Confucian Ritual and Moral Education (Studies in Comparative Philosophy and Religion) 2020945625, 9781793612410, 9781793612434, 9781793612427, 1793612412

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgements
Introduction
1 Adaptation and Education
2 Education and Moral Education
3 Confucian Ritual
4 The Ritual Cultivation Model
5 Ritual and Moral Education
6 Is it New? Is It Needed? Ritual’s Place alongside Other Tools
7 Orthopraxy and Intuition
8 Developing Promoral Classrooms
Bibliography
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

Confucian Ritual and Moral Education

Studies in Comparative Philosophy and Religion Series Editor: Douglas Allen, University of Maine This series explores important intersections within and between the disciplines of religious studies and philosophy. These original studies will emphasize, in particular, aspects of contemporary and classical Asian philosophy and its relationship to Western thought. We welcome a wide variety of manuscript submissions, especially works exhibiting highly focused research and theoretical innovation. Recent Titles in This Series Confucian Ritual and Moral Education, by Colin J. Lewis Exile and Otherness: The Ethics of Shinran and Maimonides, by Ilana Maymind Gandhi’s Thought and Liberal Democracy, by Sanjay Lal Plantingian Religious Epistemology and World Religions: Prospects and Problems, by Erik Baldwin and Tyler Dalton McNabb Three Pillars of Skepticism in Classical India: Nāgārjuna, Jayarāśi, and Śrī Harṣa, by Ethan Mills Dharma and Halacha: Comparative Studies in Hindu-Jewish Philosophy and Religion, edited by Ithamar Theodor and Yudit Kornberg Greenberg Philosophy of the Ancient Maya: Lords of Time, by Alexus McLeod Making Space for Knowing: A Capacious Approach to Comparative Epistemology, by Aaron B. Creller Postmodern Ethics, Emptiness, Literature: Encounter between East and West, by Jae-seong Lee

Confucian Ritual and Moral Education Colin J. Lewis

LEXINGTON BOOKS Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 6 Tinworth Street, London SE11 5AL, United Kingdom Copyright © 2020 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. Chapter 2: A version of this chapter previously appeared as a standalone article in 2019 under the title of “Vygotsky and moral education: A response to and expansion of Tappan,” in Educational Philosophy and Theory. Lewis, Colin J. “Vygotsky and moral education: A response to and expansion of Tappan.” Educational Philosophy and Theory 51.1 (2019): 41–50. Chapter 4: Reprinted by permission from Springer Nature: Springer Nature, Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy, (“Ritual Education and Moral Development: A Comparison of Xunzi and Vygotsky”, Colin J. Lewis), © Springer Science+Business Media B.V., part of Springer Nature 2017, 2018. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Control Number: 2020945625 ISBN 978-1-7936-1241-0 (cloth: alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-7936-1243-4 (pbk.: alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-7936-1242-7 (electronic) TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

For Carina.

Contents

Acknowledgements

ix

Introduction

1

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Adaptation and Education: (Non)nativism and Moral Development Education and Moral Education: Vygotsky’s Incomplete Account Confucian Ritual: A Definition The Ritual Cultivation Model: A Nuanced Interpretation Ritual and Moral Education: How and Why It Works Is it New? Is It Needed? Ritual’s Place alongside Other Tools Orthopraxy and Intuition: The Importance of a Ritual Framework Developing Promoral Classrooms: Adding Ritual to the Toolkit

7 25 41 59 77 91 113 131

Bibliography

147

Index

159

About the Author

163

vii

Acknowledgements

The following list is not exhaustive: many people have helped to inspire and shape this project, and I appreciate all of their input. For the sake of brevity, I only have a few names listed here but, if you in any way helped me along in this endeavor, know that it is appreciated. First, I want to thank my mentor and former supervisor Eric Hutton for his extensive, thorough, and always constructive reviews of this text. Additional gratitude is owed to Eirik Harris and P. J. Ivanhoe, who reviewed the text during its development and offered ways of improving the project. Further thanks to Steve Downes, Erin Beeghly, Elijah Millgram, and Frank Margonis for their insight and support during the period in which this text was merely a dissertation. I am also appreciative of the faculty at the University of Colorado, Colorado Springs for their support, as well as the publication team at Lexington Books, especially Jana Hodges-Kluck and Sydney Wedbush. Finally, I would like to thank my partner, Carina Clark, for allotting me the resources, perspective, and (most importantly) patience that only a true educator can provide.

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Introduction

Have you ever been bullied, cheated, or generally disrespected? These sorts of behaviors are frequently harmful and unethical, so it is understandable that we seek methods of reducing or eliminating them. This book is written with the intent of making a valuable contribution toward such ends by invigorating philosophy of moral education and expanding on extant theories of moral development in the cognitive sciences. 1 In particular, the text draws on two traditions that have until now escaped comparison: Lev Vygotsky’s theory of learning and psychosocial development, and classical Confucianism’s approach to moral cultivation. The core argument of the project has two main aspects, the first being that Vygotsky and the Confucians can complement one another in a manner that enables a nuanced, empirically respectable understanding of how the ancient Confucian ritual education model should be construed and how it could be deployed. The second aspect is that, just as ritual education in the Confucian tradition can be explicated in terms of modern developmental theory, this ancient notion of ritual can also serve as a viable resource for moral education in a contemporary, diverse world. THE CURRENT SITUATION Before getting too deep into the details of the project, it is necessary to set the stage a bit with an overview of contemporary approaches to moral education. Consider the United States: over the past several decades, U.S. schools have increasingly invested in moral and character education programs, generally focusing on inculcating skills and dispositions that can assist in resolving common conflicts ranging from sharing to drug abuse. The Institute of Education Sciences describes moral education as the influence that families, schools, and other social institutions have on the positive character develop1

2

Introduction

ment of children and adults, where character consists in “the moral and ethical qualities of persons as well as the demonstration of those qualities in their emotional responses, reasoning, and behavior” (IES 2006). The programs employ a variety of methods, encompass diverse settings, and may be pervasive throughout a community or localized to particular classroom or extracurricular experiences. While it is presently unclear whether there is a consistent underlying theory or vision for what these moral education programs (should) look like, 2 many programs have made at least marginal achievements. Peer mediation, for example, is an increasingly popular program due to initial successes in promoting conflict resolution and an overall reduction in reported conflicts over time (Bell et al. 2000). Students train to become mediators who help fellow students work through various personal and interpersonal conflicts. Additional empirical support for the claim that moral education programs have positive effects on students can be found in several multi-year studies of such practices. A study conducted across twenty primary schools in Hawai’i found that a program emphasizing character development resulted in a 70 percent reduction in suspensions, a 15 percent reduction in absenteeism, and improved performance on literacy and mathematics tests (Snyder et al. 2010). Another study, conducted over a period of twenty years at a Utah high school that folded character-building practices into academic lessons, also reported success in terms of both character development and academic progress by participants (Williams et al. 2003). Such outcomes are encouraging for moral education advocates, as they suggest that these programs benefit both individual students and the school environment at large. Continuing research in moral education is necessarily an interdisciplinary effort: in order to ensure that moral education is delivered effectively, our methods of instruction should align with our most recent empirical findings and sophisticated educational theories. To this end, moral education research makes use of the fields of psychology, education, and philosophy, among others. Developmental and cognitive psychology have been invaluable to our collective understanding of how the brain processes morally salient experiences and recruits them for psychosocial development. Education sciences have helped us to understand how best to deliver information to learners based partly on findings in psychological research, but also based on teacher and student experience. Finally, philosophy is an ancient origin point of moral education research and remains an interlocutor (albeit in a perhaps diminished capacity) in contemporary discussions of moral education. This book is also interdisciplinary in its approach to moral education, but the tack I take is primarily philosophical in nature. Accordingly, it will be helpful to establish some of the history of moral education in philosophy and its current state of play.

Introduction

3

THE WESTERN RATIONALIST TRADITION In the Western tradition, theorizing about moral education is typically regarded as having its start in the fourth and third centuries BCE with the works of thinkers like Plato and Aristotle. The Aristotelian moral education project in particular, covered in detail by the Nicomachean Ethics and Eudemian Ethics (and, to a much lesser extent, in the final book of Politics), lays out a program for moral development that focuses on the cultivation of ethical dispositions (virtues) alongside practical wisdom (phronesis). This program, perhaps most accurately described as a moral training regimen, emphasizes habituation, practice, and model emulation as means of developing the basic dispositions and reflective capacity necessary for cultivating strict and complete virtue. Aristotle’s moral education strikes a balance between promoral affective capacities on the one hand, and rational capacities on the other. It is perhaps ironic, then, that subsequently developed theories of morality focused increasingly on rational capacities and less so on affective ones. Aristotle venerated rationality as an essential feature of humanity, but it was the early modern philosophers who, arguably, truly placed rationality at center stage in their ethical thought. The deontological and utilitarian ethical traditions, typically represented by Kant and Mill respectively, shifted focus largely (if not entirely) away from the virtue ethics of Aristotle and onto abstract moral principles. These ethical positions look to assign moral goodness based not on the cultivation of character traits, but on the goodness of principles or positive effects of subsequent outcomes of actions. 3 Since such attributions of goodness are contingent on rational faculties, rather than emotional ones, rationality became the focal point of research in normative ethics in contemporary philosophy. This is not to suggest that affective reactions were or remain absent from discussions of morality in a post-Aristotelian world. Humean sentimentalism is inherently concerned with the passions as a source of moral judgement. Rousseau’s famous treatise Emile, which depicts moral education as a project in retaining the innate goodness of humans, also addresses the intersection of reason and affect in moral behavior. My point here, however, is to note a distinct shift in thought over the course of the history of philosophy of ethics, one that moves further away from an emphasis on affect and toward an emphasis on rationality. Such philosophical views have arguably influenced subsequent theorizing in the psychological sciences regarding what is or is not included in the development of moral judgement (Kristjánsson 2006, p. 38), focusing on a loosely defined notion of rationality. Kohlberg (1973), known for his extension of Piaget’s work in developmental psychology, is exemplary of this tradition. Kohlberg posited a stage theory of moral development that begins

4

Introduction

with egoism oriented around reward and punishment, and ends with the development of a principled conscience that grasps and deploys concepts such as integrity, autonomy, justice, and other abstract ethical rules. This Kohlbergian view treats moral development as being primarily a feature or offshoot of rational development in general. Consequently, projects in moral education began to focus on inculcating understanding and awareness of the sorts of principles that Kohlberg placed at the pinnacle of moral development. This all leads to an interesting observation: for a large part of recorded human history, thought on moral education in philosophy and in the relevant sciences has been roughly synchronous, with philosophy arguably serving as a foundational resource for the sciences. Even Dewey, regarded by history as both a philosopher and psychologist and one of the foremost advocates of moral education in public schools, was arguably primarily a philosopher and secondarily a scientist. It is reasonable to assert, then, that for many years it was philosophy that led the way in developing a science of moral education. SHIFTING AWAY FROM RATIONALISM Recently, however, there has been an apparent inversion of these roles and functions. While dominant for many years, rationalist accounts of moral development have not gone uncriticized and, over the last several decades, began to receive substantive pushback from a number of sources. Some critics (e.g., Gilligan 1982; Harkness, Edwards, and Super 1981; Lotfabadi 2008) have argued that Kohlberg’s stages do not adequately represent a plurality of ethical perspectives, being designed around only a particular collection of ethical institutions that might be andro- or Eurocentric. Additionally, it has been noted that Kohlberg’s account suggests that, as humans progress through the moral stages, there should be increasing consistency in how judgements are made, with no backsliding or pluralism between stages. This, however, runs counter to observed decision-making behaviors in moral scenarios (Parke, Gauvain, and Schmuckler 2010). Finally, alternative models of moral judgement, such as social intuitionism (e.g., Haidt 2001), have been offered to explain the fact that, according to neurological data, humans appear to make moral judgements much more rapidly than would be allowed by conscious consideration of the abstract principles that Kohlberg suggests are central to moral reasoning. The upshot of such findings is that a Kohlbergian account of moral development is at best incapable of explaining all facets of moral psychology or, at worst, simply wrong. Ultimately, this has led research in moral education away from rationalism and appeal to abstract principles, and back toward the virtue ethics

Introduction

5

traditions with which moral education theorists began. As Kristjánsson (2006) observes: The last two decades have witnessed a burgeoning literature on role-modelling—that is, the emulation of role models or “moral exemplars”—as a didactic strategy in moral education. Much of this literature hails from the movement of character education, which has recently gained considerable prominence, especially in the USA. Driving this movement is the belief that the Kohlbergian stress on cognitive skills in moral education, as well as the ultraliberal conception of such education as a mere exercise in values clarification, have failed to hit the mark—have failed to deliver the ultimate prize of moral education, which is to make students good. To rectify this shortcoming, children must be taught about right and wrong in a more straightforward manner, moral virtue must seep into them from an early age like dye into wool, and they must, inter alia, learn to take their cue from worthy mentors and moral exemplars. (p. 37)

These sorts of shifts have been instigated primarily by researchers in developmental and educational psychology, who have pushed for emphasizing nonrational features of moral development, such as character traits, alongside the rational, principled aspects of moral education. These proposals draw on increasingly sophisticated accounts of moral development and moral psychology that are constantly undergoing critical analysis and further refinement, such as Turiel’s (1983) domain theory, and a marked overall increase in publications on the topic of moral education (Lee and Taylor 2013). As a result, it is fair to say that research on moral education, as a focus within moral psychology, is rapidly evolving. ENDING THE PHILOSOPHICAL DROUGHT For whatever reason, there are relatively few contributions to moral education programs or research from contemporary philosophy, despite its general investment in ethics. Much of the current philosophical work in ethics, however, is focused on normative projects rather than on devising methods for encouraging agents to adopt and enact particular principles, practices, or values. My point is not to disparage such projects, but to suggest that philosophers also have a stake in moral education, since education is foundational to developing reliable moral actors. An investment by philosophy can also produce a critical analysis of current moral education programs, especially their methods and underlying theories, and may help to better conceptualize and deploy these programs. Additionally, research on moral education and development can be used to better understand philosophical ideas regarding these topics. It seems natural, then, to engage in a philosophical assessment of moral education and take such projects seriously.

6

Introduction

This book aims to further these ends. As mentioned at the outset of the introduction, I argue that modern approaches to moral education can benefit from a recurring feature of classical Confucian theories of moral cultivation, namely ritual. 4 In particular, this aspect of Confucian moral cultivation is helpfully elucidated under the lens of Vygotsky’s account of learning and development. The comparison provides a sophisticated, empirically respectable, and deployable account of ritual, and a ritual education method, that can broaden and enhance modern moral education pursuits. 5 As such, this project is not merely descriptive; it is also normative and prescriptive in that it argues that such a ritual method can enhance the impact and efficacy of moral education programs, even in a contemporary setting. NOTES 1. A terminological point: throughout this project, I will use the phrase “moral education” to refer to any program focused on enhancing moral development broadly construed. I thus forego the distinction between moral education and character education that is prevalent in the education literature. My reason for doing so, which I will not defend here, is that, insofar as character education programs are often geared toward promoting promoral dispositions, character education is a particular approach to moral education, rather than a distinct project. For a contrasting position, see Althof and Berkowitz (2006). 2. Leming (2000), for example, suggests that many such programs lack underlying theoretical bases, let alone unified designs (pp. 413–414). 3. To be sure, Aristotelian influences are present in the work of both Kant and Mill (e.g., as seen in the Metaphysics of Morals and Utilitarianism respectively), but neither thinker genuinely grounds his normative project in what is conventionally identified as a kind of virtue ethics (Aristotelian or otherwise). 4. To clarify, I am not claiming that ritual is a completely foreign concept to Western education settings (moral or otherwise), but that something like a ritual method is not in widespread or systematic use. Generally, ritual and (especially) a ritual educative method seem to go unappreciated in such contexts, so it is necessary to articulate and defend the value and viability of such resources. 5. In so doing, it is also my hope that this text makes an important contribution to a growing movement, namely the incorporation of philosophy that is variously labeled “comparative,” “non-Western,” or “non-canonical” into a growing literature of contemporary, applied philosophy.

Chapter One

Adaptation and Education (Non)nativism and Moral Development

There are clear motivations for adopting moral education programs in schools and communities; less clear is precisely how the education process itself is to proceed and what it should entail. Presumably, for an education program of any sort to be effective, it must be compatible with human cognitive architecture. Necessarily, then, moral education programs will benefit from being informed by the most viable theories of learning and development. At present, however, it is uncertain how empirical findings about moral development should be construed. One way in which interpreters have distinguished themselves is by joining one of two camps: nativists and social learning theorists. The general nativist thesis claims that the features of human psychology that are, in some sense, distinctly moral are innate. Social learning theorists, on the other hand, claim that the moral character of certain aspects of human psychology is learned through social experiences. In what follows, I critique several contemporary representations of and arguments for moral nativism. I argue that nativists underplay the empirical and theoretical weaknesses faced by nativism, and overstate the problems faced by social learning theories. Moreover, even if some weak nativist claims are plausible, they are insufficient to guide theory and policy for moral education; social learning theories are better situated in this regard. I conclude the chapter by introducing one such theory in particular, that of Vygotsky, as a viable and fruitful theory of learning and development.

7

8

Chapter 1

NATIVISM AND THE STATE OF PLAY Interpreting the current body of empirical findings concerning moral development has proved difficult. As Nucci and Turiel (2009) note, many recent studies in the areas of moral development and moral education, especially regarding the aforementioned character education programs, have been haphazard both in terms of methodology and depiction of data. Consequently, the claims and programs derived from these studies are borne of “premature application[s] of research findings from developmental psychology to classroom practices,” and “the underestimation of the complexity of interactions between development in students’ social and moral understandings and their applications in social contexts” (pp. 151–152). There is a concern that, when it comes to accounts of moral development, some researchers, theorists, and educators have shown a tendency to oversimplify empirical findings and force-fit the data to support their preferred hypotheses and programs. This is worth keeping in mind while analyzing what are arguably the two dominant general camps of explanation for early moral development: nativists and social learning theorists. 1 Generally speaking, moral nativism espouses the thesis that moral competence (i.e., a general ability to form and respond to moral beliefs, judgements, and dispositions) is based largely or wholly on innate faculties of human cognitive architecture (e.g., Cosmides and Tooby 1992; Simpson 2005). Over the course of a human’s growth and development, these faculties mature into fully fledged resources for moral thought and action. The motivations to adopt moral nativism are varied, but two recurring motivators are (i) a perceived utility of an evolutionary account of human psychology and (ii) a perceived necessity of accounting for seemingly rapid moral development during a human’s youth. The first motive likely stems from an increasingly popular belief that morality is in some sense built into human biology. 2 This impression has led some to theorize that, if there is a biological grounding for moral development, then there must be an evolutionary explanation for morality. Joyce (2006), for example, argues that morality is undergirded by an evolved predisposition for reciprocity. Joyce claims that evolution has refined in humans what are less sophisticated traits of nonhuman animals, mainly “reciprocal altruism.” 3 According to Joyce, reciprocal altruism is specifically responsible for much (if not all) of the cooperative behavior demonstrated among prosocial species: In grooming non-kin, an individual monkey might give a great deal more benefit than cost incurred, but it still incurs some cost: that half hour could profitably be used foraging for food or arranging sexual intercourse. So, what possible advantage could there be in sacrificing anything for unrelated conspecifics? The obvious answer is that if those unrelated individuals would then groom her when she’s finished grooming them, or at some later date, then that

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would be an all-round useful arrangement. If, then, all the monkeys entered into this cooperative venture, in total more benefit than costs would be distributed among them. (p. 263)

An important takeaway from Joyce’s analysis is that reciprocal altruism, at least in certain cases, might provide a fitness benefit to both individual organisms as well as the entirety of their community. If so, then it is possible that the trait of reciprocal altruism may be a product of, or enhanced by, the process of natural selection. That is, reciprocal altruism is an evolved feature. In larger communities, more complex structures and mechanisms are needed to ensure both that adherence to reciprocal altruism endures and that potential dissenters are reduced or eliminated. To this end, Joyce suggests that further metacognitive phenomena, such as language and reputation effects, evolved to enhance the effects of reciprocity, culminating in a capacity or predisposition for moral judgement in humans (p. 266). Moral judgement enhances the stability of the system of reciprocity within a community by ensuring that the members adhere to the established norms. Given that moral judgement would also be an evolved trait, Joyce takes his account to provide compelling evidence that a capacity or predisposition specifically for moral judgement is innate in humans (p. 257). I will return to this argument shortly. The other common motive for adopting moral nativism stems from the fact that humans, from a very young age, appear to readily acquire moral rules and differentiate them from conventional ones; an innate moral mechanism (or predisposition) provides an expedient explanation. Dwyer (2006, 2007, 2009) has repeatedly argued for this thesis by comparison with the Chomskyan nativist account of language acquisition. According to the Chomskyan account, it is not that particular languages are hardwired into the human brain, but that there is a language acquisition mechanism that is innate in humans, and this explains how humans readily and rapidly acquire primary languages. Similarly, given the fact that humans seem to acquire moral reasoning early in life, and distinguish moral rules from nonmoral rules with minimal prompting, an innate predisposition for moral judgement would explain these capacities. If moral nativists are correct, and the blueprints for morality are already in humans, then what are the implications for moral education? One thought might be that emphasizing moral education in terms of a system of values and protocols may be unnecessary. This is not to suggest that education cannot benefit or facilitate moral development, but that the process of moral development should be viewed more as a matter of actualizing innate capacities or predispositions than acquiring values or standards. In terms of moral education, what should be institutionalized, if anything, are programs that assist this growth of innate features. What such programs would look like is unclear, but one possibility is that they should allow more for learners’

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Chapter 1

independent development, rather than imposing structures and rules. An analogy for such an approach might be found in independent elements of Montessori-style education, 4 which tend to emphasize the critical thinking, creativity, and developmental potential of the individual learner. Rather than look on moral education primarily as the transmission of values and cultural standards, which would be major features of a social learning approach, a proponent of nativism, drawing on the Piagetian image of the “little scientist,” might propose an exploratory program of education that allows learners to discover for themselves the nature of morality (whatever that might be). I engage in greater depth with education styles in chapter 7, but, for the time being, I will continue this analysis of nativist and social learning theories. THE PROBLEMS OF NATIVISM Moral nativism, while laudable for its attempt to integrate neuroscience, evolutionary theory, and moral development, faces critical issues. Although a full analysis of moral nativism’s challenges is beyond the scope of this project, 5 several especially problematic features are noteworthy. First, however, it will help to clarify what exactly contemporary moral nativists are claiming. In its strongest form, moral nativism might be depicted as the claim that the predispositions for reliable moral functioning are all preprogrammed in humans and, over the course of maturation, gradually (or perhaps rapidly or immediately on reaching a certain stage) activate. On this view, moral behavior does not require that anything additional be added to human psychology; humans grow to have specific moral sensibilities that are triggered by particular cues (e.g., outrage on seeing one’s family member being subjected to aggression) regardless of environmental and social factors such as upbringing or education. This is not the thesis that contemporary moral nativists endorse, and with good reason. Empirically speaking, it would be difficult to defend this position: one would need evidence that the underlying mechanisms of morality (if not morals themselves) are present in human physiology from birth (or, at the very least, that the designs for such mechanisms and how they develop are present at birth). While there is some support for the idea that particular regions of the brain are (typically) more active during moral reasoning (Haidt 2001; Haidt and Joseph 2004, 2008), there is not an abundance of concrete evidence to suggest that such activations are either prior to or independent of socialization. Additionally, the notion of what the moral mechanisms are is vague: if the claim is that humans possess an innate comprehension of an abstract notion of morality, then one faces the difficulty of explaining cultural and individual differences regarding morality; if the claim pertains to capacities for developing dispositions and understandings that lend them-

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selves to reliable moral behaviors, attitudes, and judgements, then one must fill out this developmental story and explain how (and why) it is part of a distinctly nativist picture. Taking the latter route, as contemporary nativists have done, leads one away from the strong nativism depicted above. This is sensible given the messiness of human development: any of a number of external factors can influence how humans develop from infancy into adulthood. Even puberty, which might appear to be a good example of how certain phenotypic traits emerge with remarkable regularity at preset times in a human’s life cycle, is highly dependent on external factors that are more than just triggers for relevant processes. Both the Association of Reproductive Health Professionals (2010) and the Society for Endocrinology (2018) have given summaries of external causes of both delayed and accelerated puberty in humans. While some cases of delayed puberty are genetic, other cases can be due to myriad factors including chronic illness, malnutrition, excessive exercise, and psychological stress. The extent and nature of these effects are further documented by Sharma et al. (2013) with a focus on how these factors contribute to infertility. Additionally, a variety of artificial chemicals (e.g., polychlorinated biphenyls and diethylstilbestrol) that have been introduced into the environment are known to be deleterious to reproductive health. Given the complexity of interactions between human physical development and the environment, then, it should come as no surprise that moral development will also be largely affected by external factors. A weaker nativist position about morality might suggest the following: humans are born with certain capacities or predispositions that, if permitted and encouraged to develop along their natural course, can and (typically) will lead to moral competence. Even weak nativism, however, faces empirical and theoretical challenges. Although there are (arguably) typical developmental windows during which major moral milestones appear to occur, it is unclear that these windows are either inflexible periods or that they occur regardless of social prompting. Lagattuta and Weller (2014), for example, have pointed out that there is a transition period during which the aforementioned conventional-moral distinction is established. Development occurs over a series of years and a great deal of the behavior associated specifically with moral reasoning seems to occur only in later childhood and early adolescence (pp. 390–391). This is interesting, since developmental windows, while occasionally broad, are not typically thought to span roughly a decade. Additionally, as noted by Nucci and Turiel (2009), and contrary to the typical expectations of nativist theorists, moral development seems to go through periods of waxing and waning before (and during) adulthood. This would mean that moral development might not be a linear process, but one that involves a series of cycles, valleys, and peaks. If this is correct, then such a complex developmental picture

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Chapter 1

would be difficult to square with the nativist thesis that, as reflected in the prior accounts, depicts moral development as straightforward, linear growth. Furthermore, evidence suggests that moral capability is heavily influenced by socialization. Malti and Ongley (2014) cite multiple studies demonstrating the importance of associating emotional responses with morally charged scenarios as a means of inculcating and improving reliability of moral performance (pp. 167–168). While these findings do not conclusively show that moral responses are wholly learned, they do suggest that associative learning techniques are important, and effective, parts of moral development. Since such techniques rely on social learning elements, including interpersonal interactions, the findings give reason to believe that morality and moral development are dependent on social learning, rather than solely (if at all) on innate mechanisms. At the very least, it is clear that moral performance can be enhanced by programs rooted in the social learning perspective. A social learning account also provides a parsimonious means of dealing with Joyce’s concern about accounting for humans having an ability to engage in moral reasoning as opposed to “mere” practical reasoning (2006, pp. 273–274). The concern rests on an assumption that there is something distinct about reasoning in a moral context, namely that the constraints of moral reasoning seem to be substantially stronger than the constraints of prudential reasoning. In the moral cases, sufficiently developed humans have senses of moral prohibition that compel them to behave in accordance with the rules of morality; such sensibilities are not usually present for prudential reasoning. As such, there appear to be morally sensitive affective responses that might be explained by distinct mechanisms for moral reasoning. The relevant findings, however, suggest an alternative explanation for the moralization of reasoning: conditioning. By learning to associate certain feelings with particular scenarios, one can be conditioned to respond in particular ways, including cognitive and affective reactions. It is plausible that this association between feeling and scenario could be what gives certain cases of reasoning their particularly moral flavor, without the need to posit a dedicated mechanism for moral reasoning that is wholly distinct from general practical reasoning. If so, then social learning can explain how moral reasoning develops without needing to posit additional mechanisms or systemic complexity. A bit more can be said on this topic. Dwyer (2007) has objected that social learning so described is incapable of accounting for how processes of conditioning, via imitation and internalization, take place and, therefore, is at least no better off than nativist theories on this account. Dwyer’s targets are unclear, though. If the challenge is directed at the fact that the exact physical parts of the brain responsible for imitative learning are not specified, then the challenge could well be directed at a large number of metacognitive processes, not just learning. If the challenge is directed at imitative learning as a

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model in itself, then it needs to explain away decades of seemingly adequate theorizing regarding animal behavior. So, this line of concern is at best insufficiently developed to cause problems. Joyce, on the other hand, never claims that moral sensibilities are (strictly) affective in nature; on the contrary, they might be conceptual. If this is so, and if Joyce’s depiction of moral reasoning is accurate, then nativists may yet have some recourse: even if conditioning can inculcate the association of certain concepts with certain scenarios, it does not follow that these concepts will be motivationally compelling. If, however, there is a moral mechanism to ensure that such concepts motivate, then such a mechanism could indeed undergird moral reasoning. Joyce’s account still unnecessarily complicates the picture, though. Joyce assumes that human moral sensibilities at least have an affective component; that is, the way that moral sensibilities motivate is by making humans feel and value (i.e., desire) the moral concepts to which they are tied (Joyce 2006, pp. 274–275). Even if the relevant capacity (or capacities) for emotion and valuation are innate, however, it is not obvious that their specifics are preprogrammed. It may be that one only comes to associate certain feelings and values with particular scenarios and principles on encountering them and coming to understand their ramifications (e.g., learning to associate guilt with harming another person). If so, then at most humans innately have the capacity to develop moral sensibilities, but this does not prove that moral sensibilities are themselves innate. This analysis leads to an additional point: it is not obvious how moral sensibilities are distinct from feelings of sympathy and guilt. While it is unclear that Joyce believes these sorts of sensibilities to be distinct, or that he can distinguish them, he needs them to be for a strong argument. If moral sensibilities are simply feelings such as guilt, shame, and sympathy, then one can still appeal to the program of affective association depicted above without positing additional mechanisms. For Joyce to preserve his thesis, moral sensibilities need to be in some sense distinct. The problem is that Joyce must provide an argument for why these sensibilities are distinct and how they might be more efficacious than the aforementioned sensibilities traditionally associated with moral reasoning and action. Joyce, however, provides no such argument, and it is not clear that he can. One might reply that feelings such as guilt and sympathy are already conceptually contentful, and therefore can serve as relevant moral sensibilities. If these feelings precede social learning, then there is prima facie reason to assume that they are also innate, preserving Joyce’s thesis. As it stands, though, there is not substantial evidence for this claim. Some theorists, such as Turner and Stets (2005) posit that findings suggest guilt is not innate but, rather, learned by associating fear of punishment with certain actions (p. 19). On the other hand, a number of theorists suggest that capac-

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ities for sympathy or empathy are, at least to a degree, innate (e.g., McDonald and Messinger 2011; Zahn-Waxler et al. 1979; Zahn-Waxler et al. 1992a; Zahn-Waxler et al. 1992b). The problem is that mere empathy/sympathy alone is not enough to produce reliable moral behavior, especially since the relevant capacity may not be reliably deployed across relevant situations. Indeed, Light and Zahn-Waxler (2012) qualify their findings on displays of empathy in human infants as suggesting the existence of a predisposition for a “sense of ourselves in relation to others” (p. 122), but nothing more robust. This means that empathy/sympathy must be trained into the service of morality. Consequently, at best the nativist can argue that there are innate protomoral dispositions rather than moral ones and must concede that social learning is integral to moral development. The latter concern (i.e., morality’s dependence on social prompting) might be preempted by Joyce, who suggests that morality could be construed as the output of an innate conditional strategy, in which case even . . . societies with nothing recognizable as a moral system would not be inconsistent with morality’s being part of human nature, for such societies may not satisfy the antecedent of the conditional. (2006, p. 258)

The appeal to human nature here is vague. For the sake of being charitable, I assume that it refers to a collection of species-typical, innate traits. Even so, it is unclear precisely how one can provide evidence or argument for the claim that the coordination strategy of morality is innate. Moral reasoning, on most theories, encompasses subconscious and affective capacities along with a number of complex metacognitive skills, including the ability to recognize and react appropriately to certain moral systems of principles, rules, and/or cues. 6 Such systems, however, require social input: to develop a contentful sense of morality, and barring the existence of innate moral knowledge, one must be presented with social experiences that do not merely trigger, but substantially shape (i.e., give both content and form to) said moral sense. Without such input, it seems that humans are left exclusively with (at most) innate prosocial emotions. On this note, it is unclear whether the so-called “moral faculty,” if it exists, is concerned with anything that would be recognized as morality. More often than not, the arguments made by nativist theorists suggest that there may be some innate prosocial faculties, such as empathy or a capacity for reciprocation, but this is no guarantee of promoral faculties. Joyce seems to concede this point, but then suggests that there is something distinctive about the nature of human moral judgements that is either built into or on these prosocial faculties (pp. 261–263). Joyce’s argument here is somewhat vague: in his attempts to formulate a distinctive character of moral judge-

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ment, he lists a number of potential features of such judgements, but he does not argue about what features are necessary to define specifically moral judgement. It might be that the faculty being defended does contribute to moral judgement and reasoning but is not in itself moral. Rather, it may simply provide a foundation for moral development. Indeed, the language of some theorists regarding the psychology of morality, such as Haidt and Joseph (2008), explicitly refers to such capacities as “psychological primitives” and “building blocks” for morality, rather than as moral faculties in themselves (p. 381). If even cognitive scientists are hesitant to ascribe morality to faculties that they are otherwise willing to defend as innate, then it should probably give philosophers pause to reconsider this labeling as well. One could object here that philosophers, traditionally having domain over the topic of morality, are more qualified than cognitive scientists to remark on what counts as morality. As such, philosophers might not be made wary by the cognitive scientists’ hesitation on this topic. Here are two replies to this objection. First, the objection assumes that the philosophers are wellinformed and that the cognitive scientists are ill-informed with regard to the history of theorizing about what morality is. That this assumption holds across the board for philosophers is dubious, in which case the cognitive scientists could have useful input. Second, the issue of expertise cuts both ways: while philosophers might (typically) be better positioned to know about what constitutes morality conceptually, cognitive scientists are likely better positioned to talk about the nature and limits of human cognitive architecture, especially with regard to what parts of the brain can and cannot do and how they can and cannot interact. At the very least, philosophers should be open to considering the labeling concerns held by cognitive scientists. Now, let us consider the argument for weak moral nativism, what might be called moral faculty nativism, presented by Dwyer. According to Dwyer, moral faculty nativism refers strictly to the thesis that there exists some innate mechanism (or collection of mechanisms) that, over the course of development, can be utilized as the foundation for moral reasoning/judgement. This faculty/capacity/mechanism is merely a baseline for morality in the sense that it enables one to develop a morality and think morally (whatever that might end up meaning). Even if humans have such a faculty, the content of one’s morality still needs to be filled in. This is because the faculty only goes so far as to provide humans with a means of acquiring morality, much like the proposed language faculty provides humans with a means of acquiring languages (2007, pp. 411–412). This means that the content must be learned, and the only plausible resource from which one can learn moral content, also as with language, is one’s social environment. As such, even on a (plausible) nativist account of human morality, moral education, as a matter

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of learning from certain external resources, is still necessary if one wants to ensure that developing humans acquire a contentful moral sensibility. Regardless of whether one is compelled by moral nativism, it should be immediately apparent that, based on the findings in developmental literature, nativists and social learning theorists can (and should) agree on the role, nature, and viability of more traditional, socially based approaches to moral education. I am willing to concede that there may be innate tendencies in humans to develop certain patterns of reasoning, and even tendencies to develop capacities for prosocial dispositions such as reciprocity and empathy. Even assuming the nativist depiction of moral development to be accurate, however, it appears that what humans receive from their native endowments amounts to little more than capacities for prosocial, and in turn promoral, dispositions rather than full-blown morality itself. Indeed, humans might even typically be inclined toward prosocial displays, but this does not demonstrate that humans have an innate sense of full-blown morality. At best, it shows that humans might have a collection of building blocks that, when appropriately assembled, promote moral behavior, and this is not at all the same thing as having an innate moral sense. 7 NONNATIVISM, SOCIAL LEARNING, AND THE RELEVANCE OF VYGOTSKY As is apparent from the abundance of nativist theories, contemporary philosophy of science has become increasingly invested in the phenomena of learning and development. Nativism, however, does not hold a monopoly on philosophical thought: there are philosophical models that align with social learning, with Sterelny’s (2012) “apprentice learning theory” being among the most recent and nuanced of these. While Sterelny is mainly interested in giving an account of development that diverges from the nativist accounts popular among certain research programs in evolved human behaviors and general psychology, 8 he does so in part by offering an account of how much psychosocial development can be accounted for in terms of what he describes as social learning. Sterelny depicts social learning as a hybrid of explicit learning (e.g., receiving instruction by more knowledgeable persons, following exemplars, etc.), practice (e.g., attempting to deploy skills and refining said deployment), and imitative learning. All of this takes place within an environment that is “seeded with informational resources,” including not only informative instructors, but also perceptible patterns that can be comprehended and (to varying degrees) manipulated (p. 35). The notion of learning through doing while receiving guidance from more experienced members of the community explains the apprentice-like nature of learning and cognitive development, rounding out Sterelny’s account.

