Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame

Dao (2014) 13:323–342 DOI 10.1007/s11712-014-9382-1

Thorian R. Harris

Published online: 25 June 2014 # Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2014

Abstract The sociopolitical significance Aristotle and Confucius attribute to possessing a sense of shame serves to emphasize the importance of its development. Aristotle maintains that social class and wealth are prerequisites for its acquisition, while Confucius is optimistic that it can be developed regardless of socioeconomic considerations. The difference between their positions is largely due to competing views of praiseworthy dispositions. While Aristotle conceives of praiseworthy dispositions as “consistent” traits of character, traits that calcifiy as one reaches adulthood, Confucius offers us an alternative picture, one that affords a greater plasticity to praiseworthy dispositions by treating them as situational character traits. I argue that the Confucian conception of praiseworthy dispositions, combined with several strategies for developing a sense of shame discussed in the Analects, renders Confucius’s optimism defensible.

Keywords Confucian Ethics . Aristotle . Shame . Emotion . Role Ethics . Situationism

1 Introduction

Aristotle and Confucius consider a sense of shame to be a praiseworthy disposition, each claiming that it forestalls bad conduct, stimulates good conduct, and—if widespread—renders a non-coercive form of government sufficient for achieving social order. These two philosophers differ, however, on the question of whether social class and wealth necessarily affect our potential to develop a sense of shame. By assuming that its development requires a particular kind of upbringing—one that is only available to freeborn males from families of ample means—Aristotle renders shame a possession guarded by the prerequisites of social class and affluence. Confucius, on the other hand, claims that almost anyone—regardless of class, wealth, or upbringing—can acquire a sense of shame; and in the course of the Analects he presents us with three strategies for cultivating a sense of shame in others regardless of

Thorian R. Harris (*) Philosophy Department, University of Maryland, Baltimore County, 1000 Hilltop Circle, Baltimore, MD 21250, USA e-mail: [email protected] 324 Thorian R. Harris their initial socioeconomic status. The best explanation of this difference between Aristotle and Confucius, however, is not that Confucius deploys methods that Aristotle does not, but that they have competing views on the relative fixity of dispositions. While Aristotle conceives of praiseworthy dispositions as fixed character traits of individuals, traits which calcify as one reaches adulthood, Confucius allows praiseworthy dispositions a greater degree of plasticity by conceiving of them as relational functions rather than individual character traits. While it is tempting to put this debate in terms of the existence or non- existence of fixed character traits, we might instead entertain a pragmatic question: “What difference does it make to conceive of praiseworthy dispositions, such as a sense of shame, as individual character traits or, following the early Confucians, as relational virtuosity? That is, which conception of praiseworthy dispositions better fosters the development of a sense of shame?” Iwill argue that the Confucian conception of praiseworthy dispositions best supports the development of a sense of shame.

2Aristotle’s Account of Shame

Aristotle defines the “emotion” (pathos)ofshameintheRhetoric as being-out- of-sorts or disturbed at the prospect of social disgrace (adoxia)(Rhetoric II.6; cf. Cooper 1996).1 Shame, at its most basic, is sensitivity to the values and opinions of others. Yet Aristotle speaks of the emotion as having necessary ties to virtue—as if those who are capable of experiencing shame are somehow better for it. This might strike us as a bit odd since we often think that the esteem of one’s community is, by itself, no guarantee of the ethical worth of one’s character or conduct. Aristotle, however, binds shame to virtue by stipulating a rather narrow definition of the emotion—one where shame is sensitivity to only a limited range of values and opinions. First of all, Aristotle is particular about whose opinions are capable of causing us genuine disgrace (and by extension, shame). For instance, Aristotle distinguishes between shamelessness and bashfulness, the two extremes on either side of shame, in terms of the opinions a person regards as significant. One is shameless, he says, if one disregards everyone’s opinion, and bashful if one regards just anyone’s opinion. Those with shame will have the proper caliber of social concern and will only pay attention to the opinions of good people (Rhetoric II.6). Second, besides restricting the opinions that are relevant to shame, he mentions only two stimuli of shame, and each is linked to the

1 All references to the works of Aristotle are taken from Barnes 1984. It might be more accurate to describe shame, on Aristotle’s account, as an “affection” rather than an “emotion” (not every pathe is, after all, a recognizable emotion). I will, however, refer to shame as an emotion so that I might reserve the term “affection” for another use—thus minimizing confusion when I introduce the distinction between the cognitive and affective dimensions of the various pathe. There is some debate in the literature over the exact meaning of the terms aischunê and aidôs (see Dodds 1951; Nussbaum 1986; Williams 1993). I will restrict myself to Aristotle’s use of these terms. In this particular passage the term he uses is aischunê, but there is no good reason to think that his account of aischunê is necessarily different from his account of aidôs (see note 10 and Grimaldi 1988:105ff.). Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 325 virtues. We feel ashamed, he says, either when others think that we, or those whom we care about, have acted viciously,2 or when they think we (or, again, those whom we care about) lack a particular virtue—or other such “honorable things”—possessed by our peers (Rhetoric II.6; cf. Nicomachean Ethics X.9).3 For Aristotle, the emotion of shame is not an ethically neutral psychological event, nor is it something everyone has an immediate capacity to experience. It is, however, not the experience of shame but the “sense of shame” to which Aristotle attributes the greater ethical significance.4 On Aristotle’s account of the emotions they are simultaneously cognitive and affective. Each emotion is associated with a particular affective sensation, either pain or pleasure. For example, shame, as we have already mentioned, involves a painful sensation. This affective dimension to the various emotions allows Aristotle to distinguish them from other types of psychological phenomena, such as thoughts or perceptions. Yet if the emotions were merely affective in nature it would be difficult to distinguish between the experience of fear, anger, shame, emulation, envy—and all the other emotions qualified with pain. Aristotle accomplishes his taxonomy of the emotions by referencing their cognitive dimension. The emotion of anger, for example, is not simply a painful experience; it is a painful experience caused by a perceived slight—that is, the judgment that a specific person has done something that we take to be an undeserved action that comes between us and achieving our desired ends. Likewise, shame is not merely a painful experience; it is a painful experience caused by conduct considered capable of bringing disgrace upon

