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Respecting Different Ways of Life: A Daoist Ethics of

Virtue in the Zhuangzi

Yong Huang

The Journal of Asian Studies / Volume 69 / Issue 04 / November 2010, pp 1049 - 1069
DOI: 10.1017/S0021911810002913, Published online: 10 November 2010

Link to this article: http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S0021911810002913

How to cite this article:

Yong Huang (2010). Respecting Different Ways of Life: A Daoist Ethics of Virtue in the Zhuangzi.
The Journal of Asian Studies, 69, pp 1049-1069 doi:10.1017/S0021911810002913

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 The Journal of Asian Studies Vol. 69, No. 4 (November) 2010: 1049–1069.
© The Association for Asian Studies, Inc., 2010 doi:10.1017/S0021911810002913

Respecting Different Ways of Life: A Daoist Ethics

of Virtue in the Zhuangzi

YONG HUANG

As the ethics of virtue, with a focus on cultivating admirable traits of character

instead of commanding adherence to rigid rules, becomes increasingly popular in
contemporary moral discourses, scholars have tried to find evidence of virtue
ethics in such ancient traditions as Hinduism, Buddhism, and Confucianism.
This article explores the possibility of a virtue ethics in a tradition that has
been largely neglected, Chinese Daoism, by focusing on one of the most impor-
tant classics in this tradition, the Zhuangzi. Contrary to a common misconcep-
tion of the Zhuangzi as skeptical, relativistic, and therefore empty of any guide
to moral life, it presents a solid normative ethics through various stories, and
this normative ethics is a virtue ethics. The most important trait of character
in this Daoist virtue ethics is respect for different ways of life—a virtue not dis-
cussed in any familiar versions of virtue ethics in the West and yet most valuable
to contemporary life in a global and pluralistic society.

impressive revival of the ethics of virtue, or virtue ethics, in

T HERE HAS BEEN AN
contemporary philosophy during the last a few decades, as a challenge to the
ethics of duty (particularly that of Immanuel Kant) and consequentialism (par-
ticularly Jeremy Bentham’s and John Stuart Mill’s utilitarianism) that have domi-
nated modern discourses of ethics. In contrast to the latter, which focuses on
action guided by rules or consideration of consequences, virtue ethics empha-
sizes the cultivation of the moral disposition of the agent. The problem with
modern ethical theories of rules, as perceived by advocates of virtue ethics, is
that they “deal only with reasons, with values, with what justifies. They fail to
examine motives and the motivational structures and constraints of ethical life”
(Stocker 1997, 66). In contrast, the advantage of virtue ethics, as pointed out
by Michael Slote, an influential advocate of contemporary virtue ethics, is that
instead of moral laws, rules, and principles, “in virtue ethics, the focus is on
the virtuous individual and on those inner traits, dispositions, and motives that
qualify her as being virtuous” (1997, 177; see also Hursthouse 1999, 3).
While there are still serious objections and strong resistance to virtue ethics from
defenders of modern moral theories,1 virtue ethics becomes increasingly attractive

Yong Huang (yhuang@kutztown.edu) is Professor of Philosophy at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania.

1
Hursthouse (1999) tries to respond to the charge that virtue ethics cannot provide an action guide.
I have tried to respond two different objections: (1) that virtue ethics is self-centered, and (2) that
virtue ethics has its inescapable dilemmas (see Huang 2010b, 2011).
1050 Yong Huang

to many moral theorists. To use Rosalind Hursthouse’s words, it is not merely “a new
kid on block,” but has also established “its right to run with the big boys,” as it “has
acquired full status, recognized as a rival to the two dominating moral theories (1999,
2). Many attempts have been made to explore the potential of virtue ethics in Asian
philosophical and religious traditions. For example, Nicholas F. Gier, among others,
tries to develop a Hindu virtue ethics (see Gier 2004, chaps. 1–3; 2005). Damien
Keown (1992, 1996) is a pioneer in exploring a Buddhist virtue ethics. For under-
standable reasons, approaching the Confucian tradition from the virtue ethics per-
spective has almost become a fashion (see Sim 2007; Van Norden 2007; Yu 2007).
However, little attention has been paid to the virtue ethics potential in Chinese
Daoism (for one article still in the form of a manuscript, see Yearley 2007).
In this essay, I attempt to explore the possibility of a Daoist virtue ethics in
the Zhuangzi, one of the most intriguing Daoist texts. While there are varieties
of virtue ethics, one thing in common is its emphasis on the naturalness, effort-
lessness, ease, and joyfulness of an agent in performing moral actions. This strikes
an immediate resonance in the Daoist sage described by the Zhuangzi. The main
difference among the various contemporary forms of virtue ethics lies in their
different accounts of what constitutes a virtue. Two such accounts are particularly
influential. One is the eudemonistic account in the Aristotelian tradition (see
Hursthouse 1999), and another is the intuitionist account in the Humean tra-
dition (see Slote 1992, 1997, 2001). The former explains virtue as the character
traits that contribute to human flourishing, while the latter describes it as the
character traits that are simply admirable. Because the eudemonistic account is
inseparable from a moral conception of human nature, which is absent in the
Zhuangzi, this essay will largely follow the intuitionist account of the virtue in
exploring the possibility of a virtue ethics in the Zhuangzi.
As a philosophical text, the Zhuangzi is strong in telling interesting stories
rather than providing tight arguments, which is why many claim that it lacks any
ethics, to say nothing of a virtue ethics. However, it is my contention that there
is an ethics in these stories, or at least that those who have an interest in ethics
can learn a great deal from reading these stories. Particularly, I will pay close atten-
tion to two clusters of such stories, the knack stories and the difference stories.
While the latter imply rules of virtue ethics, the former tell us how to follow
such rules to become virtuous. I shall first argue why any attempt to derive a
virtue ethics directly from knack stories, while certainly tempting, will fail, how
moral rules implied from difference stories are necessary for a Daoist virtue
ethics, and how one can become virtuous under the guidance of such rules of
virtue ethics. I shall conclude with a brief summary of the main thesis of this essay.