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This also gives Sterelny a means of avoiding nativism: when the social and physical environments are sufficiently stable, humans are able to develop and maintain particular skills and practices, including culture. Culture itself then becomes part of the feedback loop, being integrated into the environment itself and serving to reinforce certain norms over time, including moral norms. While Sterelny does point out that it is likely that humans are predisposed toward certain prosocial emotions, and that these emotions likely play an important role in the socialization of norms, this does not entail that moral development is innate in any thick sense: these predispositions might be very crude, general, and basic; moral precepts are typically much more sophisticated and would require social learning (p. 165). Learning across all fields, including morality and social norms, is explicable in terms of apprenticeship. Sterelny’s general view falls in line with many social learning theories currently under research in the cognitive sciences, but a drawback that Sterelny’s view faces from an empirical perspective is its novelty: having only recently been introduced, it is difficult to claim direct empirical support for the account. Fortunately, Sterelny’s apprentice learning theory, and its means of responding to moral nativism, aligns in many respects with a learning theory that has received substantial attention in education and cognitive science over the past several decades, particularly that of Vygotsky. 9 Vygotsky, like Sterelny, emphasizes the role of the social in cognitive development and is skeptical of full-on nativism: humans may have certain developmental predispositions, but these predispositions are relatively thin in terms of what content they provide for humans. Indeed, one of the distinctive features of Vygotsky’s account is its emphasis on the role and influence of the social world for cognitive development. The Vygotskyan developmental model emphasizes that cognitive development is predominantly social rather than individualistic or isolated (i.e., the rapidity and extent of development is heavily contingent on interactions with others). For Vygotsky, development of higher-order psychological processes entails a sort of skill mastery, in which “an operation that initially represents an external activity is reconstructed and begins to occur internally” (1978, pp. 56–57). This means that development is necessarily mediated by the acquisition and utilization of social tools. Arguably the most important tool for Vygotsky is language: since verbal language is the primary means of communication between humans, it is also the primary tool for transmitting information from adults to children. Upon internalizing and appropriating language, it fundamentally transforms thought: [The] nature of the development itself changes from biological to sociohistorical. Verbal thought is not an innate, natural form of behavior, but is determined by a historical-cultural process and has specific properties and laws that

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Chapter 1 cannot be found in the natural forms of thought and speech. (Tappan 1997, pp. 94–95)

As one acquires and utilizes verbal language, it facilitates and shapes the manner in which thought is organized. On an intrapersonal level, this amounts to what Vygotsky calls “inner speech” or “egocentric speech” which, in the beginning, is identical in structure with social speech, but in the process of [social speech’s] transformation into inner speech, it gradually becomes less complete and coherent as it becomes governed by an almost entirely predicative syntax. . . . The child talks about the things he sees or hears or does at a given moment. As a result, he tends to leave out the subject and all words connected with it, condensing his speech more and more until only predicates are left. The more differentiated the specific function of egocentric speech becomes, the more pronounced are its syntactic peculiarities—simplification and predication. (Vygotsky 1986, pp. 243–244)

Inner speech provides a shorthand for organizing thought. Additionally, on an interpersonal level, language permits for effective communication between people, which in turn allows for exchanges of information of various natures (social, moral, scientific, etc.). Another facet of Vygotsky’s account involves the influence of, and relationship between, social tools and social interactions. Specifically, Vygotsky explains the social nature of cognitive development by appealing to two concepts: the more knowledgeable other (MKO) and the zone of proximal development (ZPD). MKOs are those who, relative to a learner, are better versed in a particular skill or skillset. The skill or skillset can be an ability as specific as aeronautic engineering or as general as basic mathematical reasoning. One might think of MKOs as exemplars of skill competence that provide templates on which learners may base their behavior. The ZPD is “the distance between the actual development level as determined by independent problem solving and the level of potential development as determined through problem solving under adult guidance or in collaboration with more capable peers” (Vygotsky 1978, p. 86). By appealing to MKOs, learners can grow from baseline ZPDs by internalizing skills and capacities. Learning begins with exposure to and assistance from MKOs, wherein basic skills and capacities are first introduced to the learner. Assuming that the skills are within a learner’s ZPD, 10 the learner then engages in performance and practice. What follows is a process of internalization and refinement (also known as “scaffolding”) as the learner proceeds to integrate the skills in a manner that enables successful performance. This learning process involves trial-and-error, and learners may return to MKOs for assistance in further refining skills, collaborating with them to further development. This

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means that the learning process is interactive, and that both learner and teacher are active participants in the development of new knowledge. It is also noteworthy that mastery of a skill does not necessarily mark the end of development; the learning process may be repeated ad infinitum as learners continue to refine their skills. With each additional success, learners further develop their understanding and, as a result, gradually shift and expand their ZPDs, making increasingly complex and more difficult skills accessible. As a result, development may proceed from a crude, rudimentary grasp of a particular skill or piece of knowledge to a refined, complex understanding of said skill or knowledge over the progression of the interactions between learners and MKOs. The distinctiveness of Vygotsky’s account can be further illuminated by means of contrast with a learning theory such as that of Piaget. Piaget’s own theory emphasizes that, while development is partly a product of exploring one’s environment, it also depends on the maturation of innate mechanisms that (roughly) correspond to certain stages of development. If Piaget’s position can be construed as suggesting that the development of competencies is contingent primarily on biology/psychology, then Vygotsky’s can be summarized as suggesting that such development is contingent primarily on socialization. While both Piaget and Vygotsky accept that instruction is necessary to facilitate development, and that social factors will therefore affect learning, they make radically different assumptions regarding the extent to which such external factors will impact development. As mentioned, the Piagetian program tends more toward a nativist line, emphasizing stages of development and an innate power for reasoning possessed by the individual. Vygotsky, however, is skeptical of innate abilities (at least to the extent that Piaget grants to some of them), and suggests that much of the capacity to learn is itself predicated on social experiences: features such as the culture and language in which one is brought up actually build and shape these capacities. This is because one’s social setting is filled with a number of cultural tools (such as language) that will serve as the media by which new information and experiences are introduced (and ultimately internalized and understood) by a learner. The important distinction, compared with a view such as Piaget’s, is that the cultural contents (i.e., the social tools) are not merely providing educational content, but functionally restructuring thought as a whole— that is the sense in which knowledge is constructed for Vygotsky. An upshot of this position is that, given the diversity of cultural tools that humans employ (such as language, customs, and dogmas), humans should be expected to differ as learners not only on individual levels, but also on communal levels as well.

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SUPPORT FOR THE GENERAL VYGOTSKYAN ACCOUNT Vygotsky’s account of learning has found a good deal of support in current empirical research, with the developmental model receiving endorsements from the work of Wertsch (1985), Wood and Wood (1996), Tappan (1997, 1998 a, b), and Garzotto (2007). Garzotto in particular provides an interesting study suggesting that there is empirical support for much of Vygotsky’s theory regarding the distinctly social nature of learning, particularly in terms of the effects of collaboration. Garzotto evaluates two hypotheses: i) social interaction in online edutainment promotes children’s learning; in particular, playing an online educational game together is more effective for learning than playing alone; ii) different conditions of social interaction induce different learning effects. (Garzotto 2007, p. 382)

Garzotto also evaluates learning on both the cognitive (i.e., intellectual skills) and affective (i.e., coping with emotions) levels (ibid.). Garzotto examines interactions of eight- and nine-year-olds in the context of a single or multiplayer “edutainment” game, with the multiplayer variant being divided into a cooperative version and a hybrid cooperative-competitive version. While participants across the board tended to develop the skills taught by the game, and rate the experience favorably, Garzotto reports that those in the interactive multiplayer settings demonstrated better performance during the segments of the game that tested skill development (p. 384) and also had more positive emotional reactions to the process of learning new skills (p. 385). This suggests that both cognitive and affective learning methods benefit from permitting and encouraging peer collaboration, much in line with Vygotsky’s prediction regarding the role of the MKO and peer-enhanced learning. Perhaps some of the most striking support for the Vygotskyan peer- and tool-mediated model is offered by findings regarding the development of skill competence. As documented by Anderson, Fincham, and Douglass (1997), the four components of skill learning are as follow: (a) analogy to examples: retrieval of the study example and analogical extension of the example to the current problem, (b) declarative abstractions: after a few applications participants probably consciously identify the rule associated with the sport and apply it, (c) production rules: with extensive practice participants develop a procedural embodiment of the rule, and (d) retrieval of examples: retrieval of an example that matches the target problem and simple readout of the answer. (p. 938)

The process is cyclical and compounding. Learners first take worked examples of problems relevant to the target skill (d) for the purpose of recognition,

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and then analogize to the problem with which they are currently presented (a). After repeating this process, learners (b) conceptualize general rules derived from the analogical connections between problems (this is also where inductive and deductive reasoning more strongly come into play). Ultimately, learners (c) develop production rules (i.e., implicit, nonpropositional knowledge) for solving problems and rely less on the reportable, abstract rules. It is also worth emphasizing that the phases are not necessarily exclusive: at any point during skill development a learner may be observed employing a combination of any of the learning components (ibid., p. 945). This model appears consistent with Vygotsky’s account of the ZPD and skill maturation, particularly the idea that learning is constant, recurring, collaborative, and can involve backtracking. Similar support is offered by Renkl et al. (2002), who follow Anderson, Fincham, and Douglass in criticizing current instructional methods for lacking emphasis on what they describe as the “fading” procedure for improving learner skill. “Fading” refers to a gradual shift from explicit, direct guidance to minimal guidance in instruction. In their experiments, Renkl et al. employed a fading procedure by starting learners with completely worked examples (e.g., the physics of voltage) and gradually shifting them toward nondirected problem solving. By integrating example study and problem solving along a sliding scale over time, learners exhibited improved performance on the relevant tasks compared to learners who received either example study or problem-solving instruction exclusively or were transitioned at a more jarring rate. The findings suggest that in order to optimize the efficacy of instructional methods they must provide learners with a means of smoothly transitioning from a novice state to a position of competence. Again, this also fits with the Vygotskyan account insofar as it emphasizes the gradual shifting away from direct(ive) instruction, as learners continue to internalize resources, while still allowing for learners to return to more knowledgeable others as their skills continue to mature. Finally, let us return to a noteworthy feature of the Vygotskyan account: its emphasis on the importance of cultural diversity and the role that social interaction and cultural tools play in cognitive development. As noted by Yelland and Masters (2007), these foci provide Vygotskyan models of learning and development with an advantage over the aforementioned Piagetian approaches in particular: The influence of Vygotskian theory on educational practice has been one the most striking features of the past decade. Although a constructivist approach, grounded in the work of Piaget, had previously dominated pedagogy in schools, its lack of consideration of group learning processes, the social contexts of learning and the influences of cultural diversity, together with problems associated with the invariant notion of stages of development that are

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Chapter 1 universal, has led to its demise as the primary means for explaining and providing contexts for learning and development. (p. 363, modified)

While Piaget’s work focuses primarily on the development of an individual interacting with the physical world, Vygotsky focuses on the individual as being largely a product of the social world, with the identity (i.e., personality) emerging along with various socially facilitated competencies. As a result, Vygotsky places factors like group learning, cultural diversity, and learning context toward the center of his theory. While not wholly averse to the notions of developmental stages that are (largely) determined by innate propensities of the brain to develop in certain ways, Vygotsky emphasizes that such development is facilitated by interaction with one’s world, and that social interaction in particular effects development in ways that not only help to advance learners but also differentiate them. This is particularly important for theorizing about group learning contexts, in which not only is instruction “shared” by multiple different learners, but the learners themselves may then interact and reconstruct information in a variety of ways (ideally with those most competent guiding their less competent peers). These elements of Vygotsky’s theory alone have made it invaluable for research into learning within and across communities, as well as developing effective instructional techniques for diverse learner groups. Given the ongoing rise in reputability of Vygotsky’s account of learning and development in both developmental psychology and educational theory, as well as its alignment with social learning theories like Sterelny’s, it seems an apt basis for continuing this investigation into moral psychology and effective methods of moral education. It is, therefore, with the Vygotskyan account that the next chapter will begin. NOTES 1. For the purposes of this project, “social learning” will be used in a broad sense, and not refer exclusively to the explicitly titled social learning theory developed by Bandura and Walters (1963). 2. Prinz (2007) lists the following examples: Cosmides and Tooby (1992), de Waal (1996), Haidt and Joseph (2004), Hauser (2006), Ruse (1991), Sober and Wilson (1998), and Turiel (2002). 3. Joyce adopts this expression from Trivers (1971). 4. I refer to “independent elements” because the Montessori method, as originally outlined by Montessori, is highly structured and in many ways the antithesis of how Montessori schools are often depicted in contemporaneity. For more accurate representations of Montessori, see Karnes et al. (1970) and Marshall (2017). 5. A recent, more complete critique of modern moral nativism has been provided by Sterelny (2010). 6. Emotivism might be an exception, but it is (a) only one metaethical theory among many, (b) not shared by all theorists, and (c) not the metaethical theory that nativists seem to defend (if there be any one such theory).

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7. An alternative view, for which I thank Eric Hutton, would be to grant weak nativists the existence of some innate, coarse grain protomoral capacities while maintaining this idea that said dispositions cannot on their own provide everything that philosophers typically expect of a moral sense. Depending on how one would want to flesh out these capacities, I might also be amenable to such a position, though I am skeptical that it warrants the nativist label. 8. Chief among such programs is Evolutionary Psychology. For an overview, see Tooby and Cosmides (2005). 9. Interestingly, one of Sterelny’s influences is Tomasello, much of whose research is influenced by the very theory that Vygotsky originates. See Tomasello, Kruger, and Ratner (1993). Wimsatt (2010) also places Sterelny among those who have adopted such theories of learning (p. 344). 10. If a skill/capacity is far beyond a learner’s ZPD, then the learner may simply fail to acquire it. For example, a child who has not yet developed competence in fundamental arithmetic will likely be incapable of developing a rudimentary understanding of the Riemann hypothesis.

Chapter Two

Education and Moral Education Vygotsky’s Incomplete Account

Over the last several decades, Vygotsky’s work has become increasingly important for research in psychosocial development and pedagogical methodology. Despite rising interest in his theory of learning and development, however, little has been written connecting Vygotsky specifically to moral education. The most comprehensive attempt at formulating such an account is given by Tappan. Herein, I critically evaluate Tappan’s account, raising several problems for his approach. I then offer potential resolutions for these issues by turning to research in socialization theory and elaborating how additional sociocultural tools can supplement moral education. In particular, the most viable sociocultural tools for the task will be ones that are capable of transmitting values and facilitating their practice and internalization. VYGOTSKYAN MORAL DEVELOPMENT: AN UNFINISHED ACCOUNT Given its apparent viability for education in general, Vygotsky’s theory of learning would seem an ideal candidate for providing the basis of a theory of moral education in particular. Despite a lifetime of prolific writing, however, Vygotsky died before completing an account of moral development. Although Vygotsky covers a number of related topics, namely the generation and maintenance of complex skills, emotional development, and personality, he never explicitly connects any of these to an account of moral development. While researchers have built on the groundwork Vygotsky laid in many of these areas, attempts to expand on moral development have been 25

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relatively few, and little has been written concerning Vygotsky’s unfinished work on moral development. Of the limited writing available, Tappan (1997, 1998a, 1998b, 2006) arguably provides the most comprehensive account, suggesting that a Vygotskyan account of moral development can be formulated based on Vygotsky’s theory of how development proceeds in terms of skill mastery via social tools. Specifically, given the centrality of language to psychosocial development in Vygotsky’s account, Tappan suggests that moral development is contingent on sociolinguistic development: 1. moral functioning (like all ‘higher psychological functioning’) is necessarily mediated by words, language, and forms of discourse; 2. such mediation occurs primarily in private or inner speech, typically in the form of inner moral dialogue; 3. because language is the social medium par excellence, processes of social communication and social relations necessarily give rise to moral functioning; 4. because words, language, and forms of discourse are inherently sociocultural phenomena, moral development is always shaped by the particular social, cultural, and historical context in which it occurs. (Tappan 1997, p. 87) Tappan’s interpretation takes the basic Vygotskyan account of tool-mediated development and applies it to moral development. Specifically, Tappan suggests that language plays the same role in developing moral thought and behavior as it plays in other realms of skill development. This is at least roughly plausible given the social nature of morality: moral rules derive their force partially from the fact that one lives in a world in relation to others, especially since (some of) one’s moral views are heavily influenced by, if not products of or the bases for, particular cultures. 1 Furthermore, Vygotskyan inner speech, in this context, might be thought of as providing an agent with an inner moral voice that helps to frame and structure morally charged scenarios and interactions. As such, linguistic competence and language culture should be expected to feature in an individual’s moral development, since much moral reasoning will necessarily be mediated and facilitated by verbal expression. Tappan also claims that his adaptation of Vygotsky can account for the affective and motivational components of moral behavior. In support of this claim, he cites one of Vygotsky’s remarks on motivation: Thought is not the superior authority in this process. Thought is not begotten by thought; it is engendered by motivation, i.e., by our desires and needs, our interests and emotions. Behind every thought there is an affective-volitional tendency, which holds the answer to the last ‘why’ in the analysis of thinking.

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A true and full understanding of another’s thought is possible only when we understand its affective-volitional basis. (Vygotsky 1986, p. 252)

Although Vygotsky, at least in this excerpt, has little determinate to say on the topic of motivated behavior (aside from seemingly adopting a roughly Humean line), Tappan construes Vygotsky’s statement as a suggestion that moral behavior, insofar as it is presumably motivated behavior, must be construed as having some, and perhaps even a predominant, affective component. This means that Tappan’s language-mediated account of moral development will necessarily also tap into the learner’s affective states, presumably associating them with the moral concepts that the learner constructs over the course of moral development. This framework is also attractive from a more general educational and developmental perspective. The suggestion that moral competence must be gradually acquired in a manner akin to mastery of other skillsets implies that development is learner-centric and socially enhanced. It is learner-centric in the sense that learners are actively engaged in the process of constructing their moral comprehension by means of scaffolding an information base that is constantly growing in breadth and depth (e.g., personal experiences, association of behavior and affect, etc.). It is socially enhanced since one’s moral development will be partially contingent on one’s interactions with the environment, particularly other human beings such as parents, peers, and authority figures, and how these relationships guide individuals toward particular moral outlooks (e.g., parental admonishment and encouragement, paradigmatic stories, etc.). It is also important to emphasize that, due to the large role that social interactions play in the development of moral competence, the information taken in by learners need not be passively received and adopted: as with language, it is anticipated that learners will struggle and reformulate information as their thought becomes increasingly organized. This fits with the position that learners’ representations of moral ideals will be contextualized and, moreover, subjective to the extent that said representations will be their own, another core assumption of Vygotsky’s. PROBLEMS FOR MORAL DEVELOPMENT IN TAPPAN’S VYGOTSKYAN MODEL Tappan’s elaboration is in many ways faithful to Vygotsky’s vision of development, but it also encounters several problems as a result. First, Tappan’s notion of how affect and motivation build into (or onto) the language-mediated account of moral development is hazy at best: What explains the manner in which social tools are able to elicit and connect certain affective responses with particular behaviors and ideals? Tappan might appeal to Vygotsky’s notion of the personality as a gestalt of sorts (i.e., that the personality should

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be conceived holistically as an individual’s psychology irreducible to component parts), 2 with the relationship between affect and moral concepts being a byproduct of the manner in which the personality’s components are incorporated into an individual’s worldview. It is still unclear how moral language and affect become associated on this view, but it may strike some as acceptable. Even with such charitable assumptions, though, it remains unclear how language alone is sufficient to provide scaffolding for learners to develop moral competence. Moral competence, after all, requires that a learner be capable of reliably comprehending and following moral prescriptions; it entails that the learner understands (and acts on or is disposed to act on) what one should do, a capacity that does not necessarily accompany linguistic competence. For example, a person might be exceedingly linguistically competent but fail to display any compunction on breaching morality; indeed, such a person might even utilize their linguistic competency to engage in immoral acts (e.g., telling malicious lies). 3 To put it bluntly, one could be perfectly linguistically competent and remain an immoral cad. 4 The schism between linguistic and moral competence can be further highlighted by examining what each involves. While both natural language and morality constrain and prescribe certain kinds of behavior, they do so to different degrees and require significantly different developmental inputs (i.e., the social experiences required for learners to cultivate competence in a particular skill or set of skills). Specifically, there is a greater degree of openness and flexibility for general linguistic productions than for moral productions. Whereas language acquisition and competence require exposure and socialization for learners to completely develop their linguistic skill, especially regarding idiomatic expressions, natural language is also comparatively open-ended in that even competent speakers are capable of generating an infinite number of potentially appropriate responses in any given course of conversation. In contrast, moral competence requires practitioners to develop a wide array of capacities that may necessitate significant constraints on behavior, such as awareness of the mental states of others and empathy/sympathy, in order to inform proper moral judgement and action; this requirement is arguably nonexistent for the cultivation of linguistic competence. This argument is furthered by the fact that the effective use of language does not require practitioners to engage their own or others’ emotions when socially interacting. 5 One can navigate a conversation without any particular emotional change or consideration. In morally charged scenarios, however, emotions necessarily play a role. This means that the aforementioned affective capacities should be cultivated as part of the moral development process but, as previously noted, it is unclear on Tappan’s account just how such capacities can be cultivated via linguistic mediation alone (or even primarily).

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To further illustrate the point, consider how one might go about developing tests for both linguistic and moral competence. In the case of the former, the tests will need to discern a person’s ability to understand and generate spoken and (if applicable) written expressions of a given language. This means that tests will typically be across four dimensions: understanding spoken communications, generating spoken communications, understanding written communications, and generating written communications. Linguistic competency is based on performance along these dimensions. Testing for moral competence, on the other hand, involves different metrics. Being moral is not merely about processing propositions, but also about acting, or being disposed to act, morally in general. Rather than simply considering a person’s ability to understand and produce morally relevant linguistic expressions (e.g., given the scenario of seeing a baby approaching an open well, the subject responds that the proper course of action is to save the baby), tests of moral competence will be concerned with eliciting the appropriate moral actions (e.g., seeing the baby crawling toward the open well, the subject actually rushes forward and protects the baby). Indeed, at least some such tests might lack (overtly) linguistic components altogether (what, after all, is the linguistic prompt to save the baby?), which further suggests a discrepancy between the two forms of competence. It is also unclear that language alone can generate the sort of imagination involved in moral competence. This is related to cases of empathizing with others and the aforementioned association of affective responses with scenarios. In both cases, perspective-taking is involved wherein practitioners must either place themselves in the shoes of another (e.g., as when empathizing) or analogize between relevant scenarios and affective reactions (e.g., imagining scenarios and then associating the common features and feelings among them). Such processes can also require practitioners to engage in visualization that language on its own may once again be insufficient to invoke. If a practitioner encounters some moral instruction solely by language (e.g., via text or lecture), but has no experiential knowledge of the relevant details of the instruction, then the practitioner may fail to visualize what relevant scenarios would look like and, in turn, be incapable of applying the instruction. For example, one might be told that it is appropriate to shake hands as a means of introducing oneself; it does not follow from this instruction alone, however, that one will effectively put this into practice (e.g., what a handshake is, how firm it should be, what exceptions to this policy might exist, etc.). 6 While Vygotsky never explicitly discusses the role of imagination in morality, he does explain how development of the imagination influences the personality. According to Vygotsky, the imagination provides a means of engaging with the world and others. Concerning childhood development, Vygotsky makes the following observation:

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Chapter 2 The development of imagination is linked to the development of speech, to the development of the child’s social interactions with those around him, and to the basic forms of the collective social activity of the child’s consciousness. (Vygotsky 1997, p. 346)

The imagination’s development and function are intertwined with those of other faculties, making it one element among many that comes into play during worldly interactions. In particular, the imagination can be a resource for cultural development and mastery, permitting humans to successfully interact with each other and the environment in general (ibid.). 7 This process is bi-directional: as the imagination allows mastery of culture, so too does culture affect the development of the imagination. Certain developmental tools, such as language, help to shape thought and corresponding behavior. Vygotsky writes: What is substantially new in the development of fantasy during the transitional age is contained precisely in the fact that the imagination of an adolescent enters a close connection with thinking in concepts; it is intellectualized and included in the system of intellectual activity and begins to fulfill a completely new function in the new structure of the adolescent’s personality. (Vygotsky 1998, p. 154)

As the imagination develops, it is shaped by experiences and the other cognitive tools that one acquires because it develops in concert with the other elements of one’s personality. This means that moral competence, as a facet of this developing personality, will also develop alongside (and possibly be partly developed by) the imaginative component as well. An important implication of these distinctions is that the account of moral development given by Tappan on behalf of Vygotsky is (at least) incomplete: linguistic competence cannot be the whole of moral development. While the Vygotskyan project gives an explanation of the psychology of learning, it does not provide an account of why learning certain information and skills would ever lead one to become moral. Importantly, it does not explain how one comes to coordinate the previously discussed capacities such as awareness of others’ mental states, empathy/sympathy, and other prosocial, promoral emotions with moral action. If moral action genuinely requires such affective states, 8 then the Vygotskyan program as given only gets as far as explaining how humans might learn to mimic certain behaviors; it does not explain how people come to have moral beliefs or be disposed toward moral behavior in any deep, intentional sense. In other words, the Vygotskyan account, at least as depicted by Tappan, can explain how humans might acquire a skill like language, but because (a) morality is more complex than something like information transmission/reception and (b) morality is not just a skill, 9 it cannot fully explain moral development.

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This insufficiency is further fleshed out on consideration of point (3) in Tappan’s account of moral development, i.e., that language necessarily gives rise to moral development. What Tappan intends with this assertion is unclear. If the claim is strictly that moral competence (i.e., a general ability to form and respond to moral beliefs, judgements, and dispositions) 10 is in some way bound up with linguistic ability, and that one will need language skills to become morally competent, then there is some feasibility to Tappan’s account. Moral development does appear to be a special form (or feature) of psychosocial development, and language is certainly important for this process. This account will still be incomplete for the aforementioned reasons, but it is not implausible that language might play some role here. The account is implausible if Tappan intends “necessarily” to mean either that language is both necessary and sufficient for moral development, or that language competence must necessarily precede other competencies that might play into moral development. The first option suggests that moral competence is predicated on linguistic competence; given the significant role that emotions play in moral thought and action, this is unlikely. The second option is also problematic: the appearance of promoral emotions, as detailed later in this chapter, seems to developmentally precede language use. Since these emotions also play into moral competence, it seems unlikely that language is a precursor to moral development. What might be said instead is that language competence is important for moral development, but not the whole of it. Such a conclusion should not be surprising given Tappan’s own statements regarding the affective, possibly noncognitive and/or irrational components of motivated behavior (of which moral behavior is presumably one sort). It does, however, reinforce the concern that Tappan’s extension of Vygotsky reveals either that the Vygotskyan model of learning is incapable of explaining moral development, or (and more likely) that the account presently on offer has not yet been sufficiently refined such that it can fully explain moral development and, in turn, provide a basis for a theory of moral learning and education. PROSPECTIVE RESOLUTIONS TO THE THEORETICAL GAP Despite the shortcomings in Tappan’s version of a Vygotskyan account of moral development, it does make important headway that can be supplemented by other aspects of Vygotsky’s developmental model. An amendment to Tappan’s account might, for example, make better use of the aforementioned notions of more knowledgeable others (MKOs) and a zone of proximal development (ZPD). Vygotsky’s theory might play out as follows: on being introduced by an MKO to a moral behavior (or value or concept) within a ZPD, a learner begins the processes of acquisition and internalization. The

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first phase is imitation, wherein the learner attempts to properly emulate the behavior as deployed by the MKO. At this phase, the learner is not functionally autonomous and still relies heavily on MKOs for direction and support. As the collaboration progresses, the learner increasingly internalizes moral behavior, relying less on MKOs for immediate direction as skill develops. Additionally, it is important to note that, in the Vygotskyan account, learners are not merely mimicking the behaviors of MKOs, but actually developing multiple levels of understanding of behaviors, forging a connection between behaviors and particular emotions (e.g., as when sympathizing), as well as how and when to deploy them. 11 One might say that moral competence involves the cultivation of psychological dispositions according to what is reasonable in a particular scenario. This cultivation yields bases for how to relate, respond to, and sympathize with others. Even with this revised account, however, it is still unclear how, precisely, moral learning interacts with the affective and motivational mechanisms that Vygotsky seems to predict. This gap might be partially filled by drawing on current research, particularly from socialization theory. Socialization, generally speaking, is “the process by which individuals are helped to become functioning members of the group to which they belong,” (Grusec 2014, p. 334) and involves a wide array of practices and social experiences, including the internalization of value systems. Notably, this internalization process is not a matter of passively adopting values for external reasons (e.g., fear of punishment or desire for gain); rather, it is an active process in which children, via interaction with others, come to develop value systems as part of an overall approach to social engagement via a reflective worldview (ibid., p. 335). 12 To this end, children, parents, and other mentor figures engage in ongoing interactions in which (as anticipated in the Vygotskyan framework) the children are frequently taking in, pushing back, and reconstructing their social perspectives. Concurrently, parents and mentors continue to provide social guidance to child learners, also adapting (or adapting to) the exchange as necessary. In line with socialization theory, researchers have attempted to record particular behaviors and tools that are often employed in inculcating prosocial, promoral behaviors in young children. Berkowitz and Grych (1998) describe a collection of parenting processes demonstrated to enhance a number of moral and “meta-moral” traits (i.e., traits that ground or give rise to moral dispositions), including empathy, altruism, conscientiousness, and a general capacity for moral reasoning. The target parenting processes include explanation-giving (induction), authoritative parenting (a combination of providing an accepting and nurturing environment with clear behavioral expectations and fair enforcement of those expectations), modeling, and democratic decision-making practices in the family. It is important to note that many of these processes include components that blend cognitive and affec-

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tive support, as well as verbal and non-verbal instruction. Explanation-giving requires parents not only to explain their behaviors (especially disciplinary behaviors), but also entails the information being transmitted in a manner that provides an atmosphere of positive affect, avoiding harshness of tone and authoritarian atmosphere. Modeling of good behavior can also entail verbal explanation-giving, but often involves demonstration by performance that involves no verbal transmission (e.g., giving to charity, holding a door open for someone, saving a child from falling into a well, etc.). Providing a nurturing environment can also involve a number of non-verbal acts, such as the use of touch to provide children with feelings of calm, love, and acceptance, all of which are crucial to the formation of healthy attachment bonds with parents that are thought to provide a baseline for the formation of future relationships. Accordingly, it can be said that many tools and practices, both verbal and non-verbal, exist to aid in spurring moral development through socialization. Given this variety, it might seem counterintuitive that much of the research on the socialization of affect (i.e., inculcation of promoral emotions) has been addressed in terms of parent-child discursive interactions. If, as I have argued, language is insufficient as a tool to account for all of moral development, then why focus so much effort here? First, and practically, discursive interactions (especially verbal ones) are often easier to measure than non-discursive ones, making them an obvious choice for empirical study. Second, it is important not to exclude the role that language does play in psychosocial development. Clancy (1999) observes, “As children begin to understand adult speech and to use affect words to which adults can respond, language becomes an important vehicle for the cultural shaping of emotional experience” (p. 1398). 13 Third, and importantly, discourse-based research is not exclusively concerned with verbalizations, but also non-verbal features of communication between parties that are important for the understanding of emotional (and, in turn, moral) development. Emotional development is widely held to involve a combination of both innate and social components. As summarized by Huang (2011), several basic emotions (e.g., anger, sadness, joy, and surprise) appear either seemingly at birth or during relatively fixed times early in a child’s development; it is only after around the second year of age that children start to deploy more complex emotions (e.g., shame, guilt, envy, and pride), and at this point socialization is already well underway (p. 595). 14 What researchers such as Clancy and Huang have found is that parent-child dialogue is frequently both affect- and value-laden when it comes to discussions of morally charged experiences, both in terms of diction and style of expression. Fung (1999) refers to these instances as “opportunity education,” noting that concrete experiences provide parents chances to educate their children on relevant

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moral issues that can be connected to situations in which children’s emotions were invoked (pp. 189–190). Across their research, Clancy, Fung, and Huang all make several interesting and consistent discoveries. First, parents employ a number of techniques to relate and elicit affective responses to events with their children. [Communicative] markers included verbal (e.g., name-callings, derogatory attributions, threats of abandonment, invoking a third party to sit in judgment of the child, social comparisons, warnings of punishment), paralinguistic (e.g., emphatic stress, angry intonation, loud or slow delivery), vocal (e.g., sighs, making disapproving sounds), nonverbal techniques (e.g., displaying shame gesture such as staring at the child, frowning, pursing up lips, removing the child from his/her favorite toy or snack, or enacting physical punitive acts) as well as reticence and silence. (Fung 1999, p. 192)

The wide array of markers employed suggests that the communication of information plays a key role in the structure of how parents help to guide children toward moral behavior by relating events either directly to affective responses or to affectively laden states of affairs. Additionally, that much communication can occur at the nonverbal level suggests that there are more subtle modes of communication, some of which may be inherently intertwined with affective states (e.g., frowning to instill in the child the sense that one does not approve of the child’s behavior) and even more impactful than verbalizations. This reinforces the point that language is but one tool for socialization. Accordingly, the account of language-learning that undergirds sociomoral development on Tappan’s account also needs to be more sophisticated to be salvageable. Second, it has been observed that parents tend to employ communicative strategies that match a child’s present state of psychosocial development. In pre-verbal children, these strategies begin with the aforementioned use of physical contact that enhances an environment of care and healthy attachment. According to Berkowitz and Grych (1998), such attachment and displays of positive affect enhance a child’s tendency to comply with external standards established by parents (especially mothers), a behavior observed at as early as eighteen months of age (p. 375). Govrin (2014) goes as far as to suggest that an attachment-based account might be helpful for explaining both how and why children at such young ages begin to demonstrate a seemingly intuitive awareness of moral systems, stating explicitly that such capacities develop well before language use (p. 3). This is noteworthy since, if morality is developed through social learning, then one cannot assume that language is doing all (or most) of the heavy lifting. Nonetheless, it is important to note that language can help to facilitate moral development as one matures, although the language used still must be fit to the context in which a given learner is operating. In younger, verbal

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children, for example, it is often more effective to appeal to sensorimotor terms to elicit the desired association between a target behavior and social approval or disapproval. As Clancy notes, Rather than sadness, these mothers and children talk about physical pain (itai,’painful; ouch’) and the main expression of distress for these children, crying. This emphasis on pain and crying is typical at this stage; the most frequent affect words of English-speaking two-year-olds are cry and hurt. (1999, p. 1405)

The implication is that the association of affect with behavioral norms is in many ways a gradual process of learning that makes use of a child’s native endowments. As the child’s psychology becomes increasingly sophisticated, in large part a result of continuing socialization under a caretaker’s guidance, so too can the means of interaction. Discussion of crying, for example, can be substituted with discussion of sadness and fear; at later stages, this discussion can be further enhanced by discussion of even more complex conceptualizations (e.g., justice, reciprocity, etc.). Third, and related to the second point, it is possible to categorize types of affect words that are typically included in socializing discourse. Huang in particular notes five such types: 1. Type I: Predicates that encode a specific affective state and can take an experiencer as subject (e.g., gaoxing ‘be glad’). 2. Type II: Predicates that describe a referent in terms of the affect it evokes (e.g., youqu ‘interesting’). 3. Type III: Words having clear positive/negative valence (e.g., hao ‘good’), including evaluative characterizations of people and their actions (e.g., yonggan ‘brave’) and descriptions of physical properties or sensory perceptions with affective connotations (e.g., haochi ‘delicious’). 4. Type IV: Predicates referring to actions with affective motivations (e.g., ku ‘cry’) and physical events or states with predictable positive or negative affective consequences (e.g., shoushang ‘get hurt’). 5. Type V: Formulaic expressions of gratitude, apology, and regret (e.g., xiexie ‘thank you’). (Huang 2011, p. 599) 15 The consistent use of such language lends credence to the idea that discursive interactions can be used as tools to structure moral interactions by means of imbuing particular expressions and speech acts with affective content. In doing so, parents might be construed as helping children to form baselines for prototypical moral interactions. This also provides an avenue for further understanding the role that language does play in moral development: specif-

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ically, it helps to further elaborate and codify conceptualizations of morality that begin from a very early age. To reiterate, however, such elaboration and codification will be built on prior interactive experiences, many of which will be (by necessity) non-verbal. Given such findings, Clancy proposes that the socialization of affect involves an informal program that combines modeling, direct instruction, and negotiation (1999, p. 1417). This is notably compatible with the Vygotskyan position. As Huang observes: According to Vygotsky (1978), the gap between what a novice has already mastered (the actual level of development) and what he or she can achieve when provided with support (potential development) is called ‘the zone of proximal development’. Thus, in the socialization process the child develops skills in the ‘zone of proximal development’ with the guidance and collaboration from adults. (2011, p. 595)

With this in mind, then, amendments to Tappan’s gloss on Vygotsky might be made thus: language is a fundamental tool for moral development within a community insofar as it provides an expedient means of transmitting information between mentors and learners. It is not, however, the sole means of providing guidance for moral education, nor is language comprehension the sole mechanism involved in moral inculcation, nor, for that matter, is it likely the first medium by which moral education conveyed. In the examples of parent-child discourse, language is used as a means to an end: parents might encourage children by framing certain experiences in a positive light, thereby increasing the likelihood that the child will have a positive affective reaction to the experiences and composite behaviors (e.g., “I smile when you x”); parents can discourage children by eliciting negative affective reactions on reflection of experiences (e.g., “When you did x, it made your friend cry”); parents can also preload affective reactions by directing children’s attention to certain features of experiences and suggesting hypotheticals (e.g., “How would you feel?”). Verbal discourse is not, however, the only means of accomplishing these ends. Feelings regarding behaviors can also be communicated by gestures (e.g., a stern look), by tone of voice (e.g., raising or lowering volume), and by other features of the learning context (e.g., body placement and posture), all of which seem to have a profound impact on both how a learner construes a scenario and what the learner takes away from it. It also stands to reason that there are other tools available for moral inculcation, both verbal and nonverbal. As Rogoff and Morelli (1989) point out, features of one’s sociocultural context can greatly impact competence in all manner of skills (p. 12). Perceptual modeling, for example, can be highly influenced by one’s social environment, features of which (e.g., the orientation of one’s culture toward hunting-gathering or manufacturing) may influence how one goes about analyzing tasks that involve pattern-seeking or the

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grouping of items based on common themes (Fu et al 2007; Unsworth, Sears, and Pexman 2005). This is because the relevant features of one’s community can ultimately color how one approaches such tasks: seeing one’s elders frequently perform a task a certain way, for example, may provide a novice learner with a model for how to act accordingly. Such models can be construed as tools to internalize for resolving relevant problems. For moral development in particular, the important feature of such tools is that they must bridge the gap between the perceptual-rational and the affective: they must reliably elicit the appropriate emotional and/or motivating responses in learners that will drive them to behave in a manner that accords with morality. Clancy provides several examples in which affect is associated not only with language, including storybooks and narratives, but also the general context of pretend play (1999, p. 1411). 16 If such non-linguistic devices can promote relevant development, then it is sensible to shift the focus from moral competence as an offshoot of linguistic competence to moral competence as part of the overall development of social competence, with language providing an important, but merely facilitating, mediatory role. Real competence can only develop when the language is placed within the context of the community (including its values) as a whole. 17 A possible explanation for how this might occur is that, since both the communal values and practices will be largely stable over time and perpetuated across multiple generations, the environment into which new learners are introduced will already be highly structured. To fill the gap left in Vygotsky’s account, then, Tappan’s linguistic competence approach must be replaced with whatever additional tools are required to better develop the cultural sensibilities that align with a community’s particular value system. These suggestions are, of course, still a long way off from providing any definitive account of how to fill in the gaps for moral education in a Vygotskyan model, but they do provide a good starting point. What is necessary from here is to consider just what specific sorts of social tools can be utilized to do the work that needs to be done to get the endeavor of moral education, and in turn the process of moral development, off the ground. Specifically, it is worth emphasizing that the most viable tools are those that can function such that they can provide moral education as part of a pervasive, unifying social project. This means that the tools of moral development are likely to be broadly shared and accessible among members of a given community, but also specifically tuned to moral endeavors in particular. Language, again, is no doubt a valuable tool that plays a part in this developmental process, but for the aforementioned reasons it cannot be the sole (or perhaps even primary) social tool of moral development.