2 The phrase is kakon erga, which translates as “acting badly.” It can denote acting clumsily, making a mistake, even being slow to comprehend something; but it can also denote acting viciously, and this is what interests us here. 3 Someone who loves what is truly noble or honorable (kalon) will naturally seek the virtues; hence, the virtues are to be included in the set of honorable (kalon)things. 4 He is explicit about the distinction between these two—the emotion and sense of shame—on at least one occasion (Eudemian Ethics II.2). In that passage Aristotle contrasts what he calls the capacity (dunamis) for shame with the affection. It is interesting that, in this passage, he defines “capacity” is such a way—viz., the product of habit—as to make it equivalent to what, in the Nicomachean Ethics, he refers to as a state (hexis) rather than what he refers to, in that work, as a capacity (dunamis). Regardless of whether we call this a “Nicomachean-state” or an “Eudemian- capacity,” the sense of shame is a character trait—a disposition. While the authenticity of this rather unique passage has been questioned (see Rowe 1971 and Woods 1992), there are several other passages where his mention of “shame” can only refer to a capacity, state, or what we are calling a “sense of shame.” When, for instance, he discusses civic courage in the Nicomachean and Eudemian Ethics he attributes it to shame (Eudemian Ethics III.1 and Nicomachean Ethics III.8; cf. Magna Moralia I.19). In this case, it makes much more sense to suppose that the courageous conduct of those with civic courage is due not to a feeling of shame (since this would seem to require a failing on their part) so much as an aversion to shame. It is a disposition, not an affection or feeling or emotion, which is at work; and it is this disposition that entitles a person to claim the character trait of civic courage (see Nicomachean Ethics X.9 and II.7). Yet another reason to accept this distinction appears when we contrast Aristotle’s comments on shame in book two and four of the Nicomachean Ethics (II.7 and IV.9). In the former book he speaks of it as a praiseworthy trait, while in the latter book he says that it is “not … characteristic of a good man.” We would be wise to follow Alexander of Aphrodisias and resolve this contradiction by utilizing the distinction between the experience of shame and a certain capacity toward shame (cf. Cua 2003: 151, and Van Norden 2002:52–53). Aristotle seems to have the emotion of shame in mind in the fourth book of the Nicomachean Ethics: since the emotion of shame is most often a consequence of shameful conduct, it is not something we would wish to find in mature individuals. It would be praiseworthy, rather, to avoid any reason to feel shame—and as it is the sense of shame that facilitates this very thing, it is worthy of praise. 326 Thorian R. Harris ourselves. While the recognition of conduct as nominally “disgraceful” or “shameful” may occur cognitively and be open to revision through discussion, actually experiencing the shame occasioned by such conduct presupposes an affective disposition.5 An affective disposition is not the feeling of an emotion but a habitus (hexis)tofeel an emotion in certain circumstances, for certain reasons, toward certain persons, in association with certain ends, and to a certain degree of intensity (cf. Nicomachean Ethics 1106b21–24).6 The sense of shame, as an affective habitus, includes a disposition to feel pained whenever one has done something disgraceful, but it also includes an active aversion to disgraceful conduct. It is this aversive quality to the sense of shame that explains the ethical value Aristotle attributes to it, and the connection he sees between it and what he refers to as “noble hatred”—that is, a dislike for, or aversion to, base conduct.7 While Aristotle considers the sense of shame to be praiseworthy, and a character trait, he does not consider it to be a character virtue.8 This is because a sense of shame may be possessed even when one’s ethical judgment, or practical wisdom, is undeveloped. For example, someone who acts with civic courage will, in terms of the action itself, act in the same way as those with genuine courage. The difference is not in the action but in the motivation. The person with civic courage is moved to do the courageous action because of her fear of disrepute—her sense of shame. The nobility of the act and not fear of disrepute, on the other hand, moves the person with true courage. Stealing a distinction from Kant we could say that Aristotelian civic courage “accords with,” but does not “arise from,” love for what is noble. When persons with

5 In their respective essays on shame in the early Confucian literature, Bryan W. Van Norden and Antonio S. Cua make a verbal distinction between the emotion of shame and the sense of shame; yet their accounts of the sense of shame are rather different from Aristotle’s notion (Van Norden 2002;Cua2003). First of all, neither Van Norden nor Cua discuss the role of affective dispositions, but discuss the sense of shame in purely cognitive terms. Van Norden, for example, defines the sense of shame as the recognition of shameful conduct (Van Norden 2002:50–52). Yet the affective dimension to the sense of shame significantly impacts any discussion of its necessary conditions. Cua—drawing upon Aristotle’scommentinRhetoric II.6, that we feel shame “in regard to bad things, whether present, past, or future”—characterizes the sense of shame as “prospective shame.” Cua is right to attribute an action-regulating function to Aristotle’s account of the sense of shame, in addition to the action-evaluating function presupposed by the experience of shame (Cua 2003: 184, n22). However, there are two problems with Cua’s account. First of all, Aristotle is not discussing the sense of shame when he mentions the time-referents of the emotion in Rhetoric II.6. Aristotle’s point here is not that we can anticipate future shame, and so act to prevent it; rather, he is simply saying that future events, no doubt future events that strike us as inevitable, can cause us to experience shame. In short, he is talking about the emotion of shame, not the sense of shame. Even if we place Cua’s claims on solid textual footing, there remains a second problem that has to do with the way he characterizes the sense of shame. The sense of shame, on Aristotle’s account, is neither always nor necessarily prospective. It is certainly useful in its prospective dimension, as anticipation, but it is not limited to the future. Our sense of shame might very well include an aversion to being associated with anyone whom we discover to have done something shameful in the past. In that case, the referent is retrospective, not prospective. 6 Again, only with a clear distinction between “emotion” in the sense of a disposition and “emotion” in the sense of a felt experience can we make sense of Aristotle’s seemingly contradictory claims in the Nicomachean Ethics that, on the one hand, the “emotions” are part of virtue (1106b17, 1105b26, 1104b14, 1106b17, 1106b25, and 1107a9), capable of praise and blame (1109b30–32), and so must be voluntary (1109b30–32), and on the other hand, that the “emotions” are not capable of blame or praise (1105b29– 1106a1), and so cannot be part of virtue, and are not voluntary (cf. 1109b30 ff.). 7 For the connection between the sense of shame and “noble love and hatred,” see Nicomachean Ethics X.9. 8 On the praiseworthiness of a sense of shame see Nicomachean Ethics II.7; on a sense of shame as a character trait, see footnote 4 above. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 327 civic courage act in a meritorious fashion they do so by the grace of properly formed public opinion and just laws. Had their society not appreciated courageous actions, or their state not legislated on matters of courage, their civic awareness would not produce such good results (nor, given the way Aristotle links shame to virtue, would their civic awareness even amount to genuine shame had the laws and public opinion not been keyed properly to the virtues and vices). Thus a sense of shame, expressed in the case of civic courage, remains dependent upon the judgment of others. Since Aristotle claims, at the beginning of the Nicomachean Ethics, that a person cannot be said to have a character virtue if their virtuous actions are not the result of their own “knowledge” (or what we might describe as self-sufficient ethical judgment), we must conclude that while a sense of shame can be a praiseworthy character trait, it cannot be a character virtue.9 Still, Aristotle thinks that a sense of shame properly plays a significant role in the development and maintenance of the character virtues.10 For the young, a sense of shame is first cultivated through the training and habituation of a proper upbringing. Equipped with a sense of shame—a capacity expressed in terms of the noble “sentiments,” or love of the noble and hatred of the base—one is already attracted by what is noble, and repulsed by what is base (see Nicomachean Ethics X.9). Even those without fully developed character virtues are still open to remonstrance and ethical argumentation if they but have a sense of shame (Nicomachean Ethics IV and X.9). Such arguments are able, on Aristotle’s account, to correct misconceptions, to develop one’s ethical knowledge, but to also stimulate and further encourage the development of the

