Wang Yangming and the Unity of Knowledge and Action

If knowledge is inseparable from action, as argued by the philosopher Wang Yangming, then failures of action should also be failures of knowledge. If to know is to act, then it may be argued that not to act is not to know, and that failures to act are also failures of knowledge. In this paper, I argue to the contrary that not to act is not necessarily not to know, and that not all failures of action are failures of knowledge.

Wang Yangming (1472-1529) was a Chinese Neo-Confucian philosopher, magistrate, and military commander who lived during the Ming dynasty (1368-1644). His major philosophical works included the Record of Instructions for Practice (Chuanxilu 傳習錄,1518-1529) and the Inquiry on the Great Learning (Daxue wen 大學問, 1527). The Record of Instructions for Practice was a compilation of his conversations and teachings recorded by his disciples, on such subjects as the principle of the heart-mind, the extension of knowledge, and the unity of knowledge and action.
      Wang Yangming differs from Zhu Xi (1130-1200) in emphasizing the investigation of principle (li 理) in the heart-mind (xin 心), rather than in external things. He says that to seek the principle in external things is to regard our innate knowledge or pure knowing of our heart-minds as inadequate, and it is to act as if further enhancement or supplementation of this innate knowledge were necessary.
      The heart-mind is the nature of all human beings and things, says Wang, and nature is principle (li 理). Principle is the reason that all human beings and things are as they are. All human beings have the same heart-mind and the same nature (xing 性). The reason that some people are good and some are evil is that those who are evil have a heart-mind that has lost some of its original substance.¹ The original substance of the heart-mind is knowledge and is characterized by the highest good, but those who are evil have lost some of their knowledge of the principle of their own heart-minds.
      We have an innate knowledge of goodness, says Wang. We innately know how to be loving, compassionate, filial, and respectful. However, our innate knowledge of goodness may be obstructed by selfish desires, which may be overcome by the extension of knowledge of our own heart-minds.
      Benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are all manifestations of the principle of human nature, as are the sense of compassion, the sense of shame, the sense of deference and compliance, and the sense of right and wrong. To have no selfish desires is to be in accord with the principle of human nature, but to have such desires is to not be in accord with it.² 
      Wang says that if we exert sustained effort, then we will gradually see the principle of nature in our own heart-minds. If we do not exert the effort of overcoming our selfish desires, then the principle of nature will not be revealed to us. Its precision and subtlety may be such that we must continuously devote ourselves to the task of self-examination before we are able to see it.
      The investigation of things is like polishing a mirror to make it clear.³ The heart-mind of a sage is like a clear mirror, because it is completely identified with the principle of nature and is not obscured by any impurity. On the other hand, the heart-mind of an ordinary person is like a dull mirror, because it is clouded by selfish desires.

      According to Wang, knowledge is the original substance of the will, and the will is knowledge in operation. Since we have an innate knowledge of the good, we also innately have a will to do good. If our will to do good is not obstructed by selfish desires, then we can fulfill the virtues that are manifestations of the principle of human nature. If our will to do good is also sincere, then we can also rectify any incorrectness in our desires and intentions, and we can promote our own moral cultivation.

      Knowledge must be acted on in order to be called real or genuine. Only when we extend the principles of things to action can we be said to have fully investigated them. Ordinary knowledge (chang zhi 常知) may be separated from action because of selfish desires, but real or genuine knowledge (zhen zhi 真知) cannot be separated from action.⁴ The unity of knowledge and action (zhixing he yi 知行合一) is such that knowledge is action in its conscious and discerning aspects, while action is knowledge in its practical and concrete aspects.⁵ 

      Thinking is different from pure knowing, insofar as thinking may be correct or incorrect, while pure knowing (liang zhi 良知) is innately endowed knowledge that can distinguish between correct and incorrect thinking. If we rely on pure knowing, then we will never act incorrectly.⁶ 

      Wherever principle is manifested, we should try to preserve it. If it is manifested in being loyal and faithful to a ruler or minister, then we should be loyal and faithful to that ruler or minister. If it is manifested in being courteous and respectful toward our parents, then we should be courteous and respectful toward our parents. We should try to preserve the principle of nature in all relationships by avoiding selfish desires, and by acting according to the rules of propriety.⁷   

      Wang Yangming disagrees with Zhu Xi's teaching that the investigation of things consists in investigating individual things as we come into contact with them. Wang says that seeking the principle of each individual thing is like seeking the principle of filial piety in parents or seeking the principle of compassion in a child who is about to fall into a well, rather than seeking it in the innate knowledge of our own heart-minds.⁸ In his view, the investigation of things (gewu 格物) and the extension of knowledge (zhizhi 致知) mean extending the innate knowledge of our heart-minds to individual things, rather than extending the knowledge of individual things to our heart-minds, because the innate knowledge of our heart-minds is actually knowledge of the principle of nature.⁹ 

      Wang's controversial "Four-Sentence Teaching" or "Doctrine in Four Axioms" may be summarized as follows:

      (1) In the original substance of the mind, there is no distinction of good and evil.
      (2) When the will becomes active, there is good, and there is evil.
      (3) The faculty of innate knowledge (or pure knowing) is to know good and evil.
      (4) The rectification of things is to do good and remove evil.¹⁰

 

      He also says that there must be a proper degree of equilibrium and harmony in the operation of the principle of nature. We must attain a state of equilibrium before our emotions are aroused, so that there will be harmony in which our emotions attain their proper measure and degree.¹¹ The way of the sage is the mean between excessive or deficient expression of emotions, between yin (陰) and yang (陽), between tranquility and activity. Equilibrium is found in the principle of nature.¹² The heart-mind in its original substance is in equilibrium, and its innate knowledge of principle is characterized by equilibrium and harmony.¹³

      The substance of the heart-mind is pure knowing, and it is revealed by tranquility. However, it is inseparable from the functions of the heart-mind, which are revealed by activity. Thus, it maintains an equilibrium in which there is harmony between tranquility and activity.

