Zhu Xi’s
Ti-Yong: Context and Interpretation
by Michael Ing
7/1/05 (rating #)
Review and Commentary (# of posts)
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Zhu Xi utilized the ti-yong concept more than
any other Daoxue philosopher. Wing-tsit Chan observed, “Zhu Xi’s system of
substance [ti] and function [yong] is highly complicated, with
substance [ti] and function [yong] crisscrossing in all
directions in a variety of ways never encountered before or since Zhu Xi’s
time.”
In this paper I would like to assert the following: Zhu
sought to define a Confucian mode of interpreting ti-yong, which is
at the heart of Cheng-Zhu thought. Many in Zhu’s time misunderstood his
nuanced definition, often confusing it with Buddhist teachings. Contemporary
scholars make similar mistakes, especially in light of Western introduced
ideology. Nevertheless, ti-yong can be effectively understood, but it
requires comprehending Zhu’s usage of ti-yong in his pedagogy
(especially through analogies) and cosmology (particularly in relation to
his metaphysics). In all, ti-yong is not just a pedagogical tool, but
is also an expression of the immanent transcendence inherent in the
relationship of li
理
to qi
氣.
Zhu expressed almost all of these concepts when he said, “Heaven, Earth, and
the myriad of things all come from one li. This li is coherent
and not absurd. Profoundly illuminating its source, one is therefore able to
make Heaven and man become one, unite the inner and outer, and cause no
separation between ti and yong. This is what is called
‘exhausting one’s nature.’”
A Brief history
Anachronistically speaking, later philosophers find the
ti-yong concept in just about every text that supports their
philosophical claims. Zhu, for instance, explained that “When Confucius
spoke of humanity he spoke of ti, and when Mencius spoke of humanity
he spoke of yong.”
He also often used Mencius’ analogy of seeing a child about to fall into a
well to demonstrate that, “in this one passage, ti and yong
can indeed be seen.”
While no philosopher was as unwise to assert that the characters “體ti”
and “用yong”
actually occurred as a dialectical pair in pre-Han material, most happily
supposed the concept to be expressed by those of antiquity.
Chapter 10 of the Upper Appended Remarks on the Book of
Change (Xicishang
繫辭上)
is usually cited as the axiomatic statement on ti-yong. One
sentence in particular claims, “Change is without preponderment, and without
unnatural action. In absolute quietude it does not move; yet when aroused it
penetrates all things.”
It is this state of “quietude” that is usually interpreted as ti and
the state of “penetration” that is read as yong. Remanifestations of
quietude and penetration as “movement (dong動)”
and “stillness (jing
靜)”
become particularly important concepts in Zhou Dunyi’s (1017-1073) cosmology
and Zhu Xi’s discourse. One must not dismiss the possibility that pre-Han
philosophers thought in the conceptual framework of ti-yong, but
did not put it into the pedagogical language that later philosophers
would.
While Zheng Xuan (127-200) did not use both ti and
yong characters together, he did pair ti with lu (履).
In his preface to the Liji he explained, “Ritual is both ti
and lu. Where it is integrated in one’s heart, this is known as ti;
where it is practiced and put in to action, this is known as lu.”
During the same century the Token for the Agreement of the Three
According to the Zhou Book of Chane (Zhouyi Cantongjie周易參同契)
used the framework neiti (內體)…
waiyong (外用).
The various terms used to express a concept similar to Zhu’s ti-yong
reveal that sometime during the 2nd century C.E. the two
characters ti and yong seemed to be two of multiple characters
chosen to represent an already extant idea.
Traditionally Wang Bi (226-249) is credited as the first to use
ti-yong as a philosophical term to express a metaphysical
relationship. In his commentary on chapter 38 of the Laozi Wang
explained, “Although it is valuable to have non-being as its yong,
nevertheless there cannot be ti without non-being.”
While Wang Bi is rarely claimed as a Confucian scholar, the necessary
relationship of ti to yong (i.e. there cannot be substance,
ti, without function, yong) became a central concept to Zhu and
practically all other Neo-Confucian philosophers to the modern day.
In the centuries preceding the Daoxue movement of the Song, the
Buddhists were the primary party to utilize the ti-yong concept. All
three major Chinese movements, Tian Tai天台,
Hua Yan華嚴,
and Chan 禪
heavily relied on ti-yong to express their metaphysical
underpinnings. The Indic introduced school, Madhyamika三論,
also used the principle. Seng Zhao (384-414), representing the latter,
employed ti-yong to refer to two levels of truth. Later Madhyamika
proponent Ji Zang (549-623) explained the upper level of truth in relation
to ti—this higher level of truth is “entirely inexplicable in speech
and unrealizable in thought. As it has never been either absolute or
worldly, it is therefore called ti.”
