Slavoj Zizek (b. 1949)

Slavoj Zizek is a Slovenian-born political philosopher and cultural critic. He was described by Terry Eagleton as the “most formidably brilliant” recent theorist to have emerged from Continental Europe. Zizek’s work is infamously idiosyncratic. It features striking dialectical reversals of received common sense; a ubiquitous sense of humour; a patented disrespect towards the modern distinction between high and low culture; and the examination of examples taken from the most diverse cultural and political fields. Yet Zizek’s work, as he warns us, has a very serious philosophical content and intention. Zizek challenges many of the founding assumptions of today’s left-liberal academy, including the elevation of difference or otherness to ends in themselves, the reading of the Western Enlightenment as implicitly totalitarian, and the pervasive skepticism towards any context-transcendent notions of truth or the good. One feature of Zizek’s work is its singular philosophical and political reconsideration of German idealist philosophy (Kant, Schelling and Hegel). Zizek has also reinvigorated Jacques Lacan’s challenging psychoanalytic theory, controversially reading him as a thinker who carries forward founding modernist commitments to the Cartesian subject and the liberating potential of self-reflective agency, if not self-transparency. Zizek’s works since 1997 have become more and more explicitly political, contesting the widespread consensus that we live in a post-ideological or post-political world, and defending the possibility of lasting changes to the new world order of globalization, the end of history, or the war on terror.

This article explains Zizek’s philosophy as a systematic, if unusually presented, whole; and it clarifies the technical language Zizek uses, which he takes from Lacanian psychoanalysis, Marxism, and German idealism. In line with how Zizek presents his own work, this article starts by examining Zizek’s descriptive political philosophy. It then examines the Lacanian-Hegelian ontology that underlies Zizek’s political philosophy. The final part addresses Zizek’s practical philosophy, and the ethical philosophy he draws from this ontology.

1. Biography

Slavoj Zizek was born in 1949 in Ljubljana, Slovenia. He grew up in the comparative cultural freedom of the former Yugoslavia’s self managing socialism. Here – significantly for his work – Zizek was exposed to the films, popular culture and theory of the noncommunist West. Zizek completed his PhD at Ljubljana in 1981 on German Idealism, and between 1981 and 1985 studied in Paris under Jacques AlainMiller, Lacan’s soninlaw. In this period, Zizek wrote a second dissertation, a Lacanian reading of Hegel, Marx and Kripke. In the late 1980s, Zizek returned to Slovenia where he wrote newspaper columns for the Slovenian weekly “Mladina”, and cofounded the Slovenian Liberal Democratic Party. In 1990, he ran for a seat on the fourmember collective Slovenian presidency, narrowly missing office. Zizek’s first published book in English The Sublime Object of Ideology appeared in 1989. Since then, Zizek has published over a dozen books, edited several collections, published numerous philosophical and political articles, and maintained a tireless speaking schedule. His earlier works are of the type “Introductions to Lacan through popular culture / Hitchcock / Hollywood …” Since at least 1997, however, Zizek’s work has taken on an increasingly engaged political tenor, culminating in recent books on September 11 and the recent Iraq war. As well as being visiting professor at the Department of Psychoanalysis, Universite ParisVIII in 19823 and 19856, Zizek has lectured at the Cardozo Law School, Columbia, Princeton, the New School for Social Research, the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and Georgetown. He is currently a returning faculty member of the European Graduate School, and founder and president of the Society for Theoretical Psychoanalysis, Ljubljana.

2. Zizek’s Political Philosophy


a. Criticism of Ideology as “False Consciousness”

In a way that is oddly reminiscent of Nietzsche, Zizek generally presents his work in a polemical fashion, knowingly striking out against the grain of accepted opinion. One untimely feature of Zizek’s work is his continuing defence and use of the unfashionable term “ideology”. According to the classical Marxist definition, ideologies are discourses that promote false ideas (or “false consciousness”) in subjects about the political regimes they live in. Nevertheless, because these ideas are believed by the subjects to be true, they assist in the reproduction of the existing status quo, in an exact instance of what Umberto Eco dubs “the force of the fake”. To critique ideology, according to this position, it is sufficient to unearth the truth(s) the ideologies conceal from the subject’s knowledge. Then, so the theory runs, subjects will become aware of the political shortcomings of their current regimes, and be able and moved to better them. As Zizek takes up in his earlier works, this classical Marxian notion of ideology has come under theoretical attack in a number of ways. First, to criticise a discourse as ideological implies access to a Truth about political things the Truth that the ideologies, as false, would conceal. But it is now widely disputed in the humanities that there could ever be any One such theoretically accessible Truth. Secondly, the notion of ideology is held to be irrelevant to describe contemporary sociopolitical life, because of the increased importance of what Jurgen Habermas calls “mediasteered subsystems” (the market, public and private bureaucracies), and also because of the widespread cynicism of today’s subjects towards political authorities. For ideologies to have political importance, critics comment, subjects would have to have a level of faith in public institutions, ideals and politicians which today’s liberalcosmopolitan subjects lack. The widespread notoriety of leftleaning authors like Michael Moore of Naom Chomsky, as one example, bears witness to how subjects today can know very well what Moore claims is the “awful truth”, and yet act as if they did not know.

Zizek agrees with critics about this “false consciousness” model of ideology. Yet he insists that we are not living in a postideological world, as figures as different as Tony Blair, Daniel Bell or Richard Rorty have claimed. Zizek proposes instead that in order to understand today’s politics we need a different notion of ideology. In a typically bold reversal, Zizek’s position is that today’s widespread consensus that our world is postideological gives voice to what he calls the “archideological” fantasy. Since “ideology” since Marx has carried a pejorative sense, no one who taken in by such an ideology has ever believed that they were so duped, Zizek comments. If the term “ideology” has any meaning at all, ideological positions are always what people impute to Others (for today’s left, for example, the political right are the dupes of one or another noble lie about natural community; for the right, the left are the dupes of well meaning but utopian egalitarianism bound to lead to economic and moral collapse, etc.). For subjects to believe in an ideology, it must have been presented to them, and been accepted, as nonideological indeed, as True and Right, and what anyone sensible would believe. As we shall see in 2e, Zizek is alert to the realist insight that there is no more effective political gesture than to declare some contestable matter above political contestation. Just as the third way is said to be postideological or national security is claimed to be extrapolitical, so Zizek argues that ideologies are always presented by their proponents as being discourses about Things too sacred to profane by politics. Hence, Zizek’s bold opening in The Sublime Object of Ideology is to claim that today ideology has not so much disappeared from the political landscape as come into its own. It is exactly because of this success, Zizek argues, that ideology has also been able to be dismissed in accepted political and theoretical opinion.

b. Ideological Cynicism and Belief

Today’s typical first world subjects, according to Zizek, are the dupes of what he calls “ideological cynicism”. Drawing on the German political theorist Sloterditj, Zizek contends that the formula describing the operation of ideology today is not “they do not know it, but they are doing it”, as it was for Marx. It is “they know it, but they are doing it anyway”. If this looks like nonsense from the classical Marxist perspective, Zizek’s position is that nevertheless this cynicism indicates the deeper efficacy of political ideology per se. Ideologies, as political discourses, are there to secure the voluntary consent – or what La Boetie called servitude voluntaire of people about contestable political policies or arrangements. Yet, Zizek argues, subjects will only voluntarily agree to follow one or other such arrangement if they believe that, in doing so, they are expressing their free subjectivity, and might have done otherwise.

However false such a sense of freedom is, Zizek insists that it is nevertheless a political instance of what Hegel called an essential appearance. Althusser’s understanding of ideological identification suggests that an individual is wholly “interpellated” into a place within a political system by the system’s dominant ideology and ideological state apparatuses. Contesting this notion by drawing on Lacanian psychoanalysis, however, Zizek argues that it is a mistake to think that, for a political position to win peoples’ support, it needs to effectively brainwash them into thoughtless automatons. Rather, Zizek maintains that any successful political ideology always allows subjects to have and to cherish a conscious distance towards its explicit ideals and prescriptions – or what he calls, in a further technical term, “ideological disidentification”.

Again bringing the psychoanalytic theory of Lacan to bear in political theory, Zizek argues that the attitude of subjects towards authority revealed by today’s ideological cynicism resembles the fetishist’s attitude towards his fetish. The fetishist’s attitude towards his fetish has the peculiar form of a disavowal: “I know well that (eg) the shoe is only a shoe, but nevertheless, I still need my partner to wear the shoe in order to enjoy”. According to Zizek, the attitude of political subjects towards political authority evinces the same logical form: “I know well that (for example) Bob Hawke / Bill Clinton / the Party / the market does not always act justly, but I still act as though I did not know that this is the case”. In Althusser’s famous “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses”, Althusser staged a kind of primal scene of ideology the moment when a policeman (as bearer of authority) says “hey you!” to an individual, and the individual recognises himself as the addressee of this call. In the “180 degree turn” of the individual towards this Other who has addressed him, the individual becomes a political subject, Althusser says. Zizek’s central technical notion of the “big O Other” closely resembles to the extent that it is not modelled on Althusser’s notion of the Subject (capital “S”) in the name of which public authorities (like the police) can legitimately call subjects to account within a regime for example, “God” in a theocracy, “the Party” under Stalinism, or “the People” in today’s China. As the central chapter of The Sublime Object of Ideology specifies, ideologies for Zizek work to identify individuals with such important or rallying political terms as these, which Zizek calls “master signifiers”. The strange but decisive thing about these pivotal political words, according to Zizek, is that no one knows exactly what they mean or refer to, or has ever seen with their own eyes the sacred objects which they seem to name (eg: God, the Nation, or the People). This is one reason why Zizek, in the technical language he inherits (via Lacan) from structuralism, says that the most important words in any political doctrine are “signifiers without a signified” (i.e. words which do not refer to any clear and distinct concept or demonstrable object).

This claim of Zizek’s is connected to two other central ideas in his work:

* First: Zizek adapts the psychoanalytic notion that individuals are always “split” subjects, divided between the levels of their conscious awareness and the unconscious. Zizek contends throughout his work that subjects are always divided between what they consciously know and can say about political things, and a set of more or less unconscious beliefs they hold concerning individuals in authority, and the regime in which they live. (see 3a) Even if people cannot say clearly and distinctly why they support some political leader or policy, for Zizek no less than for Edmund Burke, this fact is not politically decisive, as we will see (see 2e below).
* Second: Zizek makes a crucial distinction between knowledge and belief. Exactly where and because subjects do not know, for example, what “the essence” of “their people” is, the scope and nature of their beliefs on such matters is politically decisive, according to Zizek (again, see 2e below).

Zizek’s understanding of political belief is modelled on Lacan’s understanding of transference in psychoanalysis. The belief or “supposition” of the analysand in psychoanalysis is that the Other (his analyst) knows the meaning of his symptoms. This is obviously a false belief, at the start of the analytic process. But it is only through holding this false belief about the analyst that the work of analysis can proceed, and the transferential belief can become true (when the analyst does become able to interpret the symptoms). Zizek argues that this strange intersubjective or dialectical logic of belief in clinical psychoanalysis also characterises peoples’ political beliefs. Belief is always “belief through the Other”, Zizek argues. If subjects do not know the exact meaning of those “master signifiers” with which they political identify, this is because their political belief is mediated through their identifications with others. Although they each themselves “do not know what they do” (which is the title one of Zizek’s books [Zizek, 2002]), the deepest level of their belief is maintained through the belief that nevertheless there are Others who do know. A number of features of political life are cast into new relief given this psychoanalytic understanding, Zizek claims:

* First, Zizek contends that the key political function of holders of public office is to occupy the place of what he calls, after Lacan, “the Other supposed to know”. Zizek cites the example of priests reciting mass in Latin before an uncomprehending laity, who believe that the priests know the meaning of the words, and for whom this is sufficient to keep the faith. Far from presenting an exception to the way political authority works, for Zizek this scenario reveals the universal rule of how political consensus is formed.
* Second, and in connection with this, Zizek contends that political power is primarily “symbolic” in its nature. What he means by this further technical term is that the roles, masks, or mandates that public authorities bear is more important politically than the true “reality” of the individuals in question (whether they are unintelligent, unfaithful to their wives, good family women, etc.) According to Zizek, for example, fashionable liberal criticisms of George W. Bush the man are irrelevant to understanding or evaluating his political power. It is the office or place an individual occupies in their political system (or “Big Other”) that ensures the political force of their words, and the belief of subjects in their authority. This is why Zizek maintains that the resort of a political leader or regime to “the real of violence” (such as war or police action) amounts to a confession of its weakness as a political regime. Zizek sometimes puts this by thought saying that people believe through the big Other, or that the big Other believes for them, despite what they might inwardly think or cynically say.



c. Jouissance as Political Factor

A further key point that Zizek takes from Louis Althusser’s later work on ideology is Althusser’s emphasis on the “materiality” of ideology its embodiment in institutions and peoples’ everyday practices and lives. Zizek’s realist position is that all the ideas in the world can have no lasting political effect unless they come to inform institutions and subjects’ daytoday lives. In The Sublime Object of Ideology, Zizek cites Blaise Pascal’s advice that doubting subjects should get down on their knees and pray, and then they will believe. Pascal’s position is not any kind of simple protobehaviourism, according to Zizek. The deeper message of Pascal’s directive, he asserts, is to suggest that once subjects have come to believe through praying, they will also retrospectively see that they got down on their knees because they always believed, without knowing it. In this way, in fact, Zizek can be read as a consistent critic not only of the importance of knowledge in the formation of political consensus, but also of the importance of “inwardness” in politics per se in the tradition of the younger Carl Schmitt.

Prior political philosophy has placed too little emphasis, Zizek asserts (whether rightly or wrongly) on communities’ cultural practices that involve what he calls “inherent transgression”. These are practices sanctioned by a culture that nevertheless allow subjects some experience of what is usually exceptional to or prohibited in their everyday lives as civilised political subjects – things like sex, death, defecation, or violence. Such experiences involve what Zizek calls jouissance, another technical term he takes from Lacanian psychoanalysis. Jouissance is usually translated from the French as “enjoyment”. As opposed to what we talk of in English as “pleasure”, though, jouissance is an alwayssexualised, alwaystransgressive enjoyment, at the limits of what subjects can experience or talk about in public. Zizek argues that subjects’ experiences of the events and practices wherein their political culture organises its specific relations to jouissance (in first world nations, for example, specific sports, types of alcohol or drugs, music, festivals, films) are as close as they will get to knowing the deeper Truth intimated for them by their regime’s master signifiers – “nation”, “God”, “our way of life”, etc (see b above). Zizek, like Burke, argues that it is such ostensibly nonpolitical and culturally specific practices as these that irreplaceably single out any political community from its others and enemies. Or, as one of Zizek’s chapter titles in Tarrying With the Negative puts it, where and although subjects do not know their Nation, they “enjoy (jouis) their nation as themselves”.

d. The Reflective Logic of Ideological Judgments (or How the King is King)

According to Zizek, like and after Althusser, ideologies are thus political discourses whose primary function is not to make correct theoretical statements about political reality (as Marx’s “false consciousness” model implies), but to orient subjects’ lived relations to and within this reality. If a political ideology’s descriptive propositions turn out to be true (eg: “capitalism exploits the workers”, “Saddam was a dictator”, “the Spanish are the national enemy”, etc.), this does not in any way reduce their ideological character, in Zizek’s estimation. This is because this character concerns the political issue of how subjects’ belief in these propositions instead of those of opponents positions subjects on the leading political issues of the day. For Zizek, political speech is primarily about securing a lived sense of unity or community between subjects something like what Kant called sensus communis or Rousseau the general will. If political propositions seemingly do describe things in the world, Zizek’s position is that we nevertheless need always to understand them as Marx understood the exchangevalue of commodities – as “a relation between people being concealed behind a relation between things”. Or again: just as Kant thought that the proposition “this is beautiful” really expresses a subject’s reflective sense of commonality with all other subjects capable of being similarly affected by the object, so Zizek argues that propositions like “Go Spain!” or “the King will never stop working to secure our future” are what Kant called reflective judgments, which tell us as much or more about the subject’s lived relation to political reality as about this reality itself.

If ideological statements are thus performative utterances that produce political effects by their being stated, Zizek in fact holds that they are a strange species of performative utterance overlooked by speechact theory. Just because, when subjects say “the Queen is the Queen!”, they are at one level reaffirming their allegiance to a political regime, Zizek at the same time holds that this does not mean that this regime could survive without appearing to rest on such deeper Truths about the way the world is. As we saw in 2, b, Zizek maintains that political ideologies always present themselves as naming such deeper, extrapolitical Truths. Ideological judgments, according to Zizek, are thus performative utterances which, in order to perform their salutary political work, must yet appear to be objective descriptions of the way the world is (exactly as when a chairman says “this meeting is closed!”, only thereby bringing this state of affairs into effect). In Sublime Object of Ideology, Zizek cites Marx’s analysis of being a King in Das Capital to illustrate his meaning. A King is only King because his subjects loyally think and act like he is King think of the tragedy of Lear. Yet, at the same time, the people will only believe he is King if they believe that this is a deeper Truth about which they can do nothing.

e. Sublime Objects of Ideology

In line with Zizek’s ideas of “ideological disidentification” and “jouissance as a political factor” (see 2b and 2c above) and in a clear comparison with Derrida’s deconstruction arguably the unifying thought in Zizek’s political philosophy is that regimes can only secure a sense of collective identity if their governing ideologies afford subjects an understanding of how their regime relates to what exceeds, supplements or challenges its identity. This is why Kant’s analytic of the sublime in The Critique of Judgment, as an analysis of an experience in which the subject’s identity is challenged, is of the highest theoretical interest for Zizek. Kant’s analytic of the sublime isolates two moments to its experience, as Zizek observes. In the first moment, the size or force of an object painfully impresses upon the subject the limitation of its perceptual capabilities. In a second moment, however, a “representation” arises where “we would least expect it”, which takes as its object the subject’s own failure to perceptually take the object in. This representation resignifies the subject’s perceptual failure as indirect testimony about the inadequacy of human perception as such to attain to what Kant calls Ideas of Reason (in Kant’s system, God, the Universe as a Whole, Freedom, the Good).

According to Zizek, all successful political ideologies necessarily refer to and turn around sublime objects posited by political ideologies. These sublime objects are what political subjects take it that their regime’s ideologies’ central words mean or name extraordinary Things like God, the Fuhrer, the King, in whose name they will (if necessary) transgress ordinary moral laws and lay down their lives. When a subject believes in a political ideology, as we saw in b above, Zizek argues that this does not mean that they know the Truth about the objects which its key terms seemingly name – indeed, Zizek will finally contest that such a Truth exists. (see 3c, d) Nevertheless, by drawing on a parallel with Kant on the sublime, Zizek makes a further and more radical point. Just as in the experience of the sublime, Kant’s subject resignifies its failure to grasp the sublime object as indirect testimony to a wholly “supersensible” faculty within herself (Reason), so Zizek argues that the inability of subjects to explain the nature of what they believe in politically does not indicate any disloyalty or abnormality. What political ideologies do, precisely, is provide subjects with a way of seeing the world according to which such an inability can appear as testimony to how just how Transcendent or Great their Nation, God, Freedom, etc. is – surely far above the ordinary or profane things of the world. In Zizek’s Lacanian terms, these things are Real (capital “R”) Things (capital “T”), precisely insofar as they in this way stand out from the reality of ordinary things and events.

In the struggle of competing political ideologies, Zizek hence agrees with Ernesto Laclau and Chantale Mouffe, the aim of each is to elevate their particular political perspective (about what is just, best, etc.) to the point where it can lay claim to name, give voice to or to represent the political whole (eg: the nation). In order to achieve this political feat, Zizek argues, each group must succeed in identifying its perspective with the extrapolitical, sublime objects accepted within the culture as giving body to this whole (eg: “the national interest”, “the dictatorship of the proletariat”, etc.). Or else, it must supplant the previous ideologies’ sublime objects with new such objects. In the absolute monarchies, as Ernst Kantorowicz argued, the King’s socalled “second” or “symbolic” body exemplified paradigmatically such sublime political objects as the unquestionable font of political authority (the particular individual who was King was contestable, but not the sovereign’s role itself). Zizek’s critique of Stalinism, in a comparable way, turns upon the thought that “the Party” had this sublime political status in Stalinist ideology. Class struggle in this society did not end, Zizek contends, despite Stalinist propaganda. It was only displaced from a struggle between two classes (for example, bourgeois versus proletarian) to one between “the Party” as representative of the people or the whole and all who disagreed with it, ideologically positioned as “traitors” or “enemies of the people”.

3. Zizek’s Fundamental Ontology



a. The Fundamental Fantasy & the Split Law

For Zizek, as we have seen, no political regime can sustain the political consensus upon which it depends, unless its predominant ideology affords subjects a sense both of individual distance or freedom with regard to its explicit prescriptions (2b), and that the regime is grounded in some larger or “sublime” Truth (2e). Zizek’s political philosophy identifies interconnected instances of these dialectical ideas: his notion of “ideological disidentification” (2b); his contention that ideologies must accommodate subjects’ transgressive experiences of jouissance (2c); and his conception of exceptional or sublime objects of ideology (2e). Arguably the central notion in Zizek’s political philosophy intersects with these ideas Zizek’s notion of “ideological fantasy”. “Ideological fantasy” is Zizek’s technical name for the deepest framework of belief that structures how political subjects, and/or a political community, comes to terms with what exceeds its norms and boundaries, in the various registers we examined above.

Like many of Zizek’s key notions, Zizek’s notion of the ideological fantasy is a political adaptation of an idea from Lacanian psychoanalysis: specifically, Lacan’s structuralist rereading of Freud’s psychoanalytic understanding of unconscious fantasy. As for Lacan, so for Zizek, the civilising of subjects necessitates their founding sacrifice (or “castration”) of jouissance, enacted in the name of sociopolitical Law. Subjects, to the extent that they are civilised, are “cut” from the primal object of their desire. Instead, they are forced by social Law to pursue this special, lost Thing in Zizek’s technical term, the “objet petit a” (see 4a, 4b) by observing their societies’ linguistically mediated conventions, deferring satisfaction, and accepting sexual and generational difference. Subjects’ “fundamental fantasies”, according to Lacan, are unconscious structures which allow them to accept the traumatic loss involved in this founding sacrifice. They turn around a narrative about the lost object, and how it was lost. (see 3d) In particular, the fundamental fantasy of a subject resignifies the founding repression of jouissance by Law which according to Lacan is necessary if the individual is to become a speaking subject as if it were a merely contingent, avoidable occurrence. In the fantasy, that is, what is for Zizek a constitutive event for the subject is renarrated as the historical action of some exceptional individual (in Enjoy Your Symptom! the preOedipal “anal father”). Equally, the jouissance the subject considers itself to have lost is posited by the fantasy as having been taken from it by this persecutory “Other supposed to enjoy” what the subject takes himself to have lost. (see 3b)

In the notion of ideological fantasy, Zizek takes this psychoanalytic framework and applies it to the understanding of the constitution of political groups. If after Plato, political theory concerns the Laws of a regime, the Laws for Zizek are always split or double in kind. Each political regime has a body of more or less explicit, usually written Laws which demand that subjects forego jouissance in the name of the greater good, and according to the letter of its proscriptions (for example, the US or French constitutions). Zizek identifies this level of the Law with the Freudian ego ideal. But Zizek argues that, in order to be effective, a regime’s explicit Laws must also harbour and conceal a darker underside a set of more or less unspoken rules which, far from simply repressing jouissance, implicate subjects in a guilty enjoyment in repression itself, which Zizek likens to the “pleasureinpain” associated with the experience of Kant’s sublime. (see 2d) The Freudian superego, for Zizek, names the psychical agency of the Law, as it is misrepresented and sustained by subjects’ fantasmatic imaginings of a persecutory Other supposed to enjoy (like the archetypal villain in noir films). This darker underside of the Law, Zizek agrees with Lacan, is at its base a constant imperative to subjects to jouis!, by engaging in the “inherent transgressions” of their sociopolitical community (see 2b).

