Series on the History of Chinese Philosophy, Pt. 11
Mencius and Xunzi on Nature vs. Nurture
Growing Seeds or Straightening Crooked Timber?
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Hello and welcome to Part 11 of the series! Here we’ll be taking a look at how the philosophy of Confucius was extended by two later Warring States thinkers — Mengzi (a.k.a. Mencius) and Xunzi. You can check out the rest of the series here:
A common distinction scholars draw between Mencius and Xunzi hangs on their differences regarding human nature — with Mencius saying it’s basically good and Xunzi arguing it’s mostly bad. At various points in history (and depending on which scholar is talking) you’re liable to find either Mencius or Xunzi held up as the “true heir” of the Confucian view.
But, as one disciple of Confucius put it in the Analects: “The Master’s doctrines and explanations can be heard, but his views on human nature and the dao of Nature cannot be heard.” [Analects 5:13]
Does that imply Confucius had NO opinion on these subjects — or that he just refused to share?! It’s hard to say… since there’s only one passage in the entire Analects where he even mentions human nature at all:
People are close to one another by nature (xìng). They diverge as a result of repeated practice. [Analects 17:2]
That’s not much to go on when it comes to evaluating our inherent goodness or badness.
The word Confucius used in that statement is xìng [性], which is a picto-phonetic compound that combines the radical for “heart-mind” (xīn) with the character shēng [生]—connoting life, birth, purity, and essence. So, xìng might best be understood as ‘one’s inborn nature,’ ‘what’s really there from the beginning,’ or perhaps even ‘disposition.’
Those familiar with ancient Greek philosophy might be hearing faint echoes of Aristotle’s notion of hexis (continuous effort in persisting in a condition) ringing in that last translation. That’s no accident. I think Confucius probably held a view of human BEING (that is, the “what it is to be” of being human) that was similar to Aristotle’s in at least a few respects. But, more on that in a moment…
Suffice it to say… regardless of whether he thought it was good or bad… it looks like Confucius believed humans do indeed have a distinct nature.
“To Carve and to Polish” — Nature or Nurture?
Of course, belief in a distinctly human “nature” is totally commonplace within the history of ideas.
In fact — until fairly recently — MOST philosophers held some such view. But, in our post-Darwinian, postmodern, and postcolonial world, the essentialist framework under-girding such a view tends to strike most philosophers as more than a little passé. (There are certainly a few holdovers, though.)
The majority of contemporary philosophers hold that personality traits, phenotypes, dispositions, habits, et cetera are a combination of BOTH genetic information AND environmental influences (with perhaps a couple of other factors, to boot). And — archaic ontologies aside — I think this resonates with what Confucius seems to have had in mind. After all, he DID say people are similar by nature and diverge only through practice.
But, there’s something else really important in the Confucian view which may render moot not just the “nature-nurture” debate, but also the question of whether human nature is basically good or bad.
It all has to do with his philosophy of self-cultivation…
Earlier entries in this series have already touched on this, and in Part 7 we saw how Confucius compared moral cultivation to the art of carving and polishing a fine jade stone… i.e. refinement and cultured civility (wén 文) can allow the beauty of one’s natural proclivities (zhì 質) to shine through. A couple of lines from the Analects can help illustrate:
When wén and zhì are blended perfectly, this gives rise to the jūnzi.” [Analects 6:18]
Wén is just as important as zhì, and zhì is just as important as wén. [Analects 12:8]
Whatever his EVALUATION of human nature may have been, what seems clear is that Confucius believed practice and experience could help shape it.
BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!
Notice also how this view implies one is able to CHOOSE how one’s nature is shaped. Put yourself in the right environment… practice the way of uprightness and integrity… honor and cherish your family… and you too might be able to RECONSTRUCT your nature!
In other words, Confucian virtue appears rooted in habits of appropriateness and good judgement (or, what Aristotle might have called hexis prohairetike).
Confucius himself says as much:
The Master said, ‘Is benevolence really far away? No sooner do I desire it than it is here.’ [Analects 7:30]
As we’ll see, even though Mencius and Xunzi started from very different interpretations of the Master, each extended Confucian philosophy in his own way, and wound up offering pretty similar advice regarding education — or what Confucius called “carving and polishing.”
