Self-deception, Sincerity (Cheng), and Zhu Xi’s Last Word

By Zemian Zheng

Hello everyone!

Using the lull before the 29th National Party Congress (from 16 October), this episode reproduces a fine work of scholarship by Professor Zheng Zemian (following Chinese convention, his surname Zheng is cited first; other minor formatting changes have been made in keeping with Substacks house style).

’There was Confucius in ancient times and Zhu Xi in modern times‘

As the illustration above states, Zhu Xi (朱熹 1130-1200) is deemed by many the most profound transmitter of Confucian teachings between Confucius himself and modern times, something like St Augustine or Aquinas in Western history. Living in the Southern Song dynasty, he helped found and systematise Neo-Confucianism, accepted as orthodox in the later Ming and Qing Dynasties.

For my ancient doctoral thesis, recalled in an earlier episode of Beijing Baselines, I went painfully through the discussion of ‘sincerity of will’ in the vast Conversations of Master Zhu 朱子语类, one of his cardinal works.

This discussion, decades later, is Professor Zheng’s topic. The conclusions I came to were not dissimilar, finding that Zhu had agonised over the weird power of self-deception, but had hesitated to apply the kind of moral psychology to deal with it that is part of modern thought. Lacking scholarship on Professor Zheng’s level to drive it home, my finding was little more than gut feeling.

Aside from this personal reason for appreciating this essay, there is once again a contemporary point of relevance for old- or newcomers to Beijing Baselines: the ancient value-complex of sincerity/self-deception lives on in Beijing’s doctrines of social credit chéngxìn 诚信 and absolute loyalty zhōngchéng 忠诚. This is despite Zhu and his doctrines having for most of PRC history been treated as a fountainhead of feudal values. A key idea of Zhu’s analysed by Zheng, ‘one cannot get to know oneself on one’s own’, surely needs restatement today.

---

Zemian Zheng, ‘Self-deception, Sincerity (Cheng), and Zhu Xi’s Last Word’

International Philosophical Quarterly Vol. 55, No. 3, Issue 219 (September 2015) 219–236

ABSTRACT: Zhu Xi believes that if one attains genuine knowledge of good and evil, one will do good and avoid evil wholeheartedly. As a result, the phenomena of self-deception and akrasia (weakness of will) pose a challenge to his moral psychology. On his deathbed, he revised his commentary on self-deception and sincerity in the book Great Learning. His final explanatory model could be understood as a moderate version of intentionalism: a self-deceiver tacitly allows room for thoughts that run counter to his ethical beliefs, even if this potentially undermines his integrity. This model highlights two major causes for self-deception: uncritical self-trust and the dubious ethical status of first-order desires. Zhu contends that thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own. As a remedy, he advocates an open-minded dialogue with the cultural world documented in the classics so as to avoid the myopia of the self.

For several decades now, self-deception has been an issue of controversy in Western philosophy. Yet few publications on Chinese philosophy deal with that problem. Roger T. Ames even doubts ‘whether anything that we would recognize as self-deception has been part of the Chinese experience.’¹ In the classical Confucian text Great Learning, however, the famous dictum ‘don’t deceive yourself’ appears in a passage on chéngyì (诚意 ‘making thoughts sincere’). Zhūxī (朱熹 a.k.a. Chu Hsi, 1130–1200), one of the most influential figures in Chinese philosophy, endeavored to account for it throughout his life. In this paper I will demonstrate how Zhu attempted to diagnose this ethical problem of self-deception—in conjunction with that of weakness of will—by presenting his explanatory models.

On his deathbed, Zhu’s last academic activity was to revise his commentary on the chéngyì passage in the Great Learning, but scholarship has so far neglected to examine whether the problem of self-deception is indeed the Achilles heel of Zhu’s ethics. In this paper, I will trace (philosophically and exegetically) the causes of Zhu’s dilemmas to his basic assumptions in moral psychology and especially the issue of how to explain the possibility of self-deception and akrasia, given his more or less ‘Socratic’ belief that genuine knowledge leads to action. I here collect and translate first-hand fragments of Zhu’s thoughts that are scattered in his correspondence and documented conversations. I defend his final model of self-deception as a moderate version of Intentionalism.

I will also demonstrate how Zhu’s reflections on the problems concerning the self may be seen as a fundamental challenge to the school of heart-mind (xīn xué 心学) represented by Lù Jiǔyuān (陸九渊 1139–1193) and Wáng Yángmíng (王阳明 1472–1529). A prevalent interpretation of these philosophers holds that Zhu advocates an objective investigation of principles, as if the source of normativity comes from the external (that is, a naïve version of realism). To this doctrine Lu and Wang raise internalist challenges by pointing out that all principles come from the heart-mind. Yet this oversimplified depiction does not do justice to Zhu’s ethics. Following Zhu’s diagnosis of self-deception, we may consider his notions that

1. the realm of thoughts and opinions lacks criteria by which to tell right from wrong and

2. blind self-trust forms a closed circle that might extend and intensify falsehood into self-deception.

Zhu’s view of self-deception has rarely been discussed before. Antonio S. Cua mentions it when focusing on the Great Learning and Xúnzi 荀子², and Robert C. Neville discusses the Confucian view of self-deception in general, but his discussion is rather a philosophical development of an idea loosely based on selective textual evidence.³ The greatest difficulty here lies in the fact that, over the course of decades, Zhu changed his mind several times. Before presenting his views, we must therefore sort out and date the first-hand resources, an effort that Qián Mù [钱穆 1895-1990] initiated but did not complete. By concluding the latter’s textual research and reconstructing this narrative of intellectual history, we may attain a deeper insight into Zhu’s moral psychology.

1. TERMINOLOGY: SELF-DECEPTION AND SINCERITY IN THE GREAT LEARNING

The equivalent of the English term ‘self-deception’ in the Chinese language is zìqī 自欺.⁴ In the Great Learning, the opposite of zìqī is chéng (诚 integrity, sincerity). The term chéng can be used as an adjective or as an adverb, meaning ‘real(ly), ‘honest(ly),” or ‘sincere(ly).’ As a noun, chéng is one of the most important terms in Chinese philosophy. As summarised by An Yanming 安延明, chéng has been translated as 'sincerity,' 'perfection,' 'truth,' 'realness,' or 'integrity.'⁵ I adopt the translation by Kwong-loi Shun [信广来 Xin Guanglai], using both 'sincerity' and 'wholeness' in my rendering of the term.⁶

In the sense of “‘wholeness,” chéng has two meanings in classical Confucian texts:

(1) the wholeness of a personality, devoid of inner divisions or struggles, and

(2) the unity of the internal (e.g., private thoughts, or self) and the external (e.g., objects; one’s public image in the view of others).

For example, in the Zhōng Yōng (中庸, Doctrine of the Mean), one of the Four Books compiled by Zhu, chéng is the dào (way) that unifies the internal and the external.