Zizek’s notion of the split in the Law in this way intersects directly with his notion of ideological disidentification examined in 2b. While political subjects maintain a conscious sense of freedom from the explicit norms of their culture, Zizek contends, this disidentification is grounded in their unconscious attachment to the Law as superego, itself an agency of enjoyment. If Althusser famously denied the importance of what people “have on their consciences” in the explanation of how political ideologies work, then, for Zizek the role of guilt – as the way in which the subject enjoys his subjection to the laws is vital to understanding subjects’ political commitments. Individuals will only turn around when the Law hails them, Zizek argues, insofar as they are finally subjects also of the unconscious belief that the “big O Other” has access to the jouissance they have lost as subjects of the Law, and which they can accordingly reattain through their political allegiance. (see 2b) It is this belief and so what could be termed this “political economy of jouissance” that the fundamental fantasies underlying political regimes’ worldviews are there to structure in subjects.

b. Excursus: Zizek’s Typology of Ideological Regimes

With these terms of Zizek’s Lacanian ontology in place, it becomes possible to lay out Zizek’s theoretical understanding of the differences between different types of ideologicalpolitical regimes. Zizek’s works maintain a lasting distinction between modern and premodern political regimes, which he contends are grounded in fundamentally different ways of organising subjects’ relations to Law and jouissance. (3a) In Zizek’s Lacanian terms, premodern ideological regimes exemplified what Lacan calls in Seminar XVII the discourse of the master. In these authoritarian regimes, the word and will of the King or master (in Zizek’s mathemes, S1) was sovereign – the source of political authority, with no questions asked. Her/His subjects, in turn, are supposed to know (S2) the edicts of the sovereign and the Law (as the classical legal notion has it, “ignorance is no excuse”). In this arrangement, while jouissance and fantasy are political factors, as Zizek argues, regimes’ quasitransgressive practices remain exceptional to the political arena, glimpsed only in such carnivalesque events as festivals or the types of public punishment Michel Foucault (for example) describes in the Introduction to Discipline and Punish.

Zizek agrees with both Foucault and Marx that modern political regimes exert a form of power that is both less visible and more farreaching than that of the regimes they replaced. Modern regimes both liberalcapitalist or totalitarian for Zizek, are no longer predominantly characterised by the Lacanian discourse of the master. Given that the Oedipal complex is associated by him with this older type of political authority, Zizek agrees with the Frankfurt School theorists that contra Deleuze and Guattari – today’s subjectivity as such is already post or antiOedipal. Indeed, in Plague of Fantasies and The Ticklish Subject, Zizek contends that the characteristic discontents of today’s political world from religious fundamentalism to the resurgence of racism in the first world – are not archaic remnants of, or protests against traditional authoritarian structures, but the pathological effects of new forms of social organisation. For Zizek, the defining agency in modern political regimes is knowledge (or, in his Lacanian mathemes, S2). The enlightenment represented the unprecedented political venture to replace belief in authority as the basis of polity with human reason and knowledge. As Schmitt also complained, the legitimacy of modern authorities is grounded not in the selfgrounding decision of the sovereign. It is grounded in the ability of authorities to muster coherent chains of reasons to subjects about why they are fit to govern. Modern regimes hence always claim to speak not out of ignorance of what subjects deeply enjoy “I don’t care what you want; just do what I say!” but in the very name of subjects’ freedom and enjoyment.

Whether fascist or communist, Zizek argues in his early books that totalitarian – versus authoritarian regimes justified their rule by final reference to quasiscientific metanarratives. These metanarratives – a narrative concerning racial struggle in Nazism, or the Laws of History in Stalinism – each claimed to know the deeper Truth about what subjects want, and accordingly could both justify the most striking transgressions of ordinary morality, and justify these transgressions by reference to subjects’ jouissance. The most disturbing or perverse features of these regimes can only be explained by reference to the key place of knowledge in these regimes, Zizek argues for instance, the truly Catch 22esque logic of the Soviet show trials, wherein it was not enough for subjects to be condemned by the authorities as enemies, but they were made to avow their “objective” error in opposing the party as agent of the laws of history.

Zizek’s statements on today’s liberalcapitalism are complex, if they are not in mutual tension. At times, Zizek tries to formalise the economic generation of surplus value as a meaningfully “hysterical” social arrangement. Yet Zizek predominantly argues that the marketdriven consumerism of later capitalist subjects is characterised by a marketing discourse which – like totalitarian ideologies does not appeal to subjects in the name of any collective cause justifying individuals’ sacrifice of jouissance. Instead, as social conservatives criticise, it musters the quasiscientific discourses of marketing and public relations, or (increasingly) Eastern religion, in order to recommend products to subjects as necessary means in the liberal pursuit of happiness and selffulfilment. In line with this change, Zizek contends in The Ticklish Subject that the paradigmatic type of leader today is not some inaccessible boss but the uncannily familiar figure of Bill Gates – more like a little brother than the traditional father or master. Again: for Zizek it is deeply telling that, at the same time as the nuclear family is being eroded in the first world, other institutions from the socalled “nanny” welfare state to private corporations are increasingly becoming “familiarised” (with selfhelp sessions for employees, company days, casual days, etc.).

c. Kettle Logic, or Desire and Theodicy

We saw in 2 above how Zizek claims that the truth of political ideologies concerns what they do, not what they say. (2d) At the level of what political ideologies say, Zizek maintains, a Lacanian critical theory maintains that ideologies must be finally inconsistent. Freud famously talked of the example of a man who returns a borrowed kettle back to its owner broken. The man adduces mutually inconsistent excuses which are united only in terms of his ignoble desire, which is to evade responsibility for breaking the kettle he never borrowed the kettle, the kettle was already broken when he borrowed it, and when he gave the kettle back it was not really broken anyway. As Zizek reads political ideologies, they function in the same way in the political field – this is the sense of the subtitle of his 2004 Iraq: The Borrowed Kettle. As we saw in 2d, Zizek maintains that the end of political ideologies is to secure and defend the idea of the polity as a wholly unified community. When political strife, uncertainty or division occur, political ideologies and the fundamental fantasies upon which they lean (3a) operate to resignify this political discontent so that the political ideal of community can be sustained, and to deny the possibility that this discontent might signal a fundamental injustice or flaw within the regime. In what amounts to a kind of political theodicy, Zizek’s work point to a number of logically inconsistent – ideological responses to political discontents which are united only by the desire which informs them, like Freud’s “kettle logic”:

(1) saying that these divisions are politically unimportant, transient or merely apparent.

Or, if this explanation fails:

(2) saying that the political divisions are in any case contingent to the ordinary run of events, so that if their cause is removed or destroyed, things will return to normal.

Or, more perilously:

(3) saying that the divisions or problems are deserved by the people for the sake of the greater good (in Australia in the 90s, for example, we experienced “the recession we had to have”), or as punishment for their betrayal of the national Thing.

Zizek’s view of the political functioning of sublime objects of ideology can be charted exactly in terms of this political theodicy. (see 2e) We saw in 3a, how Zizek argues that subjects’ fantasy is what allows them to come to terms with the loss of jouissance fundamental to being social or political animals. Zizek centrally maintains that such narrative attempts at political selfunderstanding – whether of individuals or political regimes are ultimately unable to achieve these ends, except at the price of telling inconsistencies.

As Zizek highlights in his analyses of the political discontents in former Yugoslavia following the fall of communism, each national or political community tends to claim that its sublime Thing is inalienable, and hence utterly incapable of being understood or destroyed by enemies. Nevertheless, the invariable correlative of this emphasis on the inalienable nature of one’s Thing, Zizek argues in Tarrying With the Negative (1993), is the notion that It is simultaneously deeply fragile if not under active threat. For Zizek, this mutual inconsistency is only theoretically resolvable if, despite first appearances, we posit a materialist teaching that says that the “substance” seemingly named by political regimes’ key rallying terms (see 2e) is only sustained in their lived communal practices (as we say in Australia when someone does not get a joke, “you had to be there”). Yet political ideologies, as such, cannot avow this possibility. (see 2, d) Instead, ideological fantasies posit various exemplars of a persecutory enemy or as Zizek says, “the Other of the Other” to whom the explanation of political disunity or discontent can be traced. If only this other or enemy could be removed, the political fantasy contends, the regime would be fully equitable and just. Historical examples of such figures of the enemy include “the Jew” in Nazi ideology, or the “petty bourgeois” in Stalinism.

Again: a type of “kettle logic” applies to the way these enemies are represented in political ideologies, according to Zizek. “The Jew” in Nazi ideology, for example, was an inconsistent condensation of features of both the ruling capitalist class (moneygrabbing, exploitation of the poor) and of the proletariat (dirtiness, sexual promiscuity, communism). The only consistency this figure has, that is, is precisely as a condensation of everything that Nazi ideology’s Aryan volksgemeinschaft (roughly, “national community”) was constructed in response and political opposition to.

d. Fantasy as the Fantasy of Origins

In a way that has drawn some critics (Bellamy, Sharpe) to question how finally political Zizek’s political philosophy is, Zizek’s critique of ideology ultimately turns on a set of fundamental ontological propositions about the necessary limitations of any linguistic or symbolic system. These propositions concern the widelyknown paradoxes that bedevil any attempt by a semantic system to explain its own limits, and/or how it came into being. If what preceded the system was radically different from what subsequently emerged, how could the system have emerged from it, and how can the system come to terms with it at all? If we name the limits of what the system can understand, don’t we, in that very gesture, presuppose some knowledge of what is beyond these limits, if only enough to say what the system is not? The only manner in which we can explain the origin of language is within language, Zizek notes in For They Know Not What They Do. Yet we hence presuppose, again in the very act of the explanation, the very thing we were hoping to explain. Similarly, to take the example from political philosophy of Hobbes’ explanation of the origin of sociopolitical order the only way we can explain the origin of the social contract is by presupposing that Hobbes’ wholly presocial men nevertheless possessed in some way the very social abilities to communicate and make pacts that Hobbes’ position is supposed to explain.

For Zizek, fantasy as such is always fundamentally the fantasy of (one’s) origins. In Freud’s “Wolfman” case, to cite the psychoanalytic example Zizek cites in For They Know Not What They Do, the primal scene of parental coitus is the wolfman’s attempt to come to terms with his own origin – or to answer the infant’s perennial question “where did I come from?” The problem here is this: who could the spectacle of this primal scene have been staged for or seen by, if it really transpired before the genesis of the subject that it would explain? (see 3e, 4e) The only answer is that the wolfman has imaginatively transposed himself back into the primal scene if only as an impassive objectgaze – whose historical occurrence he had yet hoped would explain his origin as an individual.

Zizek’s argument is that, in the same way, political or ideological systems cannot and do not avoid deep inconsistencies. No less than Machiavelli, Zizek is acutely aware that the act that founds a body of Law is never itself legal, according to the very order of Law it sets in place. He cites Bertold Brecht, “what is the robbing of a bank, compared to the founding of a bank?” What fantasy does, in this register, is to try to historically renarrativise the founding political act as if it were or had been legal – an impossible application of the Law before the Law had itself come into being. No less than the wolfman’s false transposition of himself back into the primal scene that was to explain his origin, Zizek argues that the attempt of any political regime to explain its own origins in a political myth that denies the fundamental, extralegal violence of these origins is fundamentally false. (Zizek uses the example of the liberal myth of primitive accumulation to illustrate his position in For They Know Not What They Do, but we could cite here Plato’s myth of the reversed cosmos in the Laws and Statesman, or historical cases like the idea of terra nullius in colonial Australia).

e. Exemplification: the Fall and Radical Evil Zizek’s Critique of Kant)

In a series of places, Zizek situates his ontological position in terms of a striking reading of Immanuel Kant’s practical philosophy. Zizek argues that, in “Religion Within the Bounds of Reason Alone”, Kant showed that he was aware of these paradoxes that necessarily attend any attempt to narrate the origins of the Law. The JudaeoChristian myth of the fall succumbs to precisely these paradoxes, as Kant analyses – if Adam and Eve were purely innocent, how could they have been tempted?; if their temptation was wholly the fault of the tempter, why then has God punished humans with the weight of original sin?; but if Adam and Eve were not purely innocent when the snake lured them, in what sense was this a fall at all? According to Zizek, Kant’s text also provides us with theoretical parameters which allow us to explain and avoid these paradoxes. The problems for the mythical narrative, Kant argues, hail from its nature as a narrative – or how it tries to render in a historical story what he argues is truly a logical or transcendental priority. For Kant, human beings are – as such – radically evil. They have always already chosen to assert their own self conceit above the moral Law. This choice of radical evil, however, is not itself a historical choice either for individuals or for the species, for Kant. This choice is what underlies and opens up the space for all such historical choices. However, as Zizek argues, Kant withdraws from the strictly diabolical implications of this position. The key place in which this withdrawal is enacted is in the postulates of The Critique of Practical Reason, wherein Kant defends the immortality of the soul as a likely story, on the basis of our moral experience. Because of radical evil, Kant argues, it is impossible for humans to ever act purely out of duty in this life – this is what Kant thinks our irremovable sense of moral guilt attests. But because people can never act purely in this life, Kant suggests, it is surely reasonable to hope and even to postulate that the soul lives on after death, striving evercloser towards the perfection of its will.

Zizek’s contention is that this argument does not prove the immortality of a disembodied soul. It proves the immortality of an embodied individual soul, always struggling guiltily against its selfish corporeal impulses (this, incidentally, is one reason why Zizek argues, after Lacan, that de Sade is the truth of Kant). In order to make his proof even plausible, Zizek notes, Kant has to tacitly smuggle the spatiotemporal parameters of embodied earthly existence into the postulated hereafter so that the guilty subject can continue endlessly to struggle against his radically evil nature towards good. In this way, though, Kant himself has to speak as if he knew what things are like on the other side of death – which is to say, from the impossible, because impossibly neutral, perspective of someone able to impassively see the spectacle of the immortal subject striving guiltily towards the good. (see 4d) But in this way, also, Zizek argues that Kant enacts exactly the type of fantasmatic operation his reading of the fall (as a) narrative declaims, and which represents in nuce the basis operation also of all political ideologies.

4. From Ontology to Ethics – Zizek’s Reclaiming of the Subject


a. Zizek’s Subject, Fantasy, and the Objet Petit a

Perhaps Zizek’s most radical challenge to accepted theoretical opinion is his defence of the modern, Cartesian subject. Zizek knowingly and polemically positions his writings against virtually all other contemporary theorists, with the significant exception of Alain Badiou. But for Zizek, the Cartesian subject is not reducible to the fully selfassured “master and possessor of nature” of Descartes’ Discourses. It is what Zizek calls in “Kant With (Or Against) Kant”, an outofjoint ontological excess or clinamen. Zizek takes his bearings here as elsewhere from a Lacanian reading of Kant, and the latter’s critique of Descartes’ cogito ergo sum. In the “Transcendental Dialectic” in The Critique of Pure Reason, Kant criticised Descartes’ argument that the selfguaranteeing “I think” of the cogito must be a thinking thing (res cogitans). For Kant (as for Zizek), while the “I think” must be capable of accompanying all of the subject’s perceptions, this does not mean that it is itself such a substantial object. The subject that sees objects in the world cannot see itself seeing, Zizek notes, any more than a person can jump over her own shadow. To the extent that a subject can reflectively see itself, it sees itself not as a subject but as one more represented object what Kant calls the “empirical self”, or what Zizek calls the “self” (versus the subject) in The Plague of Fantasies. The subject knows that it is something, Zizek argues. But it does not and can never know what Thing it is “in the Real”, as he puts it. (see 2e) This is why it must seek clues to its identity in its social and political life, asking the question of others (and the big O Other (see 2b)) which Zizek argues defines the subject as such: che voui? (what do you want from me?) In Tarrying With the Negative, Zizek hence reads the Director’s Cut of Ridley Scott’s Bladerunner as revelatory of the Truth of the subject. Within this version of the film, as Zizek emphasises, the main character Deckard literally does not know what he is a robot that perceives itself to be human. According to Zizek, the subject is a “crack” in the universal field or substance of being, not a knowable thing. (see 4d) This is why Zizek repeatedly cites in his books the disturbing passage from the young Hegel describing the modern subject not as the “light” of the modern enlightenment, but “this night, this empty nothing …”

It is crucial to Zizek’s position, though, that Zizek denies the apparent implication of this that the subject is some kind of supersensible entity for example, an immaterial and immortal soul, etc. The subject is not a special type of Thing outside of the phenomenal reality we can experience, for Zizek. As we saw in 1, e above, such an idea would in fact reproduce in philosophy the type of thinking which he argues characterises political ideologies, and the subject’s fundamental fantasy. (see 3a) It is more like a fold or crease in the surface of this reality as Zizek puts it in Tarrying With the Negative, the point within the substance of reality wherein that substance is able to look at itself, and see itself as alien to itself. According to Zizek, Hegel and Lacan add to Kant’s reading of the subject as the empty “I think” that accompanies any individual’s experience the caveat that, because objects thus appear to a subject, they always appear in an incomplete or biased way. Zizek’s “formula” of the fundamental fantasy (see 2a, 2d) $ <> a tries to formalise exactly this thought. Its meaning is that the subject ($), in its fundamental fantasy, misrecognises itself as a special object (the objet petit a or lost object (see 2a)) within the field of objects that it perceives. In terms which unite this psychoanalytic notion with Zizek’s political philosophy, we can say that the objet petit a is, exactly, a sublime object. (2e) It is an object that is elevated or in Freudian terms, “sublimated” by the subject to the point where it stands as a metonymic representative of the jouissance the subject unconsciously fantasises was taken from her/him at castration. (3a) It hence functions as the objectcause of the subject’s desire that exceptional “little piece of the Real” that s/he seeks out in all of her/his love relationships. Its psychoanalytic paradigms are, to cite the title of a collection Zizek edited, “the voice and gaze as love objects”. Examples of the voice as object petit a include the persecutor’s voice in paranoia, or the very silence that some TV advertisements now use, and which captures our attention by making us wonder whether we may not have missed something. The preeminent Lacanian illustration of the gaze as object petit a is the anamorphotic skull at the foot of Holbein’s Ambassadors, which can only be seen by a subject who looks at it awry, or from an angle. Importantly, then, neither the voice nor the gaze as objet petit a attest to the subject’s sovereign ability to wholly objectify (and hence control) the world it surveys. In the auditory and visual fields (respectively), the voice and the gaze as objet petit a represent objects like Kant’s sublime things that the subject cannot wholly get its head around, as we say. The fact that they can only be seen or heard from particular perspectives indicates exactly how the subject’s biased perspective – and so his/her desire, what s/he wants – has an effect on what s/he is able to see. They thereby bear witness to how s/he is not wholly outside of the reality s/he sees. Even the most mundane but telling example of this subjective objet petit a of Lacanian theory is someone in love, of whom we commonly say that they are able to see in their lover something special an “X factor” which others are utterly blind to. In the political field, similarly – and as we saw in part 2c subjects of a particular political community will claim that others cannot understand their regime’s sublime objects. Indeed, as Zizek comments about the resurgence of racism across the first world today, it is often precisely the strangeness of others’ particular ethnic or national Things that animates subjects’ hatred towards them.

b. The Objet Petit a & the Virtuality of Reality

In Zizek’s theory, the objet petit a stands as the exact opposite of the object of the modern sciences, that can only be seen clearly and distinctly if it is approached wholly impersonally. If the objet petit a is not looked at from a particular, subjective perspective – or, in the words of one of Zizek’s titles, by “looking awry” it cannot be seen at all. This is why Zizek believes this psychoanalytic notion can be used to structure our understanding of the sublime objects postulated by ideologies in the political field, which as we saw in 3c show themselves to be finally inconsistent when they are looked at dispassionately. What Zizek’s Lacanian critique of ideology aims to do is to demonstrate such inconsistencies, and thereby to show us that the objects most central to our political beliefs are Things whose very sublime appearance conceals from us our active agency in constructing and sustaining them. (We will return to this thought in 4d and 4e below.)

Zizek argues that the first place that the objet petit a appeared in the history of Western philosophy was with Kant’s notion of the transcendental object in The Critique of Pure Reason. Analysing this Kantian notion allows us to elaborate more precisely the ontological status of the objet petit a. Kant defines the transcendental object as “the completely indeterminate thought of an object in general”. Like the objet petit a, then, Kant’s transcendental object is not a normal phenomenal object, although it has a very specific function in Kant’s epistemological conception of the subject. The avowedly antiHumean function of this Kantian positing in the “Transcendental Deduction” is to ensure that the purely formal categories of the subject’s understanding can actually affect and indeed structure the manifold of the subject’s sensuous intuition. As Zizek stresses, that is, the transcendental object functions in Kant’s epistemology to guarantee that sense will continue to emerge for the subject, no matter what particular objects s/he might encounter.

We saw in 3.c how Zizek argues that ideologies adduce ultimately inconsistent reasons to support the same goal of political unity. According to Zizek, as we can now elaborate, this is because the deepest political function of sublime objects of ideology is to ensure that the political world will make sense for subjects no matter what events transpire, in a way that he directly compares with Kant’s transcendental object. No matter what evidence someone might produce that all Jewish people are not acquisitive, capitalist, cunning …, for example, a true Nazi will be able to immediately resignify this evidence by reference to his ideological notion of “the Jew” “surely it is part of their cunning to appear as though they are not truly cunning”, etc. Importantly, it follows for Zizek that political community is always, in its very structure, an anticipated community. Subjects’ sense of political belonging is always mediated, according to him, by their shared belief in their regime’s key words or master signifiers. But these are words whose only “meaning” lies finally in their function, which is to guarantee that there will (continue to) be meaning. There is, Zizek argues, ultimately no actual, Real Thing better than the other real things subjects encounter that these words name. (2e) It is only by acting as if there were such a Thing that community is maintained. This is why Zizek specifies in The Indivisible Reminder that political identification can only be, “at its most basic, identification with the very gesture of identification”:

“… the coordination [between subjects in a political community] concerns not the level of the signified [of some positive shared concern] but the level of the signifier. [In political ideologies], undecidability with regard to the signified (do others really intend the same as me?) converts into an exceptional signifier, the empty signifier, the empty master signifier, the signifier without signified; nation, democracy, socialism and other causes stand for that something about which we are not sure exactly what it is the point rather is that identifying with the nation we signal our acceptance of what others accept, with a master signifier which serves as the rallying point for all the others.”. [Zizek, 1996: 142]

This is the sense also in which Zizek claims in Plague of Fantasies that today’s virtual reality is “not virtual enough”. It is not virtual enough because the many options it offers subjects to enjoy (jouis) transgressive or exotic possibilities. VR leaves nothing to the imagination, or – in Zizek’s Lacanian terms – to fantasy. Fantasy, as we saw in 2a, operates to structure subjects’ beliefs about the jouissance which must remain only the stuff of imagination purely “virtual” for subjects of the social law. For Zizek, then, it is identification with this law, as mediated via subjects’ anticipatory identifications with what they suppose others believe that involves true virtuality.

c. Forced Choice & Ideological Tautologies

As 4b confirms (and as we commented in 1c), Zizek’s political philosophy turns around the idea that the central words of political ideologues are at base “signifiers without signified” words that only appear to refer to exceptional Things, and which thereby facilitate the identification between subjects. As Zizek argues, these sublime objects of ideology have exactly the ontological status of what Kant called “transcendental illusions” – illusions whose semblance conceals that there is nothing behind them to conceal. Ideological subjects do not know what they do when they believe in them, Zizek contends. Yet, through the presupposition that the Other(s) know (2c), and their participation in the practices involving inherent transgression of their political community (2c), they “identify with the very gesture of identification”. (4b) Hence, their belief, coupled with these practices, is politically efficient.

