However, it does not mean the text here is simply claiming that we should crave foolishness, that would miss the point in the same way as judging ‘not honouring men of worth’ to be ‘honouring men of worthless’, for if one deliberately stops learning, they are setting the goal of cessation of learning. If this is the goal, they may still have to worry about whether they can achieve the goal, that is stopped learning. In this case there is still the deliberation about gain and loss. Certainly the passage seems to make a strong claim by not only rejecting the content of learning but also the very act of learning itself. Yet it does not imply the view that activities such as going to school, reading books or asking advice from teachers and instructors are to be eradicated. Rather, it suggests that we understand the impact of all these institutions on us and eliminate the constraints they put on us. There are constraints because these institutions too easily submit to conventions, thus not shaping individuals according to the great way but to conventional knowledge. If this is correct, what the text proposes to eliminate is the submission to conventional knowledge through learning, not all kinds of intellectual improvement.

An example may be helpful here: consider ‘working’ and ‘resting’; working implies doing something and we may think resting is the opposite of working. However, this does not mean that resting is always doing nothing at all. One can, say, play chess, do exercise, go for a trip and engage in other activities yet still count them as resting. It does not even require a person to do something different from their work. What

‘resting’ refers to is the mode of doing, or not-doing, something. When a person is at rest, no matter what they are doing, they usually do it freely, which means they are not motivated by external pressure such as payment or authority, and this is the whole point of resting. Of course, this example does not fit perfectly into the discussion of unlearning, because what people want to do when they are resting is normally influenced by socialization. The purpose of this example is to show that we can say that the opposite of learning is not simply the elimination of all existing learning practices, just like the opposite of working is not simply the elimination of all activities.

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To better understand ‘elimination’, we can look at chapter 48 of the Daodejing:

In the pursuit of learning one gains more every day;

in the pursuit of dao one does less every day . . .187

Here is a contrast between pursuit of learning and the pursuit of dao, which is also the contrast between conventional knowledge and great knowledge. Conventional knowledge emphasizes increasing, be it information, technique, rules, status or power. It is like carrying more and more stuff while walking, a good example is the Analects 8.7:

‘. . .his burden is heavy and his course is long’.188 On the contrary, the process of attaining great knowledge is the reduction of the burden all these things impose on us, so wide learning is not necessary (D 81). This is because conventional learning internalizes what is primarily external, while great knowledge reveals the externality of what has been already internalized. Of course, avoiding external pressures does not mean to inhibit the interaction between a person and the external world.The point is to prevent one’s heart from being disturbed and preserve spontaneity, as discussed in 2.2.3 of this thesis. To use a metaphor of medicine, great knowledge relieves illness but does not aim at adding nutrition (knowledge). It restores one’s health (spontaneity).

However, the text does not tell us what the starting point is, the motivation of the process of attaining great knowledge. It may be the case that we would naturally start it when we suffer from the conventional learning, or when we are aware of the possible conflict between conventional learning and spontaneity, but one thing is certain, that is, those who fix their attention on the great knowledge probably cannot reach it.

(੡ᖂֲ墿Δ੡ሐֲჾ (adapted from Lau 2001: 68-71 187 (ٚૹۖሐ᎛ (adapted from Lau 1979: 93 188

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2.4.2 Contemplation

Compared the Daodejing with the Analects, knowledge of people, even knowledge of any object, is only meaningful in the Daodejing when it is put in a greater context, that is, the function of dao. The Confucian perfect virtue ren ո focuses on human interaction and human development, yet the human realm in the Daodejing is evaluated only as a part of the movement of Heaven and earth (Tian di ᄤ࿾), which models dao

(D 25). The Analects does mention ‘dao’, but with far less emphasis on the non-human realm. The Daodejing, on the other hand, uses many natural objects as metaphors for knowing dao. According to the text, some properties of objects can more easily enable us to understand the characteristics of dao. For example:

Highest good is like water. Because water excels in benefiting the myriad creatures

without contending with them and settles where none would like to be, it comes

close to dao.189

Being soft, gentle, submissive yet truly beneficial, water symbolizes dao. Of course, the properties of water are not identical to the corresponding characteristics of dao, as dao embraces both soft and hard, that is balanced, while water itself cannot be hard, that is partial. Nevertheless, the point of the text employing water as a symbol is probably not to show a theoretical relationship between water and dao. It does not tell us whether it is possible to infer the characteristics of dao from the properties of natural phenomena.

Otherwise, following dao will simply be following nature, which is inconsistent with the view that Heaven and earth model dao (D 25) but not vice versa. This also raises some practical problems, for example whether and how we follow the ‘chaotic’ aspect of nature such as natural disasters, and whether human effort is altogether excluded

(ᆄढۖլञΔ๠ฒԳհࢬ༞Δਚ༓࣍ሐΖ (D 8, Lau 2001: 10-11ܓՂ࿳ૉֽΖֽ࿳ 189

90 from the exaltation of nature.190 Thus, the use of water and other objects in the nature should be regarded only as a clue for understanding what it means to ascribe those

‘unpreferred values’ to dao. They are used for explanation and illustration, but not justification. When we contemplate the properties of water, we have an idea of dao by considering possible ways for water to be similar to dao, to grasp what characteristics dao has by looking at water as if it manifests something beyond itself. This requires association and imagination, not logical inferences. Besides water, there are many other examples:

Knead clay in order to make a vessel. Adapt the nothing therein to the purpose in

hand, and you will have the use of the vessel. Cut out doors and windows in order

to make a room. Adapt the nothing therein to the purpose in hand, and you will

have the use of the room. Thus what we gain is something, yet it is by virtue of

nothing this can be put into use.191

Besides natural events, we can also grasp dao from observing human activities.

Actually, in principle, we can grasp it from any events and activities, because there is nothing that can limit it. So, in principle, we can understand dao by contemplating any object or event. However, here one may be curious as to why the text is clearly selective. When it gives examples of how the weak can overcome the strong in human or non-human realms, it does not say that the strong can overcome the weak, while both of these possibilities can be found in the world. This selective tone is sometimes taken as evidence that the text is not ‘free from value judgement’.192 On the other hand, there is another explanation of the selective tone. As we suggested earlier, when the text uses

190 See Liu 1997: 67-68, 80-92. Ζش੡אΔྤհܓ੡אհڶΖਚش৛հڶ੡৛ΔᅝࠡྤΔאΖᨼ֪ᑹشᕴհڶ੡ᕴΔᅝࠡྤΔא⅓⅛ 191 (D 11, Lau 2001: 14-17) 192 Schwartz 1985: 204.

91 metaphors it is trying to make us understand instead of justifying its claim. There is no need to claim that contemplating water is ‘the right way’ for understanding dao but, say, contemplating fire is the wrong way. It is because the text supposes that most of the readers are bound by conventional knowledge, which has put too much emphasis on preferred values. Therefore, being negative may be a better way for the text to convince readers. For an ideal person, one who has already attained great knowledge, anything can be seen to manifest dao. For an ordinary person, it is not. Thus the text uses a rhetorical skill to compensate for the deep and stubborn internalization of conventions.

After all, as we have said, we need a motivation to start the process of attaining great knowledge.

2.4.3 Personality, sentiments and community

If attaining great knowledge by unlearning can make people step back from their conventional knowledge, this will also initiate a transformation of their personality. We have already discussed the avoidance of psychological disturbance, but here we can go a step further to say that the characteristics of dao, interestingly, can also be used to describe one’s character or sentiments, including emptiness (xu ဠ), softness (rou ᨵ), stillness (jing 㕕), paleness (dan ᷆), drowsiness (hun ᤀ), listlessness (lei 㛨), clearness

(qing ᷡ), harmony (he ๺), to mention just a few. As in the Analects, the Daodejing pays great attention to personality. The difference is that the Daodejing seems to pay more attention to preventing one’s from being disturbed and is more cautious of expressing sentiments by means of words or action. ‘Inner peace’ refers to the situation in which a person is at ease with themselves. It is called ‘inner’ not because there is an ‘inner self’ that exists independently of the environment, but because the peace is usually not directly observable and cannot be described without referring to a person’s emotions and sentiments. The Daodejing worries that inner peace is disturbed by using words (D 5, 43, 56), which too easily become abusing names and triggering personal and social conflict. Thus great knowledge is sometimes regarded as ineffable,

92 as noted in 2.5.2 of this thesis. Certainly, the Analects does not neglect the possible inadequacy or weakness of words and action (A 1.3, 4.22, 11.25), but it is confident to point out that there is a correct moral system such that good personality ensures good words and good words reflects good personality. One’s emotions and sentiments are shaped according to the way of ren ո and rituals, so the problem of words disrupting inner peace only arises from the deviation from the correct way of cultivation, not because the very act of using words might create problems. If people in the government follow the correct way of cultivation, the social relationships among people should not cause psychological disturbances. Thus the Analects very much emphasizes the community (A 4.25, 13.24) and commitment to politics (A 13.20, 18.7). However, the

Daodejing is not keen on constructing such government. For the ruler it is better to care more about himself rather than governing the state (D 13), and not to let himself be recognized (D 17). And for other people, since spontaneity does not come from political power, regardless of whether this power is moral, the text does not suggest that they aim to participate in public affairs, although it does not explicitly oppose this. An ideal person who happens to be a ruler does not give orders and is not recognized, and does not insist on people following a correct way of living. His emotions are not stirred by the possession of power. An ideal person who does not engage in the government is probably reclusive and displaying as little as possible their talent, virtue and knowledge.

Both of them preserve their stillness (jing 㕕) and paleness (dan ᷆) in contemplation and detachment from prevailing social values. This is noted by Thomas Sherman who claims that the sage not only acts spontaneously but also ‘experiences psychologically the very spontaneity of dao’.193 Similar to the Analects that claims one who knows the rituals feels the characteristics of rituals instead of merely conforming to it behaviourally, for the Daodejing one who knows dao also feels the characteristics of dao.

193 Sherman 2006: 340.

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Furthermore, appreciating Nature in contemplation and delighting in it seems very agreeable in the Daodejing and one may even think that the text concerns the non- human realm as no less important than the human realm. Appreciating Nature helps to preserve one’s inner harmony. Note that this makes the text different from any

‘ecological theory’, because the text’s focus is not on Nature as such, and the awareness of ecological problems resulted from massive human exploitation is rather contemporary, not to mention that it is unclear whether the text proposes any

‘theory’.194 Nonetheless, the emphasis on non-interference shows greater affinity to the appreciation of Nature,195 at least compared to a view that Nature is merely an instrument for technological improvement or economic benefit. Furthermore, the necessity and priority of interaction among people is clearly given different weights in the Daodejing and the Analects. For the Analects, one’s role in society is very important, if not the only important. The Daodejing does not attach such importance to social roles and ranks, as the emphasis on socialization disrupts one’s inner harmony.

As we have discussed before, we had better not to take the Daodejing as merely proposing an alternative schema for shaping our sentiments. The text induces us to reflect on ourselves only to find out the impact of external convention on our feelings and attitudes. We are moulded to feel angry with some people, sad about other people, delighted with yet other people and, by showing that there is another set of feelings available, the text creates the possibility of gaining an ability to change these feelings.

In order not to disrupt spontaneity, the text cannot claim to make the changed feelings the new norm for all people, at least not require us to praise and reward those who are soft, still and pale or condemn and punish those who are not. Nonetheless, one who is more sympathetic to the idea of the Analects and another who feels more comfortable

194 Liu 2006: 297-299. 195 See, for example, Fox 2005: 54-56. Interestingly, Fox’s interpretation of dao, that it is the perfect but unattainable process that absolutely does not interfere with other processes, does not fit into Liu’s categorization of interpretations of dao in 2.3 of this thesis. Nonetheless, for Fox, dao is an ideal and a criterion for evaluating a practice. And this seems to suggest that there is an implicit order of practices so that they can be evalualted. This makes Fox’s view similar to 4) in Liu’s categorization.

94 with the Daodejing, will very probably end up as a person with two different personalities.

2.5 Criteria of knowledge in the Daodejing

2.5.1 Quality of performance

Recalling that the Daodejing shares with the Analects the idea that knowledge consists of practical applications, one may wonder whether the Daodejing suggests the need to distinguish between appropriate and inappropriate knowledge by certain practical concerns. That is, when a spectator wants to check whether someone has already attained great knowledge, they need to look at that person’s practice. A typical example in the text is that, for the ruler, whether he knows dao can be assessed by looking at the state he governs. An ideal ruler is simultaneously a sage who manifests the characteristics of dao in various aspects including administration (D 2), education (D 2,

3), attitude towards himself and his people (D 5, 7), economy (D 12), social institution

(D 28) and military tactics (D 31). For example, in education, the sage does not imbue students with conventional values and does not shape them for a particular purpose.

Contrary to the Confucians, there will probably be no emphasis on studying classics and deference to teachers. In case of war, as Moeller notes, ‘the best way to handle it seems to prevent it from happening in the first place, especially by mitigating desires; but if it happens, then the best way seems to end it as quickly and swiftly as possible to minimize damage and attrition. . .there will be no frenzy of warfare, and there will not even be triumph in victory’.196 In other words, a sage is not emotionally involved in the battle and has no celebration for victory, as well as no engagement in arms race. The ideal government makes no policies except those which do not harm people’s spontaneity. The government rules by being generally non-violent and non-interfering.

Feldt states that when an ideal ruler is required to act, ‘he does so not with his own

196 Moeller 2006: 76-78.

95 desires as an end, but instead takes as his desire that of the people and the Way itself.

Thus, the ruler is not acting in the purposive, desired-based way. . .’,197 which is to remind us that the personality of a sage is manifest in their practice, especially when their influence is brought out by the government. Note that although the text believes all these would eventually benefit the whole society, the ideal ruler does not deliberately aim at producing these favourable consequences. Both Moeller and Feldt’s analysis suggest that when the ruler acts without a fixed preference or goal, not even the goal of improving the society, there will be a higher chance of preserving the necessary conditions for a good society, as mentioned in 2.2.2 of this thesis. In fact, it is better for the ruler to forget to bring benefit to the society; otherwise too much insistence on making good policies will push the people towards some particular goals again. As the famous sentence in the text says:

Governing a large country is like cooking a small fish.198

Cooking a small fish requires one to handle it gently and carefully, to use as little action as possible, and to know the best time to remove it from the pot.

Though the text mainly talks about a ruler, there are some passages suggesting that the effect of cultivation can be prominent in other dimensions as well. A general description can be found in chapter 8:

In a home it is the site that matters; In quality of heart it is depth that matters; In

an ally it is benevolence that matters; In speech it is sincerity that matters; In

government it is order that matters; In affairs it is ability that matters; In actions it

197 Feldt 2010: 334. 198 एՕഏૉ෪՛ធ (D 60, Chan 1963: 168)

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is timeliness that matters. It is because one does not contend that he is never at

fault.199

These phrases are concerned with how a person with great knowledge would perform different tasks. The most important among them is ‘timeliness’, which involves an accurate estimation of the environment one is in as well as a spontaneous response to it.

Such a response helps to preserve one’s life and the spontaneity of all parties concerned.

The idea of timeliness in the Daodejing is different from that in the Analects as mentioned in 1.6.1 of this thesis, because the former involves a continuous interchange of values. It is limited and stubborn to remain strong all the time or remain weak all the time, people who possess great knowledge seek to change from strong to weak, or from weak to strong, at the appropriate time. The text recommends remaining weak because it is easily neglected or hastily rejected, yet remaining weak may build up a person’s potential so that they can reverse the situation when the time is appropriate.

2.5.2 Ineffability of great knowledge

Would someone who can tell others the characteristics of dao be counted as a person who has attained great knowledge? This question can be divided into two parts: first, given its ineffability, how can one communicate with others about the characteristics of dao; secondly, if such communication is successful, whether it would justify one’s possession of great knowledge.

If one interprets dao as the origin or ontological basis of the world, as noted in section 2.3 of this thesis, one will tend to emphasize the profound ineffability of dao.

However, even if one does not talk about dao in a mystic or ontological sense, the problem of ineffability still exists. This is because language itself is full of distinctions, but dao is supposed to be unbounded, and to describe the way of spontaneous change by using words seems to limit dao in some aspects. This is why the text often does not

(࿳एΔࠃ࿳౨Δ೯࿳ழΖ֛ഄլञΔਚྤ֠Ζ (Lau 2001: 10-11إΔ֨࿳ෘΔፖ࿳ոΔߢ࿳ॾΔچࡺ࿳ 199

97 speak candidly, because it would not cover both meanings of dao. When we read the

Analects, we may say that dao is straightforward as it does not involve the process of

‘turning back’. For example, the Analects straightforwardly proposes learning yet the

Daodejing proposes unlearning or knowing through unlearning. The Daodejing employs words in an ambiguous, sometimes paradoxical manner such as recommending to unlearn what we have learned. As in chapter 78:

Straightforward words seem paradoxical.200

This sentence is itself paradoxical; if we suppose it is not paradoxical and thus straightforward, then according to what it says it is paradoxical. It is similar to sentences like ‘great skill seems awkward’ (D 45). A paradoxical sentence conveys its meaning, if it has meaning, indirectly. ‘Straightforward words seem paradoxical’ appears to express something, namely some characteristics of words. However, if it wants to convey a paradox, it should not appear to express that straightforward words seem paradoxical, because then the sentence is straightforward. This leads us to the sentence ‘great eloquence seems stammering’ in chapter 45.201 We think the text is not meaningless, but we cannot get its meaning directly because it is difficult to pin down precisely what the text wants to claim, given that it does not simply promote saying nothing. Perpetual silence is not better than perpetual talking, obviously both activities would oppose each other and fail to capture the balance of dao. Using a paradoxical tone, the text has to rely on words by not relying on them. The result is neither using words in their conventional style nor making them into something that cannot be understood. As

Graham remarks:

(ߢૉ֘ (Lau 2001: 112-113إ 200 201 Օ᥯ૉ๹ (Lau 2001: 66-67)

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The trouble with words is not that they do not fit at all but that they always fit

imperfectly; they can help us towards the Way, but only if each formulation in its

inadequacy is balanced by the opposite which diverges in the other direction.202

Suppose by employing this skill of balancing words we can tell others about dao. But would that be relevant to the criteria of great knowledge? Recall that, in the case of the

Analects, we postulate that the ability to communicate can contribute to one’s ability to interact with other people. Concerning this, the Daodejing may have two responses.

First, reflective knowledge and discursive knowledge are entertained only insofar as they are sincere and have no ‘decoration’ (D 81), that is, unlike conventional knowledge, which prescribes different ‘valuable’ goals. The author of the text is fully aware of how words can lead people astray, so for the rulers it is better to educate without the words (D 2, 43) and for others they are warned ‘much speech leads inevitably to exhaustion’.203 Though it does not mean that all people possessing great knowledge will literally refrain from speaking, it does suggest that the very ability to use words may not be fully in line with the performance of dao. It is possible for a sage to forget the words, while this may not be a sign of insufficiency of his knowledge. In some cases it is exactly the opposite. Forgetting words may be a sign of excellence because one understands dao completely.

Therefore, the text seems not to support the view that discursive knowledge is necessary for the criteria of great knowledge. In order to transmit the great knowledge, we may need to think of some form of communication that does not rely on words.

Sometimes, by not doing something or not speaking about something, the absence of action or speech may be able to make others grasp the feature of dao if they can sense what is omitted and what cannot be put into words. At least the text would admit that, if guidance by words is possible, guidance by the absence of words would be possible too.

202 Graham 1989: 219-220. .(ߢᑇᒡ (D 5, Lau 2001: 8-9ڍ 203

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Since the Way cannot be captured by either something or nothing, it cannot be captured by either words or silence, but is manifest only in the constant interchange between them.

2.6 Conclusion

As in the Analects, the Daodejing is concerned with self-cultivation and ideal personality, as well as social order and ideal government. Knowing dao implies knowing a way for human well-being, although the text does not articulate a morally correct way for the ruler and the people. It reminds us about how the conventional knowledge shapes us by inculcating a set of distinctions and preferences. Attaining great knowledge, however, involves freeing oneself from the constraint of conventional knowledge, so one embraces the interplay of preferred and unpreferred values, which is the movement of dao. This process of unlearning challenges the idea of knowledge upheld in the Analects and questions the internalization of Confucian values. This critique and the distinction between conventional knowledge and great knowledge will be further developed in the Zhuangzi.

In the next chapter, we will examine another critical response to early

Confucianism and analyze a third perspective on the issue of knowledge and practice.

This is the Mozi text. The debate between early Confucianism and Mohism eventually becomes the background for the analysis of distinction and correctness in the Zhuangzi.

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Chapter 3 The idea of zhi ⍮ in the Mozi: the emphasis on standard (fa ऄ)

3.1 Introduction

This chapter examines the ideas of zhi ⍮ and fa ᴺ in the Mozi.204 It pays special attention to the relationship between fa and benefit (li ೑) and also focuses on the contrast and antagonism between Confucianism and Mohism as, later in the Zhuangzi, the nature of the debate between these two schools is often seen as the main target of criticism.

According to the , the founder of Mohism, Mozi, learned some

Confucian doctrines before he decided to establish a new school.205 Regardless of whether this is true, it is evident that Mozi was familiar with early Confucianism disagreed with many Confucian doctrines. The disagreement covered many complex issues such as the importance of benefit and the conception of rightness. On a more practical level, the disagreement arose in the debate on the rituals and music.206 In terms of social structure and institution, if emphasis on the rituals and music suggested the

Confucians were associated with the ruling class, kings or dukes, then de-emphasis on them might be associated with the thought of a lower class, people without social privilege who seldom participate directly in the noble practices. Indeed, some scholars think the fact that the Mozi frequently gives examples of craftsmanship and contains a detailed discussion of making military tools and devices, suggests that the text was written by people such as craftsmen, artisans or soldiers.207 In terms of personal life style, if emphasis on the rituals and music suggested the Confucians found enjoyment in aesthetic performance, then de-emphasis on them showed that Mohists advocated a

204 The main reference in this chapter for translation of the Mozi is Watson 1963 and Johnston 2010 with some amendments. If there is a number after a quoted passage, it refers to the chapter code in Johnston’s translation. Besides, a Chinese commentary is also used. See Sun 1954. Throughout this thesis, references to the Mozi are represented by a ‘M’ and the numbers corresponding to relevant chapters in a bracket, such as (M 14.2). 205 Major 2010: 864. 206 The Huainanzi mentioned that Mozi found the complicated rituals disturbing. Chapter 33 of the Zhuangzi also described how Mozi rejected the rituals and music. The Mozi itself, of course, contains sections that aim at criticizing those ‘disturbing’ practices. 207 See, for example, Graham 1989: 34, Fraser 2010.

101 simpler life, a life that was too simple, even impoverished, in the eyes of Confucians. In terms of codes of conduct and norms of behaviour, if emphasis on the rituals and music involves a more conservative attitude about following the tradition, although not the current state of affairs,208 then de-emphasis on them involves a stronger resolution about social reform.

Concerning the issue of knowing, the Mohists asked certain questions which the early Confucians were not interested in. The Mohists pressed on issues about the means of knowing, by which we learn how to act correctly; or the criteria of knowing, by which we evaluate acts, usually by asking a specific kind of question which is more prominent in the Mozi than in the Analects: ‘how do I know . . .’ (he yi zhi ૗એ⍮ . . .).

The Analects does not totally neglect this question, but the writers and editors of the

Analects spent more effort in describing what we should know, and only occasionally hinted at ‘how do I know’. On the other hand, the Mozi not only asks such question more frequently and explicitly, but also gives them much more importance. Usually, after making a claim, the text goes on to elaborate how one knows the claim. Below is a typical example in chapter 27:

Rightness does not come from the foolish and the base. It must come from the noble

and the wise. How do I know that rightness does not come from the foolish and the

base, but must come from the noble and the wise? I say that rightness equates with

good government. How do I know that rightness equates with good government? I

say that, if the world has rightness, then it is well ordered. If it does not have

rightness, then it is disordered. This is how I know that rightness equates with good

government.209

208 Schwartz 1985: 63. ՈΛֳΔᆠנΔؘۖ۞၆׊वृנवᆠհլൕჟ׊ᔀृאΖ۶נΔؘ۞၆׊वृנᆠլൕჟ׊ᔀृ 209 ,वᆠհ੡࿳ਙՈΖ (M 27.1אᆠঞएΔྤᆠঞ႖Δਢڶवᆠհ੡࿳ਙՈΛֳΚ֚ՀאΔ࿳ਙՈΖ۶ृ Johnston 2010: 244-245)

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Putting aside whether the Mohists gave a suitable answer to their own question, the concern about ‘how do I know’ leads to a consideration of a shared point, that by which mutual knowledge is possible as it can be used or adopted by both the person who has made a claim and the person who is asked to agree with the claim. The result is the proposal of fa ऄ. The Mohists argued that this consideration would enable all people to recognize the same claim or by which all people may come to know the same claim.

3.2 The scope of fa ऄ

We now turn to elaborate the idea of fa. We start by looking at the analogy between fa and concrete tools, then discuss the three stanards of practice and the Mohist emphasis on argument and disputation (bian ᥯).

3.2.1 Craft tools and standard

The Mohist introduction of fa started with their observation of the tools of craftsmen:

So Master Mo Zi’s having Heaven’s intention is no different to a wheelwright

having compasses or a carpenter having a square. Now a wheelwright takes hold

of his compasses in order to determine whether things in the world are round or

not, saying: ‘What accords with my compasses is called round and what does not

accord with my compasses is called not round.’ In this way the roundness or non-

roundness of all things can be ascertained and known. Why is this so? It is because

the fa ऄ for roundness is clear.210

By using a compass, we know what things are circular and what are not. The reason (gu

᡿, which can be translated as ‘cause’ or ‘reason’ depending on the context) why using

ၦ৫֚ՀⷫאఢՈΖվ֛ᔚԳᖙࠡ๵Δലڶ๵ΔٰԳհڶฆ׏ᔚԳհאհΔሌԳྤ֚ڶਢਚ՗ᕠ՗հ 210 ൓ۖवՈΖ (MױⷫፖլⷫΔઃא๵ृᘯհլⷫΖωਢܠ๵ृᘯհⷫΔլխܠፖլⷫՈΖֳΚψխ 27.10, Johnston 2010: 258-259)

103 a compass can make us know for certain about circularity is that the fa of circularity is manifest in a compass. Here, ‘fa’ can be translated into ‘standard’ or ‘model’ depending on what exactly is referred to.211 It may refer to the rationale of compass-operation, to the compass itself, or both. The point being that, no matter who uses the compass or where it is used, it yields the same figure. To the extent that the result of applying a fa is not bounded by anyone’s arbitrary judgement, a fa is objective. For brevity, the word

‘standard’ is used for all occurrences of ‘fa’ in its noun form.

Elsewhere, we see examples in which ‘fa’ refers to something quite concrete, yet we also see examples in which it refers to something more abstract. A passage in which

‘fa’ refers to something quite concrete is 4.1:

Those who work in the world cannot do so without standards and models. No one

has ever been able to accomplish anything without standards and models. Even

those officers who are generals and ministers all have standards. Even the hundred

craftsmen in doing their work all have standards too. The hundred craftsmen make

what is square with a square, make what is round with compasses . . . Whether

skilled or unskilled, craftsmen all take these five things as standards. 212

For craftsmanship, ‘standard’ refers to the instruments or properties of the instruments that make them useful. When the text claims that people in the government all have standards for carrying out their duties, the term ‘standard’ may refer to something more abstract, such as laws or regulations, by which they judge whether a case is acceptable.

211 For the later Mohists, they carefully distinguished different application of fa ऄ. It may refer to the thought of circle, the device for drawing a circle (i.e. compasses) or to circular objects. See the Mozi A71 (Johnston 2010: 434-435). ՠൕࠃۍऄΔឈ۟ڶՈΖឈ۟Փհ੡ലઌृΔઃڶྤृګऄᏚΔྤऄᏚۖࠡࠃ౨ྤאױՀൕࠃृլ֚ 212 .(նृ੡ऄΖ (Johnston 2010: 24-25ڼא๵Ξྤ؏ՠլ؏ՠΔઃאఢΔ੡Ⴝאՠ੡ֱۍऄΖڶΔٍઃृ The text says ‘five’ but there are only four instruments mentioned in the previous sentence. This may due to the corruption of the text.

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3.2.2 standard and the practical view of knowledge

Furthermore, there is an even more abstract meaning of ‘standard’, which is also more inclusive. It covers not only the activities of a particular type of people, artisans and officials, but the use of words for all people. An example can be found in 37.1:

This is why, for words (⸒213), there are three standards. What are the three

standards? I say there is examining its root, there is determining its source, and

there is putting it to use. How do you examine its root? You examine the affairs of

the ancient sages and great kings. How do you determine its source? You look at

the evidence from the ears and eyes of the multitude. How do you put it into use?

You set it out and use it in governing the state, considering its effect on the ten

thousand people. These are called the ‘three standards’.214

Here, we see that there are standard for words too. The three standards elaborated succinctly by Chris Fraser are:

The ‘root’ is the historical precedent and evidence provided by the deeds of the

ancient sage kings, moral exemplars who reliably distinguished right from wrong

correctly and whose way we thus seek to follow. The ‘source’ is that statements

must have an empirical basis; they must be checked against what people see and

hear. The ‘use’ is that when adopted as a basis for punishment and government

213 Johnston translates ψߢω into ‘statement’ here. We take it more broadly to refer to not only statements, but also claims, arguments and doctrines. So we translate it into ‘words’. This is the common usage of the term in pre-Qin China. ٣ᆣՕ׆հࠃΖ༞׏ەհΛەհृΔ༞׏شڶ଺հृΔڶհृΔەڶԿऄΖ۶੡ԿऄΛֳΚڶਢਚߢ 214 ᘯԿऄՈΖ (adapted fromڼᨠհΖۖاհΛ࿇ۖ੡ਙ׏ഏΔኘᆄش଺հΛኘฒհۘؾհൣΖ༞׏ Johnston 2010: 338-339)

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administration, the statement must produce benefit (li ೑) 215for the state, clan, and

people.216

The stipulation that words should be supported by the deeds of the ancient sage kings, testimony of a large number of people and benefit in practice, is a standard by which we can take to evaluate all words. Notice that even ‘standard (fa ऄ)’ here refers to something abstract, it is still slightly different from ‘rule’. Of course, if we use the term

‘rule’ in a loose sense such that it refers to anything that guides correct behaviour,

‘standard’ and ‘rule’ can be interchangeable. Nevertheless, ‘rule’ sometimes refers specifically to verbal statements.217 When following a rule, a person treats the current situation as an instantiation of a general principle; when applying a standard, a person compares the current situation and a typical model to see whether they are similar.

Therefore, applying a standard focuses less on abstraction and more on comparison, though this does not exclude that the person who applies a standard needs to do some calculation or make inferences.

It is reasonable for the Mozi to suggest that every kind of action has its own standard, and there is no exception to knowing. This is different from the Analects which does not state any relationship between knowing and standard: the term ‘fa ऄ’ only appears twice in the Analects, and has little relevance to the main teaching of

Confucius. For the Mozi, if words are governed by standards, it seems natural to ask

‘how do you know . . .’ when someone makes a claim. However, it should be emphasized that, despite demand for precision and clarity in language, the Mohists, at least the early Mohists, do not give up the conception that knowing is practical.

Consider the Mozi 47.9:

215 The importance of the concept ‘benefit’ will be discussed in more detail later in this chapter. 216 Fraser 2010. 217 For a brief discussion about their difference in the context of Chinese philosophy, see Coutinho 2004: 88.

106

Now a blind person says, ‘What is white is light, what is black is dark’. Even those

who are keen-sighted have no way of changing this. [But if you] mix together white

and black [objects] and ask a blind person to pick out [a black object], they are not

able to know. Therefore, when I say that the blind person does not know white and

black, this does not refer to their naming, but to their picking.218

According to this passage, to claim that one knows something implies that they know how to ‘pick out’ (qu ข) the right thing. The blind person cannot do this because of their lack of ability219 to distinguish between white and black objects. We may further suppose that, even if the blind person tries to separate the white from the black and succeeds, perhaps by chance, this single case cannot count as knowing, as what is required is picking out the right things consistently and reliably across different cases. It would not do if someone who ‘tasted a little bitterness, called it bitter, but when they tasted a lot, called it sweet’.220 Knowing requires grasping a standard in practice, which implies consistency and reliability.

Therefore, knowing is practical in the sense that we must evaluate what a person can do in order to assess what that person knows. At the first glance it seems to be like what has been proposed in the Analects, where an example of performance is used to illustrate what knowing is. However, when the Analects emphasizes ‘knowing people’, what is known can only be fully perceived in the actual performance of human interaction. As noted in 1.5.3 of this thesis, the very interaction among people is an indispensable means of attaining knowledge. For Confucians, a paradigmatic person is a

࣐հΖଫػ႕Δࠌ៑࠷෫Δլ౨वՈΖਚݺֳ៑ृլאվ៑ֳψሰृػՈΔᚉृ႕ՈΖωឈࣔؾृྤ 218 (ࠡ࠷ՈΖ (adapted from Johnston 2010: 664-665אՈΔټࠡאवػ႕ृΔॺ 219 Does it matter whether the blind person was blind at the beginning (i.e. was born blind) or actually ‘lost’ the eye-sight (i.e. was once able to see)? The reply is that, it does not matter when we are requiring one to actually pick out the object in question. That being said, it may be true that the one who lost the eyesight could do something that cannot be done by a person who was born blind. For instance, it might be easier for the one who lost the eyesight to describe the colour of objects in more detail. Thus, the blind person who was once able to see might know, at least partially, how to talk about the terms ‘white’ and ‘black’, but still do not know white and black. .(M 17.3, Johnston 2010: 168-169) زቫેֳڍቫેֳેΔ֟ 220

107 model, but not in the sense that a compass or a square is a model. A compass helps one to determine whether something is round because the rationale of compass-operation matches some properties of a circle, but one can understand the rationale without a compass. This is because there are other instruments that can serve the same purpose of determining the roundness of an object, and the rationale of compass-operation can be described verbally. Confucians’ performance of rituals, however, emphasizes modelling without verbal teaching and explicit standards. Here, the Mohists disagree with the

Confucians because the former demand a clear and explicit standard by which we know and evaluate what we know. And the Mozi is serious about making the standard explicit.

There is no doubt, therefore, why the Mohists are so interested in topics like optics, mechanics and the design of new tools, it is because, in these areas, the issue of standard seems most important. The Mohists well respect those who specialize in what we nowadays call science and technology, but the Analects would find these quite irrelevant to the growth of a paradigmatic person, as the paradigmatic person is not a vessel for a specific task (A 2.12), which means he is not a specialist, particularly not a specialist of crafts. Focusing too much on mechanical operations may even go against the spirit of performance. It is quite difficult to state the spirit of rituals and music as clearly and impassively as in the study of optics and mechanics. The Confucians might criticize the Mohist view by claiming that the emphasis on standard will not take us very far in attaining knowledge of the rituals and music and the Mohists might counter by stating that what the Confucians claim is exactly a reason why the rituals and music should not be emphasized in the first place.

Nevertheless, the Mohists would agree with the Confucians on two points: first, that investigation into knowing is valuable for it eventually promotes social welfare.

The foremost ‘ten doctrines’ of Mohism were all claims made in the context of social order, including the structure of government and the behaviour of people. The overarching concern of rescuing society is hard to be dispelled, ‘Why should we have knowledge?’ and ‘How should we attain it?’ remain social issues. The second point is

108 that knowing is also moral, it correlates to right practice. Not all practices are right of course, not even all sophisticated practices, hence the Mohists propose the use of standards to ensure that people do not act in the wrong way.

3.2.3 The emphasis on arguments and disputation (bian ᥯)

The emphasis on establishing explicit standards leads to the emphasis on arguments when the Mohists consider the issue of rightness (yi ᆠ). What is right is determined by standards, which should be fair, objective and disinterested, which are also the characteristics of good arguments. For example, a passage that shows how the text uses arguments to analyze rightness can be found in the chapter of ‘Heaven’s intention’, which gives an account of the status of Heaven:

This being so, then what does Heaven desire and what does it abhor? Heaven

desires rightness and abhors unrighteousness . . . how do I know that Heaven

desires rightness and abhors unrighteousness? I say that when the world is

righteous, it ‘lives’, and when it is not righteous, it ‘dies’. When it is righteous, it is

rich. When it is not righteous, it is poor. When it is righteous, it is well ordered.

When it is not righteous, it is disordered. So then, Heaven desires its ‘life’ and

abhors its death . . . This is how I know that Heaven desires rightness and abhors

unrighteousness.221

Here, the passage is devoted to justifying the claim about Heaven’s desires, this is that Heaven wills rightness. The justification is showing that the world, including the human realm, is better when it is righteous, with the assumptions that Heaven looks after the world and that a well-ordered society is good for everyone. People are thus told

ΙڽΔྤᆠঞسᆠঞڶव֚հ඿ᆠۖ༞լᆠΛֳ֚Հאঞٍ֚۶඿۶༞Λ֚඿ᆠۖ༞լᆠΞྥঞ۶ྥ 221 :व֚඿ᆠۖ༞լᆠՈΖ (M 26.2, Johnston 2010אݺࢬڼᆠঞएΔྤᆠঞ႖Ξڶᆠঞ༄ΔྤᆠঞຆΙڶ 232-235)

109 to abide by rightness and the passage also justifies that rightness222 is desirable, in terms of its consequences. This is triggered by the question ‘how do I know’, and followed by detailed arguments. We will come back to the question of how we should evaluate the argument,223 the point here being to display the great eagerness to introduce the argumentative and analytical style into the debate about what is right. This debate is called ‘disputation’ (bian ㄕ). In the Mozi we see that Mozi himself was very eager and anxious to engage in disputation. He was also clear about what arguments could be used by his opponents. Over half of the chapters of ‘inclusive care’ and ‘condemning offensive’, which are the core of his normative doctrine, are devoted to responding to the views of opponents by presenting arguments. Even when not directly addressing an objection from rivals, it is a tendency in the Mozi to explicate or justify the points rather than condense or allude to them. On the contrary, in the Analects, we rarely see

Confucius as a person who was keen on knocking down opponents by arguments. In

17.21, when Zai Wo objected to the funeral practice with an argument, Confucius did not first point out the flaw in Zai Wo’s reasoning. Granted, Confucius might have known what the flaw was, but the point of his response was how to get Zai Wo back to practice. Arguments may not serve this purpose, because they may not change Zai Wo’s attitude. This is perhaps why Graham notes that the most important point of acquiring knowledge is to consider ‘which way you spontaneously tend in full knowledge . . . the issue is a matter of taste . . . [which] changes with knowledge and experience’. 224

Nevertheless, the Mozi takes another approach: it seems that people are generally inclined to act according to what themselves think to be right but, sadly, many of them are just mistaken. This partially explains why people condemn or even attach others. To

222 The distinction between ‘rightness’ and ‘righteousness’ is that the former has a broader application: it can be applied to all kinds of practice, from governing a state to using a plumb line. The latter is mainly applied to issues about social institutions and moral teachings. But this distinction is made by contemporary readers, not by the text itself. The text uses the same character all the time. And when the Mohists thought that the government should unify judgements of rightness, they seemed to think that this included all kinds of practice. 223 One of the question is the precise role of HeavenЁdo we have independent criteria for justification other than Heaven? To this we will discuss in 3.3.2 of this thesis. 224 Graham 1989: 28-29.

110 solve this conflict is a reason why should have a government (M 11.1, 12.1). 225

Furthermore, given that people value what they think to be right sometimes even higher than their own person (M 47.1), the Mozi seems to imply that, if we could convince others that our claim is right, then it would be easy to get them to follow. Using arguments supported by standards is an effective means to do so.

Actually, it is the Mozi which raises the importance of disputation. The Mohists believed that disputation can help us to find out the correct practice. Unlike the

Analects, the Mozi does not take precautions against ‘skilful words’, such as words used in disputation. There are at least two reasons for this; the consideration of justification is itself a skilful activity, and the emphasis on standards seems to control the words such that, provided what one says can be justified by the standards, there is no worry about the abuse of words.

3.3 Benefit (li ܓ): Mozi’s fundamental standard

3.3.1 Benefit as the most important justification

We have seen that there are three standards for words: they are the practices of ancient sages, the evidence from what people see and hear, and the benefit generated. It should be pointed out that the last one is in fact regarded as the most important. This can be explained in terms of its strength of justification. In this aspect, the other two standards for words can be used as a justification in only limited cases, in which they are compatible with the standard of benefit. However, in some situations the text requires benefit to supersede the other two standards. The evidence from what people see and hear is used in arguing against fate (M 36.2, 37.8), presumably since the Mohists thought that the way people acted could not be explained if they took the idea of fate seriously. However, it was not applied when Mohists tried to argue for their doctrines of inclusive care, exalting unity and moderation in funerals. These doctrines were contrary

225 See Fraser 2010.We will come back to this point in 3.3.3 of this thesis.

111 to what people were actually doing at that time, as what people saw and heard was elaborate funerals for officials and nobles. In this case, the Mohist’s response was that such doctrines were right because they eventually led to social order. This means the standard of benefit takes priority if, in application, it contradicts with the evidence of the people. Furthermore, when it comes to the practice of ancient sages, the Mohists were very clear to point out that appealing to them was reasonable because what they did was seen to promote the benefit of their state and people, not just because they taught their practices. As summarized by Graham:

You distinguish the sage kings from the tyrants by whether their policies proved

beneficial or harmful in practice; you adopt a new course for its practical effects

and then search history for confirmation that the sage kings did the same . . . since

the thought is right the sage would have shared it . . . the third [standard] outweighs

any ancient authority . . .226

In the Mozi, the sage kings were not praised for their admirable character or personal aptitude, they were mentioned simply because they did what was right. Confucians held that the sage kings were models who embodied Confucian ideals,227 and they were usually mentioned with a sense of awe, which is correlated to one’s internalization of rituals. Mohists probably respected the sage kings, but no further. The difference between the character of sage kings was even less important. Who did the right things was less important than what they did. The sage kings were deeply respected because they enforced the right policies so reliably and thoroughly, yet their practice had to be justified by appealing to benefit. Conversely, beneficial practice was simply not to be justified by the approval of sage kings. Thus, it can be said that the Mohists thought that

226 Graham 1989: 39. 227 See 1.5.3 of this thesis.

112 the criterion of rightness is conceptually independent of custom. In fact, the Mohists did not hesitate to question the legitimacy of any existing practice. They thought an established custom need not be right just because it had existed for a long time. In the

Mozi 25.14 they refer to some horrible practices in other states, such as killing the first son at once after birth because of the belief that it would bring good fortune to the second son. Why these practices were not abolished was nothing more than just believing that one’s habits were convenient and one’s customs righteous, rather than being the way of ren and yi (ren yi zi dao ੳ⟵ਯ㆏228). For Mohists, that is why we need standards, we cannot assume what we are doing is right; we must appeal to something objective, in the sense that what makes a practice right is independent of what people accept or what people believe to be right. This includes both people living at present and people living in the past. So the Mozi 39.5 states that,

Confucians say: ‘A paradigmatic person must use ancient modes of speech and

dress and afterwards he is benevolent’. I say in reply: ‘What is called ancient in

speech and dress was all once upon a time new so, if the men of old spoke this way

and dressed this way, they were not paradigmatic people. This being so, must we

clothe ourselves in the garb of those who were not paradigmatic people and speak

the speech of those who were not paradigmatic people before being benevolent?’229

‘Appealing to the ancient modes of speech and dress’ can be regarded as a specific case of appealing to authority, and the Mohists points out that this either leads to an infinite regress, or ends up in a reason other than ‘being ancient’. Certainly Confucius himself by no means blindly accepted tradition, as he thought there must be something besides the formalities in order to make the traditional rituals appropriate (A 17.11).

