Mencius (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

Mencius
Mencius (fourth century BCE) was a Confucian philosopher. Often
referred to as the “Second Sage” of Confucianism (meaning
second in importance only to Confucius himself), Mencius is best known
for his claim that “human nature is good.” He has
attracted interest in recent Western philosophy because his views on
the virtues, ethical cultivation, and human nature have intriguing
similarities with but also provocative differences from familiar
Humean and Aristotelian formulations.
1. Life and Confucian Background
“Mencius” is a Latinization (coined by Jesuit missionaries
in the 17th century) of the Chinese “Mengzi,” meaning
Master Meng. His full name was “Meng Ke.” Our main access
to Mencius’s thinking is through the eponymous collection of his
dialogues, debates, and sayings, the Mengzi
(Mencius). This work was probably compiled by his disciples
or disciples of his disciples. It was subsequently edited and
shortened by Zhao Qi in the second century C.E., who also wrote a
commentary on the text. This version of the text was used by
subsequent scholars and is the version available to us nowadays. The
received text of the Mengzi is divided into seven
“books,” each of which is subdivided into two parts
(labeled “A” and “B” in English), and then
further subdivided into “chapters.” As a result, a passage
can be uniquely identified in any translation; for example, 1A1 is the
first passage in any edition or translation of the text and 7B38 is
the last.
Mencius lived in the second half of the Zhou dynasty (c.
1040–221 BCE), a period of great social and intellectual
ferment. The founders of the Zhou dynasty had justified their rule by
claiming that it was mandated by Heaven (tiān). Heaven
is a higher power that is responsible for the general course of
history, and that favors those with Virtue
(dé).[1]
However, during the Eastern Zhou period (770–221 BCE), it
seemed increasingly clear that the Zhou dynasty had lost
Heaven’s favor. The Zhou king had become merely a figurehead,
and real power lay in the hands of the rulers (typically dukes) of the
different states into which the realm was divided. These rulers
increasingly usurped the power and prerogatives of the Zhou king, and
also waged war against each other. Those in positions of power lived
in fear of execution or assassination, while peasants suffered under
the burden of heavy taxation, the depredations of bandits, and the
devastation of invading armies. During this period,
“masters” articulated various accounts of the Way
(dào, the right way to live and to organize society)
that would rescue people from the contemporary chaos and suffering.
One of these thinkers was Mencius, who self–identified as a
follower of Confucius: “Ever since man came into this world,
there has never been one greater than Confucius” (2A2; Lau 2003,
67). Consequently, it is helpful in understanding Mencius to know
something about the basic themes of Confucianism. Confucius is the
first individual thinker we know of to advocate a systematic vision of
the Way. The Analects is traditionally viewed as a reliable
source of his sayings, but in contemporary scholarship there is
considerable controversy over its historical
accuracy.[2]
Nonetheless, we clearly find in the Analects expressions of
all the major themes that would be characteristic of Confucianism for
the next two and a half millennia. In particular, the Confucius of the
Analects emphasizes the importance of (1) revivalistic
traditionalism; (2) rule through Virtue rather than brute force; (3)
ritual as a model for ethical behavior; (4) the family; and (5)
ethical cultivation.
Confucius saw himself as merely explicating and defending the
teachings of the wise sage kings of the past: “I transmit rather
than innovate. I trust in and love the ancient ways”
(Analects 7.1; Slingerland 2003, 64). However, Confucius
himself called for changes, sometimes radical ones, to contemporary
practice. Like revivalists of modern times (such as Martin Luther
King, Jr., Gandhi, or William Sloane Coffin), Confucius sought to
bring about positive change in the present by reviving ideals from his
own tradition that were treated by his contemporaries as stagnant
platitudes. Mencius similarly took inspiration from the ancient sages.
However, Mencius also stressed the need to read the classics
creatively and critically. Speaking of one of the Confucian classics,
he stated, “It would be better not to have the
Documents than to believe everything in it” (7B3; Van
Norden 2008, 185).
One of the lessons Confucius learned from the ancient texts was the
importance of ruling the people through ethical inspiration rather
than coercion. Many rulers and government ministers in
Confucius’s era advocated the use of military power to address
external threats and strict punishments to deal with internal
disorder. Confucius did not completely dismiss the use of force, but
he regarded it as a last resort, and as ultimately ineffective when
used as the primary method of governing. “If you try to guide
the common people with coercive regulations and keep them in line with
punishments, the common people will become evasive and will have no
sense of shame” (Analects 2.3; Slingerland 2003, 8).
(We see a similar denigration of the use of brute force in Mencius. In
a memorable turn of phrase, Mencius warned one ruler that to attempt
to conquer the world through warfare is as hopeless as “climbing
a tree in search of a fish” [1A7].) In place of penal sanctions,
Confucius advocated leading the people by moral inspiration and by the
subtle but ubiquitous effect of social mores: “If, however, you
guide them with Virtue, and keep them in line by means of ritual, the
people will have a sense of shame and will rectify themselves”
(ibid.). Confucius’s reference to Virtue here reflects the
concept’s political origins. The word we render
“Virtue” is “de.” It originally
referred to a sort of political charisma a king accumulated through
his good character and acts of kindness and generosity. Subjects would
willingly follow a ruler with Virtue, without the need for coercion.
Although Virtue was originally something only a true king could
possess, it came to be thought of as an attribute of any person with
good character (i.e., a “virtuous” person), regardless of
social
status.[3]
By the end of the Zhou dynasty, it had come to be used as a countable
noun referring to specific virtues, such as benevolence, courage, and
wisdom.[4]
Although de is thus very close to our concept of virtue, its
associations with royal charisma are distinctive. Consequently, it has
become conventional to use “Virtue” (with a capital
“V”) when translating the specific term
“de,” and to use “virtue” (with a
lower case “v”) when one needs a generic term for
referring to traits of good character, such as righteousness and
loyalty.
As Analects 2.3 (quoted above) suggests, ritual plays an
important role in Confucius’s social and ethical philosophy.
“Ritual (lĭ)” originally referred to formal
ceremonies, such as burnt offerings of food and wine to the spirits of
one’s ancestors. However, its meaning gradually expanded over
time to include etiquette (e.g., the proper way to greet or say
farewell to a guest) and ethics in general. Confucius stressed that
appropriate emotions are essential to correct performance of rituals:
“Someone who lacks magnanimity when occupying high office, who
is not respectful when performing ritual, and who remains unmoved by
sorrow when overseeing mourning rites—how could I bear to look
upon such a person?” (Analects 3.26; Slingerland 2003,
18) Mencius also stressed the importance of ritual. However, he
emphasized that ritual cannot be followed inflexibly (see Section 2,
below, and Mengzi 4A17, 5A2, 6B2, and Analects 9.3).