9 While discussing Aristotle, Van Norden comments that a sense of shame, as a disposition, is the right sort of thing to be a virtue—“surprisingly, however, Aristotle goes on to deny that a sense of shame is a virtue” (Van Norden 2002: 53). The possibility that persons might have a sense of shame without much practical wisdom of their own should render Aristotle’s position unsurprising. 10 There is a passage in the fourth book of the Nicomachean Ethics that seems to challenge the ethical significance I attribute to shame. In that passage, after defining shame in much the same way as he does in the Rhetoric, Aristotle goes on to say that while it may be praiseworthy for a youth to have this affection— “because they live by passion and therefore commit many errors, but are restrained by shame”—we would be wrong to praise an older person for the same affection. “An older person no one would praise for being ashamed, since we think he should not do anything that need cause him to be ashamed. For shame is not even characteristic of a good man, since it is consequent on bad actions … it is the mark of a bad man even to be such as to do any disgraceful action” (Nicomachean Ethics IV.9; translation modified). I might attempt to salvage my position by pointing out that in the Rhetoric Aristotle is speaking of aischunê, while in the Nicomachean Ethics he is discussing aidôs. Unfortunately, Aristotle does not seem to see a real difference in the meaning of these two terms. He uses them interchangeably on several occasions (Nicomachean Ethics IV.9, Rhetoric II.6, cf. Eudemian Ethics III.1), and defines them in very similar ways. Both can be described, at times, as an emotion. When described as an emotion, and not a disposition, each is said not to be a virtue, even if they contribute to the virtues (aidôs is said, at one point [Eudemian Ethics III.7], to contribute to the virtue of temperance—a comment that clearly flies in the face of the passage we are discussing). Both are said, on different occasions, to fall between the extremes of shamelessness and bashfulness (Eudemian Ethics II.3 and III.7, Magna Moralia I.29, Nicomachean Ethics II.7, Rhetoric II.6). The difference in the Greek does not reflect a difference in philosophical terminology. I would suggest that the tension between the passage under consideration and my general thesis is due to a failure on our part to distinguish between the emotion of shame and the sense of shame. Since the feeling of shame is the consequence of disgraceful action, it is not something we wish the mature person to feel. However, because the sense of shame can prevent disgraceful actions, and so preclude any cause for feeling shame, the sense of shame is certainly something we should wish mature persons, not just young persons, to have. Aristotle’s critical remarks about shame, in the second half of this passage, really only concern the emotion of shame and need not trouble our account of the sense of shame. 328 Thorian R. Harris virtues. As Myles Burnyeat aptly puts it, “shame is the semivirtue of the learner” (Burnyeat 1980:78).11 Even upon reaching adulthood—which, for Aristotle, is the age of 21 (see Politics VII.17)—a sense of shame continues to stimulate the further refinement of our character virtues.12 It is also said to be constitutive of several character virtues, such as temperance and liberality. Furthermore, a sense of shame is thought to prevent vicious acts; this is because a sense of shame orients us in a certain way toward the experience of shame. If we have a sense of shame we are not only aware of shameful things nor simply averse to having cause to feel ashamed. A sense of shame also involves a kind of imagination—one that projects possible shameful outcomes (see Rhetoric II.6 and Eudemian Ethics II.2). Combined with the fear of dishonor that is part of a sense of shame, this projective imagination contributes to our ability to avoid shameful conduct. It is also an effective deterrent to acting “out of character” whenever personal gain or comfort might compete with noble action.13 Besides its significance for the character virtues Aristotle saddles the sense of shame with an interesting political function. At the end of the Nicomachean Ethics he entertains the idea that anyone with a sense of shame could be stimulated by legislators to excellence, and urged “forward by the motive of the noble, on the assumption that those who have been well advanced by the formation of habits”—the very habits that produce one’ssenseofshame—“will attend to such influences” (Nicomachean Ethics X.9). This approach to governingcontrastssharplywiththeformof legislation Aristotle reserves for those without a sense of shame. Lacking shame, and driven by a desire for their personal conceptions of pleasure, such persons are to be “corrected by pain like a beast of burden” (Nicomachean Ethics X.9). In short, one can rule those who possess a sense of shame in a dignified and edifying fashion, yet one cannot avoid using the threat of punishment and brute force upon those who lack a sense of shame.

11 In his reading of the argument at Nicomachean Ethics X.9, Burnyeat chides David Ross for translating eugeneia as “gently born,” which, Burnyeat says, “has aristocratic overtones irrelevant to the argument, even if Aristotle’s sympathies happened to run in that direction” (Burnyeat 1980: 89, n7). Burnyeat cites two passages to support his contention: Rhetoric II.15 and Politics III.13. At most, these passages can support the claim that class and wealth are not sufficient for good character; even so, Burnyeat has given us no reason not to conclude that class and wealth are prerequisites of good character. 12 As we have already mentioned, one of the two possible causes of shame is aretaic disparity or lacking a virtue possessed by one of our peers. Incidentally, this is also the cause of the emotion Aristotle refers to as “emulation” (zêlos)(seeRhetoric II.6). Yet these two emotions—shame and emulation—share more than a common trigger. Aristotle says that the pain of emulation stimulates us to overcome the aretaic disparity between our peers and ourselves. Yet if aretaic disparity is said to cause the pain of emulation, might it not also cause the pain in one’s experience of shame—and have a similar consequence? If emulation causes us to cultivate a better character, the same must be true of shame. 13 Because a sense of shame is responsive to the conduct of those whom we care about and not merely our own conduct, a sense of shame—when coupled with moral imagination—will benefit not only those who possess it but their intimates as well. Yet the social benefit of a sense of shame goes further. In addition to seeking to prevent the disgraceful conduct of those whom we care about, because our sense of shame renders the disgraceful action of our intimates as painful to us as if we had done it ourselves, a sense of shame allows us to learn—andthusmorallybenefit—from the disgrace of others. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 329

3 Shame in the Analects and Mencius14

When discussed in the Analects of Confucius, shame (chi 恥)15 does not appear to be an ethically thick concept.16 Some people, much to Confucius’sdismay, find simple clothing and food shameful, or are ashamed to ask advice from those whom they outrank in the social hierarchy—either by age, administrative position, or gender. Yet, in addition to the passages that attribute a negative ethical significance to the affection of shame, there are other passages that mention things that ought to cause us to feel shame. We should be ashamed if our words exceed our actions (Analects 14.20, 14.27),17 or if we find ourselves benefiting from the immoralities of the state (Analects 8.13, 14.1). Confucius also enumerates a set of social gestures he finds shameful: clever words, concealing one’s resentment of another person, and feigning friendship (Analects 5.25).18 While the emotion of shame, as it is discussed in the Analects, can be both positive and negative in its ethical significance, the Mencius discusses shame (chi 恥 or xiuwu 羞惡) as if it were an exclusively positive and ethically thick concept—as if it were impossible to feel shame inappropriately. The social dimension of shame is also well attested to in this later work. The Mencius states, “the heart-mind of shame (xiuwu zhi xin 羞惡之心) is the seed of yi 義” (Mencius 2A6).19 Yi is a complex notion with a vital place in Confucian ethics. Often translated as “appropriateness” or “righteousness,” yi is juxtaposed with the desire for personal profit—usually at another’s expense. It is a kind of moral imagination that allows us to move beyond only our own interests, to consider our conduct or a given situation from the perspectives of others along with our own. A relationship qualified with yi implies all parties achieve consensus and mutual advantage. If shame is the seed of yi, it would make sense that the emotion involves and develops this type of moral imagination— that shame, like yi, requires that we attempt to see ourselves as others might see us. Yet the social dimension of shame works in the other direction as well. It involves imagining how others perceive us, but also our estimation of the conduct of others. This is because the conduct of others, and not just our own, can cause us to feel shame. We can see this in the story Mencius tells about

14 For a discussion of shame in the Xunzi 荀子, see Cua 2003. 15 In every passage but one the term is chi 恥; the one exception occurs in Analects 14.20, where the term is zuo 怍. The related terms ru 辱 and xiu 羞 appear in several passages of the Analects; however, they have more to do with how others see us than an emotion we might experience. Hence, these two terms are best translated as “disgrace,” and not as “shame” or “a sense of shame” (see Analects 1.13, 4.26, 12.23, 13.20, 13.22, and 18.8). 16 To borrow a phrase from Bernard Williams. In other words, the Analects assumes that it is possible to feel shame for both appropriate and inappropriate reasons. 17 Our words exceed our actions when we fail to keep our promises, but also when we are solicitous about another person’s affairs in which we can offer no aid (Liji 33.23/151/12–15; Legge 1967: XXIX.47). 18 Mencius adds to this catalogue of stimuli worthy of causing shame: we ought to feel ashamed, he says, if we are morally inferior to another person (a stimulus Aristotle also sees as a proper cause of shame). 19 All translations from the Chinese are my own. For more on the connection between shame and yi see Van Norden 2002: 66; Shun 2000:56–63; Mencius 2A6 and 6A6. A comparison of Mencius 3B1 and 5B7 reveals the interchangeability of the terms xiu 羞 and yi 義 in certain contexts. 330 Thorian R. Harris the man from Qi 齊 who begs for brew and meat from anyone leaving offerings at the grave of their ancestors (Mencius 4B33). When this man’swifeand concubine discovered how he came by his meals, Mencius imagines that the two women felt shame (xiu 羞). While Aristotle says that the disgrace of those whom we care about can cause us shame, he is unlikely to have imagined that one might feel shame if just one person in the community acted in a disgraceful manner. Yet this is how Mencius describes King Wu 武: if there was one bullyintherealm,Menciussays,KingWutookthistobeapersonalaffront and was ashamed of it (Mencius 1B3).20 In addition to thinking of shame as an emotion, there is some indication in the Analects that shame can also be a disposition. At one point Confucius claims that if a ruler “instructs the common people with his personal example, keeps them in line with ritual propriety—his people will have a sense of shame; moreover, they will correct themselves” (Analects 2.3; see also 13.20). While one might wish to translate chi 恥 simply as “a feeling of shame,” the emotion by itself would be incapable of explaining how this approach to rulership could generate lasting effects, or how it could enable the people to order themselves. While the sting and moral motivation occasioned by a momentary sensation of shame may be suffered without lasting effect, the efficacy of a general sensitivity to shame may be more reliable. Furthermore, a sense of shame is lodged in the person while a sensation of shame can depend almost entirely upon external stimuli. Hence, when we translate chi 恥 as “a sense of shame,” we simultaneously name a disposition in the people with lasting effects, and explain how social order might stem from the people themselves rather than simply from external sanc- tions such as punishments.21 Beyond the sociopolitical significance of the sense of shame, Confucius sees it as also contributing to a person’s moral cultivation. When an aversion to experiencing shame is combined with a projective moral imagination strong enough to anticipate shameful outcomes, shameful conduct can be more successfully avoided. Confucius says that it was because “they would be ashamed if they personally did not to measure up (to what they said)” that “the ancients, in speaking, did not exceed themselves” (Analects 4.22). Just as “those who use restraint and still miss the mark are rare indeed” (Analects 4.23), lacking a sense of shame can get one into trouble.