One of Zizek’s most difficult, but also deepest, claims is that the particular sublime objects of ideology with which subjects identify in different regimes (the Nation, the People, etc.) each give particular form to a metalaw (law about all other laws) that binds any political community as such. This is the metalaw that says simply that subjects must obey all the other laws. In 2b above, we saw how Zizek holds that political ideologies must allow subjects the sense of subjective distance from their explicit directives. Zizek’s critical position is that this apparent freedom ideologies thereby allow subjects is finally a lure. Like the choice offered Yossarian by the “catch 22” of Joseph Heller’s novel, the only option truly available to political subjects is to continue to abide by the laws. No regime can survive if it waives this metalaw. The Sublime Object of Ideology hence cites with approval Kafka’s comment that it is not required that subjects think the law is just, only that it is necessary. Yet no regime, despite Kafka, can directly avow its own basis in such naked selfassertion without risking the loss all legitimacy, Zizek agrees with Plato. This is why it must ground itself in ideological fantasies (3a) which at once sustain subjects’ sense of individual freedom (2c), and the sense that the regime itself is grounded extrapolitically in the Real, and some transcendent, higher Good. (2e)

This thought underlies the importance Zizek accords in For They Know Not What They Do to Hegel’s difficult notion of tautology as the highest instance of contradiction in The Science of Logic. If you push a subject hard enough about why they abide by the laws of their regime, Zizek holds that their responses will inevitably devolve into some logical variant of Exodus 3: 14’s “I am that I am” statements of the form “because the Law (God / the People/ the Nation) is … the Law (God / the People / the Nation)”. In such tautological statements, our expectation that the predicates in the second half of the sentence will add something new to the (logical) subject given at its beginning is “contradicted”, Hegel argues. There is indeed something even sinister when someone utters such a sentence in response to our enquiries, Zizek notes – as if, when (e.g.) “the Law” is repeated dumbly as its own predicate (“because the law is the law”), it intimates the uncanny dimension of jouissance the law as ego ideal usually proscribes. (3a) What this uncanny effect of sense attests to, Zizek argues in For They Know Not What They Do, is the usually “primordially repressed” force of the universal metalaw (that everyone must obey the laws) being expressed in the different, particular languages of political regimes “because the People are the People”, “because the Nation is the Nation”, etc.

Zizek’s ideology critique hence contends that all political regimes’ ideologies always devolve finally around a set of such tautological propositions concerning their particular sublime objects. In The Sublime Object of Ideology, Zizek gives the example of a key Stalinist proposition: “the people always supports the party”. On its surface, this proposition looks like a proposition that asserts something about the world, and which might be susceptible of disproof perhaps there are some Soviet citizens who do not support the party, or who disagree with this or that of the party’s policies. What such an approach misses, however, is how in this ideology, what is referred to as “the people” in fact means “all those who support the party”. In Stalinism, that is, “the party” is the fetishised particular that stands for the people’s true interests. (see 1e) Hence, the sentence “the people always support the party” is a concealed form of tautology”. Any apparent people who in fact do not support the party, by that fact alone are no longer “people”, within Stalinist ideology.

d. The Substance is Subject, the Other Does Not Exist

In 4b, we saw how Zizek argues that political identification is identification with the gesture of identification. In 4c, we saw how the ultimate foundation of a regimes’ laws is a tautologous assertion of the bare political fact that there is law. What unites these two positions is the idea that the sublime objects of a political regime and the ideological fantasies that give narratives about their content conceal from subjects the absence of any final ground for Law beyond the fact of its own assertion, and the fact that subjects take it to be authoritative. Here as elsewhere, Zizek’s work surprisingly approaches leading motifs in the political philosophy of Carl Schmitt.

Importantly, once this position is stated, we can also begin to see how Zizek’s postMarxist project of a critique of ideology intersects with his philosophical defence of the Cartesian subject. At several points in his oeuvre, Zizek cites Hegel’s statement in the “Introduction” to the Phenomenology of Spirit that “the substance is subject” as a rubric that describes the core of his own political philosophy. According to Zizek, critics have misread this statement by taking it to repeat the founding, triumphalist idea of modern subjectivity as such – namely, that the subject can master all of nature or “substance”. Zizek contends, controversially, that Hegel’s claim ought to be read in a directly opposing sense. For him, it indicates the truth that there can be no dominant political regime or, in Hegel’s terms, no “social substance” that does not depend for its authority upon the active, indeed finally anticipatory (4c) investment of subjects in it. Like the malign computermachines in The Matrix that literally run off the human jouissance they drain from deluded subjects, for Zizek the big Other of any political regime does not exist as a selfsustaining substance. It must ceaselessly run on the belief and actions of its subjects, and their jouissance (2c) – or, to recur to the example we looked at in 2d, the King will not be the King, for Zizek, unless he has his subjects. It is certainly telling that the leading examples of ideological tautology For They know What They Do discusses invoke precisely some subject’s will or decision as when a parent says to a child “do this … because I said so”, or when people do something “… because the King said so”, which means that no more questions can be asked.

In 4.a, we saw how Zizek denies that the subject, because it is not itself a perceptible object, belongs to an order of being wholly outside of the order of experience. To elevate such a wholly Other order would, he argues, reproduce the elementary operation of the fundamental fantasy. We can add to this thought now the further position that the Cartesian subject is, according to Zizek, is finally nothing other than the irreducible point of active agency responsible for the alwaysminimally precipitous political gesture of laying down a regime’s law. For Zizek, accordingly, the critical question to be asked of any theoretical or political position that posits some exceptional Beyond, as we saw in his reading of Kant (2e) is: from which subjectposition do you speak when you claim a knowledge of this Beyond? As we saw in 2e, Zizek’s Lacanian answer is that the perspective that one always presupposes when one speaks in this manner is one that is always “superegoic” (see 2a) – tied to what he terms in Metastases of Enjoyment a “malevolently neutral”, God’s eye view from nowhere. It is deeply revealing, from Zizek’s perspective, that the very perspective which allows the Kantian subject in the “dynamic sublime” to resignify its own finitude as itself a source of pleasureinpain (jouissance) is precisely one which identifies with the supersensible moral Law, before which the sensuous subject remains irredeemably guilty, infinitely striving to pay off its moral debt. As Zizek cites Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit:

“… it is manifest that beyond the socalled curtain [of phenomena] which is supposed to conceal the inner world there is nothing to see unless we go behind it ourselves, as much in order that we may see, as that there may be something behind there which can be seen …” (italics mine)

In other words, Zizek’s final position about the sublime objects of political regimes’ ideologies is that these beliefinspiring objects are so many ways in which the subject misrecognises its own active capacity to challenge existing laws, and to found new laws altogether. Zizek repeatedly argues that the most uncanny or abyssal Thing in the world is the subject’s own active subjectivity – which is why he also repeatedly cites the Eastern saying that Thou Art That. It is finally the singularity of the subject’s own active agency that subjects misperceive in fantasies concerning the sublime objects of their regimes’ ideologies, in the face of which they can do nothing but reverentially abide by the rules. In this way, it is worth noting, Zizek’s work can claim a heritage not only of Hegel, but also from the Left Hegelians, and Marx’s and Feuerbach’s critiques of religion.

e. The Ethical Act Traversing the Fantasy

Zizek’ technical term for the process whereby we can come to recognise how the sublime objects of our political regimes’ ideologies are – like Marx’s commodities fetish objects that conceal from subjects their own political agency is “traversing of the fantasy”. Traversing the fantasy, for Zizek, is at once the political subject’s deepest form of selfrecognition, and the basis for his own radical political position or defence of the possibility of such positions. Zizek’s entire theoretical work directs us towards this “traversing of the fantasy”, in the many different fields on which he has written, and despite the widespread consensus at the beginning of the new century that fundamental political change is no longer possible or desirable.

Insofar as political ideologies for Zizek, like Althusser (see 2c), remain viable only because of the ongoing practices and belief of political subjects, this traversal of fantasy must always involve an active, practical intervention in the political world, which changes a regime’s political institutions. As for Kant, so for Zizek, the practical bearing of critical reason comes first, in his critique of ideology, and last, in his advocation of the possibility of political change. Zizek hence also repeatedly speaks of traversing the fantasy in terms of an “Act” (capital “A”), which differs from normal human speech and action. Everyday speech and action typically does not challenge the framing sociopolitical parameters within which it takes place, Zizek observes. By contrast, what he means by an Act (capital A) is an action which “touches the Real” (as he says) of what a sociopolitical regime has politically repressed or wiped its hands of, and which it cannot publicly avow without risking fundamental political damage. (see 2c) In this way, the Zizekian Act extends and changes the very political and ideological parameters of what is permitted within a regime, in the hope of bringing into being new parameters in the light of which its own justice will be able to be retrospectively seen. This is the point of significant parallel with Alain Badiou’s work, whose influence Zizek has increasingly avowed in his more recent books. Notably, as Zizek specifies in The Indivisible Remainder, the Act as what it is effectively repeats the very act that he claims founds all political regimes as such namely, the excessive, lawfounding gesture we examined in 4c. Just as the current political regime originated in a founding gesture excessive with regard to the laws it set in place, Zizek argues, so too can this political regime itself be superseded, and a new one replace it. In his reading of Walter Benjamin’s “Theses on the Philosophy of History” in The Sublime Object of Ideology, Zizek indeed argues that such a new Act also effectively repeats all previous, failed attempts at changing an existing political regime, which otherwise would be consigned forever to historical oblivion.

5. Conclusion

Slavoj Zizek’s work represents a striking challenge within the contemporary philosophical scene. Zizek’s very style, and his prodigious ability to write and examine examples from widely divergent field, is a remarkable thing. His work reintroduces and reinvigorates for a wider audience ideas from the work of German Idealism. Zizek’s work is framed in terms of a polemical critique of other leading theorists within today’s new left or liberal academy (Derrida, Habermas, Deleuze), which claims to unmask their apparent radicality as concealing a shared recoil from the possibility of a subjective, political Act which in fact sits comfortably with a passive resignation to today’s political status quo. Not the least interesting feature of his work, politically, is indeed how Zizek’s critique of the new left both significantly mirrors criticisms from conservative and neoconservative authors, yet hails from an avowedly opposed political perspective. In political philosophy, Zizek’s Lacanian theory of ideology presents a radically new descriptive perspective that affords us a unique purchase on many of the paradoxes of liberalconsumerist subjectivity, which is at once politically cynical (as the political right laments) and politically conformist (as the political left struggles to come to terms with). Prescriptively, Zizek’s work challenges us to ask questions about the possibility of sociopolitical change that have otherwise rarely been asked after 1989 – including: what forms such changes might take?; and what might justify them or make them possible?

Looked at in a longer perspective, it is of course too soon to judge what the lasting effects of Zizek’s philosophy will be, especially given Zizek’s own comparative youth as a thinker (Zizek was born in 1949). In terms of the history of ideas, in particular, while Zizek’s thought certainly turns on their heads many of today’s widely accepted theoretical notions, it is surely a more lasting question whether his work represents any more lasting a break with the parameters that Kant’s critical philosophy set out in the three Critiques.

6. References and Further Reading



a. Books By Zizek

Iraq The Borrowed Kettle, New York: Verso, 2004.

Organs Without Bodies: On Deleuze and Consequences, New York, London: Routledge, 2003.

The Puppet and the Dwarf, New York: Routledge, 2003.

Did Somebody Say Totalitarianism? Five Essays on the (Mis)Use of a Notion, London; New York: Verso, 2001.

The Fright of Real Tears, Kieslowski and The Future, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001.

On Belief, London: Routledge, 2001.

The Fragile Absolute or Why the Christian Legacy is Worth Fighting For, London; New York: Verso, 2000.

The Art of the Ridiculous Sublime, On David Lynch’s Lost Highway, Walter Chapin Center for the Humanities: University of Washington, 2000.

Contingency, Hegemony, Universality: Contemporary Dialogues on the Left, Judith Butler, Ernesto Laclau and SZ. London; New York: Verso, 2000.

Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out, second expanded edition, New York: Routledge, 2000.

The Ticklish Subject: The Absent Centre of Political Ontology, London; New York: Verso, 1999.

The Abyss Of Freedom Ages Of The World, with F.W.J. von Schelling, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997.

The Plague of Fantasies, London; New York: Verso, 1997.

Gaze And Voice As Love Objects, Renata Salecl and SZ editors. Durham: Duke University Press, 1996.

The Indivisible Remainder: An Essay On Schelling And Related Matters, London; New York: Verso, 1996.

The Metastases Of Enjoyment: Six Essays On Woman And Causality (Wo Es War), London; New York: Verso, 1994.

Mapping Ideology, SZ editor. London; New York: Verso, 1994.

Tarrying With The Negative: Kant, Hegel And The Critique Of Ideology, Durham: Duke University Press, 1993.

Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan In Hollywood And Out, London; New York: Routledge, 1992.

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Lacan (But Were Afraid To Ask Hitchcock), SZ editor. London; New York: Verso, 1992.

Looking Awry: an Introduction to Jacques Lacan through Popular Culture, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1991.

For They Know Not What They Do: Enjoyment As A Political Factor, London; New York: Verso, 1991.

The Sublime Object of Ideology, London; New York: Verso, 1989.
Back to Table of Contents

b. Texts on Zizek

Slavoj Zizek: A Little Piece of the Real, Matthew Sharpe, Hants: Ashgate, 2004.

Zizek: Ideology, the Real and the Subject, Glyn Daly, London: Sage, forthcoming.

Slavoj Zizek: A Critical Introduction, Ian Parker, London: Pluto Press, 2004.

Slavoj Zizek: Live Theory, Rex Butler, London: Continuum, 2004.

Zizek: A Critical Introduction, Sarah Kay, London: Polity, 2003.

Slavoj Zizek (Routledge Critical Thinkers), Tony Myers, London: Routledge, 2003.

Zhuangzi (Chuang-Tzu, 369-298 BCE)

Zhuangzi, or "Master Zhuang" (also known in the Wade-Giles romanization as Chuang-tzu) was, after Laozi, one of the earliest thinkers to contribute to the philosophy that has come to be known as Daojia, or school of the Way. According to traditional dating, he was an almost exact contemporary of the Confucian thinker Mencius, but there appears to have been little to no communication between them. He is ranked among the greatest of literary and philosophical giants that China has produced. His style is complex—mythical, poetic, narrative, humorous, indirect, and polysemic.


Zhuangzi espoused a holistic philosophy of life, encouraging disengagement from the artificialities of socialization, and cultivation of our natural “ancestral” potencies and skills, in order to live a simple and natural, but full and flourishing life. He was critical of our ordinary categorizations and evaluations, noting the multiplicity of different modes of understanding between different creatures, cultures, and philosophical schools, and the lack of an independent means of making a comparative evaluation. He advocated a mode of understanding that is not committed to a fixed system, but is fluid and flexible, and that maintains a provisional, pragmatic attitude towards the applicability of these categories and evaluations.


The text through which we know his work was the result of the editing and arrangement of the Jin dynasty thinker and commentator Guo Xiang (Kuo Hsiang, d. 312 CE), who reduced what had been a work in fifty-two chapters to the current edition of thirty-three chapters, excising material that he considered to be spurious. Zhuangzi's version of Daoist philosophy was highly influential in the reception, interpretation, and transformation of Buddhism in China.

1. Historical Background

According to the great Han dynasty historian, Sima Qian, Zhuangzi was born during the Warring States (403-221 BCE), more than a century after the death of Confucius. During this time, the ostensibly ruling house of Zhou had lost its authority, and there was increasing violence between states contending for imperial power. This situation gave birth to the phenomenon known as the baijia, the hundred schools: the flourishing of many schools of thought, each articulating its own conception of a return to a state of harmony. The first and most important of these schools was that of Confucius, who became the chief representative of the Ruists (Confucians), the scholars and propagators of the wisdom and culture of the tradition. Their great rivals were the Mohists, the followers of Mozi ("Master Mo"), who were critical of what they perceived to be the elitism and extravagance of the traditional culture. The recent archaeological discovery at Guo Dian of an early Laozi manuscript suggests that the philosophical movement associated with the Daodejing also began to emerge during this period. Zhuangzi's brand of Daoist philosophy developed within the context defined by these three schools.

Scholars are increasingly beginning to recognize the connection of Daojia with the culture of the state of Chu in the southern part of China around the Yangzi River valley. In recent years, the diversity of regions and cultures in early China has increasingly been acknowledged. Most interest has been directed to the state of Chu, in large part because of the wealth of archaeological evidence that is being unearthed there. According to Sima Qian, Zhuangzi was born in a village called Meng, in the state of Song; according to Lu Deming, the Sui-Tang dynasty scholar, the Pu River in which Zhuangzi was said to have fished was in the state of Chen which, as Wang Guowei points out, had become a territory of Chu. We might say that Zhuangzi was situated in the borderlands between Chu and the central plains—the plains centered around the Yellow River which were the home of the Shang and Zhou cultures. Certainly, as one learns more about the culture of Chu, one senses deep resonances with the aesthetic sensibility of the Daoists, and with Zhuangzi's style in particular. The silks and bronzes of Chu, for example, are rich and vibrant; the patterns and images on fabrics and pottery are fanciful and naturalistic.

If the traditional dating is reliable, then Zhuangzi would have been an exact contemporary of the Ruist thinker Mencius, but there appears to have been little to no communication between them. There are a few remarks in the Zhuangzi that could be alluding to Mencius' philosophy, but there is nothing in Mencius that shows any interest in Zhuangzi. The philosopher Hui Shi, or Huizi ("Master Hui," 380-305 BCE), was a close friend of Zhuangzi, although not a follower of Daojia. There appears to have been a friendly rivalry between the broad and mythic-minded Zhuangzi and the more shortsighted paradox-monger, Huizi. Despite their very deep philosophical distance, and the limitations of Huizi, Zhuangzi expresses great appreciation both for his linguistic abilities and for his friendship. The other "logician," Gongsun Longzi, would also have been a contemporary of Zhuangzi, and although Zhuangzi does not, unfortunately, engage in any direct philosophical discussion with him, one does find an occasional wink in his direction.


2. The Zhuangzi Text

The currently extant text known as the Zhuangzi is the result of the editing and arrangement of the Jin dynasty thinker and commentator Guo Xiang (Kuo Hsiang, d. 312 CE). He reduced what was then a work in fifty-two chapters to the current edition of thirty-three chapters, excising material that he considered to be spurious. His commentary on the text provides an interpretation that has been highly influential over the subsequent centuries.

Guo Xiang divided the thirty-three chapters into three collections, known as the Inner Chapters (Neipian), the Outer Chapters (Waipian), and the Miscellaneous Chapters (Zapian). The Inner Chapters are the first seven chapters and are considered to be the work of Zhuangzi himself. The Outer Chapters are chapters 8 to 22, and the Miscellaneous Chapters are chapters 23 to 33. The Outer and Miscellaneous Chapters can be further subdivided. Much modern research has been devoted to a sub-classification of these chapters according to philosophical school. Kuan Feng made some scholarly breakthroughs early in the twentieth century; A. C. Graham continued his classification in the tradition of Kuan Feng. Harold Roth has also taken up a consideration of this issue and come up with some very interesting results. What follows is a simplified version of the results of the research of Liu Xiaogan.

According to Liu, chapters 17 to 27 and 32 can be considered to be the work of a school of Zhuangzi's followers, what he calls the Shu Zhuang Pai, or the "Transmitter" school. Graham, following Kuan Feng, considers chapters 22 to 27 and 32 not to be coherent chapters, but merely random "ragbag" collections of fragments. Liu considers chapters 8 to 10, chapters 28 to 31, and the first part of chapter 11 to be from a school of Anarchists whose philosophy is closely related to that of Laozi. Graham, again following in the tradition of Kuan Feng, sees these as two separate but related schools: the first he attributes to a writer he calls the "Primitivist," the second he considers to be a school of followers of Yang Zhu. Liu classifies chapters 12 to 16, chapter 33, and the first part of chapter 11 as belonging to the Huang-Lao school. (Graham refers to the supposed author of these chapters as the "Syncretist.") Graham finds the classification of chapter 16 to be problematic.

In the following chart the further to the right the chapters are listed, the further away they are from the central ideas of the Inner Chapters:

The Inner Chapters School of Zhuang Anarchist chapters Huang-Lao school

1. Wandering Beyond 17. Autumn Floods 8. Webbed Toes 11. Let it Be, Leave it Alone
2. Discussion on Smoothing Things Out 18. Utmost Happiness 9. Horse's Hooves 12. Heaven and Earth
3. The Principle of Nurturing Life 19. Mastering Life 10. Rifling Trunks 13. The Way of Heaven
4. In the Human Realm 20. The Mountain Tree 11. Let it Be, Leave it Alone 14. The Turning of Heaven
5. Signs of Abundant Potency 21. Tian Zi Fang 15. Constrained in Will
6. The Vast Ancestral Teacher 22. Knowledge Wandered North (16?. Mending the Inborn Nature) (16?. Mending the Inborn Nature)
7. Responding to Emperors and Kings 23. Geng Sang Chu
24. Xu Wugui 28. Yielding the Throne 33. The World
25. Ze Yang 29. Robber Zhi
26. External Things 30. Discoursing on Swords
27. Imputed Words 31. The Old Fisherman
32. Lie Yukou



3. Central Concepts in the "Inner Chapters"

The following is an account of the central ideas of Zhuangzi, going successively through each of the seven Inner Chapters. This discussion is not confined to the content of the particular chapters, but rather represents a fuller articulation of the inter-relationships of the ideas between the Inner Chapters, and also between these ideas and those expressed in the Outer and Miscellaneous Chapters, where these appear to be relevant.


a. Chapter 1: Xiao Yao You (Wandering Beyond)

The title of the first chapter of the Zhuangzi has also been translated as "Free and Easy Wandering" and "Going Rambling Without a Destination." Both of these reflect the sense of the Daoist who is in spontaneous accord with the natural world, and who has retreated from the anxieties and dangers of social life, in order to live a healthy and peaceful natural life. In modern Mandarin, the word xiaoyao has thus come to mean "free, at ease, leisurely, spontaneous." It conveys the impression of people who have given up the hustle and bustle of worldly existence and have retired to live a leisurely life outside the city, perhaps in the natural setting of the mountains.