The family is central to Confucian ethics in at least two ways. First,
Confucius advocates agent–relative constraints on action that
are based on familial
relationships.[5]
When the ruler of a state brags to Confucius that his subjects are so
“upright” that a son turned in his father for stealing a
sheep, Confucius responds, “Among my people, those who we
consider ‘upright’ are different from this: fathers cover
up for their sons, and sons cover up for their fathers.
‘Uprightness’ is to be found in this”
(Analects 13.18; Slingerland 2003, 147). Second, the family
is a crucial environment for nurturing virtue. Confucius’s
disciple Youzi sketched an influential account of the role of filial
piety in the development of complete virtue: “A young person who
is filial and respectful of his elders rarely becomes the kind of
person who is inclined to defy his superiors, and there has never been
a case of one who is disinclined to defy his superiors stirring up
rebellion. The gentleman applies himself to the roots. ‘Once the
roots are firmly established, the Way will grow.’ Might we not
say that filial piety and respect for elders constitute the root of
Goodness?” (Analects 1.2; Slingerland 2003, 1) We see
here the beginning of what became one of Mencius’s most
influential doctrines: that benevolence and righteousness are achieved
though “extension” of the love and respect first
manifested in the family.
Confucius was painfully aware that virtue and the proper performance
of the rituals are not common in his society:
I have yet to meet a man who loves Virtue as much as he loves sex
(Analects 9.18; cf. Slingerland 2003, 92).
Nowadays “filial” means simply being able to provide
one’s parents with nourishment. But even dogs and horses are
provided with nourishment. If you are not respectful, wherein lies the
difference? (Analects 2.7; Slingerland 2003, 10)
Consequently, one of the central issues in Confucianism is how to
cultivate virtues such as benevolence, loyalty, and filial piety.
Confucius stresses the importance of both learning (by studying
classic texts and following the rituals) and reflecting: “If you
learn without reflecting, you will be lost. If you reflect without
learning, you will be in danger” (Analects 2.15; cf.
Slingerland 2003, 13). However, many of the debates among Confucians
of the following two and a half millennia are about the precise form
that learning and reflecting take, and their relative importance (see
Ivanhoe 2000). Xunzi (discussed in Section 5, below) emphasized study
of the classics and performance of rituals, as did Dong Zhongshu,
whose formulation of Confucianism was deeply influential in the Han
dynasty (202 BCE-220 CE). In contrast, Mencius, while not denying the
value of the classics and ritual, stressed reflection based upon
one’s own innate dispositions toward virtue.
Mencius was born about a century after the death of
Confucius.[6]
Details of Mencius’s early life are sketchy and uncertain, but
he is said to have been born in the state of Zou, in what is now
Shandong Province. His father supposedly died when Mencius was young,
leaving him and his mother in poverty, and there are several famous
stories of the determination of Mencius’s mother to provide a
good education for her
son.[7]
Mencius is said to have studied under Confucius’s grandson
Zisi, and then as an adult he traveled to different states in an
attempt to convince their rulers to govern through benevolence and
moral suasion rather than brute force. Like the majority of later
Confucians, Mencius was what we would describe as a “public
intellectual.” He offered advice on everything from foreign
policy to the minutiae of public works. One passage from the
Mengzi is a detailed treatise on tax policy (3A3), which
includes Mencius’s famous proposal to adopt the
“well–field system” of taxation: a village’s
fields would be divided into nine equal sections, so that the borders
between them looked like what we would recognize as a
tic–tac–toe grid. (This shape happens to resemble the
character for “well,” hence the name
“well–field.”) One family would be assigned to each
of the eight outer squares, and would keep the produce from that
field. Caring for the inner field would be the joint responsibility of
all the families, and the produce from that field would belong to the
government as its tax.
Mencius held office in the state of Qi (2B6–7). During this
period, he was involved in Qi’s invasion of Yan, although the
precise nature of his role was disputed. The state of Yan was in
turmoil due to a succession crisis. Mencius was asked, unofficially,
whether it might be legitimate to invade Yan to restore order. He
replied that it was. However, after Qi successfully invaded and
annexed Yan, Mencius complained that he had not encouraged the
specific actions that Qi took, which apparently included widespread
killing of noncombatants and taking spoils of war (see 2B8, 1B10,
1B11, and 2B9, in that order). Mencius eventually resigned his
position, when it became clear to him that the ruler was unwilling to
enact any of the reforms that he proposed (2B10–13).
After years of traveling from state to state, trying to advise rulers,
Mencius retired from public life. Mencius advocated acceptance of the
will of Heaven (2B13); however, he must have been disappointed with
his inability to improve government during his lifetime, and this is
reflected in the plaintive tone of the closing passage of the
Mengzi: “From Confucius to the present time is a little
more than one hundred years. It is not long from the era of a sage,
and we are close to the home of a sage. Yet where is he? Where is
he?” (7B38; Van Norden 2008, 197).
2. The Virtues and Their Cultivation
One of Mencius’s most influential views was his list of four
innate ethical dispositions, which he treats as what Western ethicists
would call cardinal virtues: benevolence (rén),
righteousness (yì), wisdom (zhì), and
propriety (lĭ). Each of the four virtues is associated
with a characteristic emotion or motivational attitude: “The
feeling of compassion is benevolence. The feeling of disdain is
righteousness. The feeling of respect is propriety. The feeling of
approval and disapproval is wisdom” (Mengzi 6A6; Van
Norden 2008, 149). Among these four, Mencius devotes the most
discussion to benevolence and righteousness. Benevolence is manifested
in the affection one has for his or her own kin, as well as compassion
for the suffering of other humans, and even concern for
non–human animals. However, according to Confucians, one should
always have greater concern for, and has greater obligations toward,
relatives, teachers, and friends than one does for strangers and
animals (7A45). Benevolence is not simply a matter of feeling a
certain way: it also has cognitive and behavioral aspects. A fully
benevolent person will be disposed to recognize the suffering of
others and to act appropriately. Thus, a genuinely benevolent ruler
will notice how his policies will affect his subjects, and will only
pursue policies consistent with their well being (1B5). Righteousness
is a disposition to disdain or regard as shameful dishonorable
behavior or demeaning treatment. As is the case with benevolence,
righteousness has cognitive and behavioral aspects. Thus, a righteous
person would object to being addressed disrespectfully (7B31), and
would not engage in an illicit sexual relationship (3B3). A fully
righteous person would also recognize that it is just as shameful to
accept a large bribe as it is to accept a small bribe (6A10), and so
would refuse to accept either.