On the other hand, yong relates to truth in the realm of sentient
beings where things are discussed and encountered. The emphasis of ti
over yong, and the separate spheres of their existence lead to
numerous comments on Zhu Xi’s part to distinguish his usage of ti-yong
from the Madhyamika notion.
Chan Buddhists used the term much more closely to the way Zhu
did. The Platform Sutra, perhaps an 8th century work,
states, “Calmness is the ti of wisdom and wisdom is the yong
of calmness. Whenever wisdom is at work, calmness is within it. Whenever
calmness is at work, wisdom is within it.”
As we will see, the inseparability of ti and yong is basic to,
not only Zhu Xi’s philosophy, but all others associated with the Cheng-Zhu
tradition as well. Equally important to note are common Hua Yan references
to ti-yong that parallel Song and post-Song Confucian philosophers.
Phrases such as “ti and yong are not two體用無二”,
“one ti has ten yongs一體十用”,
and “ti is found within yong體用自有”
occur in numerous texts.
Additionally, it must also be pointed out that utterances emphasizing ti
over yong can also be found, and turn out to be equally
influential to those in Zhu’s time—and a thing which Zhu fought doggedly to
eliminate.
The Buddhist adoption and transformation of ti-yong was
so powerful that scholars of the late Ming and early Qing era concluded that
the term had come from the Buddhists.
And even during the time of Zhu, those that used the term were often accused
of relying on Buddhist teachings.
The immediate predecessors of Zhu Xi all reserved an
important place for the ti-yong concept in their philosophies. Zhang
Zai (1020-1077) spoke of “existence and nonexistence, the hidden and the
manifested, spirit and eternal transformation, and human nature and destiny
are all one and not a duality…. This principle of unity is not understood
because ignorant people know superficially that the ti of the nature
of things is the Vacuity, the Void, but do not know that yong is
based on the Way of Heaven.”
He also defined ti as, “that which has never been absent.”
Of all Zhu’s contemporaries, Cheng Yi (1033-1107) and
Shao Yong (1011-1077) exerted the greatest influence on Zhu’s notion of
ti-yong. Cheng’s land mark statement in his preface to the Yizhuan
that, “ti and yong have one source [they come from each
other]—there is no gap between the apparent and the subtle” is the most
quoted phrase in regard to ti-yong.
He also expressed the concept in terminology similar to Zhu by explaining
things such as, “coherence is ti and rightness is yong (理義，體用也)”
and “ti-yong has no first or last [one does not ultimately precede
the other] (體用無先後)”.
In terms of imagery and pedagogical use, Shao Yong
closely parallels Zhu. Shao employed the same bodily metaphors in discussing
ti-yong, and perhaps more importantly taught the situational
relationship involved in understanding it. He explained in wording very
close to Zhu’s, “Yang is the yong of the Way, while yin is its ti.
Yin and yang operate on each other. When yang is the yong, yin
becomes superior. When yin is the yong, yang becomes superior.”
Hence, the ti and yong in a given relationship depend on the
situation. Shao also added, “Ti has no fixed yong, only change
is [fixed] yong. Yong has no fixed ti, only
transformation is [fixed] ti. In the interaction of ti and
yong the way of man and things are thereby completed.”
Past Interpretational
Problems
Zhu was very involved in creating an orthodox Confucian notion
of ti-yong. He wanted to distance his employment of the concept from
the Buddhists, Daoists, and other competing Daoxue thinkers of his age.
He believed that a correct understanding of the relationship between ti
and yong was essential for grasping the Confucian Way. Zhu was
especially critical of one mistake he believed people of the time were
making—they were teaching a transcendent ti that is ultimately
superior and disconnected to an immanent yong. This misunderstanding
manifested itself in two ways: 1. Zhu’s disciples or fellow literati looked
for fixed transcendent tis and permanently immanent yongs; and
thus were constantly confused when Zhu did things such as describing yin
both as ti and yong. 2. Zhu had to veheminantly deny any
attempt to eliminate co-dependence between the two terms.
This problem is made clear in numerous dialogues recorded in the
Zhuzi Yulei. In the most illuminating Zhu Xi is asked about an
apparent contradiction in his teachings. The inquirer states-
Shang Cai (1050-1120) has said, “Ritual and music have
different yongs but the same ti.” This is to say that the
heart-mind is ti, and reverence and harmony are its yongs. In
your collected commentaries however, you say, “reverence is ti, and
harmony is yong”. How are they not the same [both yongs]?