But this everyday expression is lacking a deeper significance that is expressed in the classical Chinese phrase: the sense of distance, or going beyond. As with all Zhuangzi's images, this is to be understood metaphorically. The second word, 'yao,' means 'distance' or 'beyond,' and here implies going beyond the boundaries of familiarity. We ordinarily confine ourselves with our social roles, expectations, and values, and with our everyday understandings of things. But this, according to Zhuangzi, is inadequate for a deeper appreciation of the natures of things, and for a more successful mode of interacting with them. We need at the very least to undo preconceptions that prevent us from seeing things and events in new ways; we need to see how we can structure and restructure the boundaries of things. But we can only do so when we ourselves have 'wandered beyond' the boundaries of the familiar. It is only by freeing our imaginations to reconceive ourselves, and our worlds, and the things with which we interact, that we may begin to understand the deeper tendencies of the natural transformations by which we are all affected, and of which we are all constituted. By loosening the bonds of our fixed preconceptions, we bring ourselves closer to an attunement to the potent and productive natural way (dao) of things.

Paying close attention to the textual associations, we see that wandering is associated with the word wu, ordinarily translated 'nothing,' or 'without.' Related associations include: wusuo (no place), wuyou (no ‘something'), and most famously wuwei (no interference). Roger Ames and David Hall have commented extensively on these wu expressions. Most importantly, they are not to be understood as simple negations, but have a much more complex function. The significance of all of these expressions must be traced back to the wu of Laozi: a type of negation that does not simply negate, but places us in a new kind of relation to 'things'—a phenomenological waiting that allows them to manifest, one that acknowledges the space that is the possibility of their coming to presence, one that appreciates the emptiness that is the condition of the possibility of their capacity to function, to be useful (as the hollow inside a house makes it useful for living). The behavior of one who wanders beyond becomes wuwei: sensitive and responsive without fixed preconceptions, without artifice, responding spontaneously in accordance with the unfolding of the inter-developing factors of the environment of which one is an inseparable part.

But it is not just the crossing of horizontal boundaries that is at stake. There is also the vertical distance that is important: one rises to a height from which formerly important distinctions lose what appeared to be their crucial significance. Thus arises the distinction between the great and the small, or the Vast (da) and the petty (xiao). Of this distinction Zhuangzi says that the petty can not come up to the Vast: petty understanding that remains confined and defined by its limitations cannot match Vast understanding, the expansive understanding that wanders beyond. Now, while it is true that the Vast loses sight of distinctions noticed by the petty, it does not follow that they are thereby equalized, as Guo Xiang suggests. For the Vast still embraces the petty in virtue of its very vastness. The petty, precisely in virtue of its smallness, is not able to reciprocate.

Now, the Vast that goes beyond our everyday distinctions also thereby appears to be useless. A soaring imagination may be wild and wonderful, but it is extremely impractical and often altogether useless. Indeed, Huizi, Zhuangzi's friend and philosophical foil, chides him for this very reason. But Zhuangzi expresses disappointment in him: for his inability to sense the use of this kind of uselessness is a kind of blindness of the spirit. The useless has use, only not as seen on the ordinary level of practical affairs. It has a use in the cultivation and nurturing of the 'shen' (spirit), in protecting the ancestral and preserving one's life, so that one can last out one's natural years and live a flourishing life. Now, this notion of a flourishing life is not to be confused with a 'successful' life: Zhuangzi is not impressed by worldly success. A flourishing life may indeed look quite unappealing from a traditional point of view. One may give up social ambition and retire in relative poverty to tend to one's shen and cultivate one's xing (nature, or life potency).

To summarize: When we wander beyond, we leave behind everything we find familiar, and explore the world in all its unfamiliarity. We drop the tools that we have been taught to use to tame the environment, and we allow it to teach us without words. We imitate its spontaneous behavior and we learn to respond immediately without fixed articulations.


b. Chapter 2: Qi Wu Lun (Discussion on Smoothing Things Out)

If the Inner Chapters form the core of the Zhuangzi collection, then the Qi Wu Lun may be thought of as forming the core of the Inner Chapters. It is, at any rate, the most complex and intricate of the chapters of the Zhuangzi, with allusions and allegories, highly condensed arguments, and baffling metaphors juxtaposed without explanation. It appears to be concerned with the deepest and most 'abstract' understanding of ourselves, our lives, our world, our language, and our understanding itself. The most perplexing sections concern language and judgment, and are filled with paradox, sometimes even contradiction. But the contradictions are not easy to dismiss: their context indicates that they have a deep significance. In part, they appear to attempt to express an understanding about the limits of understanding itself, about the limits of language and thought.

This creates a problem for the interpreter, and especially for the translator. How do we deal with the contradictions? The most common solution is to paraphrase them so as to remove the direct contradictoriness, under the presupposition that no sense can be made of a contradiction. The most common way to remove the contradictions is to insert references to points of view. Those translators, such as A. C. Graham, who do this are following the interpretation of the Jin dynasty commentator Guo Xiang, who presents the philosophy as a form of relativism: apparently opposing judgments can harmonized when it is recognized that they are made from different perspectives.

According to Guo Xiang's interpretation, every thing has its place, its own nature (ziran); every thing has its own value that follows from its own nature. So nothing should be judged by values appropriate to the natures of other things. According to Guo Xiang the vast and the small are equal in significance: this is his interpretation of the word qi in the title, "equalization of all viewpoints". Now, such a radical relativism usually has the goal of issuing a fundamental challenge to the status quo, arguing that the established values have no more validity than any of the minority values, no matter how shocking they may seem to us. Thus, its effect is usually one of destabilization of the social structure. Here, however, we see another of the possible consequences of such a position: paradoxically enough, its inherent conservativeness. Guo Xiang's purpose in asserting this radical uniqueness and necessity of each position is conservative in this way. Indeed, it appears to be articulated precisely in response to those who oppose the traditional Ruist values of humanity and rightness (ren and yi) by claiming to have a superior mystical ground from which to judge them to be lacking. Guo Xiang's aim in asserting the equality of every thing, every position, and every function, is to encourage each thing, and each person, to accept its own place in the hierarchical system, to acknowledge its value in the functioning of the whole. In this way, radical relativism actually forestalls the possibility of radical critique altogether!

According to this reading, the Vast perspective of the giant Peng bird is no better than the petty perspectives of the little birds who laugh at it. And indeed, Guo Xiang, draws precisely this conclusion. But there is a problem with taking this reading too seriously, and it is the kind of problem that plagues all forms of radical relativism when one attempts to follow them through consistently. Simply put, Zhuangzi would have to acknowledge that his own position is no better than those he appears to critique. He would have to acknowledge that his Daoist philosophy, indeed even this articulation of relativism, is no improvement over Confucianism after all, and that it is no less short-sighted than the logic-chopping of the Mohists. This, however, is a consequence that Zhuangzi does not recognize. This is surely an indication that the radical relativistic interpretation is clearly a misreading. No intelligent radical relativist could fail to see this most obvious and direct consequence of their position. And the level of Zhuangzi's intelligence clearly is above the ordinary.

Recently, some western interpreters (Lisa Raphals and Paul Kjellberg, for example) have focused their attention on aspects of the text that express affinities with the Hellenistic philosophy of Skepticism. Now, it is important not to confuse this with what in modern philosophy is thought of as a doctrine of skepticism, the most common form of which is the claim that we cannot ever claim to know anything, for at least the reason that we might always be wrong about anything we claim to know—that is, because we can never know anything with absolute certainty. This is not quite the claim of the ancient Skeptics. Arguing from a position of fallibilism, these latter feel that we ought never to make any final judgments that go beyond the immediate evidence, or the immediate appearances. We should simply accept what appears at face value and have no further beliefs about its ultimate consequences, or its ultimate value. In particular, we should refrain from making judgments about whether it is good or bad for us. We bracket (epoche) these ultimate judgments. When we see that such things are beyond our ability to know with certainty, we will learn to let go of our anxieties and accept the things that happen to us with equanimity. Such a state of emotional tranquility they call 'ataraxia.'

Now, the resonances with Zhuangzi's philosophy are clear. Zhuangzi also accepts a form of fallibilism. While he does not refrain from making judgments, he nevertheless acknowledges that we cannot be certain that what we think of as good for us may not ultimately be bad for us, or that what we now think of as something terrible to be feared (death, for example) might not be an extraordinarily blissful awakening and a release from the toils and miseries of worldly life. When we accept this, we refrain from dividing things into the acceptable and the unacceptable; we learn to accept the changes of things in all their aspects with equanimity. In the Skeptical reading, the textual contradictions are also resolved by appealing to different perspectives from which different judgments appear to be true. Once one has learnt how to shift easily between the perspectives from which such different judgments can be made, then one can see how such apparently contradictory things can be true at the same time—and one no longer feels compelled to choose between them.

There is another way to resolve these contradictions, which involves recognizing the importance of continuous transformation between opposites. In the tradition of Laozi's cosmology, Zhuangzi's worldview is also one of seasonal transformations of opposites. The world is seen as a giant clod (da kuai) around which the heavens (tian) revolve about a polar axis (daoshu). All transformations have such an axis, and the aim of the sage is to settle into this axis, so that one may observe the changes without being buffeted around by them.

Now, the theme of opposites is taken up by the Mohists, in their later Mohist Canon, but with a very different understanding. The later Mohists present a detailed analysis of judgments as requiring bivalence: that is judgments may be acceptable (ke) (also, 'affirmed' shi) or unacceptable (buke) (also 'rejected' fei); they must be one or the other and they cannot be both. There must always be a clear distinction between the two. It is to this claim, I believe, that Zhuangzi is directly responding. Rejecting also the Mohist style of discussion, he appeals to an allusive, aphoristic, mythological style of poetic writing to upset the distinctions and blur the boundaries that the Mohists insist must be held apart. The Mohists believe that social harmony can only be achieved when we have clarity of distinctions, especially of evaluative distinctions: true/false, good/bad, beneficial/harmful. Zhuangzi's position is that this kind of sharp and rigid thinking can result ultimately only in harming our natural tendencies (xing), which are themselves neither sharp nor rigid. If we, on the contrary, learn to nurture those aspects of our heart-minds (xin), our natural tendencies (xing), that are in tune with the natural (tian) and ancestral (zong) within us, then we will eventually find our place at the axis of the way (daoshu) and will be able to ride the transformations of the cosmos free from harm. We will be able to sense and respond to what can only be vaguely expressed without forcing it into gross and unwieldy verbal expressions.

Put another way, our knowledge and understanding (zhi, tong, da) are not just what we can explicitly see before us and verbalize: in modern terms, they are not just what is 'consciously,' 'conceptually,' or 'linguistically' available to us. Zhuangzi also insists on a level of understanding that goes beyond such relatively crude modes of dividing up our world and experiences. There are hidden modes of knowing, not evident or obviously present, modes that allow us to live, breathe, move, understand, connect with others without words, read our environments through subtle signs; these modes of knowing also give us tremendous skill in coping with others and with our environments. These modes of knowing Zhuangzi calls wuzhi, literally 'without knowing,' or 'unknowing,' which Hall and Ames render as 'unprincipled knowing.' What is known by such modes of knowing, when we attempt to express it in words, becomes paradoxical and appears contradictory. It seems that bivalent distinctions leave out too much on either side of the divide: they are too crude a tool to cope with the subtlety and complexity of our non-conceptual modes of knowing. Zhuangzi, following a traditional folk psychology of his time, calls this capacity shenming: "spirit insight."

When we nurture that deepest and most natural, most ancestral part of our pysches, through psycho-physical meditative practices, we at the same time nurture these non-cognitive modes of understanding, embodied wisdoms, that enable us to deal successfully with our circumstances. It is then that we are able to cope directly with what from the limited perspective of our socialized and 'linguistic' understanding seems to be too vague, too open, too paradoxical.


c. Chapter 3: Yang Sheng Zhu (The Principle of Nurturing Life)

This chapter, like the Anarchist chapters, deals with the way to nurture and cultivate one's 'life force' (sheng, xing) so as to enable one to live skillfully and last out one's natural years (qiong qi tian nian). There is a 'life' within one that is a source of longevity, an ancestral place from which the phenomena of one's life continue to arise. This place is to be protected (bao), kept whole (quan), nurtured and cultivated (yang). The result is a sagely and skillful life. We must be careful how we understand this word, 'skill.' Zhuangzi takes pains to point out that it is no mere technique. A technique is a procedure that may be mastered, but the skill of the sage goes beyond this. One might say that it has become an 'art,' a dao. With Zhuangzi's conception, any physical activity, whether butchering a carcass, making wooden wheels, or carving beautiful ceremonial bell stands, becomes a dao when it is performed in a spiritual state of heightened awareness ('attenuation' xu).

Zhuangzi sees civic involvement as particularly inimical to the preservation and cultivation of one's natural life. In order to cultivate one's natural potencies, one must retreat from social life, or at least one must retreat from the highly complex and artificially structured social life of the city. One undergoes a psycho-physical training in which one's sensory and physical capacities become honed to an extraordinary degree, indicating one's attunement with the transformations of nature, and thus highly responsive to the tendencies (xing) of all things, people, and processes. The mastery achieved is demonstrated (both metaphorically, and literally) by practical embodied skill. That is, practical embodied skill is a metaphor representing the mastery of the life of the sage, and is also quite literally a sign of sagehood (though not all those who are skillful are to be reckoned as sages). Thus, we see many examples of individuals who have achieved extraordinary levels of excellence in their achievements—practical, aesthetic, and spiritual. Butcher Ding provides an example of a practical, and very lowly, skill; Liezi's teacher, Huzi, in chapter 7, an example of skill in controlling the very life force itself. Chapter 19, Mastering Life, is replete with examples: a cicada catcher, a ferryman, a carpenter, a swimmer, and Woodcarver Qing, whose aesthetic skill reaches magical heights.


d. Chapter 4: Ren Jian Shi (The Realm of Human Interactions)

In this chapter, Zhuangzi continues the theme broached by the last chapter, but now takes on the problem of how to protect and preserve one's life and last out one's years while living in the social realm, especially in circumstances of great danger: a life of civic engagement in a time of social corruption.

The Daoists, and Primitivists in general, are highly critical of the artificiality required to create and sustain complex social structures. The Daoists are skeptical of the ability of deliberate planning to deal with the complexities of the world within which our social structures have their place. Even the developments of the social world when left to themselves are 'natural' developments, and as such escape the confines of planned, structured thinking. The more we try to control and curtail these natural meanderings, the more complicated and unwieldy the social structures become. According to the Daoists, no matter how complex we make our structures, they will never be fully able to cope with the fluid flexibility of natural changes. The Daoists perceive the unfolding of the transformations of nature as exhibiting a kind of natural intelligence, a wisdom that cannot be matched by deliberate artificial thinking, thinking that can be articulated in words. The result is that phenomena guided by such artificial structures quickly lose their course, and have to be constantly regulated, re-calibrated. This gives rise to the development and articulation of the artificial concepts of ren and yi for the Ruists, and shi and fei for the Mohists.

The Ruists emphasize the importance of cultivating the values of ren 'humanity' and yi 'appropriateness/rightness.' The Mohists identify a bivalent structure of preference and evaluation. Our judgments can be positive or negative, and these arise out of our acceptance and rejection of things or of judgments, and these in turn arise out of our emotional responses to the phenomena of benefit and harm, that is, pleasure and pain. Thus, we set up one of two types of systems: the intuitive renyi morality of the Ruists, or the articulated structured shifei of the Mohists.

Zhuangzi sees both of these as dangerous. Neither can keep up with the complex transformations of things and so both will result in harm to our shen and xing. They lead to the desire of rulers to increase their personal profit, their pleasure, and their power, and to do so at the expense of others. The best thing is to steer clear of such situations. But there are times when one cannot do so: there is nothing one can do to avoid involvement in a social undertaking. There are also times—if one has a Ruist sensibility—when one will be moved to do what one can and must in order to improve the social situation. Zhuangzi makes up a story about Confucius' most beloved and most virtuous follower, Yen Hui, who feels called to help 'rectify' the King of a state known for his selfishness and brutality.

Zhuangzi thinks that such a motivation, while admirable, is ultimately misguided. There is little to nothing one can do to change things in a corrupt world. But if you really have to try, then you should be aware of the dangers, be aware of the natures of things, and of how they transform and develop. Be on the lookout for the 'triggers': the critical junctures at which a situation can explode out of hand. In the presence of danger, do not confront it: always dance to one side, redirect it through skilled and subtle manipulations, that do not take control, but by adding their own weight appropriately, redirect the momentum of the situation. One must treat all dangerous social undertakings as a Daoist adept: one must perform xinzhai, fasting of the heart-mind. This is a psycho-physical discipline of attenuation, in which one nurtures one's inner potencies, until one achieves a heightened sensitivity to the tendencies of things. One then responds with the skill of a sage to the dangerous moods and intentions of one's worldly ruler.


e. Chapter 5: De Chong Fu (Signs of the Flourishing of Potency)

This chapter is populated with a collection of characters with bodily eccentricities: criminals with amputated feet, people born with ‘ugly' deformities, hunchbacks with no lips. Perhaps some of these are moralistic advisors, like those of chapter 4, who were unsuccessful in bringing virtue and harmony to a corrupt state, and instead received the harsh punishment of their offended ruler? But it is also possible that some were born with these physical 'deformities.' As the Commander of the Right says in chapter 3, "When tian (nature) gave me life, it saw to it that I would be one footed." These then are people whose natural capacity (de) has been twisted somehow, redirected, so that it gives them a potency (de) that is beyond the normal human range. At any rate, this out of the ordinary appearance, this extraordinary physical form, is a sign of something deeper: a potency and a power (de) that connects them more closely to the ancestral source. These are the sages that Zhuangzi admires: those whose virtue (de) is beyond the ordinary, and whose signs of virtue indicate that they have gone beyond.

But what goes beyond is also the source of life. To hold fast to that which is beyond both living and dying, is perhaps also to hold fast to something that is beyond human and inhuman. To identify with and nurture this source is to nurture that which is at the root of our humanity. Thus to go to that which is beyond is not necessarily to become inhuman. Indeed, one might argue that it is to create the possibility of deepening one's most genuine humanity, insofar as this is a deeper nature still.


f. Chapter 6: Da Zong Shi (The Vast Ancestral Teacher)

The first part of this chapter is devoted to a discussion of the zhenren: the "True Man," the "genuine person," or "genuine humanity." It begins by asking about the relation between tian and ren, the natural/heaven and the human, and suggests that the greatest wisdom lies in the ability to understand both. Thus, to be forced to choose between being natural or being human is a mistake. A genuinely flourishing human life cannot be separated from the natural, but nor can it on that account deny its own humanity. Genuine humanity is natural humanity.

There are several sections devoted to explicating this genuine humanity. We find that the genuinely human person, the zhen ren, is in tune with the cycles of nature, and is not upset by the vicissitudes of life. The zhenren like Laozi's sage is somehow simultaneously unified with things, and yet not tied down by them. The zhenren is in tune with the cycles of nature, and with the cycles of yin yang, and is not disturbed or harmed by them. In fact, the zhenren is not harmed by them either in what appears to us to be their negative phases, nor are their most extreme phases able to upset the balance of the zhenren. This is sometimes expressed with what I take to be the hyperbole that the sage or zhenren can never be drowned by the ocean, nor burned by fire. However, followers of what has come to be known as "religious" Daoism would, I believe, probably take these statements more literally.

In the second part of the chapter, Zhuangzi hints at the process by which we are to cultivate our genuine and natural humanity. These are meditative practices and psycho-physical disciplines—"yogas" perhaps—by which we learn how to nourish the ancestral root of life that is within us. We learn how to identify with that center which functions as an axis of stability around which the cycles of emotional turbulence flow. By maintaining ourselves as a shifting and responding center of gravity we are able to maintain an equanimity without giving up our feelings altogether. We enjoy riding the dragon without being thrown around by it. Ordinarily, we are buffeted around like flotsam in a storm, and yet, by holding fast to our ancestral nature, and by following the nature of the environment—by "matching nature with nature"—we free ourselves from the mercy of random circumstances.

In this chapter we see a mature development of the ideas of life and death broached in the first three chapters. Zhuangzi continues musing on the significance of our existential predicament as being inextricably tied into interweaving cycles of darkness and light, sadness and joy, living and dying. In chapter two, it was the predicament itself that Zhuangzi described, and he tried to focus on the inseparability and indistinguishability of the two aspects of this single process of transformation. In this chapter, Zhuangzi tries to delve deeper to reach the center of balance, the 'axis of the way,' that allows one to undergo these changes with tranquility, and even to accept them with a kind of 'joy.' Not an ecstatic affirmation, to be sure, but a tranquil appreciation of the richness, beauty, and 'inevitability' of whatever experiences we eventually will undergo. Again, not that we must experience whatever is 'fated' for us, or that we ought not to minimize harm and suffering where we can do so, but only that we should acknowledge and accept our situatedness, our thrownness into our situation, as the 'raw materials' that we have to deal with.

There are mystical practices hinted at that enable the sage to identify with the datong, the greater flow, not with the particular arisings of these particular emotions, or this particular body, but with what lies within (and below and above) as their ancestral root. These meditative and yogic practices are hinted at in this chapter, and also in chapter 7, but nothing in the text reveals what they are. It is not unreasonable to believe that similar techniques have been handed down by the practitioners of religious Daoism. It is clear, nonetheless, that part of the change is a change in self-understanding, self-identification. We somehow learn to expand, to wander beyond, our boundaries until they include the entire cosmic process. This entire process is seen as like a potter's wheel, and simultaneously as a whetstone and as a grindstone, on which things are formed, and arise, sharpened, and are ground back down only to be made into new forms. With each 'birth' (sheng) some 'thing' (wu) new arises, flourishes, develops through its natural (tian) tendencies (xing), and then still following its natural tendencies, responding to those of its natural environment, it winds down: enters (ru) back into the undifferentiated (wu) from which it emerged (chu). The truest friendship arises when members of a community identify with this unknown undifferentiated process in which they are embedded, 'forgotten' differences between self and other, and spontaneously follows the natural developments of which they are inseparable 'parts.'


g. Chapter 7: Ying Di Wang (Responding to Emperors and Kings)

The last of the Inner Chapters does not introduce anything new, but closes by returning to a recurring theme from chapters 1, 3, 5, and 6: that of withdrawing from society. This 'withdrawal' has two functions: the first is to preserve one's 'life'; the second is to allow society to function naturally, and thus to bring itself to a harmonious completion. Rather than interfering with social interactions, one should allow them to follow their natural course, which, Zhuangzi believes, will be both imaginative and harmonious.

These themes resonate with those of the Anarchist chapters in the Outer (and Miscellaneous) chapters: 8 to 11a and 28 to 32. These encourage a life closer to nature in which one lets go of deliberate control and instead learns how to sense the tendencies of things, allowing them to manifest and flourish, while also adding one's weight to redirect their momentum away from harm and danger. Or, if harm and danger are unavoidable, then one learns how to minimize them, and how to accept whatever one does have to suffer with equanimity.


4. Key Interpreters of Zhuangzi

The earliest of the interpreters of Zhuangzi's philosophy are of course his followers, whose commentaries and interpretations have been preserved in the text itself, in the chapters that Liu Xiaogan ascribes to the "Shu Zhuang Pai," chapters 17 to 27. Most of these chapters constitute holistic developments of the ideas of the Inner Chapters, but some of them concentrate on particular issues raised in particular chapters. For example, the author of Chapter 17, the Autumn Floods, elaborates on the philosophy of perspective and overcoming boundaries that is discussed in the first chapter, Xiao Yao You. This chapter develops the ideas in several divergent directions: relativism, skepticism, pragmatism, and even a kind of absolutism. Which of these, if any, is the overall philosophical perspective is not easy to discern. The author of chapter 19, Da Sheng, Mastering Life, takes up the theme of the cultivation of the wisdom of embodied skill that is introduced in chapter 3, Yang Sheng Zhu, The Principle of Nurturing Life. The author of chapter 18, Zhi Le, Utmost Happiness, and chapter 22, Zhi Bei You, Knowledge Wanders North, continues the meditations on life and death, and the cultivation of meditative practice, that are explored in chapter 6, Da Zong Shi, The Vast Ancestral Teacher.

