Eficacia

Thus, for Wang Bi names are not conventionally determined, but are determined depending on the shi 實, the actuality, of things. On this basis he says that one cannot trade a name for another, since names have to accord with their actualities, and are determined based on these actualities. Again, names arise from the xing 形, the form, for

“the name arises from how it appears to us.”³ So in effect for Wang Bi the shi is manifested through the xing, and the names are determined according to the xing. In a word, while names ultimately are dependent on the shi, the names are dependent more immediately on the xing.

Hence, he can say that if there is this name, there must be this form, since the form is the source of the name. Names come from somewhere objective, and this somewhere is the form.

Wang’s theory of language has many important philosophical and interpretive implications. Firstly, it explains how it is that the Dao is nameless. Since names follow upon the form, if something has no form or xing, it cannot be said to have a name. Now, the Dao, being phenomenally undetectable, has no form. And because the Dao is form-less, it has no name. Thus, Wang comments on chapter 25 of the Laozi as follows:

Text: We do not know its [Dao’s] name.

吾不知其名

Commentary: Names are used to determine forms; but amorphous and complete, it has no form, so we cannot make any such determination.

Thus the text says, “We do not know its name.”

名以定形, 混成无形, 不可得而定。故曰不知其名也。⁴

Secondly, as I will try to make clear, this correlative theory of names fits in very nicely with Wang’s metaphorical reading of the text. It captures equivocally Wang’s justifi cation for his social-political doctrine of noninterference. Specifi cally, it is used to express his idea that promises of prestige do not encourage authentic moral character development.

It took me a while to notice how Wang explicitly reads the ming-shi 名實 semiotic as a metaphor, but when I saw it, it was just unmistakable.

Metaphors are often employed as analogies to illuminate a complex or different idea, and they work precisely by not meaning what they do straightforwardly mean. Here, I am borrowing with modifi cation from this ordinary sense of a “metaphor.” By “metaphor,” I do mean a phrase that is used to express a meaning that is quite different from

its straightforward meaning. However, the “metaphor” operates by signifying other possible equivocal meanings of the very same phrase.

Specifi cally, this is done by exploiting the homographic (or indeed, homomorphic) quality of the phrase. An analogy of what I mean by a “metaphor” would be a gestalt painting, such as some of Salvador Dali’s surrealist paintings which, with their same lines and strokes, convey two radically different images superimposed one on another.

Wang’s Introduction to the Laozi often playfully reads the ming-shi semiotic as equivocal signifi ers for his social doctrine that giving people titles of prestige to tempt good behavior does not cultivate the desired moral character: “All names arise from forms; never has a form arisen from a name.”⁵ For Wang, the word ming (names) means also prestige or reputation. Xing (form) in turn means more than just the physical shape or form. It refers also to the character of a person. Hence, Wang speaks at times of not using the law to cut people into shapes, that is, into the desired character. Thus, the talk of the form never arising from the name is a metaphor for the idea that good character can never be elicited by the offering of rewards of reputation or prestige.⁶ That is, in this context, its important point is not merely semiotic, though it may appear to be so at fi rst glance. Its other point is Wang’s social and political doctrine of noninterference.

Consider, for example, the following passage on politics, which appears immediately and somewhat suddenly after a substantive expla-nation that names follow upon forms and not the other way around:

If the virtues of honesty and the uncarved block are not given prominence but the splendors of reputation and conduct are instead publicized and exalted, one will cultivate that which can exalt him in hope of the praise involved and cultivate that which can lead to it in the expectation of the material advantage involved. Because of hope for praise and expectation of material advantage, he will conduct himself with diligence, but the more splendid the praise, the more he will thrust sincerity away, and the greater his material advantage, the more contentious he will be inclined to be. The heartfelt feelings that fathers, sons, older brothers, and younger brothers should have for one another will lose their authenticity. Obedience will not be grounded in sincerity, and kindness will not be grounded in actuality. All this is brought about by the publicizing of reputation and conduct.

夫敦樸之德不著, 而名行之美顯尚, 則修其所尚而望其譽, 修其所顯而冀 其利。 望譽冀利以勤其行, 名彌美而誠愈外, 利彌重而心愈競。父子兄弟, 懷情失直, 孝不任誠, 慈不任實, 蓋顯名行之所招也。⁷

Its sudden appearance after a discourse on semiotics appears disjointed and incoherent—at least, to the hermeneutically untutored eye. Yet there is in fact no “break,” because this whole paragraph is completely captured by the metaphor of the “form never arising from the name.” It is as if the author expects the reader to know that the discourse on names and forms would continue, only that it proceeds now in a very different sense. Here the “names” or prestige viz. the “publicizing of reputation and conduct”

fails to give rise to the relevant “form” or desired moral character. And just as a name that exists without having arisen from a form will not be traceable to an actuality, so also someone who seeks and achieves a reputation or name for any moral character will have, ironically, not acquired the character; in fact, he will likely have lost it, if he had any of it to start with. For such a person, who may now have made himself a name for that certain moral trait, his moral trait would paradoxically not be traceable to its only true source, its actuality. And the implication is that since it did not arise from its only possible source or actuality, it cannot be authentic; it is bogus morality. Clearly, for Wang the discussion of names and forms or actualities is not merely about semiotics but really also a metaphor for the point that the offering of rewards of reputation and prestige will not bring about true moral goodness.⁸