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VYGOTSKY AND MORAL EDUCATION: MOVING BEYOND The takeaway from this chapter should not be that Vygotsky’s account of learning and development is incapable of yielding a basic framework for a theory of moral development or methods for moral education; the Vygotskyan position does provide a partial foundation for such undertakings, especially insofar as many of its elements align with findings by socialization theorists. Vygotsky himself, however, never produced an account of the interaction of moral development and moral learning. While Tappan’s language-based account might take steps in the right direction to generating a Vygotskyan account of moral learning and development, it is notably incomplete. More is needed to yield a complete foundation for moral education projects. One thought, derived from the socialization research, is that the social tool-mediated account of learning and development would do well to draw on other resources in addition to language. After all, verbal language is not the only means by which humans communicate, nor is it the only tool that mediates learning. As noted previously, games can also promote learning and development. Other social tools, such as rituals, can be incorporated into the moral developmental process as well. While these tools often incorporate verbal components, strictly speaking they need not do so and, as a result, suggest that non-linguistic resources might also facilitate cognitive development. If so, and if moral development is a part of this process, then these resources could be recruited to help refine and expand the Vygotsykan approach to moral development for which Tappan has provided a (much needed) starting point. NOTES 1. To clarify, I am not presupposing ethical relativism; rather, I am suggesting that one’s individual moral thought and behavior are influenced by culture. Morally salient features of situations require an agent to perceive them to act accordingly, but what and whether something is perceived is contingent on one’s enculturated capacity. This applies even in an ethical absolutist framework, since one could argue for the existence of a set of universals while acknowledging that different communities might have different thresholds or styles of observing said universals. 2. For an overview of Vygotsky’s account of personality development, see Leontiev, Lebedeva, and Kostenko 2017. 3. An argument might be made that such capacities are required for certain language skills, such as the ability to write effective poetry and fiction. In response, I note that such skills actually require talents beyond mere language mastery. The development of an effective story, for example, requires an author to be capable of producing a text that can draw and hold a reader’s attention. Part of this ability comes from linguistic competence, but it is also partly a matter of understanding what sorts of stories might garner a reader’s interest and how to manipulate words based on this competency for the sake of developing an effective text. The

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implication is that language skills alone are insufficient to produce these more advanced products and effects. 4. At very least, we can discuss cases of sociopathy or psychopathy wherein an individual may be perfectly linguistically competent and yet unmoved by or aloof to things like moral claims, facts, values, principles, etc. 5. There are, of course, certain situations in which expressions will be affectively laden. For example, the expression “yuck” indicates disgust, so an effective exchange might require one to recognize that an interlocutor’s use of “yuck” indicates said disgust. This is not, however, common to all language, and one may also employ a term like “yuck” without necessarily being disgusted oneself (e.g., as when acting on stage or in a film, speaking sarcastically or falsely, etc.). This example can be contrasted with cases of moral action, in which certain behaviors should be understood as expressing a particular feeling or warranting a particular response. 6. One might wonder whether such scenarios result from a dearth of information that could be supplemented with further linguistic instruction. I think that such a resolution may face two problems. First, it is unclear that linguistic instruction can provide all of the relevant information (some things may just need to be demonstrated or experienced firsthand). Second, there is a concern about the limits of language alone as being an effective resource for transmitting all details (how, for example, does one effectively explain merely in words that a handshake should be “neither too firm nor too limp” if the learner has no point of linguistic reference?). 7. See also Gajdamaschko 2006, p. 38. 8. Some (but not all) strains of Kantian ethics will reject the idea that moral action includes an affective feature due to concerns regarding a heteronomous will. Most ethical systems, however, can either endorse the affective feature (e.g., virtue ethics) or at least accept the feature (e.g., consequentialism). 9. Compare with Aristotle’s comments in Nicomachean Ethics (1140b, 20–30), wherein it is argued that practical wisdom (in the service of morality) is distinct from mere skill (art); the former is an excellence (i.e., makes one a good person in an unqualified sense), but the latter only makes one good in a limited sense (i.e., good at something). Moreover, as Aristotle notes in the Eudemian Ethics, skills may allow the production of various, even opposite ends (e.g., the study of medicine regards health, but training in it grants knowledge of both health and illness; 1227a, 26–28); virtue, in contrast, must be directed at goodness. 10. I am aware that some readers will take issue with the breadth and generality of this description. For the purposes of this text, I keep the notion of moral competence open and flexible so as to maximize the potential applications for the developmental and educative processes that I detail. 11. For Vygotsky, imitation is a sort of thoughtful mimicry, wherein the learner has some basic understanding of elements of both the scenario in which a behavior is deployed and the behavior itself (Vygotsky 1987, p. 210). 12. Although Grusec does not describe it as such, reflectivity is a key feature for socialization theorists, since it implies that the agent internalizes and utilizes the value itself rather than relying merely on a scheme of compliance for the purposes of avoiding punishment and securing rewards. 13. Language here is defined more broadly as discursive pragmatics. It goes beyond syntactical and representational systems and includes not only the said, but also the suggested, the implied, and the unsaid (Fung 1999, p. 185). 14. Huang cites the studies of Izard et al. 1982, 1993, 1995; Camras et al. 1992; and Lewis et al. 1989. Philosophers of cognitive science will also no doubt also be reminded of Paul Ekman’s (1992) theorizing on basic emotions. 15. Huang’s study investigates discourse in Chinese culture in particular, but similar observations can be made in other cultures. See, for example Sterponi 2014, Grusec 2014, and Nucci 2014. 16. Clancy cites in particular Bretherton and Beeghly 1982; Beeghly, Breterton, and Mervis 1986; Brown and Dunn 1991; and Kuebli, Butler, and Fivush 1995. 17. Similar points are made by Ochs and Schieffelin (1984, p. 277), as well as Fung (1999, p. 180).

Chapter Three

Confucian Ritual A Definition

Following the idea that a Vygotskyan approach to moral education will require a particular type of sociocultural tool, this chapter introduces a potential resource from early (i.e., pre-Qin) Confucianism, namely ritual. 1 The Confucian notion of ritual, however, is quite complex, and the Confucians never provide a concise definition of the term, instead giving explanations of its various functions. It is necessary, then, to provide an explicit account of what the Confucian notion of ritual entails. This chapter proceeds in four phases. First, I distinguish Confucian ritual from traditional Western notions, as well as between two primary conceptions of ritual within early Chinese thought: ritual as a prescription and ritual as a disposition. Second, I explain how the prescriptive notion pertains to certain performances and social divisions. Third, I contrast ritual with other recurring concepts in Confucianism that might be thought to play a similar role in moral development (e.g., laws, punishments, and other political measures). Finally, I recommend that Confucian ritual be understood as those prescriptions governing the practices and standards that embody expressions of respect and related prosocial attitudes. DISTINGUISHING NOTIONS OF RITUAL IN CONFUCIANISM Part of what makes understanding ritual in the Confucian sense difficult for Western audiences is that the Western tradition is already inundated with its own theories of ritual. 2 Most of these accounts relegate ritual to the realm of religion and base explanations of ritual on practices that are often construed 41

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as having some religious or supernatural component (e.g., a shared belief in a higher power). Durkheim (1912/1915/1965), for example, depicts ritual as helping distinguish between the sacred and the profane in the context of a religion: A religion is a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things . . . things set apart and forbidden—beliefs and practices which unite in one single community called a Church, all those who adhere to them. (p. 47)

Certain cultural tools and behaviors, such as rituals, are treated as sacred insofar as they are regarded as being part of an overarching religion, specifically in their capacity for promoting and furthering said religion’s unity and goals. The profane, in contrast, is anything outside the realm of those behaviors and tools appropriated by the religion. As such, the profane need not be construed as evil or antithetical to the sacred; the elements composing the profane are simply inessential to maintaining a religion except in the sense that they comprise a contrast class. Levi-Strauss (1966) seemingly coopts Durkheim’s sacred-profane dichotomy to give an account that explains the role of ritual: A native thinker makes the penetrating comment that ‘All sacred things must have their place’ (Fletcher 2, p. 34). It could even be said that being in their place is what makes them sacred, for if they were taken out of place, even in thought, the entire order of the universe would be destroyed. Sacred objects therefore contribute to the maintenance of order in the universe by occupying the places allocated to them. Examined superficially and from the outside, the refinements of ritual can appear pointless. (p. 10)

This account highlights the role of ritual as a meaning-maker. Ritual transforms objects and behaviors, imbuing them with symbolic purpose that is appropriated within the scheme of a particular religion. In so doing, ritual organizes objects, behaviors, and people for the purpose of establishing a set order within a religious context. 3 Thus, a primary function of ritual is that it helps to construct the space of practice inhabited by adherents of a religion. Approaches treating ritual as religious by default are problematic for early Confucianism, wherein rituals extend well beyond what would traditionally be considered religious practice by Western thinkers. 4 For the purposes of this project, I focus on the conception of ritual by the pre-Qin Confucian (i.e., rujia, 儒家) thinkers, whose lives and works fall roughly before and during China’s Warring States Era (~475–221 BCE). More specifically, I focus on Confucius’s/Kongzi’s (孔子, 551–479 BCE) Analects (Lunyu, 論語), and the eponymous works of Mengzi (孟子, c. 372–289 BCE) and Xunzi (荀子, 3rd C. BCE). Kongzi’s Analects, for example, states that morally laudable conduct requires that one adhere to ritual, implying that

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ritual governs not only behaviors in religious or seemingly religious ceremonies, but also mundane elements of life. 5 Xunzi also depicts ritual as covering a wide array of behaviors: If your exertions of blood, qi (氣), 6 intention, and thought accord with ritual, they will be ordered and effective. If they do not accord with ritual, they will be disorderly and unproductive. If your meals, clothing, dwelling, and activities accord with ritual, they will be congenial and well-regulated. If they do not accord with ritual, you will encounter dangers and illnesses. If your countenance, bearing, movements, and stride accord with ritual, they will be graceful. If they do not accord with ritual, they will be barbaric, obtuse, perverse, vulgar, and unruly. (Xunzi 2/5/12–15, Hutton trans. 2014, p. 10) 7

Xunzi’s suggestion that effectively all human behaviors should be ordered according to ritual might be a rhetorical device to emphasize the centrality of ritual to the overall Confucian program, but it nonetheless illustrates the pervasiveness of ritual’s applicability to daily, mundane human affairs. The traditional Western conception of ritual does not extend to all “meals, clothing, dwelling, and activities” (i.e., things typically distinguished as matters of manners, conventions, or protocols) and, when it does, these instances are typically considered to be special occasions that are themselves moments of commemoration of some significant event or personage (e.g., feast days). The Confucian notion of ritual, in contrast, regards ritual as applicable to human interactions not only in such circumstances, but in all sorts of situations. The notion of ritual addressed by Confucians is broader than Western conceptions in several other ways as well. First, Confucians discuss rituals not only as particular practices (e.g., burial rites), but also as systems of social divisions. This can be referred to as the prescriptive sense of ritual. As social divisions, rituals are intended to provide organization within the community by marking out distinctions of right and wrong, noble and base, and superior or inferior. Xunzi provides the following example: In ritual, noble and lowly are ranked, old and young are differentiated, poor and rich, casual and grave, all of these are distinguished. . . . Virtue must be accorded position, position must be accorded prosperity, and prosperity must be accorded use. (Xunzi 10/43/1–3, compare with Hutton 2014, pp. 84–85)

One main purpose of these divisions, according to Xunzi, is to ameliorate social tensions arising from desires for resources and power. Ritual outlines not only the proper behaviors for humans, but also ranks them within the community and provides a model for allotting roles and resources based on said roles. In so doing, ritual also formally establishes certain relationships between members of the community and, again, the proper behaviors to

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undertake with regard to said relationships and the roles between which they are set. 8 These demarcations are significantly different from the Durkheimian perspective of ritual as differentiating the sacred and the profane: for Confucians, ritual does not always mark special spaces of practice within the community; rather, the divisions it produces structure the society as a whole and need not be especially performative (e.g., as with the example of merely wearing certain clothing to denote one’s rank/office) to accomplish this end. Further contrast can be found in a second conception of Confucian ritual: the dispositional notion. The dispositional notion of ritual can be roughly understood as a sense of propriety, particularly with regard to expressions of respect for others. For Mengzi, ritual has as its root innate tendencies in humans for deferring and yielding (Mengzi 2A6, 3.6/18/8–9). These tendencies, it is worth noting, are primarily affective in nature (i.e., they are understood as feelings, attitudes, or emotions), as is evidenced by Mengzi’s describing them as (or as matters of) xin (心), a term typically transcribed as “mind,” “heart,” or “heart-mind.” By building on these tendencies, one can refine oneself to follow a more formal sensibility of propriety when engaging with others. Although early Confucians dispute whether there is an innate tendency toward ritual propriety, 9 all of the major figures appeal to a sense of ritual as propriety and regard its enactment as being a refined matter of showing respect to others. This project will not focus on the dispositional sense of ritual, but the element of respect will remain a feature of the account of Confucian ritual developed here. Suffice it to say that this understanding of ritual is not as widely represented in the Western, performative conception of ritual; that is, the strength of the association of this sensibility with ritual is atypical of Western thought, both in terms of the frequency of the association as well as the pervasiveness of ritual within a community, when compared with the Confucian tradition. A final characteristic worth noting is that the Confucians regard ritual in general as a tool not only for moral cultivation, but also for structuring government. Specifically, classical Confucianism involves ritual in governance via its ability to educate, cultivate, and order the population. Their rationale for this approach is that political tools such as laws and punishments do not in and of themselves possess any capacity for rectifying human character (i.e., making people morally good). On the contrary, appeal to laws and punishments exclusively may have an adverse effect on the moral goodness of the community. As noted by Kongzi: Guide them with government edicts, regulate them with punishments, and the people will be evasive and lack shame. Guide them with virtue, order them with ritual, and they will have shame and even order themselves. (Analects 2.3/2/29–30, compare with Slingerland 2003b, p. 8)

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The Confucians assert that penalizing people for wrong action at best ensures that they have an understanding of what is unacceptable; it does not provide deeper explanation for why it is unacceptable, let alone what is right. Moreover, punishment works by playing on people’s fear of harm (and desire for gain), but the Confucians seek to create a community in which people are motivated by promoral considerations rather than mere self-interest. The Confucians do not regard a state governed solely or mainly by punishment as being conducive to harmony, since it does nothing to inculcate the prosocial motivations and dispositions that they presume to be necessary for the flourishing of both the group at large and the individual in particular. These differences do not mean that there is no overlap between Western and Confucian understandings of ritual, but they show that the Confucian texts cannot be understood exclusively through a traditional Western lens. If we are to understand the manner in which Confucian ritual is supposed to aid in moral development, then we must broaden our concept of ritual to accommodate the distinctive features of ritual as discussed by Confucians. The remainder of this chapter explores in detail the breadth and depth of the Confucian conception of both what counts as ritual and its place in a socioethical structure. Although I leave it for the subsequent chapter to discuss some of the functions of ritual in greater detail, this chapter gives insight regarding what Confucian ritual is and provides a foundation for explanations of both its functions as well as how ritual might inform and support moral education methodology as a whole. RITUAL PRESCRIPTIONS: PERFORMANCES AND DIVISIONS The prescriptive sense of ritual is the notion relevant to this project; consequently, a better understanding of how and what ritual prescribes is integral to grasping ritual’s moral function. Recall that prescriptive rituals are of two sorts: performances and social divisions. Though not mutually exclusive, since social divisions can provide the basis and context of particular performances, the two sorts of prescriptions differ enough to warrant separate explanations. Prescriptions of performances are likely the most familiar, so I will begin there. That rituals can be thought of as performances is largely noncontentious; it is sensible to say that one “performed the ritual.” What is important to recognize about Confucianism, however, is that its notion of ritual is specifically a norm of performance. A good reason for this distinction is that, from an anthropological perspective, one might construe a community’s rituals simply as the way people behave. For the Confucians, however, this would be a mistake: people can certainly fail to perform according to ritual, or

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simply forego ritual altogether. The anthropological-performative account also fails to make clear the distinction between what is ritual and what is mere convention. I will address this point in greater detail shortly but, suffice it to say, it is best not to reduce this notion of ritual to particular sorts of performance. Rather, rituals should be thought of as prescriptions for (particular sorts of) performance. As noted earlier, rituals provide regulations for human actions and behaviors. The scope of these prescriptions varies among early Confucians: Xunzi seems to extend ritual to almost all matters of daily living, Kongzi focuses on behaviors and interactions that have clear moral salience, and Mengzi says comparably less on the topic. All of these figures agree, however, that rituals play an important part in cultivating and deploying promoral dispositions. Specifically, one cultivates these dispositions through extended practice, during which one conditions oneself not only to abide by ritual, but to appreciate abiding by ritual (e.g., Xunzi 9/39/2–3). 10 According to the Confucians, the rituals are a collection of standards of behavior designed by the ancient sage kings, and by instantiating these rituals, people rectified themselves and the empire became harmonious. While examining the veracity of this story is beyond the scope of this text, what is important for present purposes is that the Confucians treat ritual as an educational tool intended to guide and constrain behaviors and psychological (especially affective) states, hence its prescriptive nature. Although the full array of what behaviors were considered to have been prescribed by ritual is unknown, there are many examples of ritual practices discussed throughout the major Confucian texts. 11 As traditionally interpreted, the tenth chapter of the Analects is an extended discussion of Kongzi’s conduct at court, in public, and at home. Insofar as ritual is supposed to govern the conduct of a moral exemplar, the “junzi” (君子), “gentleman” or “noble person,” and Kongzi is supposed to serve as such a model, it is reasonable understand the text as providing examples of ritual practice. Xunzi dedicates an entire chapter to ritual (“Lilun, 禮論” or “Discourse on Ritual”), and even details what certain rituals require, burial practices receiving special attention. For example, one makes offerings to the deceased that they would have required in life, but only provides items that are well worn or imperfect in some significant way (Xunzi 19/95/9–13). The purpose is to express reverence for the deceased while acknowledging that person’s passing and moving on accordingly. Similar sentiments are expressed in simple rituals such as bowing: the time and location of one’s bow can be construed as an expression of arrogance or reverence (Analects 9.3/20/10–11). 12 Such examples illustrate the sophisticated nature of ritual performance and the complex underlying theory of symbolism built into said performances. One facet of rituals, then, is that they encode certain ideas or attitudes.

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Rituals also prescribe social divisions. This aspect is distinctive of the Confucian conception of ritual: social divisions are not performances themselves, nor are they prescriptions for performances; rather, social divisions refer specifically to the demarcations of ranks, roles, and relationships within a community (Xunzi 1/3/10). 13 Such distinctions are said to be of value to communities since they regulate how resources are allotted to constituents, as well as the roles that need to be filled in the community. The story that Xunzi provides is one in which human communities, in the absence of rituals, yi (儀), 14 and ordering divisions, permit (and even promote) contention and strife since there is no formal notion of deference to others and only a minimal sense of social organization (Xunzi 9/39/15–16). Xunzi’s general point, that social divisions are an important means of establishing standards and order, is plausible enough. Without any means of ordering the population, community members are left to fend for themselves in deciding how to fairly and effectively organize allotments of material resources and political power, and conflict over how best to distribute these goods is possible (if not likely). Such conflict can result in the community destabilizing, decaying, and dissolving. A crucial tool for preventing such dissolution, according to Xunzi, is ritual: From what did ritual arise? I say: People are born and have desires. When they have desires but cannot obtain their objects, then they cannot but seek them out. When there is seeking but without measured standard or distinct limit, then people cannot but fall into contention. If there is contention, then there will be chaos; if there is chaos then there will be impoverishment. The former kings were averse to chaos, so they established ritual and yi to make distinctions, to nurture people’s desires, and to accommodate people’s seeking. They caused desires never to exhaust resources, and resources never to be exhausted by desires. The two support and extend one another. Truly, this is how ritual arose. (Xunzi 19/90/3–5, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 201)

In providing a means of nurturing desires, rituals are intended to forestall the chaotic outcome of dispute over the distribution of resources. Distribution is itself guided by divisions established by ritual to differentiate between those of higher and lower merit. In this way, ritual is intended to order the community on economic and political levels. Order is also established by ritual in terms of structuring particular social roles, the duties associated with those roles, and the relationships between social roles: One asks how to be a person’s ruler. I say: Follow ritual to make distinctions and distributions. Be fair, broadminded, and unbiased. One asks how to be a person’s minister. I say: Follow ritual in serving your ruler according. Be loyal, accommodating, and not idle. One asks how to be a person’s father. I say: Be broadminded, kind, and follow ritual. One asks about being a person’s

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In this excerpt, Xunzi addresses four sorts of relationships and explains how to fulfill one’s role in each. It is noteworthy that within his explanations, Xunzi advocates that one should rely heavily on ritual as a resource for properly enacting one’s duties. This provides a means of tying the aspect of ritual as performance to the aspect of ritual as distinction: in establishing divisions within the realm of the social, ritual is able to prescribe the behaviors particular to the various social roles. . . . In this way, both the performance and the division are related while also being sufficiently distinct so as to warrant separate discussions. It is worth emphasizing here that ritual prescriptions are not rigid (i.e., rituals need not be followed slavishly). This is, in part, because it is difficult (or impossible) to codify Confucian ethics in the same way that one codifies, for example, deontological ethics. As stated in Analects 2.3, legal codes are insufficient to inculcate morality; similarly, rituals may encode moral precepts and attitudes, but the Confucian notion of morality is not reducible to ritual practice. The Confucians demonstrate awareness of the fact that circumstances may call for flexible action and require “tweaks” to rituals as traditionally prescribed. Kongzi himself, for example, acknowledged the importance of practicality in expenditures when substituting a silk cap for a linen one, despite the traditional prescriptions of ritual, and may have accommodated at least some changes in traditional practices such as meals. 15 These are superficial alterations, but nonetheless suggest that there is some room for flexibility in following ritual. Mengzi and Xunzi also remark on the sense in which following ritual does not require strict adherence to tradition; instead, what is valued is behaving such that one harmonizes rather than cause suffering and discord. This may, at times, require one to behave in a manner that does not at first appear to accord with ritual, but may align with ritual in the sense that it has the intended effect of ritual. According to Xunzi, the aim of ritual is to make people’s hearts “agreeable” (shun, 順), to generate and maintain harmony both for individuals and the community more broadly, but there are other actions not contained in ritual texts, such as the Classic of Rituals, 16 that can also have this effect; in such cases, Xunzi says, these actions can still be considered ritual (Xunzi 27/127/22). Plausibly, the reason that these actions

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are still said to be ritual, despite not fitting the prescriptions exactly, is that they might be thought of as acting either as suitable substitutes for prescribed rituals or as rituals unto themselves since they are directed toward the same ends as ritual (e.g., benevolence, respect for others, etc.). It makes sense, then, to distinguish the Confucian conception of ritual from conceptions regarding ritual as an absolutely fixed practice. While the latter conception applies to the manner in which ritual is sometimes treated in Confucianism, it does not apply to those cases in which one is still said to uphold ritual even if one deviates from set practice. Mengzi addresses the issue of situations in which ritual seems to dictate that one should behave in a manner that would be counterintuitive (or even antagonistic) to promoral behavior. When asked about whether it is permissible to deviate from the ritual prescription that unmarried males and females not touch for the sake of rescuing a drowning sister-in-law, Mengzi replies as follows: A man who would not aid his drowning sister-in-law is a beast. That males and females do not make contact when exchanging things is ritual. When a man’s sister-in-law is drowning, he has the discretion to rescue her by use of his hand. (Mengzi 4A17, 7.17/38/20–30, compare with Van Norden 2008, p. 97)

There are two ways of understanding Mengzi’s remarks, the first of which takes his claim to be that ritual may be set aside in particularly calamitous situations. This would mean that an agent is simply not bound by ritual in certain circumstances, such as the emergency described. In other words, there are scenarios in which ritual may be set aside (or at least substantially altered). Such an interpretation, however, seems to overlook Mengzi’s comment that it is ritual that “males and females do not make contact when exchanging things” (“exchanging” here is scripted as “shoushou, 授受” and can be rendered as “handing off and receiving”). When discussing the rescue of the drowning sister-in-law, however, a different verb is used entirely, specifically “saving” (yuan, 援). This detail suggests that the event of drowning alters the circumstances of touching significantly, such that contact is permissible since saving someone is not the same as exchanging items. Alternatively, then, Mengzi can be understood as suggesting that this act, while not set by a particular ritual, does not actually violate ritual. If anything, one is morally obligated to rescue a drowning sister-in-law, so such a behavior should be construed as comporting with ritual insofar as ritual is meant to promote a stable and moral community. CONTRAST BETWEEN RITUAL AND SIMILAR CONCEPTS With the features of Confucian ritual laid out, it can be further distinguished from other recurring concepts in the early Confucian tradition that might be

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thought to play a similar role, such as laws, punishments, and other political measures. To be sure, the Confucians regarded such tools as playing important parts in good governance. Xunzi, who suggests that commoners can and should be controlled by “legal arrangements” (e.g., Xunzi 10/43/3 and 15/75/ 1), depicts instruments of the state as necessary resources for managing civilians who may or may not possess the moral ability so lauded by the Confucians. Not (yet) possessing moral cultivation, such individuals are likely to respond best to legal mandates and penalties for transgressing said mandates. Clarity in such measures, then, is of great importance for a state’s functionality. That being said, it is also clear from the writings of the Confucians that there is a conceptual difference between legal measures and ritual, and that ritual trumps and orders these measures in some way. When remarking on the importance of clarity and accuracy in applying terms (a process called “rectifying names” or zhengming, 正名), Kongzi suggests that ritual’s flourishing in some way affects the execution of legal and penal practices: If names be not rectified, then speech will not accord with the reality of things. If speech does not accord with the reality of things, then affairs will not reach completion. When affairs do not reach completion, ritual and music will not flourish. When ritual and music do not flourish, punishments and penalties will miss the mark. When punishments and penalties miss the mark, the people will not know where to set hand or foot. (Analects 13.3/34/1–3, compare with Slingerland 2003b, p. 139)

The sentiment that ritual is in some sense prior to legal and penal measures appears in the writings of Mengzi and Xunzi as well. Mengzi, for example, remarks that “laws cannot put themselves into practice,” and that when “those above are without ritual, and those below are without education, traitorous people will arise and [the state] will quickly be lost” (Mengzi 4A1, 7.1/35/31–2). Similarly, Xunzi claims that ritual has priority over law as a valued political tool: In making oneself the people’s lord and superior, if the way that one makes use of the hundred clans below be without ritual, yi, loyalty, and trustworthiness, then how ought one to consider using rewards, accolades, punishments, penalties, artfulness, and deceit to subjugate those below, pillaging the fruits of their labors? (Xunzi 15/73/12–13, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 159)

The point that Xunzi makes here resonates with the aforementioned remarks in the Analects regarding the inadequacy of laws and punishments: use of political-legal tools alone is not enough to ensure that a population will be orderly; indeed, such practices may even be exploitative. Other resources, in this case ritual along with yi, loyalty, and trustworthiness, are also needed to

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effectively govern the population and retain order therein. What remains to be explained is precisely how ritual is supposed to perform as an effective resource in this regard and why it is the case that ritual can fill such a role while laws, punishments, and other political measures cannot. Laws typically either prohibit certain actions (e.g., murder, theft, etc.) or make positive demands on citizens (e.g., taxation). Laws may incidentally align with moral values (e.g., laws prohibiting murder might be construed as aligning with a value for human life), but they need not inherently reflect, embody, or promulgate said values. 17 Punishments and penalties serve as measures for reinforcing the gravity of laws by providing tangible consequences for those who would break the laws. Ideally, the threat of punishment serves as a deterrent from breaking the law and prevents constituents of the population from turning against the rules of the state. The problem that the Confucians perceive with this approach to governance is that, on its own, it does nothing to ensure that the population will be well-ordered and stable: simply because laws and punishments are laid out and in place does not mean that people will refrain from breaking the laws. Even in a state with an abundance of perfectly clear laws and well-enforced punishments, people may continue to deviate from what is regulated by law. Worse yet, if laws are tyrannically enforced and punishments become so severe in attempts to deter violations of the law, then the population may become discontent and either flee the state or turn against the ruler. Such are the disastrous outcomes predicted for one relying exclusively on laws and punishments and employing no other measures for rectifying the state. Perhaps unsurprisingly, one function of ritual is to prevent such an outcome, and ritual achieves this through education and transformation. Referring to the sage kings, Xunzi writes: They made ritual and yi clear to transform [the people]. They erected standards and rules (法正) so as to order them. They made weighty punishments and penalties to restrict them. They caused all the people under Heaven to come forth into order and to unite in goodness. Truly this is the order of the sage kings and the transformative power of ritual and yi. (Xunzi 23/115/4–6, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 252)

Laws and punishments demarcate restrictions on behavior, but do not necessarily promote prosocial or promoral values. 18 Laws and punishments are contingent on the quality and policy of government (moral or otherwise), may vary wildly across contexts, and may even be at odds with prosocial, promoral values. Ritual, in contrast, is thought by Confucians to be more reliable: the values, divisions, and practices contained in ritual prescriptions are substantially more stable across both time and context because, presumably, they align with (and even establish) prosocial, promoral values. As

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such, ritual cannot be an arbitrary product of government, nor can it vary simply due to changes in a community’s political structure. Relatedly, another distinction involves the manner of enforcement. Laws are enforced by a government, and violating the laws is met with forcibly imposed, government-sanctioned penalties (e.g., if you break the law, then the government may force you to pay a fine, go to jail, perform community service, etc.). 19 Violation of ritual, however, need not entail such punitive measures. Rather, according to the Confucians, one might face other consequences such as a damaged reputation, a potentially grave outcome that can lead to a loss of respect from others. A loss of respect can have a number of deleterious effects, including being passed over for promotion (or outright losing one’s position), losing the trust of others, and being shunned by members of one’s community. If one is in a position of influence and violates ritual, then this could be particularly disastrous, since it might lead to a public disregard for one’s authority and an overall breakdown of the system that one previously oversaw. The enforcement of ritual, then, is more comparable to how etiquette is enforced than to the enforcement of laws. 20 A final distinction between legal arrangements and ritual is how to cope with improvisation or deviation from the standard. As mentioned earlier, if an act is morally good, then it can still accord with ritual (in some sense), even if it does not follow the traditional formalization. The flexibility that applies to ritual, however, does not apply to law, at least not flexibility of the same sort. There are, for example, cases of mitigating circumstances in which what would have typically been considered a punishable violation of the law is allowed to pass. A common interpretation of such events is that circumstances were such that the law either makes a specific allowance for the deviation in question or that the law itself is problematic and should be revised. The same will not apply to ritual. First, for the Confucians, it is not the ritual that is problematic: rituals are designed not merely for maintaining order, but for the purposes of alleviating problems and instantiating harmony; should a particular ritual formulation prove insufficient, adjustments can be made to fulfill the ritual’s aims. Second, and as previously mentioned, complete deviation from ritual is never considered morally permissible by the Confucians: modifications to ritual are permissible when so demanded by circumstances, but the modifications are never so substantial that the bulk (or core) of the ritual prescription is altered. RITUAL AS A PRESCRIPTION FOR RESPECT AND RELATED HUMANE DISPOSITIONS Given these explanations and distinctions, it is now possible to develop a more thorough account of ritual in Confucianism. Early on, I recommended

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that Confucian ritual be understood as the prescriptions for those practices and standards in a community that embody (i.e., give form to) expressions of respect and related dispositions. In this section, I provide textual support for the claim that ritual is bound up with respect (jing, 敬), looking in particular at excerpts from the Analects, Mengzi, and Xunzi that either directly or indirectly associate respect with ritual. I then detail the specifics of respect in the Confucian tradition, drawing on the account of respect given by Chan (2006), wherein respect is construed as a matter of acknowledging, taking seriously, and responding accordingly to a person’s worth. This understanding, I argue, establishes respect as either a form or foundation of a number of additional attitudes, such as deference, kindness, and generosity, all of which can be expressed by ritual. The idea that ritual is intimately tied to respect can be found in many passages from the early Confucian texts. In the Analects, several passages imply that ritual involves expressing and/or cultivating respect. Here are a few examples: “Performing ritual but not being respectful. . . . How should I regard such practices!?” (3.26/7/1, compare with Slingerland 2003b, p. 28) “If their superiors love ritual, then the people will not dare to be without respect.” (13.4/34/7, compare with Slingerland 2003b, p. 140) “The noble person is respectful and not neglectful, giving others respect and observing ritual.” (12.5/31/6, compare with Slingerland 2003b, p. 127) 21

The examples from the Analects imply at least a rough connection between respect and ritual. Even more direct connections are provided by Mengzi and Xunzi. Mengzi remarks that one who abides by ritual “respects others” (Mengzi 4B28, 8.28/43/32–8.28/44/1). In a different passage, Mengzi specifically states that ritual is rooted in respect, calling respect the “start” of ritual (6A6, 11.6/58/22). Finally, Xunzi states that “to be reverent and respectful makes for ritual propriety” (Xunzi 13/65/22). Taken together, such passages provide a strong case for the understanding that ritual can, or perhaps should, convey respect. Since ritual and respect are connected, it will help to consider what respect entails in the Confucian tradition. According to Chan, the Confucian notion of respect is built around dispositions of acknowledging, taking seriously, and responding accordingly to a person’s (moral) worth and the (moral) worth of their projects (2006, p. 229). As evidence, Chan draws on several passages in the Analects, Mengzi, and Xunzi that appear to employ respect in this manner. A key example that Chan cites comes from the Analects: The Master said: “What is You’s lute doing in my doorway?” The other [disciples] began to not respect Zilu (You).

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Chapter 3 The Master said: “You has ascended to the hall, even though he has not entered the room.” (Analects 11.15/27/21–22, compare with Slingerland 2003b, pp. 116–117)

Zilu’s error of carelessness, coupled with Kongzi’s remark, leads to a devaluation of Zilu’s worth: the disrespect by his peers is akin to taking someone less seriously and showing them less appreciation; Kongzi’s second remark is intended to restore the respect that Zilu lost due to the first remark (Chan 2006, p. 233). By describing Zilu thusly, Kongzi is pointing out that, though imperfect, Zilu has demonstrated commitment to a moral project and that both he and his endeavors are deserving of the respect of his peers. Additional support for this understanding of respect can be found in passages such as Kongzi’s comment in the Analects about valuation in longstanding friendships (5.17/10/21), 22 as well as a note in the Mengzi describing the principle of the relationship between ruler and minister as one of respect (2B2, 4.2/19/ 98). In such passages, it is implicit that the relationships are ones in which the parties should demonstrate sincere acknowledgement of one another’s worth as is appropriate to one’s station, and that this disposition of acknowledgement is central to respect. As Chan observes, many of the relationships that the Confucians discuss are hierarchical, so shows of respect will be based partially on how one ranks in comparison to others (p. 232). This will, in turn, require additional, relationship-specific attitudes to help convey the aforementioned acknowledgement of worth. In the ruler-minister relationship, for example, the two parties are not social equals: the minister is subservient to the ruler, and so the minister displays respect by showing deference to the ruler. Indeed, Mengzi bases ritual in “deference and yielding” (e.g., as when deferring to one’s supervisor’s judgement) (Mengzi 3.6/18/9). In respecting the ruler, the minister is supposed to adopt a related, deferential attitude; it is not the case that the ruler needs to defer to the minister. Presumably, though, the ruler also owes the minister respect. Xunzi, for example, insists that “there is to be respect for one and all” (Xunzi 13/65/18). If respect is merely a matter of deference, then this remark makes little sense for hierarchical relationships; other attitudes are also necessary. There are a number of attitudes that might be relevant to showing respect more broadly. Chan notes that loving and caring for others are aspects both of ritual practice and for showing and embodying respect as well (p. 229). The Xunzi offers additional support for this point: Conducting oneself morally means abiding by ritual; [through] ritual, the noble are treated with honor, the elderly are treated with filiality, the senior are treated with fraternal respect, the young are treated with kindness, and the lowly are treated with charity. (Xunzi 27/127/15, compare with Hutton 2014, pp. 291–292)

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Xunzi argues that abiding by ritual entails respect (jing) alongside several other attitudes, including filiality (xiao, 孝), fraternal respect (ti, 悌), 23 kindness (ci, 慈), and charity (hui, 惠). These dispositions are, arguably, related to respect as it is depicted in Confucianism. The first three dispositions in the list fit with the aforementioned attitudes of deference and yielding, and the dispositions of kindness and generosity harken to Chan’s notion of caring for others. 24 Assuming that Chan is correct about respect’s requiring love and care for others, there is reason to associate these notions with respect. It is also possible, if not probable, that Xunzi’s list of ritually expressed attitudes is organized around a particular theme, in this case respect. In many languages, classical Chinese included, words have synonyms that may be used interchangeably (e.g., jing and gong), as well as terms that might exemplify a particular aspect or form of said word. When one speaks of respect in English, for example, one might also speak of reverence, honor, veneration, esteem, or regard. So too is this the case with appeals to respect in Confucianism. Although each of these terms has its own distinctive meaning, they are related to, if not sometimes synonymous with, a notion of respect. So, too, is it the case with Xunzi’s list: to practice ritual is to show respect toward others, and this respect is exemplified differently based on the relationship. Those who are noble are due respect in a reverential manner. Those who are elder to oneself should be respected with the duty and affection that a child offers to a parent. Those who are of senior rank should be respected as one esteems an elder sibling, while those who are junior should be respected with the regard that older siblings give to their younger siblings. Finally, those who are of low status should be respected by charitable displays. Such an arrangement with regard to ritual suggests that Xunzi, and likely the other Confucians, all regard such dispositions as relating to a common theme, for which respect is a plausible candidate. This interpretation of ritual’s ties to respect and related attitudes is further supported by the manner in which Xunzi discusses the nature of mourning. Several passages indicate that Xunzi regards feelings of respect and love for others to be given form through ritual: [The] purpose of the rites of mourning is none other than to clarify what is yi regarding life and death, to send off [loved ones] with sorrow and respect, and to inter them finally and completely. Thus, during burials, the bodies are respectfully covered; during the sacrifices, the spirits are respectfully served. Through inscriptions, eulogies, records, and genealogies, their names are respectfully transmitted. (Xunzi 19/95/17–18, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 212) The sacrificial rites are the refined expression of remembrance and longing. To be moved and feel upset are things that cannot but come upon one at times. . . . When the feelings that come to him stir him greatly, but simply play them-

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The expressions of loving and respectful attitudes are themselves informed and formalized in the ritual. When mourning a deceased parent, a profound feeling of loss (perhaps akin to heartbreak) induces the target behavior of grieving, which is in turn accommodated by ritual. 25 Such grief shows a recognition and valuation of one’s relationship to the deceased, indicating the link between respect and these other attitudes at play in the ritual. Having said all of this, one might wonder whether the Confucians have rituals unrelated to respect or the other attitudes discussed here. I do not want to rule out the possibility of such rituals, 26 but it seems likely that most (if not all) of the rituals of which the Confucians speak are oriented at least toward respect given the manner in which they viewed the social world: the sorts of interactions covered by ritual, if they are to be harmonious, must be approached with at least basic levels of respect, congeniality, kindness, generosity, and/or general humaneness between the parties involved. This being the case, it is probable that all such interactions will necessarily attend to the sharing of these attitudes between humans in one or more of the various forms discussed here. Thus, given the centrality of ritual to the Confucian socioethical project and the relationship between ritual and respect and other related attitudes, the most plausible view to adopt is one in which rituals are construed as those practices and divisions that are essential to a community or culture and in some way embody such dispositions. TOWARD A RITUALIZED MORAL EDUCATION I have suggested that Confucian ritual be understood as a set of prescriptions rather than strictly as performances, and that these prescriptions govern those practices and social divisions that are intended to embody and express respect and related dispositions. Given that these prescriptions are products of a longstanding tradition, ritual can also be construed as a cultural tool, one that is specifically employed for a prosocial, promoral purpose. Recall that the Vygotskyan approach suggests that psychosocial development in general is a social process insofar as it is interactive in the sense that the learner is constantly internalizing and deploying ways of thinking and behaving that are first experienced via socialization with other human beings. This process is mediated through sociocultural tools (such as language) that are incorporated into and help to structure a learner’s cognitive architecture. In the next