This terminological ambiguity is significant, since the failure to fulfill cheng may correspondently mean: (1) self-deception: hiding some thoughts or beliefs from oneself or one’s conscience; or (2) hypocrisy: hiding some thoughts or beliefs from others, while pretending to be a ‘better’ person. In rare cases, cheng can also be used as a verb, meaning ‘to preserve integrity’ or ‘to become sincere.’ For instance, chéng as a verb appears in the Great Learning in the phrase chéngyì (诚意 ‘making thoughts sincere’), a spiritual exercise that follows the stages of géwù (格物 ‘investigating things’) and zhìzhī (致知 ‘extending knowledge’) according to the eight stages of self-cultivation in the Great Learning. A noun here, yì (‘thoughts’) means deliberative thoughts: intentions that are sometimes precarious and subject to the influence of desires.⁷ In Zhu’s brief definition, yì is ’that which is activated in the heart-mind.‘⁸ In Zhu’s final version of commentary, chéng means [shí (实 ‘being real, being filled’) while chéngyì is to substantiate the thoughts about what is good and bad, so that this turns into a firm belief. According to Zhu, failure to fulfill this task would lead to self-deception or hypocrisy, that is to say, this passage emphasises that hypocrisy is a form of self-deception. The whole text reads as follows:

What is meant by ‘making the will [yì 意, “thoughts”] sincere’ is allowing no self-deception [i.e., ‘do not deceive yourself!’], as when we hate a bad smell or love a beautiful color. This is called satisfying oneself. Therefore the superior man will always be watchful over himself when alone. When the inferior man [xiǎo rén, 小人 “small or petty person”] is alone and leisurely, there is no limit to which he does not go in his evil deeds. Only when he sees a superior man does he then try to disguise himself, concealing the evil and showing off the good in him. But what is the use? For other people see him as if they see his very heart. This is what is meant by saying that what is true in a man’s heart will be shown in his outward appearance. Therefore the superior man will always be watchful over himself when alone. Zēngzi (曾子 a.k.a. Tseng Tzu] said, ‘What ten eyes are beholding and what ten hands are pointing to—isn’t it frightening?’ Wealth makes a house shining and virtue makes a person shining. When one’s mind is broad and his heart generous, his body becomes big and is at ease. Therefore the superior man always makes his will [yì, 'thoughts‘] sincere.⁹

According to this passage, hypocrites are self-deceivers, because they falsely believe that they can persist in their evil deeds, or in entertaining their bad thoughts, while being able to hide them from the attention of other people. On the other hand, self-deceivers are hypocrites in relation to themselves because they try to hide their wicked thoughts from the censure of their conscience, which is like ‘ten eyes beholding and ten hands pointing at’ their deeds. This uncomfortable inner division and conflict make a self-deceiver or a hypocrite a ‘small or petty person.’ By contrast, an ideal person would not hide anything from himself or from others. As a result, his heart-mind is broad, and his body is at ease. Such is the main idea of this passage.

The ambiguity of chéng—

(1) ‘wholeness of the self’;

(2) ‘unity of the internal and external’

—as well as the analogy to hypocrisy, seems to suggest that the author of this passage understands self-deception by means of an interpersonal model. In the following sections we will ask how Zhu sees this problem, as well as how and why he had great difficulty in writing the commentary on this passage and incorporating it in the framework of his own moral psychology.

2. ZHU XI ON GENUINE KNOWLEDGE AND THE POSSIBILITY OF SELF-DECEPTION

Zhu Xi struggles to provide an explanation of self-deception. Since Zhu amended his commentary of the chéngyì passage just three days before his death, we have reason to regard his comments as his philosophical last word, and yet they should be understood as part of his exegetical project to establish a new system of classics, the Four Books (adding to Confucius’s system of the Five Classics). Zhu’s last stroke in this commentary is on the chéngyì passage, but it is a problem that he carefully pondered for more than a decade during the last period of his life.¹⁰ When and how many times did Zhu revise this commentary? Qian Mu discovered that, in his later years, Zhu revised the commentary on the chéngyì passage at least four times. Some of these changes can be found in Zhuzi Yulei (朱子语类 Classified Conversations of Master Zhu).¹¹ Many letters mention his concern to revise the commentary on this point.¹² The letter to Sun Jingfu, for instance, was written only two years before Zhu’s death—precisely during the period when he was discussing this issue with his students night and day. These discussions are amply documented by Shen Xian in Zhuzi Yulei, on which Qian Mu’s conclusions are based. We will first consider the discussions in his correspondence, since the letters display the problem and the difficulty clearly, and then the suggestions made in the later dialogues as efforts to resolve the issue.

First, let us consider exegetical and philosophical conflicts as among his reasons for revising the commentary. Why should Zhu revise the cheng-yi passage so frequently? For Zhu, the great challenge here lies in a tension between his own philosophy and the procedure of self-cultivation in the Great Learning; the latter teaches that the effort of ‘making thoughts sincere’ (cheng-yi) is a distinctive stage of learning that follows the stages of ‘investigating things and extending knowledge’ (gewu, zhizhi); on the other hand, Zhu follows Chénɡ Yí [程颐 1033-1107] in defending a more or less ‘Socratic’ belief that if someone truly knows one thing to be good, he will do it. It is much the same for a person who was once wounded by a tiger; given the message that a tiger is approaching, that person will be more likely to panic and flee than other people who have not been wounded by a tiger.¹³ There are two problems Zhu must solve, one exegetical and the other philosophical.

(1) The exegetical conflict: if (as a result of extending knowledge) genuine knowledge has been attained, then, according to Zhu, one should truly be willing to act accordingly. Why should one still endeavor to make one’s thoughts sincere (chéngyì)? Zhou Shunbi, for instance, offered a criticism: if (as Zhu’s teaching insists) the thoughts in the one who really knows must already be sincere, then the following effort of 'making thoughts sincere' would be no different from foregoing cognitive efforts, and would be redundant.¹⁴

(2) The philosophical conflict: Zhu’s belief that genuine knowledge leads to actions is somewhat counter-intuitive, since there are cases when a person really knows what is good for himself, and yet cannot or will not do it (i.e., weakness of will). Even when one truly knows, there are still ethical lapses that one regards as if they were insignificant exceptions (i.e., self-deception). In this sense, Zhu’s idea is no less controversial than that of Socrates. It sounds commonsensical, though somewhat paradoxical, to urge that one should try to preserve wholeness and sincerity even when one already has genuine knowledge of good and evil. How, then, to account for the phenomena of self-deception and weakness of will? And how to avoid conflict between a philosophical belief and the exegetical project?