228 Unlike the Analects, the term ‘ren ո’ is theoretically less important in the Mozi. It is used generally to refer to loving people, and is not the core of the Mohist teachings. ԳߢհΔࣚհΔঞॺײհߢࣚृΔઃቫᄅߎΖۖײߢྥ৵ոΖωᚨհֳΚψࢬᘯײ՗ؘܩᕢृֳΚψ 229 (՗հߢΔۖ৵ո׏Λω (adapted from Johnston 2010: 354-355ܩ՗հࣚΔߢॺܩ՗ՈΖྥঞؘࣚॺܩ

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One thing that makes the rituals appropriate is its function of expressing our emotions.230 However, it is reasonable to think that Confucius did believe that a large part of his social project was selective restoration rather than radical reformation. 231

Compared to the Mohists, Confucius showed a relatively conservative attitude in the

Analects 7.1 that he ‘transmits but does not innovate’.232 While we might dispute the extent to which he would later be recognized to be an innovator,233 there is no doubt that the Mohists were, and wanted to be, reformers. Their doctrine of ‘inclusive care’ (jian ai ౗ᗲ)234 was something new that required implementation and, if implemented correctly, it did not need more than a single generation for people to be able to change

(M 16.14). And because the doctrine was new, also because there were many competing schools, they tried hard to meet the objection or distrust of others. It is true that in one of their responses they did not neglect the ancient sage kings, and they asserted that what the ancient sage kings did was what they proposed: ‘in the case of inclusive mutual concern and exchange of mutual benefit, this comes from the first four sage kings personally practising it’ (M 16.14). However, though Mozi himself was familiar with history and classics such as the Book of Odes, the Mozi does not incorporate the learning of history into the social project. On the other hand, the learning of history was considered by Confucians to be indispensable, not just for being scholarly, but also for the full appreciation of rituals as embedded in social-historical continuity. The Mohists’ response was that it was not necessary to learn history in order to know what was right.

230 See 1.5.2 of this thesis. 231 See the Analects 3.14, 8.20, 17.5. Confucius did talk about alterations of Zhou systems, but this does not imply that he wanted to replace it a new system. He firmly believed that a revival of the old could restore social order. (Lau 1979: 86) ܂૪ۖլ 232 233 Some scholars try to reconcile Confucius as a teacher of heritage and an innovator of his. See Schwartz 1985: 66-67, Fung 1966: 40-41. 234 ψଫფω is usually translated as ‘universal love’. But this is highly misleading, because of two points: first, the word ψଫω originally did not mean ‘universal’, which, in some cases, might be taken as to mean that we love all people equally and love each other to the same degree. Rather, it means ‘this and that’. The point is joining rather than equalling. See Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 2003: 667-668. Second, ‘love’ in English is usually linked to something passionate or sentimental, but ψფω is not so. It can refer to interest, preference, approval or concern. Therefore, the translation ‘inclusive care’ is adopted. Robins 2012: 60-62 explains why this translation is better. Johnston himself, after surveying several alternatives, still thinks that ‘universal’ is the most suitable. However, he does not consider the shortcomings of using the term ‘universal’ as just mentioned. See Johnston 2001: xliii – xliv.

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It was necessary to know what was right before one could evaluate the history. In terms of theoretical priority, before the models, there should be arguments.

Since benefit is the ultimate justification of rightness, from the Mohist point of view, any institution, in fact any pattern of practice, should be adopted only if it brings benefit or, other things being equal, requires minimal operational cost. The social institution proposed by the early Confucians, when examined by the Mohists, was precisely one that failed to meet this criterion. The Mohists regarded rituals as essentially decorative and costly: the subtleties in performance and the delicate settings in environment always going beyond what was needed. Moreover, it had a tendency for embellishment, especially in the hands of the elites, those who were familiar with grand ceremonies and enjoyed the decoration. Take, for example, a description of the funerals of great officials in M 25.12:

There must be an outer and an inner coffin, embroidered hide in three layers, jade

emblems and jade already prepared, spears, swords, tripods, drums, pots, vessels,

embroideries and silks, and funeral garments in countless layers as well as

carriages, horses, women and musicians all prepared. They say the ground must be

beaten down to make a road [to the grave] and the burial mound should resemble

a hill.235

The elaborate ritual was a form of indulgence and the people who were more capable of indulgence, by virtue of their social position, were also those who generated more harm through their indulgence. This is because they were using up social resources not for benefit of society. The social elites in the upper classes forced people to work to support

ࠠΔ֩Ꮶቓቔ♻ᛒΔ֮៧ైᒭΔՕᏃᆄᏆΔᝨ್ՖᑗઃࠠΔֳؘཁჁܛدؘՕཛྷխཛྷΔ଀㕆ԿᖙΔ់ 235 ஁ຏΔᡐឈՅ՞ສΖ (Johnston 2010: 224-227)

115 their extravagant lifestyle, while the effort and resource could have been devoted to projects that would benefit all in society.

The text goes on to say:

. . . those who are benevolent, in making their plans for the world . . . take

[luxurious rituals and music] as depriving the people of materials for food and

clothing and so the benevolent do not make them . . . It is not because he thinks the

flavours of the broiled meats of grass-and grained-fed animals are not sweet. It is

not because he thinks dwellings with high towers, large pavilions and secluded

courtyards are not comfortable. Although the body knows their comforts . . . when

we examine these things in terms of the high, they do not accord with the business

of the sage kings, and when we evaluate them in terms of the low, they do not

accord with the benefit of the ten thousand people.236

The Mohists did not deny that rituals and music are enjoyable, but pleasure itself is hardly placed in the core of the concern of Mohists, especially if we mean by ‘pleasure’ some comfortable feelings. Such a hedonistic element does not contribute much to their idea of benefit, 237 so practicing rituals for personal pleasure was just another way for the kings and dukes to burden the people and create harm.

To this objection a Confucian might reply that it does not show that the rituals are problematic, but only shows that excessive rituals are problematic. Surely the upper class could use the rituals as an excuse for indulgence, deliberately denying it as a part of the self-cultivation project, and neglect the fact that rituals can be modified by frugal consideration (A 9.3). However, the correct practice of ritual should be accompanied by

אՕᤪΕᏓቔΕྶᅖΕણลհᜢΔאଇհತΔոृؗ੡ՈΞॺ۪ا᜽ኆڼא׊֛ոृհ੡֚Հ৫ՈΞ 236 ՈΞڜՈΖឈߪवࠡڜ੡լא೏ፕদዔ᠒ມհࡺΔאՈΔॺز੡լאᇳᄾजհ࠺Δ⨀א੡լᑗՈΙॺ (Ζ (M 32.1-32.2, Johnston 2010: 306-307ܓհاհլխᆣ׆հࠃΔՀ৫հլխᆄەՂ 237 Hansen 1992: 136.

116 a spirit of self-discipline, which implies that excessive practices are excluded. To this, the Mohists could counter by saying that it presupposes a standard to measure whether a practice is excessive. This standard must be objective in order to be effective, in the same way as the Mohist standard of benefit. Then, as long as people conform to the

Mohist standard, it was not necessary to impose an extra institution, namely the rituals, regardless of whether engagement in rituals was indeed embellishment and indulgence.238 Anyway, the standard of benefit would reliably guide people for a lesser cost.

3.3.2 Benefit and Heaven’s standard

So far our claim is that the standard of benefit determines what is right and understanding of what is beneficial leads one to know what is right, which is to reliably distinguish between what is right and what is not. However, there is the question of whether benefit is the final justification. Some scholars, such as Lao Si-guang239 and

David Soles,240 argue that the standard of benefit is further justified by the fundamental standard, namely Heaven’s intention. One of the foremost ‘ten doctrines’ was indeed obeying Heaven, and there were passages which seemed to claim that Heaven was the ultimate justification, such as:

Thus, rightness does not come from the foolish and lowly. It must come from the

noble and wise. And who do I say is noble, who is wise? I say Heaven is noble,

Heaven is wise. In this case, then rightness undoubtedly comes from Heaven. Now

238 This does not imply that Mohists will have to abolish all existing rituals and music, for such abolition may incur a great cost. Some very basic existing rituals may still be preserved because they contribute to the benefit of society. See Lai 1993: 134-135. 239 Lao 2002: 279-284. 240 See Soles 1999: 37-48, Duda 2001: 23-31. Duda is critical of Sole’s position.

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if the world’s officers and gentlemen wish to be righteous, they cannot do

otherwise than comply with Heaven's intention.241

If Heaven is the fundamental standard, those passages asking ‘how do I know

Heaven's intention as . . .’, such as 4.3 and 26.2, must be interpreted as not to ask for a justification for Heaven’s commands, but merely find out what Heaven does command.

This is plausible. An alternative interpretation is to note that in 28.4, the phrase ‘come from’ (that is, the Chinese wordޟ಴ޠ) is ambiguous. It can mean Heaven creates what is right, or Heaven just does what is right, Accordingly, the sentence that ‘rightness does not come from the foolish’ should be read as not to claim that fools cannot create what is righteous, but that fools cannot do what is righteous. Another passage that seems to regard Heaven as the ultimate justification can be found in 4.3:

This being so, then what may be taken as a standard for bringing about order? It is

said that there is no standard like Heaven. Heaven is broad and unselfish in its

actions, and is generous in its bestowing without considering itself virtuous, Its

radiance is enduring and does not decay. Therefore, the sage kings took it as the

standard . . . What Heaven desires should be done and what it does not desire

should not be done . . . What Heaven desires is that there be mutual love and

mutual benefit among people . . . How do we know that . . .? Because it is universal

in loving them and universal benefiting them. How do we know that . . .? Because it

is universal in possessing them and universal in feeding them.242

ΖֳΚᓴ੡၆Λᓴ੡वΛֳΚ֚੡၆Δ֚੡वΖྥঞᆠ࣠נΔؘ۞၆׊वृנਢਚᆠृլ۞ჟ׊ᔀृ 241 (լႉ֚հრߎΖ (M 28.4, Johnston 2010: 264-265ױ՗඿੡ᆠृΔঞլܩՈΖվ֚ՀհՓנ֚۞ Λਚֳ๕ૉऄ֚Ζ֚հ۩ᐖۖྤߏΔࠡਜদۖլᐚΔࠡࣔՆۖլಐΔਚᆣ׆ऄױ੡एऄۖאঞଡ଼ྥ 242 אवΞΛאΔۖլ඿Գհઌ༞ઌᇶՈΔଡ଼ܓհΞ֚հࢬ඿ঞ੡հΔ֚ࢬլ඿ঞַΞؘ֚඿Գհઌფઌ (հΔଫۖଇհՈΖ (Johnston 2010: 26-27ڶࠡଫۖאवΞΛאհՈΖଡ଼ܓࠡଫۖფհΔଫۖ

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This passage proposes Heaven as the standard and goes on to justify taking Heaven as the standard. However, note that ‘standard’ does not necessarily refer to that which makes a practice right. A ruler is a standard of straightness in the sense that everyone can know how to distinguish what is straight and what is not by using a ruler, but the ruler itself does not make any line straight. So taking Heaven as the standard does not mean that Heaven simply makes a right practice right. Besides, the passage gives reasons for explaining why Heaven is a reliable standard by appealing to its universality, impartiality and consistency. This is like explaining why a ruler is reliable by appealing to the rationale of the ruler. That is, it is possible to interpret Heaven as similar to a ruler that can always guide our practice correctly, without replacing the standard of benefit as the most important justification. After all, Mozi did regard

Heaven as similar to compasses or square in M 27.10. This point is noted by Kristopher

Duda who summarizes several passages that might be more easily interpreted as a divine command theory.243 Duda’s main idea is that the text always provides reasons for explaining why Heaven's act is right or why we should act according to Heaven. There is no place that only the will of Heaven is cited as the justification. And those reasons for explanation are all pointing to the claim that Heaven is impartial in promoting benefit for all. Chris Fraser thinks it is reasonable to assign two roles to Heaven: as a justification and as a guideline,244 which are precisely the two meanings of Mohist standard. The point is that there is no clear textual or theoretical reason to ascribe the ultimate justificatory role to Heaven. It might be fair to say that the Mohists treated

Heaven as a personal deity, at least to the extent that it could punish people who did wrong (M 12.7, 27.7, 28.4). Nonetheless this does not imply that the Mohists acted on and nothing else. It is not even clear whether the Mohists were wholeheartedly devoted in their religious beliefs, for it might be argued that Mohist religious doctrines

243 See note 240. 244 Fraser 2010.

119 were taught because they were good for the society, not because the Mohists had any real interest in supernatural matters.245

3.3.3 Benefit as the goods in the vision of social order

Since benefit is the ultimate justification of practice, it is not surprising to find that the

Mohists regard it as intrinsically valuable. In terms of the overall concern of Mohist doctrines, benefit is desired for itself. The world’s benefit (tian xia zhi li ᄤਅਯ೑) constitutes the vision of social order. ‘Promote the world’s benefit and eliminate the world’s harm’ is the essence of any benevolent agent (M 12.7, 15.1, 16.1, 16.3, 19.10,

27.4, 31.2, 32.1). And just what is the world’s benefit and harm? An account of the world’s harm is given in M 16.1:

. . . of the world’s harms what, at the present time, are the greatest? [Master Mo

Zi] said: ‘They are great states attacking small states, great houses bringing

disorder to small houses, the strong plundering the weak, the many ill-treating the

few, the cunning scheming against the foolish, and the noble being arrogant

towards the lowly. These are the world’s harms . . .’246

This is actually a precise articulation of the society at Mozi’s time. The Warring States period was a time in which war, usurpation and tyranny were very common. People who possessed power were using it to cause suffering to others, resulting in the world’s harm. This great harm has two characteristics: first, it was not limited to a particular social stratum, but was pervasive across different classes. Secondly, the form of suffering was not confined to physical violence, as people used all available means to do injury to others. 16.1 continues:

245 Fung 1966: 57. இΔฒհᑊኒΔܖ՛ഏՈΔՕ୮հ႖՛୮ՈΔൎհސᅝվհழΔ֚Հհ୭ഩ੡ՕΛֳΚψૉՕഏհྥ 246 (Հհ୭ՈΞω (Johnston 2010: 146-147֚ڼհᘩჟΔ၆հඐᔀΔ့

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. . . rulers not being kind, ministers not being loyal, fathers not being

compassionate and sons not being filial. These too are the world’s harms . . .247

In these words, Mohists pointed to the violation of social roles and corresponding virtues. This may sound like a Confucian idea. Although the dispute about rituals makes it hard to think Confucians and Mohists hold exactly the same position on this issue, both of them think that a society naturally contains social roles, which impose some requirements or constraints on people’s behaviour. For the Mohists, the violation of social roles is a part of the world’s harm. This harm might not be physical, for instance a disloyal minister may disparage the duties silently without actually getting a chance to meddle with them. The proper functioning of social roles therefore requires more than just the absence of actual pain. And the last section of 16.1:

Furthermore, at the present time, base men make use of weapons, poisons, water

and fire to injure and harm each other. This too is harmful to the world.248

At first glance, this seems to merely repeat the point of the ways of causing suffering.

However, on closer investigation there is a subtle difference. The men attacking each other are not divided into two struggling classes, for example the strong and weak, and there is no sign that one attacks another with the intention of gaining personal advantage. This scenario is very similar to 11.1:

Ծ֚Հհ୭ՈΖ. (JohnstonڼհլსՈΔ՗ृհլݕՈΔृ׀հլ࢘ՈΔृ۝հլ༡ՈΔृܩԾፖ੡Գ 247 2010: 146-147) (Ծ֚Հհ୭ՈΖ (Johnston 2010: 146-147ڼઌ᜽ᇶΔٌא־ԾፖվԳհᔀԳΔചࠡ܎Ս੅ᢐֽ 248

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In ancient times, when people first came into being . . . people had different

[criteria of] rightness. This meant that . . . [the] more people there were, the more

things there were that were spoken as principles. This was a case of people

affirming their own principles and condemning those of other people . . . people all

used water and fire, and poisons and potions to injure and harm one another. As a

result, those with strength to spare did not use it to help each other in their work,

surplus goods rotted and decayed and were not used for mutual distribution . . .249

In this passage the problem arises from the disagreement about what counts as right.

The Mohists took it to be obvious that people had a strong motivation to oppose those who held a different view of rightness, even prior to political influence. According to the text, such motivation is so strong that it leads to conflict, apathy and economic waste. Although this scenario of ‘ancient people’ is hypothetical, the Mohists did think that disagreement about the conception of rightness was a problem that needed to be solved. It was nothing less than a part of the world’s harm.

The world’s benefit, considered as the opposite of the world’s harm, at least includes the reversal of all the undesirable phenomena mentioned above. All people have no intention to overpower others, fulfil what are required by their roles appropriately, and eliminate moral disagreement through the standards together with a political unification of rightness. This is one of the ‘ten doctrines’, ‘exalting unity’

(shang tong ዏห). Positively speaking, it is a well-ordered world with efficiency and prosperity.250 This vision is the ultimate goal of the Mohist reformation.

ॺԳհᆠΔਚٌઌॺՈΞ֚אԳਢࠡᆠΔאΞԳฆᆠΞࠡԳ౿ฒΔࠡࢬᘯᆠृٍ౿ฒΔਢسࡨاृײ 249 (ઌ։Ξ (Johnston 2010: 90-91א塒ತլڷઌ໎Δፍא塒Ժլ౨ڶ੅ᢐઌ᜽୭Δ۟־ֽאࡩΔઃۍՀհ 250 See also M 25.1, 35.1, 46.9 in which the text says what will happen if rightness is put into use, i.e. what will be the outcome of promoting benefit. Although it is not meant to be a comparison to Western philosophy, it may be helpful to note a difference here between Mohism and utilitarianism (a label which many scholars have given to Mohism) about the conception of good: utilitarianism, at least in its primitive version, defined utility as net pleasure over pain. On the contrary, Mohism did not have a single ultimate good. The vision of ideal society includes different goods. Moreover, pleasure is related to benefit only indirectly, as later Mohists define benefit as ‘what one is pleased to get’ (M A26, Johnston 2010: 394-395), rather than pleasure itself.

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3.3.4 Benefit as motivational force

The standard of benefit also correlate to motivation, in the sense that recognizing an act is beneficial pushes one to perform it. This point is prominent in one of the passages arguing that carrying out inclusive care is not that difficult:

. . . gentlemen of the world say: ‘That may be so. Inclusive care would, of course,

be very good. However, in the world, it is a difficult matter.’ Master Mo Zi spoke,

saying: ‘. . . If a person shows concern for others, then others must, as a result,

show concern for that person. If a person benefits others then others must, as a

result, benefit that person. If a person hates others then others, must, as a result,

hate that person. If a person harms others then others must, as a result, harm that

person. Where is the difficulty? . . .’251

Strictly speaking, this argument is not used to show that the doctrine of inclusive care is morally right, but to show it is practicable. The opponent of Mozi has granted at the beginning that the doctrine is good yet thinks it is difficult to be put into use. The

Mohist’s response here mentions the doctrine of ‘inclusive care’ together with ‘mutual benefit’ (jiao xiang li ੤⋧೑). In practice, care or concern cannot be separated from the attempt to benefit others. According to 15.4, a person who agrees with the doctrine and admits that is good, but is still reluctant to benefit others in practice may find the possibility of being benefited as a motivation. Since it is assumed that seeking benefit for oneself is a powerful motivation, the Mohists argue that such motivation can be used to induce people to practice Mohist doctrines. The other two standards for words (the practice of ancient sages and the evidence from what people see and hear) do not have the same motivational power.

՗ֳΚψྥΔԯૉଫঞ࿳ߎΔឈྥΔ֚Հհᣄढ࣍ਚՈΖω ՗ᕠ՗ߢֳΚψΞ֛ფԳܩվ֚ՀհՓ 251 ۶ڼհΙ༞ԳृΔԳؘൕۖ༞հΙ୭ԳृΔԳؘൕۖ୭հΖܓԳृΔԳؘൕۖܓΔԳؘൕۖფհΙृ (ΜΞω (M 15.4, adapted from Johnston 2010: 138-141ڶᣄհ

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It must be noted that the possibility of being benefited is not necessarily considered in a purely self-interested way. When the Analects tells us that ‘the gentleman understands what is right, the small man understands what is profitable’,252 it seems that the small man cannot be motivated by rightness. From this perspective, the interest of other people can influence one’s motivation only if that can eventually be reduced to self-interest, for example helping someone in need just for the possibility that the help will be rewarded. Some people who practice the doctrine of inclusive care may be like this. However, the Mohists did not in all cases reduce all motivation down to the desire of an egoist, and did not need to do so. One may already be motivated to genuinely care for some people, such as their parents. The remaining problem is they might see caring for others as just a waste of time, hence the question whether the doctrine of inclusive care is harmful to being filial (M 16.13). The Mohists said that it is not, because being filial implies the intention to benefit one's parents, and showing concern for others will eventually bring benefit to one’s parents. Seeing this creates at least some degree of motivational force for a filial person to practice the Mohist doctrine. Remember we have said that the Mohists took it for granted that most people have strong resolve to do what in their eyes is right. If people agree that being filial is right and they grasp the

Mohist doctrine as benefiting filial piety, they will be inclined to put it into practice.

3.4 Failure of knowing

Given that the standards both justify and guide us to know something, they should account for the lack of knowledge as well. Like the Analects,253 the Mozi contrasts huo

ᖺ with zhi ⍮. Avoiding huo is the same as attaining zhi. In the Mozi, ‘huo ༝’ generally refers to when one is unable to figure out which alternative is the best, given the principle of choice. ‘Perplexity’ seems a suitable translation in this context.

Examples include: people did not know whether elaborate funerals were right or wrong

252 ܩ՗໧࣍ᆠΔ՛Գ໧࣍ܓ (A 4.16, Lau 1979: 74) 253 See 1.6.3 of this thesis.

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(M 25.2); whether elaborate funerals were beneficial or harmful (M 25.4); whether ghosts and spirits existed (M 31.1, 31.2) and whether it was right to remonstrate, either directly or indirectly, when a great officer behaved cruelly in the state (M 48.1). The

Mohists would probably say that one is perplexed only because one has not yet found the standard. As soon as one knew how to apply benefit as a criterion, the problems were solved: elaborate funerals were wrong, simple funerals were more beneficial, ghosts existed and it was right to remonstrate.

However, there was another problem, when a person may be in-between ignorance and being fully qualified as a competent knower. Similar to the case in the Analects, where the person may show no hesitation yet is still, in some sense, mistaken. This is the case when someone who ‘tasted a little bitterness, called it bitter, but when tasted a lot, called it sweet’.254 It is analogous to a moral context in which someone who saw a little wrongness, called it wrong, but upon seeing a grave wrongness, called it right (M

17.1). One who knows to condemn theft and murder but not aggression war and massacre meant that they fail to see the similarity between these two wrong acts. The distinction made in each case could not match the other, so the judgement of the person was inconsistent. If the mistaken distinction was displayed, other people could also be influenced to practice wrongly, so the judgement of the person was unreliable. Mozi asked, ‘can this be called knowing the difference between what is righteous and what is not righteous?’ And the answer was, by all means, ‘no’. Mozi labelled the state of such a person as ‘confused’ (luan ੊).255 Being unable to pick out the right things consistently and reliably is a state of disorder.

It should be noted that in giving examples of perplexity and confusion, the text does not specifically mention anything about the emotions or personality of the person who is perplexed or confused. This is different from the Analects in which we see there are overwhelming and inconsistent emotions, but this does not imply a theoretical

(M 17.3, Johnston 2010: 168-169) زቫેֳڍቫેֳેΔ֟ 254 255 The Chinese characters ႖ and ༝ could be used interchangeably during the Warring States period.

125 contradiction between Confucianism and Mohism; it is theoretically possible that perplexity or confusion always associated with inconsistent emotions together with confusion about standards. However, the absence of emotions in the Mozi reflects the

Mohist tendency to make knowing less dependent on the personality of the knower. It also implies another reason behind Mohist disapproval towards the rituals and music and the heavy emphasis on character development. To this we now turn.

3.5 Sentiment and emotion in the Mozi

As mentioned in the introduction of this chapter, the Huainanzi mentions why the founder of Mohism turned away from Confucian teachings:

Master Mo studied the work of the Confucians and received the techniques of

Confucius. [However,] he regarded their rituals to be worrisome and

inappropriate, their lavish funerals to be wasteful of resources, impoverishing the

people . . .256

It is not certain whether this description is true of Mozi himself, but it is certain that the early Mohists were keen on attacking the Confucian rituals. These constituted three of the ‘ten doctrines’ of Mohism: moderation in use, moderation in funeral and condemning music.

We have already seen two of the reasons behind the objection to the Confucian rituals. The first is that rituals rely on a custom which cannot be taken as a standard and the second is that it imposes great cost on the society. Yet there is another dimension to the divergence between Confucians and Mohists on this issue, namely the relationship of rituals to our sentiments, emotions and, finally, character.

(Ξ (Major 2010: 864ا੡ࠡ៖ᅀឫۖլᎅΔদᆻᣇತۖຆאᕠ՗ᖂᕢृհᄐΔ࠹֞՗հ๬Δ 256

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In 1.5.2 of this thesis, we saw that, in order to master the skill of interacting with people, it requires one to be attentive not only to the overt behaviour, but also, through that behaviour, to the emotions and sentiments behind it. Besides, knowing the appropriate practice implies that one knows how to perform it with appropriate sentiments and emotions. One of the functions of rituals, therefore, is expressing these sentiments and emotions: it is an outlet for us to express joy, sorrow, respect, sympathy, and many more. What is the Mohist view on this issue? Take filial piety as an example; in the Analects 2.7, the text reads:

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?257

Reverence must be present in filial piety just as in other form of rituals (A 3.26). It is not reducible to any overt behaviour because all ways of displaying behaviour can be just pretending, and it prescribes one’s emotions. One is required to feel in a certain way towards one’s parents.

The Mozi 16.13 reads:

. . . in the case of consideration for parents being [the basis for] a filial son . . . he

would wish others to care about and benefit his parents. In this case, then, to what

would I give priority in day-to-day business in order to attain this? If I were to give

priority in day-to-day business to caring about and benefiting the parents of others,

would others subsequently requite me by caring about and benefiting my parents?

Or if I were to give priority in day-to-day business to hating and harming the

parents of others, would others subsequently requite me by caring about and

(׏Λ (Lau 1979: 64ܑא塄ΖլᄃΔ۶ڶڶվհݕृΔਢᘯ౨塄Ζ್ׅ۟࣍Δઃ 257

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benefiting my parents? . . . in the interchange between filial sons, is there, in fact,

any alternative to giving priority in day-to-day business to caring about and

benefiting the parents of others?258

The Mozi 25.1:

A benevolent man’s planning for the world is in no way different from a filial son's

planning for his parents. Now what will a filial son’s planning for his parents

consist of? I say that, if his parents are poor, he works to make them rich. If the

people [of his family] are few, he works to make them numerous. If they are

numerous but in disorder, he works to bring them in order . . . while ever he has

untapped strength, hidden resources or remaining materials, he cannot do

otherwise than use them for his parents. It is by discharging these three

responsibilities that the filial son makes provision for his parents.259

From a Confucian perspective, what is missing here is how a filial son should feel towards his parents260 besides the willingness to promote their benefit. If we generalize the point in the Analects 2.7, it seems that merely promoting their benefit, however great the benefit is, is not sufficient for a person to treat their parents as parents. The distinction in emotion between treating one’s parents and livestock does not seem to depend on the consideration of benefit. In other words, one who has not yet cultivated the appropriate emotions does not know completely about filial piety. And just how

ԳհᘣΔྥ৵ԳܓΛૉݺ٣ൕࠃ׏ფڼ൓ܛ༞٣ൕࠃܠܛࠡᘣՈΖྥܓ඿Գհფܛݕ՗հ੡ᘣ৫ृΞ 258 հٌݕ՗ृΔ࣠լܛᘣ׏ΛΞྥܠܓფאᘣ׏Λრݺ٣ൕࠃ׏༞ᇶԳհᘣΔྥ৵Գ໴ݺܠܓფא໴ݺ (ԳհᘣፖΛ (Johnston 2010: 160-161ܓ൓բ׏Δֹ٣ൕࠃფ ฆ׏ݕ՗հ੡ᘣ৫ՈΖվݕ՗հ੡ᘣ৫ՈΔല࡜۶বΛֳΚᘣຆঞൕࠃאոृհ੡֚Հ৫ՈΔሌհྤ 259 Δۖլ੡ᘣ੡հृߎΖૉܓኒঞൕࠃ׏ฒհΖฒ႖ঞൕࠃ׏एհΞྤཊॐ塒ԺΔឆᘩᙊا׏༄հΔԳ (ߎΖ (Johnston 2010: 210-211ڼԿ೭ृΔݕ՗հ੡ᘣ৫ՈΔਝૉ 260 Although the text mentions ‘care’, this term in the Mozi is usually mentioned together with ‘benefit’, as ‘care and benefit’ (ai li ფܓ). It emphasizes a disposition to act rather than an emotion.

128 should one cultivate emotions? One answer is, not surprisingly, by practicing the rituals and letting one’s character be shaped by them: ‘never fail to comply’.261

It does not mean that the Mohists intended to claim that one should not make that distinction proposed by the Confucians, rather, they seemed to address another question: regardless of what they feel, what should filial children do for their parents? After posing the question in this way, they then asked, by what standard should we guide and evaluate one’s action? This goes back to the standard of benefit. An unfilial son is seen as someone who does not use his untapped strength or hidden resources for the benefit of his parent, which is a mistake in action, not in emotion or sentiment. If all people would act according to the standard all the time, this would be enough for social order, and there is no place for the Confucian rituals to emphasize character development.

Nonetheless, a consequence of denying the importance of rituals is the downplay of the cultivation of sentiments. Actually, the Mozi 47.6 says:

It is necessary to do away with the six partialities . . . must do away with pleasure,

do away with anger, do away with joy, do away with sorrow, do away with love,

[do away with hate] and make use of benevolence and rightness.262

The Analects never talks about ‘doing away’ with joy, anger and other emotions; the paradigmatic person works with them, not against them. The rituals and music must embody appropriate emotions, and emotions must be co-ordinated and expressed by the rituals. The importance of emotions can be seen even when Confucius and his disciples did not explicitly mention the rituals and music (A 1.1, 6.11, 4.21, 19.19). On the other hand, what is required in Mohism is the focus on what is right. It is usually accompanied by a strong commitment and resolution, which were typical of the Mohists

261 ྤሔ (A 2.5, Lau 1979: 63) (ոᆠΖ (Johnston 2010: 664-665ش༞ΔۖװფΔװ༟ΔװᑗΔװ৷Δװ໛ΔװքሌΞؘװؘ 262

129 at that time, perhaps involving some fervour. Still, for them it is not important to derive joy from the right practice, nor do they think that is the proper motivation. Unlike the

Analects (A 6.20, 6.23), in the Mozi there is no statement emphasizing the joy of knowledge. For the Mohist, the Confucian idea that acting morally can be a source of satisfaction—with the help of rituals and music, such as Confucius himself just wanted to do at the age of seventy—is seen as insignificant. While the term ‘ren ੳ’ in the

Analects cannot be understood without considering the perfection of character, the same term in the Mozi is given little theoretical importance. A person with ren is just someone concerned to do what is right, regardless of whether their virtue has been perfected.

As we discussed earlier, Mohists thought that people are already motivated to do what they think is right, which is to say that they are aware of, and have a firm commitment to their own rightness. This firm commitment can be utilized correctly if we can supply, by argument, an objective standard of right, plus the practicability of the standard. If the Mohists had this idea, the process of cultivation263 would focus on understanding and then insisting on the standard. Such insistence would see emotions such as sorrow, angry or joy as possible distractions or obstacles because they do not by themselves encourage one to rightness.

3.6 Ideal personality in the Mozi

Given the fact that the Mozi cares little about the attunement of character, it is not surprising to see that the text does not give much description about what an ideal person should be like. Schwartz says,

263 Actually, there is a chapter named Xiu Shen ଥߪ in the Mozi. However, we take the comment of Sun Yi-rang and Sun Qi-zhi that this chapter was not written by the Mohists, and does not represent the core of Mohist teachings. See the editor’s note and the introduction of Sun 1954.

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. . . the Mohist truly “righteous man’s” attention is totally and undeviatingly fixed

on the world “out there”. He is totally oriented toward “doing good” and not

preoccupied with “being good”. . . the Mohist definition is direct and

unambiguously outer-oriented.264

Perhaps the word ‘totally’ is too strong, yet it is fair to say an ideal Mohist is primarily occupied with the practical affairs, wants all their actions be useful, and is to some extent ascetic. Here, ‘ascetic’ does not refer to living an extremely simple life in the wild, since the Mohists must engage in social activities. However, they show a greater acceptance to hard labour work and austere living than Confucians. We may further list some differences between an ideal Confucian and an ideal Mohists in terms of their personality and lifestyle: first, in rejecting rituals and music, the Mohists substitute elegance for efficiency. They know that these enjoyments are elegant, but they must give way to the world’s benefit. Thus, it is hard to see an ideal Mohist being interested in what we now call aesthetics because there is a tendency in Mohism to dismissing it. It does not mean they wanted to abolish all kinds of arts, but the Mohists were impatient with the Confucian project of moral cultivation, which essentially involves training in rituals and music,265 taking so much time and effort, both at the level of individual and society. They wanted the life of people to be simpler, at least this was what they wanted for themselves: they were persons with strict self-control and lived with as little ‘waste’ as possible. This is depicted in the last chapter of the Zhuangzi:

264 Schwartz 1985: 146. 265 See 1.6.1 of this thesis.

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The result was that many of the Mohists of later generations dressed in furs or

coarse wool, wore clogs or hemp sandals, never rested day or night, and thought of

being harsh to oneself as the most important thing.266

A person living such a life is hardly likely to be interested in the subtleties of food, dressing or gestures, as described in the Analects chapter 10. Their association with the lower class also makes the Mohists more likely to regard the Confucian elegance as extravagance, or a self-constructed screen that ‘blinds’ them to the poor situation of society.

Secondly, in emphasizing arguments and standard, an ideal Mohist is likely to be more calculative. This is not to say that they are mean, but that they focus more on assessing the benefit of a practice rather than its quality and the emotions of the agent, for example whether they feel good during their actions. Therefore, while Confucian practice is highly style-sensitive because a person realizes themselves in practice,267 such sensitivity, according to the Mohists, can only be approved if the style difference influences benefit. Personality as such is not the primary issue. This is not to say that

Confucians did not care about material benefit or that the Mohists neglected the issue of quality altogether, but a Confucian would see the Mohist insistence on argument as a derivative concern at best. Derivative because it may be useful sometimes but, after all, it can only be a dispensable tool. At best, Mohist would see the Confucian enjoyment in moral practice, and their apparent effortlessness, as a reflection of their strong commitment to what is right, yet this could not be appreciated without being conscious of and focusing on the standard behind the practice.

Thirdly, an ideal Mohist would be very resolute and determined. In the Mozi it is said that one can one’s person for what is right (M 46.1) and, as we discussed before, such insistence on rightness does not depend on the existence of government,

(੡ᄕΖ (Z 33, adapted from Graham 1981: 276-277ે۞א⍏㐚੡ࣚΔֲ࡙լٖΔאᇗᓣ੡۪Δאڍ 266 267 See 1.3 and 1.6.1 of this thesis.

132 nor does it depend on a cultivated moral agent, as in the Analects 15.9. Also, from the last chapter the Zhuangzi quoted above, it seems that a Mohist, once they realized the correctness of the Mohist teaching, was totally obedient and self-disciplined. The

Mohist de-emphasis of emotions in their training strengthens their resolution. This is also why they could form an effective military group and were able to help the small states in their time. A passage in the Huainanzi says that the Mohists can go straight to the life-threatening battlefield without turning back.268 Such determination makes an ideal Mohist an ideal symbol of Mohist standards.

3.7 Conclusion

The Mohists were the first to emphasize the importance of disputation and justification of one’s words. This self-awareness of the art of reasoning deeply influenced later thinkers, including Zhuangzi. The Mohists agreed with the Confucians that the ultimate goal of knowing includes social and political achievement, and that knowing implies practice. Nevertheless, the two schools disagreed with each other about how we should guide our practice, and whether correct practice must depend on a noble and elegant character. Mohists trust less in the influencing power of virtue and are more insistent on the importance of standards.

Historically, such disagreement soon led to epic debates between Confucians and

Mohists, as well as within both Confucianism and Mohism. How one should resolve the debate becomes a test for one’s philosophical view and methodology. In the next chapter, we are going to analyze how and why this debate is managed in the Zhuangzi.

լᝫᘾΔ֏հࢬીՈΖ (the Huainanzi chapter 20, MajorڽᝢՍΔ־ࠌ૥ױԶԼԳΔઃۍᕠ՗ࣚݰृ 268 2010: 818)

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Chapter 4 Knowing in the Zhuangzi: problem of correctness

4.1 Introduction

This chapter and the following two chapters will analyze the concept ‘zhi’ in the

Zhuangzi. 269 Each of the chapters will focus on an aspect of Zhuangzi’s critique of other schools, mainly Confucianism and Mohism, in particular their doctrines of knowing, practice, self-cultivation and ideal personality. Since both Confucianism and

Mohism regard knowledge as manifested in practice, this chapter concerns the issue of fixing the correct practice in the Confucian-Mohist debate;why Confucians and

Mohists disagree with each other about ‘correctness’ (zheng ᱜ), and how Zhuangzi analyzes such disagreement.

4.2 ‘Right and Wrong’ and the Confucian-Mohist debate

As discussed in previous chapters, both Confucians and Mohists have ambition to participate in the government even though they have opposite views of government. The result is that their interest in managing public affairs intensifies their debate. This debate is an important background for us in understanding Zhuangzi’s philosophy, which can be regarded as a series of responses to Confucian and Mohist doctrines.

From the text of the Zhuangzi we can see that Zhuangzi is familiar with other conflicting doctrines in his time, but among them the Confucian-Mohist debate is the most representative. However, when Zhuangzi criticizes this debate, his criticism can be easily extended to apply to many other doctrines, or even debate in general. In chapter 2 we have:

269 In this chapter and all the succeeding chapters, the word ‘Zhuangzi’ refers to the voice of the text named Zhuangzi. It does not refer to any particular historical figure. Throughout this thesis, references to the Zhuangzi are represented by a ‘Z’ and the numbers corresponding to relevant chapters in a bracket, such as (Z 2). The arrangement of the order of the Zhuangzi chapters and sentences follows the explanation in Chen 2001.

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. . . so we have the right and wrong (shi fei ᤚ㕖) of Confucians and Mohists, by which what is it for one of them for the other is not, what is not for one of them for the other is. 270

In chapter 22:

People who are called ‘gentleman’, like those teachers of Confucians and Mohists, attack each other by right and wrong. . . 271

Graham translated ‘shi-fei ᤚ㕖’ into ‘that’s it’ and ‘that’s not’. He draws on

Zhuangzi’s insight that the words ‘shi ᤚ’ and ‘fei 㕖’ are similar to ‘this (ci ᱝ)’ and

‘that (bi ᓐ)’, in the sense that both are words whose reference depends on the position of the speaker, that is they are demonstrative nouns. ‘It may be noticed that the basically demonstrative words “it” and “so (ran ὼ)” attract attention, as such English words as

“true” and “valid” do not, to the question whether users of a name are in fact picking out the same thing as “it”.’ 272 The words ψᤚω,ψ ᱝω, ψὼ ω can all mean ‘this’, 273 as well as an approval or affirmation made from the speaker’s specific position. Hansen agrees on this point and says, ‘. . . “this (shi ᤚ)” and “that (bi ᓐ)” are indexicals even when used by the same person. They pick out different objects depending on the speaker’s position in relation to the objects. By moving the speaker’s reference point, we change what is this and that.’ 274 Hence Graham’s translation captures the sense that the perspective of the speaker or the writer partially determines the reference of “shi ᤚ” and “fei 㕖”.

(ਢࠡࢬॺۖॺࠡࢬਢΖ(Graham 1981: 52אᕢᕠհਢॺΔڶਚ 270 (ਢॺઌ哈ՈΖ(Chen 2001: 588-590א՗հԳΔૉᕢᕠृஃΔਚܩ 271 272 Graham 1981: 10. See also his explanation in Graham 1989: 176-179. 273 Just like ψࡌω, ψሙω, ψভω can all mean ‘all’. (Z 22) 274 Hansen 1992: 282. We will come back to this point later.

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We should explain why ‘shi-fei ᤚ㕖’ is translated ‘right and wrong’ here. ‘Shi-fei

ᤚ㕖’ can be used as a noun (as in ‘ru mo zhi shi fei ఌაਯᤚ㕖’) or a verb (as in ‘shi qi suo fei ᤚ౔ᚲ㕖’). This characteristic is preserved in ‘right and wrong’ but not in

Graham's translation. Besides, using ‘right and wrong’ also indicates that ‘shi-fei ᤚ㕖’ has a normative dimension. When one shi ᤚ (used as a verb here) something, it means one approves something, treats it as right, or puts it into practice. It is important to note that a set of shi-fei ᤚ㕖 in Confucianism or Mohism is not merely a set of judgements, it is also a pattern of practice. By ‘pattern’ we mean the regularity and style of a practice; including a general conformity among the practice of same group of people.

Confucians thought that an educated person has a better style: his way of dressing and speaking, for example, should be elegant yet not dazzling. Mohists did not agree with

Confucians’ style, but their emphasis on benefit constitutes their own style of practice.

As explained in previous chapters, both Confucians and Mohists see knowing as mastering a practice. It is not only a practice, but a reliable practice; not only a reliable practice, but a reliably right or correct practice To learn a practice includes internalizing a norm governing what is right (shi ᤚ) and what is wrong (fei 㕖) for that practice. For example, a Confucian paradigmatic person knows how to show respect before entering the hall; prostrating each time before ascending the steps is right, prostrating only after ascending is wrong (A 9.3). A Mohist paradigmatic person knows how to conduct a funeral; making the coffin simple and with little or no expensive mortuary objects is right, anything more than that, even for nobles, is wrong (M 21.6).

So one aspect of the Confucian-Mohist debate is what practice is right. This practical aspect seems to be better captured by ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.

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4.3 Seeking correctness

The debate about what practice is right, that is about correctness,275 cuts across the ethical and political realm. This is because both Confucians and Mohists think that government is responsible for moral education. Despite their differences in the method of teaching, they want to unify morality by teaching the correct way of life to people.