Zhu responded, “Speaking from the position of the
heart-mind, if the heart-mind is to be taken as ti, then reverence
and harmony are its yongs. But if one were to take reverence and
compare it with harmony, then reverence would be ti and harmony would
be yong. Generally speaking, ti and yong are not
constant through time. They are simply subject to such extent that they
shift situationally. For instance, if one was in the south and looked
northward, then north would be north and south would be south. Then if one
moved northward, although one is in the midst of north there is still north
and south. Ti and yong are not fixed. The ti-yong here,
is [only] the ti-yong here. The ti-yong there, is [only] the
ti-yong there. This concept cannot be exhausted. All directions have
it, and it penetrates all things.”
He then raised his finger and said, “When one layer is
made distinct, there is another. Regardless if it is seen from one angle or
another, such is the case. Turn it over, back and forth, such is [still] the
case. For instance, let us discuss yin and yang. Taiji in that case
is [their] taiji [ti], and yin and yang would be yong.
If we take the Four Forms, then yin and yang are [their] taiji [ti]
and the Four Forms are yong. If we take the Eight Trigrams, then the
Four Forms are indeed [their] taiji [ti] and the Eight
Trigrams are simply yong.”
It is
obvious here that Zhu’s questioner has looked for fixed categories where
none can be found. He anticipates that which is ti, is only ti
and has been and always will be ti (and vice-versa for yong).
Zhu makes it clear that everything can be both ti and yong,
and is dependant on the situation. Similar circumstances occur thru ought
Zhu’s recorded conversations. This particular passage, however, also alludes
to the possibility that Zhu sometimes used the ti-yong concept
pedagogically, and so to what extent the pedagogical is related to the
metaphysical becomes an important issue to be discussed in more detail later
in this work. Nevertheless, some introductory remarks are appropriate. For
the sake of developing my argument, consider if ti and yong
have no constant state (wu jin shi
無盡時,
or, as he will also say—wu ding suo
無定所),
but are merely used to express a relationship between two things (or perhaps
between a thing—wu
物
and an affair—shi
事),
then how accurate is it to assert that the principle has any ontological
connection at all; even though practically every interpreter of ti-yong
since Wang Bi has done such.
It is clear that Zhu’s dialogue partners assumed a
metaphysical dimension in ti-yong and even pushed the issue by asking
Zhu about the ultimate ti. In other words, if everything could be
both ti and yong, then every single thing has a ti;
hence it should follow that every-thing (the combined mass of ‘things’)
should also have a ti. The question was asked as follows, “The other
night you discoursed on ti-yong saying that they had no fixed
positions and that it depended on the situation to determine which is which.
But if one were to combine all affairs into one great ti-yong, then
what would it be?” Zhu Xi replied, “Ti and yong as such would
be fixed. The first of the pair to be seen would be ti, and
afterwards yong would then be produced.”
This is reminiscent of Zhu’s response when asked if it was correct to say
that li came before qi. He explained, “Li and qi
originally have no ‘first’ or ‘second’ to speak of, but if one were to push
forward, then indeed as such, li would be first, and qi would
follow likewise.”
Zhu’s reluctance to assign a “first” or “second” to li and qi
will be discussed below in relation to Zhou Dunyi’s cosmology in his
Taijitu Shuo, and Zhu’s interpretation of the first phrase—wuji er
taiji (無極而太極).
But the main purpose of raising these issues here is to bring attention to
Zhu’s reluctance to concede independence between ti and yong,
especially in light of the blatant misunderstandings of those whom he
associated himself with. In the end even something as supreme as taiji
cannot exist alone.
Zhu often criticized people of his time for “embracing a void
and empty ti, while calling fording through [the realm of] affairs
and things yong.”
It seems that some literati were accepting the distinctions made by
Buddhists who distinguished between two levels of truth. Four-hundred years
after Zhu Xi, Wang Fuzhi (1619-1692) likewise criticized the Buddhists and
Daoists, saying, “From the beginning, Buddhists and Daoists have all
established ti to the neglect of yong.”
Indeed a common critique even contemporarily is that non-Confucians have
“explicated ti and disregarded yong.”
Another misunderstanding others of Zhu’s time had was in regards
to his usage of the character ‘ti’ outside the context of ti-yong;
for when he used ‘ti’ he did always intend it to have the same
meaning it did when used in combination with ‘yong’. For instance Zhu
taught that, “…the heart-mind contains activity and quiescence. Its ti
can then be called change. Its li can then be called the Way. Its
yong can then be called divine.” Hearing this He Sun immediately asked,
“If its ti can then be called change, then what are we to understand
about ti?” Zhu replied, “The ti here is not the ti from
ti-yong. I was more precisely speaking of the ti from tizhi
[physical qualities]—as if saying, ‘Its quality can then be called change.’