Zhu’s earlier works strictly deny the possibility of self-deception when one has genuine knowledge. Later, however, other scholars persuaded him to face the difficulty. During the long middle period of his life he vacillated. For instance, in 1191 he confesses his difficulty in his conversations in Yulei and in his correspondence when he frankly admits that moral efforts such as chéngyì (which follow cognitive efforts) would be redundant if he were to stick to his former position.¹⁵ Yet after 1195—that is, more than five years after he published his first version of the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books—he once more denied the possibility that self-deception may occur when one has genuine knowledge, stating that self-deception only signifies that one’s knowledge is not profound enough.¹⁶

Before tracing the development of Zhu’s thought on sincerity and self-deception, let me briefly demonstrate why he insists that the effort of ‘extending knowledge’ should precede that of ‘making thoughts sincere’ while also showing that what underlies this belief is his doctrine that genuine knowledge leads to action.

This ordering is not simply imposed on Zhu’s thought by the classical doctrines of Great Learning. Rather, it is a corollary of his own basic assumptions. First of all, ‘genuine knowledge leads to actions.’ Further, ‘thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own.’ One finds these reasons in a letter by Zhu in which he explains why he revised his commentary of the chéngyì passage:

However, thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own. Thus, as I ponder the order of the learning procedure [in the Great Learning], the effort of ‘making thoughts sincere’ should be preceded by ‘investigating things’ and ‘extending knowledge.’ Everyone has the heart-mind of humanity and righteousness; but so long as one has a body, one will not be free from the obscuration induced by material desires: therefore, one cannot get to know oneself on one’s own.

If one can investigate [the principles] in things to an utmost extent of clarity, to the extent that the qualities of all things, whether the great or the small, the refined or the coarse, will all be apprehended, then one sees that the principle and righteousness please the heart-mind naturally—just like meat pleases the mouth: no need for self-deception.

Otherwise, if one simply suppresses [the heart-mind or desires] so that they dare not deceive themselves, and if one thinks that the way of ‘rendering thoughts sincere’ is nothing but this, I am afraid that [this way of self-cultivation] is too harsh, though in vain, since it cannot avoid a covert self-deception. I used to comment on this [chéngyī] passage of the Great Learning to convey this idea; these days I read it again and do not find it clear enough. Hence I slightly revised it and hereby send a copy to you. Please examine it carefully and tell me your opinion.¹⁷

One may summarise Zhu’s core argument as follows. The effort of attaining a deeper knowledge of things through objective investigation should precede the subjective effort of making thoughts sincere for several reasons.

1. Negatively, thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own. If we are sometimes deceived by ourselves—and even without being aware that we are—how can we be sure that our thoughts are sincere enough? Is it not possible that we might be totally self-deceived when we are absolutely convinced in something and confident in our conviction? If all thoughts are equally subjective, how can we tell the right content from the self-inflicted delusion, if not through objective investigation?

2. Positively, one would do what one really believes to be good: that is, genuine knowledge leads to action. By contrast, suppression of desires only destroys spontaneity and breeds covert self-deception.

The contention that ‘thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own’ could be divided into two points.

1. Concerning motivational self-deception: one cannot get to know oneself—that is, have knowledge of one’s own moral tenor or genuine motive—precisely because one tends to deceive oneself. This is testified to by Zhu’s own further explanation that, though everyone has a good heart-mind, ‘so long as one has a body, one will not be free from the obscuration induced by material desires: therefore, one cannot get to know oneself on one’s own.’

2. Concerning normative self-deception: one cannot get to know what is proper on one’s own, i.e., merely through inner, subjective reflection. Only objective investigation of things may guarantee a proper ethical knowledge.¹⁸

The second point suggests a crucial discrepancy between Zhu and the school of heart-mind (心学 xīnxué) represented by Lu Jiuyuan and Wang Yangming. Here it is necessary to note that the latter never considered the complexity of self-deception. The underlying assumption is that the originally good heart-mind could never be totally obscured by self-seeking desires, which cause self-deception. Zhu seems to be rather suspicious about this doctrine; in his view, self-deception is not only a difficulty as regards its conflict with his doctrine of genuine knowledge but also an advantage in defending his theory, since it serves as a sobering warning to his opponent, Lu Jiuyuan. Zhu comments that all the defects of Lu’s doctrine come down to one basic failure: Lu ignores the possibility that the bad qi (气 material force/ vital force) could obscure the li (principle). One might follow whatever is prompted by the bad qi as if one were spontaneously following the principle from the heart-mind.¹⁹ But, as Zhu contends, how can one possibly be sure that the message from the heart-mind, or what the emotions prompt one to do, is good, and not a delusion (emphasis added - DK)? The question is the same as that which readers of Mencius may have, how can one tell good emotions from bad ones? Aren’t jealousy and anger as original and genuine as compassion and respect? Lu and Wang (Mencius’s major followers) are in the same predicament.

Zhu’s positive reason for the priority of ‘extending knowledge’ over ‘making thoughts sincere’ is his assertion that genuine knowledge leads to action. His notion of genuine knowledge (zhēnzhī 真知) is not second-hand information or theoretical knowledge, but a truth fully experienced and validated from lessons that one has gotten in real life.

Zhu had a debate with Lu, who complained that he was too fond of discussions concerning opinions. All thoughts are opinions, retorted Zhu: one should be able to tell right from wrong opinions. This contention is in line with the aforementioned view that ‘thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own.’ If thoughts or opinions contain no criterion for telling right from wrong, one should seek such differentiation and validation by investigating objects.²⁰ Conversely, Zhu complains that Lu is interested more in some mystical source of knowledge totally different from the realm of all opinions, as if one were to attain to the principle as soon as one discards all opinions.²¹ Almost blindly Lu trusts whatever his heart-mind tells him, thereby ignoring the possibility that one might misunderstand bad habits and emotions prompted by qì as sources of genuine knowledge. Elsewhere Zhu raises the criticism that Lu ’should not rely solely on private thoughts.‘²²

After considering why Zhu maintains that genuine knowledge leads to action, let us return to his dilemma. Why should extra efforts of ‘making thoughts sincere’ be performed even when genuine knowledge has been attained? After the phase of ‘extending knowledge,’ may one still be deceived by oneself? How might one explain this process?