Mencius’ Upbringing
Mencius thrived somewhere around the end of the 4th century BCE. This would make him roughly a contemporary of both Aristotle and the Daoist philosopher Zhuangzi. He was born in the northeastern area of Zhu, a state that held dominion over Confucius’ home state of Lu. A descendant of this noble house (many centuries later, during the Song dynasty) would become the famous neo-Confucian Zhu Xi. Many of the most important Confucian and neo-Confucian thinkers throughout history hailed from the ancestral lands of Zhu and Lu.
Mencius is said to have studied under the purported author of the Zhōngyōng (and Confucius’ only grandson), Zisi. Like Confucius, Mencius traveled to the various states of the land, seeking audiences with local rulers in an effort to end the bloodshed of the Warring States. For a time, he even served as an advisor in the court of Qi. His writings were collected in a volume of 7 chapters (each divided into two sections) which recorded his conversations with noble rulers.
Traditionally, the story of Mencius’ upbringing has been tied to the moral guidance of his mother, who is said to have worked tirelessly to secure an education for her young son after his father died. Her efforts were recorded in Lu Xiang’s Han-period work Liènǚ Zhuàn, or Biographies of Exemplary Women. Here’s an excerpt:
When Mencius was small, his mother lived near a cemetery. While at play, he liked to pretend to be working the graves, enthusiastically making tombs and performing burials. His mother said, “This is no place to raise my son!” So, they moved and found a place next to the city market. But when her son began amusing himself by pretending to be a merchant, Mencius’ mother again said, “This is no place to raise my son.” So, once again they moved, settling this time beside a school. Here, the boy played at arranging sacrificial vessels and the rituals of bowing, yielding, entering and withdrawing. Mencius’s mother said, “Here indeed is a place to raise my son.” And that is where they stayed. When Mencius grew up, he studied the Six Arts. In the end he became a famous scholar. The gentleman says, “Mencius’ mother understood enculturation by immersion.”
This story illustrates perfectly how important the right environment was to the Confucian view of human goodness.
Mencius: Battling on Two Fronts
Now that we’ve got these preliminaries out of the way, we can consider Mencius’ philosophical project — which might be described as a philosophical battle along two fronts.
At this time, there were two schools of thought challenging the Confucian calls for moral education and filial piety. The first is known as Mohism, for its founder Mozi, who advocated 1) basing the rightness of actions on their practical outcome, instead of their adherence to duty and 2) shifting ethical focus to the whole of humanity, rather than one’s own family.
The second school to oppose the Confucians is known as Yangism — named after its purported founder Yang Zhu, who appears briefly in Daoist texts like the Liezi and Huainanzi, and who Mencius criticized heavily.
The Yangists saw the Confucian approach as totally artificial and phony, at least in part because it advocated using one’s vital energy trying to help out the world, instead of using the world to help out one’s vital energy (thus prolonging life).
On the one hand, Mencius sought to defend the uprightness and orthodoxy of Confucianism from what he saw as the Yangists’ crass hedonism and egoism. The Yangists argued for conserving one’s own natural and true character without submitting it to societal restrictions. Given the violence and political turmoil of the day, it’s not terribly surprising that such quietism might appeal to many. (In fact, there’s some evidence to suggest that, at this time, Yangism may have even more widely accepted than any of the other “hundred schools of thought.”)
Mencius attacked these ideas in a variety of ways. For instance:
Yang’s principle is “each one for himself,” which does not acknowledge the claims of the sovereign. [Mencius 3B:14]
Which is to say that the Yangist ethics of self-interest dangerously undermined political authority and social order. And, in another passage, Mencius pointed out how it likewise could harm the people:
‘The principle of the philosopher Yang was “Each one for himself.” Though he might have benefited the whole kingdom by plucking out a single hair, he would not have done it. [Mencius 7A:26]
On the other hand, Mohist philosophy was perhaps TOO SELFLESS in its orientation — aiming at profit for the whole, over the interests of any one particular person. Although some comparativists have been tempted to describe Mozi as a utilitarian — because of this affinity for practical consequences — that’s probably a bit of a stretch. It may be more accurate to think of his moral philosophy as a kind of bottom-line-ism. The Mohists seemed to care most about doing whatever it took to secure a moral, social, and political order… a good they believed that everyone in society should value. They thought the best way to end the bloodshed of the Warring States would be to promote moral uniformity through what they called “universal love” and they sought to install a military power that could ensure such love was practiced by the people. As Mencius put it:
Mo’s principle is “to love all equally,” which does not acknowledge the peculiar affection due to a father. [Mencius 3B:14]
And,
The philosopher Mo loves all equally. If by rubbing smooth his whole body from the crown to the heel, he could have benefited the kingdom, he would have done it. [Mencius 7A:26]
Mencius seemed to be worried that such Yangist and Mohist ideas could unravel the family unit, which had been the foundation of Chinese society for thousands of years. In his words:
If the principles of Yang and Mo be not stopped, and the principles of Confucius not set forth, then those perverse speakings will delude the people, and stop up the path of benevolence and righteousness…
I am alarmed by these things, and address myself to the defense of the doctrines of the former sages, and to oppose Yang and Mo. I drive away their licentious expressions, so that such perverse speakers may not be able to show themselves. Their delusions spring up in men’s minds, and do injury to their practice of affairs. [Mencius 3B:14]
Nurturing the seeds of a good nature…
Defining human nature as good is Mencius’ most well-known thesis, but he was no naïve Pollyanna. He understood quite well how people could be made to act against their better natures:
Human nature’s being good is like water’s tending downward… Now, by striking water and making it leap up, you can cause it to go past your forehead. If you guide it by damming it, you can cause it to remain on a mountaintop. But is this the nature of water?! It is that way because of the circumstances. That humans can be caused to not be good is due to their natures also being like this. [6A2]
He claimed that everyone, even the most callous, has a heart that can feel for others:
Supposing people see a child fall into a well — they all have a heart-mind that is shocked and sympathetic. It is not for the sake of being on good terms with the child’s parents, and it is not for the sake of winning praise for neighbors and friends, nor is it because they dislike the child’s noisy cry. [2A6]
Mencius also explained the universal potential for empathy by appealing to what he called the four xīn, or heart-minds, of compassion, shame, courtesy, and right/wrong. As he stated,
Judging by this, without a heart that sympathizes one is not human; without a heart aware of shame, one is not human; without a heart that defers to others, one is not human; and without a heart that approves and condemns, one is not human. [2A6]
These xīn are like the germs (in the sense of seeds germinating) of the cardinal virtues of benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom. Mencius thought that if these seeds were nurtured and cared for properly, the Confucian virtues could manifest in even the most hard-hearted person. There’s even a famous chéngyǔ, or idiom, about this that’s taken directly from the text of Mencius’ second chapter. Bá miáo zhù zhăng means “pulling up shoots to help them grow” and warns against trying to rush this kind of moral development. This video illustrates the point:
In this way, it might be said that Mencius offered a kind of forerunner to contemporary moral psychology, and his view looks a little like the controversial moral foundations theory advanced by Jonathan Haidt and others.
It’s also important to note how Mencius viewed human nature as an extension of tīan, or nature, at large. In his words, “Tiān does not speak — it simply reveals through deeds and affairs.” (5A5) Although nature was aligned with moral goodness, human deeds and agency were still needed in order to bring about and sustain that goodness.
The advice Mencius gave to accomplishing this was to cultivate one’s xīn, or heart-mind, with a flood-like qì, which is:
the sort of qi that is utmost in vastness, utmost in firmness. If, by uprightness, you nourish it and do not interfere with it, it fills the space between Heaven and Earth. It is the sort of qì that matches the right [yi] with the Way [Dao]; without these, it starves. It is generated by the accumulation of right [yi] — one cannot attain it by sporadic righteousness. If anything one does fails to meet the standards of one’s heart-mind, it starves. (2A2)
In Part 8 we saw two ways in which a Confucian philosopher might interpret the advice of the Zhōngyōng to always be “cautious when alone” [shèndú 慎獨], either through reflectively internalizing moral understanding (“taking on a proper appearance”) or through applying rigorous external training (“putting into practice”). These passages indicate Mencius probably favored the former, internal method.
But, the kind of judicious cultivation of moral understanding for which Mencius advocated could be extended to the practical, political sphere, as well. In the first chapter of his work we find him explaining to one ruler how peace could be fostered in the kingdom:
[The king] asked abruptly, “How shall the world be settled?”