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chapter, I argue that the Confucians employ an understanding similar to that of Vygotsky in the context of moral development, with ritual functioning as the core tool for moral inculcation. NOTES 1. I should clarify that, while I focus on ritual in this text, the Confucian moral education program as traditionally construed incorporates a number of other resources and practices as well, including music, historical and political studies, familial bonding, and calligraphy among others. My main reasons for focusing on ritual are that (a) ritual is regarded by the early Confucians as a particularly central resource for moral cultivation, (b) ritual is a relatively unique and under-discussed resource for moral cultivation in traditions outside of Confucianism, and (c) ritual, I will argue, can fulfill a unique role in facilitating moral growth by learners. 2. For the purposes of this project, I use “Western” as a shorthand to refer to the European and American (especially North America) continents and their associated cultures. 3. Admittedly, and as I will argue below, this does in some ways resonate with the Confucian conception of ritual insofar as both approaches are geared in part toward understanding, and harmonizing with, a broader cosmic order. 4. Fingarette (1972) gives an extended treatment of this very point. 5. See, for example, Analects 6.27/14/10: The Master said, “The noble person, by broadly studying culture and holding himself in accord with ritual, will never overstep what is right.” 6. “Qi,” in classical Chinese metaphysics, can be loosely understood as the “material energy” of living things. 7. Citations from classical Chinese texts use ICS numbering. Translations are the author’s own unless indicated. 8. Such practices, I take it, are not themselves foreign to Western thought; rather, it is the particular way in which early Confucians like Xunzi group all such concepts and practices under the umbrella of ritual that is unique, as well as the implications and applications of such an approach. 9. Kongzi is noncommittal on the topic, stating merely that humans, by nature, are “close” or “similar” (Analects 17.2/47/27), and Xunzi rejects the idea of humans as naturally good (see chapter 23: “[Human] Nature is Bad”). 10. For more discussion on this topic see, for example, Harris 2013a and Wong 2015. 11. Despite references to ritual compendia by the Confucians, many of the older ritual texts seem to have been lost. Extant texts include the Book of Ritual (Liji, 禮記), Rites of Zhou (Zhouli, 周禮), and Yili (儀禮). 12. Analects 9.3/20/10–11: A linen cap is prescribed by ritual; nowadays, silk is used. This is frugal, and I follow the majority. Bowing below the hall is prescribed by ritual; nowadays, people bow after ascending. This is arrogant and, even though it goes against the majority, I continue to bow below the hall. 13. Xunzi 1/3/10: Rituals are the standards for the great divisions. 14. Yi is typically translated as “righteousness,” but can be better understood as a standard for roles and relationships that must be internalized through education. Insofar as one adheres to this standard, one is said to be righteous (see Hutton’s explanation of yi in the appendix for his 2014 translation of the Xunzi). While this project is focused chiefly on the role of ritual, it is important to acknowledge that yi also plays an important role in (at least Xunzi’s conception of) moral education: yi is a standard and virtue of right action, and a norm for roles and relationships; ritual is a collection of prescriptions for appropriate performances and their contexts 15. According to Analects 10.8/24/17: “He did not remove the ginger from the table, but he did not consume much of it.” Slingerland (2003b), following Brooks and Brooks (1998, p. 62), suggests that this may refer to the fact that ginger was a novelty during Kongzi’s time, and may have been regarded with suspicion by traditionalists (p. 104). 16. The Classic of Rituals almost certainly refers to a collection of ritual lore. Unfortunately, it is unclear to what particular text Xunzi is referring. No extant ritual compendia share this

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title, and difficulties in dating these and other ancient texts make it virtually impossible to know Xunzi’s exact reference. 17. I should clarify that the conception of law with which I am working here is the one seemingly held by the Confucians themselves. Alternative conceptions may hold that laws are not truly laws (or bad laws) if they do not align with or promote promoral enterprises. For the Confucians, however, laws are simply edicts issued by the state, hence the concern regarding whether laws alone are capable of instilling moral rectitude. Early in Chapter 12, Xunzi does speak to the importance of laws (or at least standards, fa 法) for establishing order, but it is unclear that Xunzi holds laws in any higher regard or that he deviates substantially from either Kongzi or Mengzi on this matter. 18. Similar points are made by Tan (2011) and Sarkissian (2014). Tan describes the relationship between law and ritual here as “complementary,” with both tools helping to establish social consensus and coordination (p. 477). A key difference between the two, and one that Sarkissian echoes, is that ritual has an ethical focus that is not necessarily present in laws (Tan 2011, p. 478; Sarkissian 2014, pp. 105–108). 19. I use a very thin notion of “force” here. All I mean is that the government requires that one submit to a decided penalty and, if one refuses, then the government takes further action against the individual until it deems the results of said action to provide sufficient reparations for the violation of law. 20. The comparison between ritual and etiquette will receive further attention in the sixth chapter. 21. A quick sinological point is worth making: the second occurrence of “respect” in the third excerpt cited uses a different character than jing. I follow Sin-yee Chan (2006, p. 248), who is in turn following Wing-tsit Chan (1969, p. 785), in treating the term gong (恭) as synonymous with jing in early Confucianism. Since jing is the more prevalent term in the Confucian corpus, however, it will be the term to which I refer in this section unless otherwise noted. 22. Analects 5.17/10/21: Yan Ping Zhong was good at maintaining relationships. Even if it was a relationship of long duration, he was respectful. 23. This particular character is difficult to explain without using the word “respect” itself, and “fraternity” alone does not suffice. The character refers to the disposition one should hold when engaging with those elder than oneself in general but appears to be based on the idea that one should have an affectionate, if deferential, attitude toward an older sibling. One might think of it as being akin to the attitude of “looking up to” one’s elder sibling(s). 24. A further possible upshot is that this depiction of ritual and respect helps to highlight why ritual is so central to the Confucian tradition. If we construe respect as entailing a care for others, and ritual as the means of cultivating and expressing that care, then it helps to highlight ritual’s connection to the value of ren (仁). Ren, typically translated as benevolence or humaneness, is often depicted as one of the highest ideals in Confucian thought, and at times depicted as a matter of caring for others (e.g., Analects 12.22/33/5). 25. This topic will be expanded in the next chapter. 26. Xunzi, for example, famously rails against (purely) supernatural conceptions of ritual, suggesting that, even in cases such as prayers for rain, the purpose is not so much about invoking supernatural forces but meeting the psychosocial needs of those in the community (e.g., Xunzi 17/82/6–8).

Chapter Four

The Ritual Cultivation Model A Nuanced Interpretation

With an account of Confucian ritual in hand, it is possible to examine what, specifically, is involved in the classical Confucian educational model. The most suitable starting point for this task is arguably found in the work of Xunzi, an early Confucian whose advocacy for moral education is particularly well documented. 1 Despite ample extant scholarship on Xunzi’s work, however, precisely how his approach bolsters moral development, and why a program touting the study of ritual could be effective, remain subjects of debate. In this chapter, I argue that these matters can be clarified by appealing to Vygotsky’s theory of learning and development. Vygotsky’s account of how development depends primarily on social interactions mediated by cultural tools that modify learners’ cognitive architecture is remarkably similar to Xunzi’s account of how studying and practicing ritual restructures learners’ moral psychologies. Specifically, both Vygotsky and Xunzi offer nonnativist accounts of psychosocial development that emphasize the centrality of sociocultural tools for learning. This comparison yields a more nuanced and empirically supported interpretation of Xunzi’s account of moral education, as well as an account that has applications in contemporary work in moral education and development. SETTING UP THE COMPARISON The first chapter of the Xunzi, as traditionally received, opens with the claim that “learning must never cease” (Xunzi 1/1/3) and proceeds by venerating the study of classical texts, poems and, perhaps most importantly, rituals. 59

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Such pursuits form the backbone of Xunzi’s philosophy of moral education and development: only by wholeheartedly engaging in a rigorous program of study, observation, and practice of these tools can one accumulate sufficient cultural refinement and become an exemplary moral person. This description of Xunzi is largely uncontroversial; less clear is what Xunzi believes such diligent study and practice are doing for the learner’s moral development. A common understanding of Xunzi’s program, and one applied to many Confucian accounts of ritual-oriented moral education, is that such practices consist predominantly or wholly in habituation. According to Fraser (2006), for Confucians, “[the] keys to education are habituation, concentration, having a teacher and model, and perseverance” (p. 531). A more extreme interpretation is offered by Lau (2000), who argues that, based on Xunzi’s position that morality is a “device” created by the sages, “the only way of instilling it into people is by sheer drill and habituation” (p. 210). That is to say, learning ritual is simply being habituated into ritual. By repeatedly practicing ritual forms, abiding by ritual eventually becomes reflexive; thus, the Confucian conception of moral development boils down to cultivating a collection of habits. Other scholars, such as Yu (2007, pp. 98–100), Jiang (2012, pp. 103–104), and Stalnaker (2006, esp. “Artifice is the Way”), adopt more moderate views, allowing habituation a place in Xunzi’s program but rejecting the idea that it is the foremost feature. Notably missing from these interpretations of Xunzi are specific accounts of what habituation entails. 2 As a result, it is difficult to evaluate the claims made by those who have commented on this aspect of Xunzi. Relative to such views, my account offers a more precise interpretation of Xunzian developmental theory that elucidates features of Xunzi that may have been overlooked or underplayed. This is achieved, in part, by giving a clearer view of habituation, which will in turn yield a better understanding of how Xunzi goes beyond it. I agree that there is something to be said for the role that habituation plays in Xunzi’s account of moral education, but reading the program as merely or even mainly about habituation is insufficient for several reasons, foremost being that such a reading fails to explain the extent of the psychological transformation that moral education sparks in the Xunzian picture. According to Xunzi, moral education is not merely about changing human habits, but changing the very ways in which humans think about and interact with the social world. Discussion of habits only goes so far; ideally, the account should explain all of these changes. To this end, I argue that the details of Xunzi’s approach to moral education can be clarified by appealing to modern research on learning and development, particularly Vygotsky’s increasingly influential work in cognitive and education sciences. Vygotsky’s account is in many ways already similar to Xunzi’s thoughts on moral education. Notably, both adopt a nonnativist stance regarding psychosocial capacities, both describe the developmental

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process as fundamentally transformative, and both grant sociocultural tools an integral role in development. By further developing this comparison, the project makes at least three contributions to the fields of moral psychology and education. First, drawing on the Vygotskyan account, as well as the aforementioned discussion of habituation, will lead to a better understanding of Xunzi’s theory of moral education and why such education can be effective. Second, the empirical support that Vygotskyan accounts of learning and development have garnered largely offer support for the Xunzian approach to moral education in its own right, suggesting that Xunzi’s account (and perhaps even a more broadly Confucian-inspired account) of how ritual assists moral development may be useful to current work in moral education. Third, and related to the second implication, I suggest that Xunzi’s account of ritual and moral development can help to fill a gap in Vygotskyan-inspired accounts of moral development, with ritual serving as a sociocultural tool to facilitate moral development in a Vygotskyan scheme. A QUICK RECAPITULATION OF THE RELEVANT VYGOTSKY Recall that Vygotsky argues that most development occurs as both a part and a result of social interactions, placing his account of cognitive development in opposition with so-called “nativist” theories of development. Vygotsky, skeptical of the explanatory power of innate dispositions, suggests instead that social interaction establishes the foundation for sophisticated cognitive development, since such experiences appear to be necessary for subsequent developments to occur. According to Vygotsky, even the capacities to learn and reason are largely-to-wholly predicated on social experiences, acquired from social environs that are filled with tools (such as language, customs, and dogmas) that serve as the media by which new information and experiences are introduced and internalized. Importantly, these tools and experiences are not merely providing educational content, but functionally restructuring thought as a whole. For one, given the diversity of cultural tools and experiences that humans employ and encounter, it should be expected that humans differ as learners not only individually, but also as communities. Consequently, the Vygotskyan account emphasizes the significance of cultural diversity and, in so doing, yields a practical component absent from nativist accounts, namely the role that sociocultural interactions and tools play in cognitive development. This is integral for theorizing about group learning contexts, in which instruction is shared by multiple learners and the learners themselves may then interact and reconstruct information in a variety of ways. Learning is a social practice that drives development and, as with all social practices, features of the

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community will crucially frame and influence how the practice proceeds. These elements of Vygotsky’s theory alone have made it invaluable for research on learning within and across communities, as well as developing instructional techniques for diverse learner groups. Another relevant feature of Vygotsky’s account pertains to the roles of the aforementioned social tools in psychosocial development. According to Vygotsky, internalizing and appropriating social tools spurs development via a fundamental transformation of the learner’s cognitive architecture, both in terms of the physical brain and how the learner thinks and behaves. Learning drives development from an unsophisticated baseline (thought prior to language exposure and acquisition) to increasingly complex levels (thought after language exposure and acquisition). One of Vygotsky’s examples of such transformation is the mastery of scientific concepts: prior to a certain degree of development and, more importantly, exposure to scientific methodology (or any systemic way of understanding the world), children are capable of forming only spontaneous concepts. Spontaneous concepts form automatically and without participation in social practices, such as concepts from sense perception alone; this is a baseline capacity. Scientific concepts, as Vygotsky calls them, require instruction so that learners can obtain a system by which to generate more complex concepts. Commenting on Piaget’s studies on children, Vygotsky writes: It should be shown that all the peculiarities of the child’s thought described by Piaget (such as syncretism, juxtaposition, and insensitivity to contradiction) stem from the absence of a system in the child’s spontaneous concepts—a consequence of undeveloped relations of generality. For example, to be disturbed by a contradiction, the child would have to view the contradictory statements in the light of some general principle, i.e., within a system. But when a child in Piaget’s experiments says of one object that it dissolved in water because it was small, and of another . . . because it was big, he merely makes empirical statements of facts that follow the logic of perceptions. No generalization of the kind “Smallness leads to dissolution” is present in his mind, and hence the two statements are not felt to be contradictory. It is this lack of distance from the immediate experience . . . that accounts for the peculiarities of the child’s thought. Therefore, these peculiarities do not appear in the child’s scientific concepts, which from their very inception carry within them relations of generality, i.e., some rudiments of a system. The formal discipline of scientific concepts gradually transforms the structure of the child’s spontaneous concepts and helps organize them into a system: this furthers the child’s ascent to higher developmental levels. (Vygotsky 1934/1986, pp. 205–206)

There are two important points in this excerpt. First, as mentioned earlier, development is driven by the social practice of learning. The development of the ability to utilize scientific concepts (a complex, learned capacity) requires

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learners to advance beyond spontaneous concept formation, and this advancement requires instruction in methodology so as to provide learners with the aforementioned system. The second takeaway is that going beyond the baseline in the developmental process involves not merely additive or eliminative processes involving the spontaneous concepts, but also their (re)organization for the purpose of enabling complex conceptualization. It is the absence of a system for thinking that limits children to spontaneous concepts, and the presence of such a system that enables developmental ascent. Once this system becomes part of the psychological repertoire, learners can develop increasingly complex conceptualizations based in and around this system. This is the general nature of the psychosocial transformation that Vygotsky envisions. Additionally, recall that Vygotsky treats development as occurring on two levels, the social and the internal. Cognitive and sociocultural processes, such as language use, are encountered first on the social level (for example, when being spoken to) and then appear on the internal level (as when producing speech of one’s own accord): Sociocultural processes on the one hand and individual functioning on the other [exist] in a dynamic, irreducible tension rather than a static notion of social determination. [Vygotsky’s] approach . . . considers these poles of sociocultural processes and individual functioning as interacting moments in human action, rather than as static processes that exist in isolation from one another. (Penuel and Wertsch 1995, p. 84)

Development occurs when there is an overlap between the two levels, where the learner accesses the sociocultural processes, internalizes them, and then deploys them. The outcome is that the learner’s cognitive architecture is genuinely transformed as the brain adopts, adapts, and alters the way in which it functions to facilitate and utilize these new tools. This relates to another point about the restructuring process: it is representational. According to Vygotsky, internalization of information is mediated by sociocultural tools. These tools, such as language, are appropriated by the learner and then utilized to facilitate the internalization process. The tools accomplish this by helping to represent and mediate information from one’s social environs. Internalization is described as follows: Internalization is conceived of as a representational activity, a process that occurs simultaneously in social practice and in the human brain/mind. Sociocultural researchers include the learners’ appropriation of socially elaborated symbol systems as a critical aspect of learning-driven development. This appropriation of symbol systems was a central focus of Vygotsky’s work, particularly as applied to educational pedagogy, and led to his most fully elaborated application of the concept of internalization—the transformation of communi-

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The transformative restructuring process influences how the learner interfaces with the world. As Vygotsky describes this transformation, “Speech does not merely serve as an expression of developed thought. Thought is restructured as it is transformed into speech” (Vygotsky 1997, p. 251). Acquisition of social tools and internalization fundamentally alter the way in which the learner processes, manipulates, and responds to information. This also enables learners to broaden their developmental potentials, as mastery of new knowledge expands the ability to internalize additional, more complex knowledge, thus improving one’s degree of competency. With this recount of Vygotsky in hand, I turn to Xunzi. A VYGOTSKYAN LENS FOR XUNZI’S PEDAGOGY My argument here is that a theory of development similar to Vygotsky’s appears in the writings of Xunzi. 3 In order to develop this comparison, I focus on a particular part of Xunzi’s overall moral cultivation project, namely the pursuit of intrapersonal harmony via ritual. That ritual is intended to promote and maintain harmony between members of a community is uncontroversial; less explored is the equally important project of how ritual is intended to facilitate harmony within one’s person and how this pursuit contributes to the overall development of promoral dispositions. 4 Specifically, the manner in which ritual study and practice help guide and channel features of one’s psychology not only refines and cements those dispositions that are relevant to morally charged interactions with others, but also benefits one’s psychological well-being. Elaborating these features helps to highlight similarities between the role of ritual in Xunzi’s moral cultivation system and Vygotsky’s account of language as a tool for developing cognitive architecture: just as language facilitates communication between others and helps to organize and navigate one’s own thoughts and experiences, so too does ritual facilitate promoral interactions and help organize one’s own morally relevant internal states. Consider first one of the reasons Xunzi so emphasizes the necessity of ritual education, namely his argument that humans are, at birth, morally incompetent (i.e., lacking in developed, consistent, or reliable moral dispositions, judgements, etc.). The argument begins with a sophisticated account of human psychology, in which Xunzi describes the psyche as being composed of multiple, sometimes contentious parts: The various names for aspects of humans: That which is as it is from birth is called xing (nature, 性). That produced by the harmony of xing, intricately

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combining feeling and response, that requires no work and is so in and of itself is called xing. The xing’s feelings of liking and aversion, delight and anger, and sorrow and joy are called qing (dispositions, 情). The qing being so and the xin (heart-mind, 心) making a selection on its behalf is called deliberation. When the xin deliberates and one’s ability acts on its behalf, this is called wei (artifice, 偽). That which arises from accumulated deliberation and practicing one’s abilities is also called wei. (Xunzi 22/107/22–4, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 236)

According to Xunzi, xing, qing, and wei, are the foremost aspects of the human psycho-physical makeup. The terms are difficult to translate effectively into English, but I will attempt to do so while providing qualifications for each translation. Xing has traditionally been translated into English as “nature” (i.e., as in “human nature”). I also employ this translation, but it is important to note that xing/nature refers exclusively to those characteristics and behaviors of a living thing that are purely spontaneous, arising from some inborn disposition (instinct is probably a good example) or spontaneous development, but never from conscious work or effort. 5 In so qualifying the term, I hope to distinguish Xunzi’s use of nature from certain notions prevalent in the Western tradition (e.g., as with essentialism). Qing refers to a thing’s constitution: the character of the thing itself, particularly affective states such as feelings that can be actively engaged and may, at least within a range, vary from individual to individual. Following a contemporary trend, I opt to translate this term as “disposition(s).” This permits discussion of the relevant character traits and psychological states under a broad banner while still maintaining the meaning of the original character. Furthermore, since the states grouped under qing/disposition are contingent on the natural, physical makeup of a thing, this concept is inextricably bound-up with xing. Finally, wei refers to any undertaking by a person that does not arise purely spontaneously from one’s nature and/or disposition. For these reasons, I translate the term as “artifice,” with the qualification that seemingly “artificial” actions are juxtaposed with instinctive or spontaneous behaviors. I do this to prevent misunderstandings of artifice as referring to somehow fake or disingenuous activity, as well as to reinforce its distinctness from the other psychological features discussed by Xunzi. All three aspects are relevant to both the purpose and practice of ritual, and in turn moral development and intrapersonal harmony, albeit in different ways and to different extents. Elaborating how Xunzi views this developmental process will help to identify his relevant similarities with Vygotsky. Consider the following excerpt from the Xunzi, in which he gives advice on the pursuit of moral growth:

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Chapter 4 [I]f you do not climb tall mountains, then you will not understand the loftiness of Heaven; if you do not descend into deep gorges, then you will not understand the Earth’s depths; if you never hear the teachings left by the former kings, then you will not understand the greatness of learning and inquiry. The children of the Han, Yue, Yi, and Mo have the same cries at birth but have different customs when grown; this is because teaching makes it so. (1/1/7–5, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 1)

For Xunzi, moral development is rooted in learning rather than an innate tendency, indicating a nonnativist position with regard to morality, a clear point of similarity between Xunzi and Vygotsky. Note in particular Xunzi’s treatment of moral cultivation as being similar to language acquisition: it is by the acquisition of new tools, like language, customs, and standards, that humans grow beyond their basic natures. Moreover, the text implies that if humans want to greatly enhance their moral abilities (and perhaps themselves more generally), then they must also seek out complex and diverse experiences so to become better aware of the world (all under the guidance of a capable teacher, of course). During these experiences, this learning process, humans also undergo substantial psychological transformation. The nature of the moral transformation in Xunzi’s writings, including how it is brought about (via ritual), includes the cognitive restructuring needed for psychosocial development in Vygotsky’s picture. This emphasis on the importance of learning, especially how it contributes to refining an untutored moral psychology, is elaborated in Chapter 23 of the Xunzi (“Xing E, 性惡,” or “Human Nature Is Bad”). 6 Herein, Xunzi continues his argument that humans are not innately morally good and, moreover, are often motivated by desires (yu 欲) that seldom reflect prosocial attitudes like respect and compassion. These desires are products of the compound of nature and disposition and are perhaps best understood as realized affective states (e.g., one’s wants or preferences). It is important to clarify that these sorts of desires are typically brute, spontaneous urges that arise simply in virtue of being a human animal (e.g., desire for food, sex, etc.). According to Xunzi, these desires are inalienable parts of the human makeup and, therefore, things with which any realistic theory of moral psychology must contend. This is especially significant because, if left unchecked or unguided, these desires may (or perhaps necessarily will) lead to contention and strife within the populace, as people go about seeking their fulfillment without constraint. Since such scenarios are caused (in some sense) by disposition and nature, the development and implementation of ritual might be thought of as a response to these features of being human. According to Xunzi, only after cultivation via the study and practice of ritual does one come to be reliably moral (e.g., Xunzi 1/3/10–11). 7 The development and implementation of ritual, however, is a matter of artifice rather than nature: “all ritual and yi are produced by the artifice of the sages; they

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are not produced by humans’ nature” (Xunzi 23/114/8–9). Learning, practicing, and understanding ritual is also artifice, as it requires activity beyond one’s innate, spontaneous tendencies. 8 One might say, then, that disposition and nature make it necessary to instantiate ritual, and artifice enables said instantiation. If so, then this claim further reflects Xunzi and Vygotsky’s shared perspective. On both theories, the beginning of psychosocial development is a position of (near) complete incompetence, where the learner’s knowledge and skills are minimal (if at all extant). This might seem intuitive: many accounts of learning will start from the assumption that learners begin in ignorance. What is significant about the incompetence described herein is that the ability to move beyond it is contingent on social factors (that is, being exposed to the proper tools and experiences via which one then develops the target capacities). It is only via sociomoral training that one can become reliably moral. Xunzi’s nonnativism is further clarified in his broader account of human psychology, especially in his discussion of how motivation of behavior is governed by at least two faculties: desires and a sense of approbation (kebuke, 可-不可, lit. “approval-disapproval”). Much like desires, Xunzi claims that the sense of approbation (or approval) is also part of the basic human make-up, but it should be developed and refined rather than merely corralled and controlled. This is partially because, for Xunzi, approbation features in active deliberation. Like desires, 9 the sense of approbation can motivate behavior; importantly, however, it can also override desires. As Xunzi notes, “All humans follow what they approve and turn away from that which they do not approve” (Xunzi 22/111/20). “Approval” here is akin to deeming one’s action or the object of one’s action “permissible” or “appropriate.” Xunzi writes: Humans most desire life; humans are most averse to death. Yet humans may sometimes relinquish life and accept death. This is not because they do not desire life and instead desire death; rather, they disapprove of living thusly and approve dying thusly. Therefore, when desires are excessive but action does not occur, it is because the xin (心) has halted things. (Xunzi 22/111/8–9, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 244)

When Xunzi discusses humans disapproving living but approving dying, the claim is that they do not deem their (way of) living permissible, but do deem their deaths permissible, even appropriate. The interesting point is that Xunzi directs readers to this sense of approbation as an activity of the xin (heartmind). The xin is the organ of deliberation, and it will follow a course of action according to feelings—such as the desires—and the attitude of approbation, acting in accordance with the latter. At birth, however, the sense of approbation is just as crude as the desires; it is not cultivated, and it is unlikely that one’s baseline sense of approbation will be sufficiently morally

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sophisticated to judge against problematic desires. Accordingly, sociomoral training is needed so that one can reliably judge whether an action is appropriate; social learning helps fashion the sense of approbation/ke-buke into a promoral capacity. An example may illustrate the point: consider a hungry person who, finding a loaf of bread, deems it appropriate to eat the bread regardless of whether someone else might have been saving it, or if someone else might have an even greater hunger and need for the bread. A Confucian sage might have a sufficient capacity for sympathy and an awareness of these factors to make a considerate judgement, but one who has never undergone moral education might not. The judgements of non-sages, or at least those without moral training, will be more strongly influenced by their desires. Just as learners in the Vygotskyan model require tools like language during cognitive development, Xunzian learners need a guide for the development and execution of moral deliberation. The manner in which this deliberation occurs can be modified and conditioned by moral training; without such conditioning it is likely that the consistency and ability to process moral situations will be impoverished. Xunzi recognizes this need, and this is where ritual education enters: rituals were designed to refine the sense of approbation and guarantee that what one deliberates in favor of will align with what is acceptably moral. Vygotsky’s inner speech provides an illuminating comparison. Recall Vygotsky’s claim that language transforms the nature of thought by providing structure. The function of language/inner speech is roughly equivalent to a function of ritual for Xunzi. At birth, Xunzi claims, humans lack the resources to (harmoniously) cope with and respond to emotionally disruptive scenarios, being without sufficient sustenance, and even general interactions with others. Xunzi illustrates this with the metaphors of shaping and honing to describe education: Crooked wood must wait on the carpentry frame, and after steaming and fixing it becomes straight. Blunt metal must wait on the whetstone, and after grinding it becomes sharp. Now, people’s nature is bad, so they must wait on teachers and models, and afterward they are rectified, for they obtain ritual and yi and become orderly. (Xunzi 23/113/9–10, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 248)

Ritual helps organize, coordinate, and even prime affective responses to these sorts of scenarios: it restructures a learner’s psychological landscape by helping to inculcate responses to, and understandings of, a variety of ethically charged situations. Just as Vygotsky regards lacking language as developmentally inhibitory, Xunzi regards lacking ritual as morally stunting. Another comparative point of interest is ritual’s ability to channel and refine feelings to make them appropriate, tolerable, and comprehensible for oneself in various situations. Ritual functionally provides an internal moral

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language by which to assess, structure, and organize feelings. The standards prescribed by ritual help coordinate one’s feelings just like how they prescribe standards to coordinate social behavior. Similar to how mastering a verbal language aids one’s analysis of both the world and oneself, ritual facilitates moral development by providing norms that are assimilated into one’s sense of approbation/moral judgement (Xunzi 4/15/13–17). 10 The effect on moral judgement is similar to how linguistic expressions provide culturally based connotations of approbation, constraining as well as guiding them. By adhering to these cultivated judgements, individuals gain a source of moral guidance that is more objective and reliable than the uneducated baseline sense of approbation. In terms of satisfying and harmonizing desires, Xunzi’s educational program uses ritual to refine the sense of approbation in a way that enhances self- and social awareness when seeking to fulfill said desires. When deliberating whether to fulfill a desire, deliberation is subject to the cultivated sense of approbation as framed by ritual, just as language often frames reasoning. Establishing these norms throughout a community sets a basis for order and harmony. This relates to the previous discussion of what ritual education does for learners. As noted earlier, some scholars have construed ritual education reductively as habituation. In fairness, it is not totally clear what notion(s) of habituation these scholars have employed regarding this topic. In order to bring Xunzi into discourse with contemporary cognitive science, however, it will help to use the definition of habituation applied therein and acknowledge that it may be the case that this notion of habituation is not what the aforementioned scholars have in mind. A common definition of habituation has been applied by cognitive scientists since 1966 (Thompson and Spencer 1966). In a recent update, habituation is defined as a behavioral response decrement that results from repeated stimulation and that does not involve sensory adaptation/sensory fatigue or motor fatigue. . . . Behavioral responses that undergo habituation may include any final output of the nervous system including simple reflexes such as pupillary responses and sweating, and muscle contraction or even motor neuron activity. One additional example is hormone release, which is the final output of the neuroendocrine system; hormones have a persistent action in regulating many behaviors. (Rankin et al. 2009, p. 136)

At the most general level, then, habituation amounts to a collection of automatic responses on the part of the body’s neuroendocrine system. Constant exposure to specific stimuli, coupled with target scenarios and behaviors, may develop an association between stimulus and scenarios/behaviors in learners, resulting in their becoming habituated. If this is what habituation means for Xunzi, then his educational program in ritual could be explained strictly in terms of associating certain behaviors

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with particular stimuli, with the rituals providing the context and materials of stimulation. On this account, what practice (xi, 習) of ritual involves is a kind of training/conditioning. It is common, for example, to develop a daily routine as a matter of habituation: one wakes up around 6 a.m., has a cup of tea, dresses, heads into the office, greets colleagues already present, and then sits down for the day’s labors. Part of what facilitates the smoothness of this routine is the habituation to both the processes involved and the accompanying stimuli (for example, the alarm going off elicits a trained clicking of the “OFF” button, Cheryl’s sing-song “Hello” elicits a reflexive “Hello, Cheryl,” and so on). So strong can the habituation become that one may find oneself going through the motions regardless of whether the appropriate stimuli are present (as when replying “Thanks, you too,” when the server tells you to enjoy your meal). The analogous assumption for Xunzi would be that ritual is also like this: upon seeing the person in mourning garb, one automatically shrinks away; upon meeting one’s superior, one automatically adopts a deferential posture. It is true that practice is a feature of ritual education, and the sort of habituation described above is likely part of this practice. There are, however, elements other than practice also present in ritual education, reflection (si, 思) being particularly notable. Reflection appears to have involved a number of cognitive and metacognitive capacities, including contemplation, deliberation, reminiscence, and even visualization. 11 These features are arguably present in contemporary conceptions of reflection as well, but more importantly indicate that ritual practice involves a considerable amount of activity on the part of the practitioner that will go beyond the reflexive behavior involved in mere habit and the process of habituation. Examples of ritual practice using reflection can be found by examining the relationship between the two concepts, which can be explained in terms of two recurring themes in the Xunzi: ritual requiring reflection from the practitioner, and ritual as an object of reflection. The use of ritual in helping to cope with the grieving process exemplifies the first theme, since the bereaved employ ritual to help both dwell on and move past the death of a loved one. Other examples involve reflecting on one’s conduct while using ritual as a standard. For simple-minded rectitude or scrupulous honesty, make it suitable with ritual and music, and enlighten it with reflection. (Xunzi 2/6/9; Hutton 2014, p. 12) As the long night is passing by slowly, I think long whether I acted wrongly. I lapsed not from the ways of high antiquity, Nor did I deviate from ritual and yi. So why should others’ words be of concern to me? (Xunzi 22/110/17–18; Hutton 2014, p. 242)

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These sorts of passages indicate that one should determine one’s actions according to ritual, and that the determination of how to act is itself both part of the ritual and deliberative in nature. In these cases, according with ritual does not merely require that one behave according to habit, but that one act in consideration of the prescriptions of ritual. The second theme is exemplified by passages encouraging learners to look at the ritual itself and attempt to discern its importance. For example: The noble person thoroughly investigates ritual, and because of this he is unable to be cheated by trickery or deceit. (Xunzi 19/92/14–15, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 205) To be able to reflect and ponder what is central to ritual is called being able to deliberate. (Xunzi 19/92/17; Hutton 2014, p. 206)

In these cases, practicing ritual demands reflection because ritual itself (or, at very least, acting in accordance with ritual) requires the use of one’s deliberative faculties. Rituals are collections of prescriptions, but the prescriptions themselves are directed toward social and psychological well-being. Additionally, sometimes the effective application of ritual requires flexibility on the part of the practitioner, such as in cases where one lacks the proper implements of ritual (for example, materials for caps or money for offerings). One is not permitted to merely abandon the ritual in such cases, so one must deliberate about how to adapt to the situation while still maintaining the spirit of the ritual. Were ritual practice merely a matter of habit, it is unlikely that such reflection would (or could) be part of learning and practicing ritual. With such features of the Xunzian model aforethought, it is best not to reduce ritual education to mere habituation. What remains is to demonstrate that the moral cultivation process for Xunzi entails the same sort of cognitive restructuring involved in Vygotsky’s account. Returning to the pursuit of intrapersonal harmony, Xunzi identifies the following difficulty for his moral theory: it must provide an ethic that attends to (sometimes turbulent) affective states and also transforms learners into reliable moral performers. For Xunzi, the first issue consists in the aforementioned desires and dispositions; the second is a matter of developing a capacity to gauge appropriateness and act accordingly. Given Xunzi’s moral nonnativism, and ritual’s centrality to moral development, ritual should be expected to help restructure or build on extant psychology and help canalize new dispositions for how to think and feel in promoral ways. Several excerpts support this interpretation. For example, Xunzi claims that sacrificial rites involve feelings of “remembrance and longing,” and allow practitioners both to cope with grief and to show love and respect for the departed (Xunzi 19/97/20–19/98/1). The forms dictated by ritual are in-

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tended to provide therapeutic means of grasping such feelings and bringing inner peace by channeling the feelings in a constructive manner. Sacrificial rites, a mourner’s diet, and other such ritually prescribed practices are not merely for external displays of respect and devotion; they are the means of giving rest to one’s feelings, providing for internal harmony. Additionally, Xunzi provides the following description of transformative moral education: [The sage kings] erected ritual and yi and established models and measures. They did this to straighten and adorn people’s dispositions and nature, thus rectifying them. They did this to train and transform people’s dispositions and nature, thus guiding them. (Xunzi 23/113/11–13, compare with Hutton 2014, pp. 248–249)

What features are being transformed by education? The answer seems to be human psychology, or at least one’s capacity for moral thinking. To see this, consider a worry that Xunzi encounters with regard to maintaining intrapersonal harmony: morally problematic desires that persist even after a disapproving judgement. How can harmony be attained when desires continue to conflict with the sense of approbation? Xunzi’s solution is transformation/ refinement. Kline (2006) suggests that this process occurs alongside the cultivation of the sense of approbation via learning ritual: since one’s natural dispositions provide the origins of desires, it is reasonable to assume that refining these dispositions will result in refined desires that no longer conflict with the educated sense of approbation (p. 242). What occurs is a kind of habituation alongside deepening understanding: the sense of approbation reshapes the dispositions to be promoral and, as the source of desires, the desires also become promoral. This is the means of moral transformation for human beings, and it takes place by refining one’s dispositions. Arguably, this facet of ritual education entails a kind of cognitive restructuring. According to Xunzi, adherence to ritually prescribed order is what enables humans to structure the ways in which they interface and cope with their experiences in a manner that gives the feelings proper measure without becoming overwhelming. To employ an architectural metaphor, ritual provides both the blueprints and the scaffolding around which a promoral, socially competent individual is built. This description fits rather well with Xunzi’s writings: The noble person, at his most prosperous, presents ritual in its highest state; at his most diminished, completes its lowest state; in in-between circumstances he resides in its intermediate state. Whether walking, hurrying, or rushing madly, he cleaves to this and never departs from it. Certainly, this is the noble person’s home and palace. (Xunzi 19/93/1–2, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 206)

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Note the treatment of ritual as an edifice for morally exemplary persons, one from which they “never depart.” This suggests that ritual is literally an artifice by which moral persons are constantly both sheltered and constrained, never deviating (departing) from it. This analysis provides an image of ritual as a resource for constraining humans in some way, as well as an architectural metaphor, but does not necessarily demonstrate that Xunzi views ritual as transforming moral thought and feeling in learners. This view is more clearly articulated in a passage from chapter 8 utilizing the architectural metaphor: “For his words, the noble person has a foundation and roof. For his conduct, he has levees and depth markers.” This means that what he requires of people’s ways and virtue goes no lower than security and preservation for people. It means that what he requires of people’s intentions and thoughts goes no lower than becoming a well-bred man. If a person’s model deviates from the later kings, he calls it unrefined. Whether one elevates him or demotes him, belittles him or makes him a minister, he does not go outside these bounds. That is how the noble person exercises his intentions and thoughts within a foundation, roof, and halls. (Xunzi 8/34/20–24; Hutton 2014, p. 67, modified)

As evidenced elsewhere, the “depth markers” and “foundation, roof, and halls” are the rituals: When crossing waters, mark the depths; if the marks be not clear, then people fall in. When ordering the people, mark the Way; if the marks be not clear, then there is chaos. The rituals are what mark [the Way]. (Xunzi 17/82/22–17/ 83/1, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 181)