Mencius suggests that wisdom and propriety are secondary in importance
to benevolence and righteousness: “The core of benevolence is
serving one’s parents. The core of righteousness is obeying
one’s elder brother. The core of wisdom is knowing these two and
not abandoning them. The core of ritual propriety is the adornment of
these two” (4A27; Van Norden 2008, 101). As the preceding
passage suggests, wisdom involves an understanding of and commitment
to the other virtues, especially benevolence and righteousness. Other
passages indicate that a wise person has the ability to properly
assess individuals and has skill at means–end deliberation
(5A9). Mencian wisdom (somewhat like Aristotelian
phronēsis) seems to be only partially constrained by
rules. He notes that no sage would kill an innocent person, even if it
meant obtaining control of (and being able to benefit) the whole world
(2A2). However, he also stresses that sages often act very differently
from one another, but if they “had exchanged places, each would
have done as the other” (Mengzi 4B31; Van Norden 2008,
114; cf. 4B29). The ultimate standard for any action is
“timeliness” (5B1), which seems to mean performing the
right action out of the appropriate motivation for this particular
situation.
Propriety is manifested in respect (6A6) or deference (2A6) toward
elders and legitimate authority figures, especially as manifested in
ceremonies and etiquette. The character for the virtue of propriety is
identical with the one for ritual, reflecting the close connection
between this virtue and such practices. Mencius thinks that matters of
ritual place legitimate ethical demands on us, but he stresses that
they are not categorical, and can be overridden by more exigent
obligations. For example, he notes that rescuing one’s
sister–in–law if she were drowning would justify violation
of the ritual prohibition on physical contact between unmarried men
and women (4A17; cf. 5A2, 6B2). Knowing when to violate ritual is a
matter of wisdom.
Mencius discusses other virtues in addition to benevolence,
righteousness, wisdom, and propriety, but it seems that they are
ultimately manifestations of the preceding virtues. For example, in a
nuanced account of courage, Mencius distinguishes between courage as
exemplified in stereotypically daring behavior (assaulting anyone who
insults you), in fearlessness, and in a commitment to righteousness.
Mencius suggests that the last kind of courage is the highest form.
Courage based on righteousness will lead to fearless opposition to
wrongdoing, but also humble submission when one finds oneself in the
wrong.[8]
Mencius holds that all humans have innate but incipient tendencies
toward benevolence, righteousness, wisdom, and propriety. Employing an
agricultural metaphor, he refers to these tendencies as
“sprouts” (2A6). The sprouts are manifested in cognitive
and emotional reactions characteristic of the virtues. For example,
all humans feel compassion for the suffering of other humans and
animals, at least on some occasions, and this is a manifestation of
benevolence. Similarly, every person has some things that he or she
would be ashamed to do, or some forms of treatment he or she would
disdain to accept, and these are expressions of righteousness.
However, as Mencius’s carefully chosen sprout metaphor suggests,
humans are not born with fully formed virtuous dispositions. Our
nascent virtues are sporadic and inconsistent in their manifestations.
Consequently, a ruler who manifests genuine benevolence when he spares
an ox being led to slaughter may nonetheless ignore the suffering of
his own subjects. Likewise, someone who would disdain to be addressed
disrespectfully may feel no compunction in acting against his
convictions in the face of a large bribe. In order to become genuinely
virtuous, a person must “extend” or “fill out”
his or her nascent virtuous inclinations. As Mencius puts it:
“People all have things that they will not bear. To extend this
reaction to that which they will bear is benevolence. People all have
things that they will not do. To extend this reaction to that which
they will do is righteousness. If people can fill out the heart that
does not desire to harm others, their benevolence will be
inexhaustible. If people can fill out the heart that will not
trespass, their righteousness will be inexhaustible”
(Mengzi 7B31; Van Norden 2008, 192). One of the most
intriguing issues in Mencius’s philosophy is the proper way to
understand his claim that we must “extend” (tui, ji,
da) or “fill out” (kuo, chong) our innate
but incipient virtuous reactions (1A7, 2A6, 7A15, 7B31).
The discussion of this issue has a long history, but was revived in
Western scholarship by Nivison
(1980).[9]
In a much–discussed example (1A7), Mencius draws a
ruler’s attention to the fact that he had shown compassion for
an ox being led to slaughter by sparing it. Mencius then encourages
the king to “extend” his compassion to his own subjects,
who suffer due to the ruler’s wars of conquest and exorbitant
taxation. The basic structure of Mencian extension is clear from this
example. There is a paradigm case, C1, in which an
individual’s sprout of compassion is manifested in cognition,
emotion, and behavior. (In 1A7, C1 is the ox being led to
slaughter. The king perceives that the ox is suffering, feels
compassion for its suffering, and acts to spare it.) There is also a
case that is relevantly similar to the paradigm case, C2,
but in which the individual does not currently have the same
cognitive, emotional, and behavioral reactions. (In 1A7, C2
is the king’s subjects. Although his subjects suffer, the king
ignores their suffering, has no compassion for it, and does not act to
alleviate it. The relevant similarity between C1 and
C2 in the case of 1A7 is suggested by the fact that the
king describes the ox as having a “frightened appearance, like
an innocent going to the execution ground.”) Extension is the
mental process by which one comes to recognize the ethically relevant
similarity of C1 to C2, have the same emotional
reaction to C2 as to C1, and behave the same
toward C2 as to C1. (Were the king to extend
from the ox to his subjects, he would notice their suffering, feel
compassion for them, and change his current military and civil
policies. Later in 1A7, Mencius provides concrete advice about which
policies to enact.) Nivison’s work raises the issue of how the
cognitive, motivational, and behavioral aspects of Mencian extension
are related. What is the connection between the king
perceiving the logical similarity of the suffering of the ox
to the suffering of his own people and the king actually being
motivated to act to help his
people?[10]
Mencius suggests that, for most people, there are three prerequisites
for extension: an environment that meets people’s basic physical
needs, ethical education, and individual effort. (1) Only a handful of
people, Mencius argues, have the strength of character to “have
a constant heart” in the face of physical deprivation. Most
people will resort to crime in the face of hunger and fear:
“When they thereupon sink into crime, to go and punish the
people is to trap them. When there are benevolent persons in positions
of authority, how is it possible for them to trap the people?”