PROBLEM IN DERIVING A VIRTUE ETHICS DIRECTLY FROM KNACK STORIES

In exploring the possibility of a virtue ethics in the Zhuangzi, one is naturally

attracted by the so-called knack stories. These stories describe masters who, like
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1051

autopilots (Fox 2002, 83), perform their activities with great ease. The most
famous of such stories is the one about Cook Ding carving an ox: “At every
touch of his hand, every movement of his shoulders, every step of his foot, and
every nudge of his knees, there is a sound of the knife slicing the flesh, a
perfect rhythm that matches the Dance of Mulberry Trees and the music of Jing-
shou in the time of Sage Yao” (Zhuangzi 3.117–18). Seeing Lord Wenhui amazed,
Cook Ding relates his experience thus:

What I love is dao, which is beyond skill. When I began to carve an ox,
what I saw is nothing but the whole ox. Three years later, I no longer
see the ox as a whole. Today I see the ox through the intuition, not
with eyes. My sense organs yield to the mystical intuition. Following
the natural structure of the ox (yi hu tian li 依乎天理), I cleave along
the main seams and thrust the knife into the big cavities. Going by
what is inherently so (yin qi gu ran 因其固然), I never touch veins or
tendons, not to mention big bones. Good cooks change their knives
every year, as they cut the flesh. Common cooks change their knives
every month, as they hack the bones. I have used this knife for nineteen
years, with thousands of oxen carved, but its edge is still as sharp as it is
just from the whetstone. . . . I stand with the knife in my hand, looking
around proudly, dawdle to enjoy the triumph until I am satisfied.
(Zhuangzi 3.119)

There are many similar knack stories in the outer chapters.2 For example,
there is one about Wheelwright Pian, who, after many years of practice, can
cut a wheel neither too quickly (so that it will not be too loose) nor too slowly
(so that it will not be too tight), but at the right speed (so that it will fit just
right). Talking about his wheel-making knack, Pian states, “I do well with my
hands and feel it in my heart. I cannot put it into words, but there is indeed
some knack in it. I am unable to teach my son about this, and my son has not
been able to learn it from me” (Zhuangzi 13.491). Chapter 19, Dasheng, presents
a whole chain of such knack stories, such as those about swimmers, boatmen,
cicada catchers, and, above all, Carpenter Ziqing, whose bell frame is so wonder-
fully made that it appears to come from the hand of a spirit. Explaining his knack
at making bell frames, the carpenter tells us that only when he can gradually con-
centrate his mind after many days of fasting of mind does he “enter a mountain

2
The Zhuangzi text has thirty three chapters, divided into three sections: the seven inner chapters,
fifteen outer chapters, and eleven miscellaneous chapters, in that order. There is a scholarly con-
sensus that Zhuangzi is the author of the seven inner chapters; he may also have written parts of
the other chapters, but most of the outer and miscellaneous chapters are believed to have come
from his students and followers. In this article, I am more concerned with the text of the Zhuangzi
as a whole than with the authorship of its individual chapters. There are several English translations
of the Zhuangzi, with some of which I consult, but the translation from the text used in this article is
done by myself.
1052 Yong Huang

forest to observe the natural quality of the wood (guan dian xing 觀天性). . . . Here
I match my natural disposition with the natural structure of the trees (yi tian he
tian 以天合天)” (Zhuangzi 19.658–59).
As these stories tell us so much about spontaneity, naturalness, gracefulness,
effortlessness, and joyfulness—characteristics of all admirable actions—some
Zhuangzi scholars believe that the actions described in such stories are already
virtuous or morally admirable. For example, Alan Fox, presenting what he
regards as Zhuangzi’s “concrete ethics,” claims that Zhuangzi’s ethics is “a kind
of ‘virtue ethics’ … which demands, not adherence to an ethical formula, but
rather development of one’s character” (2002, 80). In Fox’s view, just as in a
virtue epistemology, which he also attributes to Zhuangzi, truth is what the
true person knows, so in virtue ethics, good is what the good person does. To
support his view, he cites the same story of Cook Ding (Fox 2002, 82; see also
Graham 1983, 7). Along the same line, P. J. Ivanhoe discerns his version of
Zhuangzian ethics in the knack stories about Cook Ding, Carpenter Ziqing,
and Wheelwright Pian:

These three craftsmen all have somehow managed to get into the flow of
the Dao; they follow the hidden seams deep in the pattern of nature and
by so doing are able to lead highly effective yet frictionless lives. Such
individuals accord with rather than collide with the things and events
they encounter in life and manage to pass through them all without incur-
ring or causing harm. . . . These stories lead one to believe that Zhuangzi
is not an ethical skeptic; he thinks some people understand not only a
better way but the Way. (1993, 644)

There is no denying that all of these skillful persons are presented as positive
and exemplary figures in the knack stories. The question is whether these skillful
persons are exemplary figures merely for those in their respective trades or for
human beings in general, and whether the way they understand is merely the
way to perform their respective actions or also the way to be ethical. A marathon
winner who runs gracefully, effortlessly, and joyfully is certainly admirable but is
not morally admirable, or so I shall claim. Ivanhoe argues that these skillful
persons are morally exemplified or admirable persons: “Zhuangzi’s examples of
skillful individuals have more to reveal; looking at them closely we notice that
they all describe quite benign activities. There are no skillful assassins or pick-
pockets among his Daoist sages” (1993, 651). In a later work coauthored with
Karen Carr, Ivanhoe acknowledges that “Zhuangzi is not recommending that
we do what these skillful people do” (2000, 36). However, Ivanhoe still thinks
that (1) all these skillful activities are “benign activities”; (2) “distinctive features
shared by these exemplars … do place definite restrictions on the range of appro-
priate activities”; and (3) by imagination, people of different occupations can get
inspiration from such stories about how to do their things appropriately, as
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1053

Zhuangzi “is encouraging us to be as they are, to live as they live” (Carr and
Ivanhoe 2000, 36).
The question, then, is how to be as these masters are and to live as these
masters do. Referring to the knack stories narrated in the Zhuangzi, for
example, Christian Helmut Wenzel complains that they “only teach us how to
reach a certain goal once the goal is set. They do not show us which goal we
should accept and set for ourselves” (2003, 119). In Wenzel’s view, the Zhuangzi
“might teach us to be a good” thief or professional killer in the same way that it
teaches us to be a good cook—that is, effortlessly, delightfully, spontaneously, and
at great ease in stealing and killing (2003, 119). Robert Eno reaches the same
conclusion that “the dao of butchering people might provide much the same
spiritual spontaneity as the dao of butchering oxen—as many a samurai might
testify” (1996, 142). Chad Hansen also thinks that the ethics in the Zhuangzi
does not allow us to condemn Hitler: “All it says is ‘Hitler happened’” (1992, 290).
Ivanhoe, however, thinks that Zhuangzi’s ethics as expressed in the knack
stories is ethically normative and thus avoids such problems. In his view, in
these examples,