4 The Socioeconomic Preconditions of a Sense of Shame

According to Aristotle there is only one way to develop a sense of shame, and that is by means of a proper upbringing. Such an upbringing relies upon the development of

20 This extended regard for the conduct of others appears to stem from King Wu’s rather inclusive sense of “personal” responsibility. King Wu is recorded in the Analects as having said, “If any of the Hundred Clans commit a transgression, let the punishment be visited upon me alone” (Analects 20.1). It appears that this sagely form of responsibility is also asymmetrical. In the same passage the sage-ruler Yu 禹 is quoted as saying, “If I should personally commit an offense, let not the punishment be visited upon the inhabitants of the myriad regions; if the inhabitant of the myriad regions commit an offense, let the punishment be visited upon me personally.” While this inclusive and asymmetrical responsibility is characteristic of the Confucian sage’s sense of personhood, Mencius suggests that even a sage will place certain limits upon it (see Mencius 4B28 and 4B29). 21 Which is the other approach to rulership mentioned in Analects 2.3. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 331 habits in order to instill the noble sentiments that are constitutive of a sense of shame.22 The significance of these habits, cultivated in one’s youth, cannot be overstated for Aristotle: “It makes no small difference whether we form habits of one kind or of another from our very youth; it makes a very great difference, or rather all the difference” (Nicomachean Ethics II.1). When Aristotle contemplates those who, due to an inadequate upbringing, lack the noble sentiments (and, consequently, a sense of shame), he considers them beyond the reach of rational argument and simply in need of law and punishment. In effect, Aristotle sees no hope for the ethical growth of anyone who lacked a sufficient upbringing since even rational argumentation on ethical matters presupposes a proper set of habits.23 Rather than seek ways to develop their character, he spends his time focusing on the next generation and outlining the laws best suited to the institutionalization of proper upbringing. Aristotle’s commitment to upbringing as the sole source of a sense of shame renders this disposition contingent upon certain socioeconomic factors. For instance, Aristotle assumes that slaves are incapable of undergoing a proper upbringing. While he does allow that slaves have a (diminished) capacity for virtue, he says that their excellence is defined in terms of their social function as slaves.24 Furthermore, slaves are said to lack any deliberative faculty, and it is doubtful that Aristotle suspected them capable of a sense of shame. Aristotle also considers gender a limiting factor, leaving proper upbringing—as he discusses it—an opportunity only for freeborn males. In addition to these social preconditions, a boy only stands a chance of a good upbringing when his parents are beyond the constraints of economic necessity—there is, in other words, a

22 Among the habits Aristotle suggests, I can distinguish three kinds. First, there are what we might call environmental habits. These include the ancient Greek customs (said to be practiced in ancient Athens) of molding and stretching the body of the infant to habituate it to good posture, or plunging a child into a cold river and dressing them in very little clothing to stimulate a healthy constitution and temper them against the miserable conditions associated with military affairs. Similar processes of habituation can be found in the history of Sparta, where making one’s bed from reeds or traveling at night without a lamp were each meant to cultivate martial dispositions. A second kind of habituation concerns one’s associates. When outlining proper upbringing in the Politics, Aristotle recommends that the young be kept away from slaves as much as possible, as well as from intemperate individuals. He also disapproves of children observing artworks or religious rites that depict shameful conduct. With our “association with things as well as with persons,” Aristotle comments, “we always like best whatever comes first. And therefore youth should be kept strangers to all that is vulgar” (Politics VII.17; translation amended). As the ancient Greek proverb has it, “If one lives with a lame man, one eventually walks with a limp.” The third kind of habit concerns our own behavior. In the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle says that we become virtuous persons by engaging in virtuous behavior (II.4). One is, of course, not yet virtuous in character simply because one acts in a virtuous fashion. In addition to such conduct, one must—among other requirements—enjoy behaving virtuously. Yet one of the results of repeated virtuous behavior is a habituation to the pleasures of virtue. It is thought that a proper upbringing, through its facilitation of virtuous behavior, affords us the opportunity to come to delight in such behavior. 23 Aristotle’s position here (that ethical philosophy is incapable of convincing anyone of the merit of what is noble, let alone correcting one’s bad habits, if one does not already have the noble sentiments) can be explained by his pragmatic approach to the justification of normative ethics. As Iakovos Vasiliou has argued, Aristotle understands ethics to be a unique field of study because it requires the student to be in a certain disposition before study begins. To be able to learn from lectures on ethics the student needs to already take pleasure in what is noble. Hence, Aristotle relies upon a certain kinship to excellence among his students of ethics and does not attempt a foundational justification of normative ethics independent of this prerequisite of youth (Vasiliou 1996). It is interesting that Vasiliou attempts to minimize the implications of this interpretation of Aristotle’s ethics by suggesting that if one’s upbringing were inadequate a “new upbringing” could be offered (Vasiliou 1996: 794). This, however, flies in the face of Aristotle’s comments on the gradual, and near perfect calcification of our habits (see Nicomachean Ethics VII.10, Magna Moralia II.6, and Rhetoric I.11). 24 For developed accounts of role-specific virtues see MacIntyre 1981;Nagy1999,andNussbaum1986. 332 Thorian R. Harris certain “equipage” (chorêgia) to proper upbringing.25 Aristotle has rather disparaging things to say about those who are compelled by economic necessity to work as merchants, craftsmen, or wage-earning laborers. These people, he says, are made vulgar (banousos) by their work, needs, and lack of leisure.26 Burdened with exhausting labor, their bodies and minds are rendered incapable of virtuous conduct, precluding the development of the noble sentiments. Furthermore, they will spend their days solely in the pursuit of their basic needs; their hearts will be filled with desires for pleasure and wealth, but will remain blind to the natural pleasure of noble actions (see Politics 1341b10–15 and Nicomachean Ethics 1095b14–96a10). Having no taste for what is noble, they will never desire to do a noble deed simply because it is noble, nor be ashamed simply because they lack noble characteristics. Vulgar families, no doubt, cannot afford to hire the nurses and tutors involved in Aristotle’s conception of a proper upbringing. We are reminded of Plato’scommentin the Protagoras that the wealthy are the first to enroll their sons under a teacher. Perhaps the sons of the middle class will enroll next, but the sons of the poor will never enroll. Yet in addition to the direct cost of a child’s education, there is the indirect cost of allowing one’s son freedom from the family’s occupation. Aristotle insists that a child must not be exhausted by labor, nor engaged in vulgar occupations, if he is to stand a chance of developing noble sentiments and a sense of shame—a corollary to Aristotle’s general claim that leisure is necessary for the development of virtue (Politics VII.9). It is unlikely that a family of masons or olive merchants could afford to support their son for twenty-one years without expecting him to contribute to the “vulgar” family business. The net result of these socioeconomic preconditions to a proper upbringing is the automatic exclusion of slaves, women, and poor freemen from the development of noble sentiment and a sense of shame, rendering such affective dispositions the sole possession of the aristoi who alone can afford them. Confucius, for his part, acknowledges the tremendous impact one’s upbringing has upon the ethical quality of one’s relationships with others—including one’srelation- ship with political authorities (Analects 1.2). He also speaks about several preconditions for fruitful dialogue on ethical matters, echoing Aristotle’s claim that students must, in some way, be predisposed to the subject matter before they can benefit from lectures on ethics (Analects 5.10, 6.21, 7.7, 7.8, 15.8, 15.16). Confucius even goes so far as to admit hopeless cases, such as those who have not done something of note, or learned how to avoid evoking the hatred of others, by the time they are forty years of age. Still, he is committed to the idea that people, even adults, are capable of developing a sense of shame—that one’s upbringing, in short, is not the only occasion for its development. Confucius’s commitment to the availability of the sense of shame, however, does not also commit him to thinking that it will be easily gained, or that it can always arise regardless of economic considerations. That is not his position, nor is