(1A7; Van Norden 2008, 14) Consequently, Mencius stresses that it is
the obligation of government to ensure that the people are
well–fed and free from the fear of violence. (2) Nonetheless,
the satisfaction of physical needs is insufficient to ensure the
virtue of the common people. Socialization is also necessary:
“The Way of the people is this: if they are full of food, have
warm clothes, and live in comfort but are without instruction, then
they come close to being animals” (3A4; Van Norden 2008, 71).
This socialization includes learning the rituals (the etiquette and
ceremony of social interactions) as well as instruction in the
fundamental “human roles”: “between father and
children there is affection; between ruler and ministers there is
righteousness; between husband and wife there is distinction; between
elder and younger there is precedence; and between friends there is
faithfulness” (ibid.). (3) The first two factors are necessary
and sufficient to ensure that most people will not become bestial.
However, achieving the level of a “sage” or
“worthy” requires considerable individual effort. Mencius
illustrates this with an example of learning the board game of
go:
Now, go is an insignificant craft. But if one does not focus
one’s heart and apply one’s intention, then one
won’t get it. ‘Go Qiu’ was the best at
go throughout the world. Suppose you told Go Qiu to
teach two people go, and one focuses his heart and applies
his intention to it, listening only to Go Qiu. The other,
although he listens to him, with his whole heart thinks about hunting
swans, reflecting [sī] only upon drawing his bow to
shoot them. Although he learns together with the other person, he will
not be as good as he. Will this be because his intelligence is not as
great? I answer that it is not. (6A9; Van Norden 2008, 153)
Mencius refers to the mental activity required for full extension as
“reflection (sī).” Whether someone engages
in reflection is ultimately dependent upon the individual’s
commitment to doing so (see 6A6 and 6A15, discussed in Section 3
below). However, classic texts and teachers can assist by inducing or
guiding these activities. Thus, Mencius is trying to induce reflection
in the king in 1A7 by directing the king’s attention to the
similarities between the ox he felt compassion for and his own
subjects. Mencius similarly tries to induce reflection in a government
official who asks whether it is permissible to reduce the crushing tax
burden on the peasants slightly this year, and wait until next year to
lower it to a reasonable level. Mencius replies, “Suppose there
is a person who every day appropriates one of his neighbor’s
chickens. Someone tells him, ‘This is not the Way of a
gentleman.’ He says, ‘May I reduce it to appropriating one
chicken every month and wait until next year to stop?’ If one
knows that it is not righteous, then one should quickly stop”
(3B8; Van Norden 2008, 83). Mencius also guides reflection through
philosophical dialogue (7A40, literally, “question and
answer”). This is illustrated in discussions with his disciples
Wan Zhang (5A1–9) and Gongsun Chou (2A1–2). Stories from
classic Confucian texts (particularly the Odes and
Documents) are often a stimulus for these discussions,
helping to illustrate the role such works play in Mencian ethical
education.
One aspect of reflection is particularly salient: it is insufficient
for successful extension that one merely recognize, in an abstract or
theoretical manner, the similarity between two situations. One must
come to be motivated and to act in relevantly similar ways. Because of
the preceding requirement, an intense topic of discussion among later
Confucians influenced by Mencius is the relationship between knowledge
and action. For example, Wang Yangming (1472–1529) famously
argued for the “unity of knowing and acting,” as the most
plausible interpretation of Mencius’s view: “There never
have been people who know but do not act. Those who ‘know’
but do not act simply do not yet know” (Tiwald and Van Norden
2014, 267). From a Western perspective, one of the noteworthy aspects
of Mencius’s view of extension is that he regards emotions as a
crucial part of ethical perception and evaluation. Although it would
be anachronistic to saddle him with any specific contemporary account
of the emotions, it seems clear that his underlying view is close to
what Western psychologists and philosopher call an “appraisal
theory” of emotions, according to which emotions are
motivational states closely connected to evaluations of situations (de
Sousa 2014, Section 4).
3. The Goodness of Human Nature
Mencius is perhaps best–known for his claim that “[human]
nature is good” (xìng shàn). As A.C.
Graham (1967) demonstrated in a classic essay, Mencius and his
contemporaries regarded the nature of X as the characteristics that X
will develop if given a healthy environment for the kind of thing X
is. A characteristic, C, can be part of the nature of X even if there
exists an X such that X does not have C. For example, language use is
part of the nature of a human being, but there are cases of humans
who, due to neurological damage or simply failure to be exposed to
language prior to the onset of adolescence, fail to develop a capacity
for language use. It is even possible for C to be part of the nature
of X if most instances of X do not have C. For example, it is
the nature of an orange tree to bear fruit, but the majority of orange
seeds do not even germinate, much less grow to maturity. Consequently,
an important aspect of Mencius’s claim that human nature is good
is that humans have a tendency to become good if raised in an
environment that is healthy for them. This thesis runs the danger of
becoming viciously circular: we might characterize goodness as the
result of growing up in a healthy environment, and a healthy
environment as one that results in humans being
good.[11]
However, Mencius’s claims about human nature, virtues, ethical
cultivation, and political philosophy are nodes in a complex web of
beliefs that appeals to our intuitions (e.g., it is normal for humans
to show compassion for the suffering of others) as well as empirical
claims (e.g., humans are less likely to manifest compassion when
subject to physical deprivation). Mencius’s views might be
mistaken, but they cannot be casually dismissed as naively circular;
rather, they must be evaluated as a complex and subtle account of
ethics and philosophical psychology.
Probably the two most important passages for understanding
Mencius’s view of human nature are 6A6 and 6A15. In the former,
Mencius’s disciple Gongsun Chou asks him to explain how his
position differs from those who say that “human nature is
neither good nor not good,” those who claim that “human
nature can become good, and it can become not good,” and those
who state that “there are natures that are good, and there are
natures that are not good.” Mencius replies,
As for what they are inherently [qíng], they can
become
good.[12]
This is what I mean by calling their natures [xìng]
good. As for their becoming not good, this is not the fault of their
potential. Humans all have the feeling [xīn] of
compassion. Humans all have the feeling of disdain. Humans all have
the feeling of respect. Humans all have the feeling of approval and
disapproval. The feeling of compassion is benevolence. The feeling of
disdain is righteousness. The feeling of respect is propriety. The
feeling of approval and disapproval is wisdom. Benevolence,
righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are not welded to us externally.