3. TWO EARLIER MODELS OF SELF-DECEPTION REJECTED

Zhu’s correspondence testifies more to the difficulty of this problem than to the way in which he struggled for an answer. The latter is amply documented in Yulei. Zhu’s models of self-deception vary according to two factors: whether self-deceivers have genuine knowledge and whether they have deceitful intentions. Zhu’s first model in his commentary of the chéngyì passage reads:

Everyone knows that the good should be pursued, but if one does not know it deeply enough, ‘what is provoked in one’s heart-mind' [i.e., thoughts] might contain something bad [intentionally hidden] inside, while the good is displayed on the outside, in order to deceive oneself. Therefore, to make one’s thoughts sincere, there is no other way than to forbid this.²³

According to Zhu’s later explanation, ‘something bad hidden inside’ means that self-deceivers, who lack genuine knowledge, intend to deceive themselves in order to permit ethical lapses. Later Zhu abandoned this model and revised the commentary. Otherwise only such activities as forging money could be called self-deception.²⁴ In the same passage he differentiates self-deception from hypocrisy. Hypocrites have an intention to simulate favourable exterior. Like those who forge money, they are aware of the fact that they merely pretend to be honest. On the other hand, self-deceivers may not have an overt or clear intention. There is a covert and deceitful purposiveness, but the one being deceived is the self, not others (emphasis added - DK). Still, a common paradox may have also beset Zhu at this point—a challenge common to all theorists maintaining that self-deception involves an intention. If the liar and the deceived are identical, then how might one believe something that one knows to be untrue, given one’s knowledge of the intention to lie?²⁵ Zhu’s first model neither addressed these aspects nor explained the exact possibility of self-deception. His second model reads as follows:

If ‘what is provoked in the heart-mind’ [i.e., thoughts (意 yi)] is good outside, but bad inside [i.e., unknowingly], then even one’s liking the good and disliking the evil is [an unintentional] self-deception [in that one is deceived into believing that one really has proper likes and dislikes], and one’s thoughts are not sincere.²⁶

Zhu adds that self-deceivers do not understand moral principles profoundly or substantially (实 shí ), thereby falling prey to self-deception unknowingly. He also states that he used to connect this topic to his theory that genuine knowledge leads to action, which he now sees as unnecessary.²⁷ It is at this point that Zhu decides to treat the problem of self-deception on its own rather than simply stating that the self-deceiver has no genuine knowledge, as he had before, for that simply begs the question. Methodologically, an empirical question cannot be answered by a lexical or an analytical approach. That a good knife can cut is analytically true; yet why a certain defective knife cannot cut through things requires a further, empirical explanation. By the same token, self-deception is a defective version of ethical knowledge, not genuine enough to motivate action. An empirical explanation is required as to how a genuine knowledge might have decayed.

Elsewhere, Zhu explains that self-deception occurs 'when one knows that the good is to be preferred, and one actually wants to be good, only in one’s heart-mind there is a voice saying "it doesn’t matter."'²⁸ In this way, thoughts are not pure enough—unlike those of Yan Hui, Confucius’s favorite disciple, who never failed to notice whenever a bad thought passed.²⁹ Hence chéngyì (‘keeping thoughts sincere’) is an exercise more difficult for advanced learners having attained to a certain level of virtue and ethical knowledge. This is so because the more reliable their virtue is, the more they tend to trust themselves. They are then at a greater risk of a relapse. This also explains why chéngyì is necessary even after one has gained genuine knowledge, and why only the best learners of virtue (like Yan Hui) manage to do this.

Zhu was inclined to think that self-deception occurs unintentionally. To indicate how uncontrollable the thoughts are in one’s subconsciousness, he associated his description of self-deception with Xunzi’s saying: 'when the mind is asleep, it dreams. When it relaxes, it moves of its own accord. When it is employed in a task, it plans.'³⁰ Here Zhu’s non-intentionalist model avoided the difficulty of all intentionalist models, namely, how one can intentionally adopt the strategy of lying to oneself. But a new difficulty occurs: if this happens only unintentionally, it may simply be called a mistake or an illusion, but not a self-deception, since the deceived is not at the same time a moral agent intending to lie. Moreover, as someone reminds Zhu, another exegetical problem is that there is a negative imperative jìnzhǐ zhī cí [禁止之词] in the chéngyì passage: ‘Don’t deceive yourself!’³¹ In this sense, the self-deceiver addressed by this imperative is thought of as knowingly committing something objectionable that leads to self-deception. Zhu’s second model did not fulfill this requirement.

In the following section, I submit that Zhu’s final solution is a moderate version of the intentionalist model. Considering the difficulties involved in the first (intentionalist) and second (non-intentionalist) models, Zhu has to steer a middle course: namely, to treat self-deception neither as perfidy (otherwise it would be hard to explain why the intentional self could become deceived) nor as an unconscious misleading of desires (otherwise the self-deceiver could not be held responsible, and it would be pointless to say: ‘don’t deceive yourself’).

4. ZHU’S FINAL MODEL OF SELF-DECEPTION

Thanks to Jingzi’s suggestion that self-deception consists in a covert permission that allows room for unethical thoughts, Zhu came to realize the problem of the second (non-intentionalist) model. With this observation, Jingzi disagreed with Zhu’s definition of self-deception: ‘externally, one seems to be doing good, but internally one cannot avoid unethical thoughts from slipping inside.’³² He also submitted a definition that Zhu rejected at first but accepted the next morning after pondering the question during the night. Zhu’s final model of self-deception is in line with Jingzi’s suggestion: 'Externally one seems to be doing good, but internally one allows unethical thoughts to slip inside.'³³ By substituting 'allows' for 'cannot avoid,' Zhu admits that his former definition focuses only on the ultimate root of this phenomenon (i.e., subconscious desires), not on this phenomenon itself. In other words, Zhu realized that he should not confound the cause of self-deception with its nature. Although the ultimate motivational source comes from a very subtle level of desires, in order to fulfill the definition of self-deception, an agent should at least commit it knowingly, while still concealing it from his own conscience.³⁴

To demonstrate Zhu’s point, I will here outline the conditions of self-deception, then show them to be explanatory of this phenomenon, and finally support this interpretation with Zhu’s textual evidence. Self-deception occurs when

1. The agent knows that p (including ethical belief: i.e., ‘what one should do’).

2. The agent knows there are thoughts or intentions (which favor not-p) slipping in, on account of desires on a conscious or on a subconscious level. As first-order desires, they are not problematic and could be allowed a public voice (to be explained in what follows: the dubious ethical status of first-order desires).

3. The agent tacitly allows room for the thoughts, or keeps them in mind privately (si) since the agent trusts himself to keep them from harming his integrity (to be explained below: uncritical self-trust).

4. The agent believes that it is not problematic to keep them; or worse, the agent might believe that it does not matter to do something according to these thoughts; exceptions are permissible. Hence the agent becomes self-deceived. He is divided in that he does something counter to his belief p, which he still maintains.

The strength of this model is that it captures some of the most striking characteristics of this phenomenon: conflicts of co-existing beliefs and the presence of a responsible agency. Without the former, the state of being self-deceived cannot be differentiated from wishful thinking, delusion, or purely cognitively false belief. Without the latter, the self-deceivers could not be held responsible for their deeds. It also explains how desires motivate or distort one’s belief. Exegetically, this model is coherent with the imperative ‘don’t deceive yourself!’ in the Great Learning.