The next group of interpreters have also become incorporated into the extant version of the text. They are the school of anarchistically inclined philosophers, that Graham identifies as a "Primitivist" and a school of “Yangists,” chapters 8 to 11, and 28 to 31. These thinkers appear to have been profoundly influenced by the Laozi, and also by the thought of the first and last of the Inner Chapters: “Wandering Beyond,” and “Responding to Emperors and Kings.” There are also possible signs of influence from Yang Zhu, whose concern was to protect and cultivate one's inner life-source. These chapters combine the anarchistic ideals of a simple life close to nature that can be found in the Laozi with the practices that lead to the cultivation and nurturing of life. The practice of the nurturing of life in chapter 3, that leads to the “lasting out of one’s natural years,” becomes an emphasis on maintaining and protecting xing ming zhi qing “the essentials of nature and life’s command” in these later chapters.

The third main group, whose interpretation has been preserved in the text itself, is the Huang-Lao school, an eclectic school whose aim to is promote an ideal of mystical rulership, influenced by the major philosophical schools of the time, especially those that recommend a cultivation of inner potency. They scoured the earlier philosophers in order to extract what was valuable in their philosophies, the element of the dao that is to be found in each philosophical claim. In particular, they sought to combine the more ‘mystically' inclined philosophies with the more practical ones to create a more complete dao. The last chapter, Tian Xia, The World, considers several philosophical schools, and comments on what is worthwhile in each of them. Zhuangzi’s philosophy is here characterized as "vast," “vague,” “outrageous,” “extravagant,” and “reckless”; he is also recognized for his encompassing modes of thought, his lack of partisanship, and his recklessness is acknowledged to be harmless. Nevertheless, it is stated that he did not succeed in getting it all.

Perhaps the most important of the pre-Qin thinkers to comment on Zhuangzi is Xunzi. In his "Dispelling Obsessions" chapter, anticipating the eclecticism of the Huang-Lao commentators of chapter 33, he considers several philosophical schools, mentions the corner of ‘truth' that each has recognized, and then goes on to criticize them for failing to understand the larger picture. Xunzi mentions Zhuangzi by name, describes him as a philosopher who recognizes the value of nature and of following the tendencies of nature, but who thereby fails to recognize the value of the human ‘ren’. Indeed, Zhuangzi seems to be aware of this kind of objection, and even delights in it. He revels in knowing that he is one who wanders off into the distance, far from human concerns, one who is not bound by the guidelines. Perhaps in doing so he corroborates Xunzi’s fears.

Another text that reveals what might be a development of Zhuangzi's philosophy is the Liezi. This is a philosophical treatise that clearly stands in the same tradition as the Zhuangzi, dealing with many of the same issues, and on occasion with almost identical stories and discussions. Although the Daoist adept, Liezi, to whom the text is attributed lived before Zhuangzi, the text clearly dates from a later period, perhaps compiled as late as the Eastern Han, though in terms of linguistic style the material appears to date from around the same period as Zhuangzi. The Liezi continues the line of philosophical thinking of the Xiao Yao You, and the Qiu Shui, taking up the themes of transcending boundaries, and even cosmic realms, by spirit journeying. The leaving behind and overturning of human values is a theme that is repeated in this text, though again not without a certain paradoxical tension: after all, the purpose of such journeying and overturning of values is ultimately to enable us in some sense to live ‘better’ lives. While Zhuangzi’s own philosophy exerted a significant influence on the interpretation of Buddhism in China, the Liezi appears to provide a possible converse case of Mahayana Buddhist influence on the development of the ideas of Zhuangzi.

The Jin dynasty scholar, Guo Xiang, is the most influential of the early interpreters. His "relativistic" reading of the text has become the received interpretation, and his own distinctive style of philosophical thinking has in this way become almost inseparable from that of Zhuangzi. The task of interpreting Zhuangzi independently of Guo Xiang's reading is not easy to accomplish. His contribution and interpretation have already been discussed in the body of the entry (See sections above: The Zhuangzi text, and Chapter 2: Qi Wu Lun (Discussion on Smoothing Things Out) ). The Sui dynasty scholar, Lu Deming, produced an invaluable glossary and philological commentary on the text, enabling later generations to benefit from his vast linguistic expertise. The Ming dynasty Buddhist poet and scholar, Han Shan, wrote a commentary on the Zhuangzi from a Chan Buddhist perspective. In a similar vein, the Qing dynasty scholar, Zhang Taiyan, constructed a masterful interpretation of the Zhuangzi in the light of Chinese Buddhist Idealism, or Weishilun. Guo Qingfan, a late Qing, early twentieth century scholar, collected and synthesized the work of previous generations of commentators. The scholarly work of Takeushi Yoshio in Japan has also been of considerable influence. Qian Mu is a twentieth century scholar who has exerted considerable efforts with regard to historical scholarship. Currently, in Taiwan, Chen Guying is the leading scholar and interpreter of Zhuangzi, and he uses his knowledge of western philosophy, particularly western epistemology, cosmology, and metaphysics, to throw new light on this ancient text.

In the west, probably the most important and influential scholar was A. C. Graham, whose pioneering work on this text, and on the later Mohist Canon, has laid the groundwork and set an extraordinarily high standard for future western philosophical scholarship. Graham, following the reading of Guo Xiang, develops a relativistic reading based on a theory of the conventional nature of language. Chad Hansen is a current interpreter who sees the Daoists as largely theorists of language, and he interprets Zhuangzi's own contribution as a form of "linguistic skepticism." Recently, there has been a growth of interest in the aspects of Zhuangzi’s philosophy that resonate with the Hellenistic school of Skepticism. This was proposed by Paul Kjellberg, and has been pursued by other scholars such as Lisa Raphals.


5. References and Further Reading

Ames, Roger, ed. Wandering at Ease in the Zhuangzi. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998.

Chuang Tzu. Basic Writings. Translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1964.

Chuang Tzu. The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu. Translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968.

Chuang Tzu. Chuang-Tzu The Inner Chapters: A Classic of Tao. Translated by A. C. Graham. London: Mandala, 1991.

Chuang Tzu. Chuang tzu. Translated by James Legge, Sacred Books of the East, volumes 39, 40. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1891.

Cook, Scott. Hiding the World Within the World: Ten Uneven Discourses on Zhuangzi. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003.

Coutinho, Steve. Zhuangzi and Early Chinese Philosophy: Vagueness, Transformation, and Paradox. London: Ashgate Press, forthcoming, December, 2004.

Fung, Yu-Lan. Chuang-Tzu: A New Selected Translation with an Exposition of the Philosophy of Kuo Hsiang. 2nd ed. New York: Paragon Book Reprint Corporation, 1964.

Graham, Angus Charles. Later Mohist Logic, Ethics and Science. London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1978.

Graham, Angus Charles. Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China. La Salle: Open Court, 1989.

Graham, A. C. "Chuang-tzu's Essay on Seeing things as Equal." History of Religions 9 (1969/1970), pp. 137—159. Reproduced in Roth, 2003.

Graham, A. C. "Chuang-tzu: Textual Notes to a Partial Translation." London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1982. Reproduced in Roth, 2003.

Hansen, Chad. A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought: A Philosophical Interpretation. New York, Oxford University Press, 1992.

Ivanhoe, P. J. & Paul Kjellberg, ed. Essays on Skepticism, Relativism, and Ethics in the Zhuangzi. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996.

Kaltenmark, Max. Lao Tzu and Taoism. Translated by Roger Greaves. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1969.

Kjellberg, Paul. Zhuangzi and Skepticism. PhD dissertation, Department of Philosophy, Stanford University, 1993.

Lawton, Thomas, ed. New Perspectives on Chu Culture During the Eastern Zhou Period. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, 1991.

Li, Xueqin. Eastern Zhou and Qin Civilizations. Translated by Kwang-chih Chang. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985.

Liu, Xiaogan. Classifying the Zhuangzi Chapters. Translated by Donald Munro. Michigan Monographs in Chinese Studies, no. 65. Ann Arbor, Michigan: The University of Michigan, 1994.

Mair, Victor H., ed. Experimental Essays on Chuang-tzu. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1983.

Mair, Victor. ed. Chuang-tzu: Composition and Interpretation. Symposium issues, Journal of Chinese Religions 11, 1983.

Mair, Victor. Wandering on the Way: Early Taoist Tales and Parables of Chuang Tzu. New York: Bantam Books, 1994.

Maspero, Henri. Le Taoïsme. Vol. II, Mélanges Posthumes sur les Religions et l'histoire de la Chine. Paris: Civilisations du Sud S.A.E.P., 1950.

Roth, Harold. "Who Compiled the Chuang-tzu?" in Chinese Texts and Philosophical Contexts. edited by Henry Rosemont. La Salle: Open Court, 1991.

Roth, Harold. A Companion to A. C. Graham's Chuang Tzu: The Inner Chapters. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2003.

Wu, Kuang-ming. The Butterfly as Companion: Meditations on the First Three Chapters of the Chuang Tzu. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990.

Zhu Xi

A preeminent scholar, classicist and a first-rate analytic and synthetic thinker, Zhu Xi (Chu Hsi) created the supreme synthesis of Song-Ming dynasty (960-1628 CE) Neo-Confucianism. Moreover, by selecting the essential classical Confucian texts--the Analects (Lunyu) of Confucius, the Book of Mencius (Mengzi, the Great Learning (Daxue) and the Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong)—then editing and compiling them, with commentary, as the Four Books (Sishu). In doing so, Zhu redefined the Confucian tradition and outlook. He restored its original focus on moral cultivation and realization from the more bureaucratic stance of Confucians of the preceding Han and Tang dynasty (206 BCE-905 CE) who concentrated on the Five Classics (Wujing) of classical antiquity. The Four Books became required reading for the imperial examination system from the Yuan dynasty (1280-1341) until the system was abolished near the end of the Qing dynasty (1644-1911) in 1908. In his philosophical work, Zhu fused the concepts of the principal Northern Song (960-1126 CE) thinkers, Shao Yong (1011-77), Zhou Dunyi (1017-73), Zhang Zai (Chang Tsai, 1020-77) and the brothers Cheng Yi (1033-1107) and Cheng Hao (1032-85) into a rich, grand synthesis. Zhu Xi's thought has been the starting point for intellectual discourse and the focus of disputation for the last 800 years. His influence spread to Korea and Japan, which adopted Confucianism and the imperial examination system and were enamored of Zhu's intellectual achievements. To study traditional Chinese philosophy, especially Confucian thought, one must engage the ideas and works of Zhu Xi.

1. Life and Work

Zhu Xi was born in Youqi in Fujian province, China in 1130. A precocious child, he asked what lay beyond Heaven at age five and grasped the import of the Classic of Filiality (Xiaojing) at age eight. After losing his father, Zhu Song (1097-1143), in his youth, he was raised in the company of several eclectic scholars, including Buddhists. A prodigy, he passed the top-level jinshi exam (the “presented scholar” exam) at the young age of nineteen, drawing on Chan Buddhist notions in his answers. He continued to nurture an eclectic interest in Daoism and Buddhism until he became the student of the Neo-Confucian master Li Tong (1093-1163) in 1160. Zhu’s father had recommended that he study under Li, but Zhu delayed seeing him until age 30, when he had spiritual doubts. A master in the tradition of the Cheng brothers, Li convinced Zhu of the superiority of the Confucian Way and cultivation, to which Zhu devoted himself for the next forty years. Having passed the jinshi examination, Zhu was qualified to hold office and was assigned to several prefectural administrative posts. But Zhu was critical of central court policy on several key issues and preferred temple guardianships, which gave him leisure to read, write and teach. (This also shielded him from the cutthroat politics at court where his frankness would have been literally fatal to him.) He thus became a productive scholar who made lasting contributions to classicism, historiography, literary criticism and philosophy. He was also a master of elegant prose and poetry.

As a renowned teacher, Zhu taught the classics and Neo-Confucianism to hundreds, if not thousands, of students. His oral teachings are preserved in the Classified Dialogues of Master Zhu (Zhuzi yulei). He also published critical, annotated editions of several classics, including the Book of Change (Yijing) and the Book of Odes (Shijing), of specific Neo-Confucianism works, including the works of Zhou Dunyi, Zhang Zai and the Cheng brothers, and a more encompassing Neo-Confucian anthology, Reflections on Things at Hand (Jinsi lu). Devoted to his work, he kept busy virtually to his last breath when he was rethinking and discussing the Great Learning. Throughout life, he sought to reestablish the fundamental principles and ideals of Confucianism in order to restore the vitality of China’s cultural and political integrity as a Confucian society, since those seeking spiritual guidance and solace were inclined to favor Daoism and Buddhism over the spiritually impoverished alternative of bureaucratic Confucianism. Moreover, he thought the empire needed the spiritual élan of authentic Confucian values to meet the challenge of barbarian encroachers. His patriotism, commitment to the tradition and devotion to scholarship and education remain an inspiration to this day in East Asia and throughout the world.

2. Philosophy of Human Nature and Approach to Self-Cultivation

Zhu's complex theory of human nature registered the possibility of evil as well as that of sagehood. On his theory, while (following Mencius, 372-289 BCE) people are fundamentally good (that is, originally sensitive and well-disposed), how one manifests this original nature will be conditioned by one's specific qi endowment (one's native talents and gifts), and one's family and social environment. These together yield one's empirical personality, intelligence and potential for cultivation and success. Zhu thought difference in individual disposition, character and aptitude for moral self-realization are due to variations in qi endowments and environments.

Preceding generations of Neo-Confucian scholars had tended not to register the complexity of human nature and the wide range of individual differences and advocated relatively straightforward approaches to self-cultivation as purifying the mind to elicit the natural responses of one’s original goodness. They tended to understand this process in itself to constitute self-realization. For example, Zhu's teacher Li Tong had strongly advocated a form of meditation called "quiet sitting," the efficacy of which the active young Zhu had doubted from the outset, at least for himself. Several years later, Zhu held discussions with Zhang Shi (1133-80), a follower of Hu Hong (1106-61), who had advocated “introspection in action.” Zhu initially embraced this approach, but soon found that it was not viable for himself. He found that such introspection in the heat of action could not inform or guide action. It tended to impede the flow of effective deliberate action by making one too self-conscious.

Zhu Xi's ingenious solution was a two-pronged approach to cultivation that involved nurturing one's feeling of reverence (jing) while investigating things to discern their defining patterns (li). Reverence, a virtue taught by Confucius (551-479 BCE) and the classics, serves to purify the mind, attune one to the promptings of the original good nature and impel one to act with appropriateness (yi). At the same time, by grasping the defining, interactive patterns that constitute the world, society, people and upright conduct, one gains the key to acting appropriately. The mind that is imbued with a feeling of reverence and comprehends these patterns will develop into a good will (zhuzai) dedicated to rectitude and appropriate conduct.

Interestingly, in later life, Zhu regarded this conception of cultivation and realization as too complicated, gradual and difficult to complete. Like Confucius, he came to accept that one must, on embarking on moral self-cultivation, establish the resolve (lizhi) to realize the Confucian virtues and become an exemplary person (junzi), a master of appropriateness in human conduct and interpersonal affairs.

3. Moral Cosmic Synthesis

In "A Treatise on Humanity" (Renshuo), Zhu Xi articulates and systematizes the classical Confucian ideal of humanity (ren) in simultaneously cosmic and human perspective. At the same time, he effectively criticizes competing accounts of "humanity" on logical, semantic and ethical grounds. Following early tradition, Zhu associates humanity with cosmic creativity. At its root, humanity is the impulse of "heaven and earth" (the cosmos) to produce things. It is manifested vividly in the cycle of seasons and the fecundity of nature. (The settled Chinese terrain and climate were moderate and productive, supporting the view that nature generally was fecund and afforded suitable conditions for human flourishing.) This impulse to produce is instilled in all of the myriad creatures, but in man it is sublimated into the virtue of “humanity” ("authoritative personhood"), which, when fully realized, involves being caring and responsible to others in due degree. Zhu Xi similarly correlates the four stages of creativity and production in the cosmos and nature -- origination, growth, flourishing and firmness -- that were first indicated in the Book of Change, with the four cardinal virtues enunciated by Confucius -- humanity, appropriateness, ritual conduct and wisdom. He thus portrays the realized person as both a vital participant in cosmic creativity and a catalyst for the flourishing and self-realization of others. On this basis, Zhu goes on to formulate the definitive definition of ren (humanity, authoritative personhood) for the subsequent tradition: "the essential character of mind" and "the essential pattern of love." The virtue of ren grounds the disposition of mind as commiserative and describes the core of moral self-realization as love for others (other-directed concern), appropriately manifested.


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4. Metaphysical Synthesis

Zhu Xi erected a metaphysical synthesis that has been compared broadly to the systems of Plato, Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas and Whitehead. These “Great Chain” systems are hierarchical and rooted in the distinction between form and matter. Zhu advanced Zhou Dunyi's dynamic conception of reality as shown in the "Diagram of the Supreme Polarity" (Taiji tu), in order to conceive the Cheng brother's concept of li (pattern, principle) and Zhang Zai's notion of qi (cosmic vapor) as organically integrated in a holistic system. In Zhou's treatise, Explanation of the Diagram of the Supreme Polarity (Taiji tu shuo), Zhu discerned a viable account of the formation of the world in stages from the original unformed qi, to yin and yang, the five phases -- earth, wood, fire, water and metal -- and on to heaven, earth and the ten thousand things. Zhu blended this conception with ideas from the Book of Change and its commentaries in setting forth a comprehensive philosophy of cosmic and human creativity, providing philosophical grounds for the received Confucian concepts of human nature and self-cultivation. Zhu's penchant for thinking in polarities—li and qi, in particular—has continued to stir critics to regard him as a dualist who used two concepts to explain reality. For his part, any viable account of the complexity of phenomena must involve two or more facets in order to register their complexity and changes.

5. Key Interpreters of Zhu Xi

Zhu Xi was an active scholar-intellectual who held discussions and disputes with other scholars, both in correspondence and in person. He can be known by contrast with others as well as through his positive views. For example, his series of letters with Zhang Shi on the topic of self-cultivation, preserved in the Collected Writings of Master Zhu (Zhuzi wenji), provides an enlightening record of these dedicated Confucians’ quest for a well-grounded, effective approach to self-cultivation. He debated with Lu Zuqian (1134-1181) on the nature of education. Zhu focused on the Confucian Way and moral practice, while Lu argued for a broader-based humanities approach. He held a series of debates with Lu Jiuyuan (Xiangshan, 1139-93) on the nature of realization and moral conduct. Whereas Zhu advocated regimens of study, reflection, observation and practice, Lu spoke simply of reflecting on the self and clarifying the mind, considering that once the mind was clear one would know spontaneously what to do in any situation. Zhu also corresponded with the “utilitarian” Confucian scholar Chen Liang (1143-94), who disputed Zhu’s focus on individual moral realization and the received “Way” with a broader institutional approach that was more sensitive to empirical facts and conditions. Zhu generally eclipsed all of the other scholars of his day, partly because he outlived them and had so many students, but mainly because his system was so compelling. It was comprehensive yet nuanced, tightly reasoned yet accommodating of individual differences. It preserved the essential Confucian Way yet ramified it to meet the challenges of Buddhism and Daoism as spiritual teachings. Zhu’s influence rose at the end of the Southern Song dynasty and became decisive during the Yuan dynasty, which adopted his edition of the Four Books as the basis of the imperial examination system arranged by scholars trained in his approach.

While raising his standing in pedagogy, this focus on the Four Books at the expense of Zhu’s deeper, more nuanced texts and dialogues opened the door to philosophic criticism. A schematic presentation of Zhu’s cosmic theory of pattern (li) and qi lay in the background of his commentary to the Four Books, which easily opened him to charges of dualism and of reading abstract categories into the essentially practical ancient texts. Because his commentary was focused on reading and understanding the meaning, intent and cultivation message of the Four Books, critics generalized that Zhu and his method were essentially scholastic and would be myopic and stilted in facing real situations. Anyone who peruses the corpus of Zhu’s writings and dialogues, however, will find that his ontology is not a crude dualism but a holism built of mutually implicative elements that never exist in separation. Also, his reflections are always informed by knowledge of history, current events and practical observation, as his method of observation applies generally to objects (and self) and phenomena while respecting but not privileging texts. Even his comments on Confucius and Mencius often refer back to the person and the speech context, and, thus, are not entirely scholastic. His method of observation opened the door to breakthroughs beyond the “verities” of the classics, though he was careful not to play up this fact because most of his colleagues sought the truth in the texts, thinking empirical facts were distractions from the essential Heavenly-patterning (tianli) reflected more adequately in the canonical texts.

Whereas early generations of Zhu’s followers were acquainted with his broader learning, style and spirit, Confucians of the Ming and Qing dynasties knew him mostly through his edition of the Four Books, through which they targeted their criticisms of his thought. Zhu’s most eminent critic was the Ming scholar-official Wang Yangming (Wang Yang-ming, 1472-1529). In youth, Wang had admired Zhu’s learning and once even attempted to try out his approach to observation, “investigate things to discern their defining patterns.” But, after diligently “observing” bamboo for several days, Wang became ill and got no special insight into the pattern or meaning of bamboo or anything else. He therefore rejected Zhu’s approach to observation as too objective, as outward rather than inward. In the twentieth century, Qian Mu observed that Zhu would only make such observations with guiding questions in mind, around which to focus his observations; he never would have countenanced just looking, which would turn up nothing that wasn’t obvious. For example, having heard a monk claim that bean sprouts grow faster by night than by day, Zhu measured the growth of some bean plants after twelve hours of daylight and of nocturnal darkness, respectively, and found that the plants exhibited the same rate of growth day and night. (The monk’s claim had been based on Mencius’ idea that the qi was more vital at night.) For his part, Wang transformed Zhu’s theory of observation into a pragmatic theory, thereby gearing observation directly to discernment and response—knowing how to act. Thus, Wang formulated a famous slogan that “knowledge and action form a unity.” Later, he argued that knowledge is not essentially objective and factual, but rooted in an inborn moral sensitivity (liangzhi), which is elicited by clarifying the mind so that one becomes actively responsive to one’s moral impulses (liangneng). It could be said that, in his criticisms, Wang was reacting more to the scholastic attitudes fostered by the examination system than to Zhu Xi himself. Wang ultimately respected Zhu and went on to compile a text attempting to show that in later life Zhu had changed his approach in a subjective, practical way that anticipated Wang’s approach.