We inherently have them. It is simply that we do not reflect upon
[sī] them. (Van Norden 2008, 149)
Human nature is good, on this view, because becoming a good person is
the result of developing our innate tendencies toward benevolence,
righteousness, wisdom, and propriety. These tendencies are manifested
in distinctively moral emotions, correlated with the virtues. Each
human “inherently” has a heart with the capacity for these
emotions. They will manifest themselves, at least sporadically, in
each human. If we “reflect upon” these manifestations, we
can develop our innate capacities into fully formed virtues.
If the human capacity for goodness is rooted in our nature,
isn’t our capacity for evil equally grounded in our nature?
Mencius addresses the problem of human wrongdoing in 6A15, when his
disciple Gongduzi asks, “We are the same in being humans. Yet
some become great humans and some become petty humans. Why?”
Mencius replies, “those who follow their greater part become
great humans. Those who follow their petty part become petty
humans.” Gongduzi persists, “We are the same in being
humans. Why is it that some follow their greater part and some follow
their petty part?” Mencius replies,
It is not the function of the ears and eyes to reflect, and they are
misled by things. Things interact with things and lead them along. But
the function of the heart is to reflect [si]. If it reflects,
then it will get it. If it does not reflect, then it will not get it.
This is what Heaven has given us. If one first takes one’s stand
on what is greater, then what is lesser will not be able to snatch it
away. This is how to become a great person. (6A15; Van Norden 2008,
156)
In modern Western philosophy, we primarily think of “ears and
eyes” as organs of sensory perception, whose characteristic
errors are cognitive (e.g. Descartes’ example of a square tower
that appears round from far away). However, in ancient Chinese
thought, eyes, ears, and the other sensory organs are primarily
associated with sensual desires (e.g., lovely sights, beautiful music,
fine foods, etc.). Physical desires are never treated as intrinsically
problematic. However, they can “mislead” by leading us to
focus on them to the exclusion of a more inclusive comprehension that
includes our ethical
motivations.[13]
Thus, according to the account Mencius sketches in 6A15, our sensual
desires can lead us to wrongdoing if we pursue them without also
engaging our ethical motivations. This is an especially acute danger
because our sensory desires always respond automatically and
effortlessly to their appropriate objects, while our moral motivations
are more selective. Mencius suggests the mechanical responsiveness of
our sense organs by describing them as simply “things”:
“Things interact with things and lead them along.” In
contrast, the full development of our ethical motivations requires
that our heart engage in “reflection”: “If it
reflects, then it will get it. If it does not reflect, then it will
not get it.” The heart “gets it” in that it engages
the appropriate ethical
motivations.[14]
Mencius provides a concrete illustration of moral failure and how to
overcome it in a dialogue with a ruler who confesses, “I have a
weakness. I am fond of wealth.” Mencius explains that a great
ruler of ancient times was similarly fond of wealth, but he ensured
that “those who stayed at home had loaded granaries, and those
who marched had full provisions…. If Your Majesty is fond of
wealth but treats the commoners the same, what difficulty is there in
becoming [a great] King?” The ruler continues to temporize:
“I have a weakness. I am fond of sex.” Mencius cites the
example of an ancient ruler who was also fond of sex. However, he made
sure (by not wasting male lives in needless warfare, or collecting an
unusually large harem) that “there were no bitter women in
private, or any unmarried men in public. If Your Majesty is fond of
sex but treats the commoners the same, what difficulty is there in
becoming [a great] King?” (1B5; translation slightly modified
from Van Norden 2008, 23–24) The ruler’s desires for
wealth and sex are not problematic in themselves, but he has been
pursuing them in a manner that ignores benevolence, which would direct
him to share his joys with others.
The preceding discussion suggests that Kwong–loi Shun’s
summary is correct: in stating that human nature is good,
“Mencius was saying that human beings have a constitution
comprising certain emotional predispositions that already point in the
direction of goodness and by virtue of which people are capable of
becoming good…. One’s becoming bad is not the fault of
one’s constitution, but a matter of one’s injuring or not
fully developing the constitution in the appropriate direction”
(Shun 1997, 219–20).
The statement that “[human] nature is good [xìng
shàn]” is often misquoted as “[human] nature
is fundamentally good [xìng bĕn
shàn].” The latter phrase actually derives from a
gloss on Mencius’s view popularized by the seminal commentator
Zhu Xi (1130–1200). Zhu Xi held that Mencius was simply
explicating what was implicit in the sayings of Confucius. Confucius
stated that “natures are close to one another, but become far
from one another by practice” (Analects 17.2). In order
to explain why Confucius described human natures as merely
“close to” one another, while Mencius referred to them as
identically “good,” Zhu Xi argued that Mencius was
referring to the ultimate, underlying human nature in itself, whereas
Confucius was referring to human nature as manifested in concrete
embodiments.[15]
Zhu Xi’s view became orthodoxy, and was even written into the
opening lines of the Three Character Classic, a primer for
learning to read Chinese that was memorized by schoolchildren for
centuries:
At its beginning,
human nature is fundamentally good.
Human natures are close to one another,
but become far from one another by practice.
It is only when there is not education,
that their natures
deviate.[16]
While ingenious, this interpretation of Mencius is unmotivated without
the assumption that the Analects and Mengzi must be
expressing the same view.
The term “nature” occurs in only 17 passages in the
Mengzi (3A1, 4B26, 6A1–4, 6A6, 6A8, 6B15, 7A1, 7A21,
7A30, 7A38, 7B24, 7B33), and the specific phrase “[human] nature
is good” only occurs in two of these (3A1, 6A6). However, there
is some plausibility to Zhu Xi’s suggestion that the latter
claim is operative in many passages where it is not mentioned
explicitly, because of how intimately it is connected with other
aspects of Mencius’s view (Tiwald and Van Norden 2014, 213).
This will become clearer as we consider Mencius’s critiques of
other philosophers in his era.
4. Mencius and His Philosophical Opponents
Mencius was often an incisive critic of other philosophers. In
response to a philosopher who advocated price fixing, Mencius asks,
“If a fine shoe and a shoddy shoe are the same price, will
anyone make the former?” (3A4; Van Norden 2008, 73) When the
same philosopher suggests that rulers and government officials should
farm the land, just like their subjects, Mencius draws an analogy with
other crafts: just as the potter, blacksmith, and farmer each benefit
by focusing on his craft and exchanging goods with the others, so does
everyone benefit when good rulers and officials focus on their own
activities in exchange for financial support from the other members of
society (3A4). Another philosopher argues that human nature is
identical with the characteristics a human has in virtue of being
alive. Mencius performs a swift reductio ad absurdum, pointing out
that—since dogs, oxen, and humans are the same in being
alive—the proposed definition entails that dogs, oxen, and
humans have the same nature
(6A3).[17]
Mencius viewed himself as a defender of the Confucian tradition, and
saw the two major contemporary threats to that tradition as the
doctrines of Mozi and Yang Zhu: “the doctrines of Yang Zhu and
Mozi fill the world. If a doctrine does not lean toward Yang Zhu, then
it leans toward Mozi. Yang Zhu is ‘for oneself.’ This is
to not have a ruler. Mozi is ‘impartial caring.’ This is
to not have a father. To not have a father and to not have a ruler is
to be an animal” (Mengzi 3B9; Van Norden 2008, 85).