According to their view, there should be only one set of moral norms prevailing in an ideal society. In Confucianism, although respecting one’s parents and respecting one’s prince require one to do different things; including different body movements and different moods, both are governed and guided by rituals. In Mohism, although benefiting one’s parents and benefiting one’s subjects require one to do different things, both are what the Mohist ethical doctrine ‘inclusive concern’ entails. To be fair, this does not mean in either case that individuals should not be aware of context or should have no discretion and reflection. Confucius can answer questions by giving different answers to different students based on their personalities (A 11.22), and says that a paradigmatic person can be for or against anything as long as it is governed by rightness

(A 4.10). Mozi advises a ruler on how to prioritize the ten core Mohist doctrines based on the nature of the problems of the country (M 49.15). However, to the extent that they both insist on the moral significance of distinguishing right practice from wrongs, they cannot deny the commitment to correctness. This commitment is in turn strengthened by their interest in uniformity in politics. As we said in 1.7.1 of this thesis, some

Confucians thought it was problematic for a learned person to withdraw from politics

(A 18.7). It is not surprising to see that many passages in the Analects endeavour to persuade the ruler or officials. In this respect, the Mozi is the same; even the Daodejing, which does not stress on correctness, sometimes seems to go beyond the social realm and talks about the dao which generates all things (D 42), still states that ‘My words are

275 In this chapter and the following ones, ‘correct’ and ‘right’ are used interchangeably. However, since the term which has a sense ,’إ rightness’ is used to translate ‘yi ᆠ’, the term ‘correctness’ is used to translate ‘zheng‘ of approval broader than ‘yi ᆠ’, and have a stronger sense of rectification and unification associated with the Confucian and Mohist project.

137 very easy to understand and very easy to put into practice’ (D 70) and addresses the practice followed from great knowledge to the ruler. However, contrary to the

Confucians and Mohists, Zhuangzi does not think that government has an educational role in guiding the moral cultivation of the people. Also, a difference between the

Zhuangzi and the Daodejing is that Zhuangzi often adopts the perspective of an intellectual who is out of office and criticizes many sage kings for being too eager to rule, including the legendary who was praised for organizing people into a society.276 Such detachment from government also implies that Zhuangzi has no interest in prescribing duties for people in politics as Confucius does in the Analects (A

3.19) or unifying the moral norm of society as the Mohists do in the Mozi (M 12.2-

12.3). Furthermore, it goes further than the Daodejing: when the Daodejing talks about governing a state (D 3, 57, 60, 65), the Zhuangzi talks about forgetting the Empire (Z 1) and not governing it (Z 11). So Zhuangzi is more likely to embrace individual differences and multifarious ways of life. Ames once said that the Daodejing is not substantially different from the Zhuangzi, that ‘the Zhuangzi focuses on personal and insight, while the Daodejing is more concerned with the social and political consequences of this heightened state of awareness.’ 277 But the state of awareness in the Zhuangzi may not justify the government in the Daodejing, for

Zhuangzi asks a question that cannot be found in the Daodejing, namely ‘why should one bother with government in the first place?’ This is perhaps why Chen states that a

276 See, for example, the following passages in the Zhuangzi: Qu Que Zi talks to Chang Wu Zi in Z 2 (Chen 2001: 84-87), the second passage in Z 11 (Chen 2001: 273-278), the second passage in Z 16 (Chen 2001: 404-407). is used quite frequently in the Daodejing (thirty-three times), and usually in (ا Besides, the term ‘people’ (min a context in which the text making suggestion to the ruler about governing people (see, for example, D 3, 10, 57, 58, 65, 72, 74, 75, 80). Zhuangzi, however, cares much less about advising the ruler to rule (zhi ए). The term ‘people’ is only used nine times in Inner Chapters, and five of them are used in a context in which the ruler is criticized rather than advised. Only one of themЁwhen Lao Dan talks about ‘the government of enlightened king’ (ming wang zhi zhi ࣔ׆հए)Ёmentions ‘people’ in the perspective of the enlightened king. But whether Lao Dan’s words can represent Zhuangzi is doubtful, since in chapter 33 when different thinkers are listed and classified according to their doctrines, Lao Dan is not in the same category as Zhuang Zhou (Chen 2001: 880-887). 277 Ames 1996: 1. See also Ames 1996: 3 in which Ames states that the Zhuangzi assumes ‘that enlightened government is simply a natural extension of the enlightened person’. If this statement means that an enlightened person is a necessary condition for an enlightened government, it is correct. If this statement means that the existence of an enlightened person will naturally cause the existence of an enlightened government, it is doubtful.

138 key difference between the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi is that the latter proposes that no one should rule over anyone. 278 Zhuangzi is far less interested in finding an agreeable practice that cuts across the ethical-political realm.

When the Confucians and Mohists propose that knowing consists in grasping and applying a correct pattern of practice, Zhuangzi’s response is that we can have many correct patterns of practice, but it is futile to fix the correct one. A well-known passage in chapter 2 questions the possibility of fixing correctness in general:

When a human sleeps in the damp his waist hurts and he gets stiff in the joints; is

that so of the loach? When he sits in a tree he shivers and shakes; is that so of the

ape? Which of these three knows the right place to live (zheng chu ᱜ⯪)? Humans

eat the flesh of hay-fed and grain-fed beasts, deer eat the grass, centipedes relish

snakes, owls and crows crave mice; which of the four has the right sense of taste

(zheng wei ᱜ๧)? Gibbons are sought by baboons as mates, elaphures like the

company of deer, loaches play with fish. Mao Qiang and Lady Li were beautiful in

the eyes of men; but when the fish saw them they plunged deep, when the birds saw

them they flew high, when the deer saw them they broke into a run. Which of these

four knows what is the right kind of beauty in the world (zheng se ᱜ⦡)? 279

‘Which one knows what is the right x?’ This is the form of question Zhuangzi raises in regard to the Confucian-Mohist project: the pursuit of correctness (zheng ᱜ). The character ᱜ in Shang and early Zhou dynasty meant walking—some says it should be

278 Chen 2007: 197. Nevertheless, Chen's position may be too strong. In the Zhuangzi, even when we exclude those ‘syncretist’ or ‘Huang Lao Pai’ writings, not all passages oppose government in itself. The point is rather that the absence of government can be at least as good as its existence. ଇ౴ᇳΔមຼଇ៺Δا๠ΛإΔ䙨ྥ׏বΛֵ๠ঞ༨ცᶾ᥈Δᅑྭྥ׏বΛԿृഩवڽᄳኖঞᆨఏೣا279 ੡ᎿΔមፖຼٌΔ䙨ፖູཾΖֻⷶΕ۫ਜΔԳհࢬભא࠺Λᅑⓩथإ൅Δ〇ᕛႰቕΔ؄ृഩवز๧⡉ :বΛ (adapted from Graham 1981ۥإՈΔູߠհ෡ԵΔ຺ߠհ೏ଆΔមຼߠհެᨏΖ؄ृഩव֚Հհ 58)

139 shooting or marching—in a direction towards a goal.280 When Confucians and Mohists talk about correctness, their point is to set up and implement a correct norm, and inculcate it, which is to prescribe a direction for the people. This is simultaneously a duty of government. In the Analects 12.17, Confucius says that the ruler should correct others by correcting himself, which is the essence of government (A 12.7).281 The ruler should influence his people just like the wind blows over grass (A 12.19). The rectification of names (zheng ming ᱜฬ) is supposed to operate on the basis that people in a social role act according to what the role requires, and such a requirement is not subject to significant differences among different people.282 All these requirements constitute the commitment to Confucian correctness. The Mohists, seeking to unify rightness in the world, call the officials in a government ‘senior officials of correction

(zheng zhang ᱜ㐳)’ who lead people to what is right. Also, people have an obligation to conform to their leaders in judgements of right and wrong (M 13.3-13.8), which is the Mohist doctrine ‘conforming upward (shang tong ዏห)’. Zhuangzi questions the

Confucians and Mohists by pointing to the behaviour of different species, but what he says is also applicable in the human realm: that there are many different accounts of correctness, for example Confucian and Mohist, and they seem to operate well within their own doctrine. Is there one which has cross-context legitimacy? Here the point is not whether there is an ultimate correctness, or anyway not for Zhuangzi. It is to question the goal of the Confucian-Mohist project. ‘Which one knows what is the right practice?’ leads us to consider a deeper question, namely ‘How does one know what is the right practice?’ This question will be answered differently by Confucians and

Mohists. We have seen that Confucians stressed careful observation, cultivation of

280 See Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 2000: 287-301. .correctness) and ਙ (government) sometimes can be used interchangeably) إ In ancient Chinese the character 281 .(Ո (To govern is to correctإSo A 12.7 Confucius says ਙृ 282 Lao Si-guang says that the rectification of names itself does not say what should a person do, but only says that there is something one should do if they are situated in a social role. See Lao 2002: 119-121. This view is plausible. But it should also be noted that Confucius himself did not think that the requirement of each role is indeterminate (e.g. A 3.19), so, in practice, what one should do (given her social role) is supposed to be fixed. We will return to this point in 4.7 of this thesis.

140 sentiments, attunement to various models, and so on (1.5.1-1.5.3 of this thesis), while

Mohists stressed the recognition of standard and resistance to the influence of emotions

(3.2 and 3.5 of this thesis). That is why, when Gaptooth asks Wang Ni ‘Would you know something of which all things agreed that is correct?’, Wang Ni replies by asking back ‘How would I know that?’283 He responds with another question because he does not know what method he should use—the Confucian? the Mohist? something else?—to determine the answer. After raising many questions about correctness, Wang Ni sighs,

‘the principles of benevolence and rightness, the paths of right and wrong are inextricably mixed and confused . . . how could I know how to discriminate between them?’284 This is a question of whether we can know and follow a single path along which right and wrong are unambiguous.

4.4 Doubt of impartial judge

While both the Confucians and Mohists recognize that people may have very different opinions of right and wrong, they think that unification is possible and valuable. The

Mohists, for example, think that an impartial standard can determine the winner of a debate. However, Zhuangzi expresses his doubt of this idea:

You and I having been made to argue over alternatives (bian ㄕ), if it is you not I that wins, is it really you who are on to it, I who am not? . . . If I get someone of your party to decide it, being already of your party how can he decide it? If I get someone of my party to decide it, being already of my party how can he decide it? If I get someone of a party different from either of us to decide it, being already of a party different from either of us how can he decide it? If I get someone of the same party as both of us to decide it, being already of the same party as both of us

(༞׏वհΛω (Graham 1981: 58ܠਢ׏Λωψٵψ՗वढհࢬ 283 284 ψոᆠհጤΔਢॺհჁΔᑕྥ⒔႖Δܠ༞౨वࠡ᥯Λω (adapted from Graham 1981: 58)

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how can he decide it? Consequently you and I and he are all unable to know where we stand, and shall we find someone else to depend on?285

Suppose two persons A1 and B1 represent two sides of a debate, doctrine A and doctrine B, respectively. A1 and B1 are seeking a judge for settling their argument.

There are four possibilities:

(i) the judge shares B1’s view (say, B2). In this case, the argument will not be settled.

It is because B2 will simply align with B1, denying A1’s view, and A1 will

disagree with B2’s judgement just as they disagree with B1’s. This will prolong the

argument between A and B.

(ii) the judge shares A1’s view (say, A2). In this case, the argument will not be settled.

It is because A2 will simply align with A1, denying B1’s view, and B1 will

disagree with A2’s judgement just as they disagree with A1’s. This will prolong the

argument between A and B.

(iii) the judge shares neither A1’s view or B1’s view (say, C1). In this case, C1 will

disagree with A1 and also disagree with B1. Then the argument between A and B

will develop into an argument among A, B and C, waiting for another judge.

(iv) the judge shares both A1’s view and B1’s view (say, AB1). This may happen when

A and B have something in common and AB1 precisely agrees with those common

features. But the argument between A and B indicates that each of A and B must at

least have one point that is not in common, and AB1 either passes over the point of

disagreement, and cannot settle the argument, or takes a stand of A2 or B2, which

just repeats either the first or the second case.

ߎΔ༞ٵհΛਝፖૉإ׏ૉृٵਝࠌݺፖૉ᥯ߎΔૉ໏ݺΔݺլૉ໏Δૉ࣠ਢՈΔݺ࣠ॺՈߵΛΞࠌ 285 إհΛਝฆ׏ݺፖૉߎΔ༞౨إհΜࠌฆ׏ݺፖૉृإߎΔ༞౨ٵհΛਝፖݺإ׏ݺृٵհΜࠌإ౨ հΜྥঞݺፖૉፖԳଟլ౨ઌवՈΔۖৱ࢖ՈߵΛإ׏ݺፖૉߎΔ༞౨ٵհΛਝإ׏ݺፖૉृٵհΜࠌ (Z 2, Graham 1981: 60)

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So the conclusion is that an argument can depend on nobody to judge the correct standpoint. There is, however, a hidden premise. When the judge shares neither A1’s view nor B1’s view, Zhuangzi assumes that the judge still has their own stand and cannot be impartial. Otherwise, an impartial judge can claim one of A1 or B1 as the winner without appealing to a particular standpoint. This is actually the point of the later

Mohists: each argument must have a winner because disputation (bian ㄕ) is regarded as the opposition of two contradictory claims.286 Defined as such, at least one and at most one claim must be right. Though it is not clear whether it is the later Mohists who respond to Zhuangzi or the other way round,287 we can extend Zhuangzi’s question to the definition of disputation and its ‘winning condition’, making the later Mohist view itself open to debate. That is, the stipulative definition of argument and the criterion of a good argument can itself become a topic for A and B to argue. Nonetheless, even if the stipulative definition is rejected, it does not follow that the idea of the impartial judge is thereby rejected. We need to consider more questions before we put impartiality into doubt. These questions include how right and wrong come into play in the first place, and why one’s practice is partial when it is formed. We now turn to analyze them.

4.5 Completed heart and partiality

We now turn to the idea of ‘completed heart’ in order to explain why partial practice is

formed. The functions and significance of heart (xin ֨) do not receive much attention in the Analects, the Daodejing and the Mozi, but the Zhuangzi discusses it in great detail.

A widespread view around Zhuangzi’s time is that the heart is a faculty responsible for

controlling all cognitive and emotional responses. The term ‘xin ֨’ is usually translated in to ‘heart-mind’ because most, if not all, ancient Chinese thinkers did not presuppose

286 ‘Disputation is where one says, “this is this” and the other says, “this is not [this]”. The one who is correct, overcomes.’ (᥯ՈृΔࢨᘯհਢΔࢨᘯհॺΖᅝृ໏Ո) (M B34, Johnston 2010: 508-509) 287 Graham thought that later Mohists defended their view against the view of Zhuangzi. See Graham 1989: 183- 186. Hansen thought that later Mohists might be dealing with other Daoists, and then Zhuangzi appeared to be a response to later Mohists. See Hansen 1992: 280-285. But Hansen is aware that the historical thesis (i.e. who preceded who in time order) might not be relevant to the attractive or persuasive power of the view. This point is plausible.

143 a clear distinction between cognition and emotion, at least they do not hold a view that cognition and reasoning should be pure and free from all kinds of feelings and sentiments.288 Lee Yearley states that, for Mencius and Xunzi, an intellectual judgement is always accompanied by an emotional attitude.289 This view is probably shared by many other pre-Qin thinkers, including Zhuangzi. For Zhuangzi, a judgement such as

‘this is X’ assumes a distinction between X and not-X, and the person who makes the judgement shows their pro-attitude for a distinction scheme that allows this distinction.

This is especially the case if the person insists to claim that the distinction scheme is right. For such insistence on being right is often associated with strong emotions,290 which are usually regarded as situated in one’s heart. Here, we use the term ‘heart’ but

not ‘heart-mind’ to translate ‘xin ֨’ because the ancient Chinese thinkers did not use two terms for reason and emotion, and because the term ‘completed heart-mind’ seems awkward.

Like other pre-Qin thinkers, Zhuangzi does not draw a distinction between cognition and emotion when he discusses the idea of heart. However, Zhuangzi does not commit to the position that our heart is the dominant faculty. He only notes that ordinary people take for granted that the heart is the ‘commander’. ‘Every day we use that heart of ours for strife . . . [such as] manipulation of right and wrong . . . [and] commitment to victory.’291 There is a strong tendency for us to identify our practice with ‘the winning alternative’. We reflect upon our practices and fine-tune them by the heart and, through time, our judgements of right and wrong, winning and losing, become mostly consistent with what we do. For example, if we think observing rituals is very important, we would tend to be careful and reverent during ceremonies. This can also be stated the other way round: if we realize we are careful and reverent during

288 This is a traditional view in Greek philosophy, especially Platonic philosophy. 289 See Lee 1980: 465-480. 290 For the problem of determing the ‘right’ distinction scheme in language, see 4.7 of this thesis. For the problem of relationship between insistence on being right and disturbing emotions, see 6.2 of this thesis. (໏հᘯՈΞ (Z 2, Graham 1981:50ښ䕥Ξࠡ׹ਢॺհᘯՈΞࠡ֨אֲ 291

144 ceremonies, we tend to justify our attitude by attaching importance to rituals. Otherwise, we would not engage. Actually, such attunement seems to be considered by the

Confucians as process of learning. However, Zhuangzi notices that, based on our reflection, during attunement people also tend to reinforce their way of doing things and regard them as right, at least they become eager to see their actions to be evaluated as right. This is why they ‘see themselves as noble and others as base’.292 As a result, it is very probable that the people use their hearts to keep asserting themselves. Then everyone, guided by their heart, will have their own conceptions of right and wrong, to the extent that their learning processes are different. Such a heart is called ‘completed heart’ (cheng xin ᚑᔃ). The word ψᚑω is used ironically: normally it may refer to

‘mature’ or ‘successful’ and, despite their different elaboration, both are deemed as favourable in conventional contexts as well as in Confucianism293 and Mohism.294 Yet here, Zhuangzi precisely points out that to be a fully ‘mature person’, like a Confucian or Mohist, is just to fully internalize a particular point of view and not to accommodate others. In other words, when one becomes proficient in judging right and wrong, one has already internalized a pattern of thought and practice. Also, since judging right and wrong is a part of mastery of a practice, variation in the pattern of practice may lead to variation in judgements of right and wrong, hence the debate between different parties.

All these, plus the point that Zhuangzi does not think there is any pre-determined right and wrong in our heart, or any other of our innate faculties, altogether suggest that each participant in a debate always brings in their own biased view.

Furthermore, the critique of pre-determined right and wrong can be seen in a short dialogue between Zhuangzi and Hui Shi:

၆ۖઌᔀ (Z 17, Graham 1981: 147) The strong commitment to victory and the strong desire to be regarded۞ 292 as right can easily create oppression of the ‘wrong’ way in society, especially oppression led by the government, even if the government does not aim at such oppression. .(Գ (completed person, mature personګ See, for example, A 14.12 for the explanation of cheng ren 293 a deed is completed, a task is) ګפ or gong cheng ګin the Mozi is shi cheng ࠃ ګ A common usage of cheng 294 done successfully). See, for example, M 7.2, 8.6, 46.3.

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Said Hui Shi to Zhuangzi

‘Can a man really be without qing ᖱ?’

‘Yes.’

‘If a man is without qing, how can he still be called as ‘man’?’

‘Dao ሐ gives him the guise, Heaven gives him the shape, how can we refuse to

call him a man?’

‘But since we do call him a man, how can he be without qing?’

‘This is not what I mean by “qing”. What I mean by being without qing is that the

man does not inwardly harm himself by likes and dislikes, that he constantly goes

by the spontaneous and does not add anything to life.’ 295

The term ψᖱω is ambiguous in ancient Chinese; it can mean ‘what is the case’, as in shi xin qing hu ᤚାᖱ਱ (‘is it really the case?’, the Zhuangzi chapter 17); it can also mean ‘emotion’, including like and dislike (hao wu ᅢᗇ), sorrow and joy (ai le ຟᮔ),

(the Xunzi chapter 22). Both senses are closely related to jing ♖ (essential). This

‘essential’ refers to what the world presents to us, what is the case, and our non- linguistic response towards what is the case, that is, emotion.296 If a person wants to know whether a saying is really the case, they want to know what it really says, which part of reality it talks about in regard to the world. This does not imply that meaning is an entity in the reality, it means the agent wants to get the meaning free from wrong or superficial understanding. Emotions are our responses to the world, and the distinctiveness and complexity of human emotions constitute what is human.

ᘯհԳΛω๗՗ֳΚא༡՗ᘯ๗՗ֳΚψԳਚྤൣ׏Λω๗՗ֳΚψྥΖω༡՗ֳΚψԳۖྤൣΔ۶ 295 ࢬܠψሐፖհᎎΔ֚ፖհݮΔ༞൓լᘯհԳΛω༡՗ֳΚψਝᘯհԳΔ༞൓ྤൣΛω๗՗ֳΚψਢॺ ՈΖω (Z 5, Chen 2001: 164-سլ墿ۖྥ۞ڂ༞փ႞ࠡߪΔൄړאࢬᘯྤൣृΔߢԳհլܠᘯൣՈΖ 166) 296 Chad Hansen notes that qing ൣ are the inputs from reality on the basis of which we issue distinctions, and they are supposed to be pre-social. See Hansen 1995: 195-199.

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Here, Zhuangzi’s point is that ‘man does not inwardly harm himself by likes and dislikes’. It is not difficult to see that our likes and dislikes are intertwined with the norms we accept. That is, when one identifies themselves with a concept of right and wrong, they think that that concept constitutes what is really their commitment, what is really themselves. 297 Zhuangzi questions whether we can fix the correct norm. If there is no ‘essential norm’, that is, there is no correct practice that everyone always accepts, there is also no ‘essential preference’, that is, there is nothing that one should always like or dislike. Therefore, it is acceptable to translate ᖱ into ‘essentials’ (Graham 1981:

82) or ‘emotions’ (Mair 1994: 49-50) or ‘heart’s reaction to reality’ (Hansen 1992:

276). If we take ‘essentials’ to imply ‘essential preference’, then Hui Shi’s question is whether all human beings inevitably prefer a particular object or practice, that is, whether all human beings have the same kind and degree of emotion, or the same reaction, towards a particular object or practice. Zhuangzi’s response is that there is nothing one must prefer, there is nothing one must love, celebrate or care about. All men are called ‘man’, but sharing the same name does not imply sharing a fixed idea of right and wrong, or like and dislike.

We issue judgements of right and wrong by the completed heart and we also become capable of making such judgements due to the completed heart. To judge involves evaluation, which presupposes a criterion of evaluation, therefore:

For there to be right and wrong before they are formed in the heart would be to ‘go

to Yue today and have arrived yesterday’. This would be crediting with existence

what does not exist . . . and how can you expect to be understood by me! 298

297 More about the problem of emotions will be dealt with in 6.2 of this thesis. ᗑ׊࡜۶বΜ (Z 2, adapted from GrahamܠΞڶ੡ڶྤאਢॺΔਢվֲᔞ။࣏ۖ۟ՈΖਢڶ׏֨ۖګآ 298 1981: 51-52, Chen 2001: 49-53)

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It is not enough to state that we see multifarious accounts of correctness, but also that they come from the completed heart. To say one can enter the debate impartially and hold one’s side to be the winner is same as saying that they do not have a criterion but can issue judgements. This is surely ‘go to Yue today and have arrived yesterday’.299

Then, when dealing with the debate about correctness, precisely speaking, the fundamental correctness, Zhuangzi’s point is that, since all debaters have their own partial view, if a party can affirm itself on its own ground, so can other parties. As he explains:

But if you go by the completed heart and take it as your authority, who is without

such an authority? Why should it be only the person who knows how things

alternate and whose heart itself picks from such alternation has such an authority?

The fool has one just as he has. 300

According to Chen, the person who ‘knows how things alternate . . .’ can pick out certain characteristics from the alternation of things, that is, changes in nature, as their guidance.301 For example, they may see the flow of water and take its softness as guidance, implying that a person should always be soft; which is a superficial reading of the Daodejing. Conventionally, such a person is different from a fool, for they can make more inferences and possess more information. Nonetheless, with regard to partiality, in

Zhuangzi’s view they are just as partial as a fool who does things clumsily all the time, even clumsily in the same way all the time, such that there is a pattern in the fool’s practice similar to that in the ‘clever’ person’s practice.

299 There are two readings of the sentence ‘go to Yue today and have arrived yesterday’. But both of them preserve the point that right and wrong comes from the completed heart. See Chen 2001: 51. ෫Ζ (Z 2, adapted fromڶհΛჟृፖڶ࠷ृ۞֨ۖזஃհΔᓴᗑ׊ྤஃ׏Λଡ଼ؘवۖ֨ګᙟ֛ࠡ 300 Graham 1981: 51, Chen 2001: 49-53) 301 Chen 2001: 50-51.

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The suggestion that each debater has a completed heart shifts the burden of proof to the people who insist that they can attain the correct practice. In addition, we can construct more detailed arguments from the text against the Confucian-Mohist project, including the indeterminacy of justification and indeterminacy of language. The former is concerned with whether we can ascertain the correct practice in thought, while the latter is concerned with whether we can communicate and follow the correct practice.

4.6 Indeterminacy of justification

As discussed in 3.2.3 of this thesis, the insight of the Mohists is to pay great attention to disputation. Their idea of standard makes it clear that one’s doctrine must be well supported, just like a craftsman’s work should accord with the compasses (M 27.10).

According to the Mohists, since people are strongly committed to what they think is right (M 12.1, 47.1), they will adopt the Mohist doctrine if it can be shown to be right.

This is very similar to Zhuangzi’s description of people disagree with and attack each other because they have different completed hearts, except that the Mohists think such disagreement can be eventually solved. Indeed, in the Mohist scenario, in order to solve the problem of diverse moral views, we should find out the most justified view, and let it be enforced by the government on every person (M 12.2). However, since Zhuangzi points out that in a debate one starts with a partial view, it is not probable that the disputants can agree on the criterion of justification, that is what counts as justification, so the idea of selecting the most justified view cannot be put into practice.

We consider the Mohist scenario in the Mozi 12.1 again for illustration; if different people really have different views and do not give up their views easily, how can they determine which view is the most intelligible one? The Mohists say the son of Heaven is selected to lead all the people because he is ‘worthy and good, sagacious and wise,

149 skilled in discussion and clever’.302 But are these qualities not part of what is disputed?

If people can eventually agree on what is worthy and good, this may be because:

1) Incorrect or wrong moral views can be distinguished from correct ones by

evaluating their justifications and the correct moral view is the most justified.

According to the Mohists, people are inclined to do something when they see that it

is justified, so it follows that people will follow the most justified moral view.

2) Diverse moral views have certain overlapping principles or guidance, which are

sufficient for agreement in selecting the son of Heaven and people agree that the

son of Heaven is worthy and good in all aspects. For example, although people

have different opinions about resource distribution, educational institutions,

legislation process and so on, they still agree that the son of Heaven is the most

talented one in handling all these tasks.

3) People only agree that the son of Heaven is worthy and good in certain aspects,

while the other aspects are still subject to disagreement. For example, people agree

that the son of Heaven is the most talented one in solving economic problems,

while there is no consensus about his talent in other respects.

Since, after the government is formed, people should follow what the son of Heaven approves and reject what he condemns (M 12.3), 3) is not a plausible interpretation of the Mozi. If people only agree that the son of Heaven is worthy and good in certain respects, then the son of Heaven can only legitimize his policy in those respects, which, according to the Mohists, will greatly impair the effectiveness of rewards and punishments (M 12.10). How about 1) and 2)? Although the Mozi does not give sufficient clues, in Zhuangzi’s view they are both doubtful. For 2), if the overlapping parts are sufficient for choosing a leader and establishing a government, the diversity among different moral views must be very limited. Recall that, according to the Mohists

302 ᔃߜᆣव᥯ᐝհԳ(M 12.2, Johnston 2010: 98-99)

150 the government is responsible for moral education. People should follow what the government proposes. So, if the overlapping parts are sufficient for establishing a government, the diverse moral views must be similar to each other in most aspects of human life. Then it will be difficult to see why such limited diversity still makes people attack each other by various means and live in a disordered state just like beasts, as described in the Mozi 11.1 and 12.1. Putting aside this question, if the Mohists are really thinking of this limited diversity, then the conflict among those moral views seems to be too weak to match the Confucian-Mohist debate, which Zhuangzi clearly sees as disagreement about important moral and political practices. Even though Confucians and Mohists have something in common, their divergence prevents them from forming a consensus about selection of the son of Heaven.

Since the Mohists think that checking whether a doctrine is justified is analogous to checking whether something is round, 1) seems to be the most plausible explanation for the Mohist scenario. However, when we say ‘the right moral view is the most justified’, whose criterion of justification is being applied? If all diverse moral views nonetheless share the same criterion of justification, then 1) is similar to 2). If not, then ‘the right moral view’ should be itself a point being disputed. This is what happens in the

Confucian-Mohist debate: they not only disagree with each other on what is the right practice, but also on why a practice is right. Ironically, a dialogue in the Mozi seems to further illustrate this point:

Master Mo Zi questioned a Confucian, asking him: ‘Why make music?’

[The Confucian] replied: ‘Music is for the purpose of music.’

Master Mo Zi said: ‘You have not answered my question. If I ask you, ‘Why make a

house?’ and you say, ‘To keep out the cold in winter and the heat in summer, and

also to maintain a separation between men and women’, then this is telling me

what a house is for. Now, when I ask you ‘Why make music?’ you say, ‘Music is for

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the purpose of music’. This is like saying, when I ask ‘Why make a house?’, that ‘A

house is for the purpose of a house’. 303

There are several things we can infer from this dialogue. First is, of course, the Mohist emphasis on benefit, expressed here as functional utility. Secondly, Mozi here thinks music and building should be justified by the same criterion, so he does not think his opponent has given the right reason. The dialogue ends at that point so we do not know whether or how the opponent answers Mozi’s challenge, but we can take the standpoint of the Confucian and construct a reply. A Confucian may point out that there is benefit in making music, for example it combines with ritual to stabilize society (A 13.3).

Notice that this would be a concession to the Mohists, as it would implicitly approve the

Mohist standard of benefit. Alternatively, a Confucian may still eschew benefit and point out that music needs not be justified by functional utility, at least not in the same sense as we consider the utility of a building. It can be argued that the process of building is not itself satisfying and does not directly bring us pleasure, but the process of composition304 or performance of music could be itself enjoyable (A 3.20, 7.14).

Since the character ᮔ stands for both ‘music’ and ‘enjoyment’, the Confucian may cite this fact to support the claim that one finds the value of music in music, so ‘music is for the purpose of music’ can also mean ‘music is for the purpose of enjoyment’. Besides, music is integrated into the process of learning so that one is perfected, and such perfection, according to the Confucians, cannot be reduced to functional utility (A 8.8).

The Mohists probably would not find this answer satisfactory because they can grant that music is enjoyable without admitting that such enjoyment justifies making

ݺᚨՈΖվݺംֳΚآ੡ᑗՈΖω՗ᕠ՗ֳΚψ՗א՗ᕠ՗ം࣍ᕢृֳΚψ۶ਚ੡ᑗΛωֳΚψᑗ 303 ݺ੡৛հਚߎΖվݺംֳΚܫ੡ߊՖհܑՈΖύঞ՗אᝩ༃෫Δ୙ᝩཔ෫Δ৛מό۶ਚ੡৛ΛύֳΚό ,੡৛ՈύΖω (M 48.13א੡ᑗՈΖύਢྫֳΚό۶ਚ੡৛ΛύֳΚό৛אό۶ਚ੡ᑗΛύֳΚόᑗ Johnston 2010: 686-689) 304 In ancient China, a piece of music is composed not by a single person, and not by putting down musical notes. Still, the collective and oral transmission can be seen as a process of composition.

152 music.305 As long as Confucians and Mohists insist on their own criteria of justification, there is no way to resolve the debate. Zhuangzi says:

A way becomes completed through our walking upon it, a thing is so because

people say it is so . . . Why are things so? They are so because they are called so.

Why are things not so? They are not so because they are called not so . . . Why is

there approval? Approval lies in approval; why is there disapproval? Disapproval

lies in disapproval. All things are possessed of that which we may say is so, all

things are possessed of that which we may approve. There is no thing that is not so,

there is no thing that cannot be approved. 306

This passage actually deals with both the issue of language, why we name something is so, and justification, why we approve something. We will talk about language later in this chapter; concerning justification, Zhuangzi’s point is that all approval, that is, justifying something to be good, right, correct, will eventually rest on an ungrounded approval – approval lies just in approval – which means the chain of justification cannot be made independent of one’s own commitments, sentiments or preconceptions, and one’s completed heart tends to make these things rigid by taking them for granted.

According to this view, then, no matter whether the Mohists take their ultimate justification to be benefit or Heaven, or something else, that thing can count as justification only if someone has taken it to be justification. The same holds for the

Confucians: the authority of ritual or a sage with perfect virtue (ren ੳ) must either be

305 ‘…condemnation of music is not because he thinks the sounds of the struck bell and the beaten drum, of lutes and pipes, are not pleasing…although the body knows their comforts…they do not accord with the benefit of ੡լᑗՈΞឈߪवאՕᤪΕᏓቔΕྶᅖΕણลհᜢΔאॺᑗृΔॺאthe ten thousand people…’ (Ξհࢬ (Ξ) (M 32.2, Johnston 2010: 306-307ܓհاՈΞլխᆄڜࠡ ΛױΖ༞׏լױ࣍ױΛױΔढᘯհۖྥΞ༞׏ྥΛྥ࣍ྥΖ༞׏լྥΛլྥ࣍լྥΖ༞׏ګሐ۩հۖ 306 (Ζ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 61-65ױΖྤढլྥΔྤढլױࢬڶࢬྥΔढࡐڶΖढࡐױ࣍լױլ

153 accepted as the starting point or, if not, must be derived from something else, the legitimacy of which is taken for granted.

Note that the point here is not only to say that justification must end in an arbitrary premise, but also to say that justification is heterogeneous, that is there are fundamentally different kinds of justification, or an ultimately impartial justification cannot be known.307 This means that there is nothing that cannot be approved, because there is nothing that cannot be taken as a justification. Each person may have their own conception of ‘ultimate justification’ that that they do not question, although it may just be the reflection of their own completed heart and lack universal acceptance. Thus, justification is indeterminate because people’s commitments are indeterminate.

Consequently, if knowing is understood as mastering a reliable, correct practice, and the justification of correctness is indeterminate, the question ‘whether one knows anything’ is also indeterminate. So it is to be expected that, when Gaptooth asks Wang Ni ‘Then does no thing know anything?’, Wang Ni’s answer precisely reflects such indeterminacy: ‘How would I know that?’.308 Wang Ni does not claim that we do have knowledge or that we do not have knowledge, he is saying that whenever we try to respond to the question ‘do I know this?’ we cannot come up with a determinate answer.

4.7 Indeterminacy of language

The indeterminacy of knowing can also be formulated in another way. Note that there is consensus between Confucians and Mohists about the orientative function of language.

That is, language can be used to guide people to act correctly. Such guidance can take different forms: first, language can be used in instruction; one can use it to convey practices, and transmit what one has learned in the past to others. That is what happens in classrooms and training grounds. Secondly, people know how to co-ordinate their

307 The claim that justification must end in an arbitrary premise and the claim that justification is heterogeneous is independent of each other. (༞׏वհΜω (Graham 1981: 58ܠψྥঞढྤवߵΛωψ 308

154 behaviour with others by virtue of language. Examples include requesting, informing, congratulating, promising and so on in daily conversation. Thirdly, to master a practice sometimes requires one to use language in a particular way, that is one may have to know a specific meaning of a word, such as ‘note’ in composition, or to know a new word, such as ‘minim’ in composition, or to use specific phrases, voices and tones.

From the above examples, we see there is a relationship between words and practice. How should we understand this relationship? Confucians proposes that there are norms of behaviour and attitude behind each name, or at least those related to social roles, such as father and son. This is the doctrine of ‘rectification of names’. If A calls B

‘father’, A should act towards B according to what is appropriate for a father. A also expects B will speak and act according to the norms behind the name ‘father’. Note that the ‘rectification of names’ itself does not prescribe what exactly one should do according to the names,309 it must be supplemented by the Confucian rituals which stipulate the norms implicit in each name, such as a son should respect his father in certain ways. The rationale is that when one is called a name, one also receives a concrete guidance about what can be done, what must be done and what should not be done according to the name. So when one gives instructions, one implicitly refers to the norms behind the names. When people co-ordinate their behaviour with others, they expect others to follow the same norm as themselves by using the correct names.

In 1.5.1 of this thesis, we noted that, for Confucius knowing yan (⸒: words, speech, language, doctrine) is necessary for knowing people. Furthermore, it actually includes knowing whether and how one conforms to the norms behind the names. The

Mohists surely do not accept Confucian rituals, but they do not give up the idea that there are norms of behaviour and attitude behind using words: ‘words that are enough to change conduct, for the better, should be kept, words that are not enough to change

309 See note 282.

155 conduct should not be kept.’310 – ‘if you must speak although you have nothing of benefit to say, you are wasting your breath.’311 The norms behind names are nothing more than that one should speak and act according to what is beneficial so, basically,

Confucians and Mohists differ not in whether using language can lead people to correctness, just in how to use it. On the other hand the Daodejing doubts whether language can really lead people to the good. The great knowledge in the Daodejing seems not to be dependent on words. Nonetheless, Zhuangzi does not just focus on whether language can in effect guide people correctly, but also on analyzing the structure of language.

Against the claim that language can lead people to correctness, Zhuangzi questions whether words are matched with practice in a fixed way. If not, then one cannot know how to act just by referring to the words. Consequently, the project of using language for leading people to adopt the correct practice cannot succeed, regardless of whether the correct practice exists. Zhuangzi says:

Saying is not the blowing of air, saying says something; but what it says is

indeterminate. Is there really saying? Or is there not? If one thinks it different from

the twitter of hatchlings, is there any distinction? Or is there no distinction?312

Using a meaningful name or sentence is to talk about something; one refers to something, describes something, tells others something. This ‘aboutness’ is actually the relationship between name (ming ฬ) and shi (ኪ). Shi is anything that is pointed to

(zhi ᜰ) by using language; it can be an object, a process, a state of affairs, a behaviour,

(ᔢ۩ृΔ֎ൄΖ(M 47.5, adapted from Johnston 2010: 664-665אᔢ۩ृΔൄհΙլߩאߢߩ 310 (ؘߢΔਢᘒՑՈ (M 46.19, Johnston 2010: 656-657ܓૉྤࢬ 311 ᥯ڶ੡ฆ࣍㘱ଃΔٍאߢߵΛࠡڶቫآߢߵΛࠡڶࡳՈΖ࣠آߢΔࠡࢬߢृ௽ڶՈΔߢृܬߢॺ֛ 312 (׏Λࠡྤ᥯׏Λ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 49-54

156 anything.313 Zhuangzi’s question is how we can ascertain what is talked about, that is, ascertain a fixed relationship between name and shi. If this cannot be ascertained, the same combination of words cannot guarantee the same action. Here is a simple example: suppose A says to B, ‘move the table’; normally we will think A is trying to get B to perform a specific action (move) to an object (table). Thus B must first understand what ‘table’ refers to, and understand what action is meant by ‘move’. But even if B understands them, they may not understand them in the same way as A does.

For example, what counts as a table may be different according to different persons’ linguistic practices—Must it have legs? Must its surface be flat? Must it serve a particular purpose?—not to mention the ambiguity of the word ‘table’. Or A may want to move the table in a certain way, while B wants to move the table in another way. B may even interpret the whole phrase ‘move the table’ as something quite different—Is

A using the phrase literally, or metaphorically? Plainly, or ironically?̅the point is that

A and B may differ in deciding what should follow from ‘move the table’ even if both think that they understand the phrase and agree that something should be done when A says ‘move the table’.

Why is this so? In the Daodejing, we have already seen that names involve distinctions,314 though the Daodejing tends to worry about their effect in politics. Then, according to the Mohists, mastering a name is to know how to pick out things correctly according to the name,315 so one knows what a table is if and only if they can distinguish tables from non-tables in practice. For Zhuangzi, how such distinction is made depends on different factors, such as convention. If names involve distinctions, they involve more than one schema of distinction. To quote the passage from chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi again:

313 We do not translate shi ኔ into ‘reality’ or ‘substance’ because these two terms are too static for Zhuangzi (and ancient Chinese philosophy in general). Shi does not imply nor deny any ‘static reality’ that exists independently of our language. 314 See 2.2.3 of this thesis. 315 See 3.2.2 of this thesis.

157

. . . a thing is so because people say it is so . . . Why are things so? They are so

because they are called so. Why are things not so? They are not so because they

are called not so . . . All things are possessed of that which we may say is so, all

things are possessed of that which we may approve. There is no thing that is not so,

there is no thing that cannot be approved.316

There is no absolute reason why something must bear the name it has. It does not mean names are ascribed randomly, but a name is always open to revision and reinterpretation and different people may appropriate it differently. Actually, the existence of different languages and the observation that none of them can be reduced to another, already shows that we can have different naming systems. A name in a language may have no corresponding name in another language, and a particular language may have more specific terms for denoting complex differences within a particular category; an example is the Chinese naming system for relatives. A thing may have no specific name at all in a language. Imagine a language that has only a word equivalent to ‘fruit’ but no specific name for what we call ‘apple’, ‘orange’, or ‘pear’, while another language may have many names for, say, what we call ‘apple’. Of course the practices derived from these different naming systems cannot be identical.

In daily life we seldom find problems like the case of ‘move the table’ because we usually demand a low level of accuracy or precision, and care very little about the method of moving the table. As a result, many different responses to ‘move the table’ are acceptable, however the situation is more complicated when we consider the

Confucian-Mohist debate, in which both sides are trying to stipulate how one should understand terms like ‘benevolence’ (ren ੳ), ‘rightness’ (yi ⟵), ‘paradigmatic person’

ΖྤढլྥΔྤױࢬڶࢬྥΔढࡐڶΞढᘯհۖྥΞ༞׏ྥΛྥ࣍ྥΖ༞׏լྥΛլྥ࣍լྥΞढࡐ 316 (Ζ (adapted from Mair 1994: 16, Chen 2001: 61-65ױढլ

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(jun zi ำሶ). It is about fixing the norms behind these important names so that our practices, including our self-cultivation and government administration, can be unified according to the normative names. Unfortunately, Confucians and Mohists use these words differently, for example, according to the Confucians, a paradigmatic person is one who undertakes self-cultivation by observing rituals and is both elegant and virtuous (A 6.18, 6.27, 12.8, 20.3) but, according to the Mohists, a paradigmatic person is one who prefers efficiency over elegance in order to promote the world’s benefit (M

20.1, 25.14, 32.3). What is worse, disagreement also happens within both Confucianism and Mohism.317 So Zhuangzi asks, ‘is there really saying or is there not?’. The answer is indeterminate: if we reply that the Confucian and Mohists have said something, what definite thing have they said, what definite conclusion can be drawn? If we reply that they have said nothing, why do they start to debate in the first place? Once again,

Zhuangzi extends the question outside the human realm as in the example of ‘the right place to live’: both Confucians and Mohists take it for granted that what they are saying is of utmost significance and different from trivial voices, for example those of hatchlings. But the twitter of hatchlings is ‘meaningful’ to hatchlings, in the sense that they react to the voice and interact with each other based on voice.318 The meaning of twitter, then, is legitimate for hatchlings. If the meaning of words is legitimate for

Confucians according to Confucians, and legitimate for Mohists according to Mohists, aren’t Confucians and Mohists similar to hatchlings? For anyone of them cannot use the language of the other two. Graham’s comment is that Zhuangzi is trying to ask ‘How can I prove that language is meaningful without using it on the assumption that it is?’319

This is reasonable, but language users not only assumes that their language is meaningful, they also assume that their language is meaningful in the way they use it.