Scholars of the late Ming through early Qing period (mid-seventeenth to early eighteenth century), notably, Wang Fuzhi (1619-92) and Dai Zhen (Tai Chen, 1723-77), disputed Zhu on philosophical and textual grounds. Whereas Zhu had insisted on the priority of “pattern” over qi, (roughly, form over matter), Wang and Dai followed the Northern Song thinker Zhang Zai in affirming the priority of qi, viewing patterns as a posteriori evolutionary realizations of qi interactions. They thought this account dissolved the threat of any hint of dualism in cosmology, ontology and human nature. For his part, Zhu Xi would have responded that, fundamentally, “pattern” is implicated in the very make-up and possible configurations of qi; which is why the regular a posteriori patterns can emerge. “Pattern” provides for the standing orders and processes, based on the steady interactions of yin-yang, five phases, etc., that give rise to the heaven-earth world order, with its full complement of ten thousand things. The fundamental a priori patterns are thus necessary to the world order and provide the fecund context in which the a posteriori forms emerge continuously. Wang and Dai’s qi-based view could not account for existence and the world order in this sense. At the same time, Zhu did not think that “patterns” were absolutely determinative. They just set certain “possibilities of order” that are realized when the necessary qi conditions obtain. For the most part, he registered the range of randomness and free flow in qi activity that is best exemplified in the randomness of weather systems and seismic events.

As to textual grounds, Wang and Dai argued that Zhu was so enamored of his metaphysics of pattern and qi that he constantly read them into the classical texts. For example, Dai said Zhu blandly associated Confucius’ term tian (heaven) with his own notion of li (pattern; principle), quoting Analects 11:9 where Confucius, in sorrow over the death of his disciple Yan Hui, cried that “Heaven had forsaken” him. Could Zhu reasonably claim that Confucius was crying that li had forsaken him? Critics tend to find Dai’s counter-intuitive example against Zhu’s approach compelling. However, consulting Zhu’s original commentary, we find that he noted that this phrase expressed Confucius’ utmost sorrow, that he felt Yan Hui’s death as if it was his own, without mentioning “pattern.” This example does not prove Wang and Dai’s claim. It illustrates that Zhu’s commentary was nuanced and sensitive to pragmatic, situational usages despite his penchant to see his own notion of “pattern” in some of Confucius’ usages of “heaven.” Moreover, the classicist Daniel Gardner shows that Zhu’s commentary was not intended as simply a glossary with comments. It was intended as a guide to self-cultivation. Hence, Zhu sometimes recast passages in the Analects more generally to show their broader implications for self-cultivation and realization, often with the isolated countryside student in mind. Gardner shows that Zhu thus had enriched the text as a vital tool for self-cultivation, whereas the earlier commentaries of the Han and Tang dynasties had just given glosses necessary for answering examination questions.

Known in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in the West due to the work of Jesuits in China, Zhu Xi’s thought and texts were made more widely available to western scholarship in the late nineteenth century. Early in the twentieth century, a Chinese student of John Dewey (1859-1951) at Cornell, Hu Shi (1891-1962), initially followed the empirical, textual Qing scholars in viewing Zhu as a scholastic metaphysician. But, after reading Zhu’s Dialogues in old age, Hu contended that Zhu’s method of observation was not scholastic but essentially scientific in nature. J.C. Bruce, who translated a book of Zhu’s collected writings in the 1920s, viewed Zhu’s notion of li (pattern; principle) in light of Stoic natural law. From the 1930s, the eminent historian of Chinese philosophy, Feng Youlan, interpreted li along the lines of platonic Forms making Zhu Xi appear to be an idealist and abstract thinker. In the 1950s, Carsun Chang naturalized the notion of li by aligning it with the Aristotelian “nature” or “essence,” thereby locking Zhu’s thought into a sort of descriptive metaphysics.

From the 1960s, Mou Zongsan interpreted and criticized Zhu’s ontology and ethics on Kantian grounds, saying he erected an a priori framework but then illicitly sought to derive further a priori knowledge (of patterns) by a posteriori means (observation). In the 1970s, the intellectual historian, Qian Mu examined and explained Zhu Xi’s thought directly on its own terms, without reading western concepts and logical patterns into his system. Scholars wanting to read Zhu Xi on his own terms, unmediated by western thought, turn to the five volume Zhu Xi anthology edited by Qian Mu as a rich starting point.

In 1956, Joseph Needham, a scientist, made a highly significant breakthrough by interpreting Zhu’s system in terms of a process philosophy, Whitehead’s organic naturalism. Needham successfully recast much of Zhu’s language in naturalistic rather than metaphysical terms. The cultural, moral dimension of Needham’s account has been developed by Cheng-ying Cheng and John Berthrong, while the scientific dimension has been examined by Yung Sik Kim. In the 1980s, A.C. Graham offered the most insightful and apt account of Zhu’s terminology and pattern of thought in, “What Was New in the Ch’eng-Chu Theory of Human Nature?” and other writings. Graham showed decisively that the term li refers to an embedded contextual “pattern,” rather than to any sort of abstract form or principle. He reminded us that the term li never figures in propositions or logical sequences, as would be natural for “principle.” Rather, li are always conceived as structuring, balancing, modulating, guiding phenomena, processes, reflection and human discernment and response. For example, one never finds moral syllogisms in Zhu Xi’s writings. Everything he says is about moral emotional intelligence: attunement, sensitivity, discernment, and response. Kirill Thompson has explored and extended Graham’s interpretation in a series of studies. Joseph Adler examines the roles played by the Book of Change and Zhou Dunyi in Zhu’s thought, while Thomas Wilson and Hoyt Tillman have shown the extent to which Zhu Xi re-visioned, revised and recast the Confucian Way. Wilson is interested in Zhu’s account of the Way as a sort of educational-ideological revision, and Tillman is interested in how Zhu’s account of the Way eventually snuffed out other competing versions that might have offered more practical and liberal openings in late imperial China.

In summary, the depth and range of Zhu Xi’s thought were unparalleled in the tradition. Zhu Xi studies continue to be vital, wide-ranging and contentious, drawing growing global, cross-cultural interest.

6. References and Further Reading

Adler, Joseph (1998). “Response and Responsibility: Chou Tun-I and Confucian Resources for Environmental Ethics” in Mary Tucker and John Berthrong ed. Confucianism and Ecology: The Interpretation of Heaven, Earth, and Humans, Cambridge: Harvard UP. (Expansion and application of Zhou Tunyi and Zhu Xi’s ideas to frame a cogent environmental ethic. Clear and thoughtful.)

(1999). “Chu Hsi’s Use of the I ching” in Kidder Smith, ed., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I ching, Princeton: Princeton UP. (Readable and informative survey. Complements the following text.)

(2002). “Introduction to the Classic of Change” by Chu Hsi: Translation with introduction and notes, Provo: Global Scholarly Publications. (Zhu Xi’s guide to understanding and using the Book of Change. Fascinating. Clear translation and commentary. A major contribution to Zhu Xi and Book of Change studies.)

Berthrong, John H. (1994). Concerning Creativity: A Comparison of Chu Hsi, Whitehead, and Neville, Albany: SUNY Press. (Well-developed “process philosophy” interpretation of Zhu’s speculative thought; see Needham 1956a and 1956b.)

Bruce, J. Percy (1923). Chu Hsi and His Masters: An Introduction to the Sung School of Chinese Philosophy, London: Probsthain. (Pioneering historical study.)

Chan, Wing-tsit (1963). “The Great Synthesis in Chu Hsi,” in A Source Book In Chinese Philosophy, Princeton: Princeton UP, 605-63. (Translations of Zhu’s principal essays and statements on key terms, drawn primarily from Zhuzi quanshu; clear and thoroughly annotated.)

(1966). Reflections on Things at Hand: The Neo-Confucian Anthology Compiled by Chu Hsi and Lu Tsu-ch’ien, New York: Columbia UP. (Zhu’s compendium of important early Neo-Confucian pronouncements; clear and well annotated.)

(ed.) (1986). Chu Hsi and Neo-Confucianism. Honolulu: Hawaii UP. (Detailed studies of key issues in Zhu Xi scholarship; for the specialist.)

(1987). Chu Hsi: Life and Thought. Hong Kong: Hong Kong UP. (General essays; clear and accessible.)

(1989). Chu Hsi: New Studies. Honolulu: Hawaii UP. (Detailed studies of key issues in Zhu Xi scholarship; for the specialist.)

Chang, Carsun (1957). “Chu Hsi, The Great Synthesizer,” in The Development of Neo-Confucian Thought, vol. 1, New York: Bookman, 243-332. (Aristotelian account of Zhu’s philosophy, viewed in contrast to Zhu’s rivals’ opinions. Attempted corrective of Feng’s platonic reading of Zhu Xi; see next entry. )

Feng, Youlan (1953). “Chu Hsi,” trans. D. Bodde in A History of Chinese Philosophy, 2 vols., Princeton: Princeton UP, vol. 2, 533-71. (Highly influential pioneering platonic account of Zhu’s thought in English; technical but clearly presented..)

Gardner, Daniel (1986). Chu Hsi and Ta-hsueh: Neo-Confucian Reflection on the Confucian Canon, Cambridge: Harvard UP. (Translation of Zhu’s commentary on the “Great Learning,” a major classical cultivation text; with excellent commentary and supporting essays.)

(1990). Learning to Be a Sage: Selections from the Conversations of Master Chu, Arranged Topically, Berkeley: California UP. (Zhu’s teachings on learning and study as a method of self-cultivation; very clear and accessible.)

(2003). Zhu Xi’s Reading of the Analects: Canon, Commentary and the Classical Tradition, New York: Columbia UP. (Insightful, corrective study of Zhu’s mission and accomplishment in writing this commentary.)

Graham, A.C. (1986) “What was New in the Ch’eng-Chu Theory of Human Nature?” in Wing-tsit Chan (ed) Chu Hsi and Neo-Confucianism, Honolulu: Hawaii UP, 138-157. (Ground-breaking study; corrective reinterpretation of Zhu’s main concepts and ethical thought.)

Kim, Yung Sik (2000). The Natural Philosophy of Chu Hsi 1130-1200, Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. (Clear and multifaceted study of Zhu’s proto-scientific efforts and achievements; see Thompson 2002b for critical analysis.)

Lovejoy, Arthur O. (1936 & 1964) The Great Chain of Being: A Study of the History of an Idea, Cambridge: Harvard UP. (Brilliant account of hierarchical systems in the West, to which Zhu’s system is a distant cousin; see Thompson 1994 for discussion.)

Needham, Joseph (1956a). “The Neo-Confucians,” in Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 2, History of Scientific Thought, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 455-95. (Highly influential organismic account of Zhu’s thought; lucid and fascinating.)

(1956b). “Chu Hsi, Leibniz, and the Philosophy of Organism,” in the preceding book, 496-505. (Highly influential organismic account of Zhu’s thought; lucid and fascinating.)

Schirokauer, Conrad (1962). “Chu Hsi’s Political Career: A Study in Ambivalence,” in A. Wright and D. Twichert (eds) Confucian Personalities, Stanford: Stanford UP, 162-88. (Detailed but engaging account.)

Thompson, Kirill O. (1988) “Li and Yi as Immanent: Chu Hsi’s Thought in Practical Perspective,” Philosophy East and West 38 (1): 30-46. (Corrective account of Zhu’s ontology and ethical theory; lucid and informative.)

(1991). “How to Rejuvenate Ethics: Suggestions from Chu Hsi,” Philosophy East and West (41): 493-513. (Examination of how Zhu Xi’s thought could rejuvenate contemporary western ethics.)

(1994). “Hierarchy of Immanence: Chu Hsi’s Pattern of Thought,” Humanitas Taiwanica (Wen-shih-che hsueh-pao, National Taiwan University (42): 1-30. (Examines parallels and differences between Zhu’s philosophy and Great Chain philosophies of the western tradition, in order to reveal strengths and special features of Zhu’s system.)

(2002a). “Ethical Insights from Chu Hsi,” in M. Barnhart, ed., Varieties of Ethical Reflection, New York and London: Lexington Books. (Presentation of Zhu’s method of ethical thinking, with applications to some difficult issues in Western ethics.)

(2002b). “Review article of “Yung Sik Kim, The Natural Philosophy of Chu Hsi 1130-1200,” China Review International (9): 165-80. (Critical examination of Kim’s study of Zhu’s proto-scientific thought.)

(2007). “The Archery of Wisdom in the Stream of Life: Zhu Xi’s Reflections on the Four Books,” Philosophy East and West, vol. 56, no. 3 (July). (Study of Confucius and Mencius’ fascinating notion of wisdom in the light of Zhu Xi’s salient reflections.)

Tillman, Hoyt (1992). Confucian Discourse and Chu Hsi’s Ascendancy, Honolulu: Hawaii UP. (Detailed historical study that situates Zhu in the context of the intellectual issues and debates of the day.)

Wilson, Thomas A. (1995) Genealogy of the Way: the construction and uses of the Confucian tradition in late imperial China, Stanford: Stanford UP. (New approach that sees politics and ideology in the competing accounts of the Confucian Way.)

Wittenborn, Allen (1991). Further Reflections at Hand: A Reader, New York: University Press of America. (Useful compendium of Zhu’s philosophic pronouncements; clear translation with detailed commentary.)

Zhu Xi (1130-1200). Zhuzi yulei (Classified Dialogues of Master Zhu), trans. J.P. Bruce, The Philosophy of Human Nature, London: Probstain, 1922. [Compendium of Zhu’s moral psychology drawn from Zhuzi quanshu (“Complete” Works of Master Zhu), abstruse.] Other translated selections can be found in Chan 1963, 1966; Gardner 1986, 1990, 2003; Wittenborn 1991.

Zhong Hui (Chung Hui, 225–264 CE)

Zhong Hui (Chung Hui) was a major philosophical figure during China’s early medieval period (220-589 CE). An accomplished interpreter of the Laozi and the Yijing, Zhong Hui contributed significantly to the early development of xuanxue—literally “learning” (xue) of the “dark” or “mysterious” (xuan) Dao (“Way”), but sometimes translated as “Neo-Daoism". He also was a major political figure whose ambition eventually led to his untimely demise. Virtually all of Zhong Hui’s writings have been lost, which perhaps explains why he has been given scant attention by students of Chinese philosophy. Had he not failed in his attempt to overthrow the regime of his day, no doubt his writings would have been preserved and given the attention they justly deserve. In particular, his views on human “capacity and nature” (caixing), as developed in his interpretation of the Laozi, are major contributions to xuanxue philosophy, which dominated the Chinese intellectual scene from the third to the sixth century CE. In contrast to other thinkers of the time, who argued that capacity and nature are the same (tong), different (yi), or diverge from one another (li), Zhong Hui argued that they coincide (he). In effect, he proposed that what is endowed is potential, which must be carefully nurtured and brought to completion through learning and effort. While one’s native endowment is not sufficient, one must have some material to begin with in order to achieve the desired result. Thus, it cannot be said that the latter has nothing to do with the former.

1. Philosopher and Statesman

Toward the end of the second century CE, the once glorious Han dynasty (founded in 206 BCE) was already in irreparable decline, with regional military commanders competing for power and control. Among them, Cao Cao (155–220) proved the strongest and in 220 CE his son, Cao Pi (187–226), formally ended the rule of Han and established the Wei dynasty (220–265).

The third century was a time of profound change. The end of the Han dynasty brought political turmoil and hardship; but it also cleared a space for intellectual renewal. The Confucian tradition that dominated much of the Han intellectual landscape now seemed powerless to overcome the forces of disorder that threatened to tear the country asunder. Indeed, to some scholars Han Confucianism was not only ineffective as a remedy, but also part of the problem that led to the downfall of the Han dynasty. New approaches to reestablishing order were urgently needed. In this context, xuanxue was born.

The word xuan literally depicts a shade of black with dark red. It appears prominently in the Laozi, signifying metaphorically the profound unfathomability of the Dao. For this reason, xuanxue has been translated as “Neo-Daoism.” However, while it is true that third-century Chinese philosophers turned to the Laozi for insight, the term “Neo-Daoism” can be misleading because mainstream xuanxue was never a partisan Daoist or “anti-Confucian” movement. Rather, xuanxue scholars saw the whole classical heritage as embodying the truth of the Dao. In other words, Confucius, Laozi, and other sages and near-sages of old were all concerned with unlocking the mystery of Dao, to lay out a blueprint for order. They were all “Daoists” in this sense. What seemed necessary was a radical reinterpretation of the classical tradition that would eradicate the distortions and excesses of Han Confucianism and reestablish the rule of Dao, in both practice and theory, in government and learning. To avoid misunderstanding, most scholars today prefer to translate xuanxue as “Dark Learning,” or more clumsily but less ambiguous, “Learning of the Mysterious (Dao).”

Although the Wei dynasty had to contend with two rival kingdoms during its early years, there was a sense of optimism that order could be restored. There were eager attempts to reform public administration, especially the process of appointment of officials, and law. During the Zhengshi reign period (240–249) of the Wei dynasty in particular, there was a flurry of intellectual activities that saw the first wave of xuanxue scholars arriving on the scene. Zhong Hui was a significant player in this development.

Zhong Hui hailed from a distinguished family, politically influential and known especially for its expertise in law. His father, Zhong You (d. 230), was one of the most powerful statesmen in the early Wei regime and a noted calligrapher and Yijing expert as well. From the start, Zhong Hui was groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps. Zhong Hui himself recounts that he began his formal education under the guidance of his mother with the Xiaojing (Classic of Filial Piety) at the age of three. He then studied the Analects, Shijing (Classic of Poetry), Shujing (Book of Documents), the Yijing (with his father’s commentary), and other classics before he was sent to the imperial academy to further his studies at the age of fourteen. The Zhong family evidently held a special interest in the Yijing and the Laozi. Zhong You had written on both, and Zhong Hui’s mother was also a dedicated student of the Laozi and the Yijing.

As Zhong Hui’s biography in the Sanguozhi (History of the Three Kingdoms) relates, he began his official career as an assistant in the palace library during the Zhengshi era. Reputed for his wide learning and skill in disputation, he was soon promoted to serve as a deputy secretary at the Central Secretariat. At that time, Cao Shuang (d. 249) controlled the Wei court. On the intellectual front, many looked to He Yan (d. 249) as their leader. Zhong Hui was then part of this elite circle. He and Wang Bi (226–249), in particular, were singled out as among the brightest and most promising of their generation. (Wang Bi, of course, now occupies a hallowed place in the history of Chinese philosophy as a brilliant interpreter of the Laozi and the Yijing.)

The scene took a sudden change in 249 when Sima Yi (179–251) successfully staged a coup that led to the death of Cao Shuang, He Yan, and other members of their faction. After Sima Yi’s death, control of the Wei government came into the hands of his two sons, Sima Shi (208–255) and Sima Zhao (211–265). In 265, the latter’s son, Sima Yan, (236–290) formally ended the reign of Wei and established the Jin dynasty (265–420).

The fall of Cao Shuang and He Yan in 249 marked a turning point in Wei politics. Zhong Hui managed to keep out of harm’s way despite his apparent association with the Cao faction. After 249, Zhong Hui was able to retain his post at the Central Secretariat and soon became a key member of the Sima regime. Rising from Palace Attendant to Metropolitan Commandant, and to General of the Suppression of the West in 262, Zhong Hui achieved remarkable success in the political arena. In 263, in recognition of his role in the conquest of the rival kingdom of Shu, he was made Chief Minister of Culture and Instruction, one of the “Three Excellencies” of state. At the height of his power, Zhong Hui considered his achievement to be unsurpassed in the world and that he could no longer serve under anyone. Calculating that he had control of a formidable army and that he could at least claim the land of Shu even if he failed to conquer the entire country, Zhong Hui decided to turn against the Sima government. He was killed by his own troops in the first month of 264.

2. Zhong Hui’s Laozi Learning

Few of Zhong Hui’s writings have survived. A Zhong Hui ji (Collected Works) in nine scrolls has been reported, but it is no longer extant. He was also an accomplished poet; a few fragments of his poetry in the fu (prose-poem) style have been preserved in various sources. Zhong Hui seems to have written two essays on the Yijing, although little of his Yijing learning can now be reconstructed. He was the author of a commentary on the Laozi. He also contributed significantly to a debate on the relationship between “capacity and nature” (caixing).

In early medieval China, caixing was one of the basic topics about which every intellectual was expected to be able to say something. Fu Jia (also pronounced Fu Gu, 209–255), who criticized He Yan during the Zhengshi era and later acted as a major policy maker in the Sima administration, is generally acknowledged to be the leading figure in this debate. Zhong Hui, who became a junior associate of Fu Jia after 249, is said to have “collected and discussed” the latter’s deliberation on the “identity and difference of capacity and nature.” Zhong’s work presents four views on the subject, including his own, and is given the title Caixing siben lun (On the Four Roots of Capacity and Nature). Despite its evident popularity in Wei-Jin China, other than the general position of the four views and the individuals who hold them, which will be introduced later, we have no further knowledge of this work.

According to Du Guangting (850–933), He Yan, Wang Bi, and Zhong Hui all attempted in their interpretation of the Laozi to make clear “the way of ultimate emptiness and nonaction, and of governing the family and the country.” Unfortunately, Zhong Hui’s Laozi commentary has been lost, probably since the end of the Song dynasty (960-1279). Today, we can only see glimpses of Zhong’s Laozi learning through about 25 quotations from his commentary preserved in a number of sources.

When xuanxue became an established trend during the Jin dynasty, its supporters looked back to the Zhengshi period rather nostalgically as the “golden age” of philosophical debate and criticism. The concept of wu—variously translated as “nothing,” “nothingness,” “nonbeing” or “negativity”—is often singled out as the key to this new learning. As the Jin scholar Wang Yan (256–311) puts it, “During the Zhengshi period, He Yan, Wang Bi, and others propounded the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi. They established the view that heaven and earth and the myriad things are all rooted in wu.” Zhong Hui was among the “others” who sought to reformulate classical learning by focusing on the mysterious Dao, on the basis of which government and society may be restructured to establish lasting peace and order. What must be emphasized is that xuanxue is not monolithic. The concept of wu generates a new focus, but it is subject to interpretation, with different ethical and political implications.

a. The “Nothingness” of Dao

The concept of wu fundamentally serves to bring out the mystery of Dao, which is “nameless” and “formless,” according to the Laozi, and as such transcends language and sensory perception. As Zhong Hui understands it, the Dao is “shadowy, dark, dim, and obscure; it is therefore described as xuan” (commentary to Laozi 1). The Dao is also described as “silent and void” in the Laozi. This means, Zhong explains, that it is “empty and without substance” (comm. to Laozi 25).

Though formless and nameless, dark and mysterious, the Dao is nonetheless said to be the “beginning” and “mother” of all things (e.g., Laozi 1 and 42). Indeed, according to the Laozi, “All things under heaven are born of you (something); you is born of wu (nothing)” (ch. 40). This obviously requires explanation.

Life is essentially constituted by “vital energy” (qi). This can be regarded as the generally accepted view in traditional China. Applied to the Laozi, this suggests that the Dao should be understood as the source of the essential qi that generated the yin and yang energies at the “beginning.” Through a process of further differentiation, the created order then came into being. As the origin of the vital energy or cosmic “pneuma” that makes life possible, the Dao is indeed formless and nameless, and for this reason may be described as “nothing” (wu), in the sense of not having any characteristics of things. But, wu does not connote metaphysical “nonbeing,” “negativity,” or absence. Zhong Hui shares this view. In contrast, Wang Bi emphasizes in his commentary on the Laozi that the multiplicity of beings logically demands a prior ontological unity. From this perspective, “Dao” does not refer to a kind of primordial, undifferentiated substance, formless and of which nothing can be said; rather, it signifies the necessary ground of being.