Returning to the excerpt from chapter 8, Xunzi clarifies with the architectural metaphor that what is being constrained and structured are the “intentions and thoughts” of the morally exemplary person. Specifically, by learning and practicing ritual, one comes not only to behave according to the guidelines of ritual, but also to think and feel within the framework of those guidelines. Ritual, then, is depicted as providing both a bastion for practitioners as well as a space in which their thoughts and attitudes can be both restrained and guided along a promoral pathway. In this way, the ritually educated person is thought to be transformed, as ritual gives an order to thought and intention where, as noted, there would otherwise be chaos (e.g., Xunzi 23/117/8). 12 There is thus a clear likeness between Xunzi’s treatment of ritual as a collection of constraints/guides and the sociocultural tools in the Vygotskyan account of development. For Vygotsky, the appropriation of tools facilitates the processes of internalization and mastery. Just as language helps to develop basic communicative competency by transforming the way the individual thinks and interacts with others, ritual facilitates promoral psychosocial de-

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velopment by providing direction and placing constraints on behavior, thought, and feeling. THE IMPLICATIONS In light of this comparison, it is worthwhile to pause and address some of the implications of Xunzian pedagogy for moral education. For one, the comparison with Vygotskyan developmental theory yields a richer, more detailed account of Xunzian moral education. It provides a means of understanding both why the study and practice of ritual are advocated (to facilitate learning and development of promoral dispositions), as well as how said study and practice affect learners (cognitive restructuring). The first feature is especially useful insofar as it gives reason to reject or revisit accounts of Xunzi’s program that reduce it to being merely (or mostly) habituation. Previous commentaries have not offered well-defined accounts of the role of habit for Xunzi, and my appeal to a particular definition of habituation (one adopted by contemporary cognitive science) provides a novel way to elaborate the role of habituation in Xunzi. The second feature helps to demonstrate the psychological sophistication inherent in Xunzi’s account: what I am offering is a more precise way of making sense of Xunzi’s developmental theory, how it goes beyond habituation, and how it might achieve moral transformation via ritual study and practice. Another implication of the comparison is that there is reason to construe Xunzi’s program as being (at least tentatively) well supported empirically. Both Xunzi and Vygotsky advocate socially mediated education set against a backdrop of psychological nonnativism. As I noted, the Vygotskyan approach to education has been well received within the cognitive and education sciences. It stands to reason that the Xunzian program, at least where it overlaps with Vygotsky, should also find empirical support. In addition to granting further plausibility to Xunzi’s account of moral psychology, this may help to explain why Xunzi focused so heavily on ritual. Finally, assuming that a Vygotskyan theory of development is viable, the Xunzian account of moral development may provide a resource for modern moral education programs, particularly those that draw on Vygotskyan developmental theory. As I mentioned early on, Vygotsky never completed any work on moral learning or development and, although many have drawn on Vygotsky as a resource for theorizing about education in general, few have attempted to apply Vygotsky’s work to moral education in particular. Of the work on moral development that has employed Vygotsky, arguably only Tappan has provided anything substantive that expands on the source material (Tappan 1997, 1998a, b). As observed earlier, however, Tappan focuses on the idea that a Vygotskyan account of moral development will parallel lin-

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guistic development (Tappan 1997, p. 87) and neglects how other sociocultural tools may contribute to the developmental process. Xunzi’s account as I have depicted it can help to fill out a Vygotskyan account of moral development, especially insofar as ritual provides humans with a blueprint for how to act and feel in moral scenarios. 13 Taken alongside ritual’s ability to facilitate intrapersonal harmony, it is readily apparent that ritual is a plausible sociocultural tool to mediate promoral development in a Vygotskyan scheme. Just as language helps to shape and guide thought in general, ritual study (properly deployed) should help inculcate understandings of certain behaviors and precepts. This, in turn, can help learners to cultivate general promoral attitudes like respect and compassion. Accordingly, it is worth investigating ritual as a resource for moral development. NOTES 1. Xunzi’s work is especially apt for this comparison due to its depth, detail, and focus on educational programming. Kongzi’s Analects frequently alludes to the importance and indispensability of ritual, but is comparably sparing in detail; moreover, the text includes no detailed accounts of human psychology, a key feature of Xunzi’s argumentation. Mengzi does offer a rich account of human psychology (i.e., the four sprouts metaphor in Mengzi 2A6), and is arguably even compatible with the developmental view discussed in this chapter (at least to a certain extent). Mengzi, however, speaks little of the importance of ritual, focusing largely on other moral dispositions discussed in Confucianism, and does comparably little in the way of offering a complex and systematic account of how to go about the moral cultivation process. For these reasons, I focus on Xunzi’s account of ritual. 2. This is not to say that there are no relevant writings on the topic. See, for example, Harris 2013b, Ivanhoe 1994, Kim 2015, and Wong 2006. 3. An important qualification is necessary here: this project is concerned with comparing only the psychosocial developmental theories of Xunzi and Vygotsky and not their ideologies across the board. There are, of course, many points on which the two can (and do) differ. For example, Xunzi’s account of development is presented in the service of a particular Confucian moral view. In contrast, it is at best unclear that Vygotsky’s theory is intended to advance any particular moral agenda. While it may be worthwhile to compare Xunzi and Vygotsky on these and other matters, they are separate from and beyond the scope of my target comparison (developmental psychology). 4. This is not to suggest that there is no work on the topic. See, for example, Seligman, Weller, Puett, and Simon 2008; Sarkissian 2010; Mower 2011; and Berkson 2014. 5. This interpretation of xing is not uncontroversial, but a good case is made for it by Robins (2011). According to Robins, it is “a thing’s xing to have some characteristic just in case the thing has the characteristic naturally, and it is a thing’s xing to behave in some way only if it behaves that way spontaneously” (p. 32). 6. It is noteworthy that several scholars (Kanaya 1951, Munro 1969, Robins 2001) have argued that chapter 23 is not the work of Xunzi but a later interpolation. My arguments are not contingent on the authenticity of this text, but on the presence of nonnativist thought present throughout the Xunzi, particularly with regard to the claims that humans are not born with prosocial attitudes or concepts, and that said dispositions must be acquired. 7. Xunzi 1/3/10–11: Thus, learning reaches ritual and halts; this is called the utmost of the Way and virtue. The respect and adornment of ritual, the balance and harmony of music, the broadness of the Odes and Documents, the detail of the Spring and Autumn Annals: this is how all things between heaven and earth are perfected.

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8. This is not to suggest that practicing ritual must lack spontaneity; the Confucian tradition in fact suggests that morally ideal persons will accord with ritual as if spontaneously. There is a difference, however, between behaviors that arise spontaneously from xing (that are “just there”) and behaviors that spontaneously follow from wei (that are in some way “created”). Ritual practice is of the latter sort, and only after much practice. Edward Slingerland (2003a, 2014) makes similar points about spontaneity in the Confucian tradition. 9. This claim has detractors (notably Sung 2012), but I will not address them here, as doing so is not crucial to my argument. For an argument against Sung’s position, see Lewis 2018b. 10. For previous analogies between ritual and language, see Bockover 2012, Li 2007, and Nam 2014. 11. For further discussion of reflection in Confucianism see, for example, Ivanhoe 2000. 12. Xunzi 23/117/8: Practicing ritual reverently and thus tempering one’s thoughts. 13. I should emphasize, of course, that I am appealing to ritual in principle, abstracted from the content of the specific rituals prescribed by the Confucians themselves.

Chapter Five

Ritual and Moral Education How and Why It Works

Having established several important overlaps between Vygotsky’s theory of learning and development and Xunzi’s account of moral cultivation through ritual education, this chapter elaborates how Xunzi’s ritual education model provides a much-needed supplement to the general Vygotskyan account when applied to moral development, as well as how Xunzi’s ritual model is supported by additional findings in contemporary cognitive and education sciences. RITUAL’S ROLE IN MORAL DEVELOPMENT Recall from chapter 2 that, although Vygotsky’s general account of learning and development has become increasingly relevant, Vygotsky himself never offers a specific account of moral development. Tappan’s (1997) attempt to develop such an account based on Vygotsky’s theory proceeds with the assumption that language will be the social tool that leads to, guides, and shapes moral development. As I pointed out, though, reliance on language as the sole or primary tool for moral development faces several problems. Language alone is incapable of instilling, developing, and refining several capacities that are typically thought to be components of moral competence. These capacities include prosocial dispositions (e.g., empathy), an awareness of other minds like one’s own, association of specific affective responses with particular morally charged scenarios, and moral imagination. The Confucian program, on the other hand, is designed specifically to inculcate morality and includes explanations of how ritual transforms hu77

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mans to be reliably moral. Many of these explanations touch on the very facets missing from the Vygotskyan picture. For one, ritual provides humans with a blueprint for how to perform in a given situation, offering not only stronger normative guidance than language alone, but also a means of connecting the appropriate actions with the appropriate feelings. Confucian ritual is a means of establishing certain actions as symbolic of particular emotions and dispositions: to perform a ritual fully, one must genuinely express the relevant emotion. A similar point about morality is made by Stohr (2006), who notes that social conventions (e.g., etiquette) are the primary vehicles by which one expresses promoral sentiments (p. 196). Being a (fully) moral person, then, requires one to understand and adopt social conventions as part of the expression and exchange of moral sentiments. This is not to suggest that morality is simply conventionalism: as Stohr points out, “the conventions are the starting point. . . . The thought may be what counts, but the vehicle for expressing it is itself part of the thought” (p. 195). Rather, the conventions are important parts of proper moral practice, and serve an integral role in coordinating affect and action. Stohr’s discussion of etiquette highlights another way of understanding how ritual can play a role that is similar to, but more compelling than, the role of language in Tappan’s attempt at a Vygotskyan account of moral development. In particular, Stohr’s remarks on the importance of conventions for moral expressions suggest that these two “types” of rules (i.e., conventional and moral) are not as disparate as one might think. An oftoverlooked possibility, and a perspective that appears in the Confucian tradition, is that moral rules might themselves be entwined with conventional practices. If so, then morally relevant conventions, such as ritual, can (and do) serve as social tools that facilitate, prescribe, and organize promoral interactions. Consider the case of bowing: this simple action possesses an important moral connotation since, when one bows, one expresses respect. Expressions of respect are morally loaded, so the convention is linked to the moral rule in a significant way. Of course, not all social conventions will be connected to moral rules, and not all of morality can be encapsulated in terms of performing actions as dictated by social norms. Nonetheless, interconnectivity between conventions and morality is common. Given the importance of conventions for socialization, then, ritual presents itself as a functional resource for moral inculcation in a way that language in Tappan’s Vygotskyan account of moral learning does not quite achieve. Confucianism can also add to the Vygotskyan account via its appeal to role models, specifically in the context of moral role modeling. One of Vygotsky’s key observations is that mentor figures, the “more knowledgeable others” (MKOs), help learners develop their skill competence over the course of social exchanges. Learners, through trial-and-error, constantly return to and collaborate with MKOs for assistance in further refining a particular

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skill. This means that the learning process is interactive, and that both learner and teacher work together to forge new knowledge. It is also noteworthy that because the recursive phase does not necessarily mark an end in development, it may be repeated as learners continue to refine their abilities and understanding, making learning a lifelong process. Confucians place similar importance on the role of the teacher but emphasize the particularly moral aspect of the education process. Such emphasis stems from the idea that moral learning cannot be performed in isolation for at least two reasons. First, the cultural materials associated with moral learning (e.g., the rituals, histories, classical texts, etc.) are difficult to parse without someone providing at least a baseline of information. As Xunzi notes, In learning, nothing is more expedient than drawing near to the right person. Rituals and music provide proper models but no explanations. The Odes and the Documents contain histories but no instructions for present applications. The Spring and Autumn Annals is terse and not easily comprehended. By modeling oneself on the right person in his practice of the behaviors of the gentleman, then one will come to respect the universality, the omnipresence of these things. (Xunzi 1/3/20–21, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 6)

This leads to the second reason: moral learning requires that one also practice what one has learned in order to both internalize the necessary behaviors and dispositions, as well as to better understand the material. These objectives are interrelated for the Confucians, who stress that part of moral cultivation involves learning to love both being moral and the study of morality itself. 1 The Confucians, then, are committed to an educational theory similar to Vygotsky’s with regard to the place of the teacher. What the Confucians add, however, is an important advisory or authoritative role that teachers should fulfill, namely ensuring not only that learners become competent in deploying ritual actions appropriately, but also cultivate the necessary emotions and understandings thought to be concomitant with the ritual actions. On this topic, and concerning ritual specifically, Xunzi makes another relevant remark: It is by ritual that we correct our person. It is by teachers that we correct our practice of ritual. Being without ritual, how can we correct our person? Being without teachers, how can we be confident that our knowledge of ritual practice is accurate? If ritual is thus and we are also thus, then surely our dispositions will conform to ritual. If the teacher engages thus and we also engage thus, then surely our understanding is the same as the teacher’s. If our dispositions conform to ritual, and our understanding is the same as the teacher’s, then surely this is sageliness. . . . If we do not affirm our teacher’s model, but prefer to use our own judgement alone, then this is just like using a blind

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Xunzi’s discussion of ritual and instruction relates to the earlier point about the complexity of moral competency as opposed to simpler skill competencies: learning basic skills is insufficient, since moral competence can only partially be accounted for in terms of basic skills. What is needed is the aforementioned cyclical process of guidance, trial, error, and refinement. As this process continues, the assumption is that the learner becomes more competent in the particular behavior(s). In the Vygotskyan model, this process is represented by the appeal to MKOs to expand the level of competence. In the Confucian model, it is much the same: instructors or exemplars provide instruction and guidance to learners who repeatedly practice ritual behaviors and other skills until they attain competence. This aspect of the Confucian program notably fits with and supplements one of the plausible and desirable features of the Vygotskyan approach. Specifically, guided practice of ritual does not merely involve rote memorization or mimicry; rather, learners develop by reflecting on, interpreting, and engaging with the material and skills in which they are developing competence. Cognitive development, in the Vygotskyan picture, involves learners affectively engaging the knowledge that they acquire as they come to be able to reliably deploy said knowledge accurately and independently, without the prompting of an MKO. Similarly, Confucian ritual competence requires learners to have at least some underlying understanding of the ritual in which they are participating, or else they will be unable to practice it accurately or flexibly. Accuracy requires the performance of ritual behaviors according to instructed form in appropriate situations, inclusive of the requisite emotions; flexibility requires an understanding of when modification or improvisation of ritual is appropriate, again inclusive of affective states. Another feature of ritual and ritual education brings the Confucian approach closer to Tappan’s reading of Vygotsky without falling into the same peril that befalls the language-oriented account. I focus in particular here on the notion of a moral vocabulary. In language, vocabulary consists in the basic units of expression (e.g., words) that can be combined to form more complex expressions (e.g., sentences). In the Confucian tradition, rituals make up the basic units of conduct for morally appropriate interactions (e.g., bowing, fasting, sacrificing, music, etc.). Ritual serves as a means of moral inculcation by introducing moral vocabulary units that are functionally akin to something like de Sousa’s (1990) paradigm scenarios. Paradigm scenarios are the means by which humans are acquainted with and habituated to something like a vocabulary of emotion. They contain two components: (1) situation-type and (2) a set of “normal” responses, “where normality is first a biological matter and then very quickly becomes a cultural one” (p. 182). 2

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The idea is that humans are born with a variety of instinctive responses that, via socialization, are shaped to be employed in the expression of promoral emotions. Through stories and habituating situations, such as reading morally charged fables to children or learning to use a smile to elicit a desired response, 3 humans learn to react to a given situation by channeling the emotional responses in a manner that is conducive to conventional norms of propriety. The biological, emotional “gut response” to a scenario (e.g., feeling sympathy for an injured person) is linked to the cultural norms (e.g., the act of assisting that person). Ritual education pursues this goal: one acquires a repertoire of ritual to help one understand how to behave in a given situation. Doing so provides a better idea of how to relate to others and how best to respond to, and sympathize with, them. The result is that one learns how to properly care for others, which is at the core of the Confucian moral ideal of humaneness (ren 仁). This feature of the ritual program can amend Tappan’s Vygotskyan account. As noted by Tappan, language plays a key role in Vygotskyan models because development, being a largely social process, requires the successful transmission of information between learners and teachers; this is facilitated by language. Ritual is another resource by which at least certain varieties of information may be transmitted between members of a community. Ritual is particularly useful as a medium since it provides something similar to the semantic shorthand that inner speech does in the Vygotskyan picture. Unlike inner speech, though, ritual does so at both the internal and social levels. For example, a series of actions or a way of dress prescribed by ritual may convey a complex collection of thoughts and, perhaps more importantly, feelings from one person to another. Having a shared knowledge of the ritual allows for such exchanges to serve as effective instances of communication, and this promotes (and itself is) promoral behavior. As such, a ritual component in a moral education program provides an important resource for instructing the expressive-communicative aspect of moral behavior. Furthermore, and unlike Tappan’s Vygotskyan picture, the sophisticated system of disposition, affection, and comprehension entails that proper learning and practice of Confucian ritual can be incredibly complex, requiring learners to go beyond merely adopting linguistic norms. A good example of such ritual practice is found in Xunzi’s aforementioned account of how to provide for the recently deceased during their burials, including the use of nonfunctional offerings for the deceased, as a means of transitioning from grief to acceptance. To make sense of how these practices serve the psychological needs of their practitioners, the story will need to make use of a number of cognitive and metacognitive capacities. For one, practitioners need to be able to understand how to both imbue the burial practice with emotional content and understand how said practices are intended to help regulate the emotions. Consider Xunzi’s discussion of how the burial rites

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help one with returning to peaceful living: care is given to the dead as if alive, 4 but the offering of nonfunctional utensils indicates an awareness that the person being venerated is no longer living and can no longer interact as when alive (Xunzi 19/94/3). This particular ritual, including its application of pretense, facilitates transition from pure grief to acceptance, as the mourning and burial process provides practitioners with a means of both continuing care for their deceased loved ones while also gradually coming to terms with their passing. More generally, this example demonstrates how ritual can deployed for the purpose of emotional expression and regulation. This sort of approach can be built onto the Vygotskyan program to produce a more complete account of moral development, especially as a way of expanding the importance of a moral imagination: the capacity of an individual to visualize (or at least hypothesize) 5 about morally charged scenarios. 6 Nussbaum (1990) has repeatedly emphasized the importance of this capacity as part of her view of morality as a practical enterprise (p. 139). Nussbaum, drawing on James’s literary philosophy, suggests that moral knowledge is not simply intellectual grasp of propositions; it is not even simply intellectual grasp of particular facts; it is perception. It is seeing a complex, concrete reality in a highly lucid and richly responsive way; it is taking in what is there, with imagination and feeling. (1990, p. 152)

The moral imagination undergirds an ability not only to think morally, but to perceive the morally salient features of situations. Moreover, the images and ideas produced and contemplated are not general and abstract, but specific and concrete. These are the features that, according to Nussbaum, largely facilitate the development of the overarching moral capacity to be capable of going beyond mere rule-following and engage in genuine moral performance and improvisation (pp. 156–157). The moral imagination thus heightens the ability to respond to morally salient issues and events even in cases where there is no clear script for action. While Nussbaum focuses on the use of literature as a means of engaging readers’ imaginations and helping to develop moral competence, the Confucian account offers ritual as another plausible candidate for such a tool that makes use of and conjoins various metacognitive capacities. A passage from the Li Ji, for example, emphasizes visualization while fasting in preparation for a sacrifice to deceased relatives: During the days of fasting: reflect on the way [the deceased one] dwelt and resided; reflect on the way the person laughed and spoke; reflect on the person’s aspirations and beliefs; reflect on what brought the person joy; reflect on that of which the person was fond. On the third day of fasting, you will visualize the person for whom you were fasting. (24.2/123/27–28)

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Employing a kind of visualization or imaginative capacity can assist with the coping process: the use of symbolic, nonfunctional items to represent actual, functional tools requires one to utilize a sort of nonliteral thinking in caring for the dead, similar to what is seen in pretend play; special meditative thought combined with fasting might be a means of altering one’s psychology such that it is easier to engage with feelings and memories about a lost loved one. One might also look at the nonfunctional utensils as props used in an episode of pretense, or the use of specific actions as stand-ins for more sophisticated expressions of sentiment and think of such an imaginative capacity being used in other ritual practices as well. For example, in order to comprehend the act of bowing as a show of respect, one must understand that, in a particular context, the action of bending at the waist means something specific that it would not mean outside of that context. Such practices are akin to playing a game of pretend in which one treats a rug as a pool of lava and only carefully placed couch cushions provide one with any safety from a fiery demise: outside the context of the game, the rug is merely a rug and the cushions are merely cushions; within the game, they have special meaning. So too is it the case with ritual practices, in which practitioners imbue objects and actions with special significance. If Nussbaum is correct about the importance of such imaginative capacities for moral development, and there is reason to think that she is, then ritual can play a valuable role in moral cultivation. Another issue that was a challenge for the Vygotskyan account of moral development, and that the Confucians can address with ritual education, is the need for a tool that is dedicated to structuring and channeling emotions. 7 Like many virtue theorists, Confucians believe that cultivating or channeling certain emotions toward promoral behavior is integral to moral development. Xunzi, for example, claims that humans are born with certain dispositions (qing) that can be refined to produce morally competent persons: These two dispositions [joy and sorrow] inhere in humans from birth. If one prunes and grows them, broadens and narrows them, adds to and subtracts from them, properly categorizes and fully expresses them, makes them abundant and beautifies them, causes root and branch, end and beginning to proceed smoothly and fit together, then they can be used as a model for ten thousand generations—such is what ritual does. (Xunzi 19/94/19–21, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 210)

Ritual provides an outlet and resource for developing and expressing promoral emotions, such as the joy of loving and the sorrow of losing a loved one. Such emotions are thought to help establish a basis for prosocial, promoral behaviors and habits. 8 In particular, by cultivating these emotions, one develops the respect and sympathy needed to coexist harmoniously with others.

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Relatedly, developing an awareness of other minds is also a feature of Confucian ritual education that is not well accommodated by the languagebased Vygotskyan account. Ritual can facilitate such a developmental process by helping develop a system for sharing an understanding of emotions and attitudes between individuals. Xunzi writes: Judging a person’s character based on appearance is not comparable to evaluating a person’s heart; evaluating a person’s heart is not comparable to discerning a person’s aims. The appearance is not superior to the heart; the heart is not superior to one’s aims. If one’s aims are pure and the heart aligns with them, then even if one is judged as bad based on appearance, if the heart and aims are good, then one will not be obstructed from becoming a gentleman. Even if one is judged as good based on appearance, if one’s heart and chosen course are bad, then one will not be obstructed from becoming a petty person. (Xunzi 5/17/11–13, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 32)

Xunzi suggests that these intentions, motives, and affective states are what one should be primarily concerned with when evaluating the moral goodness of a person; moral goodness is discerned based on a person’s (heart-)mind, rather than physical appearance. Ritual provides practitioners with a means of “reading” the minds of others and, insofar as this is an intended purpose of the ritual, it presupposes that such minds exist. This means of assessing others via ritual is possible due to the previously mentioned fact that ritual serves as a medium for much of human moral interaction. It fulfills a much-needed role by augmenting the human capacity to relate to others on multiple levels, including an affective level arguably absent from Tappan’s language-based approach. It can be plausibly extrapolated that ritual education requires learners to develop awareness of the thoughts and feelings of others in order to comprehend and deploy ritual. This, in turn, influences overall perceptions of other persons. Several passages in Xunzi discuss the implications one’s own behavior has for influencing others’ perceptions of oneself. For example, Xunzi writes: To treat people well when alive but poorly when dead is to show respect to those with awareness and to show disrespect to those without awareness. Such is the way of the debauched person and the heart of a betrayer. The gentleman thinks it shameful to have the heart of a betrayer when dealing with servants and children, and even more so when dealing with those he exalts and loves. (Xunzi 19/93/7–9, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 207)

Treating someone well in life but poorly in death is akin to betrayal (or at least speaking ill of the person behind his or her back), though it is not the deceased who judge the living, but other living people. In the same section, Xunzi remarks on the pettiness of those who forget a deceased parent shortly after death, saying that living among such people will certainly lead to

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chaos. 9 The implication is that others register how one regards one’s deceased parents, and this (mis)treatment informs further judgement. A person behaving so negligently will acquire a bad reputation, for others see how this person regards the lives and deaths of loved ones. Ritual is how these dispositions are conveyed and so, to borrow again from the Vygotskyan terminology, it serves as the social tool for instruction and comprehension of these matters. In sum, although there are notable differences in the aims of the Confucian and Vygotskyan programs and methods, the core concepts and ideals exposited by the two programs are largely (if not wholly) compatible. Moreover, and importantly, highlighting these differences shows how the Confucian program can add to contemporary research in moral education and how a roughly Vygotskyan developmental account can provide a basis for the project. RELEVANT FINDINGS IN MODERN DEVELOPMENTAL THEORY AND RESEARCH In addition to the Vygotskyan account of cognitive development, recent research provides further empirical support for the ritual education model. These considerations are significant since the target moral developmental theory should be corroborated by the most up-to-date findings in the relevant sciences. Although ritual is central to the Confucian moral education model, its place in moral developmental theory has remained largely unexplored in current psychology. Fortunately, even in the absence of explicit investigation of ritual as a tool for moral development, there are related findings that are encouraging. For one, there is evidence to suggest that ritual, as something to be enacted and embodied, may be better suited to moral instruction than mere verbal transmission. Beaudoin-Ryan and Goldin-Meadow (2014) have recently documented the differences in the development of perspective-taking capacities between learners placed in programs that utilize gesture (i.e., hand movements produced during discourse) during instruction and those that do not. Subjects were exposed to a series of moral dilemmas and asked to develop hypothetical resolutions to each. During the phase in which subjects reported resolutions, they were split into groups that encouraged gesture, prohibited gesture, and were neutral to gesture (p. 2). Interestingly, those subjects encouraged to gesture more reliably demonstrated multiple perspectives with a plurality of resolutions; equally interesting is the fact that those prohibited from gesturing displayed a diminished ability for perspectivetaking (p. 5). The upshot of these findings is that, insofar as perspectivetaking is a feature of moral competence, gesticulation seems to aid in moral development and performance. This is good news for ritual since, although

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not all ritual is performative, a good portion of it is, requiring practitioners to engage in a number of gestures among other full-body activities. There is also support for the idea that approaches akin to the use of ritual can aid in the cultivation of promoral behavior by way of inculcation of sympathy and empathy. As I have argued, ritual can facilitate such developments by providing an effective means of sharing emotions and attitudes between members of a community. Xunzi provides one such example with his suggestion that the manner in which one practices ritual (including whether one practices at all) demonstrates to others one’s attitudes. Another example appears in the Analects, in which Confucius/Kongzi is depicted as reflexively shifting to a posture of reverence whenever encountering someone in mourning garb (10.25/25/24). Rituals serve as signals that, when received by an understanding and responsive practitioner, elicit a sympathetic or empathetic reaction. The possibility of such an outcome is supported by the observed relationship between emotional and moral development in early childhood. As Lagattuta and Weller (2014) note, moral development positively correlates with the capacity for awareness and understanding of others (pp. 387, 390, 399–400), meaning that increasing feelings of sympathy/empathy can lead to more reliable displays of moral behavior. Given the importance of these feelings to moral competence, it is desirable for a moral education program to be capable of eliciting such responses, and ritual is a tool that should be capable of doing so. Other findings resonate with the Confucian belief that ritual contributes to the cultivating and/or channeling of certain emotions that encourage promoral behavior. Malti and Ongley (2014) suggest that emotions play a key role in children’s development by guiding moral decision making by either anticipating outcomes of courses of action or by providing feedback concurrently (pp. 167–168). Negative consequent emotional outcomes become incorporated into a child’s memory and, in turn, moral thought process, ultimately discouraging the associated behavior(s). In subsequent, similar interactions, the child anticipates a similar emotional outcome and considers this element prior to acting. The opposite results are to be expected of events producing positive emotional outcomes, which are more likely to elicit associated behavior(s) in the future. Recall that, for Xunzi, human emotions/dispositions can be refined to produce morally competent persons. In these cases, ritual plays a key role in ensuring that such elaboration occurs. From an expressive/ communicative perspective, this is achieved by providing suitable social forms for the accompanying or requisite emotions entailed by given situations. The result is that particular emotions or feelings should come to be associated with particular circumstances and moral understandings (thus establishing the aforementioned moral vocabulary). The fact that an associative feedback loop regarding emotion and experience does seem to occur in de-

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velopment suggests that this is, at least tentatively, a fruitful approach to moral education. Another empirically supported aspect of ritual is its usefulness as a concrete resource (i.e., as a sociocultural tool) for the purpose of education. Recall the previous discussion of how rituals provide accessible, comprehensible, and memorable prescriptions for the sake of easy integration into personal experience (e.g., as in the Analects). The Confucians seem to assume that humans tend to best understand morality by piecing together actual, emotionally accessible examples of behavior and then forming principles to make coherent patterns out of said behaviors. A similar point is made by Olberding (2008) in her discussion of exemplarism in the Confucian tradition. According to Olberding, the attention paid to particular individuals (e.g., the sage kings, junzi, Kongzi himself, etc.) is intended to direct readers not only to illustrations of ideal behavior, but to the exemplars who are the genesis of the more abstract ethical concepts espoused in Confucianism. This idea garners additional support from Xunzi’s explicit treatment of the origin of ritual and yi as being a product of the behavior of the sage kings, rather than something extant independent of human artifice. Xunzi indicates sensitivity to such features of human learning when discussing how, in attempting to debate and educate others, one should utilize examples that are both fitting to circumstance and accessible to one’s audience: The difficulties of persuasion involve using the extremely lofty to engage the extremely lowly, using the extremely orderly to engage the extremely chaotic. It is not possible to approach things so straightforwardly. If one draws on far off examples, then one may be diagnosed as pedantic; if one draws on recent events, then one may be diagnosed as parochial. One who is good [at persuasion] resides in between the two. (Xunzi 5/19/17–5/20/1, compare with Hutton 2014, pp. 37–38)

If learners cannot relate to the cases being discussed, let alone access them in a useful way, then the educational pursuit is a nonstarter. Indeed, contemporary findings suggest that humans, at least at early points of development, tend to demonstrate greater overall moral competence in self-reports when faced with cases from personal experience rather than hypothetical cases. Citing a study by Wainryb et al. (2005), Malti and Ongley (2014) point out that, when forced to confront morally charged scenarios in which they had participated, subjects between five and sixteen years of age constructed their reports in manners that showed greater awareness of the mental states of their co-participants compared to reports in which subjects were asked about hypothetical cases (p. 173). This suggests—in support of the Confucian use of rituals in moral education—that when recollecting specific, personal experiences, humans are more prone to engaging their own emotions in their

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moral reasoning and also taking into account the emotions of others than when asked to reason at the more abstract level of hypotheticals. Against the backdrop of empirical findings, these features of ritual suggest that it has considerable utility for moral education, since accessibility is so valuable to effective moral learning. To summarize: ritual’s overlap with the empirically supported educational framework of the Vygotskyan position, alongside empirical support for a number of other features of ritual (e.g., enactment, sympathy inculcation, emotional association, and example-based learning), all lend to its credibility as a resource for moral education. SUMMARY OF SUPPORT FOR THE RITUAL MODEL By informing the Confucian idea that ritual gives adequate shape to emotional expression and comprehension with the Vygotskyan account of development, and supplementing the Vygotskyan account with the resource of ritual, ritual’s ability to assist in developing morally competent and invested people is elucidated. There are, however, some potential objections to the view that I have sketched. In particular, I have yet to demonstrate that what ritual can offer is practically distinct from other educational tools. Additionally, given the theoretical nature of my argument thus far, there are still concerns about ritual’s scope of efficacy. These are the sorts of problems with which I contend in the next chapter. NOTES 1. For example, Analects 1.1/1/3: “Learning and practicing what one learns in a timely manner: Is this not pleasant?” 2. De Sousa seems to intend “normal” in the sense of statistical norms. 3. Similar ideas are presented by Stern (2002, pp. 13–14, 25–27). 4. Compare with Mark Berkson’s (2014) notion of symbolic, “sophisticated pretend play.” 5. As observed by Zeman, Dewar, and Della Sala (2015), some are incapable of such imagining, as with aphantasia. 6. I will not address the question of whether the moral imagination is a distinct capacity from other varieties of imagination. There is at least some reason to suspect that it is not (e.g., Currie 1995), but for the purposes of this project, it is acceptable to remain neutral on this matter. 7. This is not to suggest that language cannot be used as a resource for coping with and channeling emotions; it is, and language is also used in rituals directed toward such behaviors. Again, however, I point out that such behaviors are not, strictly speaking, the ends of linguistic competency. 8. A similar idea presents itself in Analects 2.5 and 1.2, in which filial piety (xiao) is discussed as the basis for the moral ideal of ren (humaneness, benevolence). The idea (again) is that cultivating and expanding on emotions such as love for one’s parents can lead to one behaving in a promoral manner toward a broader population.

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9. The parent-child relationship is highly valued in classical Chinese thought; not showing compassion for a deceased parent was showing that you did not care for a person who helped to produce, protect, and rear you.

Chapter Six

Is it New? Is It Needed? Ritual’s Place alongside Other Tools

The previous chapters explained how an approach to moral education could be developed by supplementing a Vygotskyan developmental picture with the tool of ritual as adapted from Confucianism. In particular, utilizing ritual can help inculcate, structure, and refine promoral dispositions, their deployment, and their reception. The ritual program, however, faces several concerns. For one, it is unclear whether ritual can add anything novel to moral education, especially considering the array of sociocultural tools (e.g., stories, games, rules of etiquette, etc.) that are already utilized for instruction (moral or otherwise). Additionally, one might worry that ritual brings with it a number of drawbacks that actually make it counterproductive to moral development. In particular, it is not clear how teaching through ritual would fare better than any other program built around inculcating moral traits and behaviors by appeal to models. This chapter addresses these concerns and argues that, while ritual is not a panacea for moral education, it can safely fulfill a useful and distinct function in a contemporary setting. THE DISTINCTIVENESS OF THE RITUAL TOOL In chapter 3, I briefly touched on the question of whether other cultural tools could fulfill ritual’s functions, and do so more efficiently, when I contrasted ritual with several other cultural constructs that might be thought to have similar functions. The main differences that I noted had to do with how ritual is, by design, directed specifically at pursuing prosocial aims and moral character, whereas tools such as laws and penalties need not be, nor are they enforced or practiced in the same way. There are, however, a number of 91

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resources available for developing moral character, pursuing prosocial aims, and related ends that may be even less distinct from ritual, either in terms of their basic composition or their overall effects. If ritual cannot be distinguished from such resources, then there is little need to advocate ritual as a new resource for moral education: all of its potential roles and functions are already extant in current practice. To assuage this concern, this section provides a distinction between ritual and several common instructional aids in education, namely discourse, stories, games, and etiquette, while also highlighting some of ritual’s unique contributions to moral education. Discourse Discourse may seem a strange place to start the contrast with ritual: rituals are crystallized as established prescriptions shared by a community; discourse is fluid, a tool by which humans communicate but without definite or permanent shape. As Nucci (2014) points out, however, despite the considerable variety of socialization styles across cultures, socialization is itself pancultural and heavily reliant on conversations and conversational patterns (p. 370). For example, despite differing approaches to admonishment and the degree of shaming imposed, parents of various cultures employ strategies that enjoin their children to reflect on misbehavior and develop an understanding of the wrongness of their actions (or, at very least, to habituate an aversion to such behavior). As Miller (2014) notes, both Western and Asian families frame discourse from bystander perspectives (in which the child only listens to the recounting of events) and co-narrator perspectives (in which the child is a participant in reconstructing the narrative) to highlight appropriate and inappropriate behaviors (pp. 427–428). Recall from chapter 5 that personalization of moral experiences tends to have a greater impact on learner retention and understanding than appeal to abstract concepts. The relaying of personal anecdotes, either as a co-narrator or as a bystander, is a plausible means of inculcating promoral dispositions. Although the use of these two perspectives or frames differs in degree between cultures, they are common approaches to socialization across many communities. Other recurring patterns in parent-child discourse are noted by Wang and Song (2014) to include: (1) explicit moral evaluations; (2) discussions of moral, social, or familial rules and behavioral expectations; (3) parental appeal to the child’s feelings; (4) encouraging perspective-taking; (5) inductive reasoning or induction of emotion; and (6) direct or indirect advice-giving (pp. 237–238). Sterponi (2014) also observes six techniques for priming children to acknowledge their own misbehavior or potential misbehavior: (a) request for an account, (b) correction, (c) reproach, (d) minimal prompt, (e) accusation, and (f) lament (p. 126). Although Sterponi’s priming techniques are observed specifically in the context of Italian families, it is likely that

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they, too, are relatively common across different cultural settings. My point in mentioning all of these discursive patterns and techniques is that, despite differences in parenting methods between (and even within) cultures, such parent-child discourses remain important tools for developing dispositions for proper conduct in society. Even with these culturally consistent general patterns and tactics of discourse, it is still difficult to make an argument for how discourse is similar to ritual in the sense of functionality: both might be used to facilitate the moral education process, but rituals are sociocultural prescriptions that require activity from learner-practitioners; discourse may impart significant moral information to learners, but the discourse on its own does not require that the learners practice that information. Put simply, the discourse-versus-ritual contrast can be put in terms of telling-versus-doing. To participate in a discourse, the instructor must communicate information to a learner, and the learner (ideally) receives it. To participate in ritual, however, requires that the learner practice the ritual. This telling-versus-doing distinction reveals a stark contrast between the functions of discourse and ritual since, while the objective of both is to encourage moral transformation, they place different sorts of demands on participants. There are, of course, certain patterns of discourse that are more ritual-like in nature. For example, it is common practice in many classrooms for the teacher to enter the room on each school day and greet the students, with the students responding in turn. This sort of call-and-response practice is structured and routinized in a way that appears, at least on its face, ritualistic. Teachers might then further adopt the practice of routinizing other moral components into the discourse as well (e.g., asking each student to say one good thing he or she did outside of the classroom on the previous day). In this way, the discourse becomes directed at inculcating morality and further aligns itself with the ritual program. At such a point, however, it seems that the discourse has itself become part of a ritual. In fact, if the discursive practices in question are so specific and repeated so as to function in the same way that certain rituals do, then it may even be fair to call such practices rituals themselves. The question remaining is whether ritual education can make a distinct contribution to moral development if parent-child (or teacher-child) discourse can already go a long way toward proper socialization. If rituals are, as I have argued, the prescriptions governing those practices having to do with expressions of respect and related dispositions, then there is good reason to be optimistic about ritual’s ability to contribute to moral development. To be sure, ritual need not be the sole tool with which moral education is performed; discourse can also aid in moral cultivation, as the “how-to” of moral performance will require knowledge of the prescriptions provided by ritual, and these may be (partly) conveyed during parent-child discourse. Still, dis-