Zhuangzi completely abandons the perspectivist argument and reveals

the foundation of his normative vision. It turns out that there is a
proper perspective: the Heavenly view of the world. In other situations,
Zhuangzi asks us to take the perspective of a tree, a fish, or a deer. But in
stories such as Woodcarver Qing, we are not to take the perspective of
the tree he carves, because he “observes the nature of the wood as
heaven makes it grow.” Similarly, in the story of Cook Ding, we are not
to take the perspective of the ox he dismembers, because as he says “I
rely on Heaven’s structure” as he carves. Following Heaven, according
with the natural, is the overriding criterion for determining which
actions are appropriate. There is a pattern in Nature and the Daoist
sage follows it. (1993, 652)

For Ivanhoe, the reason these masters’ actions are exemplary is that they accord
with the large patterns and processes of the Dao. When consistent with this large
pattern, Cook Ding can carve ox, Carpenter Ziqing can cut trees, and the cicada
catchers can catch cicadas, as long as these actions do not make it impossible for
other creatures to flourish and do not disrupt the balance or harmony among all
creatures in the world. These are all interesting points, but a few things deserve
further exploration.
First, Zhuangzi does urge us to take the perspective of heaven or Dao. The
question is how this proper perspective is related to the perspective of a tree, a
fish, or a deer. Zhuangzi makes this clear in his discussion of the piping of heaven
in relation to the piping of earth and the piping of humans (Zhuangzi 2.49–50).
The perspectives of tree, fish, and deer may be regarded as different pipings of
earth, while the perspectives of individual persons may be regarded as different
1054 Yong Huang

pipings of humans. What is the piping of heaven? In Zhuangzi’s view, it is not a

piping additional to and normative of those of earth and humans, just as a con-
ductor does not play an instrument additional to and normative of those
played by members of his or her orchestra. Instead, the piping of heaven is
simply to let each of the pipings of the earth and of humans be its own,
without imposing on others, just as a conductor lets each member of the orches-
tra play his or her instrument to its best without overpowering others.
So, while the heavenly perspective is indeed different from those of tree, fish,
and deer, each of which is blind to what others can see, it does not override such
perspectives. It merely puts such perspectives in perspective: let everything hold
its own perspective and yet not impose its own perspective on anything else, so
that everything can treat everything else from the perspective of the thing being
treated. Should the perspective of heaven or Dao override those of individual
things and allow, for example, the perspective of Cook Ding to supersede that
of the ox, or the perspective of Carpenter Ziqing that of trees, or the perspective
of the cicada catcher that of the cicada, then we would have to conclude that,
from the perspective of heaven, things are not equal: at least the respective per-
spectives of Cook Ding, Carpenter Ziqing, and cicada catcher would be more
valuable than the perspectives of oxen, trees, and cicadas. This appears to be a
very un-Zhuangzian view, as the central theme of chapter 2, “The Equality of
Things,” the most important chapter of the whole text, is, as its title indicates,
the equality of things. The nature of an ox is not to grow in order to be killed
by a cook, that of a cicada is not to be caught by a cicada catcher, and that of
trees is not to be cut by carpenters.
Second, we must distinguish between the two senses in which Zhuangzi uses
terms such as dao and tian (heaven or nature). As we have seen, Ivanhoe seems to
imply that, should they accept the respective perspectives of the ox, the cicada,
and the tree, Cook Ding, the cicada catcher, and Carpenter Ziqing would not
perform their respective actions toward them. However, these actions are never-
theless right, for in performing these actions, such masters care about dao, which
is beyond skill. So the point of such knack stories is not to encourage us to perfect
a given skill but to harmonize with dao. However, reading such knack stories, we
will find that the only meaning of dao that these masters care about, as Yearley
correctly points out, is that it “characterizes the actualization of role specific
virtues that seem to be pedestrian or objectionable” (2007, 12).
This point can be better seen in the related term used by these masters in
their descriptions of their knacks: tian 天. Just as there are two senses of dao,
Zhuangzi talks about tian (heaven or nature) in two different senses. The first
sense, used in all these knack stories, refers to the natural structure of a thing.
Thus, when Cook Ding claims that he follows the tian li in carving an ox and
goes by what is inherently so (yin qi gu ran) of an ox, he is referring to the
natural structure of the body of an ox. To learn about a thing’s nature in this
sense is conducive to someone dealing with the thing. For example, knowledge
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1055

of the tian li of an ox in this sense helps Cook Ding to carve the ox easily, just as it
can also help a veterinarian to cure the disease of the ox effectively.
However, such knowledge does not tell us what we should do to a particular
thing, which is related to the second sense of tian in the Zhuangzi: the natural
disposition of a thing. For example, the natural disposition of a seabird is “to
roost in a deep forest … wander over the plain, swim in a river or lake, feed
upon fish, and fly in formation with others” (Zhuangzi 18.621), and the natural
disposition of a horse is “to tread on frost and snow with their hoofs, to withstand
wind and cold with their hair, to feed on grasses and drink water, and to prance
with their legs” (Zhuangzi 9.330). In Zhuangzi’s view, whether our action toward
something is morally appropriate or not depends on whether our action follows
the tian li of the thing in this second sense.
This is the reason Zhuangzi criticizes the Marquis of Lu, who treats a seabird
with wine, meat, and music, even though he does all of these with a good inten-
tion (Zhuangzi 18.621); this is also the reason Zhuangzi criticizes the famous
horse tamer Bo Le, who singes and marks horses, clips their hair, pares their
hoofs, halters their heads, bridles and hobbles them, confines them in stables,
subjects them to hunger and thirst, gallops and races them, worries them with
bondage of bit and breastplate, and threatens them with a whip and switch
(Zhuangzi 9.330).
Third, it is true that there is no knack story told in the Zhuangzi about skillful
assassins or pickpockets. However, not only is it not clear whether these knack
stories can prevent one from being such an assassin or pickpocket, it is also not
clear whether the activities described by these knack stories are indeed
benign, as Ivanhoe claims. As we have seen, although Cook Ding follows the
tian li in the first sense, the natural structure, of an ox when he carves it, it is
not the tian li in the second sense, the natural inclination, of the ox to be
carved by a cook. The same thing can be said about the action of Carpenter
Ziqing toward the tree, as a tree does not grow to be cut, or that of the cicada
catcher toward a cicada, as a cicada certainly is not born to be caught. Are
such actions ethically benign according to the Zhuangzi? The text does not
give us a direct answer. However, we know that the Zhuangzi is clearly critical
of the Marquis of Lu’s action toward the seabird and of Bo Le’s action toward
horses. If the Marquis of Lu’s and Bo Le’s actions toward the seabird and
horses are wrong because they did not treat the seabird and horses as they
would like to be treated, then how is it right for Cook Ding to carve oxen, for
Ziqing to cut trees, and for the cicada catcher to catch cicadas? After all, the
natural inclination of an ox is not to be carved, that of a tree not to be cut, and
that of a cicada not to be caught. So in the sense that they do not follow the
natural inclinations, the tian li in the second sense, there is no difference
between Marquis of Lu and Bo Le on the one hand and Cook Ding, the
cicada catcher, and Carpenter Ziqing on the other, when they perform their
respective actions.
1056 Yong Huang