      Wang says that the heart-mind of a sage regards heaven, earth, and all things as constituting one body. Only when we love all human beings can we truly recognize that we form one body with them. Only when we love all mountains, rivers, animals, and plants can we truly recognize that we form one body with all living things. Thus, the learning we should try to attain consists in clearing away the obscurations of selfish desires in order to recognize our original condition of forming one body with heaven, earth, and all things.

      Bryan Van Norden (2014) explains that Wang's theory of the unity of knowledge and action may be seen as a denial of the possibility of weakness of will.¹⁴ To examine the implications of this aspect of Wang's theory, we may consider a hypothetical example of weakness of will presented by Robert Audi in a 1990 article entitled "Weakness of Will and Rational Action":

"Consider John, a practiced and conscientious retributivist. He believes that he should punish his daughter for talking hours on the phone when she knew she should study. On reflection, he judges that he should deny her a Saturday outing. But a day later, when it comes time to deny her the outing, he looks into her eyes, realizes that she will be quite upset, decides to make do with a stern rebuke, and lets her go. He feels guilty and chides himself. It is not that he changed his mind; he was simply too uncomfortable with the prospect of cracking down."¹⁵

      In Wang's view, since genuine knowledge is inseparable from action, if John truly knew that he should punish his daughter, then he would have done so. Since he didn't do so, he may have had a vague intuition or indefinite belief that he should punish her, but not genuine knowledge that this was the best course of action. If he truly had knowledge that he should have punished her, then this knowledge would also have been an innate knowledge or pure knowing that would have been in accord with the principle of nature in his heart-mind. That pure knowing would have been capable of distinguishing between correct and incorrect beliefs, and if he had acted accordingly, then he could have been certain that he would not be acting incorrectly. 

      The fact that John didn't punish his daughter means that he actually knew that he should refrain from punishing her, so if he believed that he actually knew that he should punish her, then he was mistaken in that belief. Even if he says to himself afterward, "I knew that I should have punished her, but I didn't," and he feels guilty about having changed his mind, his unfulfilled intention to punish her didn't amount to genuinely knowing that he should take that course of action. If he had actually known that he should punish her, then he would have known without even realizing it. There would have been no need of making up his mind about it.

      Wang seems to be making an important point, insofar as if we truly know something, then we should be able to act on that knowledge. The ability to act effectively on a knowledge claim may support the validity of that claim, and the inability to act effectively on it may undermine or cast doubt on its validity.  However, there may also be cases in which we must wait for the right time to act. Practical knowledge may include knowing when to act and when not to act. Thinking may sometimes precede acting, and acting may sometimes precede thinking. Thus, knowledge and action may not be the same thing.

      Weakness of will may not be the only cause of our not doing something that we know we should do. Other possible causes include carelessness, neglect, other competing tasks or obligations, and lack of time and resources.

      Knowing how, rather than knowing that, may also be necessary for knowledge to become action. Practical knowledge, as opposed to theoretical knowledge, may often be helpful and/or necessary for knowing to become acting.

      Joshua Shepherd and J. Adam Carter (2023) argue against the proposition that if we do something intentionally, then we must know what we are doing. As an initial argument, they present a case described by Donald Davidson (1980) in which he is writing heavily on a page, intending to produce ten legible carbon copies, but he does not know or even believe with any confidence that he is succeeding. But if he is indeed producing ten legible carbon copies, then he is certainly doing it intentionally.¹⁶ As another argument that we can do something intentionally without knowing what we are doing, they present a case in which the baseball player Albert Pujols steps up to home plate intending to hit a home run and then does so, although he doesn't know that he is actually hitting a home run until he sees the ball landing in the left field seats 340 feet away. He has acted intentionally without necessarily knowing at the time exactly what he was doing.¹⁷

      There may also be other cases of people "not knowing what they are doing," for a variety of reasons: ignorance, incompetence, recklessness, intoxication, mental disorders, intellectual disability, etc.

      Many examples may be given of situations in which empirical findings must be confirmed before they can be acted upon: a physician must often wait for the final results of a diagnostic test before making a definite diagnosis and developing a plan of treatment, a medical researcher must often wait for confirmation of treatment results before initiating the next stage of a clinical trial, a journalist must often obtain confirmation of a story from multiple sources before being able to present it for publication, a public prosecutor must often obtain testimony from multiple witnesses in order to convince a grand jury to issue a criminal indictment, and so on. Prima facie evidence must often be further verified before it can be acted upon.