Mozi (fifth century BCE) is the first systematic philosophical critic
of Confucianism. He is generally interpreted as a sort of impartial
consequentialist, who grounds ethics in maximizing overall benefit or
profit, where this is defined in terms of material goods such as
wealth, populousness, and social order. On this basis, Mozi criticizes
the Confucian emphasis on ritual, regarding as wasteful such Confucian
practices as elaborate funerals, lengthy mourning periods, and musical
performances. In addition, Mozi advocated impartial caring
(jiān ài, sometimes translated “universal
love”), which he distinguished from the filial piety or
differentiated caring of the Confucians. Mozi argued that caring more
for oneself, one’s family, or one’s state was the cause of
the warfare and cruelty of his era, and that impartial caring would
lead to greater harmony and material satisfaction. Mozi certainly did
not advocate eliminating the family as a social institution. However,
he clearly rejected Confucian differentiated caring in favor of
impartial caring: “I have heard that in order to be a superior
person in the world, one must regard the well-being of one’s
friends as one regards one’s own well being; one must regard the
parents of one’s friends as one regards one’s own parents.
Only in this way can one be a superior person” (Ivanhoe and Van
Norden 2001, 70). Mozi presented a number of ingenious arguments in
favor of his position, including a “state of nature”
argument to justify government authority (Mozi 11; Ivanhoe
and Van Norden 2005,
65),[18]
and a thought-experiment to justify impartial caring that seems
almost game-theoretic in its precision (Mozi 16; Ivanhoe and
Van Norden 2005, 69–70). In addition, to win over those
attracted to Confucianism, Mozi argues that the goal of filial piety
will in fact be best achieved by not favoring one’s own parents
over others: “Clearly one must first care for and
benefit the parents of others in order to expect that they in turn
will respond by caring for and benefiting one’s own parents. And
so for such mutually filial sons to realize unlimited good results,
must they not first care for and benefit other people’s
parents?” (Ivanhoe and Van Norden, 75; emphasis
mine)[19]
Mozi acknowledged that people do not seem to be predisposed to have
impartial care for others. However, he argued that human motivations
are highly malleable, and can be radically altered, so long as humans
are given appropriate rewards for compliance and punishments for
disobedience. As evidence for his claim, he cites the example of
King Ling of the state of Chu [who] was fond of slender waists. During
his reign the people of Chu ate no more than one meal a day and became
so weak that they could not raise themselves up without the support of
a cane nor could they walk without leaning against a wall. Curtailing
one’s food is something very difficult to do, but masses of
people did it in order to please King Ling. Within a single generation
the people changed because they wanted to accord with the wishes of
their superior. (Ivanhoe and Van Norden 2005, 75)
Mozi was not just an original philosophical thinker; he was also the
founder of an organized movement, the Mohists, which survived his
death and continued to be influential until the Qin dynasty (221
BCE–207 BCE) reunified China.
There is controversy about what the views of Yang Zhu (fifth to fourth
century BCE)
were.[20]
However, a plausible case can be made that he defended ethical egoism
based on a particular conception of human nature. Yang Zhu’s
line of argument has considerable plausibility in his philosophical
context. Although Mohists and Confucians disagreed about many things,
they agreed on two key points: the proper Way to live and to organize
society is dictated by Heaven, and this Way will sometimes demand
extreme self–sacrifice of those who follow it. Yang Zhu invoked
the notion of “human nature [rén
xìng]” to drive a wedge between the former
commitment and the latter. Yang Zhu appealed to the fact that nothing
seems more natural for humans than self–preservation. But if
there is a human nature, it must be dictated by Heaven, and therefore
must be consistent with the Way. Consequently, following one’s
instinct for self–preservation is actually the highest
expression of Heaven’s will, and the self–sacrificing
practices of the Confucians and Mohists are simply perversions of our
Heaven–given nature. The Mohist response to this, as suggested
by the example (cited above) of King Ling of Chu, was that there is no
such thing as human nature; human motivations are highly malleable,
and almost exclusively the products of environmental influences.
Mencius’s doctrine that human nature is good was part of his
strategy to present a Confucian response to both the Mohists and Yang
Zhu. Mencius agreed with Yang Zhu that humans have a determinate
nature. However, he presented arguments that there is more to human
nature than the purely self–interested motivations identified by
Yang Zhu. His most famous argument for this conclusion is the thought
experiment of the child at the well:
The reason why I say that all humans have hearts that are not
unfeeling toward others is this. Suppose someone suddenly saw a child
about to fall into a well: anyone in such a situation would have a
feeling of alarm and compassion—not because one sought to get in
good with the child’s parents, not because one wanted fame among
one’s neighbors and friends, and not because one would dislike
the sound of the child’s cries. From this we can see that if one
is without the feeling of compassion, one is not human.
(Mengzi 2A6; Van Norden 2008, 46)
Consequently, Mencius agreed with Yang Zhu that we are following the
will of Heaven (and hence the Way) by following our nature. However,
he argued that Yang Zhu had an implausibly impoverished conception of
what human nature is like.
Against the Mohists, Mencius argues that human nature places practical
and ethical constraints on an ethical doctrine. These points are
expressed in an argument Mencius has with the Mohist Yi Zhi. Mencius
asks the rhetorical question, “Does Yi Zhi truly hold that
one’s affection for one’s own nephew is like one’s
affection for a neighbor’s baby?” (3A5; Van Norden 2008,
74) In other words, since humans naturally care more for relatives
than for strangers, any ethical system that, like Mohism, demands
impartiality will be impractical. Mencius also states, “Heaven,
in giving birth to things, causes them to have one source, but Yi Zhi
gives them two sources” (ibid.). In other words, the Mohists
acknowledge the ethical authority of Heaven (the “source”
of the Way), but their doctrine of impartial care is set up as a
second “source,” and one that demands deviating from our
Heaven–endowed nature. In summary, the impartial caring
advocated by the Mohists is both perverse and
impractical.[21]
Mencius also presents an argument that the Mohist position is
self–defeating in
practice.[22]
When he is politely greeted by a ruler who suggests that Mencius had
deigned to visit because he “must have a way of profiting my
state,” Mencius rebukes him:
Why must Your Majesty speak of “profit”? Let there simply
be benevolence and righteousness. If your majesty says, “How can
I profit my state?” the Chief Counselors will say, “How
can I profit my clan?” and the nobles and commoners will say,
“How can I profit my self?” Superiors and subordinates
will seize profit from each other, and the state will be endangered.