Of course, we cannot take such stories—both stories about Cook Ding, Car-
penter Ziqing, and the cicada catcher and stories about Marquis of Lu and Bo
Le—so literally. All of these stories are about human actions toward nonhuman
beings. Unless we want to see Zhuangzi as someone who wants to tell us some-
thing about how to deal with animals and the environment, we should keep in
mind that the main function of all of these stories about the proper relationship
among different species in the Zhaungzi is to tell us, analogically or metaphori-
cally, how we human beings should act with each other. If we think that such
knack stories tell us not only how to perform morally appropriate actions to
other human beings when such actions are identified, but also what morally
proper actions we should perform for human beings, this would lead to a very
implausible conclusion that some humans are born to be used, if not killed, by
other humans, just as oxen are born to be carved by cooks, as if the only thing
we need to pay attention to is that, when we perform actions affecting other
human beings, we need to learn about their tian li in the first sense, which will
ensure the success and ease of our action.

THE FUNCTION OF DIFFERENCE STORIES IN THE ZHUANGZIAN VIRTUE ETHICS

In my view, these knack stories tell us how to do things well if we know what
things we ought to do, but they do not tell us what things we ought to do. To know
the latter, we must turn to a different cluster of stories, the difference stories, in
the Zhuangzi. Two such stories, the Marquis of Lu’s treatment of a seabird and
Bo Le’s treatment of horses, were already mentioned in the previous section.
In the former, we are told that when a seabird alighted outside the Marquis of
Lu’s palace, he “gave it wine in the temple, and had the Jiushao music played
to amuse it, and a bullock slaughtered to feed it. But the bird was dazed and
too timid to eat or drink anything. In three days it was dead.” The Zhuangzi
makes it clear that the problem with the Marquis of Lu in this case is his “treating
the bird as he would like to be treated and not as a bird would like to be treated”
(Zhuangzi 18.621). In the latter story, we are told that the famous horse tamer Bo
Le, when training horses, did not follow the horses’ natural disposition, the tian li
in the second sense, which is, as we have already seen, “to tread on frost and snow
with their hoofs, to withstand wind and cold with their hair, to feed on grasses and
drink water, and to prance with their legs” (Zhuangzi 9.330). Although neither of
these two difference stories is from the inner chapters, they are very similar to the
one about Emperors Shu and Hu’s treatment of Emperor Hundun in chapter 7,
one of the inner chapters:

Shu and Hu often meet each other in Hundun’s land, where Hundun
provides them with wonderful hospitality. Thinking of repaying his kind-
ness, Shu and Hu said, “everyone has seven apertures with which to see,
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1057

hear, eat, and breathe. Only Hundun does not have them. Let us try to
open them on him.” They open one aperture a day. By the seventh
day, Hundun died. (Zhuangzi 7.309)

All of these difference stories convey the idea that different things all have
equal values. This is the central theme of the most important chapter, “The
Equality of Things,” in which Zhuangzi asks, “If a human being sleeps in a
damp place, the person will have a pain in his or her loins and some paralysis.
Is that true of eels? If a human being lives up in a tree, the person will be frigh-
tened and tremble. Is that true of monkeys? Which of the three knows the right
place to live?” (Zhuangzi 2.93). In Zhuangzi’s view, there is no common standard
of the best place to live for all animals, although there is a best place to live for
each of them. Therefore, as I argue elsewhere, the ethics that we can learn from
such stories is an ethics of difference (Huang 2010a). Its fundamental thesis is
that human beings (and things in nature more generally), while different in
terms of their natural dispositions, their tian li in the second sense, are of
equal value, and therefore no one should impose his or her own values on
others, whether out of good or ill will. According to such an ethics of difference,
the moral appropriateness of our actions toward others is not determined by our
standard as moral agents but that of our moral patients. So when our actions
affect others, we must take into account the particular interests of our patients.
The ethics of difference implied in these difference stories avoids endorsing
or tolerating actions by professional thieves and killers, as Wenzel worries; it
cannot be adapted to value a samurai’s mastery of butchering people, as Eno
fears; and instead of simply saying that “Hitler happened,” as Hansen claims, it
can condemn such actions. This reading of the Zhuangzi as presenting an
ethics of difference, in an important aspect, is similar to David Wong’s interpret-
ation of it as an ethics of recognizing the equal worth of diverse ways of life.
Because Wong’s view has invited some criticisms for its apparent inability to
condemn despicable things, it is important to see whether we can make a plaus-
ible response to such a criticism in defending the Zhuangzian ethics of difference.
According to Wong’s ethics of recognition of equal worth of diverse ways of
life, “every person has certain rights (such as those to freedom and well-being)
and deserves equal consideration of his or her interests. By equal consideration,
I mean the assignment of equal weights in moral deliberation to interests that are
equally important to the different people having them” (1984, 198). This reading
of the Zhuangzi is similar to mine: for both of us, the Zhuangzi asks us, as moral
agents, not to impose our standards of right and wrong on others; instead, we
should recognize and respect others, particularly if they have standards of right
and wrong that are very different from ours.
In his discussion of Wong’s interpretation of Zhuangzi, however, Ivanhoe
claims that an ethics of difference that emphasizes the recognition of equal
worth of diverse ways of life is problematic:
1058 Yong Huang