25 Just as wealth is necessary for the specific virtue of generosity, so leisure is said to be necessary for the development of the virtues (Politics VII.9; cf. Politics VII.15). While equipage is necessary for the good life and the virtues, Aristotle maintains that it is not sufficient for these two (Politics VII.13) and that any value they have derives from the character of whoever possesses them (Politics VII.1). Even if a good man can endure poverty later in life, as Aristotle claims, it is entirely because of the equipage at the disposal of his parents when he was younger, which laid the foundation of his ability to endure poverty. Even in this case, monetary capital was necessary for the man’s ethical capital. 26 This leisure was not simply freedom from labor, but freedom to work on developing oneself. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 333 it the one we find in the Mencius. Confucius and Mencius are, however, committed to the potential irrelevance of class, and endeavor to promote shame in others regardless of their economic situation. A revolutionary with respect to the social norms in his own day, Confucius claimed that a person’s class was insufficient to determine his or her worth. This social outlook impacted the way he understood his role as educator: “The Master said, ‘Instruction precludes social class (you jiao wu lei 有教無類)’” (Analects 15.39); “I have yet to deny lessons to those who, drawing upon their own stores, can only offer a gift of dried meat to their superiors” (Analects 7.7). Even if one does well to ignore social class, the same cannot be said for wealth or poverty. Each is capable, according to the early Confucian literature, of preventing the development of a sense of shame. While the wealthy are said to be prone to arrogance, we are warned in the Mencius that commoners “without reliable means of support will not have reliable heart-minds; if they lack reliable heart- minds, nothing will put a stop to their roguishness and villainy” (Mencius 3A3). Poverty stimulates thinking in terms of profit, gain, or the acquisition of wealth. This is an individuating way of thinking, which places one’s interests in direct competition with the interests of others (Mencius 1A1). Confucian ethics—which involves yi and shame—is distinctly integrating, socially consummating. It requires considering the perspectives of others and developing one’s conduct to include their interests. This is why it is often remarked in the Confucian canon that if one’s primary aim is wealth, one cannot live as a consummate (仁 ren)person(Analects 4.5, 8.4, 8.13; Mencius 3A3; Liji 43.2/166/8–10). Despite the tendency for poverty to prevent or corrupt one’s proper affective dispositions, including one’s sense of shame, there are famous counter-examples within the early Confucian tradition—each suggesting that the ethically negative conse- quences of poverty may be mitigated. There is the legendary sage-ruler Yu who was faultless, in Confucius’s estimation, and yet ate simple food, wore coarse clothing, and lived in a humble dwelling (Analects 8.21). Then there is the example of Confucius’s best student, YAN Hui 顏回.

The Master said, “A person of substance is this YAN Hui! A single bowl of food, a single dipper of drink, and a place in a back alley—other people would not be able to endure his hardships, yet for YAN Hui they do not affect his happiness. A person of substance is this YAN Hui!” (Analects 6.11; cf. 7.16)

This capacity to overcome the negative impacts of one’s poverty is discussed in Analects 1.15. One of Confucius’s students, Zigong 子貢—who was poor at one time, but had recently acquired wealth through his own initiative—asks his teacher what he would think of someone with a similar history: someone who, when poor, was not obsequious and, when rich, was not arrogant. Confucius replies that such a person is fine for all that, but not as good as someone who, regardless of poverty or wealth, enjoys ritual propriety (li 禮) and the way (dao 道). As ZHU Xi 朱熹 comments on this passage,

Ordinary people are overwhelmed by the experience of poverty or wealth and do not know how to get a handle on themselves; it is no wonder that they come to have these two defects. If one is not obsequious or arrogant, it is simply because 334 Thorian R. Harris

one knows how to get a handle on oneself—yet this is not yet enough to enable one to extricate oneself completely and stand clear of the influence of wealth and poverty. Hence Confucius’ response, “It is sufficient.” Still it is barely sufficient, and there is something more to his instruction. When you are happy, you think and feel broadly, comport yourself in comfort, and forget about your poverty; when you delight in the rites, you find your ease in their excellence, your happiness in their patterns, thus forgetting about yourself and your wealth. (Zhu 1983:52–53)

The Confucian ideal involves cultivating this ability to get “ahandleononeself” so as to be indifferent to wealth and poverty (see Analects 14.32, 7.16)—to be at ease in poverty, to treat wealth at the expense of yi “as so many floating clouds” (Analects 7.16), and to focus instead upon cultivating the way (dao). This sort of indifference is certainly neither easily cultivated nor readily found in others. The early Confucian literature, however, proposes two general approaches to developing it in others.27 The first approach is to address the economic hindrances directly, aiming to change the circumstances by supplying basic goods to the poor (and, ostensibly, depriving the arrogant of their wealth). The hope is that a change in conditions will prevent the negative impact of poverty and wealth. The second approach, on the other hand, is to prevent the effects of poverty and wealth by producing an internal change in a person. This approach has more in common with the Hellenistic philosophies of Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Pyrrhonian Skepticism than with Aristotle’scommitmenttothe“equipage” of virtue and shame. It is also the approach that the early Confucians—for several reasons we will get to—regard as the most promising of the two. The first approach is described in the Analects as “enriching the people” (fu zhi 富之) (Analects 13.9). When Confucius visited the state of Wei 衛, he remarked on its abundant population—a great asset to any state built upon agrarian prosperity. When asked what more could be done for such a teeming population, he replied “enrich them.”28 After that is accomplished, Confucius says, one should teach them. A ruler can set out to cultivate his people only after he has supplied their material prosperity (see Hall and Ames 1987:145). A fuller picture is developed in the Mencius:

Duke Wen 文 of Teng 滕 asked about running a state. Mencius said, “The affairs of the people cannot be neglected. The Book of Odes says ‘In the daytime they gather reeds, in the nighttime they braid rope; with urgency—they repair their roofs, they begin to sow the various grains.’ The people’s way of doing things is such that, without reliable means of support, they will not have reliable heart- minds. If they lack reliable heart-minds, nothing will put a stop to their roguishness and villainy. To compel them to turn to crime, only to come along afterwards to punish them—this is to lay a trap for the people. How can those who are

27 It is expected that someone in authority—classically, the ruler of the state—will implement both approaches; but we can see various contemporary applications for these approaches if we assigned them to those with other types of authority: parents, teachers, older friends, elder siblings, and so on. 28 There are several ways to do this. By not taxing the people to desperation or assigning them public works during the time of the harvest, and by providing for orphans and the elderly, a ruler enriches his people. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 335

consummate in their social position lay a trap for the people? Therefore, excellent rulers must be respectful and frugal, treating their inferiors with ritual propriety, and taking from the people only the prescribed amount.” (Mencius 3A3)

