Bits and Pieces, Episode Two

l To say that human nature is inherently good or that human nature is inherently evil both seem to make sense; why not simply say that human nature is both good and evil, or neither good nor evil? In the end, when we want to describe a villain, we still like to say he is “lacking humanity.” In fact, when one says that human nature is inherently good, one is also stressing another side of the matter: goodness is itself human nature. That is to say, goodness comes from oneself; seeking goodness requires only self-help and self-discipline, without looking outward for it. This is similar to Kant’s intention in emphasizing the absolute imperative of the inner heart.

l Ever since my freshman year, I have said that “problems” are the core of philosophy, and that the history of philosophy is not merely a history of texts, but also a history of problems. This is not to say that the task of philosophers is simply to pose questions. It is true that “big questions” are not so easy to find. What philosophers across the generations have concerned themselves with is nothing more than a limited number of questions: being, death, eternity, love, truth, goodness, beauty… These great questions, together with their different forms and variations, constitute the thread of philosophy. As for philosophers, of course they must think and try to answer questions, rather than spend all day thinking about coming up with brand-new ones. But philosophers still begin with asking questions—although the questions are basically the same old ones, philosophers need, on their own, to pose these questions anew. For what philosophers must answer are not other people’s questions, but necessarily their own questions.

l I have always been concerned with seeking the inner spiritual consistency between science and religion, precisely because this consistency allows science, to some extent, to take the place of religion. However, many people are not only rejecting religion, but also refusing the religious spirit in science, and only emphasizing the technologized side of science. This has left modern science itself facing a crisis. The impact of postmodernism and relativism leaves scientism unable to cope, and in fact I feel this is more like a tit-for-tat retaliation: that absolute relativism is itself a variant of absolutism. They use absolutism to refute absolutism, empiricism to refute empiricism, and the way science is used to attack religion to attack science’s foundations. Under the impact of relativism, the defense of science seems ultimately to retreat to insisting on a pragmatic mode of argument—science is effective; no better system than science can be found; therefore science should be supported. But such a defense is powerless. It further conflates science and technology, and obscures science’s spiritual qualities. Rethinking the relation between science and religion is also meaningful for the development of science itself.

l In the essays I wrote before, I often used the word “you,” for example: “You may think that…,” “Don’t you feel that…,” “You should realize that…,” and so on. Later, a friend reminded me that this sort of tone is too aggressive and not good. So after that I gradually and consciously reduced my use of “you.” On the other hand, when writing academic papers, I often liked to say things like “the present writer believes…,” “I think…,” and so on. Teachers also suggested that I reduce these expressions, which soften one’s stance, and instead state my own views more objectively and clearly, as though they were simply supposed to be that way. But recently I have begun trying to return to and strengthen my own style—“I” represents a pluralist stance: these views are only my personal ones; they are not necessarily universal, and even less are they truth. “You” represents an attitude: I am speaking to “you.” Although in fact I am only speaking to myself, I am not merely indulging in empty speculation; I want to reach your heart, to communicate with you. This “you” can also be understood as myself; when one speaks with oneself, one addresses oneself as “you” as well. Of course, if one insists on taking my tone as “looking down from above,” that is not bad either.

l Can philosophers solve problems? They think hard, discuss, and hand in their answer sheets. But philosophers are not the ones who grade those answer sheets. The person who possesses the “correct answer” is called an “authority”—someone who has power and prestige. In the final analysis, philosophy cannot “solve” anything at all; only “power” can solve problems. A tank rolls in with a thunderous boom, and how many tangled, unresolved issues are simply “solved” that way? Of course, in the end, everything must be thrown into the wash of history. History is the ultimate judge, if there is no God…

September 23, 2007

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Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.