317 This is actually noted in the Hanfeizi chapter 50. But in the Zhuangzi 33 we already see the disagreement among Mohists: ‘. . .[different Mohists] all cited the Mohist canons but diverged and disagreed, they called each other heretical Mohists. . .’ (Graham 1981: 277). The disagreement among early Confucians can be seen in A 19.3, 19.12. 318 This is not meant to imply that interaction based on voice is all we have for human language. 319 Graham 1989: 200.

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Each language user uses language in a different way, so Zhuangzi’s point is to stress the difficulty of determining the correct way of using language.

The indeterminacy of language is even more obvious when we consider one of its properties, that of indexicality. We have already introduced Graham and Hansen’s comments on the terms ‘shi ᤚ’ and ‘fei 㕖’ and that ‘shi ᤚ’ can mean ‘this’ or ‘right’.

Zhuangzi suggests that, the word ψᤚω, no matter whether it means ‘this’ or ‘right’, can refer to many different things depending on the situation:

There is nothing which is not ‘that’, there is nothing which is not ‘this’. What

cannot be seen from the standpoint of ‘that’ can be seen from the standpoint of

‘this’ . . . ‘this’ is also ‘that’, ‘that’ is also ‘this’. ‘That’ has a criterion of right and

wrong, ‘this’ also has a criterion of right and wrong . . . 320

‘This’ and ‘that’ are obviously indexical, but what about ordinary words like ‘table’ or

‘pan’? No doubt when one says ‘bring me the pan’, the meaning seems more determinate than ‘bring me that’, because the position of the speaker seems irrelevant to the word ‘pan’. However, the underlying indeterminacy is just the same as in the ‘move the table’ example; there is nothing that must be called a ‘pan’ and nothing that must not be called a ‘pan’, it depends on the convention, the intention of the speaker, the physical setting where the saying is made, and so on. And it is not surprising that in some context one can use ‘bring me that’ to clarify what they mean by ‘bring me the pan’.

ԫਢॺΖٍڼढྤॺ࢖ΔढྤॺਢΖ۞࢖ঞլߠΔ۞ਢঞवհΞਢٍ࢖ՈΔ࢖ٍਢՈΖ࢖ٍԫਢॺΔ 320 (Z 2, Chen 2001: 54-59)

160

Hansen states that, for Zhuangzi, all language is indexical.321 It is unclear whether

Zhuangzi makes such a universal claim, but Hansen’s remark of indexicality is insightful:

Zhuangzi grants a semantic aspect of language. Language has aboutness,

intentionality. But the particular setting determines its aboutness. Language has

only indexical aboutness. What we refer to depends on the social and physical

context in which we learn our words. In themselves, all thing-kinds are both shi ᤚ

and not shi ᤚ.322

Rather than saying Zhuangzi grants a semantic aspect of language, we may say that

Zhuangzi eschews the issue of semantics, the meaning of a word in itself, but instead talks about pragmatics, the use of words in context. This is not surprising, as both

Confucians and Mohists emphasize the way that people use words instead of what words mean in themselves, independent of human practice. Whether we can say

Zhuangzi’s thought can be expressed in terms of semantics depends on how the term

‘semantics’ is used; sometimes a word is said to have a meaning independent of its actual usage in a given context, so ‘snake’ literally means snake even if it is used to refer to something else, for example a deceitful person. Under this view, the semantic aspect of language is that which is independent of the actual usage of speaker or writer.

Given Zhuangzi’s emphasis on indeterminacy, this is probably not his view, and Hansen clearly sees that. Even if we say there are meanings, the indexical aboutness of words would imply that words do not have context-independent reference and meaning. Of course, meaning is not the same as reference, but a change in reference implies a change in meaning. Perhaps we could simply say that words do not have context-independent

321 Hansen 1992: 282-285. 322 Hansen 1992: 282.

161 normative meaning,323 especially when we are focusing on the orientative function of language. Moreover, for the sake of argument, even if we suppose that we can specify the exact context and agent in order to evade contextual indeterminacy, it does not guarantee that a word will have one and only one meaning.324 If using words is a practice, we may say that there are different reasonable ways to use words, including the provocative word ‘right’. This is a point made in chapter 17 of the Zhuangzi:

If then we say ‘Why not take the right as our authority and do without the wrong,

take the ordered as our authority and do away with the unruly’, this is failing to

understand the pattern of Heaven and earth, and the myriad things as they

essentially are . . . it is impracticable is plain enough. 325

It is impracticable because there are many different ways of following what is ‘right’, and in principle anything can be deemed as right and each person’s completed heart can take the word ‘right’ to have different meanings that suit their own background. ‘Take the right as our authority’ therefore yields no determinate practice.

4.8 Skill and language

Given the indeterminacy of language, it is not surprising to see that sometimes the

Zhuangzi says words are inefficacious. There is a well-known story in chapter 13 that apparently advocates the ineffability of skills:

323 A word’s ‘normative meaning’ is the norms implicit in it. 324 Because indexicality is sufficient, but not necessary, to reveal the problem of indeterminacy. Indeterminacy can be triggered by many other factors, say, vagueness. See Coutinho 2004: 119. ࣔߎΖ۩ױհ෻ΔᆄढհൣृՈΞࠡլچ֚ࣔآਚֳΚψ።ஃਢۖྤॺΔஃएۖྤ႖׏Λωਢ 325 (Graham 1981: 147)

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Duke Huan was reading a book at the top of the hall, wheelwright Bian was

chipping a wheel at the bottom of the hall. He put aside his mallet and chisel and

went up to ask Duke Huan,

‘May I ask what words my lord is reading?’

‘The words of a sage.’

‘Is the sage alive?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘In that case what my lord is reading is the dregs of the men of the old, isn't it?’

‘What business is it of a wheelwright to criticize what I read? If you can explain

yourself, well and good; if not, you die.’

‘Speaking for myself, I see it in terms of my own work. If I chip at a wheel too

slowly, the chisel slides and does not grip; if too fast, it jams and catches in the

wood. Not too slow, not too fast; I feel it in the hand and respond from the heart

(de zhi yu shou er ying yu xin ᓧਯᣈᚻ⠰ᙥᣈᔃ), the mouth cannot put it into

words, there is a knack in it somewhere which I cannot convey to my son and which

my son cannot learn from me. This is how through my seventy years I have grown

old chipping at wheels. The men of old and their transmittable message are dead.

Then what my lord is reading is the dregs of the men of old, isn’t it?’ 326

There are many skilful experts like Bian in the Zhuangzi: Cook Ding (Z 3), the hunchback catching cicadas (Z 19), the ferryman (Z 19), the engraver (Z 19), the swimmer (Z 19) and the forger of buckles (Z 22), are just some more of the examples.

㠬ֆᦰ஼࣍ഘՂΔᔚਇ䑠ᔚ࣍ഘՀΔᤩ཮ᨼۖՂΔം㠬ֆֳΚψཊംΔֆհࢬᦰृ۶ߢߵΛω ֆֳΚ 326 ԳհᜊᕗբײհࢬᦰृΔܩߎΖω ֳΚψྥঞڽ׏Λω ֆֳΚψբڇψᆣԳհߢՈΖω ֳΚψᆣԳ հࠃᨠհΖ۝אՈ۝Ζω ᔚਇֳΚψڽΔྤᎅঞױᎅঞڶ൓ᤜ׏ΜڜΜω 㠬ֆֳΚψኒԳᦰ஼ΔᔚԳ֛ ෫࣍ࠡၴΖژᑇڶլࡐΔఏঞેۖլԵΖլஊլఏΔ൓հ࣍֫ۖᚨ࣍֨ΔՑլ౨ߢΔۖز䑠ᔚΔஊঞ ߎΔྥڽႚՈױհԳፖࠡլײ䑠ᔚΖ۔ԮԼۖڣ۩אΔਢ۝հ՗ٍլ౨࠹հ࣍۝հ՗Δ۝໧אլ౨۝ .(Գհᜊᕗբ֛Μω (Graham 1981: 139-140ײհࢬᦰृΔܩঞ

163

They are all skilful at their professions, their work and products are nothing less than aesthetic performances. The movements of Ding when he cuts an ox are rhythmic and the engraver’s skill is said to be ‘daemonic’ (shen ␹).327

What can we draw from these skill stories? Do they reflect a general distrust of language, and that there is a kind of ‘skill knowledge’ which ‘goes beyond’ words?

Indeed, some commentators take the position that there is a distinction between theoretical or linguistic knowledge on the one hand, and practical knowledge or ‘knack’ on the other. They also propose that Zhuangzi advocates the latter but rejects the former.

Scholars who think Zhuangzi is a mystic often take this view, such as Burton Watson328 or Harold D Roth;329 Livia Kohn even says that Zhuangzi’s ultimate goal is to ‘do away with words altogether’, though she does not emphasize knack but instead emphasizes mystical insight.330 But even scholars who do not stress the mystical approach sometimes have similar opinions; Tang Jun-yi thinks the skill stories reflect a difference between the Zhuangzi and the Mozi in the sense that ‘The knowledge of Ding and Bian is to directly feel it in the hand and respond from the heart, to knows things directly without any medium such as impression, idea, words, symbols, thought and reason . . . that transcends Mozi’s . . . abstract universal rules and standards . . . that is now called intuitive knowledge.’331 Philip J. Ivanhoe claims that ‘[Zhuangzi] is an epistemological skeptic, but only of a certain kind of knowledge, i.e. intellectual knowledge. He is not at all skeptical about intuitive knowledge. . . knowledge of the Dao is a kind of knowing

327 More about ‘daemonic’ will be discussed in 6.6 of this thesis. 328 ‘To describe this mindless, purposeless mode of life, Chuang Tzu turns most often to the analogy of the artist or craftsman...... like all mystics, Chuang Tzu insists that language is in the end grievously inadequate to describe the true Way...’ (Watson 1964: 6) 329 ‘The only way of ‘knowing’ such a unity [i.e. the mystic unity between a person and the world] is to experience it in a nondual fashion. It can never be adequately described by propositional knowing...Propositional Knowing is...a “knowing that”. Nondual knowing, however, is a “knowing how”...Knowing how...is linked with the many skill passages in the text...’ (Roth 2003: 27) 330 Kohn 1991: 125. ွᨠٱྤޓ࣍֨ύΔխၴٱTang 1966: 110:ʳψΞࢎԭᇞׄհवΔᔚਇ䑠ᔚհवΔઃऴ൷ό൓հ࣍֫ۖ 331 վࢬܛ၌။ᕠ՗ࢬᘯΞࢼွཏሙհ๵ఢऄᏚΞٍܛ੡ၴሶΙٍطฤᇆፖ৸უ෻ڗ࢚հዩఎΔٍլᆖ֮ ᘯऴᤚհवՈΖω (author’s translation)

164 how. . . ’332 Robert Eno has a similar view and says that ‘. . . Zhuangzi identifies two types of knowing; practical or skill knowing and theoretical or fact knowing. He celebrates practical knowing . . . Theoretical knowing, by contrast . . . blind us to the world around us . . .’333

However, the views of these scholars could be misleading. They are right to point out that Bian’s practice, and the other experts, is too subtle to be taught by words, and they may be also right to point out that discursive knowledge is not necessary for mastering a practice and that the Zhuangzi does appreciate the skilful experts; yet we must not interpret these claims to imply that 1) Bian’s practice itself is a form of knowledge without limitation; 2) Words and practice, or intuition, are mutually exclusive; 3) Bian’s practice is superior to speech, writing, or use of language in general. These three claims are hardly supported by the text and its intellectual background. We will scrutinize them in turn, then decipher how we should interpret the lessons of the stories.

First, the text seems to idealize skilful experts, but we must not forget a paragraph that discuss the limitation of skills:

The lightning up of right and wrong is the reason why the way is flawed. The

reason why the way is flawed is the reason why preference is completed. Is there

really completion and flaw? Or is there no completion and flaw? There is

completion and flaw, so there is Zhao who plays the zither; there is no completion

and flaw, so there is Zhao who does not play the zither. Zhao Wen strumming on

the zither, Master Kuang propping on the stick, Hui Shi leaning on the sterculia,

had the three men’s knowledge much further to go? They were all men in whom it

reached a culmination, and therefore was carried on to too late a time. Just

because they prefer it they think it is so different from others, and because they

332 Ivanhoe 1993: 648. 333 Eno 1996: 127-128.

165

prefer it they want to enlighten others. They want to enlighten others while others

cannot be enlightened, so they end their life in the gloom of ‘hardness’ and

‘whiteness’ . . . 334

Zhao and Kuang are music masters and each has his own style of musical practice. Note that a smooth musical performance requires one to ‘directly feel it in the hand and respond from the heart’, for there is no time to pause and deliberate; the player should be able to adjust his arms and fingers swiftly, and from a spectator’s view it may look like the arms and fingers move themselves. In this respect, music masters are similar to the skilful experts. But as soon as Zhao plays the zither there is completion and flaw, and his performance is an achievement only to the extent that there is completion, that is the manifestation of a pattern of practice. If completion always comes with flaw, then even Zhao’s supreme skill is not perfect. Just like any other practice, it is limited.

To see further why Zhao’s skill is limited, we may consider the relationship between distinction (fen ಽ) and destruction (hui Მ). A passage from chapter 2 says:

There is no thing that is not so, there is no thing that cannot be approved. Thus,

whether it be a tiny blade of grass or a mighty pillar, a hideous leper or beauteous

Xi Shi, no matter how peculiar or incongruous, through the way they all become

one. The division is the completion, the completion is the destruction. If there is

neither completion nor destruction in things, it is because they revert to be deemed

as one. 335

ڶፖ᜽׏বΛګፖ᜽׏বΛ࣠׊ྤګڶΖ࣠׊ګא᜽Δფհࢬא᜽ՈΖሐհࢬאਢॺհኦՈΔሐհࢬ 334 ፖ᜽ΔਚਟּհլቔྶՈΖਟ֮հቔྶՈΔஃᡛհࣤ࿜ՈΔ༡՗հᖕګፖ᜽ΔਚਟּհቔྶՈΙྤګ ࣔհΖ࢖אհՈΔ඿ړฆ࣍࢖ΔࠡאհՈΔړΖഄࠡڣأනՈΔԿ՗հवΔ༓׏ઃࠡฐृՈΔਚሉհ (ഒػհਡึΖʳ(Z 2, adapted from Graham 1981: 54, Chen 2001: 66-70אॺࢬࣔۖࣔհΔਚ ՈΔᄤՈΖՅढګՈΙࠡګΖਚ੡ਢᜰ⌆ፖᄝΔᏩፖ۫ਜΔሐຏ੡ԫΖࠡ։ՈΔױढլྥΔྤढլྤ 335 (ፖᄤΔ༚ຏ੡ԫΖ (adapted from Mair 1994: 16, Chen 2001: 61-66ګྤ

166

In order to complete something, we have to make a distinction between the thing that is being completed and other things that are irrelevant or harmful to the process of completion. Consider again the task of moving a table: in order to complete this task, I must know how to distinguish ‘table’ from ‘non-table’, focus my attention on ‘table’, and exclude ‘non-table’. Also, I have to know how to ‘move’ it, not paint it, cut it, or otherwise. Every task, from using a word to governing a country, presupposes distinctions, but there are different schemata of distinction, and none of them is privileged on the basis that it is universally applicable. So one scheme may draw a distinction between a tiny blade of grass and a mighty pillar, while other schemata simply do not recognize the distinction. It is because ‘if you look at them from the viewpoint of their differences, from liver to gall is as far as from Chu and Yue; if you look at them from the viewpoint of their sameness, the myriad things are all one’. 336

Completing a task requires distinction, and completing a task in a specific way requires a specific scheme of distinction. This is why ‘the division is the completion’. Without division there is nothing that can be completed or accomplished, yet, in adopting a particular scheme, we must dismiss others, including the all-encompassing view that the myriad things are all one, that is the schema that makes no distinction among the myriad things, because it sees all the myriad things are alike: they are all instances of the myriad things. If one wants others to move the table but not the board, one must use a scheme that recognizes the distinction between ‘table’ and ‘board’. Since adopting a scheme implies dismissing others, it means there are always possibilities that we cannot realize, and this is why ‘the completion of a particular task is the destruction of other possibilities’. No scheme can help us to complete all tasks. Hence no scheme is perfect.

Of course, if one can really make no distinctions and adopt the all-encompassing view, then it is the only case that involves neither completion nor destruction and in this sense the all-encompassing view may be regarded as perfect. Nonetheless, regardless of

(հΔᆄढઃԫՈΖ (Graham 1981: 76-77ီृٵࠡฆृီհΔߗᜬᄑ။ՈΙ۞ࠡ۞ 336

167 whether one can really adopt the all-encompassing view,337 under this view there is nothing that can be accomplished. One cannot even act, since acting is doing something, and this involves a distinction between something and nothing, and a distinction between what is to be done and what is not. These distinctions apply to the performance of skilful experts. When Bian chips a wheel in a certain way, he cannot simultaneously chip the same wheel in a different way. This is just like when Zhao plays a song in a certain way, he cannot simultaneously play the same song in a different, but still appealing, way. This does not mean their skills are not proficient, but it does mean that they are not perfect, if by ‘perfect’ we mean something without shortcomings and limitations.

Secondly, words and intuition are not mutually exclusive. Although Bian points out that his skill is not communicable by words, his practice is not completely ineffable.

Otherwise, he could not even explain, by using words, the nature of his work and the reason why he cannot teach his son. Nearly all of the skilful experts can use words to explain their activities succinctly. Consider the last few lines of the dialogue between

Cook Ding and King Wen Hui:

‘A good cook changes his knife once a year–because he cuts. A mediocre cook

changes his knife once a month–because he hacks. I have had this knife of mine for

nineteen years and I’ve cut up thousands of oxen with it. Yet the blade is as good as

if it had just come from the grindstone . . .However, whenever I come to something

intricate, I see where it will be hard to handle and cautiously prepare myself, my

gaze settles on it, action slows down for it . . .’

337 If we want to make a point about something, we cannot avoid making a subject-object distinction. Hence we cannot talk about something that transcends all distinctions (as the distinction between distinction and non- distinction is also not allowed)Ёindeed, it is doubtful whether we can make sense of this idea in the first place. This is Zhuangzi's response to Hui Shi's claim that ‘the ten thousand things and I are one’ (ᆄढፖݺ੡ԫ). (Z 2, adapted from Graham 1981: 56).

168

‘Excellent!’ said Lord Wen-Hui. ‘Listening to the words of Cook Ding, I have

learned from them how to nurture life.’ 338

This passage has rich implicature; what draws our attention first is surely the performance of Ding, and indeed his performance has primary significance here. Yet few notice that Lord Wen-Hui has learned something from the words, not merely from watching the performance. If words are totally incapable of expressing the so-called

‘intuitive knowledge’ (from Tang’s phrase ‘zhi jue zhi zhi ऴᤚհव’), there is no need for Ding to talk, or he just could not talk, like the person Wei (ήὑ⻐) in chapter 22.339 For one to master a skill like Ding or Bian, the problem with words is their insufficiency, not total irrelevance. When the cicada-catching hunchback talks about his training process, he is giving instructions, although they cannot replace concrete exercises. The insufficiency of words is partly derived from the indeterminacy of language because, even if I could summarize my own practice in words, others may understand my words in a way that differs from my intention, no matter how detailed my explanation is. So I may take the words to guide my practice in ‘this’ way, while others take the same words to guide their practice in ‘that’ way. The insufficiency of words is also partly derived from the heterogeneity of schemata of distinction, that is distinctions embedded in one schema–words–may not fully catch distinctions embedded in another schema–wheel-chipping). Note that neither indeterminacy of language nor heterogeneity of schemata implies that words and practical knowledge are incompatible, much less should we discard words in order to become a skilful expert.

Thirdly, Tang, Ivanhoe and Eno all think that intuitive or practical knowledge is a

‘higher’ form of knowledge – but does the distinction between theoretical knowledge

ߎΔࢬᇞᑇՏׄߎΔۖԸՍૉᄅ࿇࣍นΞڣհԸԼ԰۝ՈΖվމԸΔޓԸΔ໊ՈΙගࢎִޓψߜࢎᄣ 338 ෫ΖسፊࢎԭհߢΔ൓塄ܠߠࠡᣄ੡Δ࢟ྥ੡ݹΔီ੡ַΔ۩੡ᙈΞωψ࿳বΜܠ࣍ගΔ۟ޢឈྥΔ ω (adapted from Graham 1981: 63-64) 339 The person who does not know how to answer the questions asked by another person, Zhi (व). The name and journey of this person suggest that zhi व is associated with wandering and asking questions.

169 and practical knowledge really apply to the Zhuangzi, or to ancient Chinese philosophy in general? Tang’s comment above states that Zhuangzi advocates intuitive knowledge, while Mozi relies on words. Eno has a similar view, which is, ‘Mohism was structured such that an appreciation of its arguments alone led to full understanding of the world with which it was concerned . . . the Mohist perspective could be attained without further skill training.’340 Here, the word ‘alone’ makes Mohism a highly implausible doctrine: it is hard to accept that any thinker in the pre-Qin period would claim that one can attain knowledge without any devoted practice or concrete training. At least it is doubtful whether this is really the Mohist view. In 3.2.3 of this thesis we saw that the

Mohists think most people are motivated to do what they think is right and may even sacrifice themselves for rightness (M 47.1). Consequently, if we can convince others that our view is right, then it will be easy to make them follow our view. But this only means that when people are convinced by arguments they are more inclined to act according to the arguments, not that they can act proficiently. For the Mohists, knowing what is right involves picking out the right things consistently and reliably across different cases. It will not do if someone who ‘tasted a little bitterness, called it bitter, but when tasted a lot, call it sweet’ (M 17.3). But consistency and reliability may require reading, emulation, reward and punishments, and other exercises, in short, skill training. No doubt there are differences between Confucianism and Mohism about knowing, but knowing is practical in both Confucianism and Mohism. The Mohists are themselves masters of defensive tactics in battles, and to be skilful in war surely requires much more than understanding of arguments or abstract ideas.

Does Zhuangzi make a distinction between practical and theoretical knowledge, which is not made by the Confucians and Mohists, who are regarded by Zhuangzi as obsessed in making distinctions? Does Zhuangzi claim that practical is superior to theoretical? Perhaps the focus is not on the nature of knowledge, but the means of

340 Eno 1996: 131.

170 attaining knowledge. If you want to learn how to chip a wheel by just listening to a craftsman, it is very difficult to see how you can succeed. Similarly, knowing how to govern a state—for Duke Huan—cannot be learned just by reading. Language, after all, is not the only means we use to guide our practice and it may not be the most effective.

Still, this does not mean that using language is a means inferior to skill training, it just means that each method is useful in different situations. Hansen notes that Zhuangzi mentions Hui Shi together with Zhao and Kuang, and each of them is on a par with the others.341 There is no need to praise one practice and condemn others, one who thinks that there is a need is probably moved by the completed heart.

Therefore, the skill stories do not support a dichotomy between language and skill.

But what can we draw from them? First, they caution us against language. Using language seems to have a special status among all human activities, since nearly all people get used to it so quickly and it is an indispensable tool in nearly all aspects of life. As a result, one comes to believe language is the most important means of attaining knowledge, especially concerning public education. Based on this, the Confucians and

Mohists even want to use language as a tool for unification, that the correct use of language will eventually lead to social order. In criticizing this project, Zhuangzi says that the difference between different means of communication, say that between human language and the twitter of hatchlings, is indeterminate, so it is doubtful whether we can fix the correct use of language. The story of Bian further suggests that the orientative function of language is insufficient for transmitting subtle skills. Also, many skilful experts are common people instead of officials, nobles or so-called social elites. The detachment from ‘higher’ social classes seek to avoid the political power pervasive in language, although the Confucians and Mohists tend to think that there should be

‘official’ language discourse, represented by the book of Duke Huan, which symbolizes

341 Hansen 1992: 287.

171 social order. Such an idea is held in check by the Daodejing, and Zhuangzi further points out its implausibility from a perspective outside government.

Another lesson we can draw from the skill stories is the flexibility of the experts.

When Zhuangzi appreciates these skilful experts, the point is not to treat their practices as final answers; in the story of Cook Ding, the point is not to claim that ‘you should nurture your life according to the butcher’s advice’; rather, the point is to show an alternative way of living one’s life, an alternative that is easy to miss if one is obsessed with the conventional view that a butcher has nothing to do with sophisticated teaching.

But Cook Ding is appreciated not because his skill is perfect, but because he is so immersed in the task at hand and is open-minded: he does not have any preconception about the particular ox he is going to deal with, but focuses on the very context he is in.

This point will be discussed in detail in the following chapters of this thesis. It suffices to say here that these skilful experts are more receptive to the environmenta and flexible than ordinary people, including the Confucians and the Mohists.

4.9 Conclusion

Zhuangzi tries to dismantle the Confucian-Mohist project of fixing the correct practice.

It is easy for one to follow their own completed heart, insist on using it, and generalize it as the only appropriate paradigm of knowledge for all others. To counter this tendency, we interpret Zhuangzi’s lesson as revealing the indeterminacy in different aspects of knowledge. People’s ways of knowing cannot be unified. There is a sentence in the Zhuangzi that may summarize such indeterminacy of knowing:

Knowing depends on something with which it has to be plumb, the trouble is that

what it depends on is never fixed. 342

(ࡳՈΖ (Z 6, Graham 1981:84آࢬৱۖ৵ᅝΔࠡࢬৱृ௽ڶव֛ 342

172

Nonetheless, we have not seen whether Zhuangzi does or can offer us any guidance after all. Zhuangzi does not assert that ‘there is no knowledge’, period. Actually, his dissatisfaction with the Confucian-Mohist project is intertwined with his own conception of knowing, practice, and ideal personality. This is what we will analyze in next two chapters.

173

Chapter 5 Great knowledge in the Zhuangzi

5.1 Introduction

This chapter analyzes great knowledge (da zhi ᄢ⍮) and the method of attaining great knowledge in the Zhuangzi. Similarly to the Daodejing, the Zhuangzi also makes a contrast between two kinds of knowing; they are great knowledge and petty knowledge

(xiao zhi ዊ⍮). Like the Daodejing, the Zhuangzi recommends great knowledge but criticizes petty knowledge. Following Mair,343 we translate ‘da zhi ᄢ⍮’ into ‘great knowledge’ for two reasons: 1) ψ⍮ω can be translated into ‘knowledge’, ‘knowing’,

‘wisdom’, ‘intelligence’, ‘understanding’, and the like. Since none of these English words are perfectly suitable and each of them captures only partially the meaning of

ψ⍮ω in ancient Chinese, we choose a word that clearly has a verb form and ψ⍮ω can be used as a verb; 2) The term ψᄢω can mean ‘bigger in size’, ‘content’, or

‘quality’. It may also be used in an evaluative sense, for instance ψᄢੱω and ψዊੱω in the Analects. The English word ‘great’ captures all these aspects of ψᄢω.

In chapter 4 of this thesis, we have seen why and how Zhuangzi criticizes the

Confucian-Mohist project that attempts to establish correctness (zheng ᱜ). In doing so, however, we do not mean that Zhuangzi directly refutes their teachings. He does not claim that we should simply discard Confucian rituals or the Mohist standard of benefit.

Rather, the problem lies in the attitude of Confucians and Mohists towards their own doctrines: they think their doctrine is the only correct one for solving the problems of self-cultivation and social order, and seek to convert others to adopt their practices.

This does not mean that there is no problem if one practices Confucianism or

Mohism all the time without forcing others to accept thier own view. The ultimate goal of Confucian and Mohist teaching is to train a person to be a paradigmatic person in

343 Mair 1994: 4.

174 ethical, social and political realms. For Confucians and Mohists, to have ideal knowledge is to become a paradigmatic person who can carry out a specific, reliable correct practice. A method for achieving this goal involves an attempt to determine the single correct doctrine by fixing the use of language, hence fixing the practice of people.

We stated in the previous chapter that Zhuangzi doubts whether such an attempt is going to succeed, that is, whether the method of Confucians and Mohists will carry them to the goal they seek. Also, Zhuangzi doubts whether their ultimate goal is valuable in the first place. In other words, Zhuangzi does not hold the same vision of ideal personality and ideal knowledge as Confucians and Mohists. In this chapter, we analyze how Zhuangzi’s view of knowledge is different from that of the Confucian-

Mohist project.

5.2 Peng and great knowledge

The contrast between great knowledge and petty knowledge appears in chapter 1 of the

Zhuangzi. It is presented through a fable of the great bird Peng (㢈), a cicada (ⱪ) and a small dovelet (ቑ㡀):

[Peng] puffs out its chest and flies off, its wings are like clouds hanging from the

sky . . . the wake it thrashes on the water is three thousand miles long, it mounts

spiralling on the whirlwind ninety thousand miles high, going with the wind of June

. . . Is the azure of the sky its true colour? Or is it so distant that its farthest limits

can never be reached? These are what Peng sees when it looks down from above...

A cicada and a dovelet laughed at it, saying, ‘We keep flying till we're bursting,

stop when we get to an elm or sandalwood, and sometimes are dragged back to the

ground before we're there. What's all this about being ninety thousand miles up

when he travels south?

175

Someone off to the green of the woods, with enough for three meals will be home

with his belly still full; someone going thirty miles pounds grain for the days he will

be away; someone going three hundred miles lays in grain to last three months.

What do these two creatures know? 344

Right at the opening of the Zhuangzi, this fable reveals several aspects of the text: imaginative, inspiring, and indeterminate. What do Peng, the cicada and the dovelet symbolize? Does Peng symbolize something that is greater, higher, or better? If Peng and the cicada represent two different kinds of people, does Zhuangzi exalt the image of

Peng? There is on-going debate among commentators. Chad Hansen says:

The absolutist interpretation [that is, the interpretation that says Peng is absolutely

greater and its physical bigness represents a better worldview] trivializes

Zhuangzi’s point. They present him as saying that little creatures are limited but

big creatures know everything . . . The traditional interpretation sees these stories

as illustrating the authoritarian claim that ‘bigger is better.’ . . . Zhuangzi’s point is

the inaccessibility of other points of view from this one. It is just as impossible for

the great bird to understand what flying means to the small bird, flitting joyfully

from branch to branch . . . 345

For Hansen, Peng and the dovelet symbolize different viewpoints, but none of them is really better and Zhuangzi does not privilege Peng, because its bigger size does not imply that its view surpasses that of the dovelet. Interestingly, though Hansen sees his view as contrasting the ‘traditional’ view—the majority view among scholars from the

քִஒृՈΞ֚հ፧፧Δࠡאװᣛ?৷ۖଆΔࠡᜠૉি֚հႆΞֽᚰԿՏߺΔ჻֛ᄀۖՂृ԰ᆄߺΔ] 344 ߵΛࠡ᎛ۖྤࢬ۟ᄕߵΛࠡီՀՈΔٍૉਢঞբߎΞ፳ፖᖂቑూհֳΚψݺެದۖଆΔዓᄞࣝۖۥإ ߺृΔۍհ԰ᆄߺۖত੡Λωᔞ๔፧ृΔԿ塊ۖ֘Δᆮྫ࣠ྥΙᔞאբߎΔଡ଼ۖچΔழঞլ۟ۖ൳ַ࣍ (മ้២ΙᔞՏߺृΔԿִፋ២ΖհԲ៽Ծ۶वΜʳ(adapted from Graham 1981: 43-44 345 Hansen 1992: 272-273ˁ

176 past to the present, according to Hansen—his view is similar to a traditional view proposed by Guo Xiang in the Jin dynasty. When considering the question ‘what do the words “these two creatures” refer to?’, Guo Xiang stated that they refer to Peng and the cicada. He also stated:

How can one make a difference between the small and the great? . . . If one

satisfies its own nature (xing ᕈ), then even the great Peng has nothing that makes

it value itself over the small birds, and the small birds need not envy the Lake of

Heaven . . . 346

It is controversial whether the commentary of Guo Xiang is generally faithful to the

Zhuangzi. But we need not answer this question in order to evaluate his interpretation of

Peng. Here, it suffices to say that Guo Xiang’s point is that the viewpoint of Peng is not privileged: it is limited by its size and altitude, so it sees and is familiar with only the azure of the sky and nothing else. In this aspect it is just like the cicada which is limited by its small size and can see only a short distance. Using the terms ‘right (shi ᤚ)’ and

‘wrong (fei 㕖)’, we may say that the cicada can only ‘right’ its short flying distance and

‘wrong’ the distance travelled by Peng, and Peng can only ‘right’ its long flying distance and ‘wrong’ the distance travelled by the cicada. Guo Xiang’s interpretation was also supported by Cheng Xuan Ying (c. 601 – 690 C.E.) in the Tang Dynasty.

The commentator Yu Yue (1821 – 1907 C.E.) in the Qing Dynasty opposed the interpretation of Guo and Cheng:

Guo Xiang says, ‘these two creatures’ refer to Peng and the cicada.’ I am afraid

that this loses the point of the text. ‘These two creatures’ should refer to the cicada

,Ξ (Guo 1961: 9-11ۃ၆࣍՛຺Δ՛຺ྤᆡ֚࣍۞אΞ ಡ୲໏૤࣍ࠡၴবΜΞ૕ߩ࣍ࠡࢤΔঞឈՕᣛྤ 346 author’s translation)

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and the dovelet . . . this means those are small are not sufficient to know the

great.347

Yu Yue also takes ‘What do these two creatures know?’ as a rhetorical question, not a real question. The sentence suggests that those two creatures do not know about Peng.

Chen Gu-ying generally follows Yu’s interpretation. He also quotes another Qing

Dynasty commentator Liu Feng-bao (1826 – 1905 C.E.) who stated, ‘those who stay close cannot know the distant (jin zhe bu neng zhi yuan ㄭ⠪ਇ⢻⍮㆙)’.348 Bryan Van

Norden goes further to say that there is a hierarchy of stages along the road to sagehood, in which Peng symbolizes the final stage and the dovelet symbolizes the lowest level.349

The debate involves two distinct questions: one is whether the text presents Peng as

‘better’ than the dovelet; another is whether, or how, we can make sense of great knowledge.

For the first question, the following passage, which immediately follows the question ‘What do these two creatures know’, seems to provide a clue:

Petty knowledge cannot keep up with great knowledge, or few years with many . . .

in the remotest past there was the great tree Chun, with eight thousand years for its

spring and eight thousand years for its autumn; it is only nowadays that Peng Zu is

especially famous for living long, and is it not sad that people should think him

insurpassable? 350

:वՕՈΖω (Chen 2001אஎ؈հΖԲ៽ᅝ੡፳ፖᖂቑ…ᘯ՛լߩڼψພွֳࣹΚόԲ៽ᘯᣛ፳ՈΖύ 347 7-9, author’s translation) 348 Chen 2001: 9-13. 349 Van Norden 1996: 255-256. ڶՈΖᄑհতڣ՛ڼवࠡྥՈΛཛပլवඤ஽Δ㊍๥լवਞટΔאΖଡ଼ڣլ֗Օڣ՛वլ֗լवΔ՛ 350 ՈΖ༙ۖڣՕڼԶՏᄣ੡ਞΔԶՏᄣ੡ટΖאՕ⛵ृΔڶײᄣ੡ટΙՂۍᄣ੡ਞΔնۍնאଭᨋृΔ (Ն௽ፊΔฒԳ֐հΔլٍ༟׏Μ (adapted from Graham 1981: 44אలԯվ

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It is sad to see people who think Peng Zu is insurpassable: for they do not see the great tree Chun. If, according to Hansen, the text just wants to state the ‘inaccessibility of other points of view’, it is difficult to see why it is ‘sad’. After all, humans cannot live as long as the great tree, just like the cicada cannot fly as high as Peng. From the conventional point of view, Peng Zu is long-lived so, far from being sad, people should be glad to see that a human can live so long. The sadness must reflect some problem in praising Peng Zu as a model for longevity. If this is so, then we should read ‘petty knowledge cannot keep up with great knowledge’ as criticizing petty knowledge, not just differentiating it from great knowledge. If the relationship between Peng and the dovelet is analogous to the relationship between Chun and Peng Zu, then the text is criticizing the dovelet, not just stating the difference between it and Peng. Thus, it is more reasonable to say that Peng symbolizes something greater in an evaluative sense.

However, to propose that Peng symbolizes something greater does not imply that its position or point of view is privileged. The comments of Guo, Cheng and Hansen are not without justification, for Peng’s big size or high position in the sky does not imply anything ‘great’, that is, better. We cannot claim that Peng symbolizes great knowledge just because it flies further, unless we take distance for granted as a criterion. Tim

Connolly gives two consideration for how Peng symbolizes great knowledge:351 first, judging from a conventional point of view, just as living longer is better, flying further is better. This is using distance as a criterion. Peng in this sense is ‘better’ than the dovelet, but not the ‘best’, because there can be something that flies further than Peng.

The second consideration is that Peng remains humble which, as we will see in the next paragraph, is quite reasonable. However, the first consideration implies that Peng’s point of view somehow includes the dovelet’s point of view, that is, Peng can see and do all the dovelet can see and do, but not vice versa, while the fable leaves this issue open. Also, a sentence in chapter 17 of the Zhuangzi shows that a big creature has its

351 Connolly 2011: 496-498.

179 own limitations: ‘Hua-Liu the thoroughbred horse gallops a thousand miles in a day, but for catching mice is not worth a wildcat or a weasel, which is to say that they have different skills’.352 Some limitations are unique to big size, some to small size. So if we cannot blame the dovelet for not being able to fly higher than it can, we also cannot praise Peng for flying far and high. While the dovelet cannot see the clouds clearly,

Peng cannot see the grass clearly. Their physical size determines their flying limits and the view they can see. In other words, if we merely take Peng’s great physical size or its wide field of view to be a symbol for great knowledge, then there is no reason why great knowledge is ‘great’ in an evaluative sense. Even if we put aside the limitation of big size and assume that Peng’s perspective is really broader, does this imply that a broader perspective is necessarily better? A ‘broader’ perspective can mean 1) a perspective that include more experiences, such as one that includes both the experience of warmth and coolness instead of only coolness;353 or 2) a perspective that allow its possessor to understand more about an experience, such as one that includes many descriptions about coolness instead of only a few. Connolly seems to think of 1) when he states that Peng can fly further and that ‘The awakened person necessarily has a broader perspective than the one who is still asleep. He knows two experiential states while the other knows only one...’.354 If this is the case, then a person who has experienced both A and B will be epistemologically more privileged than a person who has only experienced A. However, this is not necessarily so, because it is possible that sometimes it is better not to have an experience. For example, a person who has never experienced ruling the empire may still be valued over one who has experienced ruling the empire and later wants to retire. This can be seen in the story of Yao and Xu You in chapter 1 of the Zhuangzi. The text does not state that Yao is better than Xu You even though Yao seems to have experienced ruling as well as not ruling the empire. If a

(ఁ᳜Δߢ௘ݾՈΞ (adapted from Graham 1981: 147ڕ㌙ᨰ㚸㕡ΔԫֲۖቍՏߺΔ஢ቕլ 352 ௧ૉ in Z 17. He Bo’s perspectiveק and Bei Hai Ruo ܄An example in the Zhuangzi is the story of He Bo ࣾ 353 at the beginning of the story knows only a river but not the sea. Later, his perspective becomes broader because he experiences both. 354 Connolly 2011: 500.

180 broader perspective is necessarily better, the text should have suggested that it would have been better for Xu You to accept Yao’s offer of becoming the ruler.

There is an alternative explanation of why Peng is better: the problem of the dovelet is not its incapability, but its ridiculing of Peng. Notice that, in the fable, Peng says nothing. It seems to enjoy the journey very much, but it does not condemn the cicada or the dovelet for their smallness. Also, it does not say whether the azure it sees is the ‘real’ or ‘correct’ colour, while the cicada and the dovelet seem to assert that their flying practice is right.355 So if Peng symbolizes great knowledge, it is due to its concentration on its own journey and lack of arrogance, rather than its size. This explanation does not claim that Peng’s view of the sky, or anything else, is definitely privileged. The dovelet, when ridiculing Peng, is trying to judge Peng according to its own view of flight, as if its view is the authority. This is petty knowledge, but it does not necessarily mean that one knows very little —say a novice compared to a master flute player—but it means that one judges one’s own knowledge to be authoritative, the absolute, the unchangeable. In other words, it is a reflective judgement on what one knows, a meta-knowing. The cicada and the dovelet might know that their perspectives are limited, but ‘they do not realize that their partial views are limiting . . . [so] they speak laughingly of Peng’s flight’.356 If petty knowledge occurs at the meta-level, so does great knowledge, the knowledge that does not claim authority. Simply asserting that the largeness of Peng represents an ultimate form of knowledge can be no more justified than asserting that the longevity of Peng Zu is the best life one can live.357

Great knowledge does not concern how much one knows, so even if we can aggregate all the limited perspectives to form a ‘comprehensive view’, this is still not great knowledge,358 not to mention that there is no evidence in the Zhuangzi saying that this can be done.

355 Connolly regards the dovelet and the cicada as ‘delighting in their narrowness’. See Connolly 2011: 496-498. 356 Lai, “Can Humans Avoid Being Partial? Epistemological Awareness in the Zhuangzi.”, forthcoming. 357 Wang 2004: 115. 358 See the discussion in Lai 2006: 369-370.

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How about the limitations of Peng? It must wait for the great wind, it must store enough energy before the flight. Do these factors show that great knowledge is limited too? But if Peng symbolizes the person who has attained great knowledge, we can simply take these limitations to mean that attaining great knowledge depends on certain environmental conditions, to the extent that it does not occur without any cause. This does not mean that great knowledge is limited to a particular point of view. To say a picture can contain many implications does not mean that it is created unconditionally.

To say that the Zhuangzi can be interpreted in many ways does not mean that it is written unconditionally. The point is great knowledge is not equal to any particular point of view, even its existence may depend on conditions.

5.3 Travel into the limitless

Because of the completed heart, self-assertion is common among ordinary people, including the debating Confucians, Mohists, and Hui Shi. They are limited by their own knowing, in the sense that they all ‘suppose that there is nothing to add to what they have’,359 so they suppose that what they know exhausts what should be known. Their doctrines are closed or, in their eyes, fully completed. When they face something new or extraordinary, they attempt to explain or judge it by applying their fixed criteria of right and wrong. This is what the dovelet does to Peng: it assumes that the correct form of flight must be similar to that of a dovelet and it does not genuinely realize that there are other possibilities. Therefore, its completion becomes confinement.

On the contrary, great knowledge is not a closed system. While in the Daodejing great knowledge is often mentioned with regard to dao, the Zhuangzi sometimes uses an even more indeterminate description. For example, the one who attains great knowledge is regarded as one who is able to ‘travel into the limitless’ (you wu qiong ㆆή┆):

(ߎ (Z 33, Graham 1981: 274ףאױ੡լڶࠡאઃ 359

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As for the person who rides a true course between Heaven and earth, with the

changes of the Six Energies for his chariot, to travel into the limitless, is there

anything that he depends on? 360

This passage does not describe knowledge in terms of what it is about, but what it is not about: people, rituals, rightness, benefit, not even the way of nature. It describes what a person is like when great knowledge is attained.361 While petty knowledge stops one from appreciating new possibilities, great knowledge enables one to travel into the limitless. The word ψ┆ω according to the Shuo Wen means ‘extreme’ or ‘exhausted’, and the character shows a curved body (る) and a cave (ⓣ), indicating that one is put in a fixed space, so it can also mean ‘confined’ or ‘limited’.362 Though the text does not explicitly state that petty knowledge is qiong ᒡ, we may suggest that petty knowledge is confined because it is fixed by the completed heart. Conversely, great knowledge is not confined, so it does not restrict one’s way of practice, or we can say it is always open, that is, not completed. Great knowledge allows the possibility that there can be limitless alternatives to one’s practice㧙hence the ‘limitlessness’㧙and it enables one to appreciate and adopt different practices. Note that Zhuangzi does not say that one should adopt different practices arbitrarily; otherwise there would be little difference between a person who has great knowledge and a person who adopts different ways of practice randomly, for example, a brain-damaged patient. In deciding which practice is going to be adopted, one still needs to take the context into account, just like the skilful experts discussed in 4.8 of this thesis. They show how one can make flexible responses.

