Previously: Zhu’s philosophy rested on the idea that everything in existence could be divided into two groups, known as li and qi. Here li, translatable as “principle” refers to the structure of the universe, such that everything in existence is embodied by li.
Things are getting rather vague at this stage, just as the clouds darken, seeming to signal afternoon rain. You are tempted by a sudden urge to engage your “vital force” to indeed force the now wildly gesticulating and increasingly opaque Zhu Xi out of the pavilion and close the doors. Kongzi beside you seems to sense your intentions and raises a hand. On second thoughts, you realise that this show of “bad”, uncontrolled qi would only serve to validate Zhu’s theory.
In order to understand the true “principle”, Zhu advocated a thorough investigation of “gewu” (格物) or the natural order. As “principle” or li was taken to embody everything in the world including people, through greater knowledge of li individuals could ascend to a position of moral enlightenment. For Zhu, gewu was about acquiring knowledge of one’s innate ethical nature, and thereby the connection between this and one’s resulting actions. In other words; knowing how to act morally in a particular situation. Consequently, the turbulent qi in a person was dispelled.
Here Wang spluttered into life. “I can’t find the ‘principle’ in my teacup”, he announced. So, he hadn’t been sleeping after all, but rather engaging in Zhu’s prescribed external investigation. You pick up your teacup, examining the base. Kongzi rolls his eyes. “Why must the teacup tell me about the ‘principle’? If all things are an embodiment of ‘principle’, why don’t I just examine myself? I have only been doing so for forty years”, he muses wryly. Zhu seems taken aback by this criticism, sinking into his seat, casting his arms in a wide circle but without saying anything.
Wang, the renown Ming scholar and official, rejected Zhu Xi’s reading of the Confucian classics, especially in regard to Zhu’s distinction between the mind and the external world. He saw Zhu’s conception of gewu as impractical, in its ignoring of the inner basis of moral insight. Instead of focusing our attentions outward to try and get at li through inquisition, all that was required was an introspection to identify the innate “principle” within all of us, Wang suggested. After all, if li was supposedly in everything including people, what was the need to turn to the external world to discover it in ourselves?
This importance of the mind in Wang’s theory, undoubtedly acknowledges Buddhism and something of the Buddhist separation from the physical world, but applied to a strong Confucian moral framework. His insistence on an innate ethical nature accessible through the mind ushered in a new trend of individualism in Confucianism and the Chinese scholarly tradition.
Having composed himself, Zhu tries to tie Wang down; “For someone so wise you surprise me Wang”. He flashes a look over at Kongzi with furrowed brow, but the master looks to be finding this conversation a touch too “nouveau”. “How is it that through looking at ourselves we can expand our knowledge? How can we learn the ‘principle’ embodied in the cockroach at my feet and act ethically towards it?” Beside you, in what must be an act of spite, Kongzi brings his foot down heavily, the cockroach firmly crushed.
Taking this as encouragement, Wang now leans forward on the edge of his chair, the most animated you have seen him. He fixes Zhu with a stare; “The mind is ‘principle’”, and then glancing out of the over the lake, “For is there any affair outside the mind?”