It remains to be seen how this model answers the crucial questions: how is a formerly held genuine knowledge lost? How is it possible that self-deception occurs even at the stage of advanced learners? Or, to use our list of conditions, how do (2) and (3) together lead to (4)? To solve this problem, two factors in this model must be elaborated further: uncritical self-trust and the dubious ethical status of first-order desires.

Uncritical Self-Trust

It is often neglected that deception occurs only when the deceived one trusts the liar. Without a basis of trust, it makes no sense to believe anything, not to mention deceiving or being deceived. This holds true in self-deception also: self-deceivers have reasons to trust themselves since most people think that their thoughts are transparent to themselves, while being unaware of the fact that their thoughts and beliefs might be influenced by deeper motivations. It is on this basis of self-trust that self-deception occurs. Without a close examination of the self, one tends to believe that one knows oneself: this could turn into a closed circle. How does a closed circle intensify the falsity of a belief? Let us first consider cases of collective self-deception: a society can become self-deceived if people uncritically trust the media, even while the media (though perhaps trustworthy in most cases) are distorting or misrepresenting certain facts. By means of the media these distorted reports or values become widely accepted by the people, some of whom will in turn choose to become media editors or correspondents, thereby carrying the false or biased belief even further. These also form a closed circle, which will intensify certain biases, provided that it remains without adequate self-examination. A much simpler example of collective self-deception would be a headstrong person consulting his friends about what to do while his friends know that he has already made his plan and that they cannot change his mind. Lest they lose his friendship, they advise him to follow his heart and do what he had already planned. He trusts his friends and is then reassured about his own plan as if it were justified. In this case, the closed circle only intensifies false beliefs.

The closed circle of self-trust explains the mechanism of self-deception. At the beginning of a deceptive process, biased belief need not be strong. It might simply start with a form of wishful thinking, provided that the will to truth is not strong enough and that the fact is not salient enough to correct one’s false belief. Hence one’s wishful thinking intensifies itself and may then congeal into a belief. Here, at the beginning, no clear and overt intention of deceit is required. All one needs to do is to tacitly allow room for the trick: that is, to keep one’s former correct belief from being conclusive in one’s own view. While no clear intention is required, the process nonetheless begins when one knowingly allows. This new factor of willingly allowing holds the agent responsible for the objectionable status.

Here the theme of the problematic self reverberates. Zhu’s contention that ‘thoughts cannot render themselves sincere on their own’ was explicated above. He believes that, although all principles are endowed in the heart-mind, they may become obscured by desires and emotions; as a result, it is difficult to tell right from wrong. Zhu advocates learning by means of an open-minded dialogue between the learners and the world, and especially the historical and cultural world recorded in the classics. By implication, this means that if self-trust is not checked by objective examination, the self might turn into a closed circle, in which errors circulate and intensify of their own accord, thereby leading to self-deception.

The Dubious Ethical Status of First-Order Desires

It might be argued that this is simply begging the question, for to allow wishful thinking is but another way of saying that there is a volitional weakness about making truth salient and conclusive to oneself, while still leaving this weakness of will itself unexplained. Although the closed circle of self-trust is conducive to circulating and intensifying self-deceiving errors, it is still unclear how the initial error would be allowed to enter into this system. To borrow Aristotle’s terms, taking ‘uncritical self-trust’ as the mechanism of self-deception only explains the formal cause. We still have to identify the efficient cause: what is it that first triggers the mechanism from a ‘static’ (formerly correct) belief to an unbalanced, self-intensifying ‘movement’ of falsity?

Here the tricks are rooted in the dubious ethical status of first-order desires. Unrealistic wishes to satisfy first-order desires are usually permitted a public voice, so long as one’s commitment to one’s true belief has not been compromised (to say nothing of corrupted). Yet, if the unrealistic wishes are privately preserved and become persistent, they may topple the system of genuine beliefs formerly held. Let us take a simple case to explain this: Bill is determined to give up smoking. He still feels strong impulses to smoke, but he refrains. This unfulfilled wish is human and natural. It should be allowed a public voice. He talks to his friends concerning his wish to smoke, but he is pretty sure he will not. He wins sympathy for his endurance; he is admired for his willpower and abstinence. By this course, he comes to enjoy friendly and open-minded acceptance concerning his natural desires. This public relief, the sympathetic support from his friends, may ease his withdrawals. The need to have a public voice to relieve inner struggles is one reason why abstinent individuals often choose to gather in associations or clubs for communication and mutual support.

But now that the first-order desire is allowed a public voice, Bill also feels comfortable with keeping the voice about his desire in mind, thinking that a petition of non-ideal desires, if not permitted, is harmless to his integrity. Yet it is in keeping thoughts privately to the self (sī)³⁵ that Bill renders dubious the ethical status of these non-ideal desires, since he tolerates the inner voice of his desires in the same way that his friends tolerate him and his statements concerning his wish to smoke. He is unaware of the fact that attitudes toward the proposition 'it doesn’t matter' are shifting from a public to a private context. Even should he not relapse, his motivational set is now defective since he preserves elements of unwillingness against his resolve of remaining abstinent.

This undermines his chéng (‘sincerity, wholeness’), potentially to the extent that he may eventually think he can never get rid of his addiction, he may even find the cost of enduring inner struggles much higher than that of unhealthy habits: it may no longer make sense to give up smoking.

In this case, weakness of will in a person who actually had genuine knowledge is caused by unrealistic wishes for a non-ideal desire preserved knowingly and privately to the self, which at the very beginning is salubrious and allowed a public voice. The trick lies in switching its dubious ethical status, that is, in the difference of propositional attitudes in a public and a private context. In his hiding the wishes, he tacitly allows a voice that may later become predominant in his mind, thereby undermining his plan as a whole.

To sum up, this explanation fulfills the requirements for a model of self-deception:

1. One is self-deceived because one falsely believes that his privately retaining or tacitly allowing his urge does not injure his integrity

2. One is responsible for this self-deception because one knowingly allows it

3. It explains the mechanism of getting oneself into falsely believing something by pointing out the credulity of self-trust as well as the dubious ethical status of first-order desires.

This point is important in understanding Zhu’s ethics. He clearly states that desire itself is not problematic and that thoughts (yì) as ‘that which are activated in the heart-mind’ are originally good. In his lecture notes for the court (a document that contains his early commentary on the chéngyì passage), for instance, he asserts, ‘human heart-mind is originally good, so the thoughts provoked in it are also good. However, self-deception occurs when material desires are ‘privately kept’ (sī 私) in mind and the thoughts to do good become insubstantial.'³⁶

Here I disagree with some interpretations of Zhu concerning the relationship between self-deception and the source of evil. A common misunderstanding is that Zhu and other Neo-Confucians condemn desire itself.³⁷ A closer reading reveals that the terms 'human desires' (rényù 人欲) and material ones do not refer to desire as such but to excessive or selfish desires. It is now widely accepted that, for Zhu and many other Neo-Confucians, the source of evil lies in selfishness; yet it must be noted that the term sī has two meanings:

(1) 'selfish'

(2) 'private'

I argue that selfishness does not cover all symptoms of evil. Mencius criticised not only Yang Zhu’s egotism but also the ultra-altruism of Mozi [墨子 BCE 479-438].³⁸

I submit that Zhu thinks selfishness (sī as ‘selfish’) and all other symptoms of evil come from one source: the misconception of moral principles through self-deception, while self-deception originates in the switch of dubious ethical status of first-order desires when one keeps unethical thoughts in mind (sī as ‘private’), thinking that it doesn’t undermine one’s wholeness (emphasis added).