According to the Laozi, “Heaven models after the Dao. The Dao models after what is naturally so (ziran)” (ch. 25). According to Zhong Hui, the reason the Dao is described as ziran is that “no one knows whence it comes.” Moreover, the Laozi observes, “The great image does not have any form” (ch. 41). The context suggests that the “great image” is a metaphor for the Dao, and this is how Zhong Hui has understood it: “There is no image that does not respond to it; this is what is called the ‘great image’. Since it does not have any bodily shape, how can it have any form or appearance?” In these instances, the mystery of Dao has little to do with “nonbeing” as an abstract concept, but rather intimates the ever-existing and formless nature of the generative force that brought forth heaven and earth and the myriad beings.

The Dao is also called the “One,” as Zhong Hui interprets the Laozi. It is “ceaseless, indeed, yet it does not have any ties; overflowing, yet it does not become diminished. Subtle and wondrous, it is difficult to name it. In the end, it returns to a state of not being anything (with discernible characteristics)” (comm. to Laozi 14; cf. comm. to Laozi 39). Limitless and ultimately unfathomable, the Dao is indeed “subtle and wondrous” and therefore “difficult to name,” but it is a real presence. The Laozi states that the Dao “stands on its own and does not change.” Zhong Hui explains, “Solitary, without a mate, it is therefore said to be ‘standing on its own’. From antiquity to the present, it is always one and the same; thus it is stated, it ‘does not change’” (comm. to Laozi 25). Further, the Laozi specifically points out that the Dao “operates everywhere and is free from danger” (ch. 25). Zhong Hui’s commentary here reads: “There is no place that the Dao is not present; it is (thus) described as ‘operating everywhere’. Where it is present, it penetrates everything; thus it is without danger.”

For Zhong Hui, the concept of Dao thus explains from a cosmological perspective the genesis of being and the emergence of order in the cosmos. The Laozi may seem to privilege the concept of wu, to bring out the indefinable fullness of the Dao, over the concept of you, which subsumes under it the world of things, but in the final analysis the two are interdependent in enabling the proper functioning of the universe. Finding an apt illustration in a common mode of transportation in early China, the Laozi thus announces in chapter 11 that “thirty spokes” join into one hub; but the use or function of the wheel, and by extension the carriage or cart as a whole, is not so much dependent on the solid spokes as the empty space within the hub. Similarly, clay may be shaped and treated to make vessels, and doors and windows cut out to make a room; but it is the “emptiness” of the vessel or room that makes possible its use or function. “Therefore,” the Laozi concludes, “having something (you) is what produces benefit, (but) having nothing (wu) is what produces use.”

To Zhong Hui, the Laozi makes use of these metaphors “to bring to light that you and wu gain from each other, and neither can be neglected …. Wu depends on you to become of benefit; you relies on wu to be of use.” The relationship between wu and you may be likened to that between “interiority” (nei) and “externality” (wai)—concrete objects are able to function and generate value externally because of their inner capacity endowed by the Dao in the form of vital energies. The interdependence of you and wu represents an intrinsic “law” in a Dao-centered universe (comm. to Laozi 11). This has important ethical implications.

b. Self-Cultivation, Great Peace, and the Nature of the Sage

Derived from the Dao, the world reflects a pristine order. In the ideal Dao-centered world, filial love and respect, for example, would be entirely spontaneous and thus unremarkable, which is why the Laozi regards “filial piety” in the Confucian sense as a virtue that merits praise and has to be perfected if not acquired as having arisen only after the decline of the Dao (Laozi 18). Deliberate effort at bringing love and respect into the world, in other words, proves necessary only after natural filial affection has been lost. Thus Zhong Hui writes, “If the nine generations of the family are all in accord, then love and respect will have no cause to be applied. ‘When the six relations are not in harmony’ [as the Laozi phrases it], then filial piety and compassion will become conspicuous.” The concept of “naturalness” (ziran), in this sense, involves not only the regularity of natural processes and the plenitude of nature but also a perceived “natural” harmony and order in the social arena.

The pristine Dao-derived order has been lost. The aim of xuanxue is to restore this order. For Zhong Hui, the process of recovery begins with self-cultivation, which requires careful tending of one’s qi-energy. According to Zhong Hui, “the soul manages and protects its form and qi, so as to enable it to last long.” This is why the Laozi urges the people to “look after the soul and embrace the One” (comm. to Laozi 10).

Aligned with the yin-yang, cosmological theory, the idea that human beings are constituted spiritually and physically by qi was well established by the third century. No bifurcation of “soul” and “body” is implied. Both are constituted by qi, although the “qi of the blood” may be less “pure” when compared with the more subtle qi of the soul or spirit. In this context, self-cultivation involves both nourishing and purifying the vital qi-energy.

Chapter 12 of the Laozi warns that the “five colors cause one’s eyes to become blind,” and of the other harmful effects that stem from indulging in one’s senses. The Laozi concludes: “For this reason the sage is for the belly and not for the eyes.” Emphasizing the importance of self-cultivation, Zhong Hui relates this to the being of the ideal sage: “The genuine vital energy pervades (the sage’s) inner being; thus it is said, (he is) ‘for the belly’. Externally, desires have been eliminated; thus, it is said, ‘not for the eyes’.”

Here, the complementarity of the “inner” and the “outer” again guides Zhong Hui’s interpretation. The sage is always mindful of his qi-nature in everything he does and certainly does not live to satisfy the senses. On the opening sentence of Laozi 16—“Attain utmost emptiness; maintain complete tranquility”—Zhong Hui again stresses this point: “… eliminate emotions and worries to reach the ultimate of emptiness. The mind is always quiet, so as to maintain complete tranquility.”

Self-cultivation translates into certain effects or ways of doing things at both the personal and political levels. The Laozi states: “The yielding and weak will overcome the hard and strong” (ch. 36). In this same chapter, the Laozi elaborates, “If you would have a thing shrink, stretch it first.” Zhong Hui comments: “If one wishes to control the hard and strong, one assumes the appearance of being submissive and weak. Stretch it first; shrink it afterward—win or lose, (the outcome) is certain.” In chapter 22, the Laozi brings out the central Daoist insight that preservation or fulfillment does not lie in self-aggrandizement or aggressive action but in self-effacement and non-contention, in embracing humility and the way of “yieldingness.” “If one is truly able to keep being yielding,” Zhong Hui reasons, then “everything will certainly return to him”—that is to say, all successes and benefits will as a matter of course belong to him. In the ideal Dao-centered world, this would describe the being of the sage-ruler, who abides by naturalness, acts with “nonaction” (wuwei) in the sense of yieldingness, and whose inner tranquility would ensure the absence of selfish desire and the flourishing of the realm.

The sage is someone who possesses “superior virtue,” as the Laozi describes it. Zhong Hui explains: “(He who) embodies the wondrous and subtle spirit to preserve the transformations (of nature) is (the man of) superior virtue” (comm. to Laozi 38). In the government of the sage, penal laws and punishment do not apply, for the sage is able to transform the people through nonaction, guiding them to regain their natural simplicity (comm. to Laozi 19). This is the reign of “great peace” (taiping) as envisaged by the majority of xuanxue scholars, in which virtues would naturally abound and family relations would be in complete harmony. Can great peace be attained? There is no question that a sage can realize the taiping ideal; but is it the case that sages alone can bring about great peace? Can it not be realized by worthy and able rulers and ministers, who are committed to the way of the sage but are not sages? Zhong Hui could not but be concerned with this question, which began to surface during the Han period and continued to attract debate during the early years of the Wei dynasty. In fact, Zhong Hui’s father, Zhong You, asserts unequivocally that sages are necessary for the realization of great peace.

The role of the sage in realizing great peace presupposes a prior understanding of the nature of the sage. Is “sagehood” inborn, or can it be acquired through effort? This was a major topic of discussion also among the Wei elite. The prevalent view in early xuanxue seems to be that sages are born, not made, a view to which Zhong Hui subscribes and which stems directly from a cosmological understanding of the Dao, particularly the deciding role of qi in shaping the nature and destiny of human beings.

In a cosmological interpretation, the Dao informs all beings, provides them with a “share” of its potent energy, which accounts for their lifespan, capacity, and all other aspects of their being. Sages are exceptional beings, whose qi-endowment is extraordinarily pure and abundant. On this basis, He Yan, for example, thus argues that “sages do not have emotions,” which attracted a substantial following during the Zhengshi period. Zhong Hui was drawn to He Yan’s view and is said to have developed it in his own thinking. As the Sanguozhi relates, “He Yan maintained that the sage does not have pleasure and anger, or sorrow and joy. His views were extremely cogent, on which Zhong Hui and others elaborated.”

Emotions are “impure” qi-agitations that disturb the mind and render impossible the work of sagely government. The sage, blessed with the finest and richest energy that arises from the “One,” is free from such qi-imperfections, which enables him to be absolutely impartial and to realize great peace not only within himself but also in government. The sage, in other words, is utterly different from ordinary human beings. On this view, this is a basic difference in qi-constitution, which amounts to a difference in kind and not in degree. “Sagehood,” in other words, should be understood in terms of a sage nature that is inborn and not an accomplished goal that is attainable through learning and effort.

If Zhong Hui is of the view that sage nature is inborn, why does he emphasize self-cultivation to fortify the qi within and to eliminate desires? As we have seen also, Zhong Hui affirms that the “soul,” if properly managed and protected, can “last long.” Does this show that he believes in the existence of “immortals” (xian) and that it is possible to attain immortality? In a fu poem on the chrysanthemum (Juhuafu), Zhong Hui writes, “Thus, the chrysanthemum … [if ingested] flows within and renders the body light; it is the food of immortals.” Further, in the same poem, Zhong rhapsodizes, “Those who ingest it would live long, and those who consume it would find their spirit unobstructed.” Zhong Hui has also written a fu on grapes (Putaofu), in which he describes the fruit as “having embodied the finest qi in nature.”

It is not surprising that Zhong Hui accepts the existence of immortals, which was a widely held belief at that time. Whether it is an immortal or a sage, the same reasoning applies. Only a select few are endowed at birth with the necessary qi-condition to develop into a sage or immortal. An ordinary human being cannot learn to become a sage, who is a different kind of being, but self-cultivation remains important because it is possible to nourish and purify one’s qi-endowment by means of certain substances and practices. In other words, although complete “transcendence” may be beyond reach, one can remove obstacles to personal fulfillment, prevent corruption of one’s nature, and ensure that one’s capacity is developed to the fullest.

The idea that only sages can realize great peace is grounded in this conception of the nature of the sage. If one believes, as Zhong Hui does, that the sage is of a special breed, absolutely pure and without cognitive-affective qi-disturbances, it would not make much sense to say that even those who are not sages could realize the reign of great peace. The uniqueness of the sage would then be inconsequential. Zhong Hui would thus agree with his father that great peace is an ideal realizable only by sages. Opposed to this is the view that it is possible to attain great peace even without the intervention of sages. What is crucial is that we learn from the ancient sages. If able and worthy individuals such as Yi Yin of the Shang dynasty and Yan Yuan (Yan Hui), the exemplary disciple of Confucius, were entrusted with governing the country, and if their policies would continue for several generations, then great peace may be realized.

From this latter perspective, the difference between a sage such as Confucius and worthies such as Yan Yuan is a matter of degree. Moreover, this implies that we can learn from the sages and worthies, which signals a particular Confucian approach to government and education. Benevolent government requires men of integrity and talent to serve the public good. Education is necessary to transmit the teaching of the sages and to lay a strong moral foundation. Care and compassion are required in the administration of justice. Step by step, with rulers and ministers serving as examples, the transformative power of Confucian virtues would instill benevolence and propriety in the hearts of the people or at least render them willing and obedient subjects. In this way, lasting order and peace may be secured.

Both camps considered Confucius to be the ideal sage. But whereas to some, Confucius was a great teacher, to others he embodied the best of heaven and earth. It would be impossible to be like Confucius in every respect, according to the latter; the assertion that great peace could be realized by able and worthy men would undermine the supra-mundane status of Confucius, who was such an exalted figure as to exclude the possibility of someone else matching his attainment. The sage is fundamentally different from “mere” mortals, and the sage alone can realize lasting peace. This implies a certain distrust of the nature and capacity of the people, who are driven by desires. It is important thus to curb one’s desires and to maintain tranquility. But this, too, can only be achieved by a few. For the majority, laws and models are necessary. They serve as the “outer” instruments that would complement the call to embrace “emptiness” within.

The concept of “law” (fa) is not limited to criminal justice. It concerns proper rulership and sociopolitical order at large. The principles of government must be clearly delineated for the rule of law to apply. In particular, the various duties and functions of officials must be carefully defined, so that there is accountability and quality control. Precisely because great peace can be realized only by sages, and given that sages are rare, government should depend on laws and processes, as opposed to individuals, so that official positions and duties would be occupied and performed by the right persons, laws and punishment would be appropriate, and in all aspects the “inner” and the “outer” would attain their proper balance.

3. The Debate on Capacity and Nature

Although the evidence at our disposal is limited, a consistent approach emerges from the surviving fragments of Zhong Hui’s Laozi commentary. Guided by a hermeneutic that equates the nothingness of Dao with the fullness of qi, Zhong Hui probes the basis of personal well-being and sociopolitical order. The pristine order of the Dao is characterized by intrinsic laws and standards, which ensure the smooth functioning of the cosmos and the integrity of sociopolitical institutions. Order would flourish in this ideal world, and remedial action would be superfluous. In a world where the Dao has declined, only a true sage can realize genuine order and peace. In the absence of a sage-ruler, due process is required to ensure sound governance, social stability and that justice prevails. In the context of early Wei politics, the system of official appointment would be of particular concern to those who seek to reestablish the rule of Dao.

In this context, the debate on capacity and nature may be understood. Zhong Hui is particularly noted for his contribution to this debate, which involves four positions—namely, that capacity and nature are the same (tong); that they are different (yi); that they coincide (he); and that they diverge from each other (li).

Fu Jia apparently initiated the debate by arguing for the first position. The second is represented by Li Feng (d. 254), who was Director of the Central Secretariat and whom Fu Jia denounced as pretentious and false. Zhong Hui held the third view, and Wang Guang (d. 251), who like Zhong Hui was a junior officer during the Zhengshi period, argued for the last position. Zhong Hui’s treatise, however, was no longer available by the early sixth century.

It has been suggested that the debate should be understood in terms of the political struggles between the Cao faction and the Sima faction during the Zhengshi period. Whereas Fu Jia and Zhong Hui (before his attempted revolt) sided with the Sima regime, both Li Feng and Wang Guang were struck down by it. This is an important observation. However, philosophically, what does it mean to say that capacity and nature are the same? In what sense can they be said to “coincide”?

The first position seems relatively straightforward in the light of the concept of qi. Inborn nature can be understood in terms of one’s innate capacity, which encompasses one’s physical, intellectual, moral, psychological, and spiritual endowments. In Fu Jia’s account, both capacity and nature are seen to be determined by qi-endowment. Whereas nature is the inner substance, capacity reaches outward and translates into ability as well as moral conduct. This view finds eloquent support in the Caixing lun (Treatise on Capacity and Nature) by another third-century scholar, Yuan Zhun. All beings that exist in heaven and earth, according to Yuan, can be either excellent or of a bad quality. Whereas the former is endowed with a “pure qi,” the latter is constituted by a “turbid energy.” It is like a piece of wood, Yuan adds: whether it is crooked or straight is a matter of nature, on the basis of which it has a certain capacity that can be made to serve particular ends. The same is true for human beings, who may be “worthy” or “unworthy” by nature. To argue that nature and capacity are the same, Fu Jia cannot but maintain also that sagacity is inborn.

Li Feng counters that capacity and nature are different. Fu Jia had misconstrued the relationship between capacity and nature, because whereas nature may be inborn, capacity is shaped by learning. This suggests that any accomplishment, moral or political, is ultimately dependent on effort. Fu Jia is evidently committed to affirming that a person may be born good or bad, strong or weak, bright or dull, depending on his or her qi-endowment. Li Feng’s counterview, however, proceeds on the premise that nature is “neutral” or unmarked, morally and in all other respects. What is endowed at birth is simply the biological apparatus to grow and to learn, but the person one becomes is a matter of learning and putting into practice the teachings of the sages. Yu Huan, a third-century historian, provides a helpful analogy: the effect of learning on a person is like adding color to a piece of plain silk. This should align with the view that sagehood can be achieved through effort and that sages are not necessary to realizing great peace, given the perceived transformative power of learning.

Zhong Hui’s position may be seen as an attempt to mediate between these two opposing views. Given Zhong Hui’s understanding of qi and the nature of the sage, he would obviously side with Fu Jia in this debate. Yet, the “identity” thesis seems to assume that what is endowed is both necessary and sufficient. Although native endowment is necessary for realized capacity, Zhong Hui is saying, it is not sufficient. Thus, when capacity is said to “coincide” with nature, Zhong Hui is in effect proposing that what is endowed is potential, which must be carefully nurtured and brought to completion. For immortals and sages, who are different in kind because of their exceptional qi-endowment, what is inner in the sense of innate capacity naturally manifests itself completely in extraordinary achievements. For ordinary human beings, however, nature does not amount to actual ability but only furnishes certain dispositions or directions of development. To be sure, if the native endowment is extremely poor, there is not much that can be done. Nevertheless, the real challenge to the identity thesis is that an excellent endowment may go to waste because the person succumbs to desire and would not learn. The inner provides the capital, but it requires external control to maintain its value, to generate profit, and to bring the investment to a successful close.

In response to Li Feng’s critique of Fu Jia, Zhong Hui thus offers a modified identity thesis that takes into account the place of learning and effort. Although having the “right stuff,” as it were, is not sufficient, one must have some material to begin with in order to achieve the desired result. Thus, it cannot be said that the latter has nothing to do with the former. In this context, Wang Guang adds a fourth view, which is stronger than Li Feng’s and appears to be directed especially against Zhong Hui’s position. Inborn nature does not provide the necessary fertile ground for cultivation; rather, it needs to be rectified by learning. Human beings are naturally driven by desire and therefore must rely on rituals and instruction to become responsible individuals. In this sense, capacity and nature do not “coincide” but “diverge” from each other.

The debate on caixing demonstrates the richness and complexity of xuanxue. The debate may have particular political relevance, but it presupposes an understanding of the origin and structure of the cosmos, the role of self-cultivation, the rule of law, the nature of the sage, and other issues central to Wei-Jin thought. The four views engage one another in coming to terms with the basis of goodness and other forms of excellence. Zhong Hui’s view on capacity and nature is consistent with his interpretation of the Laozi, both of which should be recognized as a major contribution to xuanxue philosophy. Had he not attempted to topple the Sima regime, or more precisely had he not failed in that attempt, no doubt his writings would have been preserved and given the attention they justly deserve.

4. References and Further Reading

Berkowitz, Alan J. Patterns of Disengagement: the Practice and Portrayal of Reclusion in Early Medieval China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000.

Cai, Zong-qi, ed. Chinese Aesthetics: The Ordering of Literature, the Arts, and the Universe in the Six Dynasties. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2004.

Chan, Alan K. L. Two Visions of the Way. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991.

Chan, Alan K. L. “The Essential Meaning of the Way and Virtue: Yan Zun and ‘Laozi Learning’ in Early Han China.” Monumenta Serica 46 (1998): 105–127.

Chan, Alan K. L. “The Daodejing and Its Tradition.” In Daoism Handbook, ed. Livia Kohn (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2000), 1–29.

Chan, Alan K. L. “Zhong Hui’s Laozi Commentary and the Debate on Capacity and Nature in Third-Century China.” Early China 28 (2003): 101–159.

Chan, Alan K. L. “What are the ‘Four Roots of Capacity and Nature?” In Wisdom in China and the West, eds. Vincent Shen and Willard Oxtoby (Washington: Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 2004), 143–184.

Chan, Wing-tsit, trans. The Way of Lao Tzu. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1963.

Henricks, Robert. Philosophy and Argumentation in Third Century China: The Essays by Hsi K’ang. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983.

Holzman, Donald. Poetry and Politics: The Life and Works of Juan Chi (210-263). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976.

Holzman, Donald. La vie et la pensée de Hi Kang (223-262 AP. J.-C.). Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1957.

Knechtges, David R., trans. Wen xuan, or Selections of Refined Literature. 3 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982–1996.

Kohn, Livia. Early Chinese Mysticism: Philosophy and Soteriology in the Taoist Tradition. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992.

Lynn, Richard J., trans. The Classic of Changes: A New Translation of the I Ching as Interpreted by Wang Bi. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994.

Lynn, Richard J., trans. The Classic of the Way and Virtue: A New Translation of the Tao-te ching of Laozi as Interpreted by Wang Bi. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999.

Mather, Richard B. “The Controversy over Conformity and Naturalness during the Six Dynasties.” History of Religions 9 (1969–70): 160–180.

Mather, Richard B., trans. Shih-shuo Hsin-yü: A New Account of Tales of the World, by Liu I-ch'ing. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1976.

Robinet, Isabelle. Les commentaires du Tao to king jusqu'au VIIe siècle. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1977.

Shih, Vincent Y. C., trans. The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1983.

Shryock, J. K., trans. The Study of Human Abilities: The Jen Wu Chih of Liu Shao. American Oriental Series, vol. 11. New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1937; reprint, New York, 1966.

Tang, Yongtong. “Wang Bi’s New Interpretation of the I Ching and the Lun-yü.” Trans.Walter Liebenthal. Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 10 (1947): 124–161.

Wagner, Rudolf G. The Craft of a Chinese Commentator: Wang Bi on the Laozi. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000.

Wagner, Rudolf G. Language, Ontology, and Political Philosophy in China: Wang Bi’s Scholarly Exploration of the Dark (Xuanxue). Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003.

Wagner, Rudolf G., trans. A Chinese Reading of the Daodejing: Wang Bi’s Commentary on the Laozi with Critical Text and Translation. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003.

Yates, Robin D. S., trans. Five Lost Classics: Tao, Huanglao, and Yin-Yang in Han China. New York: Ballantine Books, 1997.

Yü, Ying-shih. “Individualism and the Neo-Taoist Movement in Wei-Chin China.” In Individualism and Holism: Studies in Confucian and Taoist Values, ed. Donald J. Munro (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1985), 121–155.

Ziporyn, Brook. The Penumbra Unbound: the Neo-Taoist Philosophy of Guo Xiang. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003.

Zhang Zai (Chang Tsai, 1020-1077 CE)

Zhang Zai was one of the pioneers of the Song dynasty philosophical movement called "Study of the Way," often known as Neo-Confucianism. One of the most distinctive features of many of these new ways of thought being formulated at the time was an increased interest in metaphysics, usually influenced by the Classic of Changes (Yijing). Zhang's most significant contributions to Chinese philosophy were primarily in the area of metaphysics, where he came up with a new theory of qi that was very influential. He is also credited with differentiating original nature and physical nature, which was to become a key concept in the most prominent Song philosophers, the Cheng brothers and Zhu Xi (Chu Hsi). Ethically, his most influential doctrines were found in the brief essay "Western Inscription," where he propounded the ideas of being one body with all things and universal caring. After his death, most of his disciples were absorbed into the Cheng brothers' school and his thought become known primarily through the efforts of the Cheng brothers and Zhu Xi, who honored Zhang as one of the founders of the Study of the Way.

1. Life and Work

Zhang Zai is also known as Zhang Hengqu, after the town where he grew up and later did much of his teaching. He was born in 1020 and died in 1077. As a youth he was interested in military affairs, but began studying the Confucian texts on the recommendation of an important official who was impressed with Zhang's abilities. Like most of the Song philosophers, Zhang was initially dissatisfied with Confucian thought and studied Buddhism and Daoism for several years. Eventually, however, he decided that the Way was not to be found in Buddhism or Daoism and returned to Confucian texts. This acquaintance with the other major ways of thought was to have significant influence on Zhang's own views. According to tradition, around 1056 Zhang sat on a tiger skin in the capital and lectured on the Classic of Changes. It may have been during this period that he first became acquainted with the Cheng brothers, who were actually his younger cousins. After passing the highest level of the civil service examinations, he held a series of minor government posts.