While Mencius acknowledges the value of the people’s material prosperity, he does not see it as sufficient to produce a sense of shame or the other proper affective dispositions. As he puts it, when the common people are “well fed, warmly clad, at leisure in their homes, but without instruction, they are no different from animals. Because the sage [sc. Yao 堯] was worried about this he employed Xie 契 as Minister of Education, who then taught the basic human relationships (renlun 人倫) to the common people” (Mencius 3A4).29 We must, however, attend to the protreptics of this advice from the Analects and Mencius. Very often the Confucian philosopher will speak with an eye not to proper description so much as to good results. A pragmatic notion of truth is quite germane to the interpretation of Confucian philosophical utterances. As such, mention of the people’s prosperity as a prerequisite for edifying rulership may be best understood as advice to rulers intended to encourage the sentiment: “Do not expect people to listen to your counsel or follow your example until you have provided for their basic needs.” It is, however, possible for persons to respond to the moral example of their rulers despite poverty and need. 30 In fact, when he was asked about the relative value of food, weapons, and the ruler, Confucius gave first place to the ruler:

Zigong asked about proper governing (zheng 政). The Master said, “It’ssimplya matter of making sure there is sufficient food, sufficient weapons, and that the common people trust their ruler.” Zigong asked, “If I could not have them all but were forced to give one up, which of these three should be the first to go?” The Master replied, “Give up the weapons.” Zigong asked, “If I could not have them both but were forced to give one up, which of the remaining two should be the first to go?” The Master replied, “The food—everyone dies once they grow old; but if the common people do not trust their ruler, nothing can get established.” (Analects 12.7)

Poverty might, in fact, make transforming the people even easier. As Mencius argues, “The people of Qi have a saying: ‘Even if you have cunning, it is better to take advantage of circumstances; even if you have a hoe, it is better to wait for the right season.’ Now is a time when things are easy”—given that the state of Qi, whose ruler Mencius is advising in this passage, has the necessary territory and population for prosperity and security. “Moreover,” Mencius continues,

concerning the absence of true kings, they have never been so rare as they are in the present era. As for the maladies the common people have suffered on account of diseased governments, they have never been pushed to such extremes as they

29 Aristotle makes similar remarks about the ethical degradation among the “vulgar rich” (see Adams 2001). 30 Confucius responds this way to the historical rulers, Duke Wen 文 and Shun 舜 of Yu 虞. If we accept an analogy between rulers and teachers, we could include YAN Hui’s response to Confucius, despite the poverty of the former, as another example. 336 Thorian R. Harris

have in the present era. Those who are hungry are easy to feed; those who are thirsty are easy to hydrate. Confucius said, “The influence of one’sgoodexample (de 德) spreads faster than establishing posts and transmitting commands.” In the current era, were a state of ten thousand chariots to practice consummate government (renzheng 仁政), the common people would delight in it like someone who is freed from being strung upside down. Now is the time when you can, with half the effort it took someone in antiquity, achieve twice as much. (Mencius 2A1)

If the influence of moral rulers is increased by hardship, we might expect a simulta- neous increase in their ability to stimulate the sense of shame in their people. Turning to the second approach—that is, effecting a sort of internal change in others—the Analects appear to present us with three separate methods for cultivating both indifference to wealth and poverty, and a sense of shame. They are “setting a good example,”“elevating the worthy,” and “the pedagogy of fate.” The first means for cultivating shame in the common people is mentioned in Analects 2.3: “Instruct them with your good example (de 德), keep them in line with ritual propriety (li 禮)—thecommonpeoplewillhaveasenseof shame.”31 In other contexts in the Analects, de can denote authority, excellence, even kindness; it is attributed to horses, houses, and commoners. However, within a political context, de contrasts—domestically—with commands and punishments, and—internationally—with martial conquest. De refers to the influence of one’s personal example. The Analects discusses two ways this personal influence is acquired.32 One is the de facto political influence enjoyed by those born into the ruling family. This source of de clearly allows for abuse, and the Confucians say what they can to encourage rulers to use their influence to good results. This is perhaps why Confucius, in Analects 2.3, appends the expression, “keep the people in line with ritual propriety”; this renders explicit the moral requirements of effective rulership. The other way to gain personal influence is through a process referred to as “accumulating de” (chong de 崇德)(seeAnalects 12.10, 12.21), which essentially involves establishing one’s social and political influence on the bases of personal merit. The early Confucians are convinced that nothing exercises as much influence on the common people as the personal example of their rulers and exemplars. Set a good example and your commands become superfluous; even if someone tries to bribe one of your subjects, they will not act contrary to your example. Yet if you set a bad example, even commands cannot stop them from following it. As Confucius remarks, “The example of the exemplary person (junzi 君子) is the wind, the example of the petty person (xiaoren 小人) is the grass; as the wind blows upon the grass it is sure to bend”

31 The full passage reads, “Instruct them with commands, keep them in line with punishments—the common people will be evasive but without a sense of shame. Instruct them with your good example, keep them in line with ritual propriety—the common people will have a sense of shame; moreover, they will correct themselves.” 32 There are, no doubt, other ways to acquire it, but the authors of the Analects appear to purposively leave them out. Of the two they mention, the first is a fact of the dynastic system of government of the time, while the latter is the Confucian attempt to improve and augment that system. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 337

(Analects 12.19).33 No doubt the Confucians overstate the power of example—if only to properly affect their audience. But there is something to learn from this general sentiment. To follow the example of others, in this context, is to conduct oneself in similar terms (to adopt the ritual proprieties they exemplify, for instance), but also to adopt the abiding desires and sentiments of these persons (Liji 43.1/165/7–8; cf. 43.2/166/20). It is true that one might follow another person’s example with an obsequious motive, seeking advancement by courting the favor of a superior. HAN Feizi 韓非子 warns of this tendency, graphically depicting its effects, and suggests that a ruler hide his true desires if he wishes to avoid this sort of result. However, subordinates can also be motivated to become more like their ruler or an exemplar—in both deed and heart- mind—out of a feeling that is similar to what Aristotle calls emulation (zêlos). “When you see another person’s excellence,” Confucius implores us, “think to become like them in this regard” (Analects 4.17). He also describes himself as someone who, upon seeing something done well (shan 善), is afraid he will never grasp it himself (Analects 16.11).34 If this is how we are to understand the influence of personal example, there is a surprising result for our account of the Confucian program for the development of a sense of shame. If the good example of a ruler is capable of cultivating a sense of shame, it is only capable of doing so on the basis of emulation. These two emotions, tangentially related on Aristotle’s account (see Rhetoric II.6, II.11), are ranked on Confucius’s own. Emulation comes first, as it is our admiration for others that develops our own sense of shame—presumably when we realize the various ways in which we fall short of the person we admire. There is brilliance to this approach to developing a sense of shame in others. While direct remonstrance often causes our listeners to defend their conduct instead of listening to our criticism, if we can present them with a good example (if not our own, then at least that of another), we leave the person free to acknowledge their faults without any unnecessary harm to their dignity.35 The second method for developing a sense of shame in others is “elevating the worthy” (jushan 舉善 or juzhi 舉直) which involves granting station and salary to persons based on merit. In a world where wealth was gained largely through a process of official commission, and one’s clothing, utensils, and diet invariably reflected one’s social and political status, the ruler had tremendous control over the substance of social elevation and demotion. Were rulers to promote only those who “accumulated de,” it was assumed that the common people would be transformed. Presumably the force of this kind of meritocracy is not simply emulation, but perhaps self-interest. As it is expressed on another occasion, this social program makes the people eager and industrious (Analects 2.20; cf. 7.8). If the common people think they can gain wealth by accumulating de they will prize de. While they may at first attribute only an instrumental value to it, they may eventually come to value de intrinsically—and if they do, they will have acquired a sense of shame since their concern for de will