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course alone is typically insufficient to provide all of this information: in matters of performance, humans typically benefit most from practical walkthroughs that allow them to gain firsthand knowledge, simulated or otherwise, of just how to effectively perform an action (e.g., riding a bike) or exemplify a quality (e.g., learning how to be generous by witnessing or actually performing generous acts). As such, it is probably best not to think of discourse as a competitor of ritual in terms of the function it provides for moral development but, rather, as a complementary resource. Stories Stories, unlike discourse, are more akin to rituals in the sense that both are typically preserved as cultural artifacts that convey ideals. Before proceeding with the distinction between rituals and stories, though, it is worth differentiating stories from storytelling. For the purposes of this project, it is best to understand the latter as a performance and the former as a script. I make this distinction for two reasons. First, I am concerned that readers may accidentally conflate the two and, in focusing on storytelling, regard stories as being performative in the same way that the Western tradition typically regards rituals as performances. Recall from chapter 3, however, that while rituals may be performed, rituals are more accurately understood as prescriptions and, as such, may be enacted (hence, “performing the rite” can be construed as “following through with the prescription”). Second, and relatedly, this differentiation will more closely align the notions of rituals and stories and, in turn, make clearer why a distinction is needed. I briefly discussed how stories are useful tools for moral education in chapter 5, referencing de Sousa on paradigm scenarios. Recall that paradigm scenarios are a means by which humans become acquainted with and habituated to having certain emotional responses (“normal responses”) to certain stimuli and contexts (“situation-type”). Via socialization, the emotions are primed to be activated on encountering certain situation-types; promoral socialization helps to channel these emotions and prime them to be properly deployed in moral scenarios. The emotional reflex to a scenario is thus linked to cultural norms (e.g., feeling sympathy for an injured person and then assisting that person). To this end, stories can serve as useful media for paradigm scenarios: a number of children’s stories include at least subtle moral undertones; the protagonist’s triumph is typically achieved in a manner that is taught as laudable and worthy of emulation. In this sense, the morally charged stories of modernity are akin to the legends of the sage kings to whom the Confucians often appeal, as they provide insight into the minds and actions of moral exemplars that can be held up as models. Even in the absence of such exemplars, stories that are particularly moving can go a step further. Such is

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the case with Mengzi’s analysis of an anecdote involving a ruler’s willingness to spare an ox as an example of the ruler’s capacity for compassion: should the ruler just reflect on his actions from that event, he would find the same disposition that could extend into compassion for all of his people (Mengzi 1A7, 1.7/6/19–30). These stories can achieve the function of the paradigm scenario by enticing audiences to engage in empathy or compassion, thus channeling and formatting their emotional responses as well. Stories are powerful educational tools and, like rituals, are deeply embedded within cultures and their histories. They are also capable of influencing emotional reactions, channeling them toward promoral ends. An important difference between rituals and stories, however, is the practical component: rituals must be enacted; stories need not. This is akin to the difference between passive and active learning methods. In passive learning, the source of instruction provides information to the student who then records it. In active learning, the student works toward engaging with, analyzing, and manipulating information under the guidance of an instructor. Passive learning is exemplified by teaching a student the alphabet; active learning is exemplified by laboratory research (e.g., testing hypotheses via experiments). The passive-active distinction illustrates differences between stories and ritual. When learning ritual, part of the learning process entails that one actually practices the material. Although this process typically requires guidance by a more knowledgeable other, it is still incumbent on learners to hone their skills with regard to properly enacting the ritual both in terms of developing the relevant dispositions and deploying the corresponding behaviors. Stories, in contrast, can help develop empathy between audiences and protagonists that represent particular moral ideals, but there is nothing in the story itself that demands that members of the audience go and put those dispositions and behaviors into practice. 1 Rather, it falls on the audience to take up the moral instruction or allegory for themselves and then enact it. In so doing, however, the audience must go beyond the context of the story itself. Aesop, for example, can speak to the importance of being reliable and not deceiving others, but the audience must then choose to take that moral advice and put it into (effective) practice. Ritual learning, in contrast, entails putting prescriptions into practice outright. On this note, it might be argued that part of attending to a story requires that the attendee interpret the moral messages of the story, and that in this sense stories are participatory. This may be a plausible explanation of what engaging with a story requires, but it also reveals a possible weakness of the story-as-tool. Stories, again, do not inherently have a further practical feature requiring that the learner put its moral(s) into practice; that, as previously mentioned, is contingent on the learner. Consequently, there is a concern as to how much influence a story on its own can have over a learner’s path of moral development. Specifically, while there is reason to think that stories

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can prime moral development, it is unclear that they do so reliably. This worry is moderately supported by empirical findings: a study conducted by Leming (2000) placed a subset of elementary school students in a literarybased character development program. While students in the program demonstrated improved cognitive outcomes (i.e., ethical understanding) compared to the control group, results for affective and behavioral outcomes were either mixed, minor, or limited only to a further subset of students (e.g., only fourth through sixth grade students demonstrated any improved behavior after the program) (p. 413, 422). Leming concludes, plausibly, that a purely literature-based program might be sufficient to improve ethical understanding, but other methods and resources might be necessary to more reliably elicit promoral attitudes and behaviors. By utilizing such resources alongside moral literature, it is probable that greater improvements will be seen not only in moral cognition, but also in the areas of affective and behavioral responses. This is not to suggest that stories are inherently problematized as resources for moral education since, as previously mentioned, they can be very effective when they do garner audience empathy and channel promoral emotions into a consistent tendency to act accordingly. Indeed, Leming’s research shows that stories are useful for moral instruction, even if they are not independently sufficient. The problem is in constructing the appropriate stories for the appropriate personalities or age groups and then conveying them effectively, and this general issue of knowing one’s audience faces almost all tools for moral education, ritual included. Even so, however, it should be abundantly clear that rituals and stories are distinct tools for moral education given their differences in both form and functionality. Games Of the tools under consideration, games are in some ways the most complex, and quite similar to ritual both in form and function. For the purposes of this project, I adopt the notion of games popularized by Suits (1967), who defines game-playing as: [engaging] in activity directed toward bringing about a specific state of affairs, using only means permitted by specific rules, where the means permitted by the rules are more limited in scope than they would be in the absence of the rules, and where the sole reason for accepting such limitation is to make possible such activity. (p. 156)

A game, then, is an activity constituted by rules that constrain behavior and, further, construct the space of the game itself. This is still a broad notion, and it seems that Suits does not think that games are simply any instance of abiding by rules for the sake of making possible a certain state of affairs.

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Rather, part of what makes a game a game is the inseparability of the rules of the game and the desired ends: should one break from the rules of the game, then the attainment of the state of affairs that is the goal becomes impossible (p. 150). Consider solitaire: one could simply order and stack each suit of cards by drawing them one-by-one from a whole deck and placing them faceside up, but doing so would violate the rules, and the very puzzle, that make solitaire the game that it is. Furthermore, it is important to note that the states of affairs that arise from participation in a game are contingent, binding only for as long as the game is perpetuated by the player or players (p. 151). As such, the relevant account of games should be understood to be sufficiently distinct from many other non-lusory states of affairs that may otherwise share similar features with games and game-playing. This understanding of games has the potential to make them an excellent resource for instruction, as it is widely accepted that effective teaching tools are ones that engage learners on multiple levels and that also hold learner attention for substantial periods of time. This has led some educational theorists to “gamify” learning experiences to improve retention of information and skills by students. Huang and Soman (2013) have recently developed a guide for how to apply gamification interventions in education, and depict the goal of gamification as increasing the fun and, in turn, productivity that one derives from engaging in an otherwise mundane activity (p. 6). 2 By applying gamification, instructors hope to improve how fun the experiences are and, as a result, also improve student engagement and performance on the target activity. There is empirical support for this approach. As noted in the aforementioned study by Garzotto (2007), use of an “edutainment” game resulted in an overall positive learning experience for participants. Hamari, Koivisto, and Sarsa (2014) also suggest that, at its base, gamification can have positive educational effects, although such effects are highly sensitive to a number of factors, particularly with regard to the context in which gamification is deployed, the design of the game itself (e.g., simplicity, degree of immersion, etc.), and aspects of player/student personality (e.g., competitive versus noncompetitive personalities). In general, however, gamification can be an effective means of eliciting learning-conducive behaviors. One might question whether games can be used effectively for moral education in particular, especially since many games either lack moral content (e.g., Connect Four) or include morally repugnant content (e.g., Grand Theft Auto). The seemingly obvious move here is to focus only on games that are designed to heavily emphasize promoral content. This move, however, leads to another, perhaps ironic, concern: empirically, morally repugnant games seem to be overwhelmingly ineffectual in bringing about immoral behavior in players (Przybylski, Ryan, and Rigby 2009). If games do not

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encourage violent actions, then why expect them to fare any better at eliciting morally laudable ones? I cannot address these concerns in the space of this project, but games can and do aid in skill development, and I suspect that ethical decision making might at least have certain features toward which games can contribute. Decision making in general is a skill, and most skills can be expanded and refined; this is a position held by both the Vygotskyan and Confucian traditions. Games provide a means of developing skills by simulating environments in which the target skills are put to use. It is plausible, then, that at least certain sorts of games could facilitate ethical development by helping to cultivate decision making. It is also worth noting that not just any sort of game will do as a resource for moral education. A good game will be fun and effective in training up the target skillset. For morality, this might mean a game that helps condition the player to behave and feel in promoral ways. Accordingly, Lloyd and van de Poel (2008) recommend designing games that simulate ethically charged scenarios in various contexts and require participants to parse the dilemmas faced as best as possible. Lloyd and van de Poel suggest that such simulations provide a “practical” experience that requires participants not only to utilize ethical and situational knowledge, but also to be genuinely, affectively involved in the situation (2008, p. 446). The implication is that such simulations will not only allow participants to refine their ethical decision-making skills, but also predispose them to deploy these skills more effectively in actual ethically charged scenarios. There are undoubtedly similarities between games and rituals. For one, both require that participants adopt certain restrictions and act accordingly. The prescriptions of ritual govern and guide behaviors and standards; similarly, games restrict permissible actions that one may make within a contingent context. Additionally, certain games and rituals are more or less central to, and sometimes across, particular cultures (e.g., baseball as the American pastime; communion within Catholicism). As such, both provide commonly shared, recognizable patterns that participants can follow. Finally, both rituals and games are things that can actually be practiced by participants and, in fact, can at times be construed as having been instantiated through those practices (i.e., transformed from mere prescriptions to a tangible thing that is being enacted). It is important to note, however, that there are also important disanalogies between games and rituals. First, and most obviously, games (at least according to Suits’s notion) are discontinuous with mundane living in terms of creating a lusory environment, whereas rituals are either continuous with the mundane or, when they are not, need not employ a lusory environment (Suits 1967, pp. 151–152). 3 There is a sense in which rituals construct the realm of social interactions, or at least play an important part in structuring them.

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Games, in contrast, are contingent: their rules are only binding so long as the lusory environment persists. One might object that gamification already blurs the line between the lusory and the mundane: if tasks as ordinary as walking downstairs can be gamified (Huang and Soman 2013, p. 6), then certainly one cannot say that games are always contingent. This objection, however, assumes that, simply because games can be played in otherwise mundane situations, the line between game and not-game is blurred; this need not be the case. The fact that an act such as walking down the stairs can be gamified implies that the mundane act has been transformed into something that it previously was not. In place of the mundane, a lusory environment has been established, thus the game remains discontinuous from the rest of the social world. Still, one might contend that rituals can also be discontinuous from the mundane world, at least in a certain sense. Burials and sacrifices, for example, occasionally employ role-play (e.g., impersonators of the dead) and symbolic gestures (e.g., offering of material goods) that only hold value in the context of the ritual. These particular prescriptions seem to be divorced from the rest of one’s social reality since, outside the context of the burial rite, they lack this particular meaning. One could reply that because these gestures are intended to facilitate psychosocial well-being, there is still a sense in which they are continuous with the typical social world, but then one might make the same argument for game-playing. A better distinction appeals to the aforementioned lusory environment and the (at least potentially) “fun” nature of games: the contingent environment that games establish is intended to be fun and enjoyable; the environment established by certain rituals need not be. In other words, fun is inessential to ritual. Rituals certainly can be fun (e.g., weddings, coming of age ceremonies, drinking ceremonies, etc.), but this need not be the case. In fact, at least in the case of Confucian burial rites, the environment is supposed to be sorrowful. A game, however, must be at least potentially fun, and this alone marks an important distinction between rituals and games. This is not to suggest that one must enjoy playing the game for it to be a game, nor that one must feel sorrow to participate in burial rites, but in each case the practice is designed to generate, facilitate, and channel these feelings. This leads to another important distinction: whereas rituals ideally engage practitioners on an affective level that is promoral, and exemplary performance of rituals entails this affective engagement, such a feature is strictly optional in both the design and practice of games. Games can be more or less immersive in design; players can be more or less committed (emotionally or otherwise) to their roles. A game involving high fantasy role-play, for example, is likely to be more immersive than a game of chess or poker. In the former case, one makes believe that one is a knight or a wizard or a dragon; getting into the role is part of playing the game. In the latter case, one need

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not assume the part of the knight or the queen in order to play (in fact, such a thing is likely quite rare). Even in cases where games are immersive, such as the case of simulations, there still seems to be at least a slight gap between the sort of affective engagement one might have via social rituals and the simulated engagement. This discrepancy may be due to the aforementioned issue of the contingent and distinct reality created by the lusory environment: one’s actions and character in a game need not be continuous with actions and character outside of a game; accordingly, this may have an effect on the manner in which players perform. 4 As a result, it would be unsurprising if game players do not react or interact in realistic ways (i.e., in ways that one would expect them to behave were it not a game situation). For this reason, the stakes of the game differ significantly from the stakes in which one is supposed to accord with ritual and may elicit particular behaviors and attitudes from players only when in the game situation. Ritual, in contrast, pervades environments in which games are often absent and, as part of the socialization process, demands learner attention and full participation (including affective engagement) in all instances of (ritually) proper social interaction, thus demarcating another important distinction between games and rituals. Perhaps this difference is best reflected by the variance in gravity afforded to the practices of rituals and games. Recall from earlier that a sense of respect (or even reverence) is prescribed by ritual: one should take the ritual seriously in enacting it and, perhaps barring scenarios where rigid adherence to the ritual conflicts with the greater social harmony, one is expected to maintain this serious attitude both during the performance and with regard to potential future performances. This is at least partly because the ritual is continuous with the rest of one’s sociomoral life. Games, however, are discontinuous from the rest of the social world by their very definition. Although the gaming environment is intended to be one of fun, it is not the case that playing the game necessitates an attitude of respect or an atmosphere of gravitas. One can be careless in a gaming scenario and incur no “real world” consequences; the same is not so in cases of practicing ritual. Moreover, to take a game too seriously is often construed as problematic, a mark of immaturity or even irrationality (e.g., being a spoilsport or sore loser, carrying a grudge outside the field of play, valuing winning the game over the health of one’s relationships, etc.). 5 The presence or absence of such attitudes of respect or reverence, then, marks an added distinction between rituals and games. 6 To summarize: while I suggest that games may be a useful resource for education in general and share some features with ritual, the two tools still perform distinct functions in different ways. Games can provide simulations of moral experiences, but there may always be a gap between simulated and genuine moral experiences. Ritual, on the other hand, is typically designed

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specifically to elicit certain behavioral and emotional reactions, and (arguably) maintains a more direct degree of continuity with the social world. Etiquette Etiquette is the final tool that I will address and the most difficult to distinguish from ritual. In Confucianism, rituals encompass prescriptions for conveying respect and related attitudes, and seem to cover practices of etiquette and general good manners (e.g., keeping one’s elbows off of the table, not wearing hats indoors, etc.). Such practices are shows of good upbringing and, as such, might be thought of as resources for conveying a respectful, or at least civil, demeanor. The Confucians would likely be content to include such practices under the banner of ritual, but this may pose a problem for modern audiences: ritual is supposed to be a moral undertaking, but etiquette is not necessarily a moral project. 7 Even on my abstracted account of ritual, it may be unclear whether etiquette and ritual are distinct since both are engaged in the project of prescribing and guiding behaviors expressive of respect. What is more, particular prescriptions of etiquette are often regarded as matters of custom or convention, and ritual is supposedly distinct from these notions. 8 Before proceeding, it will help to draw a distinction between etiquette, as systems of rules unto themselves, and the principles of manners that ground them. This distinction is made in the philosophical literature by Stohr’s (2006) previously mentioned account. Briefly, Stohr emphasizes that shows of good manners are expressions of moral principles, and that one displays good manners via etiquette. 9 For example: In American culture, addressing a stranger by her title and last name rather than by her first name, shaking her hand upon introduction, and meeting her eyes when speaking to her are all ways of expressing respect for her. In using these forms, I convey a moral attitude about someone in a way that will be understood by her and by others who witness the exchange. Likewise, by deliberately refraining from using the standard forms of greeting, I can express moral disapproval or indignation. (2006, p. 193)

The relevant displays (mode of address, shaking hands, making eye contact) are all conventional; they are prescribed by etiquette. In endeavoring to follow through on these displays, one is showing good manners. Yet manners and etiquette can come apart: two cultures may share notions of good manners in offering respectful greetings while having different conventions (i.e., etiquette) for how to express such principles. One would not say, for example, that bowing as opposed to shaking hands represents a different collection of principles for manners; it is a difference in systems of etiquette. Additionally, and unfortunately, one might also employ the rules of

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etiquette for unmannerly ends (e.g., the use of complicated eating utensils with which a guest may be unfamiliar so as to emphasize distinctions in social class: Stohr 2006, p. 194). Of course, such displays arguably are not etiquette (or at least not good etiquette), but it does help to reinforce the distinction between the rules of etiquette and principles of manners. It should be clear that etiquette may at times fall under the purview of ritual insofar as it provides a means of comporting oneself. Etiquette can be used to express attitudes, including promoral ones, and it does prescribe ways of behaving in much the same way as ritual. One thing that ritual is supposed to involve on my account that the exercise of etiquette need not, however, is an affective component. 10 To reuse the previous example: when one is performing the burial rites for a parent, one is supposed to be experiencing feelings of loss and remembrance; when one is keeping one’s elbows off of the table, it is supposed to be a show of respect for the host and other diners, but etiquette itself does not insist that one should hold some affective state to follow etiquette. This is not to suggest, of course, that in following etiquette one cannot also feel respect for others, nor is the suggestion that one will always have the expected feelings when enacting ritual. One can feel gracious toward one’s host and, as previously mentioned, rituals can be performed with varying degrees of quality and emotion (in fact, such would need to be the case if ritual is to be teachable). The point is simply that etiquette need not include an affect-guiding/generating component whereas ritual ideally does. This point can be further elaborated: over the course of this project, I have emphasized that rituals are (to some degree) flexible. Despite traditional prescriptions, circumstances might become such that a ritual must be altered. The constraint for such adjustments is that rituals are intended to convey certain attitudes and, if the changes to the ritual are such that the concordant feelings are no longer embodied and expressed, then one has gone too far. Still, and realistically, one must make accommodations when following the traditional prescriptions is impossible: Zilu said, “How calamitous is poverty! When one’s parents are alive, one cannot support them; when one’s parents die, one cannot afford the [burial] rites.” Kongzi said, “If one can satisfy one’s parents with only bean soup to eat and water to drink, then it may be called filial piety. If one’s means can afford only wrapping the body from head to foot and interring it without an outer coffin, then it may be considered ritual.” (Li Ji 4.35/26/13–14)

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A particular ritual may be merely approximated, but the approximation can still be a successful deployment of ritual in virtue of factors like how wellsuited it is to context and how effectively it conveys the relevant sentiment. In contrast, etiquette is arguably structured around decorum rather than promoral attitudes. It is not clear, for example, that the precise placement of silverware at a dining party has anything to do with the conveyance and embodiment of promoral affective states; at most, it seems to be a practical or aesthetic concern. To violate this practice of silverware placement, while perhaps a show of poor upbringing, does not in and of itself demonstrate disrespect (it can, of course, if it is done knowingly and intentionally, but that is a particular case). The stakes of performances in etiquette, then, are substantially different from those in ritual performances. Again, it is worth noting that there may be occurrences in which etiquette and ritual overlap: in those situations where deploying proper etiquette is part of expressing respect, acting in accord with etiquette may be incorporated into the practice of ritual. Even so, it is not the case that either etiquette or ritual is reducible to the other in the account on offer, since the aforementioned differences distinguish ritual’s role from that of etiquette. THE EFFICACY OF THE RITUAL MODEL In addition to ritual’s distinctiveness as a tool, another feature of ritual worth clarifying is its novelty and potential efficacy as an approach to moral cultivation. While one might accept that the appeal to ritual is distinct from certain modern moral education tools and methods, the history of moral philosophy, and especially the virtue ethics tradition, is filled with programs that encourage learners to engage in a variety of habituative and reflective practices as part of inculcating moral traits. Aristotle, for one, emphasized the importance of habituation in his Nicomachean Ethics. Indeed, Aristotle’s virtue ethics are often cited as an inspiration for modern character education programs (e.g., Kristjánsson 2006, Lickona 1991). If one of the main functions of ritual is to inculcate sensitivity and reflexive responses to morally salient triggers and contexts, then could the Western tradition not simply look to Aristotle’s account of habituation for ideas? There is, of course, a resonance between Aristotle and the Confucians with regard to developing promoral character traits (i.e., virtues). Both traditions perceive such traits as having intrinsic value and, moreover, recommend training and education to ensure ideal moral development. This is because virtues, at least in their perfected or near-perfected forms, require cultivation due to their not being inborn. 11 A proper upbringing is needed, then, to ensure that humans develop the foundations for moral development,

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and part of this foundation is provided in the form of moral exemplars for modeling purposes. This overlap, however, also highlights a potential issue for both the Aristotelian and Confucian program, namely that the manner of moral inculcation via training faces an emulation problem. The problem, in its crudest form, asserts that model emulation, as an ideal to guide moral cultivation or sociopolitical practice, is at best insufficient and at worst disastrous as a method for directing one’s behavior and general lifestyle. As Hutton (2008) notes, the criticism is lobbied in multiple contexts, two notable cases coming from Han Feizi (韓非子) 12 against the Confucians, and Williams (1995) against Aristotelian virtue ethics. In Han Feizi’s particular critique, the problem arises due to the Confucians propping up ideals (in the forms of people or actions) that either yield unrealistic models for those who are (morally or politically) less capable, or end up being ineffective (or dangerous) even for capable agents. Consider the cautionary tale of Zikuai: Zikuai, seeking to be a good ruler by emulating the sages, ceded power to a trusted minister, Zizhi. The story concludes with Zikuai perishing as his state, under Zizhi’s inept stewardship, is conquered by a neighboring territory (Han Feizi HKCS 44/ 134/27–30). Similarly, Williams observes that a moral novice’s imitating a virtuous person might not lead to the novice’s flourishing, but to catastrophe. Hutton illustrates Williams’s point with an example of two people: one, healthy and temperate; the other, an obese glutton. Assume that the glutton wants to be temperate but has great difficulty with appetite-control. In an emulationbased approach to cultivation, the glutton might try to cultivate appetite control by doing as the temperate exemplar does. Yet there is a clear problem with such an approach: if these two characters were to attend a party with a lavish buffet, then it would not suit the glutton (who merely aspires to temperance) to do exactly as the (already) temperate person does. The temperate person can eat and chat around the buffet without over-indulging, but the glutton, lest temptation strikes, would do better to avoid the buffet altogether. This problem, Hutton observes, “calls into question the use of the virtuous person as an ideal, by showing how that ideal provides the wrong kind of guidance” (2008, p. 433). What works for a person in possession of a virtue may not be effective for a person lacking that virtue, even in cases where the latter is consciously or sincerely striving for said trait. This challenge is not easily dismissed and, if it were to go unanswered, would cause serious problems for ethical cultivation systems that rely on any kind of model emulation, including Aristotelian and Confucian positions. 13 There is, however, a possible resolution to the emulation problem, and it comes specifically from Xunzi’s ritual education program. Using what Hutton refers to as a “practice model,” ritual can provide a means of facilitating moral cultivation without requiring that one be exactly like particular exem-

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plars in terms of action, thought, or character. The practice model’s expectations are humbler: one engages in prescribed activities and studies that aim at, and build toward, the virtuosity of exemplars, without the demand that one achieve virtue in one fell swoop (Hutton 2008, p. 451). Such a program, if effective, not only provides a means of shoring up the feasibility of modelbased ethical cultivation methods, but also distinguishes the Confucian program from the Aristotelian one. Recall that the dictates of ritual prescriptions are concerned with the nature of one’s relationship to others and the expression of associated prosocial, respectful attitudes. Ritual education, then, can be thought of as providing a training ground for developing these attitudes alongside reliable means of deploying and receiving them. Ritual’s function in cultivating sagely virtue can be further detailed by appealing to its ability to channel and refine feelings, making them socially appropriate, tolerable, and comprehensible across various scenarios. This refinement is achieved through ritual’s aforementioned dual function as an object of practice (xi, 習) and reflection (si, 思). Ideally, by engaging in repeated practice and reflection, learners become more accustomed to ritual and the ritual structure of the social world. Over time, they need to exert less effort to effectively participate in and deploy rituals: on seeing the person in mourning garb, one reflexively shrinks away; on meeting one’s superior, one automatically adopts a deferential posture. As with learning a language, one eventually becomes so fluent in the ritual that performance comes easily. The upshot, then, is that ritual provides a resource for coming to understand both an external, social world and an internal, psychological one. In turn, developing this understanding scaffolds further cultivation of the dispositions that are conducive to a flourishing personal life and a harmonious, prosocial coexistence with other members of one’s community. This depiction of ritual education nicely fits Hutton’s notion of a practice model of moral cultivation, wherein one is aiming at emulating the sages not by doing exactly as particular sages did, but by practicing a model established by the sages to approximate and approach their virtuosity. Indeed, Xunzi even illustrates cultivation as a lengthy process of miniscule steps, contrasting such a process with attempting to utilize the “inexhaustible and limitless,” and emphasizing clear starting and stopping points (Xunzi 2/7/13), all while claiming that humans can utilize ritual to furnish themselves with resources for coping with and adapting to their social reality; for making them morally good. In utilizing these tools, however, one should not expect a complete, immediate moral transformation. Instead, through these practices one comes (over time) to approach the virtue of the sages themselves. In providing such a model for moral cultivation, Xunzi also offers something that is arguably absent from the virtue ethics of Aristotle, who never specifies any such tool(s) or curricula for moral education. Can the ritual

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practice model overcome the emulation problem, though? As depicted, the emulation problem can arguably be overcome if the practice model can meet two general needs: it must be able to handle variable circumstances, including diverse capabilities among learners, and be suitable for facilitating moral cultivation in a manner that does not court disaster. Before assessing whether the ritual practice model can meet these needs, though, it is worth pausing to note that Han Feizi’s challenge is not directed at emulation in general, but a model like the Confucians’ in particular, where the assumption is that the specific objects of emulation are dubious. 14 Similarly, Williams’s challenge to virtue ethics is focused on programs involving moral novices mimicking the actions or character of the already virtuous; it is not directed at the general use of standards. Practically, humans need structured models to provide guidance in psychosocial development, moral or otherwise; the key is to employ models that are accessible and functional for both learner ability and the target ends. Reframed this way, the challenge to the ritual practice model is less daunting. For one, rituals are clearly accessible for learners: they are (or have been) culturally pervasive and woven into many social interactions. A comparison with language is again helpful: language is, technically, quite complex, yet humans can internalize and deploy a language at a basic level from an early age to help understand the world and engage socially. Similarly, ritual serves as a framing device for structuring and guiding exchanges so, despite the overall complexity of the system, many rituals are likely to be quite basic so as to be accessible to the masses. Some rituals will be more sophisticated, such as courtly behaviors, but it is unlikely that these are rituals intended for novices anyway, since these roles would (ideally) only be held by the qualified. 15 This speaks further to the merits of the practice model, since building up to more intricate practices is part of the Xunzian educational approach: even among rituals, one does not seek to emulate all practices, attitudes, and abilities in one fell swoop; the process is incremental. Consequently, this understanding can mitigate the concern about whether learners can know on their own where to start. While there remains a worry about overly ambitious learners attempting practices beyond their ability, it is unclear that this is an issue for practice models in particular so much as for human development in general. Consider an athletics analogy: athletes who aspire to greatness undertake intensive training that, unregulated, can lead to disaster. At the same time, without added challenge athletes will plateau. This is, in part, what trainers are supposed to help prevent, and teachers fill an analogous role in the case of moral development. Of course, trainers and teachers are not omniscient: they make mistakes that can result in subpar or dangerous results for their trainees/pupils. 16 The point, though, is that the potential dangers of over-training do not entail that training itself is a flawed

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approach to athletic improvement. Similarly, that learners can fail in ritual practice does not prove that the ritual model is necessarily unsafe or untenable. Furthermore, even in the immediate absence of such guides, it is arguable that one can never really speak of learners as being truly “on their own.” Learners certainly have agency and a degree of independence, but psychosocial development does not occur in a vacuum: learners will be influenced by the proximate environment (including other humans) in getting feedback on their efficaciousness and limitations. This does not guarantee that learners will know where to start on their own, but it might give reason to be optimistic that getting them to the ideal starting point could result from a combination of trial-and-error and varying forms of prompting. The overarching point is that the concern of learners taking on too much applies to many, if not all, forms of education or training. The question is whether educative approaches to moral development, practice model or otherwise, should be abandoned because of these risks, and it seems that the answer has to be “no,” as one could not do without them. Accordingly, it is better to ask if there is anything particularly risky about practice models and, given what has been discussed so far, there is no need to be more averse to a practice model of virtue than to, say, approaches focused on improving critical thinking (e.g., as with a Kohlbergian approach). To broaden this claim’s appeal, it may help to distinguish between the practice model as a method and the content of a particular application of the model. The method is just the general practice of utilizing a tool like ritual to acculturate learners, assisting with psychosocial and moral development. It is not necessary, however, that the rituals employed in a practice model be those of the Confucians (i.e., those of, presumably, the Zhou Dynasty). 17 On the other hand, if one is discussing a practice model, then one speaks to its content: the specific rituals contained therein, and the aims and values to which the model is tied. The reason for raising the method-content distinction is to suggest that, by looking at the practice model method, the emulation problem can plausibly be done away with for virtue ethics more generally: insofar as methods of virtue acculturation appeal to model emulation, and said emulation can be pursued in the form of a (functional) practice model, these methods may avoid inviting disaster. To start, it is unlikely that the human species, even over long periods of time, will evolve to the point that it would need or employ radically different educational methods. Consider memorization: technology has advanced to the point that information is easily stored and readily available or transmittable in resources external to the brain; as a result, humans need rely less on memorization in order to access information in many scenarios. Pessimistically, this might be construed as a path toward abandoning the use of memorization as an educative method. Nonetheless,

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memorization and the capacity to memorize have been documented as serving important roles in cognitive development (e.g., Hagen, Jongeward, and Kail 1975), and proposed as fundamental to continued (meta-)cognitive growth (e.g., Cowan 2014). Consequently, even if a particular educative method or tool might be made to seem unnecessary or obsolete by emergent technologies or circumstances, this does not prove that the method itself is disadvantageous to learners; on the contrary, the method may retain (or even raise) its utility. Continuing with the example of memory: if the current research is accurate and improving memory directly improves cognitive ability, then improved memory should be valued more highly insofar as cognitive ability and the various ends to which it contributes (including the development of new technologies) are valued. It need not be the case, then, that such a method (at least if well-engrained or well-supported empirically) should be dropped. Arguably, such a defense is applicable to modeling, a method that has been well documented as an effective means of inculcating skills and transmitting information to learners. 18 Even allowing that human psychologies can vary substantially, which is common in differentiated approaches to instruction, it does not follow that major tools and subjects of education become wholly inaccessible to, or useless for, the overwhelming majority of learners; there simply does not appear to be sufficient evidence to support this worry. It is unlikely, then, that practice models of virtue as methods need fall prey to the emulation problem either. Still, a methods skeptic might argue that, even if a given method appears defensible at present, future circumstances could shift so as to give reason against utilizing said method. 19 For example, if there existed technology that could perform the same developmental functions as memorization or modeling, and do so at a fraction of the cost (temporally, ergonomically, monetarily, etc.), then it seems one would be at a disadvantage to use the old methods over the newer ones. So, there is no way of effectively “future-proofing” the method on offer. Several responses can be offered to this worry. First, the challenge ends up being quite broad: assuming that circumstances could always radically change to disadvantage current educative methods, you cannot completely "future-proof" any educative method. It would be absurd, though, to suggest abandoning present, efficacious methods simply due to speculation about the future. 20 Moreover, it is unlikely that any substantive change to circumstances would be so drastic as to make effective methods of education completely obsolete or disadvantageous, so it may be better to maintain and refine these methods rather than dispose of them. Now, if it ever came to pass that circumstances or human psychology were so disposed as to make these educative methods decidedly disadvantageous or dangerous for humans, then they likely could not be defended (at

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least not without modification). This is, however, already a constant concern for education sciences. Naturally, this leads to some methods being rejected in favor of others, but it also leads to some methods being vetted and maintained or improved over time, with memorization and modeling falling into this latter category. Circumstances could change, but for now the methods work very well, so there is at least no practical reason to abandon them. Admittedly, this line of response seems to concede ground to the Han Feizian critique (and, by association, Williams’s), but it is ground that is shareable. The Confucians, for example, do acknowledge that circumstances can change so as to warrant alterations (e.g., changing the material of ritual caps), but reject the idea that circumstances can change so radically so as to completely alter the general psychosocial and physiological needs of humans. 21 The ritual method falls along these lines, since ritual’s function includes providing for these very needs. The rituals might need updating, but the general method seems (relatively) safe. Nonetheless, one might worry that, in abstracting the method of the ritual practice model in particular away from specific content, my proposal is now vulnerable to an issue that Hutton raises, namely that the method is too general to provide normative guidance; it is vacuous. 22 Simply put, in the attempt to avoid the emulation problem, the contentless method leaves learners with nothing to actually practice, so the solution is functionally impotent. Fortunately, even abstracted to the level of method, the ritual practice model can handle this worry. To suggest that the ritual practice model need not be tied to a specific collection of rituals (e.g., those of the Zhou) is not to jettison ritual content altogether (else it would not make sense to call it a ritual practice model). The abstraction also need not strip away the conception or functionality of ritual. This is to say, whatever rituals one does use to fill out the content of a ritual practice model, they must at least fit these descriptions and expectations. So, while this method has a specific type of content (i.e., rituals), it is possible that the tokens of content could be selected or designed in a plurality of ways. Since model emulation is a proven technique for education, and given that this account of ritual is necessarily tied to moral development, it is reasonable to conclude that, even at the level of method, the ritual practice model (arguably) retains sufficient content to provide guidance for learners in a manner that should meet the basic needs of a virtue ethics curriculum. Admittedly, the efficacy of this guidance will be partly contingent on the particular rituals that are employed in a given instantiation of a ritual practice model, but this does not endanger the fact that the method itself should be generally effective. Consequently, the ritual practice model would strike the right balance between being general and adaptable enough for a variety of learners while still providing sufficiently concrete structure so as to yield meaningful normative guidance.

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CONCLUSION This chapter has addressed several concerns and limitations regarding ritual as a resource for moral education. I distinguished ritual from several other prominent resources currently in use within moral education, as well as the Aristotelian tradition. I also argued that the ritual tool provides moral education with a kind of practice model that can be used in conjunction with rolemodeling to further moral development without falling prey to worries about whether ritual can handle diverse learner conditions, and promote a course of moral development that does not try to do either too much too quickly or force behaviors that may not be conducive to one’s circumstances. The upshot is that there is reason to consider ritual as a resource for current programs in moral education. The notion of ritual that I have appropriated from the Confucian tradition can fulfill a distinct function as a sociocultural tool for moral development. This is all, of course, an argument that hinges on a number of assumptions about human culture and psychology, and one that may not yet have sufficient empirical support. There is, however, at least some evidence to suggest that the positions I advance here are plausible, such as those described in chapter 5. What is needed, I suggest, is continued research into how moral development and education generally proceed, as well as new research examining how ritual can supplement these processes. There is already motivation for such pursuits: given the recent research on priming empathy in individuals with psychopathy (Meffert et al. 2013), for example, it is a topic of interest whether certain priming methods may be more or less effective in eliciting empathetic reactions from such individuals. If ritual is, indeed, a viable candidate as a tool for moral education, it might also serve as a viable tool for moral prompting—especially given the fact that at least some rituals are developed around empathetic responses among humans. The takeaway, then, should be that while my recommendations regarding ritual are partly speculative, they are nonetheless also grounded in empirical findings that support seeing ritual as a promising resource for moral education. NOTES 1. I emphasize here the issue of requirement. Certain elements of a story (e.g., provision of a moral, breaking of the fourth wall to address the reader, etc.) can be construed as a story explicitly placing demands on the audience. Such aspects, however, need not be appropriated by the audience for the story to come to completion. Ritual, however, does require that its prescriptions be enacted to come to completion. 2. Admittedly, what constitutes “fun” is indeterminate. I assume my readers will share at least a rough conception of fun, but for the purposes of this paper it helps to clarify that fun refers to entertainment/enjoyment. Obviously, what one finds entertaining/enjoyable is at least somewhat subjective, but this is partially why some people prefer to play particular games over others (if they enjoy games at all).

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3. Suits points out that a game cannot “command ultimate loyalty,” whereas one would expect certain other sorts of rule-based institutions (e.g., morality) to have a higher authority. 4. Again, one might bring up cases of rituals involving role-play as also being discontinuous from one’s regular character. The key point here is that, in those cases, the distinction between the role played and one’s regular character is itself prescribed within the ritual (i.e., it is necessary that one adopt a certain role for certain performances), and that this distinction is in the service of particular psychosocial needs. Such is not the case for games in general, hence the qualifier of “need not be.” 5. Of course, a similar concern does exist for ritual, and the Confucians were aware of this. Being overly fastidious with regard to the details of ritual can detract from one’s ability to function in a genuinely promoral, prosocial manner. As noted in Kongzi’s Analects: “When material substance exceeds cultivation, there is crude rusticity; when cultivation exceeds material substance, there is pedantry. When cultivation and material substance are equally developed, then there is a gentleman” (6.18/13/21). 6. An alternative view, for which I thank Eirik Harris, suggests that the difference between games and rituals is not one of kind, but of scope: we have lives beyond games, and so there are values beyond the games that cannot be captured by the games themselves, while rituals (at least from the perspective of someone like Xunzi) encompass all of our lives. Consequently, we might think of rituals as prescribing the rules for the “game of life.” 7. I emphasize “necessarily” because it is unclear whether etiquette’s distinction from morality is well founded or a product of Western prejudice. As noted in chapter 3, Confucians like Xunzi do put etiquette under the umbrella of ritual and regard its deployment as part of a moral lifestyle. A common perspective among Western thinkers, however, is that morality is universally binding, whereas etiquette is not. I cannot adjudicate this dispute here. 8. I take up the related question of how we might decide the moral values bound to such prescriptions in chapter 8. 9. Stohr’s own distinction follows one established by Martin (1996, pp. 29–30). 10. This seems to be a distinction that other scholars have employed as well. Santamaria and Rosenbaum (2011), who have provided some of the only anthropological research on the deployment of etiquette, regard such practices as “physical acts” used for signaling purposes, and need not be accompanied by any particular affective states (p. 584). Buss (1999) makes a similar point about how etiquette serves as a vehicle for displaying moral attitudes, although Buss at times fluctuates between appeal to manners and etiquette in her project (see in particular footnote 2, p. 796). 11. Aristotle makes such a claim at the beginning of Nicomachean Ethics II (see 1103a19–25); the idea appears at various points in the Confucian texts. Even for Mengzi, who thinks humans have innate promoral tendencies, there is still need for cultivation. Neo-Confucians are a different story, as they do regard humans as being innately morally good and perceive cultivation as being a process of removing obstacles to this perfect state, rather than building on something not yet perfect. My focus, however, is exclusively on classical Confucianism. 12. A philosopher during China’s Warring States period (~475–221 BCE) traditionally associated with legalism. 13. In particular, Hutton observes that attempts to brush off the challenge as improper emulation appears to be little more than “just so” stories (pp. 442–443), and that resetting the object of emulation as “sagely thought,” “sagely wisdom,” or “sagely character” all run into subsequent troubles that either do not escape the emulation problem, do not offer substantive guidance, or end up being impractically demanding. 14. As Hutton notes, Han Feizi does not totally reject imitation as a practice, but cautions that one should not attempt to imitate those whose abilities are beyond one’s current reach (pp. 438–439). In place of such imitation, Han Feizi recommends appealing to more accessible, and supposedly more objective, legalistic standards. 15. Even Han Feizi, with his worries about court intrigue, suggests that officials should have specific qualifications. See in particular chapter 5, “The Way of the Ruler.” At the very least, one would expect that novice practitioners would not undertake more complex rituals without some sort of guidance.