Accordingly, I have to disagree with Takahiro Nakajima 中島隆博, who thinks that Zhu ‘defined the true character of this self-deception as ‘human desires’ since he neglects in the presence of textual evidence what Zhu takes to be problematic: not ‘human desire’ as such but ‘the sī (keeping private) of human desires.’³⁹

It might be argued that this model does not cover all cases of self-deception since this model deals only with ethical lapses or the weakness of will that involve a certain pair of contradictory beliefs, not self-deception in general. On the whole, the self-deceivers believe something contrary to the facts. Such a failure is cognitive; the failing typical in cases of Zhu’s model is behavioural. To defend that this model could be universally applied, I argue that, should self-deceivers not simply be mistaken but also held responsible, then their flouting of cognitive norms must be in a sense behavioural, at least in the sense of tacitly allowing a voice of wishful thinking, and of falsely trusting their strength in maintaining integrity in all of their acts including cognitive acts. In this way, self-deception is not merely cognitive but behavioural. Judging only by behavioural and not by cognitive standards, a scientist who is misled by an unnoticed falsity is not to blame; but a scientist who is self-deceived may very well be.

In other words, we can distinguish two levels of self-deception. The first level of self-deception is prima facie cognitive in that the self-deceiver falsely believes something for which he has evidence to the contrary. The more fundamental level of self-deception lies in the mechanism that agents tend to trust themselves, while at the same time being deceived into believing that it is not problematic to allow room for some form of comfortable, albeit false, wishful thinking. It is this more fundamental and formal mechanism that smuggles all the first-level and substantial falsehood into the self-deceiver’s belief system. These two levels of self-deception are similar to the analogy of hypocrisy in the chéngyì passage in which the hypocrite allows himself private misbehaviour hidden from others or from his own conscience (similar to the first level of self-deception). Yet he is only fooling himself, for he falsely believes that he is really able to conceal his true nature (similar to the more fundamental level of self-deception), while in fact others or his conscience see through his facade.

5. ZHU’S LAST WORD

Before reading Zhu’s last word, let me summarise how Zhu solves the conflicts between his theory of genuine knowledge and the phenomenon of self-deception as connected to akrasia (weakness of will). The main idea is that weakness of will is a form of self-deception, which means to tacitly give room to wishful thoughts that may later topple a previously genuine belief. Hence self-deception is a decayed or defective form of genuine knowledge.

The key to Zhu’s solution lies in his distinction between yì and zhì, in order to explain how the will (zhì 志) may be strengthened by genuine knowledge and how the will may also be weakened through desires (欲 yu) or unrealistic thoughts or wishes (yi 意). It is noteworthy that the English word ‘will’ is rendered in Chinese by a combination of two characters yì (意 ‘thoughts, precarious, deliberative or wishful thoughts’) and zhì (志 ‘will, determination’). Their conjunction obscures difference between them. Zhu adopts Zhang Zai’s [张载 1020-77] saying that ‘willing is public, while thoughts are private (sī )’ and adds that willing is pure and strong, while thoughts are miscellaneous and yielding.⁴⁰ ‘Willing’ denotes a determination to do something uprightly and publicly, while ‘thoughts’ have a connotation of doing something sneakily and privately.⁴¹ In ‘willing’ the heart-mind goes straight ahead, while ‘thoughts’ deliberate in a back-and-forth manner, like the feet of willing supporting it.⁴²

Zhu insists that the only way to make thoughts sincere is through attaining genuine knowledge.⁴³ Just as eyesight sets the destination and the route for the feet to walk, knowledge sets the target for the focus of one’s volition, while thoughts support the willing like feet supporting a walking body. In the basic sense, zhì (‘willing’) is the direction of the heart-mind.⁴⁴ This Chinese character also denotes the targets for shooting arrows—a metaphor used by Zhu to show that willing also has the sense of ‘being firmly focused on and settled down with’ (定 ding) certain aims.⁴⁵ As noted above, Zhu thinks that thoughts are precarious, that they cannot render themselves sincere on their own. Thus, the only way to settle them is through knowingly targeting them at a certain aim fixed by an investigation in an objective manner. In this way, knowledge influences the motivational power of the agency. The same observation can be found in Max Scheler, who points out that every willing of a purpose is already grounded in an act of representation:

[I]t is only in the phenomenon of ‘withdrawing’ from conative consciousness toward representing consciousness, as well as toward representing comprehension of the goal- content given in conation, that the consciousness of purposes comes to a realization.⁴⁶

Knowledge forms the realm of willing against a general background of wishing. An infant may have wishes, but it can neither will anything nor distinguish willing from wishing since willing requires (1) the awareness that a certain goal is to be targeted as a purpose not randomly, but with a rational plan, and (2) the awareness that the target is within the reach of one’s abilities. What falls outside of the sphere of one’s abilities cannot be willed, thus remains an unrealistic wish.⁴⁷ It is through a cognitive effort—through objective knowledge both about the world and about the self—that one’s conative powers can be consistently directed and channeled in a rational manner. Experience is negative and selective in excluding unrealistic wishing from the sphere of willing; in this way, it prevents genuine knowledge from decay. The Chinese character zhì (志 ‘willing’) is also associated with knowledge. Antonio S. Cua points out that, according to [the ancient semantics treatise] Shuowen 说文, it can be used in the sense of memory or ‘what the mind knows or is familiar with’ (shi) since willing presupposes that the person is aware (shi) of the object of his will.⁴⁸ In this sense Zhu is right to hold that genuine knowledge is the key to making thoughts sincere.