      Is knowledge a disposition to action? If so, then we might assume that a certain kind of knowledge should produce a certain kind of action. The disposition, if triggered, should produce a specific manifestation. An example would be, "If S knows that a child near him is about to fall into a well, then this knowledge will produce an action by S to prevent that child from falling into the well." The disposition to action should not be a disposition to perform merely any random action, if we are saying that knowledge is a reliable guide to action. We may also need to determine whether any extraneous factors may mask the manifestation of the disposition to action, and whether (or to what extent) the manifestation of the disposition may be context-dependent.

      Joachim Funke (2017) asks, "How much knowledge is necessary for action?" He concludes that we must have at least some knowledge (in the form or background representations) in order to act. He also says that we may, at least at a surface level, act against our knowledge. For example, if we smoke cigarettes despite knowing that it is detrimental to our health, we may, at least at a surface level, be acting against our knowledge (although our justification for smoking may have its own rationality).¹⁸

      Despite knowing how to perform various actions, we may fail to perform them properly, due to lapses of attention and judgment, impaired motor skills, unintentional slips or errors, and other failures in execution. To examine whether such mistakes represent failures of knowledge as well as failures of action, we may consider the following hypothetical example:

      George intends to major in philosophy, and he knows that he has to take a course in logic in order to fulfill the requirements for the major, but each semester, for various reasons, he fails to register for the course. He can't find any one reason for his failure to register, but somehow he continues to procrastinate. Finally, he asks his academic advisor to register for him, because he knows that if he is given the option to register for some other course, he'll likely forget to fulfill his course requirement for the major. He jokes to himself that maybe he needs to take the course in logic in order to learn how to be more logical.

      Unnecessary delay or procrastination, like weakness of will, may be an example of knowing we should do something but failing to do it, thereby calling into question the inseparability of knowledge and action. Even when we know that there may be adverse consequences of not acting as we know we should act, we may not always act on our knowledge.

FOOTNOTES

¹Wang Yang-Ming, Instructions for Practical Living and other Neo-Confucian Writings, translated by Wing-tsit Chan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963), p. 33.

²Ibid., p. 59.

³Ibid., p. 45.

⁴Philip J. Ivanhoe, "Introduction to Wang Yangming," in Readings from the Lu-Wang School of Neo-Confucianism (Indianapolis, Hackett Publishing Company, 2009), p. 113.

⁵Wang Yangming, "In Reply to Inquiries from a Friend," in The Philosophical Letters of Wang Yang-ming, translated by Julia Ching (Canberra: Australia National University Press, 1972), p. 108.

⁶Wang Yangming, "Reply to Wei Shiyue," in Readings from the Lu-Wang School of Neo-Confucianism, translated by Philip J. Ivanhoe, p. 127.

⁷Wang Yangming, Instructions for Practical Living, translated by Wing-tsit Chan, p. 16

⁸Ibid., 98-99.

⁹Ibid., p. 99.

¹⁰Ibid., pp. 38-39.

¹¹Ibid., p. 243.

¹²Ibid., p. 52

¹³Ibid., p. 235.

¹⁴Bryan Van Norden, "Wang Yangming", in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2024 Edition), URL = <https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2024/entries/wang-yangming/>.

¹⁵Robert Audi, "Weakness of Will and Rational Action," in Australasian Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 68, No. 3, Sept. 1990, p. 276.

¹⁶Donald Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), p. 92.

¹⁷Joshua Shepherd and J. Adam Carter, "Knowledge, Practical Knowledge, and Intentional Action," in Ergo: An Open Access Journal of Philosophy, 9 (2023), pp. 556-583.

¹⁸Joachim Funke, "How Much Knowledge is Necessary for Action?", in Knowledge and Action, edited by Peter Meusburger, Benno Werlen, and Laura Suarsana, (Heidelberg: Springer, 2017), pp. 99-111.

     

Zhu Xi, on the Investigation of Things

Zhu Xi (1130-1200) was a Chinese Neo-Confucian philosopher who lived during the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279). He and the Cheng brothers, Cheng Hao (1032-1085) and Cheng Yi (1033-1107), are considered the founders of the Cheng-Zhu School of Neo-Confucian philosophy, while Lu Xiangshan (1139-1193) and Wang Yangming (1472-1529) are considered the founders of the Lu-Wang School. Both schools taught that the heart-mind (xin 心) is principle (li 理), but while the Cheng-Zhu School emphasized the investigation of principle, the Lu-Wang School emphasized the investigation of the heart-mind.

      According to Zhu Xi, the investigation of things (gewu 格物) may enable us to understand the pattern or principle (li 理) in them (the reason they are as they are). There is one pattern or principle in all things, but it may have many manifestations. Li is inseparable from qi (氣, "vital energy," "material force," or "psychophysical stuff"). Without qi, there would be nothing in which li could settle or dwell in order for it to govern the myriad things in the universe. Thus, the diverse manifestations of li are due to differences in the manner in which the myriad things are endowed with qi.

      Qi may accumulate to form matter, but li is neither form nor matter.¹ Whenever qi accumulates or dissipates, expands or contracts, integrates or disintegrates, its transformations are governed by li. Li also governs the interrelationships between yin and yang (the two opposing but complementary forces of qi that must be balanced in order for there to be cosmic harmony) and the Five Phases or Agents (wood, fire, earth, metal, and water) that lead to an orderly evolution of the universe.