It seems here that Zhu was interested in describing a characteristic of a
particular object, rather than its relationship with another thing. In order
to understand what he means in this passage, it will be helpful to
distinguish between having a ti and yong, and being
a ti and yong. While both are true statements for any
given object, a thing’s ti and yong do not necessarily reveal
many specifics about the object. For instance Zhu consistently explained
that nature, xing
性
is the ti of the heart-mind and response, qing
情,
is the yong of the heart-mind. Now, that particular statement does
not explicitly reveal any qualities of the heart-mind outside of the given
relationships. We may be able to deduce that if nature is the ti of
the relationship, the heart-mind must be the yong; and if the
response is the yong in relation to the heart-mind, the heart-mind
must be the ti. Hence the heart-mind, like any other object, is both
ti and yong, depending on what is being spoken of in relation
to it (notice that Zhu’s formula of xin tong xing qing
心統性情
is a summary of the entire relationship). Therefore to speak of the
ti of an object is not necessarily to refer to that object it self,
unless it is being spoken of in direct relationship to its yong. The
way in which ti was used in the above passage by the inquirer was to
search for a ti outside of the heart-mind; whereas Zhu was merely
explaining a characteristic of the heart-mind, or a ti in relation to
its yong.
This matter is further complicated by Zhu constantly
employing terms such as tiyan體驗,
ticha體察,
tihui體會,
and tiren體認.
All connote intimate experience leading to understanding, and in many
instances are used to describe how one grasps a ti-yong relationship,
but they do not have any direct bearing on the meaning of the term. Hence,
one must embody the Way (tidao
體道)
in self cultivation. And while doing such requires understanding the means
in which the Way is both ti and yong, it does not necessarily
indicate that ‘embody’ is the meaning of ‘ti’ when expressed as
ti-yong.
Contemporary
Interpretation
The same difficulties were still apparent during Ming
Neo-Confucianism. Wang Yangming (1472-1529) was also concerned about people
separating ti from yong.
And in the Qing era Wang Fuzhi warned how, “those who are not expert in
speaking of the Way erroneously set up substance and dismiss function in
order to conform to it.”
In a contemporary context Zhu would argue that there are still
those whom mis-use the term; and moreover, that there are many who
misinterpret his discourse. Additionally, the situation has become even more
complex since Western scholars have introduced Western terminology—and hence
Western ideology—in an effort to understand this concept.
The issue of non-separability again arises as scholars describe
the ti-yong relationship “dichotomously”.
While most use the term rather innocently, they over look the implications
of “contradiction”, “polar opposites”, and “sharp divide” implicit in the
meaning of “dichotomy”. All break the first rule of ti-yong
interdependance embodied in Cheng Yi’s notion of ti and yong
having each other as their source.
Antonio Cua has recommended dividing Zhu Xi’s usage of
ti-yong into two types—context dependant usages and context
independent usages. In the former the concept is “a distinction relative to
the context of discourse”. Thus “the ti of one thing may be the
yong of another thing”. In the latter, “the ti of a thing is its
immutable substratum…. On the other hand, the yong of a thing is ‘its
response when stimulated’.”
One sees here that Cua has organized Zhu’s ti-yong into two
categories—the pedagogical and the metaphysical. In the first Zhu is doing
nothing more than trying to convey a relationship between two things; hence
ti-yong here, serves a discursive purpose to help the student
understand the interaction of things. In the context dependant situation Zhu
is revealing an underlying layer of a particular thing which does not
change, and belongs to the realm above form (xing er shang
形而上).
Cua is neither the first, nor the only scholar to attempt such an
organization. But he does seem to be the main proponent in suggesting a
clear distinction between Zhu’s usages. In other words, while others have
put forth the theory that Zhu may have used the concept to mean different
things in different circumstances, Cua’s theory implies an obvious division
between pedagogy and metaphysics. The challenge would be to determine when
Zhu is only speaking pedagogically, or more importantly, when he is not
speaking metaphysically. I assert that in Zhu’s case, since everything has
ti and yong, ti and yong have no first or
second, and are inseparable, that he in fact is never not speaking
metaphysically. Hence, the physical is the metaphysical. And as such
pedagogy cannot be divorced from metaphysics; and therefore, creating two
categories for Zhu’s ti-yong is asserting that the metaphysical can
be separated from the physical—thereby severing the link that Zhu struggles
so hard to maintain between ti and yong.
Contemporary scholars have noted how Zhu criticized
other intellectuals for emphasizing ti above yong. As in Zhu’s
statement quoted previously, it seems that if forced to speak of one taking
precedence over the other Zhu would in fact choose ti. But in
comparison with the Buddhists or Daoists, Zhu did maintain much more value
to yong. Perhaps in an effort to contrast Zhu, and other
Neo-Confucians with their debaters, contemporary scholars have mistakenly
asserted that the Daoxue thinkers valued yong over ti. A.C.