From the reverse perspective, the relation between knowledge and will is a key to understand the mechanism of self-deception: as demonstrated above, two factors— the uncritical self-trust and the dubious ethical status of first-order desires—smooth the process of self-deception. First-order desires as such are not problematic until their unethical petition are allowed a persistent voice in mind and later threaten to undermine one’s resolve and emotional commitment to a certain belief. When one experiences the inner struggle that threatens to split oneself asunder, one may falsely believe that one cannot truly hold on to principles. When one feels that one cannot do something, it makes no sense to say that one ought to do it. When one does not think that one can do something, one no longer wills it, although one might wish one could. In this way, self-deception undermines one’s normative and emotional convictions and engenders weakness of will. Therefore, the effort of chéngyì is always required. Zhu interprets the term chéng ('sincere') as substantiating the thoughts, so as to emphasize the solidity and purity of thoughts as the ideal in this stage of learning.⁴⁹ Moreover, in Zhu’s final version of commentary, substantiating one’s thoughts is considered a way of joyful self-fulfillment since it relieves unpleasant tension and inner struggles.⁵⁰

In conclusion, it should be added that after a life-long and complicated inquiry Zhu’s last word on philosophy stated to his students on the day he last revised the commentary on the chéngyì passage, is amazingly clear and simple:

the thrust of learning lies only in investigating what is right in everything, and resolutely removing what is wrong. These accumulative efforts would lead to the unity of the heart-mind with principle, and there would be no sīqù (私趣 ‘selfishness, partiality’) in ‘all [things] that are activated in the heart-mind’ [i.e., thoughts]. The way the sages respond to ten thousand events, the way Heaven and Earth give birth to ten thousand things, is nothing but straightforwardness (直 zhí).⁵¹

It is no surprise that in Zhu’s last word, chéng (‘sincerity, wholeness’) is not only associated with absence of self-deception but also with a sense of spontaneity or straightforwardness, and even with the Dao (Way) of Heaven. This is continuous with a long Confucian tradition. Zhongyong describes the person of cheng to be the one who 'hits upon what is right without effort and apprehends without thinking'⁵² and who 'ensure[s] that ten thousand things take their proper places' naturally and without deliberate effort.⁵³ In both Zhongyong and Mencius, chéng is the Way of Heaven, while the Way of humans consists in focusing one’s thoughts and endeavors on it, a spontaneous straightforwardness.⁵⁴ What Zhu left us in his last word is a paradox: after all thoughtful efforts are made in substantiating thoughts about right and wrong, so as to make thoughts sincere, the ultimate achievement is ‘no thoughts’—if we recall that in Zhu’s terminology yì (thoughts) are deliberative.⁵⁵

1. Roger T. Ames, “A Classical Chinese Self and Hypocrisy” in Self and Deception: A Cross-cultural Philosophical Enquiry, ed. Roger T. Ames and Wimal Dissanayake (New York NY: State Univ. of New York Press, 1996), p. 219. Ames comprehends the Chinese self as contextually defined and non-individuated. In his reading of Chinese culture, to be ‘self-conscious’ does not mean the ability to ‘isolate and objectify one’s essential self’ but only to be ‘aware of oneself as a locus of observation and deference by others’ (Ames, p. 234). In this sense, deception is not an individual but a communal phenomenon, namely, hypocrisy. Robert C. Solomon doubts: ‘why should we assume that the Chinese view is all that foreign to us?’ in his ‘Self, Deception, and Self-deception in Philosophy’ in Ames and Dissanayake, p. 112. The essays by Antonio S. Cua and Robert C. Neville in the same volume both contribute to a reading of the Confucian view of precisely the phenomenon of self-deception

2. See Antonio S. Cua, “A Confucian Perspective on Self-Deception” in Ames and Dissanayake, Self and Deception, p. 181. Cua, “Self-deception” in Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, ed. Antonio S. Cua (New York NY: Routledge, 2003), pp. 670–73.

3. See Robert C. Neville, “A Confucian Construction of a Self-Deceivable Self” in Ames and Dissanayake, Self and Deception, pp. 208–15; Neville, Boston Confucianism: Portable Tradition in the Late Modern World (New York NY: State Univ. of New York Press, 2000), pp. 179–86.

4. Semantically and syntactically similar to the English word ‘self,’ zi (self) combined with a verb means that the subject and object of an act are identical. Qi means “to cheat” or “to bully.” In this context, qi means to cheat.

5. Yanming An, ‘Western “Sincerity” and Confucian “Cheng”,’ Asian Philosophy 14 (2004): 157–58.

6. Kwong-loi Shun, “Cheng (Ch’eng): Wholeness or Sincerity” in Antonio S. Cua, Encyclopedia of Chinese Philosophy, pp. 37–39. Shun, ‘Wholeness in Confucian Thought: Zhu Xi on Cheng, Zhong, Xin, and Jing’ in The Imperative of Understanding: Chinese Philosophy, Comparative Philosophy, and Onto-Hermeneutics—A Tribute Volume Dedicated to Professor Chung-ying Cheng, ed. On-cho Ng (New York NY: Global Scholarly Publications, 2008), pp. 261–72.

7. Cua summarizes the basic sense of yi in Chen Chun’s lexical analysis of Zhu Xi’s thought as follows: “in the basic sense, yi is thoughtful consideration of the proper expression of feelings, involving an appraisive judgment which furnishes the object of will, and it is often accompanied by the intention to carry it out in actual performance.’ Cua, ‘A Confucian Construction of a Self-Deceivable Self,’ p. 180.

8. Zhu, Sishu Zhangju Jizhu (Collected Commentaries on the Four Books) (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1983), p. 3.

9. Wing-tsit Chan, A Sourcebook of Chinese Philosophy (Princeton NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1963), pp. 89–90 (interpolations mine).

10. In his earlier years of studying he told his friend Zhang Shi in a letter that he was ardently seeking the meaning of cheng-yi; see Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu (Complete Works of Master Zhu) (Shanghai: Anhui Jiaoyu Chubanshe, Shanghai Guji Chubanshe, 2002), vol. 21, p. 1349. Chen Lai dates this letter to 1175; cf. Chen, Zhuzi Shuxin Biannian Kaozheng (Shanghai: San Lian Shu Dian, 2007), pp. 135–36.

11. Mu Qian, Zhuzi Xin Xue’an (New Anthology and Critical Accounts of Master Zhu), (Taipei: Lian jing Chuban Shiye Gongsi, 1994), vol. 2, p. 427.

12. Sources that mention his revisions include a letter to Wang Yizhi (see Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 23, p. 2883), dated probably after 1188 (see Chen, Zhuzi Shuxin Biannian Kaozheng, p. 288); one to Chen Caiqing (see Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 23, p. 2850) in 1189 (see Chen, p. 308); one to Wang Changru (see Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 22, p. 2465) in 1191—see Zemian Zheng, ‘Zhu Xi on Self-Cultivation and Moral Psychology,’ Ph.D. diss., Chinese University of Hong Kong (2011), p. 239; another to Zheng Zishang (see Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 23, p. 2681) in 1191 (see Chen, p. 341); and, finally, one to Sun Jingfu (see Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 23, p. 3067) in 1198 (see Chen, p. 479).

13. See Hao Cheng and Yi Cheng, Er Cheng Yi (Collected Works of the Cheng Brothers) (Beijing: Zhong Hua Shu Ji, 1981), pp. 187–88.