      Differences in the qi that human beings are endowed with may be due to whether it is bright or dark, clear or turbid, blocked or unblocked. Li or human nature is the same in every human being, but each individual has their own distinctive endowment of qi, which may account for individual differences in moral character. For those individuals whose qi is not clear and bright or who have imbalances in the Five Phases, learning and moral cultivation may enable them to transform their dark or cloudy qi into bright and clear qi so that it no longer obscures the goodness of their human nature, and so that it harmonizes with their natural virtues of goodness (ren 仁), righteousness (yi 義), propriety (li 禮), and wisdom (zhi 智). These cardinal virtues are all manifestations of li.

         If li loses its brightness due to the cloudiness or turbidity of qi, then we may also need to concentrate on it until it becomes brighter (for example, by regulating unruly desires and emotions), just as when a mirror becomes dull or cloudy, we may need to polish it until it regains its brightness and clarity.

     Zhu Xi teaches that learning and moral self-cultivation may be promoted by studying the Four Books (the Analects, Mencius, Great Learning, and the Mean) and the Five Classics (the Documents, Odes, Spring and Autumn Annals, the Rites, and the Book of Changes). They may also be promoted by reverential attentiveness (jing 敬),² investigation of the principle in things, and investigation of an individual's own heart-mind.

      The heart-mind (xin 心) is principle, and it extends to all the myriad things in the universe. Thus, the natures of all human beings and all the myriad things are the same. Their individual differences are merely due to differences in their individual endowments of qi. Yin and yang and the Five Phases of qi can interact in a myriad of ways. The moral nature of li is such that it can transform qi from turbid to clear, and from dark to bright. Thus, by investigating the principle in things, we can also investigate the principle in the heart-mind.

      However, the principle of the heart-mind is never separated from qi, and indeed qi is the locus of the heart-mind's activity or consciousness. Li and qi interpenetrate, just as the principle and the consciousness of the heart-mind interpenetrate. Thus, the principle in the heart-mind can become an object of consciousness,³ just as consciousness can become a locus for the principle of the heart-mind.

      In order to fully investigate the principle in things, we must have an open heart-mind. If we investigate things to their limits, then we will find that they are all interconnected, and that they all converge in the heart-mind.⁴ In order to fully investigate the principle of the heart-mind, we must therefore clear away all obscurations of the fundamental goodness of human nature.

      Since human nature is the principle contained in the human heart-mind,⁵ we may also extend our knowledge of the nature of things by extending our knowledge of human nature. We may better understand the diverse manifestations of principle in the myriad things by better understanding the diverse manifestations of principle in the human heart-mind.

      Zhu Xi distinguishes between substance (ti 體) and function (yong 用) by saying that substance corresponds to the principle of things (e.g. that eyes see things), while function corresponds to their operation (e.g. eyes may open or close to see or not see things). Relationships between ruler and minister, father and son, and elder brother and younger brother are examples of substances, while virtues such as benevolence, respect, filiality, and trustworthiness are examples of functions. The heart-mind is a substance, while its desires, emotions, and other activities are functions.

      Alertness and self-control may help us to overcome selfish desires that may obscure the goodness of our heart-minds. If selfish desires are avoided, then principle will not be blocked and will flow freely.⁶

      According to Zhu Xi, the heart-mind of heaven and earth has four moral qualities (origination, flourishing, advantage, and firmness), which in their function are comparable to the four seasons (spring, summer, fall, and winter). Thus, the human heart-mind (renxin 人心) also has four moral qualities (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom), which in their function constitute the sense of compassion, the sense of shame, the sense of respect, and the sense of right and wrong.

      The Great Ultimate is the principle of heaven and earth, as well as the principle of all human beings and all the myriad things.⁷ Through tranquility it generates yin, and through activity it generates yang. It is the principle of the highest good, and it can be found in all human beings and all things.

      Whether one agrees or disagrees with Zhu Xi about the proper way to promote moral self-cultivation may partly depend on whether or not one agrees that reading the Confucian Classics should be the starting point of moral instruction. It may also depend on whether one agrees that knowledge of the principle in external things is necessary before we can know the principle in our own heart-minds. When asked which comes first, the extension of knowledge (of external objects) or the nurturing of the self, Zhu Xi replies that extension of knowledge must come first.⁸ While he recognizes both an inner moral cultivation (attained through reading, reflection, and reverential attentiveness to the heart-mind) and an outer cultivation (attained through the investigation of external objects), he seems to favor the outer route as the foundation of moral self-cultivation. If we recognize the principle in things, then we will also recognize the principle in our own heart-minds. Thus, he seems to favor an externalist over an internalist theory of knowledge. To grasp principle, we can look anywhere--at a tree, a bamboo grove, or a father-son relationship.⁹ The ways in which principle may be manifested in the world are manifold and infinite.

FOOTNOTES

¹Zhu XI: Basic Teachings, translated by Daniel K. Gardner (New York: Columbia University Press, 2022), p. 5.

²Ibid., p. 118.

³Ibid., p. 51.

⁴Ibid., p. 83.

⁵Ibid., p. 52.

⁶Ibid., p. 60

⁷Chu Hsi, "The Great Ultimate," in A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy, translated by Wing-tsit Chan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963), p. 638.

⁸Zhu Xi: Basic Teachings, translated by Daniel K. Gardner, p. 81.

⁹Ibid., p. 87.

Han Feizi's Critique of Confucianism and Mohism

Han Feizi (c. 280-233 BCE) was a Chinese Legalist philosopher during the Warring States period (c. 475-221 BCE), whose writings were mainly concerned with providing directives for rulers to follow in order to maintain their political power and authority. He studied under Xunzi (298-238 BCE), who taught that human nature is basically evil and that righteousness can only be acquired by deliberate effort.