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16. Harris (2017), citing an anonymous reviewer, makes a similar observation (p. 466). 17. The early Confucians would, of course, dissent quite strongly with this point. For my broader purposes, however, I think that such a policy shift is defensible and perhaps even desirable. 18. For an overview of literature on modeling’s efficacy, as well as additional research on the practice of modeling among professional educators, see Fisher and Frey 2015. 19. Thanks to Eric Hutton for raising this concern. 20. If nothing else, it is practical to maintain use of these methods for much the same reason as continuing to practice mathematical operations without the use of advanced computational devices. 21. For example, Xunzi 3/11/14–18 and 17/19/16–18. It is, unfortunately, unclear to what extent and by whom rituals can be changed in either Xunzi’s or any of the other early Confucians’s philosophies. 22. See in particular Hutton 2008, p. 448.

Chapter Seven

Orthopraxy and Intuition The Importance of a Ritual Framework

Up to this point, I have focused primarily on the ritual tool derived from Confucianism, its functions, and potential applications. In this penultimate chapter, I examine contemporary comparative work that looks at the viability of Confucian moral cultivation accounts and fit the ritual education model into this context, particularly as adapted from Xunzi. Recently, studies of classical Chinese thought have been argued to yield valuable insight for contemporary discussions in moral psychology. A noteworthy resource for such studies is the disagreement between Mengzi and Xunzi. In particular, it has been argued that each philosopher’s view of human psychology leads to a concomitant moral pedagogy. Mengzi, who advances the claim that human nature has a valence toward moral goodness, might be construed as an advocate of educative strategies oriented around self-reflection or self-discovery. In contrast, Xunzi, who asserts that human nature is “bad,” has been aligned with educational authoritarianism. Herein, I provide an overview of each Confucian’s position and argue that such depictions oversimplify the views of these two thinkers regarding moral psychology and, consequently, pedagogy. I then evaluate the viability of these pedagogical stances based on additional empirical findings concerning learning and development. I conclude that, while aspects of a Mengzian approach are useful, evidence supports a more structured approach to moral education, one better reflected in Xunzi’s views. Consequently, this analysis provides more reason to take seriously not only the ritual tool, but also at least some features of the more general ritual education method.

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MENGZI AND XUNZI: EXTENDING AND SHAPING Among the pre-Qin Confucians, Mengzi and Xunzi have retained interest due not only to their diverging interpretations of Confucius/Kongzi, but also their disagreement over the constitution and moral valence of human nature (renxing, 人性). How Confucians initially came to be interested in this topic is not fully known, as Kongzi himself was reportedly reticent to speak on the subject (Analects 5.13/10/10–1). 1 It may have been the case that human nature was of growing interest at least among a subset of scholars during the Warring States period and, as its relevance to ethical and political philosophies increased, Confucians perceived a need to respond to their competitors. 2 What is known is that, as Confucianism diversified in the century following Kongzi’s death, its various branches produced scholars who, while sharing core values, differed in their visions. Mengzi and Xunzi in particular offer competing accounts of human nature (and, consequently, human moral psychology), with each attempting to present a view congenial to the core Confucian program while corresponding to a distinctive pedagogical approach for pursuing the ideal of moral cultivation/education inherent in said program. Mengzi’s account of human nature can be summarized by the claim that humans, in virtue of their natures, possess incipient tendencies toward goodness. In a poignant analogy, Mengzi compares the tendencies of humans to the tendencies of water: much like how water, by its nature, will follow the path in which gravity takes it, humans, by their nature, will follow a path toward goodness (Mengzi 6A2, 11.2/56/24–26). That is, so long as humans are not impeded by obstacles (e.g., extreme hardship, violence, a lack of friends and family, etc.), they tend toward moral goodness. This tendency, Mengzi asserts, is due to four beginnings or “sprouts” (duan, 端) that make up the true core of human nature (6A14, 11.14/60/14–19). 3 The sprouts include compassion, disdain, deference, and approbation, each growing into a virtue: humaneness, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom respectively (2A6, 3.6/18/7–10). Consequently, for Mengzi the bulk of moral cultivation consists in extending (tui, 推) these innate endowments. As Mengzi notes: [I]f one extends one’s kindness, it will be sufficient to care for all within the Four Seas. If one does not extend one’s kindness, one will lack the wherewithal to care for one’s wife and children. That in which the ancients greatly exceeded others was no other than this. They were simply good at extending what they did. (1A7, 1.7/5/8–9, Van Norden 2008, p. 12)

Here, Mengzi clearly depicts extension as core to moral growth. Given his aforementioned remarks on how this extension is part of a natural valence, it is unsurprising that his approach to moral cultivation emphasizes practices

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that enhance such extension. 4 Consider the following two passages in which Mengzi emphasizes reflecting on the native capacities: Benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom: these are not fused to us from without. We originally have them; it is just that we do not reflect on them. Hence, it is said: “Seek them and you will obtain them; relinquish them and you will lose them.” (6A6, 11.6/58/22–25, compare with Van Norden 2008, p. 149) It is the office of the mind to reflect. If one reflects, then one achieves [moral excellence]. If one does not reflect, then one does not achieve [moral excellence]. This is what heaven has given us. If one first takes one’s stand on the great parts, then the petty parts will not be able to rob one [of moral excellence]. This is all there is to being a great person. (6A15, 11.15/60/27–11.15/ 61/1, compare with Van Norden 2008, p. 157)

If these passages accurately represent Mengzi’s overarching views of moral cultivation, then it is plausible to summarize Mengzi’s view as one in which moral education is, at its core, a program that emphasizes self-exploration. Specifically, Mengzian moral education seems to focus on learners identifying and nourishing certain aspects of their human psychology (e.g., a sprout of compassion or a sense of disdain) to become something like full-fledged virtues. Moreover, this process also appears to be largely self-generated in Mengzi’s view, since it is only by means of one’s own willing engagement and self-study that moral growth can occur. Xunzi, on the other hand, adopts the motto that human nature is “bad” or “ugly” (e, 惡), and so humans must be made to become good via learning and practice, suggestive of a more authoritarian tack for moral cultivation. While I covered much of Xunzi’s stance in chapters 4 and 5, I will recapitulate several key points here for the sake of convenience. First, recall that Xunzi relates badness to chaos, which Xunzi views as the antithesis of harmony and goodness. The badness of human nature can be attributed to the fact that humans, by nature, tend to act on desire-driven impulse without guarantee of restraint (e.g., Xunzi 19/90/3–5). To state that human nature is bad, then, is to suggest that, due to their basic, animal wiring, humans are chaotic (even antisocial) creatures; they are not good and orderly by nature. In turn, moral cultivation cannot proceed simply as a matter of extending what humans have from birth; external resources necessarily play a role. Second, when Xunzi refers to human nature he is referring only to a subset of psychological faculties. In contrast with Mengzi, who suggests that human psychology includes parts that are great and small, and that the great parts are what really make up human nature, Xunzi views human psychology as being divided into three different aspects: nature, dispositions, and artifice (Xunzi 22/107/22–24). Coupled with his account of why human nature is

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bad, Xunzi’s tripartite distinction helps to explain his outlook on moral education. From birth, Xunzi suggests, humans merely act on their spontaneous natural impulses and dispositions (xing and qing); they lack genuine moral direction. Despite having impulses that might be conducive to moral behavior (e.g., love for one’s own kind, as noted in Xunzi 19/96/10), it does not follow that humans are naturally or innately good; this is something that must yet be cultivated. What must be worked on is the capacity for artifice (wei), and it is through this capacity that humans can learn to be good and to exercise control over their rough, animalistic nature. The key to this cultivation, according to Xunzi, is to engage in intensive study and practice of a curated curriculum that consists predominantly in understanding the history of human sociocultural development and, most importantly, ritual. To summarize the positions: according to Mengzi, humans naturally tend toward moral goodness and, when provided with a nurturing and non-hostile environment, will cultivate this goodness through reflection on and extension of innate capacities for moral behaviors or prosocial attitudes. In contrast, Xunzi claims that, due to their being insufficiently disposed toward goodness by nature, humans must have instruction, and study or practice rigorously to develop into moral persons. This dichotomy, however, does not do justice to the sophisticated outlooks adopted by either Mengzi or Xunzi. A more useful distinction concerns the role accorded to practices of reflection, and how such practices should be designed and deployed. Mengzi embraces a view of reflection oriented around exploring oneself and one’s relations to others that is largely selfdriven and intended to aid in extending extant capacities. Xunzi, on the other hand, argues for a more constrained and guided view of reflection that requires substantive external input and facilitates shaping and building moral competence. 5 Coming to understand the subtleties of each position will also provide a better vantage point from which to assess whether these classical views are defensible in light of modern findings in cognitive and education science and which, if either, comes closer to reflecting how humans actually tend to learn and develop morality. Mengzi and Xunzi both agree that humans begin life as morally imperfect beings: for Xunzi, humans cannot be morally good by birth, and even for Mengzi the sprouts reflect a propensity for goodness rather than moral perfection. Consequently, Mengzi and Xunzi also align in the belief that, through a process of cultivation, humans can become good. Their major disagreement concerns whether moral cultivation primarily entails training incipient tendencies toward morally good qualities (Mengzi), or internalizing standards for understanding and practicing morality acquired from sources external to one’s nature (Xunzi).

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While this is a decent baseline understanding of the views, each possesses nuances that distinguish a more complex outlook. Consider the following excerpt from the Mengzi: The Way of the people is this: if they are full of food, have warm clothes, and live in comfort but are without instruction, then they come close to being animals. (3A4, 5.4/29/9–10, Van Norden 2008, p. 71)

The passage goes on to elaborate how a sage king, Shun (舜), appointed a minister, Xie (契), to oversee the education of the people, especially with regard to the nature of the fundamental social relationships and the attitudes due between them. Such a description implies regimentation or standardization of education through institutionalization (e.g., Zhou culture’s five fundamental relationships), 6 and this suggests a structured view of Mengzian moral education that entails more than the gentle prompting typically attributed to the self-reflection model. Now, if said instruction is simply a matter of pointing out to and reminding humans of their tendencies toward goodness (e.g., as when encouraging the extension of caring attitudes), then this would still fit the picture of Mengzian education as being primarily about self-reflection. Yet the passage continues with Shun’s command that Xie “correct and straighten” the people, 7 further suggesting that, central as reflection might be to moral development, without (at least somewhat strict) guidance, the people may remain morally lost. The Mengzian model, then, is probably not reducible to selfdiscovery: it likely requires at least a modicum of directive imposition, even if it be gentle, to ensure that the extension of relevant capacities aligns with a general, and socially proper, understanding of morality. 8 Indeed, the passage resonates with Xunzi’s depiction of how humans tend to behave when governed by their nature: even meeting their basic needs with food and shelter, humans still require direction in order to become genuinely moral, else they remain subject to their beastly impulses. Likewise, Xunzi’s account of moral education is more complicated than just drilling in habits to correct a bad nature. Xunzi, like Mengzi, also treats reflection as an indispensable source of moral cultivation (e.g., Xunzi 2/6/9 and 19/92/17). According to Xunzi, one cannot develop into a morally complete person without employing reflection. In fact, reflection is integral to grasping the significance of ritual performance and general social comportment, as well as grasping new sources of value, all of which are core to Xunzi’s take on the Confucian moral exemplar. Accordingly, it is important not to downplay the role of reflection in Xunzi’s account of moral education, even if it is to be pursued in a more structured manner. 9 Now, however, Mengzi and Xunzi’s views might seem more similar than different: both emphasize reflection along with the importance of guidance

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for moral growth. It is noteworthy, though, that Mengzi and Xunzi still possess important pedagogical dissimilarities. For one, the Mengzian notion of guidance will still need to fit with his remarks on the nature of moral growth as an organic process. As Mengzi notes, “the end of the path of learning is nothing other than seeking for one’s lost heart-mind (xin)” (Mengzi 6A11, 11.11/60/5). Even though Mengzi’s model is not purely a selfexploratory one, looking within and finding “one’s lost heart/mind” is still a primary aim of Mengzian moral cultivation. Consequently, whatever guiding structures are adopted by the Mengzian educator, they will need to be conducive to the aforementioned natural patterns of growth embedded in human nature. Additionally, it is unlikely that the Mengzian educator will force or impose standards on learners but, rather, offer standards that help to establish an environment conducive to the aforementioned nourishing of the sprouts. 10 This will be notably different from the Xunzian educative approach, since Xunzi rejects the idea that moral cultivation consists (primarily) in seeking within and growing natural tendencies in favor of a more outside-in approach to moral education. For Xunzi, the guiding structures are not so much concerned with fostering growth of extant capacities, but with instilling new content in learners. Accordingly, the Xunzian system is likely to be more structured and directive. The similarities may also be partly due to the fact that Mengzi and Xunzi are borrowing rhetoric from the same traditions. Along with their Confucian heritage, both philosophers often employ language from another of their predecessors, Mozi (墨子, c. 470–391 BCE). Scholars of Chinese philosophy will recognize that Xunzi’s crafting and architectural metaphors for cultivation have analogs in the Mozi, 11 but the notion of extension is also borrowed from the Mohists and is utilized by both Mengzi and Xunzi. 12 For Mengzi, however, there is a distinct manner in which extension is said to occur, specifically as a natural or spontaneous outgrowth of some impulse or tendency. Xunzi, on the other hand, has no such nature-linked requirement, hence his Mohist-like appeal to crafting metaphors of steaming, straightening, and stretching. Along with the nature of extension, Xunzi and Mengzi also conceive of reflective practices differently. As previously noted, Mengzi treats reflection mainly as a matter of looking inward to extend incipient tendencies toward goodness, and so reflection serves (as) moral cultivation via a process of selfexploration. The result, Mengzi predicts, will be that one comes to realize and act on one’s morally good tendencies such as compassion for others and senses of what is right and proper. Even though one may be guided and encouraged in this pursuit, rendering the model irreducible to self-discovery, it is largely from the learner’s self-reflection that moral growth stems, and so such reflection should be emphasized and deployed in abundance. One might

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say, then, that the Mengzian curriculum empowers the learner to engage in reflection as the primary, though not exclusive, means of cultivation. Xunzi, on the other hand, treats reflection as a tool that must be employed with care: if, as Xunzi assumes, humans are not innately furnished with strong moral tendencies, then merely looking within will not suffice to make one good; it may be disastrous. Even in cases where there is prompting, guidance, and encouragement, the concern remains that without a prior solid moral foundation, reflection will not elicit a reliably moral character. Reflection, then, should be both guided and informed (at least when starting one’s studies) by mentors, texts, and practices that are conducive to moral development. Additionally, while self-reflection is important, Xunzi also suggests that reflecting on the aforementioned mentors, texts, and practices (most notably ritual) can aid one’s cultivation to a greater degree. Relative to the Mengzian position, then, the Xunzian curriculum would place learners in a more structured, authoritative curriculum, wherein reflection is deployed as part of a particular critical project so as to foster moral growth. This critical project might be best elaborated by the manner in which Xunzi thinks one should reflect on things like ritual. Xunzi suggests at various points that ritual prescriptions have deep meanings that can only be accessed by reflection. As noted in Chapter 4, Xunzi compares rituals with “depth markers,” and suggests that the depths they are marking are those of the moral ideals encapsulated in the Confucian Dao/Way; consequently, if one foregoes ritual practice, one will be unable to plum those depths (Xunzi 17/82/22–17/83/1). According to Xunzi, in order to make developmental gains from reflection, one must first practice the rituals. That is to say, accumulating ritual learning is (necessarily) developmentally prior to continued moral growth. Note that this is similar to comments appearing in Kongzi’s Analects, albeit with more focus on the Odes (詩) 13 The Master said: “Begin with the Odes, establish yourself with ritual, and complete yourself with music.” (Analects 8.8/18/30, compare with Slingerland 2003b, p. 80) “If you do not study the Odes, then you will not be capable of discourse. . . . If you do not study ritual, then you will not be able to establish yourself.” (Analects 16.13/47/5–7, compare with Slingerland 2003b, pp. 197–198)

Kongzi also praises students capable of grasping the deeper contents of individual poems (e.g., Analects 1.15/2/15–19), implying that study and reflection show genuine moral growth. Mengzi, in contrast, does not appear to emphasize reflection (directed or otherwise) on the rituals or the Odes. Instead, Mengzi tends to focus on particular cases of behavior, such as in the aforementioned case from 1A7 wherein Mengzi directs King Xuan to focus on examples of his own compas-

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sionate behavior. Indeed, it is seldom that Mengzi refers to resources like ritual or the Odes as a priority for study and, when he does, it is often for the purpose of resolving apparent tensions between such resources and his other philosophical commitments. 14 For example, in Mengzi 6B3 (12.3/62/ 25–12.3/63/8), Mengzi debates a rival’s interpretation of a piece of classical literature, the “Xiao Pan” ode, arguing that the text, far from demonstrating pettiness and resentment, exemplifies affection for relatives and its relation to benevolence. Subsequently, Mengzi is pressed to elaborate his position by distinguishing the sort of resentment that appears in the “Xiao Pan” from resentment in another classical ode (“Kai Feng”), seemingly to make consistent the contents of the material with his interpretation of Kongzi’s teachings on filiality (xiao, 孝). Even with such a case, where Mengzi does refer to the Odes as a source of moral guidance, it is at best ambiguous as to whether he thinks the study is essential to moral development. At very least, Mengzi does not emphasize a systematic curriculum akin to what Xunzi or Kongzi describe, and this implies that the relevant practices are not priorities for Mengzi’s educational program. These observations yield a clearer starting point for distinguishing the real crux of the disagreement between Mengzi and Xunzi about proper moral development. Both views emphasize that humans typically need direction for moral education, both regard a nurturing environment as integral to moral growth, and both claim that true or complete moral cultivation requires reflective understanding; where they differ is in opinion of what is involved in becoming cultivated and how one should go about actualizing these factors. With this understanding of the disagreement, it is possible to more carefully enquire as to which moral pedagogy works better: gentle nudges to selfreflect in a nurturing but minimally structured environment geared at expanding sentiments, or directive instruction alongside guided reflection and practice in a highly-structured (but still nurturing) setting designed to instill moral understandings and habits. AGAINST A (PURELY) MENGZIAN VIEW In point of fact, this matter has been previously addressed by Schwitzgebel (2007), who analyzes the positions of Mengzi and Xunzi and groups their views into, roughly and respectively, “self-discovery” and “authoritarian” schools of thought about moral education (p. 159). The self-discovery model claims that, if humans have an environment free from hostile conditions, then they will (with gentle prompting) naturally tend toward reflecting on and figuring out the morally good way to live. Authoritarians, in contrast, argue that such environments are insufficient; more stringent methods are required, and so morality is, in a sense, imposed on learners. As Schwitzgebel aptly

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notes, though, assessing the accuracy or utility of any model of moral education is a difficult endeavor: “long-term, controlled studies are impossible. Short term laboratory tests may be misleading” (Schwitzgebel 2007, p. 162). Nevertheless, this does not stop Schwitzgebel from touting a “roughly Mencian” model as being best supported by evidence, primarily on the grounds that it centralizes the role of personal reflection in cultivating moral dispositions and, presumably, judgements as well. Such a model, Schwitzgebel suggests, is supported by the works of psychologists and anthropologists including Piaget (1932/1965), Kohlberg (1981), de Waal (1996), and ZahnWaxler (1990) (ibid., p. 163). Schwitzgebel stops short of claiming that empirical studies about human behavior definitively support such a program, referencing several anecdotes to what might be thought of as “bad” human behaviors, and noting morally problematic in-group-out-group dynamics as common sociomoral practices (ibid.), but preference for a Mengzian program is clear. 15 I agree with Schwitzgebel’s general approach: it is desirable for pedagogical approaches to reflect the best available empirical evidence and, even if it is difficult to acquire a substantial body of said evidence, the inquiry must begin somewhere. The evidence provided in many of the studies that Schwitzgebel cites, however, is far from conclusive. Consider first the theories of moral development that Schwitzgebel cites: theories in the vein of Piaget or Kohlberg, for example, have been criticized as incomplete for being overly androcentric (e.g., Gilligan 1982) and Eurocentric (e.g., Lotfabadi 2008), and for lacking consideration of sociocultural factors contributing to moral development (e.g., Tappan 1997; Walker, Hennig, and Krettenauer 2000; Yelland and Masters 2007). Furthermore, alternative theories that do not rely on the cognitive-developmental presuppositions of Piaget or Kohlberg (e.g., Bandura 1977; Turiel 1983; Nucci 2001) are at least equally supported by current findings. This suggests that, while models of moral development such as those offered by Piaget or Kohlberg might still be relevant to current theorizing, at best they are only part of the story and cannot offer decisive evidence. De Waal’s research on the evolution of morality is likewise unhelpful to Schwitzgebel’s argument. For one, and as noted in chapter 2, evolutionaryinspired approaches to accounts of moral development have a number of shortcomings when tied to moral nativism. While it is unclear that Mengzi (or Schwitzgebel’s depiction of Mengzi) expresses a nativist account, de Waal’s rhetoric does tend in that direction, so caution should be exercised in its application. Second, de Waal’s work on dispositions associated with morality (e.g., empathy) demonstrates that humans and other primates can develop and express such capacities, but does not offer compelling evidence that humans tend toward such states in general, nor that something as complex as morality is a product of biological evolution. 16

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Similar issues plague appeal to the work of Zahn-Waxler and colleagues, whose research on displays of empathy in human infants has been qualified as suggesting the existence of a predisposition for a “sense of ourselves in relation to others” (Light and Zahn-Waxler 2012, p. 122). Arguments for the presence of more substantive capacities, however, would be speculative. Moreover, as Killen and Dahl (2018) note, the evidence offered by ZahnWaxler and colleagues appeals primarily to a limited variety of sensorimotor behaviors (e.g., sympathetic crying and touch among toddlers) and does not demonstrate distinct exhibitions of empathy (p. 24). Finally, such findings do little to promote a Mengzian position over a Xunzian one since, as previously noted, Xunzi also allows that humans and nonhumans alike may have a native capacity for empathy, but said capacity may not be well-developed or sufficiently robust to reflect a moral sensibility (or sufficient to ward off any anti-moral sensibilities). Even if this capacity is natural and is recruited in the course of moral education, this is not sufficient reason to endorse Mengzi’s overarching account of human moral psychology and pedagogy. What of reflection’s significance to moral development, though? Reflection certainly plays an important role in psychosocial development, moral or otherwise: as mentioned in chapter 2, parenting practices that encourage reflection have been shown to enhance moral development (e.g., Berkowitz and Grych 1998). Note, however, that the disagreement is not about whether reflection has a central role in moral education, but about the nature of that role. Recall that in the Mengzian approach it is primarily, if not exclusively, via personally driven (self-)reflection, perhaps with some gentle prompting in a nurturing environment, that one extends native capacities for morally good tendencies and (ideally) lives in accordance with them. It is simply because humans have these tendencies that they are able to, in a sense, actualize their moral selves. The Xunzian, on the other hand, is dubious of relying on unstructured reflection as a path to moral development and insists that a structured curriculum is necessary for humans to transform themselves into moral folk. Any available evidence that speaks to the significance of reflection, then, must be examined with regard to whether it supports Mengzian exploratory reflection or the Xunzian guided approach. This is where a pro-Mengzian interpretation of data faces an even greater challenge, as it is unclear that the empirical evidence supports particularly Mengzian reflection. In the case of the relevant parenting techniques, it is notable that while learner reflection is to be valued, structure and stability are integral features of fostering moral development. This is in no small part because, without clear and reliable behavioral expectation-enforcement complexes, positive influence on moral development is significantly hindered, regardless of how much learners independently reflect. This is consistent with other findings in educational research, which note that when classroom (or, more generally, community) protocols regarding behavior are ill-defined

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or ill-enforced, social disruption increases while productivity (academic or otherwise) decreases (e.g., Grubaugh and Houston 1990; Guardino and Fullerton 2010; Tanner 2013). Such an account is, however, compatible with the structured, Xunzian pedagogical approach that has been sketched so far. It is also interesting because it adds emphasis to one of the points that Schwitzgebel himself notes, namely that the Xunzian puts qualifiers (e.g., being sufficiently experienced) on when reflection is or can be useful, qualifiers that would seem to apply in this sort of situation. The Mengzian approach, however, does not appear as pedagogically sound, at least if learners are insufficiently acquainted with moral concepts, practices, or attitudes. One might try to rescue the Mengzian approach by appealing to recent findings in moral psychology. In particular, one might ask whether cognitive science supports anything like Mengzi’s claim that human cognitive architecture is furnished with (proto-)moral dispositions. If so, then the Mengzian approach might yet be viable, as it would suggest that learners might be furnished with sufficient native capacities to function. Flanagan and Williams (2010), for example, compare Mengzi’s account of the four sprouts with recent research on “moral modules” of the brain. 17 This research, consisting predominantly of the work of Haidt and his colleagues on a social intuitionist model of moral judgement (e.g., Haidt 2001; Haidt and Graham 2007; Haidt and Joseph 2004, 2007), supports the claim that humans are, to some degree, typically prewired to generate and be constrained by certain intuitions that also drive a great deal of their moral functioning. If Haidt’s depictions of the evidence accurately reflect human cognition, then such research might be construed as supporting a Mengzian model. There are, however, problems with adopting a Mengzian reading of the findings. Flanagan and Williams are quick to note that the evidence from work such as Haidt’s is comparable to Mengzi’s view of human nature only if heavily qualified. Rather than suggest that Haidt’s findings directly support the Mengzian model, Flanagan and Williams suggest that, insofar as features of Mengzi’s account are shared with the social intuitionist model, and if the model itself is accurate, then those features may be actionable, but one must be careful not to force-fit together the data and Mengzi’s account. Keeping in mind this concern about possible misrepresentation, I turn a critical eye to the research itself and its implications for moral cultivation. Haidt and Joseph (2007) report that humans are (typically) wired to have intuitions concerning (1) harm/care, (2) fairness/reciprocity, (3) ingroup/loyalty, (4) authority/respect, and (5) purity/sanctity. Set aside the fact that these intuitions do not perfectly match up with Mengzi’s sprouts; that fact does not on its own imperil the Mengzian model. 18 Even if cultivating these intuitions is part of moral development, though, the model still faces (at least) two problems. First, there is the issue of whether these intuitions should count as being moral in and of themselves. Mengzi seems to do so (e.g., 6A2 and

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7A15), 19 but Xunzi would reject this understanding, seeing as basic intuitions are untutored and, presumably, morally unreliable. It is not clear that the Mengzian perspective is sufficient: does morality consist in an assemblage of intuitions, habits, and character traits, or might it involve additional principles and meta-cognitive faculties (e.g., reflection itself)? This should be striking for anyone concerned with the more general question of what morality entails. More to the immediate point: if one finds the Mengzian/ intuitionist position overly permissive, then one has further reason to be skeptical of the applicability of a Mengzian approach to moral development, as such an approach would be ill-equipped to provide a complete moral education. While answering this question is beyond the scope of this project, it relates to an empirical problem for the Mengzian view that is within my project’s purview, namely that it is not apparent that these intuitions will necessarily produce virtues. 20 The mere fact that there exists, for example, an intuition concerning fairness does not guarantee that its possessor will be reliably fair. One could, after all, employ this intuition to assess whether one has been wronged by others but never consider whether one’s own actions wrong others (e.g., I might feel that I have been wronged by someone who smokes in my presence without ever reflecting on how my habit of playing loud music negatively affects their person). The Mengzian could, of course, reply that this worry simply gives reason to emphasize self-reflection: it is done to ensure that the sprouts/intuitions grow into virtues. The problem with this response is that it is unclear whether self-reflection (alone or primarily) will spontaneously result in the relevant moral development. On the one hand, there is evidence to support the idea that such reflection can result in moral growth, with findings suggesting that, at least among children, something closer to gentle prompting is often more effective at eliciting moral growth than information-laden lecturing (Berkowitz and Gibbs 1983; Walker and Hennig 1999). On the other hand, these findings do not clearly endorse the Mengzian approach over the Xunzian one, as the social interactions that spur this reflection often appear quite structured and, especially when the prompting is done by elders, frequently involve guiding and instructive language or action (Walker, Hennig, and Krettenauer 2000). Arguably, then, the evidence does not support a particularly Mengzian approach to moral education; all of it, however, is compatible with, and unproblematic for, the Xunzian model. GIVING XUNZI HIS DUE Compatibility, however, is not proof of concept; evidence is needed to offer compelling reason to favor the Xunzian view. First, recall what the Xunzian

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approach to moral education necessitates: directive instruction alongside guided reflection and practice in a highly-structured (but still nurturing) setting. So far, I have offered tentative support for each of these features, especially with the research concerning effective parenting and socialization methods. The main concerns, I suspect, are the nature and degree of directiveness and structure inherent in a Xunzian program. Mengzi, again, is not averse to directive, structured educational environments but, for Mengzi, these aim specifically at extending natural tendencies, so the evidence must support a non-Mengzian version of such environments. At the same time, Xunzi insists on a very specific order of education, and an overbearing approach is also unlikely to work. To be effective, the Xunzian approach would need to be one that is well-organized with clear goals established at which learners should aim, while not being overly forceful or directive so as to quash critical development. To begin, and fortunately, there is no reason to think that the Xunzian approach must devolve into the sort of overbearing instruction that can have a negative impact on moral development. Nothing in the Xunzi explicitly entails bland rigidity: the mere fact that Xunzi recommends a particular course of study does not prohibit the Xunzian student, or instructor, from engaging in original, critical practice. At times, Xunzi even seems to encourage a less imposing approach that would be conducive to more adaptive education (e.g., Xunzi 27/127/15–16, 17–18, 22). In so doing, Xunzi expresses two important commitments with regard to his pedagogy that set it apart from more authoritarian styles. First, Xunzi emphasizes that, insofar as the appeal to ritual as a focus of education is founded in a commitment to cultivating respect and harmony, such cultivation may sometimes require flexibility in performance, clarifying that the Xunzian project is not a slavish devotion to protocol. Second, Xunzi insists that guidance with the Way should not be forced, suggesting that mere imposition of the Way on learners is not desirable. Such a stance is clearly at odds with a reading of Xunzi as being committed to rigid authoritarianism in moral education. Moreover, assuming that Xunzi’s philosophy is an expansion of Kongzi’s philosophy, there is likely to be resonance between the Xunzi’s extensive discussion of education and the briefer remarks of the Analects. Of particular interest are those excerpts suggesting that learners should be active and thinking critically in all lessons, even when the instructor does not appear to present all of the information outright (e.g., Analects 7.8). While the sort of reflection involved here will be notably different from the Mengzian account of natural extending and self-exploration, reflection is occurring in Xunzian practice: as previously noted, for Xunzi (like Kongzi before him) the objects of reflection seem to be things like exemplars, classical texts, and rituals. If this is correct, then the Xunzian approach should also be expected to demand critical thinking, meaning the learning process will be an active one that

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requires a kind of extension as part of sociomoral development. Indeed, deliberation (lü, 慮) is one of the primary functions of the heart-mind (xin, 心) that involves the aforementioned artifice (wei, 偽) that Xunzi so prizes. While the curriculum’s basics may be set, then, it is likely that its contents are to be assessed critically and not merely subjects for rote memorization. Even if Xunzi is flexible, however, the viability of the sort of structured approach to moral education that he articulates still needs to be addressed. There is evidence that well-defined curricula with clear, preestablished goals are advantageous for learners’ development. Tingey-Michaelis (1986), for example, notes that young children benefit considerably from such structured approaches to education, including authoritative guidance. 21 Additionally, contemporary educational approaches suggest that guided-practice-type models tend to be the best frameworks for helping students to construct new knowledge, including general critical thinking skills. Erickson and Lanning (2014) argue that, while such skills “cannot be nurtured in a learning environment where a teacher always lectures, tells students how to think, or solves problems for them,” critical thinking skills do benefit from a combination of guided inquiry and explicit instruction (p. 75). Such an approach, which Erickson and Lanning call a “concept-based curriculum,” involves exposing students to a variety of problem spaces that require abilities to recall relevant information, employ pattern recognition, plan ahead, and develop abstract understandings of material, guiding students when their extant skills are lacking. While all of these features are consistent with a Xunzian approach, the lattermost aspect is particularly interesting because it indicates an awareness of the fact that learners, especially novices, are not usually pre-furnished with background information or skills; these must be constructed in the space of the learning community. In fact, developing such resources is one of the key features of Erickson and Lanning’s approach: Concept-based curriculum and instruction develop a conceptual vocabulary for students to discuss their thought processes. Students need a language to communicate their thinking and to understand when they hear how others think. Concept-based teachers also invite students to explain the relationship of factual or situational examples and performances through a conceptual lens (synergistic thinking) so that students’ thinking is made visible to them both. (2014, p. 75)

Due to the complexity of learning, when one begins studying a new subject one typically starts with a limited perspective, especially if one is young and has little life experience. In such cases, the learner’s grasp on the material is tenuous, commitments are still being forged, and the ability to manipulate the content is limited. At this stage, the learner’s progress is largely reliant on guidance from an instructor. With the instructor’s guidance, which involves

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the aforementioned features of establishing a supportive environment, providing an array of useful tools and techniques, and helping students to practice material, students move from the limited, novice stage to broaden their outlooks and deepen their understanding of and capability with the material (pp. 77–78). Through such structured engagement, one develops mastery. Arguably, this same sort of committed learning process is advocated in the Xunzian view, most notably the idea that students need to acquire a “conceptual vocabulary” as part of their development. As I have argued throughout this book, ritual performs a similar role to concept construction in the sense that it helps provide a common “vocabulary” that learners can utilize to structure their growing knowledge base. Just like how one requires basic concepts to develop increasingly complex understandings, ritual in the Xunzian model helps to both organize understandings of the socio-ethical world and, further, nurture prosocial dispositions. These features coalesce as a holistic approach to moral cultivation, one that encourages both metacognitive and affective growth through studying, practicing, and reflecting on ritual. There are two upshots to these findings and theories. First, contrary to the initial proposals by Schwitzgebel, specifically the promotion of a Mengzian approach to moral education, the most current empirical research on learning and development suggests that it is the Xunzian approach to moral education that is more sensible. This leads to the second upshot: it may be possible to draw from Xunzi’s approach to inform contemporary approaches to moral education. Given extant empirical support for an account of moral education like Xunzi’s and its resonance with contemporary accounts of learning and development, there is reason to adapt features of the Xunzian approach that have not yet been explored in current research. While it is likely unwise to adopt the specific curriculum content that Xunzi would have used, features like structured guidance, acquisition and utilization of learning tools, and an environment designed such that it focuses and encourages moral growth all resonate with what are likely effective teaching and learning practices. Xunzi deserves his due. CONCLUSION There is good initial reason to think that a (roughly) Xunzian outlook on human moral psychology is closer to how humans actually develop, learn, think, and act than what appears in the Mengzian equivalent. The evidence shows how the Xunzian view better accounts for how humans acquire moral norms through socialization practices and education in general, as well as why the Mengzian model of education is insufficient. This is not to say that Mengzi is useless: many concepts in the Mengzi have analogs in contempo-

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rary educational practice and research on human behavior, and even if the Mengzian model is not the full picture of moral cognition, it does seem to reflect a number of important features of human psychology (e.g., how humans can be moved toward certain lines of judgement by visceral reactions). These features of human psychology should be accounted for when devising moral education programs. It must be noted, though, that the Mengzian approach is insufficient to capture the complexity of human learning, development, and moral psychology. Again, this is better captured by a Xunzian model which, I have argued, does a commendable job of representing the best empirical findings. It is also important to emphasize that the conclusion drawn here is tentative. As was the case with Schwitzgebel’s prior project, conclusive evidence with regard to human cognition, particularly how humans learn and develop as socio-moral creatures, remains elusive. While a structured Xunzian approach may benefit some learners, others may benefit from the freer reflection and reduced structure characteristic of the Mengzian paradigm. Given the overwhelming diversity of human cognition, it is unlikely for any single educational technique to be equally effective for all learners given their plurality backgrounds. This very fact, according to Tomlinson and her colleagues (1999, 2004, 2011, 2014), provides impetus for adopting a differentiated approach to instruction that, in general, ensures “what a student learns, how he/she learns it, and how the student demonstrates what he/she has learned is a match for that student’s readiness level, interests, and preferred mode of learning” (Tomlinson 2004, p. 188). Such an approach is, no doubt, ideal for learners and, if the Xunzian and Mengzian approaches could be depicted as ends of a spectrum, one might say that some students probably require more Mengzian education, others more Xunzian. Still, given the nature of educational differentiation, the Xunzian approach is better suited overall as a pedagogical model given its ability to be more or less structured depending on the learner’s level of individual growth, its emphasis on developing a conceptual vocabulary, and its authoritative instructional methods. NOTES 1. Analects 5.13/10/10–11: The Master’s discourses on human nature and the way of heaven are not able to be heard. 2. See, for example, Mengzi’s debates with the philosopher Gaozi (about whom little is known) depicted in 6A of the Mengzi. It is also possible, albeit speculative, that these disputes could have been in response to groups like the Yangists who, allegedly, advocated a form of egoism. For further reading on this hypothesis, see Graham 1967. 3. In this passage, Mengzi emphasizes that humans have “great parts” (the sprouts) and “petty parts” (e.g., brutish appetites), and implies that the great parts are what distinguish humans from beasts, thus reflecting “human” nature. 4. Although not, of course, at the risk of damaging oneself. As Mengzi writes: A man from Song was aggrieved that his sprouts were not growing, and so he uprooted them . . . his son

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hastened [to the fields] to inspect [his father’s handiwork], and found the sprouts had all withered . . . those who “assist” the growth of the sprouts end up uprooting them (2A2, 3.2/16/ 4–7). 5. Arguably, these views are reflected in the different analogies that Mengzi and Xunzi use to describe moral reflection: for Mengzi, cultivation is akin to sprouts growing naturally in a nutritive environment (e.g., Mengzi 2A6, 3.6/18/7–12); for Xunzi, cultivation is akin to craftsmanship (e.g., Xunzi 1/1/3–4). 6. The relationships are parent-child, husband-wife, elder-younger, ruler-subject, and neighbor-neighbor. 7. Mengzi 6A20, 11.20/61/17–18 might also be relevant: [Archer] Yi, when teaching people to shoot, always made sure to draw the bow to the full; his students, then, would also make sure to draw the bow to the full. A master craftsman, in teaching people, is certain to make use of the compass and square; his students, then, also certainly use the compass and square. 8. Mengzi himself notes that humans are not just composed of moral sprouts, but also ignoble or beastly dispositions that must (and should) be subordinated (e.g., Mengzi 6A14–15, 11.14/60/14–11.15/61/1). Consequently, even on Mengzi’s view we need some way of figuring out which should be followed and when. 9. It might be objected that Xunzi is, at times, explicitly disparaging of reflection (e.g., Xunzi 1/1/12). Such remarks can be accommodated by appeal to Confucian precedent (e.g., Analects 2.15, 15.31, 16.10). Xunzi’s position on reflection is likely similar to Kongzi’s: reflection for reflection’s sake is a waste, but reflection in the service of learning (xue, 學) is invaluable. Ivanhoe (1990) makes a similar comparison, and also notes a distinction between a reflective model of cultivation attributed to Mengzi and a learning model attributed to Xunzi and Kongzi. 10. It is also noteworthy that, while Mengzi’s approach need not forsake structure, there is not much in the way of textual support for the view that Mengzi’s education is or needs to be as structured as what is depicted in the Analects or the Xunzi. Moreover, it is not clear that Mengzi wants to endorse such a particularly structured view. When Mengzi is seen teaching, he frequently seems to be doing so through a kind of therapeutic coaching or persuasion (e.g., when attempting to convince King Xuan to follow his compassion in 1A7, or in his debate with Yi Zhi about special love for closer relations in 3A5). Relative to Xunzi and Kongzi, Mengzi’s appeals to things like a structured, ritual curriculum are minimal, and this seems sufficient to warrant the depiction that I offer. 11. The Mozi is considered the core text of Mohist philosophy, another prominent school of thought in the Warring States period that was antagonistic toward Confucianism. Mozi, for who the school is named, and his followers often employ crafting metaphors in their rhetoric, possibly reflective of their origins among merchants and artisans. 12. For examples of use of extension in the Mozi, see 77/45/5–9. For examples of use in the Xunzi, see 3/11/4–12, 22/109/7–10, and 25/121/7–15. 13. The Book of Odes (Shijing, 詩經) was a roughly 30-piece collection of classical poetry of ancient origin. The Confucians often reference this text as a compendium of sagely wisdom and inspiration. 14. For example, Mengzi’s willingness to set ritual aside in 4A17 (7.17/38/26). 15. Subsequent blog posts by Schwitzgebel further support this reading. See, for example, “Lynching, the Milgram Experiments, and the Question of Whether Human Nature Is Good,” (2017) and “Imagining Yourself in Another’s Shoes vs. Extending Your Love” (2018). The latter offers support for the plausibility of Mengzi’s views. 16. For a recent critique of de Waal’s work used for nativist arguments, see Rex and Abrantes 2017. For recent publications on the limits of an empathy-oriented account of morality, see Bloom 2016. 17. The use of the term “module” is perhaps idiosyncratic in this project, sharing only the most general of features with the more common uses of the concept derived from Jerry Fodor (1983). This may be advantageous to Flanagan and Williams’s views, but may also require qualification to avoid confusion. 18. Flanagan and Williams (2010) do an ample job of elaborating these differences.