14. See Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 22, pp. 2336–37. According to Chen Lai, this letter was probably written in 1197 or in 1198; see Chen, Zhuzi Shuxin Biannian Kaozheng, p. 436.

15. See Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei (Classified Conversations of Master Zhu) (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1986), p. 327. Cf. Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 22, p. 2465. For dating of these documents, see Zheng, “Zhu Xi on Self-Cultivation and Moral Psychology,” p. 239.

16. In this letter Zhu states: “you then maintain that there are cases when one attains genuine knowledge and still deceives oneself; that is not true. The very phenomenon of self-deception proves only that the self-deceiver’s knowledge is not deep enough.” See Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 23, p. 2860 (translation mine). For dating of these documents, see Chen, Zhuzi Shuxin Biannian Kaozheng, p. 444.

17. Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 23, p. 2883 (translation, interpolation, and emphasis mine). According to Chen Lai, it might be written after 1188 (Chen, Zhuzi Shuxin Biannian Kaozheng, p. 288).

18. These two kinds of self-deception always go hand in hand but do not imply each other. Level 1 does not imply level 2. A hypocrite, for example, the xiāngyuàn (乡愿village worthy; DK: ‘hometown prig’) whom Confucius and Mencius condemned, could be self-deceived into believing himself to be doing wholeheartedly what is good. In this case he does know what is proper to do, but is self-deceived concerning the purity of his motivational basis. Neither does level 2 imply level 1. A person could be self-deceived into truly believing that his misbehavior is proper; in this way, the underlying motivation supports his actions, and need not be twisted by self-deception.

19. See Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 2977.

20. Zhu was a renaissance man of his time: his objects of investigation included natural, social, cultural, historical, and classical studies—the latter involving his learning the sayings and documents of the sages. See Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 6, pp. 527–28.

21. See Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 2972.

22. Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 21, p. 1549.

23. Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 336 (translation and interpolations mine).

24. Ibid., p. 336–37.

25. Alfred Mele summarizes two puzzles of self-deception that we have to face if we are to follow the lexical approach and use the interpersonal model to explain self-deception: (1) If the deceiver and the deceived are the same person, how can one believe something which one as a deceiver does not believe (“static puzzle”)? (2) To deceive someone is an intentional activity; how, then, can one adopt a strategy for deceiving oneself, if one knows exactly what the deceiver plans to do (“dynamic puzzle”)? See Alfred Mele, “Real Self-Deception,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 20 (1997): 91–102.

26. Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 336 (translation and interpolations mine).

27. Ibid., p. 336.

28. Ibid., p. 328 (translation mine).

29. Ibid.

30. 21.5d, John Knoblock, Xunzi: a Translation and Study of the Complete Works, III, Books 17–32 (Stanford CA: Stanford Univ. Press, 1994), p. 104. Cf. Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, pp. 337–38.

31. Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 337. See also Zhu, Sishu Zhangju Jizhu, p. 7.

32. Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 337 (translation and emphasis mine).

33. Ibid. (translation and emphasis mine).

34. Ibid., pp. 338–39.

35. In Zhu’s terminology, thought (yi) is contrasted with willing (zhi). Thoughts tend to hide something privately (si) while willing is usually publicly stated (gong). See Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 96.

36. Zhu, Zhuzi Quanshu, vol. 20, p. 710 (translation mine).

39 Robert C. Neville pays more attention to the problem of si. He states that for Zhu and other Confucians, one form of self-deception arises from selfishness.

40 To render si as selfishness, however, is still not close enough to Zhu’s meaning in this context. What Zhu sees as the cause of self-deception is not selfishness as such but the precariousness of thoughts influenced by petitions of desires privately kept and not willingly shared.

37. This misunderstanding is still maintained by some recent scholars. The paradigmatic version of this misleading view can be found in Dai Zhen (1724–1777). See Zemian Zheng, “Dai Zhen’s Criticism and Misunderstanding of Zhu Xi’s Moral Theory,” Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy (forthcoming in 2015, issue 3).

38. Mencius 7A:26.

39. Takahiro Nakajima, The Chinese Turn in Philosophy (Tokyo: The Univ. of Tokyo Center for Philosophy, DIG Inc, 2007), p. 39. His textual evidence is from Zhu’s preface to his commentary of Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean); See Zhu, Sishu Zhangju Jizhu, p. 14.

40. Neville, “A Confucian Construction of a Self-Deceivable Self,” p. 179.

41. See Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 732, p. 96.

42. Ibid., p. 96.

43. Ibid., p. 302.

44. See Zhu, Sishu Zhangju Jizhu, p. 54

45. See, Zhu, Zhuzi Yulei, p. 154. We can find other textual evidence in support of this connection in Zhu’s commentary on a sentence from the Great Learning: ‘once knowledge has settled [on an understanding of a proper ‘resting place,’] one can settle down.’ Zhu comments that ‘once one knows, one’s zhi (willing) has an established direction.’ Zhu, Sishu Zhangju Jizhu, p. 3.

46. Max Scheler, Formalism in Ethics and Non-Formal Ethics of Values, trans. Manfred S. Frings and Roger L. Funk (Evanston IL: Northwestern Univ. Press, 1973), pp. 39–40.

47. Ibid., p. 125.

48. Cua, “A Confucian Perspective on Self-Deception,” p. 194.

49. See Zhu, Sishu Zhangju Jizhu, pp. 3–4.

50. Ibid., p. 7. According to Qian Mu, Zhu’s revision of the commentary before his death changed ‘be whole-hearted to goodness’ into ‘fulfill oneself with joy’ (Qian, vol. 2, p. 423–27). I surmise that what Zhu revised was more than this. See Zemian Zheng, ‘Zhu Xi on Self-Cultivation and Moral Psychology,’ Ph.D. diss., Chinese University of Hong Kong (2011), 249–51.

51. Maohong Wang, Zhu Xi Nian Pu (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1998), p. 265 (translation and interpolation mine).

52. Chan, A Sourcebook of Chinese Philosophy, p. 107.

53. Shun, “Cheng (Ch’eng): Wholeness or Sincerity,” p. 38.

54. See Doctrine of the Mean in Chan, A Sourcebook of Chinese Philosophy, p. 107, and Mencius 4A:12.

55. I wish to give special thanks to Kwong-loi Shun, Gerhard Bauer, and Sung Hiu Chuk Winnie for their comments on early drafts of this paper. I am also very grateful to many scholars for their feedback at the Society of Asian and Comparative Philosophy Annual Conference 2014 at SUNY Binghamton, as well as in a Colloquium hosted by Hans Feger in the Department of Philosophy, Freie Universität Berlin. Research was funded by Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG) “Förderkennzeichen ZUK 33/2” in Dahlem Humanities Center and Dahlem Research School, Freie Universität Berlin.