Graham for instance states, “…the Neo-Confucians take no interest in the
properties of a thing, only in its function [yong]; if their
attention had been called to the properties they might well have argued that
all depended on the function [yong].”
In The Chinese Mind E.R. Hughes makes the point, “the impression I
get is that greater importance was attached to the functional side [yong].
The center of interest lay there, so that the logic at work in these
thinkers’ [Song philosophers] minds led them to concentrate more on
categories of relationship than on categories of substance [ti].”
Neither of these scholars are completely wrong. Great
importance was attached to yong, especially in regards to other
traditions of the day. As a matter of fact, we will see that from one
perspective they are correct—Wang Fuzhi for instance pointed out, “those who
are expert in speaking of the Way arrive at substance from function”—yet
most scholars fail to justify their claims by means of this perspective.
Indeed, from most angles it is somewhat pretentious to assert yong
being more important than ti in Zhu’s, or in any other Cheng-Zhu
philosopher’s thought.
Notions of ti as “substance” have wrecked havoc
on appropriate interpretation. It will probably take generations for a
better substitute to be as widely used and for Aristotelian connotations to
be dropped. This is not to say that one cannot use “substance” to properly
define ti; for a word is nothing more than its user intends it to be.
But for the sake of clearer communication, especially for those who are not
scholars of the field, “substance” often smuggles an unintended meaning. The
effect of ti as “substance” is noticeable in the writing of many scholars.
Galia Patt-Shamir, for instance, recently published an article that takes
into account her interpretation of Zhu Xi’s ti-yong. She states,
“Generally speaking, Zhu Xi takes substance as that which has no specific
shape in itself, yet gives a form to all its specific instances. As in the
Aristotelian view, it is the subject of predication, that which cannot be
predicated on anything else….”
She interprets ti as Zhu’s realm above form (xing er shang
形而上)
and yong as the realm below form (xing er xia
形而下),
which ultimately may be the case, but to assert that it is not predicated on
anything else seems to be overtly Aristotelian. Zhu goes to great length to
persuade others that this cannot be such. At one point he is asked, “In
understanding taiji, how is it that movement comes first and
stillness comes after. This means that first is yong and it is
followed by ti.”—which of course makes it sound like ti is
predicated on yong, and that seems to sit uncomfortably with the
questioner. Zhu replied-
When speaking of yin and yang, yong resides with
yang and ti resides with yin. But movement and stillness have no end,
and yin and yang have no beginning. They cannot be separated into “first”
and “second”. One need only to look at its situation to speak of it. After
all, before movement, there is again stillness. Before yong there is
again ti. Before arousal there is again tranquility. Before yang
there is again yin. And before tranquility there is again arousal. And
before stillness there is again movement. In the end, how could there be a
first or second? One cannot simply say that movement starts today, and not
speak of the stillness of yesterday.
Zhu thus
makes it clear that ti is not “that which cannot be predicated on
anything else”. In fact, it is predicated on yong, and yong
in turn is predicated on ti. The cycle has no beginning.
Supremely speaking, even taiji, the so-called beginning of creation,
cannot be understood apart from wuji.
Other scholars make similar mistakes by discussing Zhu’s ti
as a thing’s “intrinsic” or “essential” nature,
its “essence”,
or as a form of a “deeper reality”.
In the end, all these terms promote a level of vagueness that cannot but
imply “substance” in the Western, or perhaps Buddhist sense.
The larger issue is partially translational. A host of
suggestions have been made to comprehend ti and yong in
English. The following possibilities have been put forth with the proposers
name in parenthesis: substance, reality, why a thing is so, or essence;
versus function, application, or how a thing is so (Wing-tsit Chan).
Reality, the latent, or deeper reality in still mode; versus manifestation,
manifest, or active manifestation (Julia Ching).
Bone structure, rationale, intrinsic nature, essential nature, or inner;
versus, application, instrument, operation, utility, relevance, realization,
or outer (Antonio Cua).
The essential, basis, or theory; versus, application, function, or practice
(Umberto Brescianni).
Structure versus application (John Makeham).Ontological
dimension versus processual dimension (Deborah Summer).
Some of these, we will see, are helpful in grappling with Zhu’s notion of
ti-yong, and others distract from it.
Zhu Xi’s Ti-yong
The central question remains—what does Zhu Xi mean when
referring to ti-yong? Three key principles were already introduced
above, and merit review or elaboration here. First of all, everything has
ti and yong. As Zhu stated, “Humanity, when compared with
rightness is respectively ti and yong. But humanity itself
also has ti and yong. Rightness likewise has ti and
yong.”
In other words, for any given “thing” we could speak of its ti as
well as its yong. This would entail a discussion about the
relationship between the given “thing” with two other things—for instance,
the heart-mind in relation to nature and response, or humanity in relation
to hard and soft.