… Never have the benevolent left their parents behind. Never
have the righteous put their ruler last. Let Your Majesty speak only
of benevolence and righteousness. Why must one speak of
“profit”? (1A1; Van Norden 2008, 1)
Although the Mohists are not mentioned explicitly in this passage, the
word “profit” is central to their formulation of impartial
consequentialism, so it is likely that Mencius intended their views as
part of his target. Cheng Yi (1033–1107) concisely summarized
the argument here: “A gentleman never fails to desire profit,
but if one is single–mindedly focused on profit, then it leads
to harm. If there is only benevolence and righteousness, then one will
not seek profit, but one will never fail to profit” (Van Norden
2008, 2).
5. Later Influence and Interpretations
In his own era, Mencius’s views were criticized by the Daoist
Zhuangzi and by his fellow Confucian Xunzi. Zhuangzi never refers to
Mencius by name, but several passages seem to clearly be directed at
him. In a passage that argues against the possibility of objective
ethical knowledge, Zhuangzi states, “From where I see it, the
sprouts of benevolence and righteousness and the pathways of right and
wrong are all snarled and jumbled” (Zhuangzi 2; Ivanhoe
and Van Norden 2005, 222). The phrase “sprouts of benevolence
and righteousness” (rén yì zhī
duān) is quite unusual, and many translators struggle to
make sense of
it.[23]
The key is to remember Mencius’s phrases “sprout of
benevolence” (rén zhī duān) and
“sprout of righteousness” (yì zhī
duān) from 2A6. While Mencius compares our innate but
incipient dispositions toward virtue to the sprouts of plants, which
must be cultivated in order to reach maturity, Zhuangzi suggests that
there is no way to disentangle “sprouts” from weeds, if
there even is any non–arbitrary distinction between them.
Another implicit critique of Mencius is found in a fictional dialogue
in which Zhuangzi uses “Confucius” as the spokesperson for
his own views, and advises someone, “Do not listen with your
heart but listen with your qì. … The heart
stops with signs. Qi is empty and waits on external things.
Only the Way gathers in emptiness. Emptiness is the fasting of the
heart” (modified from Ivanhoe and Van Norden 2005, 228). So
Zhuangzi prioritizes following the qi, the impersonal fluid
that flows through all things and binds them together, over following
the heart. This seems to be a deliberate inversion of Mencius’s
view in 2A2, where he advises, “What you do not get from your
heart, do not seek for in the qi” (2A2; Van Norden
2008, 37). Notice also that, whereas Mencius encourages us to
cultivate our heart, Zhuangzi encourages us to “fast”
it.[24]
Xunzi attacks Mencius by name in his essay, “Human Nature Is
Bad”:
Mengzi says: When people engage in learning, this manifests the
goodness of their nature. I say: This is not so. This is a case of not
attaining knowledge of people’s nature and of not inspecting
clearly the division between people’s nature and their
deliberate efforts. … Those things in people that cannot be
learned and cannot be worked at are called their “nature.”
Those things in people that they become capable of through learning
and that they achieve through working at them are called their
“deliberate efforts.” (Ivanhoe and Van Norden 2005, 299)
It is common to observe that Mencius and Xunzi are speaking at
cross–purposes, because they assume different conceptions of the
key term “nature” (Graham 1967). For Mencius, a
paradigmatic example of something fulfilling its nature is a sprout
maturing into a full–grown plant. This process requires a
healthy environment and is assisted by active cultivation on the part
of the farmer. In contrast, for Xunzi, only the characteristics that
something has fully and innately are part of its nature: “Now
people’s nature is such that their eyes can see, and their ears
can hear. … it is clear that one does not learn these
things” (Ivanhoe and Van Norden 2005, 299–300). However,
it is possible that Mencius and Xunzi still have a substantive
disagreement, even if Xunzi’s way of framing that disagreement
is misleading. As we have seen, Mencius thinks that all humans are
born with innate but incipient dispositions toward virtue. Xunzi seems
to explicitly deny this: “As for the way that the eyes like
pretty colors, the ears like beautiful sounds, the mouth likes good
flavors, the heart likes what is beneficial, and the bones and flesh
like what is comfortable — these are produced from
people’s inborn dispositions and nature” (Ivanhoe and Van
Norden 2005, 300). In contrast, “… ritual and the
standards of righteousness are produced from the deliberate effort of
the sage …” (ibid.). The fundamentally different views of
Mencius and Xunzi on human nature are reflected in their different
metaphors for ethical cultivation. For Mencius, ethically cultivating
human nature is like encouraging the innate tendency of a sprout to
grow to maturity; for Xunzi, humans require ethical cultivation just
as “crooked wood must await steaming and straightening on the
shaping frame, and only then does it become straight. Blunt metal must
await honing and grinding, and only then does it become sharp”
(Ivanhoe and Van Norden 2005, 298).
Confucianism became a state–sponsored ideology during the Han
dynasty (202 BCE–220 C.E.), but it was a syncretic form of the
philosophy that included elements of Daoism, Legalism, and the
cosmological notions of yin–yang and the Five Phases.
Mencius’s writings were only one of many influences in this
period. After the fall of the Han, Buddhism became increasingly
influential socially and intellectually, reaching a peak in the Tang
dynasty (618–907). This provoked a Confucian revivalist
movement, the Learning of the Way (Dàoxué),
conventionally referred to in English as Neo–Confucianism. The
polemical anti–Buddhist writings of Han Yu (768–824) are
often seen as the flashpoint for the Confucian revival. In addition to
denouncing Buddhist practices as unnatural and antithetical to the
well being of the state, Han Yu singles out Mencius as the “most
pure” of the followers of Confucius. Neo–Confucianism only
comes to philosophical maturity, though, during the Song and Southern
Song dynasties (960–1279). The major intellectual competitors to
Confucianism at this time were Buddhism and Daoism.