      According to Han Feizi, human beings are mainly motivated by their own self-interest. Thus, a ruler should disguise his true intentions from his ministers, so that they won't be able to betray him. He should take credit for any successes or accomplishments of his government, but he should hold his ministers responsible for any disappointments or failures. He should never be too generous in administering rewards or too lenient in administering punishments. If he is too generous or too lenient, then his ministers will not be as conscientious and diligent in fulfilling their duties.

      Han Feizi also says that the most effective means of maintaining power and authority is through the administration of appropriate rewards for good conduct and punishments for bad conduct. Strict punishments are the best means of maintaining order and discipline. Thus, the "two handles" of government are reward and punishment, over which the ruler should maintain absolute control. If a ruler allows his ministers to administer rewards and punishments, then he will eventually find himself under their control. Whenever rulers are assassinated, intimidated, or forced into submission, it is invariably because they have surrendered control over rewards and punishments to their ministers.¹

      In a well-ordered state, if a ruler's ministers present proposals to him and he subsequently assigns them tasks to fulfill, then they should be rewarded when their words match their actions and punished when their words do not match their actions. Thus, the actions of the ministers should match the names or job descriptions that have been assigned to them. Ministers should neither exceed nor fall short of the responsibilities or duties that have been assigned to them. 

      In a well-ordered state, those who deserve to be rewarded are rewarded, and those who deserve to be punished are punished.² Those who do not deserve to be rewarded are not rewarded, and those who do not deserve to be punished are not punished (so that the ruler may retain their allegiance and loyalty).

      Han Feizi criticizes the Confucians for teaching that the ancient sage kings maintained social order by being benevolent and righteous, and he criticizes the Mohists for teaching that the sage kings maintained social order by promoting universal love. For Han Feizi, the "two handles" of reward and punishment are the only reliable means of maintaining power and authority. Only when severe punishments are administered for disobedience to the commands of the ruler will the state remain orderly. Thus, the best rewards for good conduct are generous and predictable, and the best punishments for bad conduct are severe and inescapable.³ The best laws are also those that are uniform and inflexible, so that they will not be misunderstood.⁴ A ruler should never delay in administering rewards or be merciful in administering punishments.⁵

      Han Feizi also criticizes the teachings of the Confucians and Mohists because he says they lead to disagreements regarding the private and public responsibilities of the individual. The cultivation of benevolence and righteousness through the pursuit of such activities as literature and music may be in the private interest of the individual, but it may not be in the practical interest of the state (for example, if a minister's official duties require him to devote less time to activities such as literature and music). Moreover, if there is a conflict between private duty (such as duty to one's family) and public duty, then the fulfillment of private duty in preference to public duty may serve the interest of the individual but not the state. To engage in contradictory modes of reward and punishment by rewarding those who act in the public interest and also rewarding (and not punishing) those who act in their own private interest may be to ensure that a state will always be disorderly.⁶

      Since the teachings of the Confucians and the Mohists may be contradictory to each other (for example, in their view of the importance of compliance with traditional rites and rituals), Han Feizi also argues that neither can claim with certainty to be the way of the ancient sage kings.

      An argument that may be made against his theory of the ideal ruler, however, is that if a ruler trusts no one, then no one will trust him. A ruler must be able to assign various powers and responsibilities to his ministers. If he reserves all powers to himself, then his government will either be paralyzed or fail to function effectively whenever he is unable to make timely decisions. Han Feizi attempts unsuccessfully to justify a totally autocratic and authoritarian form of government.

      Another argument against his theory of the ideal ruler is that he says that a ruler should be secretive about his intentions so that disloyal ministers will not be able to obstruct his aims. But in order to gain the full support of his ministers, a ruler must do something more than merely reward them for obedience and punish them for disobedience. He must provide them with some vision of what his true aims actually are. Disguise and secrecy will only take him so far, and they will not gain him the kind of loyalty that he will need to maintain political power.

      Another argument against Han Feizi's theory of the ideal ruler is that his view of human nature is very pessimistic, and it may be unable to account for the role of altruistic motives in human behavior. A ruler who seeks only his own self-interest will not be capable of promoting the interests of others, and he will ultimately have to rely on some form of coercion (beyond the administration of rewards and punishments) in order to maintain social control.

FOOTNOTES

¹Han Feizi, Han Feizi: Basic Writings, translated by Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003) p. 3
²Ibid., p. 38.

³Ibid., p. 104.

⁴Ibid., p. 104.

⁵Ibid., p. 105.

⁶Ibid., p. 108.