Secondly, since everything has ti and yong, and
ti-yong expresses a relationship between two things, it follows that all
things are both ti and yong. The importance of differentiating
this concept from the one above is in understanding Zhu’s dialectic; for he
will often discuss a thing’s ti-yong (such as the heart-mind
with nature and response) but the reader is left to infer the relationship
between the thing’s ti and its yong (in this case between
nature and response). In realizing that if nature is the heart-mind’s ti,
and that it in turn, is the heart-mind’s yong, one recognizes that
the heart-mind derives its proper application from nature. Carrying this
example further, if response is the yong of the heart-mind, the
heart-mind must be the ti of response. As such, proper application of
response is derived from the heart-mind. Thus the heart-mind is both ti
and yong, depending on what it is discussed in relation with. And
more importantly, when the heart-mind is brought in combination with nature
and response one sees that it serves the mediating role between the two.
Therefore it is only through the heart-mind that nature is manifest in
response. Zhu expressed this notion as, “the heart-mind uniting nature with
response”, or more importantly as “the heart-mind synchronizing ti
with yong.”
Thus, grasping the difference between having ti-yong and being
ti-yong becomes intimately related to understanding Zhu’s cosmology,
which as we shall later see is an immanent onto-cosmology.
The third important principle is the inseparability of ti
with yong. In commenting on Cheng Yi’s phrase in Cheng’s preface to
the Yizhuan Zhu explained, “As for ti and yong having
one origin, although ti is without apparentness, yong is
already within. As for there being no gap between the apparent and the
subtle, subtleness is indeed complete within apparentness. Before Heaven and
Earth existed, all things were already complete. This is what it means to
say, ‘in the midst of ti there is yong.’ When Heaven and Earth
are established, this principle is still maintained; for this is what is
meant by ‘having subtleness in the midst of apparentness.’”
He further elaborated on this concept by often speaking of “no beginning (wushi無始)”,
“no end (wuduan無端)”,
or “the inability to distinguish a first and second (bukefen xianhou不可分先後)
it regard to ti-yong. Thus it is impossible to isolate a thing’s
ti without taking into account its yong. The overspill here into
Zhu’s cosmology should be obvious. If a single thing cannot be taken outside
of its context in relation to that which it affects, then the individual
cannot be viewed singly. He must be observed in connection with all of his
yongs. And of course in understanding those yongs, one also
must realize that they are at the same time tis for other yongs,
and such and so forth, until the entire cosmos is seen as one inter-related
and inter-dependant unit.
Taking these concepts into account, perhaps it can then be
asserted that in Zhu’s philosophy exactly what ti is, or exactly what
yong is, is only secondarily important to the relationship expressed
between the two. The central focus is therefore not on the physical make-up
of a thing, but rather its situatedness in relation to everything else. This
is not to say of course that knowing what ti is, or what yong
is, is unimportant; for comprehending those relationships necessitates
knowing how to recognize ti in comparison with yong. The
emphasis on relation rather than physical construction is a hypothesis that
may, however, have to be stretched when taking into account all of Zhu’s
statements about ti-yong.
Now that the groundwork has been laid for some of the general
principles regarding Zhu’s usage of the term, the matter can be explored
more closely. Zhu was fond of using analogies to explain many of the
complexities of his teachings. Ti-yong is no exception. The most
commonly used comparison to describe its workings is the human body in
relation to its parts and actions. For instance, Zhu taught that, “If the
body was considered ti, then that which it goes and does is then
yong.”
More specifically he stated, “If the ears were taken as ti, hearing
would then be their yong, or if the eyes were taken as ti,
seeing would be their yong.”
And furthermore, “If the hands were ti, then the movement of the
fingers in picking something up and raising it, would then be yong.”
From the similes given, a few tentative conclusions can be drawn. First of
all it seems that ti-yong has an object-action relation. In other
words, all of the tis provided in these examples are physical
objects, or in Chinese, wu
物.
All of the yongs proceeding from the tis are events, or shi
事.
Thus it seems that one way to explain ti-yong (an albeit somewhat
elementary way), is as a relation of object (although it may be a little
unclear as to what Zhu means by “object”) to implementation.
Zhu was also fond of using his fan as a paradigm of
ti-yong. On more than one occasion he taught, “As an example, take this
fan. It has structure. It has a handle, and is made with paper and glue.
This therefore is its ti. When one waves it, is thus its yong.”
He also used other everyday illustrations—“For example, a ruler and scale
are somewhat similar. On the top are marks for measuring size and weight.
This is [their] ti. To then go and measure or weigh a thing or
affair—that is [their] yong.”