So ‘travel into the limitless’ is not a confused and haphazard movement among different points of view, but a series of smooth responses to the world despite lack of fixed

(ሏྤᒡृΔ࢖׊༞׏ৱবΜ (Z 1, Graham 1981: 44אΔۖൗք௛հ᥯Δإհچૉ֛ଊ֚ 360 361 To describe what great knowledge is we have to first describe what a person becomes when she attains great knowledge. The reason will be discussed in chapter 6 of this thesis. 362 Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 2003: 908. Note that there are scholars who doubt whether the Shuo Wen gives the original meaning of ψᒡω, but this does not affect our analysis here.

183 norms. Here, the term ‘smooth’ is used interchangeably with ‘fluent’. ‘Smooth’ implies minimizing 1) redundant actions, 2) deliberate pause, 3) disturbance to the agent and the environment. It also implies the agent changes thier practice when the context changes, so they do not urge to impose a fixed method when they encounter a new situation.

From a spectator point of view, a smooth practice is also elegant, just like Cook Ding can carve an ox in a rhythmic manner. Of course, this will require one to suspend the functioning of completed heart.363 Now we are going to discuss some features of smooth responses.

5.4 Responding to the limitless: axis of ways

Chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi says:

What is this is also that, what is that is also this. Here is a set of right and wrong,

there is also a set of right and wrong . . . Where neither this nor that finds its

opposite is called the axis of ways (dao shu ㆏ᮥ). When once the axis is found at

the centre of the circle one is able to respond to the limitless. There are limitless

ways of right, there are limitless ways of wrong. So ‘the best means is illumination

(mo ruo yi ming ⩨⧯એ᣿)’. 364

Before we explain what is ‘the axis of ways’, we have to explain why dao shu ㆏ᮥ is translated into ‘axis of ways’ but not ‘axis of the Way’. This reveals an important aspect of Zhuangzi’s conception of dao ㆏. Similarly to the Daodejing, the term ‘dao’ in the

Zhuangzi can have different meanings in different circumstances. In the Daodejing, it remains possible to interpret dao to be something independent of human cognition, that it is something ‘out there’ waiting to be known. This human-independent dao is what

363 . We will return to this point when we analyze ‘fasting the heart’ in 5.9 of this thesis. ᚨྤאԫਢॺΞ࢖ਢ๕൓ࠡೝΔᘯհሐᑐΖᑐࡨ൓ࠡᛩխΔٍڼਢٍ࢖ՈΔ࢖ٍਢՈΖ࢖ٍԫਢॺΔ 364 (ࣔΖ (adapted from Graham 1981: 53אᒡΖਢٍԫྤᒡΔॺٍԫྤᒡՈΖਚֳ๕ૉ

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Liu Xiao-gan calls the ‘original root’ (ben gen ᧄᩮ).365 In certain contexts it is taken to be the origin of universe (D 42) or the way of the world in a spontaneous state (D 25,

51). According to this interpretation, as we see in 2.4.2 of this thesis, contemplation, as a means of knowing the Way, actually discovers the Way. The term ‘dao’ therefore has an ontological meaning and may refer to the process of understanding this meaning.

However, in the Zhuangzi, the term is more frequently used in a context in which an agent realizes a ‘way’ in practice or performance, thus a way must be a way of practice.

All the skilful experts in the text are examples of realizing a way in their performance.366 In Chinese this is often expressed by ‘. . . ਯ㆏’ (the way of . . .), examples in the Zhuangzi are fu zi zhi dao ᄦሶਯ㆏ (the way of master),367 duo pian pang zhi zhi dao ᄙ㚰ᣋᨑਯ㆏ (ways which are like webbed toes), sheng ren zhi dao ⡛ੱਯ㆏ (the way of sage),368 yand shen zhi dao 㙃␹ਯ㆏ (the way of nourishing the spirit),369 and so on. Confucian and Mohist teachings, to the extent that they prescribe what and how people should act, are ways of practice. Cook Ding,370 the hunchback catching cicadas371 and other skilful experts have their own ways too, though different from those of Confucians and Mohists. Furthermore, ‘dao’ can refer to different ways collectively; a good example is the final chapter of the Zhuangzi that discusses many different ancient ways and technique (gu zhi dao shu ฎਯ㆏ⴚ). While this meaning of the term ‘dao’ is still compatible with that in the Daodejing, the

Zhuangzi seems to emphasize its practical meaning and its connection with judgements

365 See Liu 2006: 123. Notice that, like 2.3 of this thesis states, this does not imply the view that there is no alternative interpretation of the term ‘dao ሐ’. ሐ׏Λ) is a common question addressed to the skillful experts. Also, Zhuangzi saysڶ) ’?Do you have a way‘ 366 A way cannot be realized .(ګin Z 2: ‘a way comes about as we walk it’ (dao xing zhi er cheng ሐ۩հۖ unless it is put into practice (though not necessarily human practices). (෫ߎΖ (Z 7, Chen 2001: 220-225۟ڶ՗հሐ੡۟ߎΔঞԾ֛אܠࡨ 367 (Δ◠լ൓ᆣԳհሐլ۩Ζ (Z 10, Chen 2001: 255-259م࿳Գլ൓ᆣԳհሐլ 368 (塄壀հሐՈ (Z 15, Chen 2001: 399-401ڼ 369 ሐՈΔၞ׏ݾߎ) (Z 3, adaptedړհࢬ۝) ’...What your servant cares about is a way that advances my skill‘ 370 from Graham 1981: 63) (ሐՈΞωڶሐߵΛωψݺڶAre you just clever at it? Or do you have a way?’ ‘I have a way...’ (ψ՗؏׏Λ‘ 371 (Z 19, adapted from Graham 1981: 138)

185 of right and wrong. Even when we say ‘through the Way they all become one’,372 ‘the

Way’ can be explained not by postulating a unity,373 but referring to the all- encompassing view that suspends distinctions. Thomas Radice postulates a unity by stating that, ‘[perspective and value judgements] arise from a more fundamental unity, which is realized through the use of ‘clarity’ . . . No matter how one wishes to carve up reality . . . reality must be a united whole.’ Since ‘to divide is to leave something undivided’,374 it is possible to postulate a state before all divisions are made, and that state is a united whole. If one takes the differences in the reality as resulted from division, then the united whole is the reality ‘before’ divisions, in an ontological sense.

If one foucses only on the act of making divisions in thought and action, then the united whole refers to thinking and doing nothing in an epistemological or practical sense.

However, Zhuangzi also notes that we do not know whether we can talk about this state, regardless of whether it is ontological, since language is always about something and creates division. Hence we do not know whether the idea of unity can make sense in speech.375 The same applies to the origin of all things. The Inner Chapters contain no passage that is similar to chapter 42 of the Daodejing, which says dao generates all things, except one in chapter 6,376 which is at odds with the style of the Inner Chapters in general.377 Chapter 2 even incorporates a passage which doubts any ontological thesis:

372 ሐຏ੡ԫ (Z 2, adapted from Mair 1994: 16) 373 SeeʳRadice 2001: 34-35. (լ։Ո (Z 2, adapted from Graham 1981: 57ڶ։Ոृ 374 375 See 4.8 of this thesis. This all-encompassing view needs not commit to the position that the reality (independent of the knowledge of the sage) contains no distinction. It can refer to a person’s view that does not make any distinction in thought or action, so it is a state of total stillness. 376 ‘As for the Way, it is something with identity...he rides the East Corner and straddles Sagittarius and Scorpio, a :ॾΞଊࣟፂΔᠻጦݠΔֺۖ࣍٨ਣ) (Graham 1981ڶൣڶneighbour to all the constellated stars.’ (֛ሐΔ 86-87) 377 See Chen 2001: 182. Chen quotes Yan Fu (1854-1921) who says the passage is the least spiritual part in the Zhuangzi. Although Chen does not agree with his view, Chen thinks that, for Zhuangzi, it does not matter whether the Way exists independent of all practices, the point is to investigate what a person is likeЁhow she thinks, feels and acts when she grasps the Way (or a way), instead of going beyond the observable world. See Chen 2007: 303-312.

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There is something. There is nothing. There is ‘not yet having begun begin without

something’. There is ‘there not yet having begun to be that ‘not yet having begun

begin without something’. Suddenly there is ‘something’ and ‘nothing’, but we do

not know whether it is something or nothing that results in something and

nothing . . .378

This passage refrains from drawing a conclusion about the ontological status of the world. The inquiry goes on without end, but the further it goes, the words used become less intelligible. Perhaps this indicates that we are not able to think about it, but we do not even know whether we are really not able to think about it. We may take this to be a response to ‘something is generated by nothing’ (D 40).

So, in the Zhuangzi when we talk about the ‘way’, most of the time it either refers to the all-encompassing view or the way of practice of an ideal person.379 Also, we may talk about ‘ways’, referring to various ways of practice of different persons, or even of animals and the ten thousand things.

How is the above analysis relevant to the axis of ways and great knowledge?

Consider again the Confucian-Mohist debate: we may say it is a conflict between

Confucian ways and Mohist ways.380 If a Confucian judges from a Confucian standpoint, ‘this’ way㧙his own Confucian way of practice㧙is right; ‘that’ way㧙a way other than his own㧙is wrong. A Mohist judging from a Mohist standpoint will say the opposite. This is like the petty knowledge of the dovelet, which asserts itself as the authority, and due to the completed heart, both of them want to ‘follow the right and exclude the wrong’. But, as discussed in chapter 4 of this thesis, whether something is

ڶՈृΔྤڶࡨآڶՈृΔྤڶՈृΔڶڶࡨՈृΖڶࡨآ֛ڶࡨآڶࡨՈृΔڶࡨآڶࡨՈृΔڶ 378 (ഩྤՈΞ (adapted from Graham 1981: 55ڶհ࣠ഩྤڶवآߎΔۖྤڶՈृΖ঎ۖྤڶࡨآ֛ڶࡨآ 379 But it should be noted that the way of practice of an ideal person is simply the flexible interchange of different ways, not a fixed way. More will be discussed in 6.8 of this thesis. 380 Confucian waysЁbecause different disciples interpret Confucius's teachings in different ways. Same for the Mohists.

187 right is indeterminate or, depending on the standpoint, ‘what is this is also that; what is that is also this.’381The goal of the Confucian-Mohist project can only be achieved by arbitrarily declaring one way to be right, and its opposite wrong. This opposition between right and wrong can be dissolved if one sees that any two ways can be the same or different depending on the schema of distinction. One can even have a perspective that does not differentiate between Confucian ways and Mohists ways, so that ‘neither this nor that finds its opposite’. When one considers the possibility that perspectives themselves can transform into, or be interdependent on each other, just like the words

‘this’ and ‘that’, this is not surprising. As pointed out by Brook Ziporyn,382 if a person follows their completed heart, they will be entangled in a particular perspective and neglect the fundamental mutual penetration of all perspectives. If a person is free from the completed heart, they will not be confined by any particular way. Therefore they do not suppose that what they knows exhausts what should be known, and they have the ability to view limitless ways of right and wrong without declaring a final winner.

People who possess this ability is located at the axis of ways; it sees the possibility that any way can be right or applicable. If a person’s way is fixed, there will be situations they cannot respond to; cannot understand, manage, appreciate, overcome; unless they change their way. Those who accept only the way or ways they currently endorse–

‘suppose that there is nothing to add to what they have’—cannot accept something new and they cannot deal with a situation that is not covered by their ways. Conversely, those who are located at the axis of ways can always adopt a way that can respond to whatever situation they find themselves in. To ‘respond’ is to react to the context,383 and

(ਢٍ࢖ՈΔ࢖ٍਢՈ (Chen 2001: 54-59 381 382 See Ziporyn 2003: 43. We leave open the question whether Ziporyn’s ‘omnicentric holism’ is applicable to Zhuangzi’s thoughts. 383 Both the Er Ya and the Shuo Wen juxtapose ‘respond’ (ᚨ) and ‘fit’ (ᅝ). So we can explain the meaning of ᚨ by looking at ᅝ. In late Shang or early Zhou, the meaning of ᅝ is ‘that two fields match each other’. In the ֨ late Zhou, ᅝ can mean ‘equal’, ‘appropriate’. It can be an adjective or a verb. The character ᚨ contains (heart), which suggests that ᚨ is using the heart to fit (though Zhuangzi does not think that we should use the heart in this way, he still thinks that ᚨ is ‘to fit’). ᚨ is sometimes used together with ტ (referring to that which touches or stirs the heart, or the process of touching or stirring) to form the term ტᚨ, which points to the constant interaction between a person and the environment.

188 the ability to respond can be refined so that it becomes the ability to respond to the limitless. Recall the story of Cook Ding in which he says:

A good cook changes his knife once a year–because he cuts. A mediocre cook

changes his knife once a month–because he hacks.

One reason why a mediocre cook has to change his knife frequently is that he does not know how to use his knife well, not in the sense that he cannot finish his task, but in the sense that he does not realize that there is an alternative way of using the knife which can serve his purpose—carving the ox—and, at the same time, preserve the knife and make his work more elegant and enjoyable. If carving an ox is like solving a problem in our lives, using one’s force brutally and recklessly—hacking—is like applying one’s own fixed knowledge to a new situation, blindly assuming that the situation will conform to what one has learned. This is the opposite of responding to the limitless. On the other hand, Cook Ding’s flexibility always follows the structure of ox he faces. He understands that a different ox can be a different challenge, and this understanding prepares for him to be able to respond well to many different oxen.

5.5 Illumination

As discussed above, when one is located in the axis of ways, one is able to respond to the limitless. The Zhuangzi text further states that the ability to see limitless ways of right and ways of wrong is ‘illumination (ming ᣿)’. This metaphor of light is used in the Daodejing (D 24, 33), the Analects (A 12.6) and the Mozi (M 49.20) to describe the state of clear understanding, like the clarity of light or clarity in eyesight.384 Despite their different conceptions of ‘clear understanding’, they all agree that the clarity of understanding is reflected either in one’s judgement or in one’s practice. The Daodejing

384 The character ࣔ in the Shang and early Zhou dynasty has two different but closely related meanings: 1) light, 2) divinity or spirituality. See Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 2003: 508-514.

189 says one who is not illuminated tends to act wilfully (D 16). The Analects says one who is illuminated is not influenced by deceitful or provocative words, that is not perplexed or confused (A 12.6).385 The Mozi says one who is illuminated puts rightness into practice instead of just talking about it (M 49.20). Zhuangzi keeps the metaphor that illumination in understanding is like clarity in eyesight, but what the ‘eye’ clearly sees is not a particular way, not ‘the right way’. Instead, it sees a plurality of ways with no absolute difference between them; each one of them may be applicable in some situation. Actually, if there is no absolute difference between them, one can easily see a situation or solve a problem, not only from a single perspective, but from an interconnection or integration of various perspectives. This all-rounded approach is analogous to the light of a sky which illuminates all things instead of just a single object. This is why when a person is located at the axis of ways, they are also illuminated. In this sense, one’s completed heart is an obstruction. Like a cloud that blocks the sky, it blocks the understanding of the limitless. Unfortunately, unless a person is born illuminated and remains so for all one’s life, they learn to think and act with a completed heart.386 However, even people with completed hearts can become illuminated and let their completed hearts become receptive and open, so they can ‘treat the wrong as right and treat the right as wrong’:

And so we have the right and wrong of Confucians and Mohists, by which what is

right for one of them for the other is wrong, what is wrong for one of them for the

other is right. If one wishes to treat the wrong as right and treat the right as wrong,

the best means is illumination (mo ruo yi ming ⩨⧯એ᣿) 387.

385 See also 1.6.3 of this thesis. 386 In 4.5 of this thesis, we have stated that when one becomes proficient in judging right and wrong, one has already internalized a pattern of thought and practice. Insistence on the correctness of this pattern forms a completed heart. Since learning to think or act involves judging right and wrong, it follows that (ironically) one's ability to think and act comes first from the completed heart. ࣔΖ (Z 2, adapted fromאਢࠡࢬॺۖॺࠡࢬਢΖ඿ਢࠡࢬॺۖॺࠡࢬਢΔঞ๕ૉאᕢᕠհਢॺΔڶਚ 387 Graham 1981: 52)

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‘Treat the wrong as right’ and ‘treat the right as wrong’ means a switch between the

Confucian standpoint and Mohist standpoint. This is not simply the ability of viewing

Confucian teachings from a Mohist point of view and Mohist teachings from a

Confucian point of view, otherwise one still risks judging others by a fixed criterion. It is to accept that there are always new ways, so one can always go beyond one’s own way, which means to re-consider one’s conception of right and wrong.

Paradoxically, while Zhuangzi uses illumination as a metaphor for clear understanding, this understanding sometimes makes a person see the distinction among things less clearly. This is because what is regarded as clearly different from one point of view may be quite similar from another point of view, or what is conventionally regarded as clearly the same may be quite different from an innovative point of view.

For example: for a government official, difference among ranks may be extremely important because they may be required to know how to react to different people according to their titles and posts. In their point of view, a king is clearly different from a duke. Other differences in the world, say the difference between a cicada and a fly, are not significant. This person may not even know that we can perceive such a difference among insects. But for an entomologist, or the hunchback catching cicadas, a cicada is clearly different from a fly, while all the government officials may just be the same in their eyes. Perhaps they do not know, or do not want to know, that there are so many names for ‘different’ administrative positions. When a person becomes illuminated, they become aware that clarity in distinction presupposes a schema of distinction and their sensitivity to certain characteristics of things, so what is clear can vary across contexts. This point is derived from the critique of the Confucian-Mohist project because, if we can fix the correct practice, then according to the ‘correct’ criterion there must be some incorrect practices. And, since the correctness is fixed, what is incorrect can be clearly distinguished from what is correct once the correct practice is mastered.

Therefore:

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If right were really right, then right would be distinct from not right, and there

would be no disputation. If so were really so, then so would be distinct from not so

and there would be no disputation. 388

There would be no disputation, only inculcation. If we can really know the correct way, we just need to let those who have mastered it to make it explicit, then teach others.

This paradoxical nature of illumination resembles the Daodejing 41: ‘The way that is bright seems dull’.389 Both the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi try to convey the dualistic nature of great knowledge: that is in one sense it enables one to see things more clearly, but in another sense less clearly. Maybe this is what motivates Lo Yuet-keung to interpret Zhuangzi as criticizing illumination rather than suggesting it, since the

Daodejing and the Zhuangzi use many metaphors to talk about something ambiguous, vague, or obscure.390 Although Lo’s interpretation raises certain philological issues,391 it still agrees that Zhuangzi does talk about great knowledge, and great knowledge enables one to see the indeterminacy of right and wrong, as well as the possibility of limitless ways. Lo just refuses to label that great knowledge with the word ‘illumination’.

However, it must be noted that Zhuangzi is careful not to regard clarity as an absolute value when using the metaphor of light. He specifies the paradoxical nature of illumination by using the term ‘hidden light (bao guang ⪯శ)’392 to describe the ability

ਢૉ࣠ਢՈΔঞਢհฆ׏լਢՈٍྤ᥯Ζྥૉ࣠ྥՈΔঞྥհฆ׏լྥՈٍྤ᥯Ζ (Z 2, adapted from 388 Mair 1994: 23) 389 ࣔሐૉਡ (Lau 2001: 60-61) 390 Lo 1999: 149-168. Also, concerning ming ࣔ and vagueness, it is interesting to note that Brook Ziporyn ࣔ’ as to ‘useא criticizes that translating ‘ming ࣔ’ into “illumination” is vague and proposes to read ‘yi ming the obvious state of affairs’ (the fact that debating parties negate each other). See Ziporyn 2003: 45-48. In page 48, Ziporyn worries that ‘illumination’ may make readers think that there is an enlightened, mystic, ineffable state. But we hope the readers will notice that no such state is assumed here. Actually, precisely because of the vagueness of the term ‘illumination’, it may (paradoxically) capture Zhuangzi’s point: for Zhuangzi, the insistence on making words clear and precise (free from vagueness) is dangerous. Perhaps this is one reason .ࣔ’ into ‘the illumination of the obvious’. See Ziporyn 2009: 12א why Ziporyn later translates ‘yi ming ࣔ (the best means is to use illumination) should read as mo ruo yiאSuch as whether mo ruo yi ming ๕ૉ 391 ming ๕ૉբࣔ (the best means is to stop illumination). as ‘hidden light’ (Chen 2001: 77-78). Graham Here we agree with Chen’s comment to read bao guang ᇃ٠ 392 :Benetnash Star), a star symbolizes cyclic motions (Graham 1981) as Yao guang ᄀ٠ reads bao guang ᇃ٠

192 to make limitless responses. Alan Fox contrasts illumination to an obscure mystical state and claims that an illuminated person perceives distinctions clearly and sees them as complements rather than opposites.393 While it is reasonable to state that illumination implies distinctions are complementary and not fixed, it should be added that this complementarity applies to the distinction between clarity and obscurity as well, because illumination sometimes makes people obscure or blur distinctions, though not necessarily in a mystical state. Zhuangzi sees the danger of over-emphasis on clarity, which makes people believe too easily that there is a clear distinction among opposites: right and wrong, so and not-so, and so on. Also, when the metaphor of light is used in teaching, as in one ‘enlightens’ others, or makes clear to others; over-emphasis on clarity leads one to believe that this is clearly a way that others should follow. Some typical examples are, ironically, people with proficient skills:

. . . Just because they prefer it they think it is so different from others, and because

they prefer it they want to enlighten others. They want to enlighten others while

others cannot be enlightened, so they end their life in the gloom of ‘hardness’ and

‘whiteness’ . . . 394

The music masters Zhao and Kuang, together with Hui Shi, are all experts. Seeking to

‘enlighten’ others, they want their skills to be known by more people, like a bright light shining far. This sense of enlightenment is quite the opposite of Zhuangzi’s illumination. As discussed in 4.8 of this thesis, Zhao and Kuang are not aware that even their proficient skills are limited, and there are other ways to play the zither, the stick, or to engage in logical debate. Other people cannot be enlightened, not because of their

57). This emphasizes the dynamic nature of great knowledge (that it enables one to move across different standpoints). These two readings are compatible; they just focus on different aspects of great knowledge. 393 Fox 2003: 215. ഒػհਡึΞ (Z 2, adapted fromאࣔհΖ࢖ॺࢬࣔۖࣔհΔਚאհՈΔ඿ړฆ࣍࢖ΔࠡאհΔړഄࠡ 394 Graham 1981:54)

193 lack of intelligence, but because 1) there is no reason why everyone should play the zither as Zhao plays it, even if being pleasing to the ear is the only criterion, 2) their method of teaching may not be applicable to everyone. The same applies to Kuang and

Hui Shi. From the passage just quoted, it seems that their desire to ‘enlighten’ others persists through their lives, bringing them frustration and self-indulgence. This contrasts with the wheelwright Bian, who does not insist on ‘enlightening’ his son. So Zhuangzi’s illumination is ‘hidden light’ rather than ‘bright light’.

5.6 Illumination and use

There is another aspect of illumination: an illuminated person treats things according to their ‘common places’. After sighing at the three experts, Zhuangzi says:

Therefore the glitter of confusion is what the sage despises. Not doing so, but

lodging things in their common places (yu zhu yong ኚ⻉ᐾ), this is called using

illumination. 395

What is ‘lodging things in their common places’? This phrase also occurs when the text discusses the relationship between completion and destruction:

The division is the completion, the completion is the destruction. If there is neither

completion nor destruction in things, it is because they revert to be deemed as one.

Only he who has reached it knows how to deem all things as one. He does not treat

things in a way [that derived from his prejudice], but lodges them in their common

places and adapts to it . . . 396

(ࣔΖ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 66-71אհᘯڼ༅壆൉ΔۖشਢਚᄶጊհᤌΔᆣԳհࢬቹՈΖ੡ਢլ 395 ਢբΖڂ༅壆൉ΔۖشፖᄤΔ༚ຏ੡ԫΖഄሒृवຏ੡ԫΔ੡ਢլګՈᄤՈΖՅढྤګՈΔࠡګࠡ։Ո 396 (Z 2, Chen 2001: 62-66)

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In 4.8 of this thesis, we saw that it is possible to ‘deem all things as one’ because:

‘if you look at them from the viewpoint of their differences, from liver to gall is as

far as from Chu and Yue; if you look at them from the viewpoint of their sameness,

the myriad things are all one’.397

However we have not yet explained how this is related to ‘common places’. ‘Common places (yong ᐾ)’ and ‘use (yong ↪)’ can be used interchangeably in classical Chinese, and one commentary of the Zhuangzi actually explains ‘common place’ by ‘use’.

According to this commentary, a common place for a thing is its use.398 This is probably because to know how to use a thing is to know its place, or role, in various activities, to answer the question ‘What can one do with this, or by this?’. Here, ‘common’ is not the opposite of ‘elegant’ or ‘refined’, but the opposite of ‘mystic’ or ‘supernatural’. Great knowledge, or illumination, is not necessarily mystic or supernatural, it is not detached from the human realm altogether. In the quoted passage, the sage, ‘he who reaches it’, knows how to deem all things as one, which is to say that ‘every thing’ can be regarded as the same: it can be approved in some contexts. If a thing is approved, then it is good for a particular goal, and in this sense it is ‘useful’ for that goal. Xu Fu-guan has clearly illustrated the relationship between a thing and its use:

. . . the existence of a thing is always reflected by its use. If its use vanishes, then

its existence also vanishes. So whenever there is a thing, there must be a use of it,

(հΔᆄढઃԫՈΖ (Z 5, Graham 1981: 76-77ီृٵࠡฆृီհΔߗᜬᄑ။ՈΙ۞ࠡ۞ 397 398 There were originally twenty words between ‘lodges them in their common place’ and ‘and adapts to it’: ൉Ո ՈृΔຏՈΙຏՈृΔ൓ՈΔᔞ൓ۖ༓ߎΖ (the common place is the usable, the usable isشՈΙشΔृ the interchangeable, to see the interchangeable is to grasp, and once you grasp them you are almost there.) (adapted from Graham 1981: 54) According to Chen Gu-ying, those twenty words are parts of a commentary rather than the original text. See Chen 2001: 62-64.

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and the use of a thing is a part of the great use of the Way . . . [Zhuangzi] only see

things as they all have their use . . .399

Despite that Xu elsewhere sees ‘dao tong wei yi ㆏ㅢὑԫ’ as an ontological statement,400 his view about the use of a thing stands independently of his ontology. A thing by its very existence must have some uses and, for a flexible person, it can have many uses. Rather than fixing how things should be used, the sage sees every thing as containing limitless possibilities. This idea is derived from the discussion of usefulness and uselessness in the dialogue between Zhuangzi and Hui Shi about the big gourd and the great tree (Z 1). While Hui Shi thinks that they are useless and should be discarded,

Zhuangzi replies by saying that 1) if Hui Shi can adopt another point of view, if he can be more imaginative and is willing to explore, what is conventionally regarded as useless may turn out to be useful. This is a point from the story of the salve. 2) even if something is not useful for any human activities, such uselessness may be useful from a non-human point of view, or it can be simply appreciated for what it is. This is a point from the story of the great tree.401 These two replies are not in tension as Dan Robins proposes;402 rather, they complement each other to express flexibility, that is the ability to see things as interchangeable. As we mentioned, this flexibility is an aspect of great knowledge. A flexible person can be at ease with anything they meet and they know

which Graham translates as) פ Xu 1963: 402 (author’s translation). Xu also thinks that the character 399 ‘achievement’) in Z 17 means the same as ൉. Yet Xu does not give his explanation. A possible reason is that are so semantically similar ش and פ can be used interchangeably, and the two characters ش sometimes ൉ and that they are later combined as one word to mean ‘function’ in modern Chinese. 400 That is, there is a deeper reality behind the change of all things: the movement of the great Way which generates all things. (Xu 1963: 366-369) 401 According to Xu, the appreciation of uselessness is the spirit of art (since it is disinterested and free from conventional purposes), see Xu 1979: 48-70. 402 Dan Robin’s interpretation is that ‘The former advocate uselessness as a way of surviving; the latter challenge conventional judgements of utility, while also seeming to assume that useless things get destroyed.’ See Robin 2011: 106. Robin also considers some possible methods in the text to solve the tension, for example the suggestion that uselessness can be itself useful (for, say, living long), but he finds such methods unsatisfactory. Nonetheless, while Zhuangzi says to Hui Shi that the big gourd is useful for something, Zhuangzi does not assume that useless things get destroyed. It may just be the case that pointing out its use is a more persuasive way for Hui Shi to take Zhuangzi’s point (rather than saying directly that uselessness can be advocated as such).

196 how to use a thing creatively, including using it by not using it. This apparent paradox can be solved if one notices that something may perform its function well without human participation. For example, if people hold an aesthetic view of Nature, they may appreciate Nature precisely because its beauty is not artificial, that is, not designed or constructed intentionally. This does not mean that whatever is artificial is not beautiful, rather it means that a value can be realized even if there is no deliberate action.

While we can talk about the common place of a thing, we can also talk about the common place of words or doctrine (yan ߢ). Usually, a doctrine consists of distinctions of right and wrong, and, like things, they may be useful in some context. However,

Zhuangzi wants to point out that, paradoxically, sometimes a useless doctrine can be useful. A doctrine that contains no determinate distinctions of right and wrong, so no definite guidance can be derived, is useless. Nonetheless, it can be useful because it might make one realize that there are always alternative distinctions for one to use, such as Zhuangzi’s response to Hui Shi’s criticism that his words are useless.403 In this case, to deem all doctrines as one is to place them in the contexts where they may become useful, that is their ‘common places’, without taking any of them to be the universal authority.

A person can be useful or useless, depending on what task they are required to complete or what life they want to live. That being said, being a flexible person is not simply being useful or useless. Flexibility in person is the ability to change between useful and useless. When his disciples asked Zhuangzi whether one should be useful or useless, Zhuangzi first answered, ‘I should be inclined to settle midway between being good for something and being good for nothing. That seems the thing to do yet it is not, and so one still cannot be free from entanglement.’404 This answer is considered to be unsatisfactory, not because it is hard to conceive the ‘midway’, but because the answer

(Ζ (Z 26, Chen 2001: 717-718ش༡՗ᘯ๗՗ֳΚ՗ߢྤ 403 :׏ีΖ (Z 20, adapted from Graham 1981܍آհۖॺՈΔਚۿհၴΔޗፖլޗհၴΖޗፖլޗࡌല๠׏ 404 121)

197 is still too rigid, as if there is a particular way that can avoid all the problems of being useful and all the problems of being useless, so Zhuangzi at once modified the answer and suggested:

Without praises, without curses,

Now a dragon, now a snake,

You transform together with the times.

And never act for one thing alone . . . 405

The metaphor of dragon and snake can be interpreted in many ways: the dragon may symbolize one who tries to detach from the world’s affairs, because a dragon can fly high, and the snake symbolizes one who engages, because a snake usually moves on the ground. Or, the dragon symbolizes one who is strong, powerful and well respected, while the snake symbolizes one who is weak, submissive and neglected. Still another alternative is that the dragon symbolizes one who is an expert or master in a certain field, while the snake symbolizes one who has no special talent. All these possibilities suggest the same point: that one continues to transform and has no fixed position. The phrase ‘transform together with the times’ implies that as time changes, so do one’s practices and one’s self-identification.406 Remember that the ‘correct’ way is indeterminate, therefore a flexible person adapts to the indeterminacy. This adaptation is hard to accommodate in Confucian or Mohist doctrines, not because they do not take into account the ever-changing circumstances, but because they underestimate the diversity of situations and overestimate the scope of applicability of their doctrines.

ᥩྤᇱΔԫᚊԫ๢Δፖழଟ֏Δۖྤ्റ੡Ξ (Z 20, adapted from Graham 1981: 121) Note that theྤ 405 answer of Zhuangzi is also found in Book 14 of the Lü Shi Chun Qiu. See Knoblock and Riegel 2000: 331-332. 406 This involves a change of emotions as well. More about the ‘settling’ of emotions will be discussed in 6.2 and 6.8.6 of this thesis.

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5.7 Dual procession

Like the Confucians and Mohists, as well as the Daodejing, the Zhuangzi also holds the view that a change in one’s knowledge must be concurrent with and manifest in a change in practice. The discussion about great knowledge is not an exception. In light of this view, qualities like flexibility and open-mindedness are not purely psychological but also behavioural. To be able to respond to the limitless includes advanced receptivity and smoothness in action. Using the metaphor of light: ‘illumination’ as the light of great knowledge not only shines in one’s thoughts and judgements, it shines through the whole person. A person who possesses great knowledge acts differently from ordinary people. Of course, this is not because they have mastered a particular practice, but because they are able to switch between practices. Here, great knowledge might be called ‘meta-praxis’407 because, while ordinary practice involves a way of dealing with a task, meta-praxis involves a way of dealing with practices. It does not tell you directly what you should do, but enables you to respond to a situation smoothly.

This is like the great skill in the Daodejing as discussed in 2.3 of this thesis. To illustrate, we may cite the story of the monkey-keeper:

To wear out the spirit and intelligence by attempting to unify all things (lao shen

ming wei yi ൏␹᣿ὑ৻), without knowing that they are the same, is called ‘three

in the morning’. What does it mean by ‘three in the morning’? A monkey keeper

handing out nuts said, ‘Three in the morning and four in the evening.’ The monkeys

were all in rage. ‘All right then,’ he said, ‘four in the morning and three in the

evening.’ The monkeys were all delighted. Without anything being missed out

either in name or in substance, their pleasure and anger were put into use; because

he acts according to [the circumstance]. This is why the sage harmonizes the right

407 This term is suggested by Karyn Lai in a conversation.

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and wrong of things and rests at the centre of the potter's wheel of Heaven. This is

called ‘dual procession’. 408

Confucians and Mohists are those who attempt to unify all things by their own criteria of correctness. In Zhuangzi’s view they spend so much time and effort in arguing that there is only one right way, yet fail to see that everything can be the same regardless of whether their project of unification can succeed. They are like the monkeys who love only ‘four in the morning’ but not ‘three in the morning’. What is the difference between these two? Surely one might think that they are different because, say, ‘four in the morning’ solves the problem of impatience, as the monkeys can get more nuts earlier. However, Zhuangzi does not state that ‘four in the morning’ is the final answer.

The point is that, since for the monkey keeper the two plans are not different in name or substance, in this circumstance he can change his practice swiftly in order to satisfy the monkeys without any loss. Such swiftness enables a person to handle a situation smoothly.409 The story of Cook Ding portrays smooth physical movements, and the story of the monkey keeper is an example of smooth change in thought.

Zhuangzi puts forward the image of the potter’s wheel after the story of the monkey keeper. In the matter of flexibility, this image is important: the sage ‘rests’ at the centre of the potter’s wheel of Heaven. While a potter is working, the potter’s wheel is rotating. So the sage rests at a location that is dynamic rather than static. Again, this is a metaphor for the ability to respond in limitless ways without relying on a fixed point of view of right and wrong. Also, the potter’s wheel helps the potter to create things, which can be taken as the image of the sage’s ability to create new ways of practice.

Furthermore, the image of the ‘centre’ of the potter’s wheel is like the axis of ways in the sense that the sage is not partial to a particular viewpoint.

ՈΔᘯհψཛԿωΖ۶ᘯψཛԿωΛथֆᓿᴏΔֳΚψཛԿۖᑈ؄Ζωฒथઃٵ໎壀ࣔ੡ԫۖլवࠡ 408 ਢॺۖאᆣԳࡉհאਢՈΖਢڂΔٍش᜽ۖ໛৷੡آኔټ৷ΖֳΚψྥঞཛ؄ۖᑈԿΖωฒथઃஙΖ (׏֚ၫΔਢհᘯࠟ۩Ζ (Z 2, adapted from Mair 1994:16-17ٖ 409 See 5.3 of this thesis for the explanation of ‘smooth’.

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Dual procession (liang xing ࠟ۩)’ is another image for flexibility. The words‘

ψౌⴕω literally mean ‘walking two ways’. In the monkey-keeper story, the two ways may refer to ‘three in the morning’ and ‘four in the morning’; or the preference of monkeys and the purpose of the monkey keeper to feed the monkeys. Both alternatives show the ability of the keeper to realize different possibilities by paying sufficient attention to the circumstances. By analogy, the sage is one who can adopt multiple ways of practice, including both Confucian and Mohists ways. This sounds inconsistent but it is not: flexibility resulting from great knowledge is not itself a practice, so it does not require one to adopt, or not to adopt, any particular practice. Hansen says that flexibility includes an awareness of different ‘ways of distinguishing in action and in grading results’.410 In this he is correct, because that awareness is not itself a particular way.

Nonetheless, it should be added that when a flexible agent performs an action, they may not be conscious that there are many different ways. They might not first ponder many different ways and deliberate about their advantages and disadvantages. Such discursive discourse often appears when the agent talks to someone who is not flexible.

Moreover, in the Zhuangzi, flexibility is elusive in the sense that one will fail to grasp it as soon as one identifies the content of any particular way of practice with it.

Zhuangzi does not assert that flexibility is a special kind of ‘practice of practices’ that has a fixed content. He notes that,

Now I have to say something here. I do not know whether or not what I have to say

is of the same category as ‘this’. But, whether they are of the same category or not,

they can be deemed of the same category, thus in the end [‘this’] is no different

from ‘that’. Nevertheless, let me try to say something.411

410 Hansen 1992: 299-300. ฆߎΖឈྥΔᓮאΔլवࠡፖਢᣊ׏Λࠡፖਢլᣊ׏ΛᣊፖլᣊΔઌፖ੡ᣊΔঞፖ࢖ྤڼߢ࣍ڶվ׊ 411 ቫߢհΖ (Z 2, adapted from Mair 1994: 18)

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If we see every sentence as having its own meaning, then Zhuangzi’s words can be distinguished from something else (say, words of conventional knowledge or the

Confucian-Mohist debate). However, if Zhuangzi asserts that great knowledge and illumination ultimately yield the right practice, and contrasts ‘this’ right practice to ‘that’ practice, then he will make a rigid distinction and contradict the openness of great knowledge. Therefore, the person who possesses great knowledgeЁthe genuine person412Ёdoes not even assert that flexibility implied by great knowledge is right (a fixed ‘this’). He refrains from self-assertion and may even forget that he possesses great knowledge.413 This is one reason why Wang Ni says that he does not know what is right and he does not know that he does not know.414

Although flexibility itself yields no determinate practice, being flexible does not force a person to give up all established doctrines in their heart. The sage can temporarily adopt Confucian practice, say observing rituals, studying classics and so on, yet they do not assert that it is the only correct way. This is not being hypocritical, for hypocrisy means that, in order to cheat others, a person is secretly committed to a doctrine while presenting themselves as being committed to another doctrine. In the case of the sage, there is no cheating. The sage adopts Confucian practices not for concealing any ‘real’ motives, nor do they possess any hidden doctrine that serves their self-interest. The sage is always willing to accept alternative doctrines, and always sees the limit of their own. Merely changing a practice is not enough, because the inflexibility may not be eliminated. For example, suppose that originally a person insists that Confucianism is certainly right and, after experiencing Mohism they think Mohism is certainly right, so they discard Confucianism. In this case they are still not

412 More about the genuine person will be discussed in chapter 6 of this thesis. In particular, that Zhuangzi does not hold any distinction to be absolute and ultimate can be seen in the indeterminacy between Heaven and human, as discussed in 6.8 of this thesis. 413 More about forgetting will be discussed in 5.10 of this thesis. ܠ༞׏वհΛωψ՗व՗հࢬլवߵΛωֳΚψܠਢ׏ΛωֳΚψٵᦒ౒ം׏׆ଧֳΚψ՗वढհࢬ 414 ༞׏वհΛΞΞω (Z2, Chen 2001: 80-83) See also Yiܠ༞׏वհΛωψྥঞढྤवળΛωֳΚψ Zhi’s comment that Wang Ni’s reply shows his ‘genuine virtue’. (Z7, Chen 2001: 211-213)

202 illuminated because they are still committed to the idea that only one doctrine is correct and that all others should be excluded. Although their commitment has changed they are still entangled in the Confucian-Mohist debate. Therefore, Zhuangzi says ‘The sages embrace all things, but ordinary people dispute over them to show off to each other.’415

‘To show off’ is to assume that one’s own doctrine is superior to others.

Strictly speaking, unless one is at rest, that is doing nothing, one cannot avoid making distinctions, however contingent or temporary they are. Therefore, one is not able to realize all values at the same time. Nonetheless, ‘dual procession’ can sometimes lead to a result in which both parties are satisfied when one or both parties change their way of practice such that they can realize their values without conflict. This needs to be distinguished from saying that the purpose of dual procession is to eliminate conflict, for two reasons:

1) the effect of dual procession is a by-product of great knowledge, it is not the aim of

the agent who attains great knowledge, because that would imply that great

knowledge is useful only for a particular goal, which would be self-defeating.

2) dual procession only increases the chance that multiple ways of practice can co-

exist with one another, it cannot guarantee that this will always take place,

especially when we note that an agent cannot realize all values at the same time.

If one can maintain ‘dual procession’ throughout their life, it will be a life with continuous transformation:

When Qu Bo Yu was in his sixtieth year, he had been through sixty

transformations. There had never been a time when he began by considering

something right that he did not end up dismissing it as wrong. He did not know

whether what he now called right might not be what he had considered wrong in

(ՈΖ (Z 2, Mair 1994: 19قઌאᆣԳᡖհΔฒԳ᥯հ 415

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his fifty-ninth year . . . People all honour what their knowing knows, but no one

knows how to know by relying on what their knowing does not know. May this not

be called the great perplexity? 416

Qu Bo Yu did not walk a singular way throughout his life. While he does issue judgements of right and wrong, eventually his every judgement has only contextual legitimacy. Compare this to the Analects 2.4: The final stage of Confucius’s cultivation is ‘following the desire of my heart without overstepping the line’, which was attained only after he was ‘free from confusion’, which is the same as becoming wise. The fifty- five years of learning is proceeding along the right path,417 which is also the line that cannot be transgressed. Qu Bo Yu is also praised in the Analects, for his wisdom in choosing servants—a typical Confucian wisdom, knowing people—his self-inspection

(A 14.25), and his view of government (A 15.7). According to Confucius, he is a paradigmatic person. Interestingly, in Zhuangzi’s portrayal, Qu Bo Yu differs from

Confucius in at least two aspects: first, Zhuangzi does not see Qu Bo Yu as committing to the idea of ‘following the desire of heart’. For Confucius, one internalizes what is right and fine-tunes their practice by the heart. Conversely, Zhuangzi regards this internalization as the process of completing the heart, which provokes the Confucian-

Mohist debate. The second aspect is, when praising Qu Bo Yu, Zhuangzi does not mention any ‘line’ that one should follow or obey. Instead, his focus is on the continuous interchange of his ways. Does he ‘settle down’ and find something that is fundamentally right when he is sixty? Probably not, as Zhuangzi does not describe his life as a step-by-step progress. If by ‘better’ we mean ‘closer to the right way’, in his sixtieth year Qu Bo Yu is not better than Qu Bo Yu in his fifty-ninth year. He is still exploring.