Laozi and Self-Effacement in Moral Theory

Laozi (c. sixth century BCE) was an ancient Chinese philosopher who is said to have written the Daodejing (Canon of the Way and Virtue). This ancient scripture is in many ways elusive and enigmatic in its meaning, and it may therefore be worthwhile to consider whether its approach to moral theory is self-effacing. If it is not, then it may have an advantage over deontological, consequentialist, and virtue ethical approaches, and it may be an even deeper source of moral insight and enlightenment.
      What is self-effacement in moral theory? Simon Keller (2007) explains that a moral theory is self-effacing if the relevant considerations it posits as to what is right and wrong may sometimes not serve as motives for action.¹ He argues that virtue ethics is self-effacing in the same way that deontological and consequentialist ethics are, and that a lack of self-effacement is therefore not a reason to prefer one of these theories over another.
      According to Keller, deontological theories are self-effacing insofar as there may be situations in which the desire to conform with moral duty may not be the best motive to perform actions in those situations. Consequentialist theories are self-effacing insofar as there may be situations in which the desire to bring about the best possible consequences may not be the best motive to perform actions in those situations. Virtue ethics is self-effacing insofar as there may be situations in which the desire to perform the actions that a fully virtuous person would perform in those situations may not be the best motive for performing those actions.
      To provide an example of the self-effacement of virtue ethics, Keller describes a situation in which three friends, Arthur, Benjamin, and Christine, who are sharing a hut in the woods, offer to help a family that is struggling to put up a tent nearby. Arthur's motive for inviting the family to take shelter in their hut is that he wants to help the family, because they seem to be cold and tired and hungry. Benjamin's motive for inviting the family to take shelter in their hut is that he wants to be generous. Christine's motive for inviting the family to take shelter in their hut is that she wants to do what a fully virtuous person would do. In this situation, Arthur's motive for helping the family seems to be the most praiseworthy, since it best reflects the kinds of motives that a truly virtuous person would have.
      Laozi might approach the situation by making an assessment of the degree to which each of the three friends' motives and actions conform to the Way. Laozi says in the Daodejing that the Way to Heaven is to benefit, and not to harm. The Way of the sage is to act, but not to strive (chapter eighty-one). To act according to the Dao (the Way) is to act virtuously, but not to strive to be virtuous. In acting according to the Way, less and less is done, until nothing is done, and when nonaction (wu wei) is achieved, nothing will be left undone (chapter forty-eight). That is why the sage can be entrusted to care for everything.
      Laozi also says that the greatest virtue comes from following only the Way (chapter twenty-one), By following the Way, those who yield will overcome, those who bend will be made straight, those who are empty will be filled, those who are worn out will be renewed, and those who have little will gain (chapter twenty-two). Moreover, those who follow the Way do not boast or make a display of themselves (chapter twenty-four). Thus, the sage (the shengren) doesn't seek to be recognized for acting according to the Way. He acts spontaneously by complying with the natural order of things. The more he gives to others, the more he has. He recognizes that he may lose by gaining and gain by losing. He acts by not acting, and thus he achieves everything.
      In following the Dao, we see the interdependence of all phenomena. Good and evil, beauty and ugliness, having and not having, long and short, high and low, front and back are all interdependent (chapter two). The myriad things carry yin and embrace yang. By combining these qi (cosmic energies, life forces, or material forces) or complementary aspects of reality, the myriad things attain harmony (chapter forty-two).
      Thus, the Dao is a path that preserves harmony between yin and yang. It is in accord with the natural order of things. Whatever is contrary to it will not long survive (chapter thirty). It does nothing, and yet it leaves nothing undone (chapter thirty-seven). However, it is also unnameable. If it is named or told, then it is not the Dao. If it is unnamed or untold, then it is the beginning of heaven and earth. It is the gate to all mysteries (chapter one).

      The Dao can be neither seen nor heard. It is formless and intangible. It is neither bright nor dark, neither beginning nor ending. (chapter fourteen). It blunts the sharpness of things, and it darkens the brightness of things. It loosens the tightness of things, and it softens the roughness of things.

      Only when the Dao is lost or abandoned, says Laozi, do benevolence and righteousness arise. Only when there is disorder within the family do filial piety and deference arise. Only when the state is in chaos do loyal ministers arise (chapter eighteen).²

      Moreover, only when the Way is left behind do we rely on virtue. Only when virtue is left behind do we rely on benevolence. Only when benevolence is left behind do we rely on righteousness. Only when righteousness is left behind do we rely on ritual propriety (chapter thirty-eight).³
      To know constancy, says Laozi, is to attain enlightenment. It's also to be open-minded, as well as open-hearted. It's to be accommodating, and to work for the good of all (chapter sixteen).
      If you are a good walker, according to Laozi, then you will leave no tracks. If you are a good speaker, then you will make no slips or mistakes. If you are good at numbers, then you will not need to count or tally. If you are good at closing up, then you will need no locks or bolts. If you are good at binding, then you will need no knots, and whatever you have bound will not be unbound. Thus, the sage takes care of everyone, and he abandons no one. He takes care of all things, and he abandons nothing (chapter twenty-seven). He works without doing, and he practices wu wei (non-striving or nonaction) (chapter sixty-three).
      To practice wu wei is to be pliant and supple, spontaneous and effortless. It is to perfect oneself without thinking about oneself. It is to support others without attempting to gain authority over them. Thus, the sage, by not seeking to be recognized, is recognized. By yielding to resistance, he overcomes resistance. By putting himself behind, he gets ahead. By giving without expecting to be rewarded, he is rewarded. By not seeking to be fulfilled, he is fulfilled.
      In the situation that Keller describes, in which Arthur, Benjamin, and Christine differ in their motives for acting virtuously, Laozi would probably most approve of Arthur, who acts more purely out of generosity and compassion than Benjamin and Christine, who act more out of a desire to see themselves as generous and compassionate. Laozi says that the way of the sage is to act, rather than to deliberate about all the factors that might lead him to act. By being reluctant to accept favor and willing to accept disgrace, the sage can act selflessly without regard to his own personal gain, and by caring for others as he would care for himself, he can be entrusted to care for the whole world (chapter thirteen).
      Laozi would probably approve to a lesser degree of Benjamin's desire to be generous, because although Benjamin is trying to exemplify a moral virtue, Benjamin is also striving to be virtuous, rather than simply acting in accordance with the natural order of things (which would entail simply inviting the family to share his hut because they are tired and hungry).
      Laozi would probably also approve to a lesser degree of Christine's desire to act like a virtuous person would act, because although she's trying to emulate the conduct of a sage, the way of a sage isn't something that can be acquired by assiduous learning or sustained effort. It requires acting selflessly, without regard to whether one can see oneself as acting virtuously.