Thirdly, and most signifi cantly, the correlative theory of language makes possible the speculative task of the sage. The sage is described as an intellectual genius who is highly competent in drawing infer-ences. Now, since words have a corresponding reality, the sage can try to discover their meanings. Not as if: looking up in the dictionary.

Rather: trying to grasp, or to infer what the realities are viz. some social or moral phenomena, where relevant. The effort is to try to move from the word, in the direction toward the reality which the word covers or signs.

Some inferences are rather elementary. Consider the following. A certain word has a corresponding meaning or referent. But any particular word (type)⁹ is differentiated from another particular word (type).

Since each word corresponds to its own particular actuality or reality or meaning, then for every two word (types), there will be also two different and distinct meanings or actualities. So the fi rst task in getting to any one of these actualities is to avoid confusing them with another actuality. If someone mistakes a word (say, A) for another word (say, B), then inevitably he will seek wrongly the corresponding actuality or meaning. Suppose A corresponds to the actuality _ and B corresponds to actuality `. He will mistake A for B, and say that the meaning of A is that of B. In this way, he will also take the corresponding actuality of A for the corresponding actuality of B. In other words, when seeking the

corresponding actuality of A, he will think that B is really A, and trace B’s actuality to A, which means that he will affi rm the actuality ` to be that which corresponds to A, when in fact _ corresponds to A. The short of this is that at the very least one has to be clear how each word is different from another and how each corresponding meaning is different from the other respectively corresponding meaning. So Wang explains:

If one cannot distinguish among names, it is impossible to discuss principles with such a person. If one cannot determine how names apply, it is impossible to discuss actualities with him either. All names arise from forms; never has a form arisen from a name. Therefore if there is this name, there must be this form, and if there is this form, there must be its separation [from all other forms]. If “benevolence”

cannot be called “sagehood” or “intelligence” called “benevolence,”

each must have its own actuality.

夫不能辯名, 則不可與言理。不能定名, 則不可與論實也。凡名生於形, 未

有形生於名者也。故有此名必有此形, 有此形必有其分。仁不得謂之聖,

智不得謂之仁 , 則各有其實矣。¹⁰

But Wang goes farther. Not only is he interested in tracing accurately the meaning or actuality of a particular word, he presses farther in that same direction to seek the ultimate causal source(s) of the reality which the word signifi es. Or at least this is what he seems to suggest. Thus, rather interestingly he adds,

Discernment of the most minute indicates the ultimate of perspicacity.

Discovering what lies completely hidden indicates the ultimate power of inference. Who can extend perspicacity to the ultimate, can this be other than the sage? One who can extend the power of inference to the ultimate, can this be other than the wise?

夫察見至微者, 明之極也。探射隱伏者, 慮之極也。能盡極明, 匪唯聖

乎？ 能盡極慮, 匪為智乎？¹¹

Parallel passages suggest that for Wang, this “ultimate” is the Dao. For example, Wang writes:

[T]hose whose vision is limited to physical manifestations and [do]

not reach the Dao . . . [will] feel anger at the words they fi nd in [the Laozi]. If one wishes to determine what the original substance of things is, although they might be near, he must verify where they start far away. If one wishes to cast light on where things come from, although they might be perfectly obvious, he must trace the roots

where they emerge out of the dark. Thus it is that one takes from what is outside heaven and earth [the Dao] to cast light on what is within phenomenal appearance and to cast light on what it means for lords and princes to be “the orphan” or “the widower.” It is by thus tracing things back to the unity of the Dao that one makes clear where they all begin. Therefore let it be those whose scrutiny is limited to the nearby and does not reach the source from which all things fl ow, none will fail to regard its [the Laozi’s] words as absurd and think there is nothing in them.

