Divergent Doctrines

China experienced a turbulent epoch, some 2500 years ago, during what is called the Warring States Period. For two to three centuries following the previous collapse of a steadfast and ethical rule—the Zhou (pronounced “Jo”) Dynasty—chaos governed, as numerous small states that had once been allied under the Zhou began to fight among themselves.

For the Chinese population, the Warring States Period was very disturbing, because their culture had always valued collective cooperation, but now their civilization seemed to be disintegrating. Those were distressing times.

Over a period of a couple of centuries during that warring period, a number of teachers and philosophers came to the fore and offered their analyses of the plight, along with their counsel about how to get things back on track and foster once again a moral society that valued unity. Out of this struggle came the teachings of several Chinese sages—the most famous today being Confucius.

As the conflicts wore on, without peace, other philosophers came into prominence and offered their ideas for how to get back on track. Some of them were Mencius, Mozi, Lauzi, Zhunzi, Zhuangzu, Zon Yau, Sunzi, and Han Fei. Many of them formed their own school, whose students later carried on the doctrines of the masters. This process was very similar to the assorted philosophical schools of ancient Greece—and in fact, at about the same time period.

Coming from divergent backgrounds and at different times during the Warring States Period, the teachings of the various philosophers often clashed. Had one of them—say Confucius—put forth a suggestion early on, which ended the ongoing conflicts, we may never have had the alternative and sundry ideas the other teachers offered. As a result, we have a wide variety of rich philosophical doctrines—each of which conflicts with and/or supplements the others in various ways.

I will focus here on two of these sages, Mencius and Zhunzi, who seem to have reached diametrically opposed conclusions on human nature. As the Warring States conflicts persisted, many people began to wonder about the essential qualities of human nature, and whether those qualities are moral or not. The core question: Is human nature good or bad? Are we basically virtuous or harmful creatures? Are we born as benign beings or as evil individuals? Thus, if the first case is true, do we try to encourage and promote our natural goodness or, in second case, purge ourselves of our wickedness?

Mencius took the position that we are inherently good—we're born innocent and our job is to nurture those sprouts of goodness, in order to come to realize our full potential as honorable people. Zhunzi took the opposite view: that human nature is basically bad—we're born as pernicious people and our job is to learn to purge ourselves of this baleful behavior. Life is a constant struggle to overcome that devilish trait of ours, Zhunzi maintained.

It's fascinating that both Mencius and Zhunzi, although they seem to be diametrically opposed, considered themselves to be pupils of Confucius. They both agreed that Chinese society must get back on the track of peace and order, but viewed humans as starting from opposing places. I won't try here to delve any deeper into the teachings of these two sages or explain their divergent doctrines. I'm sure that interminable debates could chew on this issue and never reach an agreed explanation, since the topic remains relevant and controversial, 2500 years later.

This kind of contention between scholars is not unique to Chinese philosophy. Western theologians have similarly disagreed. For example, within Christianity there is an analogous type of disagreement—between the Catholic doctrine of original sin and the Quaker concept of “that of God” within every person.

This question of the basic quality of human nature is a philosophical query—one that is as relevant today as it was three millennia ago. I find it fascinating that most all questions of science—unlike philosophy—get slowly, step-by-step, answered. Is the Earth at the center of the universe or not? Is there a “cure” for cancer? We may not know the answers at any given point in time, but the inevitable advancement of scientific knowledge will most likely one day offer an answer. Philosophical questions, however, often have no final answer. Are we innately good or bad? Tune in next century for the ongoing debate.

Chuang Tzu—Ancient Chinese Sage

Chuang Tzu was a Chinese teacher and sage who lived in the fourth century BCE, during what is called the Warring States period. It was a chaotic time in which several Chinese states vied for power—in the wake of the collapse of the Zhou dynasty a hundred or so years earlier. Many Chinese scholars during this period were regretful that China had sunk into this violent time. They missed the peaceful and just Zhou reign and longed for either a return to the mores of that time, or looked forward to a new period of peace and civility.

The most well-known sage of this period was Confucius. His name and teachings have been widely disseminated in the West. Besides Confucius and Chuang Tzu, other prominent scholars and philosophers of the time were Lao Tzu, Mencius, and Mozi.

Chuang Tzu stands out from his contemporaries for me, because he was a recluse (he has things to say to this old hermit), but mostly because his writings are elegant, beautifully expressed, accessible to modern Western minds, and full of humor. He did not take himself seriously, as did most of his cohorts. In a number of ways, his outlook on life is similar to Socrates—whom I wrote about recently. Both of them looked upon the human condition with a skeptical eye, while maintaining a good degree of wittiness.

Chuang Tzu maintained that the quest for understanding is our top priority in life. His conclusion: while knowledge is unlimited, life is limited—so dedicate yourself to life-long learning. He taught that a simple life made the most sense, as he eschewed fame, wealth, and influence.

Chuang Tzu was the inspiration for Zen Buddhism—which has its roots in Taoism. Taoism is an ancient Chinese religion or philosophical tradition that emphasizes living in harmony with the Tao—which means “path” or “way.” The Tao is an undefinable concept, so I won't struggle to explain it here. I'll just try to describe a little of what it means to be a follower of the Tao.

The way of the Tao is a mystical path, one that leads us to a highly moral way of life—in which our actions mean far more that our words or beliefs. It is not a discipline that can be verbalized. It requires that we live simply, while we open ourselves to the spontaneity of the universe, with no preconceived ideas or answers. We do not precipitously jump into action, but allow the Tao to show us the way to act morally and effectively.

Taoism is full of paradoxically statements that cause the Western mind to wince. Chuang Tzu's writings express this paradox beautifully. Like good poetry, the message may not be apparent on first reading; but by slowing down, opening your mind to the deeper message, the wisdom shines through.

In the next three posts I will offer some of Chuang Tzu's more accessible (to the Western mind) writings. They are in my own words, but attempt to faithfully follow his message. There are numerous translations of Chuang Tzu into English, but they differ a lot, because the translators had to do much guessing, in order to render it approachable to modern English-speaking people.