      In this respect, Laozi's approach to acting virtuously may not fully account for the positive ethical contributions that can be made by an exemplarist moral theory, in which virtuous conduct is modeled on moral exemplars. As described by Linda Zagzebski (2017), exemplarist moral theory may serve the same purposes as deontological, consequentialist, and virtue theories, and it may have the advantage of being structured around a motivating emotion--admiration for moral exemplars. It may also have the advantage of serving as a map, rather a manual, for moral decision-making. It may also meet the needs of different cultural communities by allowing them to identify their own distinct but overlapping sets of moral exemplars.⁴

      Laozi does, however, devote a great deal of attention to the conduct of a sage and what it reveals about how we should follow the Way. The sage doesn't brag about or expect to be rewarded for his virtuous conduct. The sage is good at saving things and never abandons things. He remains detached from things, but he still takes care of things. He grasps at nothing and therefore loses nothing. He does nothing, but he leaves nothing undone. At the same time, Laozi introduces the paradox that we should avoid "sageliness" or striving to be like a sage (chapter nineteen), because if we do avoid trying to be sagelike, then we will actually be more like a sage in following the Way.

      If we return to Keller's assertion that virtue ethics is self-effacing, then we should also take note of the counter-assertion by Glen Pettigrove (2011) that virtue ethics doesn't necessarily have to be self-effacing. Pettigrove says that self-effacement may be an undesirable quality in an ethical theory, because it may interfere with a theory's ability to provide guidance for action. Self-effacement may also interfere with a theory's ability to train an agent to think about the kinds of things that would be salient for her when she is acting well.⁵ It may also undermine the ability to love and care for others in the best way, if loving and caring for them in the best way involves loving and caring for them for their own sake, but the theory encourages us to view loving and caring for them as a means to some end.⁶

      Pettigrove explains that in order to avoid the charge of self-effacement, an ethical theory must adopt a pluralist conception of value by accommodating the fact that there may be different ways in which an action may be good. In order for virtue ethics to avoid the charge of self-effacement, it must therefore offer transparent criteria of what makes an action good, by describing various virtues in terms of the goods they acknowledge, respond to, and/or promote. If it does offer such criteria, then it does not have to be self-effacing.⁷ A virtue ethical theory may therefore avoid self-effacement by providing not only target-centered criteria for good action, but also a practical wisdom criterion of right action (according to which an action is right only if it is what a virtuous person would do who perceived the details of the given situation correctly).⁸

      Derek Parfit (1984) takes another approach to self-effacement by saying that if S is a self-interest theory of rationality, according to which it's most rational for us to act in our own self-interest, then S may be self-effacing if it tells us that it may sometimes be rational for us not to act in our own self-interest. S may also be self-effacing if in some cases belief in it would actually not be in our own best interest, and it would actually be in our own best interest to believe in some other theory of rationality. But if S is self-effacing, says Parfit, then that doesn't mean that S must also be self-defeating, because the aim of S is to be true, and to be the best theory of rationality. Thus, self-effacement is not necessarily a theoretical defect, because it doesn't show that S is not true and is not the best theory of rationality.⁹

     Is Laozi's approach to moral theory self-effacing? If it is, then there may be situations in which the desire to follow the Way is not the best motive for action (on nonaction). But Laozi says, "Everyone knows that when the good strives to be good it is no good,"⁹ so striving to follow the Way may not be the best way to follow the Way.

      To approach the question in a somewhat different way: if Laozi teaches that it is best to avoid being attached to things, are there situations in which avoiding being attached to things may not be the best motive for action or nonaction? It may be argued that not all kinds of attachment are bad. For example, personal or emotional attachment to family members, friends, groups, and communities may motivate us to care for and express our concern for them. If we were to always try to remain detached from them, rather than acknowledge our sense of attachment, then we might run the risk of deluding ourselves about the true nature of our emotional investment, and we might not be able to as effectively promote their flourishing and well-being.

      However, Laozi also says that the sage never abandons others. He cares for them selflessly, and he puts their needs before his own. He shelters them, and he nurtures and supports them. He acts with humility and with no expectation of reward.

      The teachings of the Daodejing may avoid self-effacement with the very first verse: "A Way that can be followed is not a constant Way."¹⁰ The Dao eludes self-effacement, because it's pliant and flexible. It's like the stretching of a bow, because whatever is high is lowered, and whatever is low is raised (chapter seventy-seven). It's like a vessel that can never be filled, a wellspring that can never be exhausted. It's a way to cosmic harmony, rather than the way to virtue. It eludes self-effacement, because it reveals that striving to be good may not actually be the best way to be good.