33 Confucius seems to be borrowing the expression from the Shangshu 尚書 (Book of Documents), where a minister admonishes his ruler, “You are the wind, the commoners below are the grass” (er wei feng, xia min wei cao 爾惟風, 下民惟草)(Shangshu 49/46/9). 34 Although Confucius is not speaking in the first person here, it would still be fair to take this statement as an adequate reflection of his own desires (see Analects 7.22, 7.28, and 7.32). 35 Something like this is at the heart of the classical narratives concerning Shun of Yu’s relationships with his villainous family members. For more on the efficacy of indirect communication, see Jullien 2000. 338 Thorian R. Harris overwhelm their concern for personal gain whenever de and personal gain conflict. Furthermore, though the program of elevating the worthy utilizes one’s concern for wealth and one’s self-interest in general, it enables one to pursue these interests in such a fashion that one is also serving the interests of the community. Coming to the third method, we often hear Confucius complaining about the lack of focus on the part of his students and contemporaries. As he puts it on one occasion, “I have not yet met a person as fond of de as he is of female beauty” (Analects 9.18). On another occasion he remarks, “It is not easy to come by someone who does not seek an official salary after a mere three years of study” (Analects 8.12). To deal with the force of these distractions, which are capable of undermining one’s sense of shame with its implied concern for de, Confucius devised a third method—what I am calling the pedagogy of “fate” (ming 命). The Confucian notion of fate, which draws upon a robust tradition of thought, covers the propensities of one’s birth, death, lifespan, health, the failures or success in one’s career, social rank, as well as one’s wealth and poverty. It did not, however, control one’s every action; nor was it instigated by supernatural forces similar to the Greek Moirai or an Abrahamic God, but by the unfolding of circumstance (tian 天)—a spontaneous and natural consequence of forces beyond one’scontrol.By classifying things such as professional advancement, wealth, and poverty as matters of fate, Confucius sought to help his students focus on accumulating de.Ifsuccessfulin this task, this method would no doubt disarm poverty and wealth of their negative effects, and help preserve one’s sense of shame. However, when Confucius spoke of fate it is likely that he was engaging in a self-consciously protreptic utterance aimed at these effects, and not necessarily intending to accurately describe affairs; fate, in other words, was nothing more than a useful fiction for Confucius—a pedagogical strategy.36 The viability of these three methods presupposes that Aristotle is wrong to think that a capacity for shame can only be developed in one’s childhood. One of the things that distinguishes Aristotle and Confucius is a disagreement on the fixity of moral traits (dispositions, capacities, states). Aristotle thinks that children are relatively malleable, but that this is the only time one can be molded; as one approaches maturity, one becomes fixed—up to the point where one develops traits of character that can be sharply distinguished from the force of circumstance. By contrast, Confucius is committed to the possibility that even adults might take on radically new traits.

5 Individualistic and Situational Accounts of Praiseworthy Dispositions

I would suggest that this disagreement stems from competing conceptions of praiseworthy dispositions. For Aristotle, virtues are traits of individual agents and not the traits of relationships or circumstances.37 “If the acts that are in accordance with the excellences have themselves a certain character it does not follow that they are done justly or temperately. The agent also must be in a certain condition when he does them; in the first place he must have knowledge, secondly he must choose the acts, and

36 I defend this claim in a forthcoming paper. 37 Certainly several of the character virtues, on Aristotle’s account, are what we might call “other-regarding,” but despite this they remain the possession of individuals. If one is magnanimous, this is a trait one has regardless of the individuals toward whom one acts magnanimously; for Aristotle this trait does not depend upon the identity of a specific other, nor is it constituted by specific relationships. Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 339 choose them for their own sakes, and thirdly his action must proceed from a firm and unchangeable character” (Nicomachean Ethics II.4; emphases added). Each of these agent-specific criteria for the attribution of virtue seeks to separate the contribution of the agent from the force of circumstance. However, it is the last criterion that drives home the notion that a virtue must presuppose the individual-specificity and fixity of traits—in this case, of a state of character (hexis). Aristotle, in short, is committed to what John Doris has described as “trait-relevant behavioral consistency” (2002). While the character trait of courage may involve context-dependent and agent-dependent differences in our overt behavior, we can only be said to have courage if we consistently engage in the trait-relevant behavior—if we are courageous in all manner of situations and even, or especially, in those circumstances when courageous behavior is difficult.38 It is because Aristotle thinks of praiseworthy dispositions—such as the virtues, or the sense of shame—as “consistent” traits of character that he is forced to neglect the moral education of those who did not benefit from a proper upbringing. Confucius, on the other hand, does not conceive of the sense of shame or other praiseworthy dispositions as traits of character in a similarly individualistic fashion. We may speak of these dispositions as traits of character, but these dispositions are not true of persons in isolation. They are true of persons only within their social contexts—their roles and relationships. This is a specific form of what is sometimes called “situationism”:an idea that works as a corrective on our fascination with agency and character by claiming that praiseworthy events, even praiseworthy tendencies, are more the result of the situation than agents (see Doris 2002). 39 Situationism, according to Doris, denies the consistency but not the “stability” of character traits. We may act compassionately across a range of situations when these situations share important similarities (hence, the trait of compassion can be said to be stable); but if situations become too dissimilar (especially if these situations make compassionate actions more difficult), it becomes less likely that we will continue to act compassionately. In that case, we cannot be said to be consistently compassionate. If these two claims were both true, traits like compassion would seem to be more aptly applied to situations than individuals. Put another way, we might think of situationism as a deflationary account of character. As I understand it, Doris is arguing in favor of a position akin to John Dewey’s—one that correlates character with context, and takes any ascription of a disposition or habit to an individual to be nothing more than an abstraction away from the person-in-context. As Dewey puts it,

Habits may be profitably compared to physiological functions, like breathing and digesting. The latter are, to be sure, involuntary, while habits are acquired. But important as is this difference … it should not conceal the fact that habits are like functions in many respects, and especially in requiring the cooperation of organism and environment. Breathing is an affair of the air as truly as of the lungs; digesting an affair of food as truly as of tissues of stomach. … There are specific good reasons for the usual attribution of acts to the person from whom they immediately proceed. But to convert this special reference into a belief of exclusive ownership is as misleading

38 For the normative significance of differences between agents and situations in Aristotle’sethics,see Nicomachean Ethics II.6. 39 Situationism, as Doris uses the term, is not a thesis about the situation-dependency of value. 340 Thorian R. Harris

as to suppose that breathing and digesting are complete within the human body. … Honesty, chastity, malice, peevishness, courage, triviality, industry, irresponsibility are not private possessions of a person. They are working adaptations of personal capacities with environing forces. (Dewey 1922:17–19)

When Aristotle attempts to ascribe character traits exclusively to individuals, thus separating character from conduct, he commits himself to what Dewey would describe as an “individualistic” account of character traits (Dewey 1922: 18; cf. Nicomachean Ethics I.8). Among the classical Chinese philosophical schools, the early Confucians were not alone in adopting the notion that character traits were situation-dependent. In SUN Wu’s 孫武 Sunzi Bingfa 孫子兵法 (Sunzi’s Art of War) we are told that a good general does not think of courage as a trait of individual soldiers, but as the product of terrain. “On the day they are ordered to attack, the soldiers sitting will have tears soaking their collars, the soldiers laying on their backs will have tears running off their cheeks, yet throw them into a situation where there is no escape, and they will have the courage of ZHUAN Zhu 專諸 and CAO Gui 曹劌 [two traditional exemplars of courage]” (Sunzi Bingfa 11/12/5–6). In a similar vein, HAN Feizi claims that honesty is the product of public attention. “When cheap goods are placed in a hideaway, even ZENG Shen 曾參 and SHI Yu 史魚 [that is, two exemplars of honesty] may be suspected (if the cheap goods go missing); yet if you suspend a hundred gold-pieces in the marketplace, even a great thief will not grab it. Because no one will know (the thief), ZENG Shen and SHI Yu can be suspected with regard to what was in the hideaway; because (the thief) is sure to be known, a great thief does not grab the gold suspended in the marketplace” (Hanfeizi 46/138/1–3). The Confucian variety of situationism, by contrast, focuses more upon familial relationships and their analogs than upon terrain and public attention. For Confucius, a sense of shame is not the possession of an individual alone but is practiced by individuals within specific relationships.40 When discussing the three