वվհࢬᘯਢհॺնԼ԰ॺՈΞԳઃآቫլࡨ࣍ਢհۖ࠯◈հ࣍ॺՈΔآքԼۖքԼ֏Δڣ۩د܄㗖 416 (լᘯՕጊ׏Μ (Z 25, adapted from Mair 1994: 261ױᙅࠡवհࢬवΔۖ๕वਂࠡवհࢬլवۖ৵वΖ 417 See 1.5.3 and 1.6.3. of this thesis.

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People all honour what they have known, because that enables them to do something or to accomplish something. People honour the skill of a good flute-player, because, in possessing that skill, the player is able to play the flute beautifully, but what does it mean by ‘know by relying on what their knowing does not know’? It refers to great knowledge, which cannot be attained unless one realizes that what they know does not exhaust what can be known. That is, ‘what a man knows does not compare with what he does not know’.418 Great knowledge lets one accept their incompleteness of knowledge. It is precisely this incompleteness that makes change possible and gives rise to ‘dual procession’, as manifest in Qu Bo Yu’s life.

5.8 Flexibility and concentration

What exactly is the relationship between great knowledge and the skill stories in the

Zhuangzi? First of all, Zhuangzi uses the skill stories to illustrate that, in addition to the specialized skills of Confucian scholars or Mohist craftsmen; other activities can be carried out fluently and beautifully. To attain great knowledge is to see that even catching cicadas can be as technical and beautiful as ‘noble’ activities such as governing a state. This open-mindedness can be applied at different levels. In other words, if a person is flexible, they can see their way of doing a particular task, say writing, is just one way among an unlimited number of ways of writing, which are just ways among an unlimited number of ways of expressing themselves. Furthermore, the way of expressing oneself is just one way among an unlimited number of ways of self- cultivation and so on. In addition, it is possible that all of these ways are as sophisticated and valuable as each other. Skill stories provide us with alternatives that show the incompleteness of both the Confucian and Mohist accounts of practice.

But there is a problem; according to how we use the term ‘expert’, there may be a tension between expertise and flexibility because experts are those who are specialized

418 ૠԳհࢬवΔլૉࠡࢬլव (Z 17, Graham 1981: 146)

205 in one practice, while flexibility means the ability to switch among different practices.

Take the hunchback catching cicadas, for example:

Said Confucius ‘Are you just clever at it? Or do you have a way?’

‘I have a way . . . I settle my body like a rooted tree stump, I hold my arm like the

branch of a withered tree; out of all the vastness of Heaven and earth, the

multitude of the myriad things, it is only of the wings of a cicada that I am aware. I

don’t let my gaze wander or waver, I would not take all the myriad things in

exchange for the wings of a cicada. How could I help but succeed?’ 419

One factor of the success of the hunchback is his concentration on cicadas over everything else. It seems reasonable to suggest that, when he is deep in concentration, catching cicadas is the only thing he prepares to do, at least for him at that particular moment. What is the difference between him and, say, a Confucian without flexibility who thinks performing Confucian practices is the only thing he prepares to do?

There may be little difference between their performances: a Confucian can participate in a ceremony just as smoothly as the hunchback does when he is catching a cicada. The difference lies in their potential: how much can their practice be changed?

A related question is: how do they view another person who participates in a ceremony or catches a cicada in a different or even unusual way? Arguably, the hunchback allows greater variation in ways of practice than the inflexible Confucian, because the former acquires his way of practice without considering its social privilege and the need to make it public. It would be implausible to suppose that the hunchback is interested in joining a ‘cicada-catching’ debate about what is the correct way to catch a cicada.

Moreover, during a practice in which a person has to consider more factors, their way of

چചᜩՈૉዉֵհࣤΔឈ֚ܠ๠ߪՈૉ໒௓ࣅΔܠሐՈΞڶሐߵΛωֳΚψݺڶΚψ՗؏׏Λֳ؍٘ 419 ᆄढ࣐፳հᜠΔ۶੡ۖլ൓Μωʳ(Z 19, Grahamאլ֘լೡΔլܠΔۖഄ፳ᜠհवΖڍհՕΔᆄढհ 1981: 138)

206 practice will tend to be more rigid. This is due to the difficulty of finding a way that can satisfy all factors at the same time, and the room for change is thus limited. For example, consider someone who simply wants to draw a picture and someone else who wants to draw a picture but also worries about its market value and its popularity.

Arguably, it is easier for the former to complete their task. When a person is able to focus solely on the task at hand and set aside other irrelevant factors, they handle the task with less constraints. If this is the case, concentration in fact enhances rather than contradict flexibility for it allows greater room for the agent. One can also reach a deeper subtlety: when the hunchback is concentrating, he looks into the finest detail of the task. What seems ordinary before becomes complex, what seems insignificant before becomes critical. This is an aspect of flexibility—to approach the task in a non- conventional way. In one sense, because it is receiving his full attention, a cicada will appear much bigger than normal in the hunchback’s eyes.420 More precisely, in the moment before the hunchback picks up the cicada, he focuses fully on the wings instead of the whole cicada. This is like Cook Ding says, ‘when I first began to carve oxen, I saw nothing but oxen wherever I looked. Three years more and I never saw an ox as a whole.’421 One reason why they do not see the ox or cicada as a whole is that seeing a whole ox or cicada is not focused enough. Another example is archery: a beginner sees the whole target because they do not know they must aim at the central point and draw the bow suitably. However, a master focuses on only the exact point they want to hit. At the instant of shooting, all parts of the target except the central point, are irrelevant.

Similarly, Ding’s knife or the hunchback’s rod must aim at a specific point on the ox or cicada. To attain such heights of skill and to develop a way that advances the skill, requires that a person concentrate fully on each situation so they can see more clearly what possibilities are still available to set the critical point.

420 This can be an example of the reversal of ordinary smallness and greatness. (ቫߠ٤ׄՈΖ (Z 3, Graham 1981: 63آհ৵ΔڣհᇞׄհழΔࢬߠྤॺׄृΖԿ۝ࡨ 421

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5.9 Attainment of great knowledge: fasting the heart

We now turn to the question of how one can attain great knowledge. Since great knowledge implies flexibility, this question involves how one can become flexible and open-minded. It is a process of freeing oneself from one’s own completed heart.

Zhuangzi calls this process ‘fasting the heart’ (xin zhai ᔃ㥲). One needs to fast the heart because it is too full, that is, when it is a completed heart burdened with fixed opinions of right and wrong as well as an inclination to self-indulgence. David Wong’s term ‘obsession’ captures this phenomenon well.422

Zhuangzi mentions ‘heart-fasting’ in a dialogue between a fictional Confucius and his most favourite disciple, Yan Hui,423 who is going to advise the Lord of Wei, a merciless tyrant (Z 4). The background to the dialogue suggests a reason why flexibility is valuable: it increases the chance of completing one’s task and saving one’s life—an instance of ‘dual procession’—even in the most dangerous social context, engagement with a corrupted government. This is not to say that flexibility is valuable only for this reason, nor it is the only tool for saving one’s life in such a context, rather it is to make one see the relationship between flexibility, completion of the task and preservation of life, which cannot be grasped under the influence of completed heart㧙just like Yan Hui at the beginning of the dialogue. Yan Hui’s best plan is a combination of ‘identification with Heaven (yu Tian wei tu ⥜ᄤὑᓤ)’ and ‘identification with the human (yu ren wei tu ⥜ੱὑᓤ)’. To identify with Heaven is to see himself and the tyrant, not as people in a human institution, that is, not as a ruler and a servant, but as people living under

Heaven, that is, members of the ten thousand things. In this way he appears like a child

422 Wong 2005: 91-107. 423 An interesting fact in the Zhuangzi is that the author (or authors) never condemns Yan Hui (but condemns Confucius several times). In this sense Yan Hui is even more respected than Confucius (Yan Hui is also the mouthpiece for the important idea ‘sit and forget’). In A 8.5, Zeng Can says one of his friends is ‘to be able yet to ask the advice of those who are not able. To have many yet to ask the advice of those who have few. To have yet to appear to be lacking. To be full yet to appear empty...’ Many commentators agree that this friend is Yan Hui (see Yang 2002: 80). Notice the description of Zeng Can is quite similar to the spirit of the Daodejing, in which one does not show off one's knowledge and seek the empty, the submissive and the low. It might be the case that Yan Hui influences, or is influenced by some thinkers who are later labelled as Daoists or proto- Daoists. But so far there is no conclusive evidence.

208 whose words are innocent. To identify with the human is to do the opposite: to conduct his behaviour in full accordance with the ritual and political requirements.424 After Yan

Hui describes his plan, Confucius says that this can, at most, preserve his life but have little effect on the tyrant. This is because he is still ‘taking the heart as one’s authority.’425 Confucius then admits that the situation is very difficult to handle and that it would be dangerous to think it is easy. Yan Hui’s words reflect that he thinks the situation will become easier if he applies the right method, which is actually an over- estimation of the efficacy of his own method, hence Confucius warns him against his completed heart. Then Confucius explains what is ‘fasting the heart’:

Unifying your intention. Rather than listen with the ear, listen with the heart.

Rather than listen with the heart, listen with qi (᳋). The ear stops at the hearing,

the heart at the tally. As for qi, it is empty and awaits things. (xu er dai wu zhe ye

ဠ⠰ᓙ‛⠪਽) Only the way gathers emptiness (wei dao ji xu ໑㆏㓸ဠ).

Emptiness is the fasting of the heart. 426

This rich passage contains many important concepts in the Zhuangzi, but our focus here is on what it means by ‘listen with qi’, the advice given by Confucius. To understand this, we must first turn to the comparison between different types of listening, and the relationship between qi and emptiness (xu ဠ).

Listening is not only a physical intake of sound, but an intake of guidance,427 and there are three types of listening: ‘Listen with the ear’ means one is guided by the ear.

This probably means people simply accept and follow what they hear, without

424 More about the distinction between Heaven and humans will be discussed in 6.8 of this thesis. (ஃ֨ृՈ (Graham 1981: 68ྫ 425 ௛Ζַۘ࣍ᦫΔַ֨࣍ฤΖ௛ՈृΔဠۖৱढאᦫհۖ֨אΔྤᦫհ֨אᦫհۖۘאૉԫݳΔྤᦫհ 426 (ՈΖഄሐႃဠΖဠृ֨សՈΖ (Chen 2001: 117-121ृ 427 As when we say ‘listen to your teacher’, we mean ‘take the advice (or suggestions, instructions, orders, etc.) of your teacher’.

209 evaluating whether the message is inappropriate for the task at hand or that its requirements may exceed their ability; in short, this is the case when one follows an instruction blindly. To ‘listen with the heart’ means being guided by the heart, that a person has internalized a doctrine and can reflect on the task at hand, rather than carrying out an action rashly. In this way a person can assess their goal and give a reason for their action. Unfortunately, recall the idea of completed heart in the

Zhuangzi:

But if you go by the completed heart and take it as your authority, who is without

such an authority? Why should it be only the person who knows how things

alternate and whose heart itself picks from such alternation has such an authority?

The fool has one just as he has. 428

A completed heart has a fixed scheme of distinctions, which involves fixed criteria of right and wrong. Some schemes are more complex, some less. Using a complex scheme, a person may make very sophisticated distinctions about alternation of things. But as long as their scheme is fixed, they can only respond to things according to that particular scheme. This is why the heart stops at the tally, which can mean

‘matching’.429 One’s flexibility will then be limited by what matches the fixed scheme.

Even if Yan Hui has his own doctrine; ‘inwardly I shall be straight but outwardly I shall bend, I will complete myself through comparison to antiquity’,430 this does not make him much better than a fool.

෫Ζ (Z 2, adapted fromڶհΛჟृፖڶ࠷ृ۞֨ۖזஃհΔᓴᗑ׊ྤஃ׏Λଡ଼ؘवۖ֨ګᙟ֛ࠡ 428 Graham 1981: 51) 429 A tally can be divided into two halves. One is usually held by a general and another by his ruler or a missionary of his ruler. When the two halves match each other, they know the identity of each other. (Ղֺʳ(Z 4, adapted from Mair 1994: 31ۖګΔڴփऴۖ؆ 430

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The last type of listening is ‘listen with qi’. The character ᳋ literally means

‘breath’ or ‘air’. Used metaphorically, it can refer to any dynamic force.431 In relation to a person, qi usually refers to the vital energy, which is manifest in breathing, circulation of blood, movements of limbs and organs, all the ‘inward’ as well as ‘outward’ movements of a person. In the Analects, Confucius describes the process of aging in terms of the change of qi of a person: an old person is one whose qi becomes slow, weak and feeble (A 16.7). The Mozi states that one function of food is to sustain qi (M

21.3). For Zhuangzi, the whole universe can be thought as the flow of qi. When qi condenses there will be solid things like animals (which may be named shi ኔ ; when qi vaporizes there will be tenuous things like wind (which may be named xu ဠ). The transformation of things is then conceived as the interchange between condensation and vaporization of qi. This is briefly mentioned when Zhuangzi talks to Hui Shi about how a person’s life–actually, Zhuangzi’s wife–is formed by qi (Z 18). The text elsewhere states that the whole world is just qi (Z 22). Such conceptions are not exclusive to the

Zhuangzi, and can be found in other texts as well.432

It is unclear what kind of qi is referred to by the phrase ‘listen with qi’. There are at least three possibilities: first, it may refer to the qi within Yan Hui, so ‘it is empty and awaits things’433 would mean that the vital energy of Yan Hui is empty and its flow is indeterminate, that is ‘waiting’ for things. That its flow is indeterminate reveals that qi is different from the completed heart, which is solid, fixed and rigid. The completed heart does not await things. Sometimes we may even say the heart imposes its scheme

431 From a contemporary perspective, such force can be physical (e.g. blowing of wind, in modern Chinese ‘qi liu ௛ੌ’), biological (e.g. respiration of organisms, in modern Chinese ‘qi xi ௛ஒ’) or even social (e.g. atmosphere of a conference, in modern Chinese ‘qi fen ௛ࣷ’). 432 Graham says, ‘[the term qi] was soon to be adapted to cosmology as the universal fluid...in its older sense, which remains the primary one...is the energetic fluid which vitalizes the body, in particular as the breath, and which circulates outside us as the air.’ See Graham 1989: 101. The term qi does not appear in ancient classics such as the Book of Odes and the Book of documents, but later it becomes pervasive in both philosophical texts (such as the Daodejing, the Analects, the Mozi, the Mencius, the Ten Wings, the Xunzi, the ) and historical texts (such as Zuo Zhuan, Guo Yu). 433 The word xu ဠ is translated into ‘empty’ or ‘emptiness’. It is not accurate, because sometimes ‘empty’ can mean literally void, as in ‘an empty house’. But here ဠ is used to describe something (namely, qi) rather than nothing or void. Nonetheless, the word ‘empty’ has an advantage: it can be used as a verb, just as ဠ can.

211 of distinction on things, ignoring the possibility that a thing can be used, handled, treated or evaluated in many different ways. On the other hand, the interaction between one’s qi and things can only be determined after they actually meet each other. There is no dominance of any one side over another.

Secondly, it may refer to the qi of the environment in which Yan Hui finds himself; since an environment can be conceived as a particular field for the flow of qi. Its flow is still indeterminate, but the emphasis would shift from the contrast between qi and heart to the emphasis on the ever-changing world. The flow of all things makes it difficult, if not impossible, to understand the environment in a fixed way. As David Wong says:

. . . our experience of the world always overflows our perspectives [generated

from our completed hearts] on them precisely because the function of these

perspectives is to make experience manageable by deeming most of it irrelevant for

our purposes. But this means that on the most basic level experience is an

inexhaustible resource for new perspectives if only we let go of the obsession with

being right once and for all.434

Therefore, if Yan Hui fails to pay attention to the qi of things, he cannot develop a new method which will suit the particular task he is going to handle. According to this interpretation, however, ‘xu er dai wu ဠ⠰ᓙ‛’ should not be translated into ‘it is empty and awaits things’. ψ‛ω here should be read as a verb, rendering as ‘it is empty and awaits to become things’. This highlights that the indeterminacy of wu ‛, which, if conceived as the flow of qi, is always in the process of transformation.

434 Wong 2005: 98. Wong mainly talks about perceptual experience, so his ‘experience’ is closely related to what we get from our senses. While such understanding of the term ‘experience’ may not be directly applicable to the Zhuangzi (since Zhuangzi does not talk much about perception), Wong’s point can be extended to mean that our interaction with the world cannot be fully understood and handled by just one point of view. This is the opposite of the attitude that ‘there is nothing to add to what they have’.

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Thirdly, it may refer to both Yan Hui’s qi and qi of the environment. In this case, the focus would be on how Yan Hui listens to the flow of qi between himself and other things. It would include the ideas in the first and second interpretations.

Despite the fact that there are several readings of ‘listen with qi’, it is not necessary to fix which reading we should adopt in order to see Zhuangzi’s point. This is that a person stops ‘taking the heart as one’s authority’435 and realizes the features of qi—‘its passivity, receptiveness, and responsiveness . . . the person does not act of their own initiative, but only responds to things as they come . . .’ 436

The following sentence; wei dao ji xu ໑㆏㓸ဠ, can also be interpreted differently. It seems to associate dao ㆏ with xu ဠ, but the text is ambiguous about what the relation is. Chen Gu-ying interprets xu ဠ as a state of heart,437 so wei dao ji xu

ഄሐႃဠ is read as ‘if you can reach the state of emptiness in your heart, the way will come to match you’.438 While this surely highlights the importance of emptiness, the problem is that ‘ji 㓸’ usually means ‘collect’, ‘accumulate’ or ‘gather’; rather than

‘match’. Graham’s translation is that ‘Only the Way accumulates the tenuous’,439 which does not have the same problem, but, as pointed out by Chris Fraser, there is no textual evidence to support that the heart-fasting dialogue talks about the great Way, whatever it

435 Chen Gu-ying (Chen 2001: 117-121), quoting Xu Fu-guan (Xu 1963: 380-382), says that qi is actually a state of heart in which the heart functions ‘in a higher level’ (that is, the heart transcends from the state of completed heart). In other words, ‘listen with qi’ is still following the heart, but at this time the heart has got rid of its fixed scheme of distinction. While this view is plausible if we nowadays think that all human activities are derived or led by a single organ or faculty, it assigns to the text an assumption that has no strong textual support. This is because Zhuangzi does not think that the heart is always the ‘lord’ in a person, as the text questions that ‘of the hundred joints, nine openings, six viscera all present and complete, which should I recognize as more kin to me than another?. . .Isn’t it rather that they take turns as each other's lord and .(׏Λ) (Z 2, Graham 1981: 51۝ܩᓴፖ੡ᘣΛΞࠡᎠઌ੡ܠ෫ΔژᙼΕ԰៛Εք៲Δᇽۖۍ) ’?vassals Of course one may disagree with Zhuangzi’s attitude towards the functions of the heart, but there is no textual evidence to the claim that Zhuangzi thinks qi actually is a state of heart, even if the heart does undergo some changes when one listen with qi. Another problem of Xu's interpretation is that he sees qi as purely physiological, which neglects the idea that even one’s spirit (shen 壀) can be conceived as the flow of qi (for example, ‘If you would just forget your spirit qi and slough off your shape and skeleton...’ (chapter 12, adapted from Mair 1994: 111)). The whole world, conceived as including ghosts and spirits, is also the flow of qi. 436 Fraser 2008: 128. 437 See note 435. (ω(Chen 2001: 121, author’s translationٽઌ܃ሒ़ࠩࣔऱ֨ቼሐ෻۞ྥፖ܃ψ׽૞ 438 439 Graham 1981: 68.

213 is.440 The critical point is the word ji 㓸. If we take it to mean ‘collect’, ‘accumulate’ or

‘gather’, a plausible interpretation would be that the way gathers emptiness, which is to say it gathers qi. The implication is that the way441 Yan Hui is going to adopt brings together qi in different parts of his person. That is, he will know how to handle the task suitably once he becomes concentrated, by bringing together qi. Perhaps this is one reason why concentration can be expressed as ju jing hui shen ⡝♖ᦩ␹ 442 in Chinese, meaning gathering the quintessential, assembling the spirit. This is actually a condensed expression of heart-fasting if we take jing 壄 and shen 壀 as related to one’s qi. When a person can fast their heart in more and more situations, they become more and more flexible. Examples are those skilful experts in the Zhuangzi who sometimes explain their activities by referring to a process like heart-fasting. The engraver Qing who makes bells says he ‘makes sure to fast to still the heart’443 before his work (Z 19). This process may take several days, until he forgets about reward, fame, blame and praise, even his skill and the order he has taken from the Marquis of Lu. Forgetting reflects a transition from heart to qi. This transition is the process of detaching oneself from the completed heart and attaining great knowledge.

5.10 Forgetting

When one forgets about the constrains set up by the completed heart, they enter deep concentration, and this often leads them to forget themselves. Yan Hui describes such experience as:

440 Fraser 2008: 143-144. Fraser’s translation is ‘Only follow as your dào concentrating emptiness’, yet he admits that such translation is not fully consistent with the style of verb usage in the text. 441 We do not use ‘the Way’, just ‘the way’. This is because we leave open the question whether the way one is going to follow in this case is a particular way (among many ways) or the great Way. 442 Although the four words ፋ壄ᄎ壀 does not appear as a phrase until Han Shu, the word 壄 has long been used as referring to the purest and most refined qi. Graham translates it into ‘quintessential’. 壀 refers to 壄 inside a person (Graham 1989: 101). This relate the heart-fasting dialogue to Cook Ding’s story, in which we see the sentence guan zhi zhi er shen yu xing ࡴवַۖ壀඿۩ (the knowing of [sense] organs stops but the spirit still wants to run). We will return to this point later. (ᙩ֨ (Chen 2001: 489-490אؘស 443

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When Hui has not yet got [the idea of heart-fasting] to put into practice, there is

indeed a Hui. When it is put into practice, there has never begun to be a Hui. 444

This refers to the passage in which Nan Guo Zi Qi says ‘I lost myself’ (wu sang wo ๋

༚ᚒ) (Z 2). While the text does not state that Zi Qi has a specific purpose for his , which is similar to contemplation in the Daodejing ,445 Yan Hui takes heart- fasting as a preparation for his mission and both have the feeling of no-self, a condition of being an ‘ultimate person (zhi ren ⥋ੱ)’ (Z 1). The feeling results from their attunement with the environment when they are concentrated. When a person later reviews such attunement, they discover that they carried out their action as if it was reflexive, and they feel that they were absorbed by the thing on which they focused.

This can happen in any activity: reading, swimming, playing instruments, talking to people, appreciating a work of art, and so on . . . one can be so concentrated that they gradually forget about time, location, and their self-identity. As Zhuangzi states,

Shoes most suit us when we forget the feet, a belt when we forget the waist, the

heart when when we know how to forget right and wrong, an engagement with

circumstances when we neither vary inwardly nor yield to external pressures. To

suit from the start and never fail to suit is to suit in forgetfulness of what it is that

suits. 446

(ՈΖʳ(Z 4, Chen 2001: 117-121ڃڶࡨآՈΔ൓ࠌհՈڃڶࡨ൓ࠌኔآհڃ 444 445 That is, one retreats from engaging in conventional social activities and contemplate on the Nature in order to discover the way (see 2.4.2 of this thesis). While Zi Qi’s contemplation and Yan Hui’s heart-fasting is different in their details of process, heart-fasting can be seen as a generalized version of contemplation. This is because both two approaches seek to find out the way one is going to follow without adhereing to conventions or one’s habits, but heart-fasting can be done in any situation (including social activities). ݱߩΔᐌհᔞՈΙݱ૞Δ൅հᔞՈΙवݱਢॺΔ֨հᔞՈΙլփ᧢Δլ؆ൕΔࠃᄎհᔞՈΖࡨ׏ᔞۖ 446 (ቫլᔞृΔݱᔞհᔞՈΖ (Z 19, adapted from Graham 1981: 138آ

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From this passage, we see that an ideal person forgets the distinctions about right and wrong in their heart and avoids social pressures impose distinctions on them. This does not mean that there is simply no distinction, only that one is not entangled in them, as when one forgets the feet does not imply that there is no feet or no shoes. Forgetting the distinction means that most of the time the person does not deliberate about what they are going to do and do not stop to think about what they are doing, yet they are still doing something, hence making distinctions. We may even states that a person is able to respond to things well only when they are not fully aware of that they are making responses and that they are responding to things well. If, for instance, when a swimmer continuously thinks ‘now I am swimming’ or, worse, ‘now I must kick my legs’, it will be very difficult for them to swim fluently. Yan Hui characterizes the importance of forgetting in another passage:

I let my limbs and organs drop away, dismiss cleverness and understanding, depart

from shape and expel knowing, and follow the great interchange. This is what I

mean by ‘just sit and forget’. 447

The phrase ‘depart from shape and expel knowing’ summarizes the first two sentences, and means that one forgets about the functioning of senses and does not rely on what one knows448—that is, petty knowledge. By this, a person is able to follow the great interchange, which means they are able to treat all things as the same and see that every thing can be used in some way. Such a state is, as we have already discussed, illumination. If this is so, ‘forgetting’ marks a difference between petty knowledge and great knowledge, that is, it is easy for a person with petty knowledge to believe that they

(ᘯ݄ݱΖ (Z 6, adapted from Graham 1981: 92ڼ࣍ՕຏΔٵवΔװᏽॆ᧯ΔលᜣࣔΔᠦݮ 447 448 This passage and the passage that “people all honour what their knowing knows, but no one knows how to ,know by relying on what their knowing does not know” (Գઃᙅࠡवհࢬवۖ๕वਂࠡवհࢬլव) (Z 25 Chen 2001: 688-689) mutually support each other.

216 are right, and they like to remind themselves that they are right, which is the tendency of a completed heart. Therefore, when facing a new task, the question this person tends to ask is ‘how should I apply my way of practice to it?’ A person with great knowledge would not ask such a question; when they become illuminated, they forget about the need to be proved right and form their way by listening to qi, and after they finish the task, they still do not take the way they have just formed as the authoritative way.

The story of Cook Ding mentions a similar point; while Yan Hui says he forgets about the functioning of senses, Cook Ding says that, while he is carving an ox, he

‘touch the ox by the spirit rather than see it with the eyes, the knowing of [sense] organs stops but the spirit still wants to run’.449 He does not see with his eyes, just as in the heart-fasting passage Yan Hui does not listen with his ears. Their senses do not literally stop functioning, it is just that Ding and Yan Hui are not aware of them functioning, and they do not ‘command’ the senses by their hearts; they move as if their actions are proceeding automatically, though in fact those actions are the result of long term exercise, and occasionally they have to slow down when encountering difficulties.

5.11 Conclusion

We have seen how Zhuangzi differentiates great knowledge from petty knowledge, and why great knowledge is not a particular way of practice. If a person insists on a particular way of practice, they will be bound by their completed heart. Great knowledge is a detachment from a person’s completed heart, and such detachment constitutes the ability to move flexibly among different practices. To attain such knowledge requires a person to forget about what they have previously deemed as right in their heart, and focus on the actual context in which they are acting.

As we have seen in the first three chapters, ancient Chinese thinkers do not philosophize about knowing or knowledge unless it is associated with self-cultivation or

ࡴवַۖ壀඿۩ (Z 3, Chen 2001: 96-100) guan zhi zhi ࡴवַ can mean ‘the knowing of organs stops’, but 449 it can also mean ‘the organs and the knowing stops’. If it is the latter, it can be interpreted as that Cook Ding does not follow his organs and his knowledge (in the heart). This is similar to the ‘sit and forget’ passage.

217 social order. In this respect, Zhuangzi is not an exception. His distinctive account of knowing and of ideal personality are two faces of the same coin, for one either has them both or none. The next chapter analyzes the transformation of one’s personality when they really master great knowledge.

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Chapter 6 Knowledge and ideal personality in the Zhuangzi

6.1 Introduction

This chapter analyzes the relationship between great knowledge and ideal personality, as well as different aspects of the ideal personality in the Zhuangzi. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Zhuangzi describes different types of person right after he differentiates petty knowledge and great knowledge, using the imagery of the cicada, the dovelet, and the great Peng. Elsewhere, Zhuangzi says that ‘there can be genuine knowledge (zhen zhi ⌀⍮) only when there is a genuine person (zhen ren ⌀ੱ)’.450

This reminds us that Zhuangzi places knowledge in the context of self-cultivation, a common approach for nearly all pre-Qin Chinese philosophies. Of course, due to his vision of ideal personality, Zhuangzi’s view of self-cultivation has certain unique characteristics.

To propose that there can be genuine knowledge only when there is a genuine person is to stress the intimacy between one’s knowledge and one’s own person. First, this intimacy highlights the fact that knowledge cannot exist independently of the knower, that is, knowledge involves certain qualities of a person such as beliefs, memory, capacities, dispositions, other psychological states and psychological conditions, and so on. Further, when we say knowledge is manifested in practice, it implies that the content of knowledge is not independent of the knower. Therefore, the aforementioned intimacy suggests that the process of attaining knowledge is also the process of transforming a person. This is a key point in other texts as well. For instance, in the Analects the process of learning to know people (zhi ren ⍮ੱ) is the process, or at least a part of the process, of becoming a paradigmatic person.451 In the Daodejing, to know the constant (zhi chang ⍮Ᏹ), that is, to know dao, involves reducing the burden

(టव (Z 6, Chen 2001: 168-176ڶటԳۖ৵ڶ׊ 450 451 See 1.5 of this thesis.

219 of socialization, such as the desires stirred by conventional learning.452 The Zhuangzi is similar to the Daodejing in that fasting the heart (xin zhai ᔃ㥲) involves a reduction, and perhaps sometimes even elimination of what one has already learned, which is the distinction between right and wrong prescribed by the completed heart. However, the

Zhuangzi gives us a richer and more complex account of what a person is like with or without the possession of great knowledge.

6.2 Sentiment, emotion and petty knowledge

‘Arrogance’ is a suitable word to describe the sentiment behind the cicada and the dovelet when they laugh at and ridicule Peng. This arrogance is based on their petty knowledge because arrogance involves boasting or asserting oneself as superior to others, which in turn implies that one regards themselves as unsurpassable in certain respects, which constitutes petty knowledge. The cicada and the dovelet symbolize those who evaluate others only from a fixed point of view, those whose knowledge and practices are confined to ones position, habitat, social status, and so on.453 When confronting an opinion or anything that directly opposes one’s own dogma, a person with petty knowledge is angered, irritated, annoyed or frustrated, and consequently stressed. When any emotion causes stress or strain, we may call it a ‘disturbance’, as it is contrary to inner harmony. By ‘inner harmony’ we mean a state in which all existing emotions are gentle and doing no harm to the person both physiologically and psychologically. Here, the word ‘gentle’ means the emotions are not so strong or intense that they overwhelm a person. A typical example is anger which, when it becomes violent, the angry person can no longer feel at ease with themselves. They feel as if they are forced to blame or attack the object or person that triggers their anger. Such overwhelming force can be generated by other emotions as well. On the contrary, the

452 See 2.3 of this thesis. .(ߎΖ (Z 1, Chen 2001: 14-17ڼΔۖᐛԫഏृΔࠡ۞ီՈٍૉܩԫٽਚ֛वயԫࡴΔ۩ֺԫၢΔ ᐚ 453

220 gentle state is ‘favoured by one’s spirit’.454 A person who loses their inner harmony455 suffers from ‘the imbalance of yin 㒶 and yang 㓁’.456 This is because spirit is the most refined qi inside the person and, depending on the movement of qi, the spirit can be said to be yin or yang. 457 Regarding growth, being yang means a person is lively, energetic and cheerful, while being yin means that person is dull, tired and depressed, in which case it is favourable to place yang over yin. Regarding activities, being yang means a person is more active and out-going, while being yin means they are more patient and calm.458 In this case, it is more favourable to balance yang and yin.

Not all emotions are disturbances and arrogance is just one source. When a person is bound by their completed heart, the disturbances they have to bear are described vividly and in great detail by Zhuangzi:

When [those with petty knowledge] 459 sleep their cross,

When they wake their bodies open.

They interact with what they take [from the environment],

they use their hearts for strife.

Snubbing, snaring, plotting.

Small fear worries them, great fear incapacitate them.460

.’ࡉۖ༞৕ (Z 24, Chen 2001: 630-632). The term ψࡉω should be translated as ‘harmonyړ壀ृ֛ 454 455 ‘Inner’ refers to the psychological and physiological condition of a person, while ‘outer’ refers to the relation of a person’s practice to the environment. 456 ອၺհ൛ (Z 4, Mair 1994: 33). 457 are ‘the greatest of qi’ (Z 25, Chen 2001: 693-696), which means they are the most general categories for the movement of qi. (Chen 2001: 340-344) ंٵᐚΔ೯ۖፖၺٵᙩۖፖອ 458 459 The first two sentences in this paragraph are omitted: ՕवၳၳΔ՛वၵၵΙՕߢङङΔ՛ߢᇯᇯΖIt is not clear whether Օव here refers to great knowledge discussed in chapter 1 of the Zhuangzi (and Օߢ refers to the words formed by one who possesses great knowledge). Chen Gu-ying takes Օ to be just conventionally great, so Օव here does not mean the knowledge which is not fixed to any particular point of view, it only means a sophisticated or complicated view, which can just be as rigid and inflexible as other views. Graham and Ziporyn take Օव to be exactly great knowledge discussed in chapter 5 of this thesis. See Chen 2001: 41- 45, Graham 1981: 50, Ziporyn 2009: 10. But it is clear that the text here uses ՛व in an unfavourable sense.

221

Although this passage does not mention ‘completed heart’ explicitly, it mentions ‘heart for strife’. As discussed in the following two paragraphs, people use their heart for strife because they are committed to victory. The commitment to victory is dependent on the insistence of right and wrong, which is the feature of a completed heart.

According to the Shuo Wen, ‘Souls’ (hun 㝬) refers to the yang qi (㓁᳋), especially the yang qi inside one’s person, which is correlated with vital energy and resembles the ‘active’ part of a person. Interestingly, there is no consensus about the location of souls. Zuo Zhuan states that ‘souls’ are the most refined and clear part of one’s heart;461 while Huang Di Nei Jing states that ‘souls’ are situated in one’s liver.462

Given that qi is dynamic, we need not decide where the is, it suffices to take it to be the yang qi. Note that the term ‘soul’ here is used only as a label for a particular qi, it has nothing to do with the theories of soul in any philosophical or religious tradition outside China. Being qi, souls can move and interact with other qi. When the souls cross, it probably means that a person keeps moving even when they are sleeping, either physically, such as sleepwalking, or psychologically, such as dreaming. Thus the yang qi becomes over-active and the person becomes restless. This happens to people with petty knowledge because of their insistence on what they know is so strong that it persists and manifests even during sleep. In other words, one’s whole person is obsessed with a particular practice and this practice is habitually repeated without conscious or deliberate thought even when the person sleeps.463

When they wake, they begin to sense the environment and make responses but, if a person is clouded by the completed heart, there will be situations where they cannot respond: cannot understand, manage, handle, appreciate or overcome, as noted in 5.4 of this thesis. An obvious example is when one meets another person who does not agree

,೐Κ ᜛ृΔ ࿘ृ,ΔയृΖ՛எ༨༨Δ Օஎ᜛᜛Ζ(Z 2֨אࠡ༆ՈᏒٌΔࠡᤚՈݮၲΔ ፖ൷੡ᄂΔֲ 460 Chen 2001: 41-45) (հ壄෯ΔਢᘯᏒᕗΖ (Yang 1981: 1456֨ 461 462 ߗृΞᏒհࡺՈΖ (Liu Jie Zang Xiang Lun of Su Wen, Guo 1981: 62-63) 463 See 6.8.4 of this thesis.

222 with their practice. If they both insist on their own authority, it will give rise to all kinds of strife: snubbing, ensnaring, plotting, and so on. This is why Zhuangzi also says that

‘knowledge is the instrument for conflict’. 464 The term ‘knowledge’ here refers to only petty knowledge or conventional knowledge, and is to be criticized. Being in a situation where there is strife makes one fear and there is no fundamental distinction between small fear and great fear, because all fear can be characterized by wariness of what is different from familiar. The unfamiliar is to be feared because it threatens the security and comfort that a person takes in their habits, practices and entrenched beliefs. The less secure one feels, the greater the fear.

Consequently, those who are confined by their completed hearts are emotionally unstable. The passage continues:

[The words of those people] shoot like the trigger releasing the string on the

notch, referring to their judgements of right and wrong.

They stay like oaths and treaties, referring to their commitment to victory.

[The hearts of those people] decline like autumn or winter, referring to their daily

deterioration.

They are drowned in what they are doing, nothing can make them recover.

They clog as though they were being sealed up, referring to their aging and

exhaustion.

As the heart nears death, nothing can make it revert to the yang.465

464 वृՈΔञհᕴՈΖ(Z 4, Chen 2001: 108-112) ߢֲࠡ௣ՈΙࠡᄴհࢬאΔמ໏հᘯՈΙࠡවૉટښᅩΔࠡံڕࠡ࿇ૉᖲ᾵Δࠡ׹ਢॺհᘯՈΙࠡఎ 465 հ֨Δ๕ࠌ༚ၺՈΖ(Z 2, adapted fromڽ੟ՈΙ२۔ߢࠡאᒰΔڕࠌ༚հՈΙࠡቧՈױ੡հΔլ Graham 1981: 50)

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The character ⍮ is composed of two parts, one of which is a mouth, 466 indicating that it is related to speech. Zhuangzi probably plays with this fact and suggests that petty knowledge is indeed related to speech. More precisely, it is a specific type of speech, namely disputation (bian ㄕ).467 In disputation, there is usually a strong desire to win and defeat the opponent. Zhuangzi sees disputation as strife, and the words of disputing parties are like arrows attacking the opponent’s position, with the winner indulging in the excitement of victory, and the loser tasting the bitterness of defeat. For these people, the judgements of right and wrong are often accompanied by a strong emotional attachment to their own position, so they are preoccupied with attacking others and defending themselves. That is why their hearts are ‘full, wild and unstoppable’.468 Both the winner and the loser are psychologically disturbed by the process of disputation, which is filled with anger, resentment and even hatred. As a result, their hearts deteriorate and are burdened by more and more disturbances, with frequent participation in disputation reinforcing the disputants’ self-assertiveness, gradually weakening their ability to accept new things or viewpoints. This resistance to stepping outside one’s fixed perspective results in the aging and exhaustion of the heart. If the resistance develops into an obsession and the person feels a great fear or insult when they see anything that does not conform to their criterion of correctness, their heart is dead and cannot return to the yang, this is, lively, energetic and cheerful.

A spectator watching these people can see that their psychological disturbances overwhelm their self-control:

466 See 1.2 of this thesis. 467 See 4.3-4.4 of this thesis for the analysis of bian ᥯, including why Zhuangzi doubts there is an impartial judge for bian ᥯ and why the debate between Confucianism and Mohism comes from their insistence on correctness. (এृΔࠡഄԳ֨׏! (Z 11, Chen 2001: 273-277ױᧀۖլ⣰ 468

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Pleasure, anger, sorrow, joy, worry, regret, vacillation, trepidation, impetuosity,

indolence, impudence and pretension; these are like musical sounds from empty

tubes, like fungi produced from vapours. They alternate day and night and come

before [the people with petty knowledge], but no one knows whence they

arise . . .469

It is easy to see why emotions such as anger, sorrow, worry can cause psychological disturbances, but we need to explain why pleasure and joy also appear on the list. We feel pleasure when we acquire what we desire and such desires are strengthened by our petty knowledge, which implies insistence on our own view and rationalization of the desires. The stronger the insistence, the stronger the desires; the stronger the desires, the stronger the pleasure. When the feeling is too strong and violent, it may, like anger or sorrow, sway a person and cause them to act recklessly. It may also cause physiological damage, an example being that Zi Gao says he suffers from ‘internal heat’ because of anxiety and has to drink ice water to cool himself down.470 Such sickness is summarized by Zhuangzi as the disruption of the balance of yin and yang.471

Since joy is always constituted by ease and comfort, it does not provoke excitement or sway a person like pleasure does, yet there are two reasons why it can become a problem. First, the joy of people with petty knowledge is often insecure and fragile.

Some ordinary people472 enjoy only good food, clothing and music, while the intellectuals enjoy only the interchange of thoughts, complexity of discussions and subtlety of business, especially Confucians, Mohists and Hui Shi who constantly engage in disputation.473 Nonetheless the ordinary people and the intellectuals are the same if

׏ছΔ ۖ๕वࠡࢬန……(Z 2, adaptedזပΖֲ࡙ઌګဠΔ ፣נඔኪΔ ᑗ܊໛৷঩ᑗΔᐞቮ᧢⮪Δ ৔ 469 from Mair 1994: 13) (ཛ࠹ࡎۖՔ堬٧ΔݺࠡփᑷፖΜ (Z 4, Chen 2001: 122-126ܠվ 470 471 ԳՕ໛ߵΛ ੆࣍ၺΖՕ৷ળΛ ੆࣍ອΖ(Z 11, Chen 2001: 268-270) (ΕଃᜢՈΖ (Z 18, Chen 2001: 446-448ۥړΕদ࠺ΕભࣚΕڜࢬᑗृΔߪ 472 वՓྤ৸ᐞհ᧢ঞլᑗΔ ᥯ՓྤᓫᎅհݧঞլᑗΔ ኘՓྤ∤ᓷհࠃঞլᑗΖ (Z 24, Chen 2001: 635- 473 637)

225 they are experience anxiety and fear when things they enjoy are unavailable. So

Zhuangzi says they are ‘confined by things’.474 When circumstances change and they cannot adapt to it, they lose their joy, and their memory of joy aggravates their anxiety and fear in the new circumstances.

In this situation, a Confucian might respond by claiming that the joy derived from one’s mastery of virtue cannot be insecure and fragile, as Confucius said; ‘In the eating of coarse rice and the drinking of water, the using of one’s elbow for a pillow, joy is to be found. Wealth and rank attained through immoral means have as much to do with me as passing clouds.’475 Since Confucius thought that one is able to attain virtue even if the environment is very harsh or corrupt, does this mean that the Confucian joy is totally secure? Not necessarily, although on one hand the Confucian ideal person is free from anxiety because of his virtue and, consequently, is joyful (A 7.37, 9.29, 12.4); on the other hand they would still feel anxious when the society does not conform to the

Confucian ideal (A 7.3, 15.32).476 In other words, the Confucian ideal person may still feel anxious when other people do not behave according to what they regard as right.

However, the existence of these people is not within the Confucian’s control, so the

Confucian ideal person is not totally secure. Even if we exclude this consideration, there remains a second reason why the Confucian joy may become problematic.