These examples support the above supposition that ti is to be
understood as an object and yong as its operation. It also sheds
light on the nature of a thing. Zhu is clear that the fan’s ti is its
physical composition—that which materially composes it (the handle, paper,
glue etc.). However, this may not be the only possible way to interpret his
comments. The example of the ruler is not so much the same. It is the marks
of the ruler, not the wood, or any other element it may have been made of,
that composes its ti.
Zhu’s analogy of the ti-yong of water helps
resolve this predicament. At one point Zhu taught, “Simply speaking,
structure is that which is ti. As for water, it sometimes
flows, sometimes stops, and sometimes surges forth becoming waves. This is
its yong. But, the water’s structure can move, can stop, and can
surge forth in becoming waves. This must be its ti.”
For Zhu it is not the water’s wetness that composes its ti, nor is it
the two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen, but rather its potential to be
put into use, or in this case its ke
可.
“Potential” or “ability” as a definition of what it means to be an “object”
becomes an important key for understanding ti-yong as an
object-implementation relationship. Object-ness viewed in this light is
markedly different than Western notions of “object-ness”. This point is
elaborated in a few other quotes from Zhu Xi. At one point while providing
examples of ti-yong he explains, “Take for instance, joy, anger,
sorrow, and pleasure. If these are yong, then that which is joyful,
angry, sorrowful, or pleased is ti.” While at first glance it seems
possible that Zhu is positing ti in the physical body of the entity
expressing these emotions, such is not the case. A clarifying remark made by
one of his disciples adds the word “ability (neng
能)”
to the phrase to make it “That which is able to be joyous or angry is
then ti.”
Hence again, it seems that ti is intimately attached to potential and
ability, and not necessarily to the physical stuff used to make it. The most
significant statement from Zhu expressing a thing’s ability as ti is
found nearly every time he uses the example of the fan. Since that
particular analogy is possibly the most damaging due to it implying that
ti is a thing’s physical make-up, it is especially meaningful that Zhu
adds these statements here. At least twice he taught, “Aptitude is ti.”
The word for “aptitude”, hedang合當,
is usually translated as “fate”, and hence implies “that for which a thing
was made”, but at the same time also insinuates a third-party force enacting
a predetermined plan. “Aptitude” on the other hand eliminates any unwanted
meaning and provides a more full notion of latent ability, and inherent
tendencies. The combination of these statements reveal that an object’s
ti is its capacity or potential to be put into use. It is its design for
being created. Perhaps from this perspective it is correct to speak
of Neo-Confucian dependence of yong over ti; for ti is
only defined by an object’s yong. This explains why “ti-yong
has no fixed position, and depends on the situation to say which is which.”
And why, “Generally speaking, ti-yong is not constant through time.
They are simply subject to such extent that they shift situationally…. Ti-yong
is not fixed. The ti-yong here, is [only] the ti-yong here.
The ti-yong there, is [only] the ti-yong there.”
When taken in relation to Zhu’s concept of “one principle having many
manifestations (liyi fenshu
理一分殊)”,
it is clear that the “more one is able to see the differences [in yongs],
the more one sees the greatness of li
理
[which we shall see, can also be interpreted as ti].”
The implications of recognizing ti as an object seen through the lens
of aptitude rather than material composition are many. Yet for most, this is
a misunderstood principle. Wang Yangming, for instance, was looking for a
material character when staring at bamboo for days on end; yet if he had
instead looked for the aptitude of bamboo (if one allows me to stretch the
applicability of aptitude beyond only mankind) he would have realized that
the li of bamboo is found in connection with what it is used for.
Realizing that ti asks the question—What is this
thing’s aptitude?— is intimately related to issues of li
理
and qi 氣.
Li, in Zhu’s own terms basically poses the same question. For
instance Zhu stated, “Take the fact that ears hear and eyes see. It is
naturally thus-so. This is li. Opening the eyes to see things, and
attuning the ears to hear sound, this is yong.”
Two important points need to be made in regards to this quote. First, li
is defined as a thing’s natural-ness (ziran
自然).
Natural-ness is a normative state of spontaneity, and conveys the same idea
as the English word “aptitude”, which has already been shown to be a fitting
definition for ti. Secondly, Zhu uses li as a substitution for
ti. This is not that only place he does so. Zhu also taught, “In
speaking of the heart-mind unifying ti with yong, nature is
the li of the heart-mind, and response is the yong of
the heart-mind.”
Zhu’s willingness to use li in place of ti, and define it the
same way he does ti strengthens the possibility of interpreting ti
as not only aptitude, but also as li. In Zhu’s writings it can be
seen that li and ti share many of the same characteristics. As
a matter of fact, the relationship between ti and yong is the
same as the relationship between li and qi. More than once Zhu
Xi explained, “In the entire world, it is never the case that there is li
without qi, or qi without li.”