In calling for the recognition of the equal dignity of others, Wong urges
us to esteem as equally valuable what others esteem, but he cannot mean
by this that I should be able to esteem everything that some other person
might happen to value, for some people are attracted to fairly despicable
things. This is precisely what “moral relativity” normally is thought to
entail, which is why many people (myself included) find it such an
odious position. (1996, 208)

Of course, the ethics of the Zhuangzi, whether as an ethics of difference or an

ethics of recognition of equal worth of diverse ways of life, does tolerate and
even respect a range of things that may be regarded as despicable. For
example, homosexuality was regarded as despicable by many, and perhaps still
is by some. To be an atheist, or at least to refuse to become a Christian, may
be regarded by Christian fundamentalists as something despicable (or sinful).
The ethics of the Zhuangzi would certainly endorse such “despicable” things.3
Obviously, the despicable things that Ivanhoe has in mind are not those
things either. What he means are those done by such people as robbers, pro-
fessional killers, or slave owners. Does the Zhuangzian ethics of difference that
emphasizes equal respect for diverse ways of life have to endorse such ways of
life as well? I think not. Here, the crucial difference is that homosexuals and athe-
ists can live their lives with equal respect for those who have ways of life different
from their own (at least their ways of life do not necessitate interferences with
other ways of life), whereas robbers, professional killers, and slave owners
cannot live their ways of life with a recognition of the equal worth of the ways
of life of those whom they rob, kill, or enslave. The ethics of difference respects
diverse ways of life as having equal worth, and so logically it cannot respect any
ways of life that do not regard other ways of life as having equal worth, just as a
good libertarian who values individual freedom cannot value an individual’s
freedom to take away another individual’s freedom (see Mill 1991, 171).
To use the example in chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi again, from the perspective
of humans, dry places are right places to live, while from the perspective of eels,
damp places are right places to live. However, from the perspective of dao, the
perspective of humans and the perspective of eels are equally right if they are
referring to good places to live for these two different animals, respectively,
but they are equally wrong if they are referring to good places to live for both
humans and eels or even for all animals. So, if we accept the view of the ethics
of difference in the Zhuangzi, it is wrong for Hitler to kill Jews, just as it is
wrong for humans to put eels in dry places, for the Marquis of Lu to “entertain”
the seabird, for Bo Le to tame horses, and for Kings Shu and Hu to open holes in

3
Of course, for a heterosexual to respect the life of a homosexual does not mean that the hetero-
sexual has to become a homosexual, and vice versa, just as for a believer to respect the life of an
atheist does not mean that the believer has to become an atheist, and vice versa (see Wong
2006, 234–37).
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1059

Hundun’s face. The reason is precisely the same: moral agents in the former case,
just as moral agents in the latter cases, do not respect the equal worth of moral
patients who have different values from them. The respective moral agents would
not have done anything wrong, again from the standpoint of the Zhuangzian
ethics of difference, should the Jews prefer to be killed, the eels prefer to live
in dry places, the seabird prefer to be entertained in Marquis of Lu’s way, and
the horses prefer to be tamed by Bo Le.
What is important is that we must treat others according to their natural ten-
dencies (yi hu tian li 依乎天理), follow their inherent nature (yin qi gu ran 因其固
然), and observe their inborn nature (guan tian xing 觀天性), with the term
“nature” (tian and xing) here understood in the second and not in the first
sense distinguished in the previous section. Thus understood, the natural ten-
dency, the inherent nature, or the inborn nature of oxen is obviously not to be
carved by a cook, that of trees is not to be cut by the carpenter, and that of a
cicada is not to be caught by the cicada catcher. In other words, from an
ethical perspective, Cook Ding’s action toward the ox, Carpenter Ziqing’s
action toward trees, and the cicada catcher’s action toward cicadas are wrong,
just as Shu and Hu’s action toward Hundun, the Marquis of Lu’s action toward
the seabird, and Bo Le’s action toward horses are wrong. So the Zhuangzian
ethics of difference, which asks us to esteem ways of life different from ours,
not only does not esteem but will condemn the type of despicable life.
To say this, however, is not to say that the message of the knack stories is
contradictory to that of the difference stories, nor is it to say that the knack
stories are empty of ethical meaning. In my view, these two types of stories
convey two different messages about morality. Difference stories tell us what con-
stitutes a morally appropriate action—the action that recognizes the equal value of
diverse ways of life—while knack stories tell us how to perform the morally appro-
priate action in an admirable way—to be spontaneous, natural, and effortless. It is
wrong to read knack stories as if they tell us what a moral action is or to read differ-
ence stories as if they tell us how to perform our moral actions. To fully understand
the ethics of difference in the Zhuangzi, therefore, we must combine the two
messages conveyed in these two different clusters of stories.
A truly moral person, in the Zhuangzian sense, is one who can naturally, spon-
taneously, and effortlessly recognize and respect the equal value of diverse ways
of life. To use another phrase in the knack story, a truly moral person is one who
can match his or her tian with the tian of his or her moral patients (yi tian he tian
以天合天). We have discussed the tian of moral patients in its second sense, their
inborn natural tendencies, such as the tendency of an eel to live in a damp place,
that of humans to live in a dry place, and that of monkey to live in a forest. Here,
we need to briefly discuss the tian of the moral agent that matches the tian of the
moral patient.
In appearance, this idea of yi tian he tian assumes that a moral agent must
have the natural disposition (tian 天) to recognize and respect the equal values
1060 Yong Huang

of diverse ways of life; in other words, if it is possible for everyone to be moral,

Zhuangzi or Zhuangzians must assume that human nature is good. Perhaps for
this reason, Wong argues that, for Zhuangzi, in order to respect the equal
worth of diverse ways of life,

[W]e should cultivate the part of us that spontaneously identifies with

others, the state of consciousness in which the boundaries between self
and others fall away. The state is [ci 慈], sometimes translated as “com-
passion” or “deep love.” [Ci] gives rise to unpremeditated aid to others
when they are in distress, not aid given because it is a moral duty.
(1984, 208)