This reason is that the joy of people with petty knowledge may become a source of indulgence or narcissism and reinforce petty knowledge. It is easy to see how one indulges in good food, clothing and music, but a person can also indulge in debates or other practices. Recall the three great skill masters: Zhao, Kuang and Hui Shi; they enjoy what they are doing, but they also want to show off to others. As mentioned in the previous chapter, they do not see that others cannot be enlightened, they do not even want to see that others cannot be enlightened, because that may damage their self-

474 া࣍ढृՈ (Z 24, Chen 2001: 635-637) (௬ႆΖ (A 7.16, Lau 1979: 88ڕࠡխߎΖլᆠۖ༄׊၆Δ࣍ݺڇࣞհΔᑗٍۖेڴ堩งଇ堬ֽΔ 475 476 When Confucius said in A 7.3 that he was ‘worried about whether virtue was being cultivated’, he could not just say this to himself. He was also worried about whether virtue was being cultivated by other people, especially his students, and presumably those who had political power.

226 image. It might be that the cause of their enjoyment is not only the practice itself, but also the realization that they themselves are carrying out the practice, that is, they are aware that ‘it is my practice’. In Hui Shi’s case, debate is enjoyable, and it is what makes him view himself as one of the leading intellectuals. The realization that ‘I am doing an enjoyable activity’ gives him further enjoyment and induces his desire to prove that Zhuangzi cannot match his intelligence, despite the fact that Hui Shi himself may not be conscious of this desire. The same applies to the debating Confucians and

Mohists; the problem is not that they enjoy studying, revising or practicing their own doctrines,477 it becomes a problem only when their enjoyment supports their self- assertion and suppresses their receptivity and flexibility, which makes them similar to the frog in the broken-down well which says, ‘I really enjoy myself!’478 and confines itself to the perspective from within the well.

Petty knowledge is accompanied by all kinds of disturbances that are often unintended. People are often suddenly overcome by pleasure, anger, sorrow, and so on, and the damage is done before they realize it. The person who suffers ‘does not know whence they rise’, for the disturbances do not come from their deliberation. As long as one is bound by petty knowledge, such disturbances are inevitable even if one tries to purge them. This is because the person will be nervous about whether they can purge the disturbances, and the insistence on purging them becomes another cause of uneasiness.

Zhuangzi sighs for those people:

When we and other things go on stroking or jostling each other, in a race ahead

like a gallop which nothing can stop, is this not sad? When we labour all our lives

477 See, for example, the elaboration of what is appropriate joy and what is inappropriate in A 15.5. 478 ܠᑗፖ (Z 17, Mair 1994: 161)

227

without seeing success, wear ourselves out with toil in ignorance of where we shall

end, is this not pathetic? 479

It is critical to note that Zhuangzi uses the word ‘pathetic’ rather than ‘wrong’.

Zhuangzi’s attitude here is not to rectify them, but to suggest that they can be free from disturbances. When Zhuangzi says ‘without seeing success’, he is pointing to a specific kind of success: that is, success that establishes that one is the winner against the field of strife. We have discussed in chapter 4 of this thesis that, for Zhuangzi, such an objective can never be attained, but this is the motivation of people who keep stroking or jostling each other throughout their lives, hence their pathetic end.

To sum up this section, people with petty knowledge suffer from various psychological disturbances, and they are usually arrogant, stubborn and inflexible. It is especially difficult for them to be humorous or creative, because these two qualities require that a person not to take their own knowledge too seriously or at least to be aware of new possibilities.

6.3 The ideal person

Corresponding to the contrast between petty knowledge and great knowledge, there is a contrast between ordinary people and the ideal person. In chapter 1 of the Zhuangzi, after introducing the cicada, the dovelet and the people who are confined to their situation, we see that:

Therefore it is said: the ultimate person has no self, the daemonic person has no

accomplishment, the sage has no name.480

ΔịྥఒݰۖլवࠡࢬפګቍΔۖ๕հ౨ַΔլٍ༟׏ΜึߪݰݰۖլߠࠡڕፖढઌՍઌᣇΔࠡ۩ጐ 479 (լ঩ߵΜ (Z 2, adapted from Graham 1981: 51ױΔូ (Ζ(Z 1, Chen 2001: 14-18ټΔ ᆣԳྤפਚֳΚ۟ԳྤաΔ 壀Գྤ 480

228

Together with the saying that ‘there can be genuine knowledge only when there is a genuine person’, Zhuangzi describes the ideal person in four different ways. These are four aspects481 of the ideal person, but they are unified in one person, that is, one who possesses one of these four aspects also possesses the other three. This can be seen from various passages, such as:

‘The ultimate person is daemonic . . .’ 482

‘The ultimate person uses the heart as a mirror . . .’ 483

‘The heart of sage is still. It is the mirror of Heaven and earth, the looking glass of

the ten thousand things . . .’ 484

‘[The genuine person] climbed high without trembling, entered water without

getting soaked, entered fire without feeling hot . . .’ 485

‘The ultimate person walks under water without drowning, tread upon fire without

feeling hot, soar above the ten thousand things without fear.’ 486

So the one ideal person has four aspects: (a) no self; (b) no accomplishment; (c) no name; (d) and is genuine. We are going to look at each of these four aspects in turn.

6.4 Having no self: the ultimate person

That the ultimate person has no self leads us to consider the opening passage of chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi in which Nan Guo Zi Qi says ‘I have lost myself’.487 This

481 This does not mean that the four aspects are exhaustive in describing the ideal person. There is ‘the person of Heaven (tian ren ֚Գ)’ in Z 33, ‘the person of virtue (de ren ᐚԳ)’ in Z 12. The reasons why we focus on these four are: 1) ‘utmost’, ‘daemonic’ and ‘sage’ all appear in the most important chapter (chapter 2) of the Zhuangzi, 2) The passage that discusses the relationship between the genuine person and genuine knowledge concludes with a very important message about the indeterminacy of Heaven (tian ֚) and man (ren Գ). We will return to this point later in this chapter. (Գ壀ߎ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 81-84۟ 482 (ૉᢴ (Z 7, Chen 2001: 227-228֨شԳհ۟ 483 (հᦸՈΔᆄढհᢴՈ (Z 13, Chen 2001: 337-339چᆣԳհ֨ᙩ׏Δ֚ 484 (լᑷ (Z 6, adapted from Mair 1994: 52־టԳ] ࿆೏լც, ԵֽլᛖΔԵ] 485 (լᑷΔ۩׏ᆄढհՂۖլც (Z 19, adapted from Mair 1994: 175־Գᑨ۩լพΔᝢ۟ 486

229 does not mean that there is a ‘true self’ and a ‘false self’ that is lost, if ‘true self’refers to the part of a person which, of its own nature, is the most important part among others and identified by the person as ‘really me’. Brook Ziporyn states that, for Zi Qi, the self becomes indeterminate when he says ‘I have lost myself’.488 This is indeed a better interpretation than one which introduces the distinction between two types of self, one true and one false. ‘Losing oneself’ refers not to eliminating an entity called ‘self’, but to the suspension of self-identification with any entity or activity. Zhuangzi’s attitude towards self is reflected in his attitude towards the distinction between right (shi ᤚ) and wrong (fei 㕖), as well as psychological disturbances caused by the rigid distinction, where ‘without them there is no self’.489 However, because the distinction between right and wrong is indeterminate, it follows that the identification of self with any judgement or emotion, and the distinction between what is really me and what is not, is also indeterminate. As Ziporyn points out, Zhuangzi does not try to solve this indeterminacy.490 Zi Qi’s comment is a prelude to Zhuangzi’s analysis of judgements of right and wrong, especially when we notice that a commitment to victory, implied by the completed heart, is closely intertwined with a conviction that one is right. As Scott

Cook suggests,491 the distinction between self and others, corresponding to the distinction between right and wrong, is that which was suspended when Zi Qi ‘lost himself’. Furthermore, that the ultimate person has no self can also mean that they do not identify themselves with a particular thing, position or practice. As noted in 4.5 and

6.2 of this thesis, there is a strong tendency for ordinary people to identify their practice with ‘the winning alternative’, thus constituting the completed heart. This identification together with the judgements of right and wrong are accompanied by a strong emotional attachment. A Confucian identifies with Confucian doctrines, since they see learning,

(ໜݺ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 33-40ܠ 487 488 Ziporyn 2003: 41-43. .ॺ࢖ྤݺ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 46-48) we follow Kim-Chong Chong’s translation here. See Chong 2001: 429 489 490 See Ziporyn 2003: 42-43. 491 See the discussion in Cook 2003: 71-76.

230 sharing and practicing those doctrines not as merely parts of their life, but as activities that best manifest their personality; indeed their personality is built up through these activities.492 They cannot know themselves without applying the Confucian doctrines in thought and action. On the contrary, the ultimate person puts herself in the realm of

Nothingwhatever (wu he you ή૗᦭):

The knowledge of small men never gets beyond gift wrap and calling cards. He

wears out his spirit with trivialities, yet wishes to assist things inclusively . . . The

spirit of the ultimate person, however, reverts to Beginninglessness and sleeps

sweetly in the realm of Nothingwhatever.493

This is again the distinction between ‘petty’ and ‘great’. A petty person expects all things to conform to their knowledge, but the result is that their spirit is disrupted. An ultimate person sleeps sweetly, rests in the realm of Nothingwhatever, a place which is not a place, which means they identify themselves with the limitless (wu qiong ή┆).

To identify with the limitless is to see the current situation as changing and not isolatable from the transformation of the world,494 and their self is also changing and not yet completed. This sounds inconsistent with the word ‘ultimate’, as ‘ultimate’ seems to imply ‘completed’.495 However, we know that every completion must simultaneously be a loss, and only the all-encompassing view can yield neither completion nor destruction.496 So it is pointless to shape a ‘completed’ person. For Zhuangzi, to see one’s self as not yet completed is to retain the possibility of going beyond what one

492 See 1.5.2 of this thesis. ࡶΔݮีլڙ՛֛հवΔլᠦ૓ỄઢᡪΔඏ壄壀׏ㅒ෍Δۖ඿ଫᛎሐढΔ֜ԫݮဠΖૉਢृΔಮ༝࣍ 493 (հၢ (Z 32, adapted from Mair 1994: 327ڶଭ׏ྤ۶زव֜ॣΖ࢖۟ԳृΔូ壄壀׏ྤࡨΔۖ and ‘ten thousand things ’(چ֚ The term ‘world’ is used for the combination of ‘Heaven and earth (Tian di 494 (wan wu ᆄढ)’. ױultimate, perfect) is sometimes a synonym for ጐ (comprehensive, finished). For example ۟ߎ, ጐߎ, լ) ۟ 495 (ߎ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 66-70ףא 496 See 4.8 of this thesis.

231 knows, that is, to attain great knowledge.497 ‘Ultimate’ refers to this possibility of going beyond. This also helps us to explain other characteristics of the ultimate person:

‘. . . then does the ultimate person really not know about benefit and harm?’ ‘The

ultimate person is daemonic . . . life and death cannot change him, how much less

do the sprouts of benefit and harm?’ 498

That the ultimate person does not know about benefit and harm is not an expression of his epistemological naiveté, though sometimes they appear to be ignorant as they may not follow what is beneficial from a conventional point of view. Their not knowing is a reflection of their realization that they need not rely on any fixed distinction throughout their life, not even the distinction between benefit and harm. This paragraph may target the Mohists for their emphasis on benefit as a standard 499 if we take ‘benefit’ here to refer to ‘the world’s benefit’, or it may target anyone who simply seeks their own benefit in a general sense. The ultimate person sees the indeterminacy of benefit, just like they see the indeterminacy of rightness.500 Precisely because they do not know, they do not identify themselves with a benefit-seeker, hence they are not disturbed by benefit and harm.

. . . the ultimate person uses his heart as a mirror. It neither holds nor welcomes; it

responds but does not retain. Therefore he can triumph over things without

injury.501

497 See 5.5-5.7 of this thesis. :୭հጤ׏Μω (Z 2, Chen 2001ܓ࣍աΔ ۖउ᧢ྤسڽ୭׏Λωψ۟Գ壀ߎΜΞܓψΞঞ۟Գࡐլव 498 81-84) 499 See 3.2-3.3 of this thesis. 500 See 4.6-4.7 of this thesis. ૉᢴΔ լലլ०Δ ᚨۖլ៲Δ ਚ౨໏ढۖլ႞ (Z 7, adapted from Mair 1994: 71) For the֨شԳհ۟ 501 ultimate person, the ability to ‘respond’ is the ability to respond to the limitless. See 5.3 of this thesis.

232

The ultimate person is one who has transformed their completed heart into one free of obsession. Such a heart is called ‘the empty room’ (xu shi ဠቶ).502 Chong claims that the heart is emptied so as ‘to clear the storage of distinctions and not to heighten the heart’s capacity to make distinctions and, on that basis, to state any particular doctrine.’503 The verb ‘clear’ well captures the attitude of the ultimate person towards their heart, which is different from ‘holds’ and ‘welcomes’. If people are bounded by their completed heart, they will ‘hold’ the doctrine in their heart even if it loses its applicability, because they identify themselves with it. Departing from the doctrine would provoke fear and distress. So people want to rationalize it, defend it and support it without considering: 1) the possibility that there can be a substitute and 2) the cost of psychological disturbances caused by insistence. In the case of welcoming a doctrine, people welcome it only because they find it conforms to what they already approve.

They are joyful to strengthen the applicability of the doctrine in their heart, so they seek unanimity without noticing that their joy constitutes their inflexibility.

In the previous chapter we discussed how great knowledge enables people to make responses smoothly because they are situated in the axis of ways. Now, we see that the ultimate person ‘responds but does not retain’. This recalls the process of attaining great knowledge, that is fasting the heart. It is important that a person to fast the heart before they can act smoothly, since they are not then distracted by preconceptions. It is also important that a person not to retain the accomplishment in the heart after they have acted, especially when they feel that the task is finished perfectly. This is not to say that a person one cannot learn from their own experience, otherwise there would be no skilful people. It means a person does not identify with their achievements and that they guard against pride and indulgence. Acting in this way, they will not be disappointed, embarrassed or angry when someone points out the limitations of their achievement,

502 As noted in 5.9 of this thesis, ‘emptiness (xu ဠ)’ does not mean that there is simply nothing. Rather, an ‘empty heart’ means that the heart is tenuous and light, since it is not burdened by psychological disturbances. The term ‘xu shi ဠ৛’comes from the dialogue between ficitional Confucius and Yan Hui (Z 4, Chen 2001: 117). 503 Chong 2006: 375.

233 and they will not be frustrated when they cannot finish a new task by using the method they used previously. All these contribute to enabling the ultimate person to triumph over things without injury. ‘Triumph over (sheng ൎ)’ does not mean the person wants to win, like the debaters, it means that they can prevent themselves from being harmed, including by psychological disturbances, so ‘sorrow and joy cannot find a way in’. 504

6.5 Having no name: the sage

The following passage shows that the ultimate person guards against ‘name’, thereby equating the ultimate person with the sage, who has no name:

‘. . . He still has an urge to have his name bandied about as someone unique and

extraordinary. Doesn’t he know that the ultimate person would regard it as

fettering and handcuffing himself?’ 505

The term ‘sage’ (sheng ren ⡛ੱ), like ‘knowledge’ (zhi ⍮), is sometimes used in a conventional way by Zhuangzi and becomes the target of his criticism. 506 One reason is that ‘sage’, but not terms like ‘ultimate person’, sometimes symbolizes the Confucian and Mohist ideal person.The common point between the sage in the Zhuangzi and other texts is that a sage is one whose understanding is perfect and whose words are wise, as the character ⡛ originally consists of an ear (⡊) and a mouth (ญ).507 But how is this related to namelessness in the Zhuangzi? This does not mean that the sage simply uses no name but, because of the indeterminacy of naming, as discussed in 4.7 of this thesis,

504 ঩ᑗլ౨Ե (Z 3, adapted from Graham 1981: 65) (ਢ੡աᾲ⇾ߵ? (Z 5, adapted from Graham 1981: 79אፊΔլव۟Գհټⴡᇫ֤ࢡհא࢖׊㔀 505 ኔټ) ’?For example, ‘A good name and a great deed tempt even the sage, and do you think you're any better 506 ΔᆣԳհࢬլ౨໏ՈΔۖउૉ׏Μ) (Z 4, Graham 1981:67), ‘With the birth of the sages the great robbersृ (Օ࿋ದ) (Z 10, Graham 1981: 208ۖسarise’ (ᆣԳ 507 Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 2004: 571-575. Although the character ᆣ in modern Chinese contains the symbol ׆, in ancient Chinese the character has no part that clearly refers to a king or a ruler (or any person that has a high social status). Yet most of the time a person who is praised to be ᆣ is also a person who has a high social status. Of course, Zhuangzi does not want to associate ᆣ with such status. Such association is conventional, and is often criticized by Zhuangzi. See 4.3 of this thesis.

234 the sage does not follow any fixed naming system. In other words, the sage does not claim that there must be a correct name for a practice or that there is a definite practice implied by a name. Although the words of sage are wise, the sage practices wordless teaching (bu yan zhi jiao ਇ⸒ਯᢎ), which also appear in the Daoodejing (D 2, 43):

‘. . . When he stands up he doesn’t teach, when he sits down he doesn’t talk things

over, yet they go to him empty and come away full. Is there indeed a wordless

teaching, or a heart which is whole though the body is deformed? . . .’

‘The Master is a sage . . . [he] recognizes the transformation of things as

and holds fast to the ancestor.’ 508

‘Those who know do not speak, those who speak do not know, so the sage conducts

a wordless teaching.’ 509

There are two types of wordless teaching. The first is the display of daemonic performance, which does not rely on words. A spectator may be shocked by the extraordinary skill and start to reflect on their own practices. The second is speaking without claiming or assuming that words have determinate meanings. Recall that

Zhuangzi has asked, ‘do we really say something? Or have we never said anything?’ and the answer is indeterminate. Consequently, if the sage wants to communicate great knowledge, which is not fixed, they must know that no particular word or practice follows from great knowledge, so any word will be insufficient. However, this does not stop them from talking or writing, as long as their words do not prescribe a fixed goal.

Also, since Zhuangzi does not claim that words have determinate meanings, any expression may be used to convey the message; the Zhuangzi text itself is an example.

ߵΛΞωψ֛՗Δ ᆣԳՈΞࡎृګլߢհඒΔྤݮۖ֨ڶլඒΔ݄լᤜΔဠۖ࢓Δኔۖូ ΖࡐمψΞ 508 (ࠡࡲՈΖω(Z 5, adapted from Graham 1981: 76ښۖ ढհ֏Δ ψ֛वृլߢΔ ߢृլवΔ ਚᆣԳ۩լߢհඒω (Z 22, Chen 2001: 558-562) वृլߢ, ߢृլव 509 appears in chapter 56 and լߢհඒ appears in chapter 2 of the Daodejing.

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Sometimes great knowledge is expressed by a story, like that of the great Peng; sometimes it is expressed by a technical treatise, like the analysis of language and ways of practice in chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi; sometimes it is expressed by silence, as shown in the passages just quoted. The plurality of ways of expressing great knowledge reflects the flexibility of great knowledge. It is called ‘wordless teaching’ not because it is literally wordless, it is meant in the same way that the heart of an ultimate person or a sage is ‘empty’ not because it is literally void. It is wordless because whatever words the sage uses, or does not use, to communicate great knowledge, they preserve the indeterminacy between saying something and saying nothing. And since a person is expected to ‘get the idea yet forget the words’,510 they can grasp great knowledge only when they no longer insists on following the words, which means that they do not see the words as expressing a definite instruction. A similar point is made by Deborah H.

Soles and David E. Soles, who state that Zhuangzi uses the metaphor of fish traps and rabbit snares to describe the nature of his own words, meaning that his words are at best a suggestion, that one will not fully understand him if one regards him as asserting propositions.511This is especially the case with metaphors, when one has to imagine the way in which the metaphor resembles the implicit message. To give a few examples: the great Peng, the cicada and the dovelet, the big gourd, the wind, the monkeys, and the butterfly. Of course, a metaphor may contain more than one implicit message and, as pointed out by Chong when discussing the openness of metaphor ,512 this is why

Zhuangzi uses metaphor to ‘resist being pinned down to any position’. Chong’s point may be understood as suggesting that the use of metaphor in the Zhuangzi preserves indeterminacy, just as Zhuangzi himself says that ‘saying says something, but what it says is indeterminate’. Moreover, once the message is grasped, the metaphor itself is replaceable, as it is expendable. A particular message can be expressed or hinted by

.(൓რۖݱߢ (Z 26, Chen 2001: 725-726 510 511 See Soles and Soles 1998: 163. Whether Zhuangzi’s epistemological view is a kind of nihilism, as proposed in the article, is a question left open. 512 Chong 2006: 375.

236 different messages, and there is no necessary connection between the metaphor and what it conveys.

In addition, by practicing wordless teaching, the sage does not want their name to be honoured. The word ψฬω can mean ‘name’ or ‘fame’ and, indeed, they are related: for a person to be famous is for their name to be honoured. The sage is nameless because they lack the desire to be a teacher, especially a teacher of political figures. The man without a name in chapter 7 of the Zhuangzi shows this lack of desire when he is asked how to govern the Empire. The image of Zhuangzi as one who prefers not to become an adviser of kings is portrayed in many passages. There are two reasons for this lack of desire; first, without doubt name and fame will bring about psychological disturbances, such as the urge for power or the pressure of being the focus of people.

This is a reason why Bo Hun Wu Ren warns that ‘people flock to you not because you know how to attract them, but because you do not know how to prevent them from flocking to you.’513 Secondly, when people regard the Zhuangist sage to be a fixed model, a paradigm or a standard, there is a danger that the teaching of that sage will be distorted, because in that case the very flexibility of the teaching is lost. Suppose you hears a sage say, ‘those who know do not speak and those who speak do not know’, and then you take the saying as a norm prescribing that, in order to know, one must not speak. Even if you are able to remain silent all the time, this will not qualify you to be a person who attains great knowledge, the reason being that the point is not whether you should or should not speak, but how you understand the relationship between speaking and knowledge. If you simply assume there is a definite relationship and proceeds to get an answer, it will be a misinterpretation from the very beginning.

(Ո (Z 32, Chen 2001: 829-833ڿլ౨ࠌԳྤঅڿΔۖڿ౨ࠌԳঅڿॺ 513

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6.6 Having no accomplishment: the daemonic person

The term ‘daemonic person’ only occurs eight times in the whole Zhuangzi, and besides having ‘no accomplishment’, the text usually ascribes magical or supernatural abilities to the daemonic person, for example:

. . . he does not eat the five grains but sucks in the wind and drinks the dew; he

rides the vapour of the clouds, yokes flying dragons to his chariot, and roams

beyond the four seas . . . though the great floods rise to the sky he will not drown,

though metal and stone fuse in the great droughts and moors and mountains char

he will not burn. From this man's very dust and siftings you could smelt and mould

a Yao or Shun . . . 514

His spirit rises, mounted on the light, while his shape vanishes. This is called

‘illumination of immensity’ . . . 515

These passages can be interpreted as proposing a kind of mysticism,516 indeed Livia

Kohn,517 Carlo Kwan,518 David C. Yu,519 and Michael J. Puett520 are scholars who refer to these passages in order to support the claim that Zhuangzi is a mystic. Given that the culture of Chu, which influenced Zhuangzi, had not a few elements from ,521 the inclusion of mystical elements is not surprising. However, this is not the only possible interpretation; the Zhuangzi itself contains certain clues for putting the above

ΕՒ՞ྡྷੌفΕ८ޒଅ堬᥻Ζଊႆ௛ΔൗଆᚊΔۖሏ׏؄௧հ؆ΞՕ௦ᒝ֚ۖլᄴΔՕܮլଇնᒜΔ 514 (լᑷΖਢࠡቺৃẉᜆΔലྫຯᦷ໯ΕစृՈΞ (Z 1, Graham 1981: 46ۖ (ᘯᅃᡛ (Z 12, Mair 1994: 114ڼՂ壀ଊ٠ΔፖݮᄰՋΔ 515 516 For a discussion of the distinction between different kinds of mysticism in different cultures and how Zhuangzi is unique among them, see Schwartz 1985: 187-188, 194,198-199, 251; Yearly 1983: 128-131; Roth 2003: 17- 18, 21-28. 517 Kohn 1990: 629. 518 Kwan 1999: 137-172. 519 Yu 2000: 36-38. 520 Puett 2002: 122-125. 521 See, for example, Tu 1995: 4-8, 15-23.

238 passages in a context closer to common experience.522 When, in chapter 19 of the

Zhuangzi, the skill of engraver Qing is said to be ‘daemonic’, it does not necessarily mean that he possesses supernatural power. It means that his way of engraving bells surpasses that of ordinary people, but this is due to his long-term practice and heart- fasting, which are not necessarily mystical. Another passage even explains the apparently mystical aspect of the daemonic person in terms of understanding and precaution:

The man of utmost power

Fire cannot burn,

Water and cold cannot harm,

Beasts and birds cannot rend,

which is not to say that he belittles them, it means that since he is perspicacious

about safety and danger, calm in fortune and misfortune, careful in approaching

and shunning, none of them is able to harm him . . . 523

Therefore the apparently immortal person described in chapter 2 is regarded as a person who is perspicacious enough to avoid harm. But, what then is the relationship among the engraver Qing, and all the other skilful experts in the Zhuangzi, the perspicacious person, and the word ‘daemonic’ (shen ␹)?

According to the Shuo Wen, the word ψ␹ω means ‘the deity that from which the ten thousand things are generated.’524 It is the creative power that characterizes shen ␹.

522 As when we discuss yong ൉ in 5.6 of this thesis, ‘common’ here does not mean ‘conventional’. It is simply the opposite of ‘supernatural’. Δኑ࣍ጞ壂Δٲڜؗ౨ᑷΔֽؗ౨ᄴΔ༃པؗ౨୭Δᆅᡬؗ౨ᇶΖॺᘯࠡᜳհՈΔߢኘ׏־ᐚृΔ۟ 523 (༉Δ๕հ౨୭ՈΖ (Z 17, adapted from Graham 1981: 149װ࣍᠃ .ᆄढृՈΖ See Gu Wen Zi Gu Lin Bian Zuan Wei Yuan Hui 1999: 113-115נ֧ 壀Δ֚ 524

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Such creative power is sometimes said to be unfathomable or unpredictable,525 manifest in ghosts and spirits (gui shen 㝩␹). For humans, it is the faculty that can bring forth actions, so Roth says shen is characterized by intentionality or , though shen in a human person does not exist independent of the body. This interpretation is compatible with ours here and in 5.9 of this thesis when we discuss the distinction between the heart and the spirit, but Roth covers only the noun form of shen,526 while the word can be used as an adjective to describe a practice. For example, when a person acts in a creative way, which is unanticipated by ordinary people yet they achieve their goal elegantly, their action is shen. It must be both unanticipated and elegant: if it is just unanticipated, it may be an unanticipated failure or even disaster; if it is just elegant, it may not be surprising. An unanticipated and elegant practice causes awe and admiration in the observers, and strikes them as something beyond their ordinary thinking.

Accordingly it seems as if the practice is carried out with the aid of spirits. It may be unanticipated even by the person themselves, because they may have no detailed plan at the beginning and may only be able to reflect on and describe their action after it has been done. As discussed in 5.10 of this thesis, the skilful practitioners move as if their actions proceed automatically, though in some cases those actions are the results of long practice. These ‘automatic’ actions are unanticipated because they involve a higher degree of concentration, flexibility and imagination that people bound by petty knowledge cannot have. Skilful practitioners are daemonic in their specializations, and the daemonic person is daemonic in all aspects of life. This is not to say that the daemonic person must possess many daemonic skills such as carving oxen or catching cicadas, but their great knowledge is manifested in the daemonic skill of living. The very flexibility of their great knowledge helps them to know how to solve problems and avoid danger, and increases their farsightedness. Their ways of solving problems and

525 The phrase ອၺլྒྷհᘯ壀 (or ອၺլྒྷᘯհ壀) appears in Xi Ci Zhuan of the Ten Wings of the Book of Change. See Wilhelm 1987: 301. It also appears in the Huang Di Lei Jing. See Guo 1981: 379. 526 See Roth 1990: 11-13.

240 avoiding danger are of course unanticipated yet elegant to a level which ordinary people are unable to believe that they can achieve themselves.

If being ‘daemonic’ is actually manifest in one’s practice, why does the text say the daemonic person has ‘no accomplishment’ which implies no practice? There are at least two reasons: first, when one is so concentrated that they are in perfect attunement with the environment and forgets about irrelevant factors—for instance, the engraver Qing forgetting about reward, fame, punishment, and even his limbs—they feel as if the task completes itself, that is, they have suspended their deliberations and followed qi.527 In other words, they do not impose the schema of a completed heart to the task, so even they do not feel that it is themselves who is acting, consequently, they do not feel that they have accomplished anything. Even as they are completing the task, they have both forgotten themselves and forgotten what they are accomplishing, so the idea of no accomplishment and the idea of no self shed light on each other. Secondly, accomplishment is completion, and every completion is simultaneously a flaw, every distinction is simultaneously a destruction.528 This is what a person with great knowledge sees; they know that their accomplishment can be regarded as a flaw or a loss once their point of view changes. For instance, their perspicacity helps them to avoid danger and harm, but then, how does a person know that what is called ‘harm’ cannot also be called ‘benefit’, or that that which is harmful in from one perspective cannot turn out to be beneficial from another perspective? This question is derived from the story of Lady Li in chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi. Before living with the king, Lady Li regards going to a foreign country as harmful, but later she regrets this judgement. Does this imply that her previous judgement is wrong? Not necessarily because, at that time, she had no guarantee that her life with the king would be good. However, reflecting on the fact that previously she was so certain about her judgement and deeply attached to it,

527 See 5.9 of this thesis. (ՈΔᄤՈΖ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 61-66ګՈΙࠡګࠡ։ՈΔ 528

241 brings her sorrow. This is what Zhuangzi regards as pathetic.529 One can still judge that something is harmful, but one without accomplishment can only say that their judgement is at best provisional or, as Wang Ni sighs, ‘How do I know it?’. If this is so, and if a person with great knowledge is not confined to a single perspective, then they cannot insist that they have accomplished anything without picking up a partial perspective. They probably do not care whether they accomplished anything in the first place, because that implies taking the name ‘accomplishment’ too seriously.

6.7 ‘Genuine’ and ‘Heaven’530

At this point, the idea of the genuine person deserves more attention, not only because of its relationship to knowledge, but also because the contrast between ‘genuine (zhen

⌀)’ and its opposite ‘artificial (wei ன)’531 enriches our understanding of the ideal personality in the Zhuangzi. Sometimes the contrast between ‘genuine’ and ‘artificial’ is analogous to the contrast between ‘Heaven (Tian ᄤ)’ and ‘human (ren ੱ)’, as in the dialogue between fictional Confucius and Yan Hui:

It is easy for a person driven by the human to be artificial, it is hard for a person

driven by Heaven to be artificial. 532

This sentence contrasts Heaven with artifice. We may see the skilful artisan as being

‘sent by Heaven’, for example the engraver Qing ‘joins Heaven to Heaven’533 and Cook

529 In addition, Zhuangzi thinks this story has a significant impact on our attitude towards death. We will return to this point in 6.8.5 of this thesis. 530 In translating ψటω into ‘genuine’ rather than ‘real’ or ‘authentic’, Daniel Coyle argues that it is the English word with least theoretical burden. See Coyle 1998: 206. 531 Here, ψೕω is translated to “artificial” because the character ೕ is composed by Գ and ੡, which literally means ‘man-made’ or ‘man’s deed’ Ёthe meaning of ‘artificial’. Also, ೕ is more frequently (even in other text such as the Mencius or the Xunzi) used to describe a person or her words and practice, not merely judgements. Hence it may be misleading to translate it into ‘false’, as in Graham (1981: 52, 69) and Mair (1994: 15, 33). Graham sometimes translates it into ‘pretence’ (Graham 1981: 159) and Ziporyn translates it into ‘fake’ (Ziporyn 2009: 11). But ‘artificial’ can also carry the sense of ‘pretence’ or ‘fake’. (ೕ (Z 4, Chen 2001: 117-121אೕΔ ੡֚ࠌᣄא੡Գࠌ࣐ 532

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Ding ‘follows the pattern of Heaven’.534 It also includes the sage who ‘takes Heaven as his ancestor’535 and can therefore be called a ‘Heavenly person’ (Tian ren ᄤੱ).

Also there are passages that contrast ‘genuine’ with ‘artificial’ or suggest that

‘genuine’ follows Heaven, or does not involve human interference with Heaven:

‘Your [i.e. Confucius’s] way is a crazy obsession, a thing of deception, trickery,

vanity, artifice. It cannot preserve the genuine, what is there to discuss?’ 536

‘What do you mean by “Heaven”? What do you mean by “human”?’

‘That oxen and horses have four feet, this is what is meant by ‘Heaven’; haltering

horse’ heads and piercing oxen’s noses, this is what is meant by ‘human’. Hence it

is said:

Don’t let man extinguish Heaven,

Don’t let deliberation extinguish destiny.

Don’t comply with name by attainment.

Guard it carefully, don’t lose it.

This is called “returning to the genuine”.’ 537

The genuine person of old attended the human with Heaven, instead of using the

human to interfere with Heaven. 538

(Z 19, adapted from Mair 1994: 183) ֚ٽ֚א 533 (ࠉ׏֚෻ (Z 3, Chen 2001: 96-100 534 (੡ࡲ (Z 33, adapted from Mair 1994: 334֚א 535 (٤టՈΔଡ଼ߩᓵবΛ (Z 29, adapted from Graham 1981: 239אױ՗հሐΔ߆߆޵޵Δ့؏ဠೕࠃՈΔॺ 536 אԳᄰ֚Δྤאψ۶ᘯ֚Λ۶ᘯԳΛωψ್ׄ؄ߩΔ ਢᘯ֚Δ ᆵ್ଈΔ ઠׄᏗΔ ਢᘯԳΖਚֳΚྤ 537 (֎؈Δਢᘯ֘ࠡటΖω (Z 17, Chen 2001: 428-429ۖښ᠃Ζټ൓௙אਚᄰࡎΔྤ (ԳԵ֚Ζ (Z 24, adapted from Mair 1994: 251אৱԳΔ լ֚א հటԳΔײ 538

243

The rites are what the custom of the times has established; the genuine is what we

receive from Heaven, and it is spontaneous and irreplaceable. Therefore the sage,

taking Heaven as his model, values the genuine and is untrammelled by

convention, while the fool does the opposite. Incapable of taking Heaven as his

model he frets about man, and does not know how to value the genuine . . .539

The relationship between Heaven and human is a topic not exclusive to the Zhuangzi, it appears in the Analects (A 3.13, 7.23, 8.19, 12.5, 14.35, 17.19), the Daodejing (D 7, 10,

25, 47, 73, 79) and also the Mozi (M 26.1-28.14). This topic is so important that

Graham even divides different periods of the development of ancient Chinese philosophy by the response of the various thinkers to the ‘Heaven-man problem’. As he notes,

The dichotomy of Heaven and man is one of the constants of Chinese thought.

Whatever is within the control of deliberate action derives from man, whatever

comes from outside it derives from Heaven. 540

What is distinctive about the Zhuangzi is the association between Heaven and the genuine person. To prepare us for examining the passage about genuine person and genuine knowledge (Z 6), below we examine three possible interpretations of this association. These three interpretations by no means exhaust all possible understandings of the association, however, the point is to show how the association can be interpreted differently, and consequently why Zhuangzi’s point is not to determine which interpretation is the correct one.

࣐ՈΖਚᆣԳऄ֚၆టΔլࣅ࣍ঋΖჟृ֘ױ࠹֚࣍ՈΔ۞ྥլא៖ृΔ ׈ঋհࢬ੡ՈΙటृΔ ࢬ 539 (Δ լ౨ऄ֚ۖਆ࣍ԳΔ լव၆టΖ (Z 31, adapted from Graham 1981: 252ڼ 540 Graham 1989: 107.

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6.7.1 The first interpretation: Heaven as absence of human effort

The first interpretation regards ‘Heaven’ as referring to all movements or changes without human effort or events beyond human control. Liu Xiao-gan regards this to be the first sense of ‘Heaven’ in the text.541 From this point of view, ‘human’ includes all activities that involve human effort. Thus, a wild horse running on a savannah, or a piece of uncultivated land, is a part of Heaven, while a haltered horse carrying a burden, or a palace, is human artifice. However, some features or tendencies of human beings are just ‘given’ by Heaven and not produced by human beings themselves, for example, that each person has a heart. Accordingly, the functions of these features or tendencies may be included in Heaven, as well as activities that comply with these features or tendencies. For instance, Graham thinks this interpretation of Heaven gives rise to the idea of xing ᕈ, which in turn causes debate among thinkers, namely what actions, if any, follow xing and, therefore, follow Heaven.542 We need not go into details about the interpretation of xing here.543 What is important to our discussion at present is that, under this interpretation, the idea of ‘returning to the genuine’ is a norm once we know which part of us is endowed by Heaven. Consequently we should perform only actions that follow the endowment. Adding anything to the endowment would be artificial:

The movement of xing is called ‘acting’, and acting artificially is called ‘loss’.544

֚ See Liu 1988: 123-124. Liu thinks that Zhuangzi is the first one in Chinese intellectual history to refer Tian 541 .(to zi ran jie ۞ྥ੺ (all existence in the world except human beings Graham 1989: 107-110. Sometimes ‘Tian ֚’, ‘xing ࢤ’ and ‘ziran ۞ྥ’ are all translated into ‘nature’, which 542 may cause several interpretive problems. See Perkins 2005: 328-329. This is why the word ‘nature’ is not used here. Besides ‘nature’, ‘xing ࢤ’ can be translated into ‘natural tendencies’, ‘characteristic tendencies’, ‘essence’, etc. 543 Daniel Coyle agrees with Graham that the idea of ‘genuine’ is influenced by Yangist doctrines, which raise the questions about xing ࢤ. Coyle thinks that one sense of ‘genuine’ is our xing ࢤ, which counters Confucian virtues. See Coyle 1998: 197-205. (ࢤհ೯ᘯհ੡Δ੡հೕᘯհ؈ (Z 23, Chen 2001: 618-619 544

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To act artificially is to lose Heavenly endowment. In this sense, human agency is downplayed, if not discarded. From this point of view, the skilled artisans are ‘genuine’ only if their practices are seen as developing their Heavenly endowments. This interpretation seems most suitable for the story about the swimmer:

‘. . . May I ask whether you have a way to stay afloat in water?’

‘No, I have no way. I began in cause , grew up in characteristic tendency, matured

in destiny . . .’

‘What do you mean by ‘began in cause, grew up in characteristic tendency,

matured in destiny?’’

‘Having been born on dry land I am at home on dry land, that is cause. Having

grown up in water I am at home in water, that is characteristic tendency. It is so

without me knowing why it is so, that is destiny.’ 545

According to the swimmer’s explanation, one reason why he can swim well is that he grew up in water, yet he does not know, and does not need to know, first, how he could grow up in water and, secondly, why having grown up in water can make him swim so well. We may say that, under the first interpretation, the ability to swim is just a

Heavenly endowment. Note that this is different from other experts that mentions exercise or cultivation.

6.7.2 The second interpretation: Heaven as spontaneity

The second interpretation is related to, but slightly different from the first. The second interpretation regards Heaven as the inclusion of all spontaneous (ziran ⥄ὼ)

׏ࡎΞωψ۶ᘯόࡨ׏ਚΔ९׏ࢤΔګࡨ׏ਚΔ९׏ࢤΔܠሐΖྤܠሐ׏ΛωψՋΔڶψΞᓮംᝢֽ 545 ΔࡎՈΖω(Zྥۖྥאࢬܠֽ࣍ΔࢤՈΙլवڜ࣍ສΔਚՈΙ९ֽ࣍ۖڜ࣍ສۖسܠ׏ࡎύΛωψګ 19, adapted from Graham 1981: 136)

246 movement or change, which points to the absence of deliberation and interference. This concept of spontaneity is probably influenced by the Daodejing. 546 A haltered horse belongs to the category of ‘human’, not ‘Heaven’, but this time it is not simply because of the fact that it is kept by humans, it is because the spontaneous movement of the horse is hampered, it is uncomfortable and constrained, and it has submitted to human commands. The training process also distorts the self-development of the horse.

According to this point of view, when it comes to human activities, the focus is not on the source of practices, but the quality of practices. The genuine person ‘attends to the human with Heaven’, not because they follow their xing or give up their human agency, but because their responses to human affairs are not dominated by coercion, convention and their own psychological disturbances. Recall that, by listening with qi, one concentrates deeply and attunes to the environment.547 This is what Yan Hui and the engraver Qing do; they are ‘genuine’ because their practice resembles the functioning of

Heaven, which is spontaneous. Like the first interpretation, the second one still guards us against human convention, because it often hampers spontaneity. However it also differs from the first interpretation because it eschews the question of Heaven’s endowment when manifesting spontaneity, it also does not determine what a person should do by regarding Heaven’s endowment as a norm. Nevertheless, the second interpretation can be compatible with the first one by equating spontaneity to Heaven’s endowment. Under the second interpretation, it is not necessary to downplay human agency, for ‘artifice’ only includes non-spontaneous human activities, not all human activities. A person who acts spontaneously, even if this spontaneity requires much human effort, is exalted. This interpretation seems most suitable for the story of Cook

Ding, as Cook Ding’s practice is a result of cultivation and exercise:

546 See 2.2.3-2.2.4 of this thesis. 547 See 5.9 of this thesis.

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What your servant cares about is the way, which advances the skill. At the first time

I carved an ox, I saw nothing but a whole ox. Three years more and I never saw a

whole ox. Nowadays, I touch the ox by the spirit rather than see it with the eyes, the

knowing of [sense] organs stops but the spirit still wants to run. I follow the

Heaven's pattern . . .

A good cook changes his knife once a year–because he cuts. A mediocre cook

changes his knife once a month–because he hacks. I have had this knife of mine for

nineteen years and I’ve cut up thousands of oxen with it. Yet the blade is as good as

if it had just come from the grindstone . . .

However, whenever I come to something intricate, I see where it will be hard to

handle and cautiously prepare myself, my gaze settles on it, action slows down for

it . . . 548

We mentioned this passage earlier in the analysis of the relationship between words and skill, and the importance of forgetting. Now we focus on the point that, for Cook Ding, daemonic, spontaneous performance is compatible with exercise, trial and error, reflection and caution, all different types of human effort. This is reflected by his comparison among his current skill, his skill in the past, as well as the skill of other people and he also points to the possibility of further improvement. Notice that Cook

Ding himself, unlike the swimmer, does not mention anything about xing or Heaven’s endowment, instead he talks about ‘Heaven’s pattern’. Yet, for Cook Ding, the point is not whether such a pattern is inherently in an ox or whether each ox has only one definite pattern. The point is that such a pattern can only be perceived when he uses his spirit, when he concentrates on his movement vis-à-vis an ox. His ability to carve an ox

ቫߠ٤ׄՈΖֱվհآհ৵ΔڣհᇞׄհழΔࢬߠྤॺׄृΖԿ۝ሐՈΔၞ׏ݾߎΖࡨृړհࢬ۝ 548 ؾီΔࡴवַۖ壀඿۩Ζࠉ׏֚෻Ξא壀ሖۖլא۝ழΔ ߎΔࢬᇞᑇՏׄߎΔۖԸՍૉᄅ࿇࣍นΞڣհԸԼ԰۝ՈΖվމԸΔޓԸΔ ໊ՈΙගࢎִޓߜࢎᄣ ߠࠡᣄ੡Δ࢟ྥ੡ݹΖီ੡ַΔ۩੡ᙈΞܠ࣍ගΔ۟ޢឈྥΔ (Z 3, Chen 2001: 96-100)

248 is not destined but cultivated. Accordingly, following Heaven, that is becoming genuine, is to fully realize one’s spontaneity in practice.

