Upon my first couple readings, my main criticism of “Human Nature is Bad” was that Xunzi did not account for the innate capacity of man’s heart to do good. I believed the text implied that without proper education, one could simply not become virtuous. After all, Xunzi says in line one that
“People’s nature is bad. Their goodness is a matter of deliberate effort.”
This is not so. For such a categorical thesis, Xunzi’s piece is surprisingly nuanced. Education is admittedly necessary still in attaining this virtue; however, by paying attention to how this corpus of sagely advice took form and by also recognizing the pieces of Heavenly conduct already in practice, Master Xun draws a perceptive framework for the efficient and just operation of society.
Deliberate effort is not as deliberate as it may seem. We want things we do not have, and we cannot want what we already have, states Xunzi (lines 134–142); however, in our lack of goodness, the seeds of virtue are planted. How else would the sage-kings have learned to live in accordance with Heaven, after all? From lines 100 through 103, Xunzi states that
“the sage accumulates reflections and thoughts and practices deliberate efforts and reasoned activities in order to produce ritual and yi and in order to establish proper models and measures.”
They had no template; it was only through the deliberate striving towards the truth that these wise men learned to, piece by piece, generation by generation, collect virtue and discover efficient paths towards achieving it. I infer that these kings, by seeing the chaos wrought by undisciplined men, made a deliberate effort to be in accordance with Heaven: by seeing what is evil from the outside, they were able to begin applying their efforts towards the opposite of evil.
In any case, the commoner at the time already had all the tools to practice a virtuous life. As Xunzi writes,
“Shall we suppose that the people on the streets originally do not have the material to know ren, yi, lawfulness, and correctness… If so, then within the family, people on the streets could not know the yi of father and son, and outside the family, they could not know the proper relations of lord and minister. This is not so” (lines 263–268).
This passage reveals two things: the sort of education Xunzi encouraged was not, in his view, remote to the average person, and, indeed, they already possessed ren and yi in certain contexts. The latter is the most important, especially in conjunction with his later prescription that if these commoners just concentrated on why this ren and yi were positive, pondered on how to apply this familial ren and yi to their wider conduct, and made the pursuit of such conduct a priority (lines 272–276), then they would be able to transform themselves from Qin into Yu. Naturally, the notion that teachers and role models are necessary to such education remains; however, the ability to practice ren and yi remains considerably less daunting for the largely illiterate class, both in the materials they must pursue good conduct and in their starting position: they do not start from zero.
I still have some reservations about Xunzi’s thought in a few ways. For one, I would not call human nature bad per se, “only” corrupted. Additionally, while I am not very familiar with it, I suspect I would take issue with some of the more practical advice Xunzi might give as to how to live a life of virtue. Particularly the parts about living in accordance with ones ruler might not fit when applied to a democratic system such as ours. And, as a Westerner, I do not live by the advice of the sage-kings, either. Yet, he gave me a terrific framework to think about the importance of education in developing virtue, and the positive effects of filial piety, both as applied to the family itself but also to society at large.