However, Ivanhoe is correct in saying that “there is no evidence in the text that
Zhuangzi believed people by nature tend to have compassion for one another”
(1996, 206). As a matter of fact, as the author of the Zaiyou chapter says,
“common people are all pleased if others agree with them and are displeased
when other people disagree with them. They like those who agree with them
and dislike those who disagree with them” (Zhuangzi 11.392; see Tang 1992,
355). Although this is from an outer chapter, what it really says is simply that
everyone has an opinionated mind (cheng xin 成心), a central idea in chapter 2.
In Zhuangzi’s view, eels tend to think that damp places are good places to live,
not only for eels but for all beings; monkeys tend to think that treetops are
good places to live, not only for monkeys but for all beings; and human beings
think that dry places are good places to live, not only for humans but for all
beings. Thus, they tend to impose their own standard of right places to live on
other beings. This is what Zhuangzi regards as cheng xin, the fixed and opinio-
nated mind, a mind that is obstructive to one’s appropriate actions toward
others (Zhuangzi 2.56). It is this cheng xin that leads the Marquis of Lu to
treat the seabird as he would like to be treated; it is also this cheng xin that
leads Emperors Shu and Hu to open apertures in the head of the Emperor of
Hundun. The difference stories in the Zhuangzi show precisely why this cheng
xin is bad and how to overcome it.

POSSIBILITY OF A VIRTUE ETHICS IN THE ZHUANGZI

In the foregoing, I argue that the ethical significance of knack stories is set
within the limits of difference stories: the latter tell us what is moral, and the
former tell us how to be moral. The difference stories ask us to recognize and
respect the equal value of diverse ways of life, to use Wong’s term. Elsewhere,
I characterize this as the moral Copper Rule—do (or do not do) unto others as
others would (or would not) have us do unto them, in contrast to the more fam-
iliar Golden Rule—do (or do not do) unto others as we would (or would not) have
others do unto us (see Huang 2005). If this is the case, it seems that Zhuangzi’s
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1061

ethics is primarily a rule ethics and not a virtue ethics. However, virtue ethics is
different from rule ethics not because there are rules in the latter and not in the
former.
In her response to the objection that virtue ethics fails to provide guidance of
action for someone who is not yet virtuous, Hursthouse, for example, claims that
“not only does each virtue generate a prescription—do what is honest, charitable,
generous—but each vice a prohibition—do not do what is dishonest, uncharita-
ble, mean” (1999, 36; see also Annas 2006, 518; Slote 1992, chap. 6). Hursthouse
calls such rules “v-rules” (rules of virtue ethics). In this sense, the Copper Rule
can be regarded as a rule generated by the virtue of respecting the equal value
of diverse ways of life. If humans are not naturally virtuous, then there is a
need for rules to help humans become virtuous. Because Zhuangzi, as we have
seen, unlike the Mencian Confucians, does not hold the view of human nature
as virtuous, he needs a rule to guide people to become virtuous.
To say this is not to say that there is no distinction between virtue ethics and
rule ethics. The essential distinction between the two is that, while rule ethics
focuses on the kind of action a person performs, virtue ethics focuses on the
type of agent a person is or becomes. More specifically, in a rule ethics, rules
are ultimate (and virtue is derivative and helps one to follow rules), while in a
virtue ethics, rules are generated from virtues and serve to cultivate virtues.
The central idea of Zhuangzi’s ethics of difference is to respect the unique
natural tendencies of different things. Because it is only when their natural ten-
dencies are respected that their wellness can be enhanced, and the enhancement
of their wellness, according to Slote, is an important qualification for a given char-
acter trait to be admirable or virtuous, the rule to respect differences in Zhuangzi
is derived from the virtue of respecting differences. It is in this sense that I claim
that Zhuangzi’s ethics of difference is a virtue ethics.
However, if one is not yet virtuous but is simply following the rule of Zhuang-
zi’s ethics of difference, while the person’s rule-following actions may be con-
sidered moral, particularly in an ethics of duty, the person who performs the
action, as well as the action performed, is not admirable in virtue ethics. As
Michael Stocker asks, “what sort of life would people have who did their
duties but never or rarely wanted to?” (1997, 67). Thus, while there are varieties
of virtue ethics, one thing common to them all is virtue ethics’ emphasis on being
moral naturally, effortlessly, gracefully, and joyfully (see Annas 2006, 517;
Statman 1997, 16).
Here it seems that we come across a difficulty in Zhuangzi’s ethics: truly
moral actions, actions that respect the uniqueness of the patient, are actions per-
formed by the agent naturally, effortlessly, and gracefully; however, for Zhuangzi,
no moral agents have a natural inborn tendency to respect the uniqueness of the
patient, and thus truly moral actions seem to be impossible. To surmount this
apparent difficulty, it is important to recall that, in the claim that the agent’s
natural disposition should match the patient’s natural disposition (yi tian he
1062 Yong Huang

tian 以天合天), the term “natural” (tian) does not mean the same thing in refer-
ence to the agent as to the patient. While in both cases it means “natural,” in
the latter, it is something that the patient is born with, but in the former, it is
something that the agent must cultivate in himself or herself. What is most strik-
ing in all of the knack stories in the Zhuangzi is the naturalness, effortlessness,
gracefulness, and joyfulness of these Daoist masters in performing their relevant
actions. However, none of them is born with such knacks or skills.
So to be a moral person for Zhuangzi is not merely to follow one’s natural
inborn tendencies, but also to respect the natural tendencies of others. However,
just as the masters in knack stories are not born with their knacks, a person is
not born with the natural tendency to respect the natural tendencies of others.
As a matter of fact, one tends to have an opinionated mind, believing one’s own
parochial standard of right and wrong to be universal (although Zhuangzi stops
short of saying that such an opinionated mind is inborn). Only after one makes a
great effort to sit and forget (zuo wang 坐忘 ) (Zhuangzi 6.284), to fast the mind
(xin zhai 心齋) (Zhuangzi 4.147), to lose oneself (sang wo 喪我) (Zhuangzi 2.45),
and to become without self (wu ji 無己) (Zhuangzi 1.17), can one choose to do
moral things (respecting others’ unique natural tendencies) and not do immoral
things (refraining from imposing one’s own value on others). When one first
chooses to act morally, one’s action may be clumsy, and one may need to make a
forced effort. Only after a long period of practice can one perform moral actions
as skillfully, effortlessly, gracefully, and joyfully as Cook Ding, Carpenter Qing,
and Wheelwright Pian perform their respective nonmoral actions.
In this context, I think that Yearley’s distinction among three categories of
drives is particularly helpful in explaining the self-cultivation of the moral
agent’s disposition to respect the natural dispositions of moral patients. First is
the dispositional drives. Our drive to impose our standard of right and wrong
on others, the drive from our opinionated mind (cheng xin), belongs to such a
category. Directed to such dispositional drives is the second category of drives,
the reflective drives, which “manifest the desire to have different drives than
the dispositional ones that normally and easily operate” (Yearley 1996, 154).
Our desire to respect the uniqueness of others, to let and assist others be “so
of themselves” (ziran 自然), at its initial stage, belongs to this category. When
we act on the reflective drives, we often need to make a forced effort. So
there is a need for the third category of drives, the transcendent drives. With
such drives, “I find myself able to perform easily and well tasks that previously
seemed to be far beyond my normal capacities” (Yearley 1996, 193–254). This
last type of drive is nothing but the cultivated natural and spontaneous
disposition.4