故使見形而不及道者, 莫不忿其言焉。夫欲定物之本者, 則雖近而必自遠

以證其始。夫欲名物之所由者, 則雖顯而必自幽以叙其本。故取天地之

外, 以明形骸之内, 明侯王孤寡之義。而從道一以宣其始。故使察近而不 及流统之原者, 莫不誕其言以為虚焉。¹²

In other words, what Wang seems to be proposing here is a philosophical enterprise that attempts to infer the causes of realities, and not just the reality or forms of names. He shifts the whole ming-shi discussion to a higher level by suggesting that the Daoist sage not only get the actualities of words right, but that he seek the deeper causal reality of this actuality. In this way Wang transforms what started out as a semiotic exercise of tracing the realities corresponding to the words into an experiment in ontology: tracing or inferring the ultimate ontological cause of these very realities. With this emphasis on tracing things to the Dao, which is also called the dark, the mysterious, or the profound (xuan 玄), Wang had sparked a new movement. As Alan Chan points out,

[A]ccording to the Wen-hsin tiao-lung [Wenxin diaolong, The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons], Wang Pi [Wang Bi]

and Ho Yen [He Yan] did not only spark new interests in the Taoist classics, but had in fact charted a new course in the intellectual landscape of third-century China. This is described in terms of a shift from the doctrine of “names and principles” (ming-li 名理) to that of

“profound discourse” (hsüan-lun [xuan lun] 玄論).¹³

From Language to Metaphysics

It is this shift from a discourse on names and forms to a discourse in metaphysical profundities that marks Wang off as turning Daoist philosophy profound. We will now examine this shift and the relevant debates that surround this metaphysical reading of the Laozi.

We can start with a problematic. It is not easy to pin down what accounts for the “shift.” How does the theory that “names arise only

from forms” inspire Wang with the idea that “one should trace that Dao as the source of all these names”? How is it that suddenly an interest in semiotic should spark off an interest in metaphysical speculation?

Indeed, the precise philosophical connection between the correlative theory of names and the novel project of inferring the Dao as the ontological source of all things is not immediately clear. The connec-tion does not seem to be that of a premise and its conclusion. The idea that “one can and ought to trace names to their forms” does not seem to me as self-evidently implying that “one can and ought to trace forms to the Dao.” And Wang does not seem to have explained why the discussion of names and forms points him toward the metaphysical speculation of the Dao as the source of all things. And it would be hard to; nothing controversial in the discourse of names and forms seems to have required a resolution through the projected ontological specula-tion. Whether the Dao is the source of all things is of no consequence to the debate on name and forms. Rather, the reverse is true. The kind of semiotic one holds as correct determines the possibility or impossibility of ontological speculation. This means that while a primary interest in ontology would lead one to discuss semiotics, a primary interest in semiotics would not philosophically lead one to discuss metaphysical origins. Therefore, there seems to be a missing philosophical link between the interest in semiotics and the interest in ontology in the evolutionary progression of early medieval Daoist philosophy.

Perhaps the connection is not to be found in the subject matter, but in the sage. Wang does say that the sage is he who can trace or infer things and events to their ultimate source, the Dao. Still the question remains: Why in the history of Chinese philosophy should the sage (who is no doubt competent in such inferential speculations) suddenly want to apply his skills and competencies to ontological or metaphysical speculation? Why is it that suddenly the sage’s domain of enquiry has shifted from semiotics to ontology or metaphysics?

One may credit this shift of interest to the Laozi text. One may want to point out that Wei-Jin intellectuals such as Wang found in the Laozi the reference to the Dao as the source of all things, and so were inspired to prove these claims. Rudolf Wagner seems to think this was the case:

In Wang Bi’s work . . . the classics, including the Laozi, have no intrinsic authority. They owe their authority to the fact that they, by implication or explicitly, dealt with the only relevant problem—the features of the “That-by-which”—and that their insights, whether spelled out or implied, could be proved by discursive philosophy in the form of commentary or lun to be arguably true. In this manner,

they justifi ed the story of these texts having been written by Sages or their close seconds.¹⁴

However this still begs the question. Why is it that the Laozi text was interpreted with this metaphysical slant? Why was it read as suggesting a metaphysical quest for the metaphysical Dao as the source of all things? Why was there this shift in the interpretation? Why was it that Wang Bi saw something new—a metaphysical claim that the Dao is the source of all things—in the text? What accounts for the shift from the interest in language to an investigation in metaphysics? Unless the Laozi is self-evident, we cannot say that Wang picked out the meta-physical interpretation just by staring at the text; more likely than not he would have had some interpretive orientation to start with. And the text, as Wagner admits, is not self-evident: “[Wang’s] revolutionary turn to discursive philosophy thus comes as the claim to rediscover what was most clearly relevant and most radically forgotten in the hallowed texts handed down by tradition.”¹⁵

Our questions here parallel some of Chad Hansen’s worries¹⁶ when he wonders if those who read into the Laozi a metaphysical discourse may have misread the text. At the center of these questions and worries is the abruptness of the transition in Chinese philosophical Daoism from some topic of longstanding interest to a rather novel examination of speculative metaphysics. For Hansen, it is the claimed shift from

Our questions here parallel some of Chad Hansen’s worries¹⁶ when he wonders if those who read into the Laozi a metaphysical discourse may have misread the text. At the center of these questions and worries is the abruptness of the transition in Chinese philosophical Daoism from some topic of longstanding interest to a rather novel examination of speculative metaphysics. For Hansen, it is the claimed shift from