FOOTNOTES

¹Simon Keller, "Virtue Ethics is Self-Effacing," in Australasian Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 85, No. 2, June 2007, p. 221.

²Laozi, "Daodejing," translated by Philip J. Ivanhoe, in Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy, edited by Philip J. Ivanhoe and Bryan W. Van Norden (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2023), p. 181.

³Ibid., p. 190.

⁴Linda Trinkaus Zagzebski, Exemplarist Moral Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), pp. 3-4.

⁵Glen Pettigrove, "Is Virtue Ethics Self-Effacing?", in Journal of Ethics, Vol. 15 (2011), pp. 192-193.

⁶Ibid., p. 193.

⁷Ibid., p. 201.

⁸Ibid., p. 202.

⁹Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), p. 24. Parfit says that we can't assume that the best theory of rationality will never be self-effacing. However, he also says that while the self-interest theory of rationality is not directly self-defeating, because it doesn't tell us not to act in our own self-interest when it is in our best interest not to, it is indirectly self-defeating, because there may be cases in which it is not in our best interest to act in our own self-interest.

¹⁰Laozi, "Daodejing," translated by Philip J. Ivanhoe, in Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy, edited by Philip J. Ivanhoe and Bryan W. Van Norden (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2023), p. 173.

OTHER RESOURCES

Laozi, Tao Te Ching on the Art of Harmony, translated by Chad Hansen (London: Duncan Baird Publishers, 2009).

Lao Tsu, Tao Te Ching, translated by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English (New York: Random House, 1972.

Maimonides, on Divine Attributes

Moses ben Maimon, known as Maimonides (1135-1204), was a Jewish rabbi, philosopher, physician, and astronomer. He was born in Córdoba, Spain, but due to religious persecution, his family was forced to move to Fez, Morocco and later to Palestine and Egypt. He studied the Torah under his father, Maimon ben Joseph, who was a rabbinic judge and scholar, and he also studied medicine, mathematics, and Greek philosophy. He eventually became court physician to Saladin, the sultan of Egypt. He died in Fostat, Egypt and was buried in Tiberias, Israel. His many writings included his Treatise on Logical Terminology (1154), Commentary on the Mishnah (1168), the Mishneh Torah (1178), and The Guide for the Perplexed (1190).

      Maimonides says in The Guide for the Perplexed that while Genesis 1:27 tells us that God created man in his own image, that act of creation doesn't imply that God himself had human form. It is because of man's capacity for rational awareness that he is said to have been created in the likeness of God, not because God has a body or shape.¹ God transcends all likeness, and he is incorporeal.

      God has no attributes or qualities, says Maimonides. There are no attributes that can be predicated of God, because predicates signifying the essence or "whatness" of a thing are inapplicable to God.² There are no factors prior to God's existence by which he might be defined. Indeed, the very term "God" is indefinable.³

      God has no accidental attributes, because he is not a substrate of accidents. There is nothing accidental about his nature or essence. Moreover, he has no essential attributes, because he does not have a composite essence. He is one in every way, without internal complexity.⁴ 

      God's supposed attributes are nothing but his acts, says Maimonides. God's acts can be known, but not God himself. To say that God has attributes is merely to assign traits to him that seem to be expressed by his actions. Thus, we may try to be virtuous by emulating God and modeling our conduct on his actions.

      There is nothing passive about God. God is not affected or changed by any causes or conditions. There is also nothing potential about God. All of God's perfections are fully actualized.⁵

      Existence, knowledge, and will are not essential attributes of God, because God has no essential attributes. There is no analogy or likeness between his existence and the existence of other things. No predicates can be applied to him, as they can be applied to other things. For anything whose existence has a cause, its existence is accidental and distinct from its essence.⁶ But for God, who necessarily exists, his existence is his essence, and his essence is his existence.

      Unity and multiplicity are accidents of whatever is one or many.⁷ God is one, but not by way of oneness or unity.⁸ God is one in the sense of being unique, not in the sense of being a unity of composite attributes. 

      The only proper way of characterizing God, according to Maimonides, is by using negative predicates.⁹ We can only know or say that God is, not what God is. The more that we affirm about God, the further we are from knowing him.¹⁰ God's perfections should not be viewed as traits or attributes, because he has no traits or attributes. Indeed, he transcends all traits or attributes. Only negative predications, such as "God is not corporeal" or "God is not a contingent being," can bring us closer to knowing God.¹¹ 

      God created the world out of absolute nothingness, and he also created time. His creation of the world was not an event in time, because time was part of what he created. Thus, Maimonides rejects eternalism regarding the world's existence.

      God is perfect in his being, says Maimonides. Since there is nothing lacking in God, there is nothing that God fails to know.¹² God is his knowledge, and his knowledge is one, although it is of many things of different kinds.¹³ 

FOOTNOTES

¹Moses Maimonides, The Guide to the Perplexed, translated by Lenn E. Goodman and Phillip I. Lieberman (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2024), p. 21.

²Ibid., p. 87.

³Ibid., p. 87.

⁴Ibid., p. 91.

⁵Ibid., p. 100.

⁶Ibid., p. 102.

⁷Ibid., p. 102.

⁸Ibid., p. 102.

⁹Ibid., p. 103

¹⁰Ibid., p. 106.

¹¹Ibid., p. 111.

¹²Ibid., p. 389.

¹³Ibid., p. 194.