4
Franklin Perkins makes an interesting observation: the goal of this cultivation is “to free oneself
from distractions by eliminating the tendency to over-analyze or think too much. Thus it might
be better conceptualized as de-cultivation” (2005, 333).
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1063

“Cultivated natural disposition” sounds like an oxymoron. For example,

Ivanhoe argues that “it is misleading to describe such paragons [as the marvelous
cook, the boatman, Woodcarver Qing, Wheelwright Pian, the Cicada catcher] as
having developed or taken on a ‘second nature’ that enables them to act with such
great effect in the world. At least from the Daoist perspective, a second nature
would by definition be unnatural” (Carr and Ivanhoe 2000, 72; see also Slinger-
land 2003, 211). So in what sense can this cultivated natural disposition be seen as
natural? On the one hand, this is a disposition to respect the unique natural ten-
dency of one’s moral patient, and in this sense, it is natural in a humanistic in con-
trast to a naturalistic conception, to use Liu Xiaogan’s 劉笑敢 seemingly
paradoxical but actually profound term in his discussion of Laozi’s conception
of nature (see Liu 2006, 623–28). What Liu means is that, while other things
in the world can only be natural (self-so), human beings can assist others to be
natural. This not only means not interfering in the natural lives of other
beings, but also assisting them to live natural lives when unnatural things
happen to them.
For example, it is natural for fish to live in water, but when a fish is washed
onshore by a wave, then it can no longer live a natural life (even though its being
washed onshore by a wave is a natural event, not caused by humans). In this case,
only human beings, recognizing that the fish is no longer able to live a natural life,
can decide to put it back in the water so that it can return to its natural life. Here,
the action is performed by human beings for the fish, and in this sense, it is huma-
nistic rather than naturalistic, but the purpose and result of the action is the
natural life of the fish, and in this sense, it is also naturalistic.
On the other hand, while a person’s action to help others live a natural life is
natural in the sense discussed earlier, it may not be natural in a different sense:
the person’s action may be forced, reluctant, and unwilling, so there is a second
sense of “natural” in the idea of “cultivated natural disposition.” As pointed out,
unlike the Mencians, Zhuangzi does not hold the conception of human nature as
virtuous. So this very trait of character of assisting other things to be natural is not
something that one is born with. To use Yearley’s terms, one’s inborn dispositional
drive, in this case, is perhaps to eat the fish washed onshore. However, the
person’s reflective drive may require him or her to respect the fish’s natural
life and so put the fish back in the water, however unwilling and reluctant the
person is. Yet when the person acquires the virtue of letting and assisting
things to be natural, such reluctance and unwillingness will disappear, and he
or she can perform such actions (of letting and assisting things to be natural)
effortlessly, spontaneously, delightfully, and naturally (see Liu 2006, 292–93).
In this transition from unwillingness to willingness and from unnaturalness to
naturalness in performing moral actions, actions to let and assist others to live a
natural life, what is important is the relevant moral knowledge, similar to the type
of nonmoral knowledge that Wheelwright Pian says that he cannot teach his son
and his son cannot learn from him. Borrowing Gilbert Ryle’s distinction between
1064 Yong Huang

“knowing that” and “knowing how,” many Zhuangzi scholars today emphasize
that moral knowledge in the Zhuangzi is “knowing how” instead of “knowing
that” (see, e.g., Danto 1987, 103; Graham 1983, 8; Ivanhoe 1993, 648; Yearley
1996, 170). While Ryle’s distinction is helpful for us to understand the type of
knowledge that Zhuangzi thinks is essential to morality, we must keep two
things in mind. On the one hand, to be ethical in Zhuangzi’s sense, a certain
type of “knowing that” is necessary. A central feature of Zhuangzi’s ethics of
difference is to respect the uniqueness of our moral patients. Thus, in order to
act morally, we must have the appropriate knowledge of their uniqueness.
Such knowledge of the uniqueness of our moral patients obviously belongs to
Ryle’s “knowing that.”
On the other hand, it is true that “knowing that” alone does not lead us to
perform any moral actions, and therefore there is also a need for Ryle’s
“knowing how”; however, for a genuine moral action to take place, such
“knowing how,” at least in Ryle’s sense, is still not sufficient. “Knowing how”
can only help one to do something well; it does not necessarily motivate the
person to do it. People do immoral things (or do not do moral things) not
because they do not know how to do moral things, but because they are unwilling
to do them. After all, the ability to be moral is not something that one needs a
high degree of intelligence to acquire. In this sense, the necessary knowledge
needed here is not merely the knowledge of the mind (and both “knowing
that” and “knowing how” are types of knowing of the mind for Ryle; after all,
they are discussed in his The Concept of Mind). Instead, it is the knowledge
that one personally experiences through one’s heart. It is a type of embodied
knowledge, knowledge obtained through one’s inner experience of heart and
embodied in one’s body. It is in this sense that Zhuangzians talk about ti dao 體
道, “to embody,” or to have inner experiences of, Dao. In the Zhuangzian view,
“a person who has the inner experience of Dao (ti dao zhe 體道者) is one upon
whom all superior persons rely” (Zhaungzi 22.755). Knowledge of Dao thus
acquired “can be transmitted [by heart] but cannot be taught [with words]; it
can be obtained but cannot be seen” (Zhuangzi 6.246).
Once people acquire such knowledge from their inner experiences, they can
perform moral actions as naturally, spontaneously, effortlessly, and joyfully as
Cook Ding, Carpenter Ziqing, and Wheelwright Pian perform their respective
nonmoral actions. Just like Confucius at seventy, they can always act on their
inner desires without overstepping any moral principles, which have thus
become useless for them. Instead, their actions become moral standards for
others who have not reached such a stage. Their actions are so natural and spon-
taneous that they do not seem to act according to their knowledge or even to have
such knowledge:

Sages can reach the profound and be in one body with everything
without knowing it; they are naturally so . . . . Sages love people and
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1065

people call them sages, but they do not know they are loving people,
unless other people tell them so. They act as if they knew it but also as
if they did not know it . . . . They are naturally so. (Zhuangzi 25.880–82)

Sages, in their love for people, act as if they did not know that they are loving
people, because we do not see them making any deliberations before their
actions or exerting any effort in performing their actions; but they also act as if
they did have knowledge, as we common people cannot understand how one
can always love people without knowing anything about loving people.
About this feature of moral knowledge acquired from one’s inner experience
of heart, there is a more extended discussion in the Tian yun chapter. When
asked about the perfect humanity (zhi ren 至仁), Zhuangzi replies, “Perfect
humanity is without affection for parents,” and further explains,

The ultimate humanity is supreme and so filial piety is not enough to

describe it. . . . It is easy to be filial by being reverent, but it is difficult
to be filial with love; it is easy to be filial with love, but it is difficult to
forget one’s parents; it is easy to forget one’s parents, but it is difficult
to make parents forget me; it is easy to make parents forget me, but it
is difficult to forget the whole world; it is easy to forget the whole
world, but it is difficult to make the world forget me. (Zhuangzi
14.497–99)

Here, perfect humanity as that without affection for parents does not mean that
parents are obstacles to perfect humanity. It simply means to forget your parents.
It is more difficult to forget your parents than to love them, because as long as
you know that you should love them, you can at least make some effort to do
so. Here, to forget your parents does not mean to not love them; rather, it is
to love them without knowing that you ought to love them and that you are
loving them. When you love your parents so naturally, spontaneously, and effort-
lessly, you have forgotten your parents, which is certainly something more diffi-
cult to accomplish. So it is easy to love with effort, but more difficult to love
effortlessly. It sounds paradoxical, but conveys a profound message: sages can
do things effortlessly, but one cannot become a sage without making great effort.
Moreover, as we are told in the foregoing passage, “it is easy to forget parents,
but it is difficult to make parents forget me.” Why? To forget your parents in
loving them simply means that you do not need to make any effort in loving
them. However, to make parents forget you means that you love your parents
in such a way that your parents do not feel that you are loving them when they
are loved. In other words, your action of loving them leaves no trace. Precisely
the same thing can be said about the claim that it is easy to forget the world
but is difficult to make the world forget you (see Yang 2006, 169). About this,
the Zhuangzi provides the most vivid explanation:
1066 Yong Huang

Artisan Cui can draw a circle with his fingers better than those using
compasses, because his fingers are at one with things, with no calculation
needed, so that his inner mind is not troubled. That you forget about your
feet shows that your shoes fit, that you forget your waist shows that
your belt fits, and that you forget the right and the wrong shows that
your heart is at ease. . . . To be at ease and never at dis-ease is the ease
of forgetting ease. (Zhuangzi 19.662)

That a pair of fitting shoes makes you forget about your feet certainly does not
mean that your feet no longer exist, and that a fitting belt makes you forget
about your waist certainly does not mean that your waist no longer exists. Simi-
larly, your heart’s being at ease makes you forget about the right and wrong does
not mean that the right and wrong no longer exist, and your love makes you and
your parents forget each other does not mean that you and your parents no longer
exist.
Normally, we praise a person for doing something good or blame a person for
doing something bad if the person could have not done it. If people do bad things
without knowing that they are doing so, we do not regard such people as bad,
even if we do not regard them as good either; if people do good things
without knowing so, we do not regard them as good, although we do not
regard them as bad either. Sages do nothing but good, and therefore they are
supremely good (zhi shan 至善). However, because they do good things naturally,
without knowing that they are doing good things or that they should do good
things, we cannot regard them as good either. It is in this sense that the Zhuang-
zian supreme good is beyond good and evil. Perhaps for this reason, Liu Xiaogan
argues that—unlike Mencius, who argues that human nature is good, Xunzi, who
claims that human nature is evil, and Gaozi, who maintains that human nature is
neutral—Zhuangzians hold the view that human nature is beyond good and evil
(see Liu 1993, 279). I think this is an important observation. The only reservation
I would like to make is that, while we can be sure that for Zhuangzians, if not
Zhuangzi, the cultivated human nature that sages obtain after a long career of
moral cultivation is indeed beyond good and evil, we are not equally sure
whether for Zhuangzi or Zhuangzians, inborn human nature, just like the
sages’ acquired nature, is also beyond good and evil.

CONCLUDING REMARKS

I have explored in this article the possibility of a virtue ethics in the Zhuangzi.
My argument is focused on one central theme of virtue ethics: the goodness or
wellness of a person instead of the rightness of an action. A good, virtuous,
and admirable person performs moral actions spontaneously, effortlessly, joyfully,
and naturally. The theme is clearly present in this great Daoist text. Because
Zhuangzi, just like Aristotle and unlike Mencius, does not hold the view that
 Respecting Different Ways of Life 1067

human nature is originally virtuous, human virtues have to be cultivated. In this

process of cultivating one’s virtue, a specific Zhuangzian rule is to respect diverse
ways of life, or to act as a person with the virtue of such respect, or to be a person
with this virtue. When this virtue is cultivated, a person will be able to respect the
difference of others, so that their wellness is enhanced in a spontaneous, effort-
less, joyful, and natural way. The Zhuangzian ethics is a virtue ethics because it
exhorts us not only to assist things to be “so of themselves” (ziran), but also to
become a person who feels to be “so of oneself” (ziran) in assisting things to
be “so of themselves.” Indeed, this is the true meaning of yi tian he tian: to
match the patients’ natural inclination with one’s (the agent’s) own natural incli-
nation. The perfect example of such a person who can yi tian he tian is the Daoist
sage, whose ultimate good is beyond good and evil.

Acknowledgements

I am most grateful to P. J. Ivanhoe, who read several earlier versions of this article,
each time with wonderful comments, helping me to avoid several misunderstandings of
both the Zhaungzi and his interpretations of it. I am also indebted to David Wong, Craig
Ihara, Liu Xiaogan, and Kuang-ming Wu, who read an earlier version of this article and
made many helpful comments.

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