Neo–Confucians compared Mozi’s impartial caring to
Buddhist universal compassion. Similarly, Yang Zhu’s egoism was
seen as anticipating the Daoist search for individual immortality.
Consequently, Neo–Confucians availed themselves of
Mencius’s arguments against his contemporaries to combat their
own intellectual rivals. As a result, Neo–Confucians came to
regard Mencius as having a particularly profound grasp of the true
meaning of the teachings of Confucius, elevating him to the status of
the “Second Sage.” The most influential
Neo–Confucian philosopher was Zhu Xi, who grouped the
Mengzi along with three other Confucian classics (the
Great Learning,Analects, and Mean) as the
Four Books, and wrote clear, detailed commentaries on each. Zhu
Xi’s interpretations of the Four Books became orthodoxy, and
generations of intellectuals literally memorized them in order to pass
the civil service examinations. Although the traditional exams were
abolished at the beginning of the twentieth century, Zhu Xi’s
commitment to reading the Four Books in the light of each other, and
his interpretations of specific concepts and passages, continue to
have an immense influence, even
today.[25]
Ironically, due to the pervasive influence of Buddhism,
Neo–Confucian philosophers often reinterpreted Mencius’s
views in the light of Buddhist metaphysical and ethical concepts.
Confucians adopted the view that ethical cultivation was a matter of
becoming enlightened (wù) about the fundamental
Pattern (lǐ, also translated principle) of the universe
and thereby overcoming the selfishness (sī) of human
desires (rén yù) and forming one body
(yì tǐ) with everyone and everything else.
However, these terms are either absent or used in different senses in
the texts of Confucius and
Mencius.[26]
This criticism was made within the Chinese tradition by later
Confucians such as Dai Zhen (1724–1777), who argued that, due to
Buddhist influence, the Neo–Confucians understood terms like
“Pattern” in anachronistic ways, and were led to an ethics
that unnaturally devalued physical human desires (see Dai 1777).
In the early 20th century, many Chinese intellectuals became part of
the May 4th Movement, which called for China to rapidly Westernize and
modernize. As a result, Mencius’s intellectual reputation
suffered along with the rest of Confucianism. This trend continued
during the rule of Mao Zedong, when Confucianism was dismissed as a
decadent part of China’s “feudal
past.”[27]
However, interest in Mencius continued in Hong Kong and Taiwan as
part of the movement known as New Confucianism. New Confucianism is a
diverse movement and it is difficult to find a commonly
agreed–upon characterization of what is central to it. However,
many New Confucians are influenced by the views of Mou Zongsan
(1909–1995), who argued that Mencius and the Neo–Confucian
Wang Yangming accurately explicated what is implicit in the views of
Confucius. In addition, Mou saw Kant as providing a way of
understanding what is distinctive about the Mencian conception of
morality, but also thought that Confucian ethics transcends certain
limitations of Kant’s
thought.[28]
Since the death of Mao, there has been a resurgence of interest in
Confucianism in mainland China. As a result, Mencius has become
embroiled in contemporary debates over the role of Confucianism in
Chinese ethics and political philosophy. In two much–debated
passages, Mencius endorses the actions of a ruler who seems to put
loyalty to his family over the welfare of the state (5A3, 7A35). Some
argue that this illustrates that Mencius (and Confucianism in general)
is committed to a form of nepotism that encourages corruption (see,
e.g., Liu 2007). Others have argued for alternative interpretations of
the significance of these passages (e.g., Guo 2007). Mencius is also
at the center of the larger debate about whether Confucianism is
consistent with democracy (see Chan 1999). Mencius has been invoked as
providing a potential foundation for democracy (Bai 2008), but others
have cautioned about overestimating the extent to which he champions
the will of the people as the source of political authority (Tiwald
2008).
Another recent trend in the study of Mencius and other Confucian
philosophers has been the application of the framework of virtue
ethics, beginning with Yearley
(1990).[29]
Mencius does seem similar to some major virtue ethicists such as
Aristotle in emphasizing wisdom as a flexible responsiveness to
complex situations, the cultivation of virtue over
action–guiding rules, and nuanced discussions of the differences
between genuine virtues and semblances or counterfeits of them (e.g.,
7B37). However, as advocates of virtue ethics interpretations
acknowledge, there are also substantial differences between Mencius
and any Western virtue ethics. For example, Western virtue ethicists
such as Aristotle place great value on purely theoretical
contemplation, which Confucians typically regard as lacking intrinsic
value. An additional contrast is that Confucians like Mencius see
familial life as an important and intrinsic component of living well,
whereas Aristotelians (arguably) see the family as, at best, a
necessary means to supporting virtuous action.
New Confucian and virtue ethics interpreters of the Mengzi
have both been criticized for projecting an alien vocabulary onto the
text. Indeed, sometimes advocates of the two approaches make these
objections against one another (see Yu 2008, and Angle and Slote
2013). However, any interpreter must bring to the text her own
vocabulary for explicating what seems obscure. This is true whether
the commentators are Song dynasty Confucians using
Buddhist–influenced terms in Middle Chinese, New Confucians
availing themselves of Kantian notions while writing in contemporary
Mandarin, or English–language scholars employing the vocabulary
of virtue ethics. Consequently, the only real issue is whether they
have provided the most plausible explanation of what is implicit in
the texts they interpret. The ongoing debates on these issues promise
to be exciting and productive.
Guo, Qiyong, 2007, “Is Confucian Ethics a
‘Consanguinism’?” Dao, 6.1 (March):
21–37. (See also the essay by Liu [2007], and the two special
issues of Dao [7(1) (March 2008) and 7(2) (June 2008)]
devoted to articles commenting on their exchange.)
Legge, James (trans.), 1970, The Works of Mencius,
reprint, New York: Dover Books.
Liu, Qinping, 2007, “Confucianism and Corruption: An
Analysis of Shun’s Two Actions Described by Mencius,”
Dao, 6(1) (March): 1–19. (See also the reply by Guo
[2007], and the two special issues of Dao [7(1) (March 2008)
and 7(2) (June 2008)] devoted to articles commenting on their
exchange.)
Nivison, David S., 1980, “Mencius and Motivation,”
Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Thematic Issue
S, supplement to Journal of the American Academy of
Religion, 47(3) (September): 417–432. (The full version of
the essay is reprinted in Nivison [1996e].)
Wang, Robin R. (ed.), 2003, Images of Women in Chinese Thought
and Culture: Writings from the Pre–Qin Period through the Song
Dynasty, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing. (See the translation
of the stories about Mencius’s mother on pp.
150–155.)