40 Anyone who reads Confucian ethics as a virtue ethics may question the validity of this claim. A supporter of a virtue ethics interpretation, Eric Hutton has recently argued that Doris’s situationism cannot apply to Confucian ethics. According to Hutton, “the Aristotelian notion of character [is] about as widespread in the East Asian philosophical tradition as in the Western philosophical tradition” (Hutton 2006: 37), and “an emphasis on robust character traits”—especially the consistency of character traits—“is a central feature of Confucian ethics” (Hutton 2006: 40). When he turns to the Analects to support his claims, Hutton discusses the trait of ren 仁 (which he translates as “benevolence”—a translation that might very well beg the question). Linguistically speaking, he says, this must surely be “a trait of people”: “Confucian texts often speak of the 仁人 [ren ren] ‘ren person’ or 仁者 [ren zhe] ‘one who is ren’” (Hutton 2006: 40). Furthermore, a careful reading of Analects 4.5 reveals an emphasis not merely upon the stability of this trait, but its consistency as well: “If the gentleman abandons ren, how can he merit thename[of‘gentleman’]? The gentleman does not go against ren even for the amount of time required to finish a meal. Even in times of urgency or distress, he necessarily accords with it” (Hutton 2006: 41). I do not think one can doubt these claims; they are, however, incapable of supporting Hutton’s initial claim about Confucian ethics. First of all, while ren might be said to be a trait of persons, we may still ask what it is to be a “person”?AsDavid Hall and Roger Ames have argued, a person in Confucian thought is a focus in a field of relationships, which would suggest that ren could be relational instead of an individualistic or consistent character trait (Hall and Ames 1998). Secondly, when it comes to the issue of the “gentleman” (junzi) in times of distress—what, we should ask, allows the junzi to maintain ren? Drawing upon the Analects it would seem that a good answer to this question is the company the junzi keep—their relations and relationships (cf. Xunzi on li 立, “situation”). When The Five Modes of Proper Conduct (Wuxing pian 五行篇) discusses praiseworthy dispositions (de zhi xing 德之行)thistext is explicit that they are social in origin, but also relational practices (for the relation-dependency of ren 仁,for example, see Wuxing pian 5[Holloway2005]). Aristotle and Confucius on the Socioeconomics of Shame 341 methods for developing a sense of shame in others we were not, after all, simply discussing techniques for the cultivation of the sense of shame, but were discussing certain relationships—between ruler and subject, teacher and student—in which a sense of shame is practiced. These relational practices are integral to the affective disposition of the sense of shame; it is not something an individual could ever possess in a self- sufficient fashion as one might possess an Aristotelian character virtue. To conceive of praiseworthy dispositions, such as the sense of shame, as relation- dependent dispositions brings with it both promise and risk. Since relationships are more malleable than character traits understood individualistically (we can find ourselves in new relationships much easier than we can change our habits) we can expect relational- dependent traits to be more malleable than individualistic character traits. This accounts for the Confucian conviction in the near universal availability of moral cultivation. Yet greater malleability cuts both ways: if it gives us hope that even adults with an inadequate upbringing can come to have a sense of shame, it should also give us cause to fear that anyone—absolutely anyone—might cease to have a sense of shame if their relationships somehow deteriorate. This is one of the risks involved in the Confucian conception of praiseworthy dispositions—a conception, however, that makes the development of a sense of shame possible regardless of socioeconomic considerations.

Acknowledgments For their comments on early drafts of this paper I wish to thank Jim Tiles, Roger Ames, Jeremy Henkel, Kevin Delapp, the participants of the 6th International Philosophy Conference of the South African Society for Greek Philosophy and the Humanities (especially Rachel Bothma, Mojalefa Koenane, Josephat Obi Oguejiofor, Bret Oliver, and Pascah Mungwini), and two anonymous reviewers. I wish to also thank Mike and Brenda Wingfield, of the University of Pretoria, for their hospitality while I was in South Africa.

References

Adams, Harry. 2001. “Aristotle on ‘the Vulgar’: An Ethical and Social Examination.” Interpretation 29.2: 133–152. Analects, A Concordance to the 論語逐字索引. 1995. Edited by D. C. Lau. Hong Kong 香港:Shangwu Yinshuguan 商務印書館. Barnes, Jonathan, ed. 1984. The Complete Works of Aristotle, vol. 2. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Burnyeat, Myles. 1980. “AristotleonLearningtobeGood.” In Essays on Aristotle’sEthics, edited by Amélie Oksenberg Rorty. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cooper, John M. 1996. “An Aristotelian Theory of the Emotions.” In Essays on Aristotle’s Rhetoric, edited by Amélie Oksenberg Rorty. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cua, Antonio S. 2003. “The Ethical Significance of Shame: Insights of Aristotle and Xunzi.” Philosophy East and West 53.2: 147–202. Dewey, John. 1922. Human Nature and Conduct: An Introduction to Social Psychology. New York: The Modern Library. Dodds, E. R. 1951. The Greeks and the Irrational. Berkeley: University of California Press. Doris, John M. 2002. Lack of Character: Personality and Moral Behavior. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grimaldi, William. 1988. Aristotle, Rhetoric II: A Commentary. New York: Fordham University Press. Hall, David L., and Roger T. Ames. 1987. Thinking through Confucius. Albany: State University of New York Press. ____. 1998. Thinking from the Han. Albany: State University of New York Press. Hanfeizi, A Concordance to the 韓非子逐字索引. 2000. Edited by D. C. Lau. Hong Kong 香港: Shangwu Yinshuguan 商務印書館. 342 Thorian R. Harris

Holloway, Kenneth. 2005. “‘The Five Aspects of Conduct 五行’: Introduction and Translation.” Journalofthe Royal Asiatic Society 15.2: 179–188. Hutton, Eric L. 2006. “Character, Situationism, and Early Confucian Thought.” Philosophical Studies 127.1: 37–58. Jullien, François. 2000. Detour and Access: Strategies of Meaning in China and Greece. Trans. by Sophie Hawkes. New York: Zone Books. Legge, James. 1967. Li Chi, Book of Rites: An Encyclopedia of Ancient Ceremonial Usages, Religious Creed, and Social Institutions. Reprint. New York: University Books. Liji, A Concordance to the 禮記逐字索引. 1992. Edited by D. C. Lau. Hong Kong 香港: Shangwu Yinshuguan 商務印書館. MacIntyre, Alasdair. 1981. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Mencius, A Concordance to the 孟子逐字索引. 1995. Edited by D. C. Lau. Hong Kong 香港:Shangwu Yinshuguan 商務印書館. Nagy, Gregory. 1999. The Best of the Achaeans: Concepts of the Hero in Archaic Greek Poetry. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Nussbaum, Martha. 1986. The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rowe, Christopher K. 1971. The Eudemian and Nicomachean Ethics: A Study in the Development of Aristotle’sThought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shangshu, A Concordance to the 尚書逐字索引. 1995. Edited by D. C. Lau. Hong Kong 香港: Shangwu Yinshuguan 商務印書館. Shun, Kwong-loi. 2000. Mencius and Early Chinese Thought. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Sunzi Bingfa 孫子兵法. 1992. In A Concordance to the Militarists (Sunzi, Yuliaozi, Wuzi, Sima Fa) 兵書四種(孫子,尉繚子,吳子,司馬法)逐字索引.EditedbyD.C.Lau.HongKong香港: Shangwu Yinshuguan 商務印書館. Van Norden, Bryan W. 2002. “The Emotion of Shame and the Virtue of Righteousness in Mencius.” Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy 2.1: 45–77. Vasiliou, Iakovos. 1996. “The Role of Good Upbringing in Aristotle’s Ethics.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 56.4: 771–797. Williams, Bernard. 1993. Shame and Necessity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Woods, Michael. 1992. Aristotle: Eudemian Ethics, books I, II, and VIII. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Zhu, Xi 朱熹.1983.Commentary on the Four Classics 四書章句集注. Beijing 北京:ZhunghuaShuju中華書局.