6.7.3 The third interpretation: Heaven’s view as the all-encompassing one

The third interpretation brings us back to a passage in chapter 2 about the potter’s wheel of Heaven (Tian jun ᄤ㊼). As we discussed in 5.7 of this thesis, the potter’s wheel is a metaphor for the ability to ‘walking two ways’. The potter’s wheel helps the potter to create things, which can be taken as the image of the sage’s ability to create new ways of practice. But why should the text add that it is the potter’s wheel of Heaven? Here,

‘Heaven’ is not the opposite of human effort or convention per se, but the opposite of being limited to a particular point of view. That is, the term ‘Heaven’ now concerns not the source of practices or the quality of practices, but the inclusion of all practices.

Physically, ‘Heaven’ refers to the sky above and it embraces all things below, including humans and non-humans. This spatial inclusiveness is taken to be analogous to the all- encompassing view, which is the view that suspends all distinctions. In this sense it is the same as the Way.549 The story of Shu-Shan the toeless tells us:

[Shu-Shan says to Confucius]

‘. . . There is nothing which Heaven refuses to cover over or earth to support; I

thought of you, sir, as my Heaven and earth, how could I have known that you

would turn out like this?’ 550

[Shu-Shan says to Lao Dan]

‘As for becoming an ultimate person, Confucius has some way to go, wouldn’t you

say?’ 551

549 See 5.4 of this thesis for the contrast between ‘axis of the Way’ and ‘axis of ways’. :व֛՗հྫૉਢՈΜω(Z 5, adapted from Graham 1981ڜΔچ՗੡֛֚אܠլሉΔྤچψ֛֚ྤլ៿Δ 550 78) (ߵΜ ω(Z 5, adapted from Graham 1981: 78-79آψ֞׋հ࣍۟ԳΔࠡ 551

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This pair of dialogues is the one in which Confucius is criticized for failing to be nameless. In addition, note that Shu-Shan had a very high expectation of Confucius prior to their meeting. At that time he regarded Confucius as Heaven and trusted that

Confucius will see him not as a cripple, but as one who can be perfected just like everyone else. So the analogy with Heaven means Confucius is expected to accept all kinds of people, that is, that he has an all-encompassing view. This can be regarded as an ontological commitment, as Thomas Radice says,552 but it need not be. The point is for a person to stop making distinctions, not to judge that the distinctions are unreal.

According to the all-encompassing view, however, no practice can be promoted.

While the first and second interpretation of Heaven promote certain kinds of practice, the third interpretation does not draw any difference between different practices. They are treated as parts of the whole. More precisely, when one adopts the all-encompassing view one sees only the whole. When Hui Shi says that ‘Heaven and earth were born together with me, and the ten thousand things and I are one’,553 Zhuangzi’s reply is that the very act of speaking contradicts the content of the statement: ‘Now that all is one, how can there still be speech?’554 As discussed in 4.7 of this thesis, to talk about something or to do something presupposes making a distinction. The all-encompassing view yields no direction, no guidance and no response to the environment.

To summarize, the common characteristic of the three interpretations is to draw a clear distinction between Heaven and human, then exalt Heaven over human. As we will see, Zhuangzi questions whether such a clear distinction can be made, that is, whether we can fix the content of ‘Heaven’.

552 As quoted in 5.4 of this thesis, Thomas Radice states that ‘[perspective and value judgements] arise from a more fundamental unity, which is realized through the use of “clarity”...No matter how one wishes to carve up reality...reality must be a united whole.’ See Radice 2001: 34-35. (ᆄढፖݺ੡ԫ (Z 2, adapted from Graham 1981: 56ۖسፖݺࠀچ֚ 553 (ߢ׏Λ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 71-74ڶਝۖ੡ԫߎΔ ׊൓ 554

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6.8 The Genuine person

6.8.1 The plenum of knowledge 555

Now we examine the passage about the genuine person and genuine knowledge in chapter 6 of the Zhuangzi. The passage begins with:

Knowing the workings of Heaven and knowing the workings of human reaches to

the utmost! One who knows the workings of Heaven lives by Heaven; one who

knows the workings of human uses that which is known by his knowledge to

nourish that which is not known by his knowledge, completes the years given by

Heaven, and is not cut off in mid-course—this is the plenum of knowledge. 556

When introducing the utmost knowing, this passage assumes that the utmost knowing is one that can guide a person to live a good life, a common assumption shared by nearly all ancient Chinese thinkers. Without this assumption, it is hard to explain why the passage brings together how one lives their life and the practical implications—to nourish that which is not known by their knowledge—of that knowledge.

Why is knowing ‘the workings of Heaven’ and ‘the workings of human’ the plenum of knowledge? If, according to the first interpretation of Heaven, that is by

‘Heaven’ we mean the absence of human effort, then a person who knows the workings of Heaven knows how to preserve their Heavenly endowment. An example is the ability to swim as in the swimmer story. The swimmer simply follows what is given by

Heaven, and in doing so ‘lives by Heaven’. If the swimmer also knows the workings of human, this will mean:

555 In Coyle’s article he translates ψฐω as ‘plenum’. This is more appropriate than Graham’s ‘perfect’, because ฐ can mean ‘being filled’, which is close to ‘plenum’. See Coyle 1998: 199. 塄אࠡवհࢬवΔאՈΙवԳհࢬ੡ृΔسव֚հࢬ੡ΔवԳհࢬ੡ृΔ۟ߎΖव֚հࢬ੡ृΔ֚ۖ 556 (լխሐ֝ृΔਢवհฐՈΖ (Chen 2001: 168-176ۖڣࠡवհࢬլवΔึ֚ࠡ

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1) That they know the role of human effort in their life is insignificant compared to

that of Heaven: ‘Indiscernibly small, that which attaches him to human!

Unutterably vast, the Heaven within him which he perfects in solitude!’557

2) They do not need to know why and how Heaven gives them such and such ability,

just as when the swimmer says that swimming well is his destiny. This is ‘that

which is not known by their knowledge’. Any knowledge they possess about

humans—‘that which is known by their knowledge’—such as how to engage in

daily life, is valuable only to the extent that it can serve to nourish the development

of the endowment of Heaven. So, in order to complete their years, they subordinate

their knowledge about human to their knowledge about Heaven.

If, according to the second interpretation of Heaven, by ‘Heaven’ we mean spontaneity, then a person who knows the workings of Heaven knows how to act spontaneously. If they also know the workings of humans – those unspontaneous practices, they know how to use them in developing spontaneity. For example, Cook Ding must have started his career by acting unspontaneously, when he ‘sees nothing but a whole ox’, when he still has to change his knife frequently and when he still merely using his eyes instead of his spirit. These experiences help him to improve his skill until his performance becomes daemonic. The totality of his training, including his failure to act spontaneously at the beginning, makes his daemonic performance possible. If a person can act spontaneously in all aspects of their life, they are living spontaneously. This is the daemonic person.

It is difficult to interpret ‘Heaven’ here as the all-encompassing view, since in this case ‘complete the years given by Heaven’ hardly makes sense. Nevertheless, one may claim that the Heavenly endowment given to each person is precisely the potential to accept the all-encompassing view, according to which a person suspends all distinctions and at the same time submits themselves to Heaven. They know that all the human

(֚ࠡ Ζ(Z 5, Graham 1981: 82ګ᥆࣍ԳՈΖ㊳׏ՕবΜᗑאઑ׏՛বΜࢬ 557

252 distinctions they have learned are a part of Heaven, and their content is not important.

Their partiality reminds them of the completeness of Heaven.

6.8.2 The indeterminacy between Heaven and human

Although the plenum of knowledge is the utmost, it is not identical to great knowledge or genuine knowledge, because it only points to the content of knowledge, that is, it measures how much one knows in regard to the way of Heaven. Great knowledge does not concern the content, nor does it rely on mastering any particular way. Moreover, regardless of which interpretation one adopts for ‘Heaven’, there is still a distinction between Heaven and human, and the way of Heaven becomes a norm. If this is so, then there is an implicit judgement between right and wrong, namely, that Zhuangzi approves Heaven and disapproves of all that is human. How does Zhuangzi comment on this judgement? Zhuangzi at once sees the problem after mentioning the plenum of knowledge:

However, there is a problem. Knowing depends on something with which it has to

fit (dang ⇧); the trouble is that what it depends on is indeterminate. How do I

know that which I call ‘Heaven’ is not the human? How do I know that which I call

the ‘human’ is not Heaven? Besides, there can be genuine knowledge only when

there is a genuine person . . . 558

The sentence ‘what it depends on is indeterminate’ echoes the indeterminacy of language discussed in 4.7 of this thesis, that ‘saying says something; but what it says is indeterminate’.559 Since, as is proposed by Confucians and Mohists, to master a practice sometimes requires one to use language in a particular way and knowledge is manifest

ࢬᘯ֚հॺԳ׏ΛࢬᘯԳհॺ֚׏ΛܠࡳՈΖ൉◂वآࢬৱۖ৵ᅝΔࠡࢬৱृ௽ڶ൛Ζ֛वڶឈྥΔ 558 (టव… (adapted from Graham 1981: 84ڶటԳΔۖ৵ڶ׊ (ࡳՈΖ(Z 2, Chen 2001: 49-54آߢΔࠡࢬߢृ௽ڶߢृ 559

253 in practice, Zhuangzi’s question of indeterminacy of language extends to the indeterminacy of knowledge. But now it seems Zhuangzi must face the same question posed to Confucians and Mohists, namely, if we should ‘return to the genuine’, and the genuine is the way of Heaven, is the distinction between Heaven and human determinate in the first place?

That there are at least three possible interpretations of Heaven already shows that different people may have different criteria for distinguishing the Heavenly from the human. For example, under the first interpretation, if one’s Heavenly endowment is the ability to swim well then, to the extent that they have nothing to do with swimming, doing other things, even if they can be done spontaneously, goes against Heaven. Of course, sometimes different criteria may yield the same guidance in practice. The second interpretation can be interpreted as compatible with the first by equating the potential of performing spontaneous practices to Heavenly endowment. Or the third interpretation can be interpreted as compatible with the second by claiming that spontaneity is only possible after one adopts an all-encompassing view, however one may achieve this. Yet when the interpretations do not yield the same guidance,

Zhuangzi cannot appeal to an impartial judge because, as we have seen, the idea of an impartial judge is already in doubt. Instead, Zhuangzi calls for the genuine person, which means the genuine person cannot be a judge, and the genuine knowledge attained by one who becomes a genuine person cannot prescribe a norm of how one follows

Heaven. Instead, the genuine person appreciates that neither Heaven nor the human has an independent and ultimate authority. This is actually the application of great knowledge towards the relationship between Heaven and human. To see how this application is effected, we examine the description of the genuine person in the following sections: knowledge and the way of genuine person; the transformation of the whole person; genuine personhood and death; emotions and inner harmony; and equalizing Heaven and human.

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6.8.3 Knowledge and the way of the genuine person

The genuine person in ancient times did not oppose the minority, did not sway accomplishments, did not scheme over affairs and, being such, they did not regret it when they over-shot the mark and was not complacent when they hit the mark plumb on. Being such, he climbed heights without trembling, entered water without a wetting, entered fire without burning. Such is the knowledge which can [help a person] ascend to the way. 560

The genuine person does not aim at finding one correct way for all people, consequently he does not evaluate a way of practice according to its universalizability. Like those experts who do not intend to make their ways public, and those socially marginalized deformed persons561 who nonetheless can be attractive, the genuine person does not adhere to the majority view nor reject the minority one. In other words, the genuine person does not identify themselves with the dominant view of their time. Not opposing the minority also means that they are comfortable with being a member of the minority in a society, since their practice may deviate from the conventional and not be recognized as the ‘correct’ one, especially by Confucians and Mohists. As in the engraver story, ordinary people sometimes see the practice of the genuine person as daemonic, but a daemonic person or a genuine person has no urge to be called

‘daemonic’. Ordinary people may also see the practice of the expert as strange or awkward, like the story of Zhi Li Shu,562 but the expert does not worry about being called awkward. Since one who is ‘genuine’ is also ultimate and daemonic, it follows that a genuine person has no accomplishment and does not use their heart for scheming, but instead uses it as a mirror. They accept the possibility that there might be alternative practices better than those that they currently adopt.

Δլ᠂Փ[ᘩࠃ]ΖૉྥृΔመۖؗ஗Δᅝۖլ۞൓ՈΖૉྥृΔ࿆೏լცΔګհటԳΔլಭኒΔլႂײ 560 (Ζ (adapted from Mair 1994: 52ڼլᑷΖਢवհ౨࿆೗࣍ሐՈૉ־ԵֽլᛖΔԵ 561 Like Wang Tai (Z 5, Chen 2001: 144-149) or Ai Tai Tuo (Z 5, Chen 2001: 156-162) . 562 Z 4, Chen 2001: 138-139.

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Regret involves the judgement that one did not carry out a better action, but should have. This regret implies that one believes they could have carried out a better action and the firmer the belief, the deeper their regret. However, the genuine person does not firmly believe this, because what counts as a better action is indeterminate across different points of view, especially when the genuine person does not evaluate their practice according to conventional norms. For this reason they can be psychologically at ease even if they subsequently comes across a point of view from which they are regarded as having made a mistake or missed a chance.563 Also, the genuine person accepts the possibility that there are factors beyond their control that may influence their performance significantly. This attitude, together with not believing that they could know in advance what was better, makes them remain modest even if the result of their action matches their tentative expectation. Consequently they are not complacent.

As expressed in chapter 17 of the Zhuangzi, the description of the magic-like characteristics of a daemonic person can be explained by a mystical approach or a more ordinary approach, that is, one closer to normal human experience. Regardless of which interpretation one uses, the important point here is that those daemonic attributes and the absence of regret and complacency constitute the knowledge which can help a person ‘ascend 564 to the way’. As discussed in 5.4 of this thesis, in the Zhuangzi ‘the way’ usually refers either to the all-encompassing view or the way of practice of an ideal person. Here, we take it to refer to the latter because, in the passage referred to the genuine person can still make a mistake or complete a task; while a person who fully embraces the all-encompassing view will suspend all distinctions, resulting in no criteria for judging a mistake and no directions for completing a task.565 The genuine

563 The term ‘guo መ’, which literally means ‘over’ or ‘pass’, can mean 1) a mistake, 2) a miss, 3) going too far (as in A 11.16). 564 ‘Ascend’ has the suggestion of going up, but this does not imply that the goal of ascension is to find the best way (taken as the correct way). It does imply that a process of cultivation is needed, however. 565 This, however, does not exclude the possibility that the all-encompassing view still plays a role in a genuine person's practice. For it may be the case that the genuine person knows how to shift among perspectives because they know the all-encompassing view. They know how to deem all things and perspectives as one, thus her motivation to adhere to any particular perspective is dissolved.

256 person is still carrying out practices, but their knowledge transforms them. More precisely, through the process of becoming a person with daemonic attributes and without accomplishment, scheming, regret and complacence, one attains genuine knowledge and simultaneously becoming a genuine person. Since there is no genuine person who does not possess genuine knowledge, and genuine knowledge is necessarily manifest in the practice and personality of the genuine person, neither genuine knowledge nor genuine person has conceptual priority over the other. However, although we can conceive that knowledge is valuable only when it is related to one’s self-cultivation, the converse, that self-cultivation is valuable only when it is related to one’s knowledge, is not true. One may answer the question ‘what is the point of knowing x?’ by explaining how x has a positive effect on one’s self-cultivation; but the question ‘what is the point of self-cultivation?’ is the same as, ‘what is the point of living my life?’, which cannot be answered by appealing to knowledge. For this reason,

టԳۖ৵ڶCoyle’s translation of the sentence qie you zhen ren er hou you zhen zhi ׊

టव is mistaken.566 It is less misleading to hold the idea of genuine person asڶ logically prior to the idea of genuine knowledge.

6.8.4 The transformation of the whole person

In ancient times the genuine person did not dream when they slept and did not worry when they were awake; their food was not savoury, their breathing was deep. The breathing of the genuine person is from their heels, the breathing of the ordinary people is from their throats. The words of those who unwillingly yield catch in their throats as though they were retching. Wherever desires and cravings are deep, the depth of Heaven is shallow. 567

566 The translation used by Daniel Coyle is ‘there is a only after there is genuine knowledge’. See Coyle 1998: 199. ໫ΔࡹࣚृΔࠡאᘾΔฒԳհஒאΔࠡஒ෡෡ΖటԳհஒزհటԳΔࠡኖլኄΔࠡᤚྤᐡΔࠡଇլײ 567 (ߢૉরΖࠡ౗඿෡ृΔ֚ࠡᖲ෍Ζ (adapted from Mair 1994: 52♕

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Focusing on the breathing exercise, the passage can be taken as teaching mystical practice. However, an ordinary approach may still draw insights from it, namely that the genuine person is different in their entire being from ordinary people. It is not just that the daemonic performance and the character are free from disturbance, but the functions of their body organs and their daily life as well. Dreaming, for example, can be a symptom for the imbalance of yin and yang as well as the malfunctioning of the qi of different parts of the body. A detailed discussion of the relationship between dreaming and the organs can be found in the Ling Shu Jing of the Huang Di Lei Jing, in a chapter named Yin Xie Fa Meng (ޛ᷎㇎⊔ᄞޜ, ‘the excessive and pathogenic that cause ’).568 Dreaming can also be the result of worry, anxiety, nervousness or other psychological disturbances. As opposed to ordinary people, the qi inside a genuine person circulates without obstacles, and so it can ‘go down to the heels’. When a genuine person speaks, they do not assert their authority, so neither the fear of being defeated nor the desire to defeat others can influence their voice and tone.

The passage just quoted ends with the ‘trigger of Heaven’. This is the opposite of

‘deep desires and cravings’, which refers to the psychological state of ordinary people.

Their actions are not triggered by Heaven, but by their completed hearts, regardless of which interpretation of Heaven is used. Yet, given the indeterminacy described earlier, we should not take this as proposing that the genuine person is one whose actions are always triggered by Heaven. One whose actions are always triggered by Heaven would be like the snake who says, ‘My movement [without feet] is triggered by Heaven, how can it be changed?’569 Being ‘triggered by Heaven’ is to follow a determinate way prescribed by Heaven, which contradicts the statement that the genuine person appreciates that neither Heaven nor human has an independent and ultimate authority.

To contrast the trigger of Heaven to deep desires, therefore, is to criticize those who are

568 See Guo 1982: 17-24. (࣐ߵΛ (Z 17, Chen 2001: 430-432ױᖲհࢬ೯Δ۶֛֚ 569

258 obsessed with human pursuits and firmly attached to their own desires while, to preserve the trigger of Heaven is to preserve one’s potential to seek another alternative.

6.8.5 Genuine personhood and death

The genuine person knew neither fondness of life nor aversion to death, was neither elated by going forth nor reluctant to return. Briskly he went and briskly he came. He neither forgot the beginning nor sought the end. Happily he received and forgetfully he returned. This is what is meant by not damaging the way with the heart, not using human to do the work of Heaven. This is what we call a genuine person.570

This passage reveals the attitude of a genuine person towards death and we may see it as an application of great knowledge. To preserve life and to avoid death is a conviction that is difficult to challenge, besides, they seem to be the very skills that a person has to master before they are able to acquire other skills. If a person does not know how to avoid death, their life is so fragile that they cannot have any long-term projects.

Furthermore, provided the daemonic person is perspicacious enough to prevent themselves from being harmed, as noted in 6.6 of this thesis, it seems they are one who knows best about how to avoid death. However, to avoid death certainly does not simply mean that one cannot die. Here, we assume that the text does not commit to the doctrine of immortality. Some people may not accept this assumption, as the development of Dao jiao (㆏ᢎ) clearly shows. But this assumption is required by the non-mystical approach. The daemonic person is able to see certain avoidable risks that may lead to death. They are able to see these risks because of their open-mindedness.

Nevertheless, this does not prevent them from peacefully accepting death when they cannot see why they need to live any longer. Death is always dreadful for ordinary

լ๾ΔࠡԵլ၏Ι⟱ྥۖ࢓Δ⟱ྥۖࠐۖբߎΖլݱࠡࢬࡨΔנΙࠡڽΔլव༞سհటԳΔլवᎅײ 570 ΖਢհᘯటԳΖ (adapted from֚ܗԳאநሐΔլ֨אࠡࢬึΙ࠹ۖ໛հΔݱۖ༚հΖਢհᘯլޣլ Graham 1981: 85)

259 people, and the dread produces tremendous psychological disturbances. For Zhuangzi, there is no reason why living as a human is necessarily better than death, though we do not know where death will leads us. In the dialogue between Zi Yu and his friends in chapter 6 of the Zhuangzi, Zi Yu says the insistence of being human is like a piece of metal that insists on being Mo Ye (⩨㇎, a legendary sword). There is no reason why the piece of metal must take the form of Mo Ye, similarly there is no reason why the qi of a person must take the form of a human. However, just as with other distinctions: benefit and harm, paradigmatic person and petty person, and so on, the distinction between life and death comes together with a preference for life over death. The genuine person, however, does not attach themselves to this preference and may see death just as a return to the stage before they were born;571 or they may see death as rest after the journey of life; 572 or they may see life as a gift which has duration; 573 and so on. The point is not whether these perspectives rightly capture the relationship between a person’s death and the world. It is to make one ‘briskly come’—live—and ‘briskly go’—die—through having these perspectives. It is to realize there are so many ways to view one’s death, and that the dread of death can be alleviated by changing the way one understands death. It is of course very difficult not to submit to the conventional perspective, and Zhuangzi does not assert that it is easy to switch one’s point of view in extreme situations.574 The key is still not to use the heart, so that one can preserve the way of not being trapped in the dread of death. By listening to qi rather than the completed heart, one is able to attune with the environment even when they are going to die. Among other things, death is the event that is obviously decreed by Heaven, especially in the first interpretation of Heaven. Not to use human effort to do the work

571 ‘How do I know that we who hate death are not exiles since childhood who have forgotten the way home?’ (ղ (հॺஇໜۖլवូृߵΜ) (Z 2, Graham 1981: 59ڽ༞׏व༞ The Great Clod burdens me with form, toils me through life, eases me in old age, rests me in death.’ (֛ՕჇ‘ 572 (Ζ) (Z 6, Mair 1994: 59ڽאΔஒݺ۔אݺ܊ΔسאݮΔ໎ݺאሉݺ What we attain [i.e. our life] is due to timeliness and what we lose is the result of compliance’ (൓ृழՈΔ؈‘ 573 ृႉՈ) (Z 6, Mair 1994: 58) 574 Recall that, in the ‘fasting the heart’ dialogue, Confucius says it is dangerous to think that persuading a king is easy. Perhaps it is also dangerous to think that persuading oneself is easy, especially about life and death.

260 of Heaven means one does not seek desperately to escape death, including their own death or another person’s death, about which they can do nothing. This approach helps a person to live well, for they do not quicken death by being confined to the completed heart. A completed heart is a heart near death because it causes psychological and physiological damage.

Although the genuine person does not use human artifice to do the work of Heaven, it does not mean that they then use Heaven to do the work of the human. If Heaven in this passage is simply a force beyond human control, then it leaves open the question of whether there is something that can be subjected to human control, and if there is, how the genuine person deals with it.

6.8.6 Emotions and inner harmony

Being such, his heart was forgetful, his visage calm, his forehead beamingly broad. Austere as autumn, warm as spring, his joy and anger were in touch with the four seasons. He was compatible with all things but no one knew his limits . . . 575

We call emotions ‘disturbances’ when they harm us but, although the genuine person is free from disturbances, this does not mean they have no emotions. The phrase ‘sorrow and joy cannot find a way in’576 does not mean that the person simply cannot feel sorrow or joy. They may sometimes be austere, warm, joyful or angry. The differences are:

1) When they empty their heart so that they can accept new practices, they are also

detached, at least temporarily, from the emotions associated with old practices.

This is derived from a ‘forgetful’ heart.

ࡵΔۖ๕वࠡᄕΖڶਞΔ໛৷ຏ؄ழΔፖढۿટΔᅌྥۿૉྥृΔࠡ֨ݳΔࠡ୲ഭΔࠡ㑌⿕Δේྥ 575 (adapted from Mair 1994: 52) 576 ঩ᑗլ౨Ե (Z 3, adapted from Graham 1981: 65)

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2) They retain the inner harmony, which means their emotions are gentle and doing

no harm, and the emotions change in a way that is like the interchange of four

seasons. Summer does not become autumn in a second, the change is not abrupt

and sometimes imperceptible for insensitive people. It is hard to fix the exact date

of the beginning of a season because the distinction between seasons is vague. This

is not to say the emotions of a genuine person only change slowly, but they change

in a way that the genuine person does not feel uncomfortable with and needs not be

aware of the change.

The difference between petty knowledge and great knowledge is not that the former brings about ‘negative’ emotions such as sorrow or fear but that the latter does not. The difference is that great knowledge enables a person’s freedom from submission to sorrow or fear even when they feel sorrow or fear. In this case, to ‘submit’ is to let the emotions find a way in, which is also the difference between ordinary people and the genuine person. Here, we can see that Zhuangzi tries to preserve the indeterminacy between what is human and what is Heaven, that is, between having human emotions and having no emotions. This is like the dialogue577 in chapter 5 of the Zhuangzi in which an ideal person does not harm themselves by their preferences but does nonetheless possess preference. It is then developed in the next passage:

[The figure of genuine person] looms but suffers no landslides:

He seems to lack but takes no gift.

Aloofly independent but not rigid,

Amply empty but not ostentatious,

Light-hearted as though he were happy,

577 This was discussed it in the context of indeterminacy of correctness (see 4.5ʳof this thesis).

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Moving swiftly as it were inevitable,

suffused with an alluring charm,

Endowed with an arresting virtue,

Broad-minded, as though he were worldly,

High-minded, as not constrained,

Reticent, as though he were introvert,

Losing the heart, forgets what he says. 578

Some aspects of this passage match what we have already discussed, including empty, unconstrained, forgetful, and so on, but some other aspects are ambiguous, for example, in the phrase ‘light-hearted as though he were happy’, the term ‘as though’ (si ૃ), seems to suggest that the genuine person only appears to be happy. Except as an occasional expediency, this cannot be explained simply by saying that the genuine person is unhappy but pretends to be happy, because such pretension is usually either hypocritical or cheating, or both, which is to submit oneself to either convention or self- gain, which are contrary to great knowledge. A more reasonable way to interpret the ambiguity that the genuine person only appears to be happy but is not unhappy, is to say that, though they may behave like a happy person the genuine person does not completely attach to happiness. While happiness is a human pursuit, the genuine person does not take it to be their goal, not only because pursuing happiness deliberately makes a person anxious, but also because happiness can become excessive, just like sorrow or anger. That being said, the genuine person does not seek to dispel happiness, so they may sometimes feel happiness without indulging in it. This reinforces the idea that

໛ۿհటԳΔࠡणᆠۖլࣛΔૉլߩۖլࢭΔፖ׏ࠡ◀ۖլഒՈΔ്׏ࠡဠۖլဎՈΔᴪᴪ׏ࠡײ 578 ړۿࠫՈΔຑ׏ࠡױآ׈׏Μ㊳׏ࠡۿՈΔፖ׏ַݺᐚՈΔᏩ׏ࠡۥ׏Μാ׏ࠡլ൓բ׏Μ✬׏ၞݺ (ຨՈΔή׏ݱࠡߢՈΖ (adapted from Mair 1994: 52-53

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‘sorrow and joy cannot find a way in’ without rejecting sorrow or joy. It is not attachment, but it is not detachment altogether. Lee Yearley says,

The attitude Zhuangzi commends is a complex mixture of attachment and

detachment. A total involvement with each moment and enjoyment of it combine

with a detachment from the moment once it passes and a lack of desire that it

return. 579

If the involvement requires having emotions or participating in human affairs, it is part of the ‘human’, but if the detachment requires giving up desires or forgetting distinctions, it is part of ‘Heaven’. Actually, we may say that in the Zhuangzi involvement presupposes detachment: in order to be involved in a new situation, one needs to detach from their completed heart. Great knowledge enables the genuine to deal with a new situation smoothly by virtue of freeing oneself from the previous perspective. The genuine person is both worldly, because they can deal with limitless new situations; as well as localized, because they can concentrate fully on the task at hand. This dual aspect is finally summarized by the next passage, which equalizes

Heaven and the human.

6.8.7 Equalizing Heaven and human

What [the genuine person] prefers belongs to the one, what [the genuine person] does not prefer also belongs to the one. What is one is one, what is not one is also one. Being one, [the genuine person] is a follower of Heaven. Being not one, [the genuine person] is a follower of human. Someone in whom neither Heaven nor human is victor over the other, this is what is meant by the genuine person.580

579 Yearley 1983: 136. հՈԫΖࠡԫՈԫΔࠡլԫՈԫΖࠡԫΔፖ֚ፖஈΔࠡլԫΔፖԳ੡ஈΖ֚ፖړհՈԫΔࠡؗړਚࠡ 580 Գլઌ໏ՈΔਢհᘯటԳΖ (Chen 2001: 170-177)

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In taking an action, everyone, including the genuine person, must rely on a distinction, even if that distinction is temporary. To the extent that one moves in ‘this’ way but not

‘that’, one may be said to have a preference, so even a genuine person has preferences.

As discussed in 5.8 of this thesis, the difference between ordinary people and the genuine person lies in their potential. Given the flexibility of the genuine person, what is not preferred by the genuine person at this moment still remains a possible alternative. Indeed, their potential includes all possibilities, and this totality of possibilities is the ‘one’. This ‘one’ is slightly different from the all-encompassing view that suspends all distinctions. It is the inclusion of all possibilities, in which the all- encompassing view is only one possibility among many. That is, the genuine person can either make no distinction, or make distinctions in limitless ways. Whenever a distinction is made, the all-encompassing view is rejected. So the rejection of the all- encompassing view is still included in the one, and both what is one and what is not one are one. To adopt the all-encompassing view is to follow Heaven, as in the third interpretation, not to adopt it is to follow the human, because that would mean taking a particular way of practice or having a preference. Nonetheless, a genuine person oscillates between the perspectives of Heaven and the human, making distinctions and forgetting them, and great knowledge can manifest only in this never-ending process.

The idea of oscillation is proposed by Daniel Coyle,581 but Coyle says this oscillation is a balance between the boundless and the conventional, which may be misleading because convention is a perspective, but boundlessness is not. Boundlessness is a quality of great knowledge, enabling one to always go beyond what they currently adopt, whether it is conventional or not.

Eventually, Zhuangzi’s response to the distinction between Heaven and the human is that even this distinction is indeterminate, and the genuine person, when emptying their heart, does not take this distinction as a fixed guidance. For Zhuangzi, the

581 Coyle 1998: 204.

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Confucians and Mohists are ‘too human’ because they are too insistent on their distinctions and conception of knowledge, and do not fully appreciate the way of

Heaven. Nonetheless, a person may become ‘too Heaven’, as Graham says, ‘Whether the agent is Heaven or the man himself seems to be a matter of degree . . . The dichotomy [between Heaven and human] is elsewhere explicitly rejected . . . But it is never quite resolved.’582 It is not resolved because it needs not be resolved. For

Zhuangzi to say that there must be a clear and fixed distinction between Heaven and human would be self-defeating. The genuine person does not impose distinction on the task at hand. Graham quotes a passage to illustrate his point:

Only the animal is able to be animal, only the animal is able to be Heaven’s. The

perfect man hates Heaven, hates what is from Heaven in man, and above all the

question ‘Is it in me from Heaven or from man?’583

The question is how one should understand ren zhi Tian ੱਯᄤ (literally, ‘Heaven of man’). It can mean, as Graham says, ‘what is from Heaven in man’—the Heaven endowment in a person. It can also mean, as Chen says,584 ‘Heaven as deemed by man’, referring to that each thinker, including Confucians and Mohists, likes to label their teachings as ‘supported by Heaven’. If we adopt Chen’s interpretation here, then the perfect person does not hate Heaven as such, they only hate the understanding of

Heaven from a fixed point of view. Given that the sentence appears right after gong hu

Tian er liang yu ren wei quan ren neng zhi Ꮏ਱ᄤ⠰ଯᣈੱᗅోੱ⢻ਯ (only a perfect person can be skilful at Heaven and good at human), this interpretation is more reasonable. However, Graham’s point, that Zhuangzi wants to cast doubt on the distinction between Heaven and human, is still compatible with Chen’s understanding.

582 Graham 1981: 17. (׏Գ׏Μ (Z 23, Graham 1981: 106֚ܠഄ៽౨៽Δഄ៽౨֚Ζ٤Գ༞֚Δ༞Գհ֚Δۖउ 583 584 Chen 2001: 620.

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This is because sometimes Zhuangzi notes that an ideal person declines the way of

Heaven, or, more importantly, forgets the distinction:

The sage does not begin to have Heaven, does not begin to have human, does not

begin to have a beginning, does not begin to have things . . .585

It is dangerous to be obsessed with Heaven just as it is dangerous to be obsessed with the human. David Wong, developing Graham’s point, says:

Why not simply embrace a Heaven that treats the human on a par with a fly’s

foreleg and shed any special attachment to the human? One reason not to do this, a

reason I believe is in accord with the logic of the Zhuangzi, is that full detachment

from the human is to treat as absolute the dichotomy between the human and

Heaven. It is simply to reverse the likes and dislikes, and this is again to be the

captive of a narrowing perspective. 586

So one becomes a genuine person not by following Heaven or the human, but by preserving both Heaven and the human in his potential no matter which way he takes.

This, in practice, is equal to great knowledge, although genuine knowledge focuses on the issue of emotions and sentiments while great knowledge focuses on the issue of judgements and guidance. The genuine person is free from psychological disturbances, but is not simply apathetic to everything. For Zhuangzi, being such a person is the end of knowledge.

(ढΖ (Z 25, Chen 2001: 673-676ڶࡨآࡨΔڶࡨآԳΔڶࡨآΔ֚ڶࡨآᆣԳ֛ 585 586 Wong 2009: 571.

267

6.9 Conclusion

Why is great knowledge or genuine knowledge valuable? In one sense it is useless, because no concrete guidance or norm can be derived from it. It even eschews the question of whether one should follow Heaven or human. In another sense it is valuable, because it gives a person a wide range of possible experiences and practices. When one realizes that there are always alternatives to what one is currently doing, thinking, judging or feeling, one becomes less vulnerable to psychological disturbances. This realization may take one a whole life time, but as long as they reflect on the disturbances and wish to avoid them, they have the motivation to become an ideal person. By becoming ultimate, sagacious, daemonic and genuine, one’s whole person is transformed. This is why Zhuangzi seeks knowledge in the first place and never disassociates it from the cultivation of a person.

268

General Conclusion

Pre-Qin epistemology has a practical characteristic. It concerns how the knower acts and makes responses in different situations. One’s knowledge can only be manifest in one’s practice. In this sense, knowledge (zhi व) is orientative: when one comes to know x, one finds out a new way of doing things with, about, for, or to x. Whether this ‘new’ way should be the ‘correct’ way of practice and whether we can determine the correct way becomes an inevitable question when we reflect on the idea of knowledge. In chapter 1 of this thesis, we see that, for the Analects, knowledge implies interacting with people correctly. The criterion of correctness is closely related to the perfect virtue (ren

ո) and the rituals (li ៖), though the text does not make the relationship explicit. This approach to knowledge and practice is different from that of the Daodejing, which we discuss in chapter 2 of this thesis. The Daodejing does not seek to prescribe a correct way of practice, but instead focuses on the way of spontaneity, which is elusive and can be grasped only through going beyond the boundaries of conventional knowledge. This can be regarded as a criticism of early Confucianism. In chapter 3 of this thesis, we see that another criticsm of Confucianism is made by the Mozi, which rejects the rituals and proposes to use benefit as the standard of correctness. Unlike the Analects or the

Daodejing, the Mozi makes its standard explicit and emphasizes the importance of disputation (bian ᥯). The disputation between Confucians and Mohists is a recurring theme in the Zhuangzi. However, Zhuangzi does not join the debate by proposing a new criterion of correctness. Instead, he sees that the debating parties must have something in common for the debate to exist in the first place. In the Zhuangzi chapter 2:

To divide is to leave something undivided, to dispute is to leave something

undisputed.587

(լ᥯ՈΖ (Z 2, Chen 2001: 74-78ڶլ։ՈΔ᥯Ոृڶ։Ոृ 587

269

Although Confucians and Mohists dispute the criteria of correctness, the belief that the correct way of practice can be determined is not subject to disputation. However, as we see in chapter 4 of this thesis, Zhuangzi responds that this belief is asserted by the completed heart, which always takes its doctrine to be right and others to be wrong.

Zhuangzi does not directly assert that the correct way of practice cannot or should not be determined, but instead undermines the Confucian and Mohist attempt to provide an impartial justification for their doctrine and unify the use of language to convey the correct practice. Furthermore, a practice involves a set of divisions and distinctions, which always have two sides: upper and lower, benefit and harm, paradigmatic person and petty person, self and other, life and death, and so on. Zhuangzi’s point is that the very act of separating x from y presupposes that x and y are the same in at least one aspect, for there is no need for people to make a distinction if two things are different in each and every aspects, which implies it is impossible to miss the difference. Therefore, in making a distinction, any side of distinction can at most claim superiority or priority over the other side contextually. Understanding this point helps one to realize the limitedness of one’s judgements and current practice.

Confucians and Mohists regard knowledge as reliable correct practice. This conception is criticized by Zhuangzi who suggests that the correct practice is indeterminate. However, Zhuangzi does not discard knowledge altogether. Similar to the Daodejing, Zhuangzi has a two-fold view of knowledge. His critique of petty knowledge (xiao zhi ՛व) is intertwined with his formulation of great knowledge (da zhi Օव). As discussed in chapter 5 of this thesis, neither petty knowledge nor great knowledge concerns the content of what one knows. One’s knowledge is petty if one judges it to be the authoritative, the absolute, the unchangeable. It is great if one can appreciate that it is limited, and that there can be other schemes of knowledge that are at least equally reasonable.

People who possess great knowledge see that there can be limitless ways of drawing distinctions, so whether two things are different and how they are different

270 depends on the particular set of distinctions one adopts. Furthermore, great knowledge has practical implications despite that it itself is not a particular perspective or practice.

People who possess great knowledge are located in the ‘axis of ways’ in the sense that they are not confined to a particular way of practice and can always flexibly adopt a way that handles the current situation smoothly. A special feature of this flexibility is that it is intertwined with a person’s deep concentration on their current situation. On the one hand, to be flexible, one should refrain from imposing a fixed set of distinctions to the current situation, so its uniqueness and subtlety can be fully appreciated. This enhances concentration. On the other hand, when one concentrates on the task at hand, it is easier to find out opaque or hidden features that tend to be overlooked. Taking these features into account often leads one to modify their practices accordingly. This enhances flexibility.

An interesting point about the practical characteristic of pre-Qin epistemology is that one’s practice and responses to situations involves not only behavior, but also emotions and sentiments. Since the questions of whether and how we should cultivate emotions and sentiments depend on the conception of ideal personality, epistemology is not independent of ethics in pre-Qin philosophy. For Zhuangzi, petty knowledge is always accompanied by psychological disturbances, usually strong or overwhelming emotions. This is mainly because of one’s insistence on and the identification with a fixed way of practice that leads one to lose comfort when they encounter a situation that cannot be handled by the ‘right’ practice in their completed hearts. On the contrary, one who possesses great knowledge is not distracted by preconceptions. They are at ease even in unusual situations because of their adaptability. This ease and adaptability constitute Zhuangzi’s ideal personality, the authentic person, which in turn constitutes

Zhuangzi’s vision of good life, as discussed in chapter 6 of this thesis.

Understanding the characteristics of pre-Qin epistemology and Zhuangzi’s view of knowledge in particular might broaden our perspective when we analyze other important philosophical issues. Below are some examples:

271

First, that knowledge is intertwined with emotions and sentiments might make us re-examine their role in intellectual activities. One reason why Zhuangzi criticizes convetional knowledge is that it tends to create excessive emotions and causes psyschological disturbances. Thus it is not always better to have more knowledge. It is interesting to compare this approach of evaluating knowledge to the mainstream view in

Western epistemology, in which emotions are seldom credited with significance, and the problem of ‘knowing too much’ is seldom discussed. The distinction between epistemology and ethics is clearer in Western philosophy than in pre-Qin Chinese thought.

Secondly, provided that certain elements in Confucian or Mohist epistemology might be similar to anti-intellectualism in Western epistemology,588 and to the extent that Zhuangzi criticizes the Confucian and Mohist epistemology, the criticism might be regarded as a challenge of anti-intellectualism without supporting intellectualism. While knowing-how does not focuses on the idea of truth so it avoids the problem of accessibility of independent truth,589 knowing-how focuses on the idea of correctness (at least in the case of Confucianism and Mohism) so it invites the problem of accessibility of fixed correctness. The problem is this: to ascertain that one’s way of doing things is correct requires a pre-established criterion of correctness, but establishing a criterion of correctness implies drawing a distinction between what is correct and what is not, which again is an act that requires a pre-established crieterion of correctness. In sum, this is a question of how knowing-how is possible.

Thirdly, Zhuangzi’s view of knowledge shows a greater affinity to political freedom. For pre-Qin thinkers other than Zhuangzi, knowledge is political in two senses: 1) that ideal government depends on people who know how to rule, 2) that knowledge must enable a person to become a good ruler and to a certain extent justify

588 See Fantl 2008: 451-470, Hetherington and Lai 2012: 375-393. 589 That is, how can one know that a belief is true without appealing to other beliefs? This either starts an infinite regress, or ends up in a circle, or waits for a self-evidenttruth, which is extremely difficult, if possible, to be established.

272 the rulership. However, Zhuangzi’s insight that the standard of knowledge is indeterminate and great knowledge has no particular usage resists the view that real knowledge necessarily serves a political end. The view that great knowledge itself is liberating makes the Zhuangzi less meritocratic compared to other texts, including the

Daodejing. This might shed light on the comparison between Chinese political philosophy and modern political philosophy. In this regard, a remarkable point is that

Zhuangzi does not appeal to individualism to argue for political freedom.590

Fourthly, it is interesting to see how the view that attaining great knowledge requires one focuses on qi ௛, and that great knowledge as non-attachment, are inherited

ᖂخ and developed in later Chinese philosophies, especially dao jiao ሐඒ, xuan xue and Buddhism.

As Zhuangzi’s idea of knowledge involves indeterminacy and a humble attitude towards one’s own judgements, skills and accomplishments, this thesis cannot be taken as an exhaustive account of the idea of knowledge in the Zhuangzi. It might serve, however, as a starting point for further research of pre-Qin epistemology by highlighting some of its characteristics and the unique contribution of the Zhuangzi to the Chinese intellectual enterprise.

590 This point is suggested by Chris Fraser in his course Zhuangzi in Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2006.

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