In 1069 Zhang was recommended to the emperor and given a position in the capital, but not long after he ran into conflict with the prime minister and retired home to Hengqu, where he spent his time in retirement studying and teaching. This was probably his most productive period for developing and spreading his own philosophy. In 1076 he completed his most important work, Correcting Ignorance, and presented it to his disciples. "Western Inscription" was originally part of this longer work. That same year he was summoned back to the capital and restored to an important position. However, in the winter he became ill and resigned again to try to convalesce at home. He never reached home, dying on the road in 1077. Zhang was awarded a posthumous title in 1220 and enshrined in the Confucian temple in 1241. Many of Zhang's writings have been lost. Zhu Xi collected selections of Zhang’s writings in his anthology of Song Study of the Way known as Reflections on Things at Hand. His most important surviving works are probably his commentary on the Changes and Correcting Ignorance.

2. Metaphysics

Zhang Zai's metaphysics is largely based on the Classic of Changes, especially one of the commentaries, "Appended Remarks," traditionally attributed to Confucius. According to Zhang, all things of the world are composed of a primordial substance called qi. Qi is sometimes translated as "substance," “matter,” or “material force, but there is really no term in English that can capture its meaning for Zhang. Qi originally meant "breath" and is a very old concept in Chinese culture, particularly medicine. For Zhang, qi includes matter and the forces that govern interactions between matter, yin and yang. In its dispersed, rarefied state, qi is invisible and insubstantial, but when it condenses it becomes a solid or liquid and takes on new properties. All material things are composed of condensed qi: rocks, trees, even people. There is nothing that is not qi. Thus, in a real sense, everything has the same essence, an idea which has important ethical implications.

Zhang believed that qi is never created or destroyed; the same qi goes through a continuous process of condensation and dispersion. He compared it to water: water in liquid form or frozen into ice is still the same water. Similarly, condensed qi which forms things or dispersed qi is still the same substance. Condensation is the yin force of qi and dispersion is the yang force. In its wholly dispersed state, Zhang refers to qi as the Great Vacuity, a term he adopted from the Zhuangzi. He emphasized that though this qi is insubstantial, it still exists, and thus is very different from the Buddhist concept of emptiness. Whereas Buddhists argued that the fact that everything changes shows it has no essence and is unreal, Zhang argued that the very fact that it changes proves it is real. Everything that is real is composed of qi, and since qi always changes, anything real must change. Although the Great Vacuity always exists, the particular qi that is dispersed into the Great Vacuity at any time is not the same, which allows Zhang to assert both that qi always changes and the Great Vacuity always remains. There is no such thing as creation ex nihilo for Zhang, an idea he attributes to both Buddhists and Daoists.

Qi begins dispersed and undifferentiated in the Great Vacuity and through condensation forms material things. When these material things pass away, their qi disperses and rejoins the Great Vacuity to begin the process again. What looks like creation and destruction is just the never-ending movements of qi. These processes of condensation and dispersion have no outside cause; they are just part of the nature of qi. Zhang wholly naturalized the workings of qi and rejected any idea of an anthropomorphic Heaven that controlled things. While the Classic of Changes talked of the workings of ghosts and spirits, he reinterpreted these terms to mean the extending and receding of qi from and back to the Great Vacuity. It is all a naturally occurring process.

Unlike later thinkers like the Cheng brothers and Zhu Xi, the concept of pattern (li, also translated as "principle") is not that important in Zhang's philosophy. While in the thought of Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi, pattern is a transcendental universal that exists outside of qi, Zhang denied there was anything outside of qi. He seems to use pattern to describe the actions of qi condensing and dispersing, and for the pattern actions should fit to be moral. It certainly has none of the importance for Zhang that it did for some of his successors. Zhu Xi criticized Zhang for this, saying that qi was not enough to explain the workings of the universe without pattern as well.

3. Human Nature and Ethics

Zhang subscribed to Mencius's belief that human nature is good, and his theory of qi allowed him to come up with what became the definitive Song answer to a classic problem in Mencius's thought: if human nature is good, what makes people bad? Zhang's solution involved positing two ways of looking at nature: the original nature and nature embodied in qi. Zhang claimed original nature exists forever in unchanging perfection, as opposed to material things which decay and die. This raises the question of what original nature consists of, since Zhang has claimed that everything is qi and qi always changes. He is not very clear on this point, but he apparently identified original nature with the undifferentiated qi of the Great Vacuity. When qi condenses to form human beings, each somehow retains some of the character of the unity of the Great Vacuity (or Great Harmony, as he sometimes calls it). This is the original nature, and that is what is good.

However, human beings also have a nature embodied in qi, which Zhang calls physical nature. Being ordinary qi, physical nature changes, eventually dissipating upon death. Zhang theorized that the physical nature obscures the original nature, preventing it from being fulfilled, and this is what causes people to stray from the path of goodness. At one point, he stated that if clear yang qi formed the greater part of physical nature one's moral capacities would function, but if turbid yin qi dominated, material desires would hold sway. However, it is unclear whether he meant all yang qi was clear and all yin qi was turbid, and he often seems to attach no particular moral weight to whether qi is primarily yang (dispersed) or yin (condensed). As we are all different individuals, we all have slightly different physical natures. Some people are naturally bigger and stronger, some are more generous, some are wiser. This is all a result of the particular endowment of qi that makes up the individual, and since qi condenses into things without cause or direction, there is no reason an individual has the particular physical nature he starts out with: it is just a matter of chance. What is important in terms of moral cultivation is there is also the potential to transform one's physical nature and fulfill one’s original nature.

Zhang had a deep faith in the potential for human improvement. Like earlier Confucian thinkers such as Mencius and Xunzi, he believed that moral development was a matter of effort, not ability. In a departure from his metaphysical views, where he held that qi changes naturally with no particular rhyme or reason, he claimed that the human heart has the capacity to alter one's own qi. One can change one’s physical nature in order to fulfill one's original nature. If that were not possible, goodness would be a matter of chance, being born with the right kind of qi. Zhang said that only the qi of life span, which determines whether one dies young or lives to an old age, cannot be changed. This was Zhang's attack on longevity-oriented Daoists, who taught techniques that promised to increase one's life span or even confer immortality. Undoubtedly, part of the goal of Zhang's theory of qi and physical nature was to refute Buddhist and Daoist teachings.Many Song and Ming thinkers, such as Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming, identified desires as one of the main obstacles to moral development. Zhang Zai was no exception to this trend, which was also probably due to Buddhist influence. The issue of how to moderate or channel desires had been discussed in Chinese philosophy at least since Mencius and Xunzi, but while the earlier Confucian tradition had emphasized finding the proper outlet to express desires and not letting them entirely control one's actions, eliminating desires entirely never seemed to be a real option. In Xunzi's case, at least, he clearly denied it was possible to get rid of desires. Eliminating desires was a main focus of Buddhism, on the other hand, and this view of desires was adopted by many of these Study of the Way philosophers. These thinkers focused mainly on what we might call sensual desires. The desire to be a good person was naturally not a cause for concern, but desires for fine clothes, good food, and sex were seen as interfering with one's original nature. Zhang used the term "material desires," identifying them with physical nature, so they had to be overcome to return to one's original nature. Desires somehow arise from the interaction of yin and yang that produces material objects, though Zhang is none too clear exactly what this process is. The fundamental point is that following one's desires is giving into physical nature and regressing farther and farther away from original goodness.

Overcoming the desires of physical nature, one progresses toward original nature, or the heavenly within, as Zhang also put it. In "Western Inscription" Zhang illustrated this ideal state. Putting aside selfishness, one comes to understand the essential unity of all things. All things are formed from the same qi, and ultimately we all share the same substance. This was to become Zhang's most famous ethical doctrine, the idea of forming one body with all things. As Zhang wrote in "Western Inscription, “That which fills the universe I regard as my body." Everyone has Heaven and Earth as their father and mother, and thus everyone are brothers and sisters. Caring for others is like caring for one's own family. Zhang further wrote, "Even those who are tired, infirm, crippled, or sick; those who have no brothers or children, wives, or husbands, are all my brothers who are in distress and have no one to turn to." Though there are some precedents for this idea of brotherhood in earlier Confucianism, it sounds much more like the great compassion of Buddhism or the Mohist idea of universal caring—Zhang even uses the same term (jian'ai). In response to a question about this apparent slide into Mohism, Cheng Yi admitted that "Western Inscription" went a little too far, but still defended it as going beyond what previous sages had discussed and being as meritorious as Mencius's idea of the goodness of human nature. Later thinkers recognized "Western Inscription" as Zhang's greatest contribution to the Study of the Way.

4. Moral Education and the Heart

Presaging Zhu Xi, Zhang emphasized the role of education in moral development. Education was the way one transformed one's qi and overcame physical nature. Following earlier philosophers such as Confucius and Xunzi, Zhang insisted that learning should always be directed toward moral cultivation, which in his case meant returning to one's original nature. Knowledge was not important for its own sake, but for its contributions to moral character. Despite this, Zhang's own interests were fairly wide-ranging, and he was especially interested in observing and explaining natural phenomena such as the movements of the stars and planets. Nevertheless, he tended not to emphasize this kind of scientific study in his writings on education, which focused on ritual and the classical Confucian texts. Compared with his contemporaries, Zhang placed more importance on the study of ritual. He believed ritual derived from original nature, and following it helps one hold onto original nature and overcome the obstructions of physical nature. Zhang's interest in the Classic of Changes has already been mentioned, and he also recommended studying the other Confucian classics, the Analects, and Mencius. In contrast to some later Study of the Way philosophers, he did not put a lot of weight on histories, considering them inferior to the classics for helping people transform their qi.

Though Zhang recommended reciting and memorizing these books, he still believed that books were a means to returning to one's original nature, not an end in themselves. Books functioned like a set of directions: they could tell you how to get to the destination, but they should be not confused with the destination. He felt close reading and textual criticism was not necessary, and getting too caught up in the meaning of a word or sentence could detract from understanding the overall meaning. And even in the classics, not everything should be accepted. Zhang recalled Mencius's criticism of literal readings of the Classic of Documents and pointed out the necessity for understanding the classics in light of one's own sense of what is right. This seems to set up a paradox: a student needs to study the classics to return to his original nature and know what is right, but he needs to know what is right to properly understand the classics.

Zhang resolved this contradiction by positing an innate moral sense in everyone that he called "this heart," a term he apparently adopted from the Mencius. "This heart" presumably belongs to the original nature, and is still present even when embodied in qi, but it can be obstructed and blocked by the physical nature. Zhang referred to this situation as the problem of the "fixed heart" blocking “this heart.” The fixed heart means having intentions, certainty, inflexibility, and egotism. Under these conditions, "this heart" will not function properly and one will have difficulty understanding the classics. The learner must get rid of the fixed heart to let "this heart" free. At times, Zhang suggests that reading books itself helps preserve "this heart," and it is this heart itself that understands the Way. Ritual is perhaps more important than books. Zhang once suggested that even the illiterate could still develop "this heart," but apparently ritual was indispensable in overcoming the fixed heart.

Zhang also talked of "expanding the heart" and “making the heart vast." Both these phrases mean eliminating the obstructions of the fixed heart and putting the heart in a state where it is ready to understand. He tended to value knowledge apprehended directly through the heart over knowledge from sense perception. Zhang did not deny the validity of empirical knowledge, but he believed its scope was limited. Knowledge gained from sense perception is just knowledge of things, not knowledge of the Way. Knowledge of the Way is knowledge gained through the virtuous nature, not through sense perception. "Knowledge gained through the virtuous nature" is another way of saying knowledge apprehended directly by the heart, though Zhang seems to be talking more about a kind of mystic experience than rationalism: he wrote that understanding of the Way is not something thought and consideration can bring about.

The goal of moral cultivation was fulfilling one's original nature. This was Zhang Zai's definition of becoming a sage, the term in Chinese philosophy for a perfected person. Another term common in philosophical discourse of the time was integrity or authenticity (cheng). Integrity figured in some important passages in the Doctrine of the Mean, which was one of the most important Confucian texts in Song Study of the Way. Zhang emphasized "integrity resulting from clarity," which he explained as first coming to understanding through study and inquiry and then fulfilling one's nature. This could be a long and difficult process, but if one could persist and make the necessary effort, one could fulfill one's nature and become a sage. There was no greater goal for Zhang.

5. References and Further Reading

Very little is available in English on Zhang Zai. The reader is encouraged to look into general histories of Chinese philosophy, especially those dealing with neo-Confucianism, in addition to the works listed here.

Chan, Wing-tsit. A Sourcebook in Chinese Philosophy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963. Translates a selection of Zhang's works, focusing on Correcting Ignorance.

_____, trans. Reflections on Things at Hand: The Neo-Confucian Anthology Compiled by Chu Hsi and Lü Tsu-chien. New York: Columbia University Press, 1967. This probably contains the most extensive collection of Zhang's writings in English. Chan includes a finding list to help the reader find the selections of a particular philosopher.

Chow, Kai-wing. "Ritual, Cosmology, and Ontology: Chang Tsai's Moral Philosopy." Philosophy East and West 43.2 (April 1993): 201-28. Emphasizes the importance of ritual in moral development.

Huang, Siu-chi. "Chang Tsai's Concept of Ch’i." Philosophy East and West 18.4 (October 1968): 247-60.

_____. "The Moral Point of View of Chang Tsai." Philosophy East and West 21.2 (April 1971): 141-56.

Kasoff, Ira. The Thought of Chang Tsai. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. This is the only English-language monograph on Zhang's philosophy.

T'ang, Chün-i. "Chang Tsai’s Theory of Mind and Its Metaphysical Basis." Philosophy East and West 6.2 (July 1956): 113-36.

Zeno of Elea

Zeno was an Eleatic philosopher, a native of Elea (Velia) in Italy, son of Teleutagoras, and the favorite disciple of Parmenides. He was born about 488 BCE., and at the age of forty accompanied Parmenides to Athens. He appears to have resided some time at Athens, and is said to have unfolded his doctrines to people like Pericles and Callias for the price of 100 minae. Zeno is said to have taken part in the legislation of Parmenides, to the maintenance of which the citizens of Elea had pledged themselves every year by oath. His love of freedom is shown by the courage with which he exposed his life in order to deliver his native country from a tyrant. Whether he died in the attempt or survived the fall of the tyrant is a point on which the authorities vary. They also state the name of the tyranny differently. Zeno devoted all his energies to explain and develop the philosophical system of Parmenides. We learn from Plato that Zeno was twenty-five years younger than Parmenides, and he wrote his defense of Parmenides as a young man. Because only a few fragments of Zeno's writings have been found, most of what we know of Zeno comes from what Aristotle said about him in Physics, Book 6, chapter 9.

Zeno's contribution to Eleatic philosophy is entirely negative. He did not add anything positive to the teachings of Parmenides, but devoted himself to refuting the views of the opponents of Parmenides. Parmenides had taught that the world of sense is an illusion because it consists of motion (or change) and plurality (or multiplicity or the many). True Being is absolutely one; there is in it no plurality. True Being is absolutely static and unchangeable. Common sense says there is both motion and plurality. This is the Pythagorean notion of reality against which Zeno directed his arguments. Zeno showed that the common sense notion of reality leads to consequences at least as paradoxical as his master's.

1. Paradoxes of Multiplicity and Motion

Zeno's arguments can be classified into two groups. The first group contains paradoxes against multiplicity, and are directed to showing that the 'unlimited' or the continuous, cannot be composed of units however small and however many. There are two principal arguments:

1. If we assume that a line segment is composed of a multiplicity of points, then we can always bisect a line segment, and every bisection leaves us with a line segment that can itself be bisected. Continuing with the bisection process, we never come to a point, a stopping place, so a line cannot be composed of points.
2. The many, the line, must be both limited and unlimited in number of points. It must be limited because it is just as many (points) as it is, no more, and less. It is therefore, a definite number, and a definite number is a finite or limited number. However, the many must also be unlimited in number, for it is infinitely divisible. Therefore, it's contradictory to suppose a line is composed of a multiplicity of points.

The second group of Zeno's arguments concern motion. They introduce the element of time, and are directed to showing that time is no more a sum of moments than a line is a sum of points. There are four of these arguments:

1. If a thing moves from one point in space to another, it must first traverse half the distance. Before it can do that, it must traverse a half of the half, and so on ad infinitum. It must, therefore, pass through an infinite number of points, and that is impossible in a finite time.
2. In a race in which the tortoise has a head start, the swifter-running Achilles can never overtake the tortoise. Before he comes up to the point at which the tortoise started, the tortoise will have got a little way, and so on ad infinitum.
3. The flying arrow is at rest. At any given moment it is in a space equal to its own length, and therefore is at rest at that moment. So, it's at rest at all moments. The sum of an infinite number of these positions of rest is not a motion.
4. Suppose there are three arrows. Arrow B is at rest. Suppose A moves to the right past B, and C moves to the left past B, at the same rate. Then A will move past C at twice the rate. This doubling would be contradictory if we were to assume that time and space are atomistic. To see the contradiction, consider this position as the chains of atoms pass each other:
A1 A2 A3 ==>
B1 B2 B3
C1 C2 C3 <==
Atom A1 is now lined up with C1, but an instant ago A3 was lined up with C1, and A1 was still two positions from C1. In that one unit of time, A2 must have passed C1 and lined up with C2. How did A2 have time for two different events (namely, passing C1 and lining up with C2) if it had only one unit of time available? It takes time to have an event, doesn't it?

Both groups of Zeno's arguments, those against multiplicity and those against motion, are variations of one argument that applies equally to space or time. For simplicity, we will consider it only in its spatial sense. Any quantity of space, say the space enclosed within a circle, must either be composed of ultimate indivisible units, or it must be divisible ad infinitum. If it is composed of indivisible units, these must have magnitude, and we are faced with the contradiction of a magnitude which cannot be divided. If it is divisible ad infinitum, we are faced with the contradiction of supposing that an infinite number of parts can be added up to make a merely finite sum.

2. Kant's, Hume's, and Hegel's Solutions to Zeno's Paradoxes

According to Kant, these contradictions are immanent in our conceptions of space and time, so space and time are not real. Space and time do not belong to things as they are in themselves, but rather to our way of looking at things. They are forms of our perception. It is our minds which impose space and time upon objects, and not objects which impose space and time upon our minds. Further, Kant drew from these contradictions the conclusion that to comprehend the infinite is beyond the capacity of human reason. He attempted to show that, wherever we try to think the infinite, whether the infinitely large or the infinitely small, we fall into irreconcilable contradictions.

As might be expected, many thinkers have looked for a way out of the paradoxes. Hume denied the infinite divisibility of space and time, and declared that they are composed of indivisible units having magnitude. But the difficulty that it is impossible to conceive of units having magnitude which are yet indivisible is not satisfactorily explained by Hume.

Hegel believed that any solution which is to be satisfactory must somehow make room for both sides of the contradiction. It will not do to deny one side or the other, to say that one is false and the other true. A true solution is only possible by rising above the level of the two antagonistic principles and taking them both up to the level of a higher conception, in which both opposites are reconciled. Hegel regarded Zeno's paradoxes as examples of the essential contradictory character of reason. All thought, all reason, for Hegel, contains immanent contradictions which it first posits and then reconciles in a higher unity, and this particular contradiction of infinite divisibility is reconciled in the higher notion of quantity. The notion of quantity contains two factors, namely the one and the many. Quantity means precisely a many in one, or a one in many. If, for example, we consider a quantity of anything, say a heap of wheat, this is, in the first place, one; it is one whole. Secondly, it is many, for it is composed of many parts. As one it is continuous; as many it is discrete. Now the true notion of quantity is not one, apart form many, nor many apart from one. It is the synthesis of both. It is a many in one. The antinomy we are considering arises from considering one side of the truth in a false abstraction from the other. To conceive unity as not being in itself multiplicity, or multiplicity as not being unity, is a false abstraction. The thought of the one involves the thought of the many, and the thought of the many involves the thought of the one. You cannot have a many without a one, any more than you can have one end of a stick without the other.

Now, if we consider anything which is quantitatively measured, such as a straight line, we may consider it, in the first place, as one. In that case it is a continuous divisible unit. Next we may regard it as many, in which case it falls into parts. Now each of these parts may again be regarded as one, and as such is an indivisible unit; and again each part may be regarded as many, in which case it falls into further parts; and this alternating process may go on for ever. This is the view of the matter which gives rise to Zeno's contradictions. But it is a false view. It involves the false abstraction of first regarding the many as something that has reality apart from the one, and then regarding the one as something that has reality apart from the many. If you persist in saying that the line is simply one and not many, then there arises the theory of indivisible units. If you persist in saying it is simply many and not one, then it is divisible ad infinitum. But the truth is that it is neither simply many nor simply one; it is a many in one, that is, it is a quantity. Both sides of the contradiction are, therefore, in one sense true, for each is a factor of the truth. But both sides are also false, if and in so far as, each sets itself up as the whole truth.

3. The Contemporary Solution to Zeno's Paradoxes.

Kant's, Hume's and Hegel's solutions to the paradoxes have been very stimulating to subsequent thinkers, but ultimately have not been accepted. There is now general agreement among mathematicians, physicists and philosophers of science on what revisions are necessary in order to escape the contradictions discovered by Zeno's fruitful paradoxes. The concepts of space, time, and motion have to be radically changed, and so do the mathematical concepts of line, number, measure, and sum of a series. Zeno's integers have to be replaced by the contemporary notion of real numbers. The new one-dimensional continuum, the standard model of the real numbers under their natural (less-than) order, is a radically different line than what Zeno was imagining. The new line is now the basis for the scientist's notion of distance in space and duration through time. The line is no longer a sum of points, as Zeno supposed, but a set-theoretic union of a non-denumerably infinite number of unit sets of points. Only in this way can we make sense of higher dimensional objects such as the one-dimensional line and the two-dimensional plane being composed of zero-dimensional points, for, as Zeno knew, a simple sum of even an infinity of zeros would never total more than zero. The points in a line are so densely packed that no point is next to any other point. Between any two there is a third, all the way "down." The infinity of points in the line is much larger than any infinity Zeno could have imagined. The non-denumerable infinity of real numbers (and thus of points in space and of events in time) is much larger than the merely denumerable infinity of integers. Also, the sum of an infinite series of numbers can now have a finite sum, unlike in Zeno's day. With all these changes, mathematicians and scientists can say that all of Zeno's arguments are based on what are now false assumptions and that no Zeno-like paradoxes can be created within modern math and science. Achilles catches his tortoise, the flying arrow moves, and it's possible to pass an infinite number of places in a finite time, without contradiction. And one need not accept that a person can perform an infinite number of actions in a finite time, if actions have first points and last points, or beginnings and endings and next actions.

No single person can be credited with having shown how to solve Zeno's paradoxes. There have been essential contributions starting from the calculus of Newton and Leibniz and ending at the beginning of the twentieth century with the mathematical advances of Cauchy, Weierstrass, Dedekind, Cantor, Einstein, and Lebesque. Philosophically, the single greatest contribution was to replace a reliance on what humans can imagine with a reliance on creating logically consistent mathematical concepts that can promote quantitative science.

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