“It will be settled by unification,” [Mencius] answered. “Who will be able to unify it?” “Someone without a taste for killing will be able to unify it. Has Your Majesty noticed rice shoots? If there is drought during the seventh and eighth months, the shoots wither, but if dense clouds gather in the sky and a torrent of rain falls, the shoots suddenly revive. When that happens, who could stop it? Should there be one without a taste for killing, the people will crane their necks looking out for him. If that does happen, the people will go over to him as water tends downwards, in a torrent — who could stop it? (1A6)
In another passage, where Mencius has an audience with another ruler, King Xuan of Qi, he uses the example of how King Xuan stopped a sacrificial slaughter after being moved by the ox’s cries to show how compassion can be the seed of benevolence:
That feeling that you had when you saw the ox — this feeling alone is sufficient to enable you to become a true king. The common people all thought that you begrudged the additional expense of the ox, but I knew for certain that it was because you could not bear to see its suffering.” “That’s true,” the king said… “It was simply that I could not bear its look of abject terror, like an innocent man going to the execution ground, that I substituted a lamb in its place.” (1A7)
It may not be a coincidence, then, that King Xuan of Qi is the same ruler that’s said to have sponsored the Jixia Academy, a gathering place for scholars to confer and exchange ideas.
Straightening the timber of a bad nature…
Now that we’ve taken a closer look at Mencius, let’s turn to his counterpart Xúnzi, who was chief libationer in the court of King Xiang — the grandson of that same King Xuan of Qi with whom Mencius dialogued.
It’s said that in his own day Xunzi was also a prominent figure at the Jixia Academy. After his patron died, Xunzi moved to the court of the Qin ruler, where some of his former students at Jixia — including Li Si and Hanfeizi — had taken up service. Li Si and Hanfeizi would go on to found the philosophical school known as Legalism, and the Qin state would eventually unify China in 221 BCE by defeating all of the other Warring States.
Xunzi’s writing stands out because it was presented in the form of short treatises, rather than aphorisms or dialogues.
Although he is considered a Confucian philosopher, Daoist themes are also pretty easy to find in his writings, particularly in his treatises on nature… in which he presents a triadic view of the cosmos between Tiān (sky), Dì (land), and xìng (human nature).
Contra Mencius, Xunzi claimed that human effort had no effect on “the constant workings of nature” [tiānxíng yŏu cháng 天行有常] and that human beings must practice “non-striving” as a way of embracing their fate. For him, though, this didn’t mean just letting go and riding the Dào (as we’ll see many Daoists advocated) but instead to learn to use one’s Heavenly Fate to bring order to the State. In this way, Xunzi could perhaps be seen as a bridge between a tradition of administrator-philosophers that might include Guanzi, Guiguzi, and Shang Yang and the Legalist philosophers Li Si and Hanfeizi, who have since been called the “ministers of methods.”
Also contra Mencius, Xunzi believed human nature was inherently selfish and evil. In order to correct this and get to a position where one could practice non-striving, one would require years of rigorous moral training and effort.
Here’s what Xunzi had to say about human nature:
Crooked wood must await the press frame and steaming and bending and only then will it be straight, because it is by nature not straight. Now people’s nature is bad, and so they must certainly await the ordering influence of sage kings and the transformative effects of ritual and yì [righteousness] and only then will they all come to order and conform to goodness. People’s nature is bad. Their goodness is a matter of deliberate effort [wéi]. (ch. 23)
For those steeped in the European philosophical tradition, this may sound like a forerunner to the words of Immanuel Kant: “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made” (“Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose,” 1784). But, Xunzi uses the crooked timber analogy to arrive at a potentially less pessimistic conclusion than Kant — who claimed the greatest and most insoluble problem for our species “is the attainment of a civil society administering justice universally” (Ibid).
For Kant, the crooked timber metaphor was intended to show how EVERY attempt at creating cosmic order is doomed to incompleteness and impermanence. For Xunzi, however, achieving social order was a matter of straightening out human nature so it could better fit into and already established cosmic order. He believed heaven and Earth would follow their own course and that human society must be well-ordered if a triadic harmony was to be achieved. Since humans are the only normative agents in that relationship, it’s vital that they be molded in the proper ways.
Unlike Mencius, nature formed parameters of constraint for Xunzi, not sources of inspiration.
What’s interesting, though, is that in spite of their differences Mencius and Xunzi both believed in a long process of careful moral education. For Mencius that meant caring and nurturing the seeds of our goodness through conscious, reflective internalization of moral understanding, and for Xunzi it meant pruning and straightening out our wickedness by putting moral principles into practice.
Either way, the assumption is that human nature is MALLEABLE… which may have been the Confucian view all along!
Seeing how Mencius and Xunzi ended up at very similar practical outcomes, it’s not terribly surprising that formal study became so important in imperial China. Whether you think it’s a matter of cultivating the good or weeding out the bad, it seems clear that the earlier you start that sort of education, the better your chances of succeeding.
In Part 12 we’ll turn our attention to Daoism and the classic text known as the Dàodéjīng.
See you there!