This of course parallels ti being dependant on yong and vice
versa.
If the relationship between li and qi is the
precise relationship between ti and yong, then one would
expect ti-yong to possess the same qualities. Thus if li
belongs to the realm above form, ti should as well. And the opposite
should be true for qi and yong. Zhu made this point clear when
he said, “In turning to the realms above form and below, there indeed exists
a difference. They must be separated so that one is ti and the other
is yong.”
In other places he likewise taught ti-yong as the relationship
between nature and response, or the state before response is issued forth
and the state after response comes forth, or he used the common motif of the
root and branch. All of these analogies are the same ones he employed to
express the relationship between li and qi. The importance of
this point cannot be understated. If ti-yong is parallel to li-qi,
then the ontological connection of li, and li-qi as
transcendent-immanent would likewise apply to ti-yong. This works
nicely in resolving problems of Zhu Xi’s use of wuji. As quoted
previously, Zhu freely substituted taiji for ti.
And when yin and yang were described in relation to taiji they were
seen as yong. If yin and yang take the position of ti, the
Four Forms become their yong. This process repeats itself until all
things are produced. In relation to wuji, since a ti can never
exist without a yong, and any given thing is both ti and
yong, then in the case of taiji, it is clearly the ti for
yin and yang, but it must also become the yong for a preceding
object. Zhu’s implicit response is that wuji is that very object. I
do not believe this is to posit some type of first cause beyond taiji,
but rather to emphasize the inseparability of the transcendent and immanent.
In other words, Zhu seems to be saying that in fact there is something that
taiji is predicated on, but even that is predicated on something
else. And even that becomes the yong for another ti—the same
way there is movement before stillness, and stillness before movement
without end.
Yet one question remains—if ti-yong parallels li-qi
then why have two concepts?
An
exposition on the historical development of both terms may be helpful in
answering this question but lays beyond the scope of this paper. Instead I
suggest that ti-yong is the pedagogical use of li-qi. It
represents a methodology for demonstrating the key relationship. And as
such, it cannot be separated from the metaphysical connections of li-qi.
Contemporarily ti-yong remains an important concept in
Confucian discourse. While it is debatable whether it maintains the same
connotation that Zhu ascribed it, philosophers such as Xiong Shili and Cheng
Zhongying still find it relevant. Ng Yu-kwan has actually asserted, “This
philosophy of the non-separability of substance and function is the
foundation of New Confucianism.”
The concept has also found relevancy to issues of pluralism, modernization,
and ecology.
Conclusion
While ti-yong conceptually may have existed expressed
before the Han, the characters are not used together philosophically until
Wang Bi. Many people during the time of Zhu, and into the Qing considered it
a Buddhist import. Zhu sought to establish a “Confucian” interpretation of
the term based on Chengyi’s phrase, “Ti and yong have the same
source—there is no gap between the apparent and the subtle.” His discourse
partners had difficulty understanding the inseparable and hence
immanent-and-transcendent ti-yong apart from Buddhist notions of two
levels of truth. Contemporarily scholars have had the same problem which is
exacerbated by Western ideology. This is reflected in the terms chosen for
translation. A more acceptable translation in light of how Zhu Xi uses the
term is aptitude-actualization.
In order to arrive at this translation however, one must
understand the difference between having a ti-yong and
being a ti-yong. Zhu’s teachings reveal that all things not only
have a ti-yong but also are ti and yong. The
relationship expressed by his analogies alludes to an object-application
association, which serves as a general definition of the concept.
Understanding the finer points however necessitates comprehending what Zhu
believed an object to be. While at first glance a thing’s physical
composition seems to be an accurate portrayal, such is not the case. Zhu
expresses object-ness as a thing’s potential to act—more fittingly described
in English as a thing’s aptitude. Aptitude is closely related to Zhu’s
notion of li, and ti-yong can be understood as a pedagogical
form of li-qi. This means that Zhu uses the term cosmologically as
well as ontologically. It reveals an immanent-transcendent onto-cosmology
where “the ontological is revealed in the functioning of the cosmological,
and the cosmological is embodied in the framework of the ontological.”
Thus philosophically speaking ti-yong expresses the relationships of
wu 物—shi
事,
li-qi, transcendent-immanent, or the process of ziran. It is a
pedagogical concept embedded in a metaphysical system that methodologically
can be explained as aptitude-actualization.
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Commentary
COMMENT ON IT!
Guanwu
Neipian 52
觀物篇五十二:
體無定用,惟變是用;用無定體,惟化是體.
體用交而人物之道於是乎備矣.
For instance, see Umberto Bresciani,
Reinventing Confucianism: The New Confucian Movement, (Taipei:
Taipei Ricci Institute for Chinese Studies, 2001), 502-503.