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19. Mengzi 7A15, 13.15/68/26–28: For humans, that which has not come from learning, but of which one is able, is the pure ability; that which has not come from deliberation. but of which one knows, is the pure wisdom. Among children carried in their arms, none lack the wisdom to love their parents. When they are grown, none lack the wisdom to respect their elder brothers. Affection for parents is ren; respect for elders is yi. There is nothing else but to have these [qualities] reach all under heaven. 20. A related concern, that I will not elaborate here, is whether this set of intuitions provides a sufficient palette to yield the full range of character traits that are typically depicted as virtues. 21. See also Jensen (2009), Ford (2013), and Hosokawa and Katsura (2018).

Chapter Eight

Developing Promoral Classrooms Adding Ritual to the Toolkit

The early Confucians regarded the rituals of the ancient sage kings as a sufficient core for moral education in their time. Contemporary humans and cultures, however, are worlds apart from their forebears, and it is not obvious that an ancient moral tradition steeped in ritual is appropriate for the modern age. Consequently, if ritual is to be employed as a resource for moral education, then the content of the ritual method will likely need to be adapted to current circumstances. Even if one takes ritual seriously as a tool and method for cultivation, though, there remains a question of how one might design moral education programs incorporating ritual. This final chapter examines impediments faced by a ritualized approach to moral education, how they might be overcome, and how a ritual method might be developed for modernity. Specifically, I argue that the Confucian notion of ritual can contribute to moral education by helping to structure and inculcate a shared climate of respect both in- and outside the classroom. WHY BOTHER WITH RITUAL? Advocacy for the inclusion of ritual as a tool for moral education might strike some as unnecessary: if programs currently on offer are capable of helping learners to develop prosocial outlooks and dispositions, then why bother with potentially arcane adjustments? There are at least two reasons to resist such skepticism. First, while it is true that some moral education pursuits have demonstrated (at least initial) success, 1 the same cannot be said for programs across the board. Consider character-education-based programs: while histor131

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ically the most popular form of moral education in the United States, character education has been criticized for decades due to (i) a lack of theoretical consistency or objectivity in structure (e.g., Leming 1993; Was, Woltz, and Drew 2006), (ii) an underdetermined philosophical account of what constitutes morality or “goodness” (e.g., Geren 2001; Kohn 1997), and (iii) insufficient data to support the claim that such programs reliably produce promoral attitudes and tendencies among participants (e.g., Davis 2003; Helwig, Turiel, and Nucci 1997). Point (iii) is further supported by a 2010 report from the Institute of Education Sciences, in which seven different U.S.-based social and character development programs were evaluated over a period of three years (2004–2007), only to find that there was no evidence that participants demonstrated any improvement in moral or prosocial development when compared with control groups (pp. XL–XLI). These challenges suggest that current programs may be unreliable at best and ineffectual at worst. The second reason to advocate for ritual as an educational tool is that even functional moral education programs can be improved and, as elaborated over the past several chapters, there is reason to think that ritual can do just that. Still, this does not clarify why ritual in particular is a worthwhile resource for moral education. One might even have reservations about ritual’s applicability given its apparent absence from much of modern life. Such concerns, however, are unwarranted: ritual is, in fact, pervasive even in modern, secular communities. To elaborate, ritual is an important part of culture, but this does not mean that it always features prominently within a community; that is, ritual may be present without being construed as a matter of critical attention or concern. Greetings are exemplary of this: most (if not all) cultures employ greetings to facilitate social interactions, but it is not always the case that a particular form of greeting is mandated. Oftentimes, it is sufficient just to employ some form of greeting to ensure that niceties are established and (basic) respect is displayed. So, it is not that (interest in) the ritual is wholly absent, but simply that the specifics of ritual are not emphasized. Similarly, ritual is not presently emphasized in the approaches to moral education predominant in U.S. public schools, but this does not mean that it is incompatible with the framework of the educational space. 2 As observed by Bernstein, Elvin, and Peters (1966), following industrialization, schools shifted toward a socioeconomic function (i.e., focusing on proficiency and occupational development) and away from a values- or community-building function. The latter function heavily involved ritualization of the educational space and subsequent internalization of the values shared within the school: ritual helps to structure the educational space in a way that facilitates the transmission of the aforementioned values and helps to build consensus within the community (pp. 435–436). 3 Rituals such as assemblies, uniform dress, and pledges all contribute to such ends by providing the community’s con-

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stituents with more or less invariant practices that embody and express the aforementioned values. When shifting educative focus away from such community-building and toward the proficiency-oriented, instrumentalist view, the utility of ritual is lessened, and its presence is reduced accordingly; given the current shift back toward the inculcation of moral values in schools, however, (re)introducing ritual as a resource for moral cultivation would seem to be both beneficial and unlikely to necessitate a radical overhaul of relevant programs. Moral education, after all, takes place within the space of the school day, and this context may already involve a fair degree of ritualization that, if coopted, could easily allow for a focus on ritual. Several recent projects take steps in this direction. Warnick (2010), as well as Quantz and his collaborators (1997, 2011), have studied the presence of ritual in the classroom and offered interpretations of its utility for improving extant pedagogy and advancing liberal ideology. Quantz’s work is of particular interest, as he suggests that, via ritual analysis, it is possible to find and illuminate the way in which material power is institutionalized into non-rational practices of our schools and lead us to replace them with new practices designed to celebrate democracy and justice. (2011, p. 19)

Following this goal, Quantz expands the scope of ritual study beyond “big” rituals, like assemblies and other schoolwide events, by adding a focus on “small” rituals, such as simple and mundane classroom procedures like handraising. These small rituals, Quantz suggests, are pervasive and the ones that do the most to help coordinate daily life in the school; consequently, these sorts of rituals are even more potentially influential for inculcating social values than the large-scale ones (2011, p. 3, 74). Through this constant influence, rituals help to cultivate a fully educative environment that involves rational and non-rational aspects of growth, as well as encourages engaged, meaningful interactions between students and instructors. Still, it is worth reiterating that ritual has been largely overlooked as a resource for pedagogical training. 4 In fairness, this claim is derived in no small part from a dearth of actual studies on classroom rituals: most writing on ritual in the classroom takes place at the theoretical level and does not examine whether or how rituals are applied as part of teachers’ pedagogies. Studies that do examine application of ritual are frequently small scale and anecdotal (e.g., Ensign 1997; McCadden 1997; Arslan and Saridede 2012); accordingly, while interesting, they lack rigor. As a result, generalizing based on them would be dubious. Moreover, and perhaps more relevant, these commentaries and studies often fail to specify what educators and education specialists take ritual to be; indeed, the term seems to be applied inconsistently. Usually, researchers either do not provide a definition of ritual in their discussion or attempt to

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draw on classical theories. Quantz, for example, states that he is appealing to something between the classical Durkheimian and Turnerian notions of ritual, but this is a rather general take on ritual theory. On the other hand, Gatens (2016) values rituals for their ability to provide structure and reduce anxiety but describes rituals reductively as “something we do all the time in the same way—like raising a hat in greeting and shaking hands when we meet people.” Gatens is no doubt correct that ritual practices are often formalized and repeated, but the concept of what a ritual is seems to be underdeveloped. Other education theorists, such as Gruenert and Whitaker (2015), expand the notion of ritual by describing it as “stylized expressions of our values and beliefs” (p. 33), which they distinguish from mere routines that exist solely for the purpose of order and efficiency. To make progress on the question of whether ritual can make a positive and distinctive contribution to moral education, then, it will help to establish a more consistent notion of what ritual is or involves and how it functions. To this end, I now turn to the Confucian ritual model. THE CONFUCIAN RITUAL MODEL AS STANDARD The Confucian ritual model, as it has been depicted in this project, resonates with some of the notions of ritual discussed earlier in this chapter. For example, similar to the view presented by Quantz, “ritual” refers not only to showier performances (e.g., sacrifices), but also to mundane practices that might be classified as etiquette (e.g., greetings and modes of address, general comportment in public, etc.). Additionally, and dissimilar from its apparent use by many contemporary theorists, Confucian ritual is also depicted in terms of social divisions that mark out distinctions such as right and wrong, noble and base, and superior and subordinate (e.g., Xunzi 10/43/1–3; 12/57/ 23–6). In so doing, Confucian ritual formally establishes certain relationships between members of the community and the responsibilities and behaviors concomitant to said relationships. Accordingly, and as first expressed in chapter 3, it is best to construe the Confucian notion of ritual as not only particular performances or actions, but as a collection of prescriptions. Specifically, Confucian rituals are prescriptions governing practices and standards that embody expressions of respect and related attitudes. 5 Understanding the Confucian construal of ritual helps to explicate its centrality to moral education. Recall that an overarching aim of Confucian moral cultivation is harmony (e.g., Analects 1.12), which is to be achieved at both the inter- and intrapersonal levels. Interpersonally, the structure provided by ritual enables a community of mutual respect and consideration. This is so despite the hierarchical nature of relationships in the Confucian tradition, with Xunzi stating that “there is to be respect for one and all”

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(Xunzi 13/65/18). Accordingly, even in hierarchical relationships all parties should maintain a relevant respectful attitude. For example, children owe parents filiality, while parents owe children loving kindness (Xunzi 27/127/ 15). Thus, ritual maintains interpersonal harmony by helping to outline, actualize, and maintain a community of respect. Additionally, and as I described in chapter 4, ritual facilitates intrapersonal harmony. In particular, it helps humans to understand, organize, cope with, and transform their (sometimes chaotic) dispositions (e.g., Xunzi 19/90/3–5; 23/113/11–13). This is perhaps most notable in Xunzi’s discussion of the importance of mourning rituals and sacrifices of remembrance. Xunzi writes: “Ordinarily in funeral rites, one gradually alters the corpse’s appearance and changes its ornamentation, moves it farther away, and over time returns to peaceful living” (Xunzi 19/94/3, compare with Hutton 2014, p. 209). Just as there is a desire to mourn for those one loves, so too is there a desire (or at least a practical need) to return to functional living. Ritual invites the practitioner to recognize a transition not only of life into death, but also between having a person actively in one’s life and not. Ideally, ritual helps the mourner not only to fully embrace and express grief, but also to reorient to and carry on in a world in which a loved one no longer lives. This is achieved by giving a means of mediating between one’s inner feelings and the external, social world: ritual helps to structure one’s thoughts and feelings about death and loss. As such, ritual provides individuals with a means of coping with themselves as well as others and, in so doing, allows them to reconcile and regulate their various states, achieving a kind of harmony. Understanding the functions of ritual is integral for grasping the Confucian ritual education model. According to Xunzi, ritual education is primarily a matter of reflective study and practice; it is a process akin to skill development, a feature that aligns with contemporary advocacy for competencybased learning in building effective curricula (e.g., Gervais 2016). Competency is achieved largely by a process of scaffolding, in which the learner’s proximate level of knowledge is built on by gradually introducing new, related material. The learner’s competency gradually improves, eventually achieving fluency with the material. In Confucianism, ritual provides a blueprint for what actions to perform in a given situation, giving normative guidance and a means of connecting appropriate actions with relevant feelings. Given these features, it should be possible to develop a curriculum of moral education by drawing on the Confucian ritual program. Before proceeding further, however, it must be reiterated that bringing Confucian elements into moral education need not entail the exact rituals that the Confucians prescribed, or the particular moral system of classical Confucianism. The first aspect is logistically impossible: there is not presently a complete and accurate record of the rituals that the Confucians prescribed. Even if such

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a record existed, it does not follow that the same rituals as the early Confucians should be utilized. It may be the case that contemporary cultural and social structures render the rituals of the ancient Zhou Dynasty insufficient for the purpose of meeting the psychosocial needs of modern humans. If so, then said rituals would certainly fail in their intended purpose. What can be considered is how it might be helpful to examine moral and general psychosocial development as involving a system of ritualized engagements (e.g., handshakes, funeral rites, etc.), and how such rituals can inform one’s understanding of others as well as oneself for the sake of harmonious interactions. To begin, it will help to draw on the aforementioned conception of ritual, derived from the Confucian tradition, as those prescriptions that guide and structure the performances and social divisions that embody and express respect and related attitudes. In so doing, a general notion of what ritual is (and, in turn, what it does) can be abstracted and applied across multiple social contexts. Consider, for example, the common practice in many parts of the United States of removing one’s headwear while seated at dinner. This is a practice guided by a particular social prescription: removing one’s headwear in this situation conveys respect to one’s host and others at the table. The meaning of the hat removal is comparable to Confucius’s/Kongzi’s bowing before ascending the stairs in Analects 9.3: in both cases, the individual is signaling, via a particular performance, respect for others. It need not be the case, however, that the individual at the dinner table subscribe to a Confucian viewpoint regarding ritual, let alone the entirety of the Confucian moral project. Rather, the individual need only be said to be adhering to the ritual of conveying respect by removing his or her hat at the meal. This understanding of ritual is based on, and congenial with, the Confucian tradition, but it is also completely separable. As such, discussions of ritual via Confucianism that are provided in this chapter should be looked on not as endorsements of the Confucian program wholesale, but as convenient and effective means of elaborating on the viability and applicability of a ritual program. Second, what is theorized and what is practiced can often diverge; the Confucian program is no exception to this. Despite a long textual tradition emphasizing critical and reflective thinking by students, many modern understandings of Confucian education depict the approach as highly authoritarian and unreflective. 6 When speaking of a “traditional Confucian education,” it may conjure images of students spending long hours memorizing texts with a single instructor’s explanation or interpretation of said texts. Such a program emphasizes rote learning over reflection. While text memorization and careful instruction were necessary parts of the traditional Confucian curriculum, they were certainly not the entirety of what was espoused by the texts. 7 Despite this, the “Confucian tradition” in practice has in some ways deviated from the classical ideals. The focus of this project is on ritual

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education as derived from pre-Qin Confucian theory rather than the practice as it has transformed over the course of history. There are other ways to abstract the relevant notion of ritual from its Confucian origin, including dropping the aspect of ritual as prescribing social divisions. The Confucians seem to regard such an aspect as necessary, since they treat almost all relationships as hierarchical in nature and because the relationships between people form the fundamental basis of society. What is more, proper enactment of ritual on this view often entails an awareness of one’s relational standing with regard to others, and thus any ritual performance must be sensitive to social status (e.g., elder-younger, superior-subordinate, noble-base, etc.). It is not clear, however, that such assumptions must (or should) be made regarding ritual in non-Confucian contexts. Consider greeting rituals: although some cultures require that one’s performance of a greeting ritual be considerate of factors such as relative social status, such as the wai in Thailand, it is not apparent that such sensitivity is required for the performance of a handshake in the United States. Social divisions might still come into play for some exercises of ritual, but it may not be a necessary feature of ritual across the board. For the purposes of integration, this aspect can be dropped. It will be helpful to uncouple this notion of ritual from some of the other theoretical baggage that the Confucians may have attached to it as well. According to the Confucians, the rituals are historical artifacts and tools, practices established by the sage kings to meet particular human needs and harmoniously coordinate action. Presumably, since the rituals were designed to sate psychosocial and material needs, one could (to varying degrees) trace through history the origin of a particular ritual, bound up with which would be its initial intended purpose. Consider Mengzi’s account of the origin of the practice of burying one’s parents: Presumably, in bygone times there were those who did not inter their parents. When their parents died, they lifted them up and tossed them into ravines. Some days later, they passed by and saw foxes and other scavengers eating the corpses; flies and gnats sucking at their kin. Their brows broke out in sweat; they turned away, unable to look. This sweat was not a show for others. [The feeling] came from the center of their hearts to their faces and eyes. They went home and returned with baskets of dirt and spades to cover the bodies. If covering the bodies was truly right, then the filial child and person of ren, by interring [deceased] parents, surely is following the Way! (Mengzi 3A5, 5.5/ 30/22–25, compare with Van Norden 2008, p. 68)

The burial rites originated for two reasons. First, they satisfied personal psychological needs (compassion and shame). Second, they satisfied interpersonal demands that arose from the nature of the parent-child relationship.

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Both sorts of needs are common among humans and, as such, easily accessible from personal experience. Again, for the purposes of integration it is unnecessary to speculate on whether rituals possess traceable genealogies that can be accessed either directly or by historical record. All that is necessary is that rituals provide accessible, comprehensible, and memorable prescriptions for practitioners so that they may easily integrate into personal experience. This is because humans frequently employ recollection of past events to inform current and future action, and rituals help to structure and codify these events and actions. Such an attitude appears at various points in the Analects, as Kongzi exhorts his students to reflect on either personal experience or documented cases of morally laudable behavior to both determine appropriate action and understand why such action would be appropriate (e.g., behavior at court and at home, how to treat to a mourner, how to sit and dress at various events, etc.). The implication is that such experiences provide a basis for an important part of moral development, namely learning specific behaviors and drawing on feelings related to (and that were part of) past experiences to develop promoral dispositions (e.g., sympathy). These features alone make ritual an attractive tool. It is also useful to further restrict the scope of prescriptions covered by ritual. On the Confucian account, rituals encompass prescriptions for those performances that convey respect and related attitudes. As noted in chapter 6, however, such an account seems to extend to a number of practices, including displays of etiquette (e.g., keeping one’s elbows off of the table or not wearing hats indoors). These practices exemplify good upbringing and might be thought of as resources for conveying a respectful, or at least civil, demeanor. The Confucians would likely be content to include such practices under the banner of ritual, but this does little to distinguish ritual as a resource for moral education in its own right. To this end, it will help to focus the account of ritual exclusively on those prescriptions that entail (as an ideal) the exercise of an affective component: ritual is supposed to prescribe not only behavior, but also thought and feeling. When one is performing the burial rites for a parent, one is supposed to be experiencing feelings of loss and remembrance; when one is keeping one’s elbows off of the table, it is supposed to be a show of respect for the host and other diners, but etiquette is strictly a means of expression and does not itself require that one hold some affective state. My account of ritual can be further distinguished by explicating a characteristic of ritual that is compatible with the Confucian tradition. Specifically, there are constraints on ritual’s mutability: rituals are flexible in nature, since circumstances may prohibit fulfilling the prescription in its ideal form, but there are limits on how far one can adjust the ritual without losing it. For example, burial rites might prescribe wrapping a body in linen and interring

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it in multiple wooden coffins. In the absence of sufficient resources or tools, however, certain allowances might be made: the body might be wrapped in silk if linen is unavailable, and a single coffin might be used if wood is scarce. What is important is that one approximates the ritual as best as one can, since what is at stake for this ritual is the proper conveyance of respect and feelings of grief. Knowing what the ritual is intended to express helps one to alter the ritual to best suit both psychosocial needs and practical considerations. It does not permit one to simply do away with the ritual, but it does constrain how one can modify it. Finally, it is noteworthy that ritual prescriptions are communal rather than individualistic (i.e., wholly unique to one particular person). This constraint is consistent with the Confucian account, but it helps to distinguish my account of ritual from the idea of “personal” or “psychological” rituals (i.e., behavior based on personal compulsions). The communal aspect might seem obvious, but it is important to note since a major function of ritual is to facilitate promoral interactions between members of a community. Ritual is inherently expressive, but there are many ways to express oneself, some of which are idiosyncratic. 8 Consider mode of dress: in some communities, it is considered appropriate to dress in a certain fashion when at work for the purpose of promoting camaraderie and collegiality among coworkers; when not at work, one might dress as one pleases, and one might adopt a peculiar style to emphasize one’s uniqueness. In adopting one’s own style, one might break from communally shared understandings of dress and what they might convey. In such cases, one might not dress or otherwise behave inappropriately, but one is still behaving idiosyncratically. This sort of stylization stands in contrast to the types of rituals targeted in this project which, as sociocultural tools, must be shareable between members of a community both during instruction and beyond. HOW TO BUILD RITUALIZED MORAL CURRICULA FOR THE MODERN AGE Having made all of these points, it is now time to address how ritual like that of the Confucians can be incorporated into contemporary moral education programs. While it is encouraging to find that others have previously advocated introducing or emphasizing ritual in schools, since this implies that the integration of ritual into moral education practices is feasible, and perhaps even desirable, extant research does not answer the question of how to institutionalize and deploy ritual. Necessarily, answering this question fully and effectively will require additional studies. Ideally, future research on classroom ritualization should: (a) establish a common understanding of ritual, as well as how to identify instances of it; (b) formalize a methodology for data

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collection, preferably beyond anecdotal reports; and (c) encourage collaboration among a more diverse collection and larger number of classrooms and institutions. I can address point (a) here, having provided a working definition of ritual, namely “the prescriptions for those practices and standards in a community that embody (i.e., give form to) expressions of respect and related dispositions.” For the time being, however, I am unable to speak to points (b) or (c), lacking both the expertise for experimental design and the resources to coordinate large-scale research. Nonetheless, there is good reason to pursue such investigations. 9 If such prescriptions do exist in the context of the school, then identifying even individual prescriptions would help to locate broader patterns of ritual in classroom settings, as well as the diversity of rituals involved and how or whether said diversity relates to other features of the classroom (e.g., student demographics, class size, subject matter, etc.). These data would provide a more complete look at how ritual is or is not being employed in classrooms and, consequently, would help to determine how to further institutionalize and deploy ritual for moral education. Though I cannot presently engage in an empirical project, it is possible to work toward the important task of selecting or designing the rituals for moral education. To begin, I suggest that designing wholly new rituals is likely to be unnecessary and ineffective. It is likely to be unnecessary because, while it is possible to design new rituals for moral education, there is no need to do so when there are extant practices that could be reframed as educational rituals. This seems to be the line of thinking adopted by Gruenert and Whitaker (2015), who note the ability to transform mere conventions into meaningful, value-laden rituals that help to bond the school community together. Consider Quantz’s example of raising a hand to request an opportunity to speak in a classroom setting: while this is a common convention, it can also be an important ritual for establishing a dynamic of respectful interactions between teachers and students in the space of the school. If this proves to be an effective means of encouraging respect and, in turn, prosocial, promoral behavior in general, then it could be said that such an existing convention has been successfully recruited into the moral education process as a ritual. Designing wholly new rituals may also be ineffective because, presumably, it is desirable that the rituals utilized in the classroom be continuous with more general social practices, as such continuity would facilitate the transferability of moral education beyond the school. Since almost all cultures already possess a variety of rituals, at least some of which fit the definition to which I have been appealing, it will be helpful to use or emphasize the relevant rituals consistently rather than generate a distinct ritual language for contexts that share sociomoral values. It makes little sense, for example, to develop a completely novel means of apologizing for stepping on someone’s foot that would be used exclusively in the space of the school;

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there are extant rituals that can be coopted and that would be more continuous with the general social landscape. Again, the issue is not that rituals do not exist in cultures or communities, but that they may not be emphasized for their moral value. By bringing such rituals to the forefront, moral education programs can be augmented with additional resources for inculcating promoral dispositions in students that will also be applicable throughout the general community. It might be necessary to slightly modify the rituals for the sake of making them more salient within the program, but generating all new rituals seems both unnecessary and potentially counterproductive. I do not, of course, mean to imply that there cannot or should not be any innovation with regard to extant ritual; indeed, any programmatic development will involve at least some degree of innovation. Rather, what I am suggesting is the appropriation of extant rituals and practices, incorporating them into a more ritualized approach to moral education. This observation has influenced proposals for how to improve extant school culture, one of the most recent examples being the work of Redding and Corbett (2018), who note that identifying, understanding, and engaging extant rituals in the school are all integral procedures for shifting the overall school culture to promote social and academic growth for constituents. How, then, should the extant rituals be selected? I suggest first returning to the specific notion of ritual with which I am operating: the prescriptions for those practices and standards in a community that embody expressions of respect and related dispositions. Keeping this in mind will help to delineate the rituals that are relevant to moral education from those that are not (e.g., a practice of turning lights on and off due to compulsion). Using this account of ritual as a metric, and via collaboration with experts in other fields (e.g., psychology, sociology, and anthropology), provides a starting point for identifying the rituals, or kinds of rituals, with which to populate moral education programs. Additionally, as the rituals for moral education are chosen and established, it is important to keep in mind that the process of ritualization is not merely a matter of habituating behaviors, but also cultivating understanding and valuation of certain precepts and ideals. This means that there must be a (meta-)cognitive component of reflection involved in ritual education, as mundane practices are first transformed into morally laden rituals, after which learners, with guidance, can begin to grasp the distinction between a practice as mere routine and meaningful ritual. In ritualizing a practice, the architects of moral education programs must conceptualize and infuse the relevant value(s) or precept(s) into the practice. In subsequent performance of a practice, learner-practitioners should be encouraged to not merely adopt and maintain said practice, but also reflect on its meaningfulness, including attitudinal content and socio-ethical importance. 10 In so doing, the so-called rational and non-rational are bridged, helping learners develop a more com-

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plete moral fluency by binding together performance, affect, and understanding with a prosocial, promoral orientation. One method of moving toward fluency in this way is to frame teachable moral moments, and the accompanying rituals, in terms of a three-point promotion of awareness, education, and intervention. The first point, awareness, involves making learners aware of the moral implications of their actions and the relevant context (e.g., if Tommy belittles Suzy, then Tommy’s attention needs to be drawn to the fact that his behavior is morally problematic). The next point is to educate learners, that is, to elaborate not only that a given behavior has a moral valence, but the nature of that moral valence and its broader implications (e.g., not only is belittling Suzy wrong, but it constitutes a general breach of respect and may reflect additional morally problematic stances, such as sexism). The final point is intervention, in which learners are given guidance in the form of practices and prescriptions geared at moral development (e.g., a protocol of hearing others out before insulting them, counting to ten before speaking when angry, seeking help from a mediator, etc.). These are good first steps toward identifying and establishing rituals for integration, but additional filters are still necessary. For example, although I am deriving my account of ritual from the Confucian notion, I also need to distance the account from elements of the very same tradition. This is, in part, due to the fact that the Confucian tradition includes a number of sociomoral precepts that may not be desirable. For example, Confucianism, or at least the cultures with which it has been associated, have garnered attention at various times for problematically sexist or xenophobic leanings. 11 This concern extends to rituals from any culture or belief set: they may espouse, reflect, or represent values or attitudes that are incompatible as parts of idealized moral education programs. It is necessary, therefore, to examine the rituals under consideration based on the values and dispositions that one hopes to inculcate in a given moral education program. This is a philosophically interesting issue, especially given ritual’s relationship with respect as a tool for both inculcation and expression. Thus far, I have spoken of respect in rather general terms; in point of fact, however, respect admits of a plurality of notions. 12 Consider the distinction between the respect one might hold for a talented artist and a respect for human rights: the first case might be conceived in terms of esteem or admiration, as one is impressed by the artist’s performance or product; the second case involves a slightly different attitude, what might be thought of as approbation, as one regards human rights as a policy by which one should abide. Recall that different kinds of respect are also present within the Confucian tradition from which I have abstracted my notion of ritual. Again, and drawing on Chan (2006), respect in Confucianism (at base) involves acknowledging, valuing, and responding accordingly to both a person’s worth and the worth of that

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person’s projects. How that respect is conveyed, and its contents, vary depending on features of one’s relationship to others (e.g., respect is shown to a parent as filiality, but respect is shown to a sibling as fraternity). Thus, even within a tradition, respect may admit of a plurality of forms. On the one hand, this observation about respect is innocuous. That there are varying forms of respect does not prevent stable, even harmonious communities. 13 In fact, different forms of respect may even be conducive to such harmony: respect for a superior or instructor simply is different from the respect that one shows to a colleague or peer, and maintaining certain boundaries as part of demonstrating this respect contributes to maintaining a functional space of practice (be it a classroom, office, or even a sporting event). A pluralism about respect, then, is arguably healthy and even necessary, and the rituals employed in moral education should accommodate this pluralism. On the other hand, it is important to note that certain notions of respect might not be conducive to a system of moral education. For example, in the United States, moral frameworks are typically built around philosophically liberal ideals such as democracy, fairness, and equity, but not all varieties of respect, or modes of expressing it, are conducive to such frameworks. In Confucianism, the sometimes rigid, hierarchical system of divisions inherent in the notion of ritual utilized by Xunzi might not be compatible with liberal, democratic ideals. 14 A similar example from Western culture is the notion of chivalry, and we can consider this alongside notions of respect derived from religious laws and customs (e.g., halakha, sharia, catechism, etc.). It is not obvious that these notions of respect, and their accompanying rituals, would (or could) fit within the parameters of a liberal moral education program. This applies not only to notions of respect, but also to the promoral values to which said notions attach (e.g., filiality, equity, etc.). Accordingly, rituals will need to be selected against a backdrop of the predetermined values that are conducive to a particular moral framework. Such an effort may require a constrained value pluralism. Developing the constraints for such pluralism, as well as examining its applications and ramifications, are both well beyond the bounds of this project but, given the importance of such pursuits, they should remain additional matters for investigation in future research on ritual’s utility for moral education. Despite the uncertainties posed by these matters, I do not think that this is reason to shrink away from utilizing ritual as a tool for moral education, especially considering that (in principle) there do not appear to be any negatives associated with this pursuit. Furthermore, and as I have argued throughout this book, there is good reason to think that ritual can perform a number of functions that make it an ideal resource for helping learners to cultivate promoral dispositions. In fact, it is arguable that there is at least as much reason to think that ritual can benefit moral education programs as other instructional tools for general education. The specifics of how to employ

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ritual remain incomplete, but we should be optimistic about ritual’s ability to inculcate morality and continue exploring this possibility. NOTES 1. See chapter 1 for examples. 2. Schools with religious leanings may incorporate rituals into their curricula, but these are often religious rituals and may not be applicable outside the context of a particular denomination. Schools outside the United States warrant further study. 3. Compare with John Dewey’s (1909) discussion of inculcating pro-democratic perspectives. 4. This is not to suggest that educational theorists have no interest in at least concepts/ values related to ritual (e.g., as in the case of literature on classroom management). See, for example, Cornbleth (1986) on teacher education reform, Bushnell (1997) on parental involvement, and Van Voorhis (2004) on homework. 5. I encourage readers to review the robust account of respect discussed in chapter 3, especially insofar as respect is treated as a foundation or form of dispositions like kindness, generosity, and more general caring attitudes. 6. In the past, Hansen (1992) has described Confucianism as “unreflective traditionalism” (p. 340). More recently, Fraser (2012), comparing knowledge acquisition in Xunzi and Zhuangzi, raises concerns of the rigidity of Xunzi’s system in particular (p. 271). Similar worries appear in Schwitzgebel’s (2007) account of the Xunzian educational program (p. 154), although Schwitzgebel does not attribute such rigidity to Mengzi’s account of learning. 7. Tan (2015) provides an excellent overview of Confucian education and how it has been misconstrued. 8. My use of the term “idiosyncratic” should be understood here as focusing on the feature of distinguishing, individuating, or setting one’s self apart from the rest of a population. This would make such practices more akin to personal preferences than rituals in the sense that I am using the term. 9. I understand that this will come as a disappointment to some readers, especially those who were hoping for something more like a manual or playbook for ritual education. As I clearly state at the outset of the book, however, my aim is specifically focused on the application of the Confucian ritual model for moral education, appealing to a Vygotskyan developmental theory as a way of further fleshing out the basics of such a program. This, I think, is sufficient as a foundation, or theory, from which to begin the applied project of rolling out or deploying actual curricula. What would be disingenuous, in my view, is for a philosopher, who is not well trained in experimental design and lacking sufficient data, to make dubious claims about what schools should be doing in detail based on generalities; effective pedagogical strategies depend on a multitude of context-specific factors and often need to be tailored to particular schools, even particular classrooms. Again, I understand the desire for a concrete list of pedagogical proposals; I am not, however, in a position to provide such proposals as I lack the relevant expertise. While this may be frustrating for some readers, it is nevertheless important to recognize the value of expertise when it comes to designing and conducting empirical research. 10. Compare with Xunzi’s remarks on the importance of examining ritual in cultivating a critical mind (19/92/14–17). 11. For examples of contemporary discussions of these issues, and whether these features are essential to Confucianism, see Li (2000), Van Norden (2007), and Zhang (2015). Additionally, see Curzer 2012 for an extended discussion of how some rituals may be coopted for morally unsavory ends, including the perpetuation of harmful practices and policies and, consequently, inhibit rather than promote moral growth. 12. For an overview of several recent accounts of taxa of respect, see Dillon (2014). 13. Even varying moral systems need not pose opposition, provided they fall within certain parameters.

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14. Again, compare with the concerns raised by Bernstein, Peters, and Elvin (1996) regarding stratified school communities.

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Index

Analects. See Kongzi apprentice learning model, 16–17 approbation, 67–68, 72 artifice. See wei.

empathy, 13–14, 28, 29, 86, 95, 96, 110, 122 etiquette, 77–78, 101–103; affect, 102, 111n10; expressive function, 102, 111n10; manners, 101–102, 111n9; prescriptive function, 101; respect, 101, 102, 103 extension, 114–115, 118

benevolence. See ren. character education, 6n1, 131–132; critiques of, 131–132 compassion. See ren. Confucian relationships, 43–44, 47–48, 89n9, 117, 129n6, 137–138 Confucius. See Kongzi conventional-moral distinction, 9, 12, 14, 34, 78 cultural diversity. See learner diversity.

fading, 21 filiality. See xiao.

desire, 66–68, 71 developmental delay, 11 developmental windows, 11; critiques of, 11–12 Dewey, John, 4 discourse, 92–94; admonishment, 92; affective, 33–34, 34–36; explanatory, 32–33, 34, 34–35; moral, 33–34, 35, 36, 93; patterns, 35–36, 92–93; perspective sharing, 92; and socialization, 33–34, 92, 93 dispositions. See qing.

games, 20, 96–101; affect, 99–100; contingency, 98–100, 111n3, 111n4; gamification, 97–98; lusory, 99–100, 110n2; moral content, 97, 98; rules, 96–97, 98; simulations, 98; skillbuilding, 98; Suits, Bernard, 96–97, 111n3 gesture, 85 group learning, 21–22 guilt, 13–14 habituation, 60, 69, 71, 74, 75n2 Han Feizi, 111n12; critique of Confucian ethics, 104, 111n15 harmony, 134–135, 143; intrapersonal, 68, 71–72, 74–75, 75n4, 135 human nature. See xing. humaneness. See ren.

159

160

Index

instructor. See role modelling. junzi , 46, 71, 72, 73 ke. See approbation. Kohlberg, Lawrence, 3–5, 121; criticisms of, 4 Kongzi: moral psychology, 88n1, 114, 119, 125, 128n1; ritual theory, 42–43, 44–45, 46, 48, 50, 53, 57n5, 57n12 laws. See legal measures. learner diversity, 21–22, 61–62 legal measures: Confucian perceptions of, 48, 49–51, 51–52, 58n17, 58n18, 58n19 li. See ritual linguistic competence, 26, 28–29, 31, 33, 37, 38n3, 39n6, 39n13, 88n7; and morality, 26–29, 30–31, 34–37, 39n6 Mengzi: moral psychology, 114–115, 116, 123, 128n2, 129n8, 129n18, 130n19; pedagogy, 114–115, 117, 121, 122–124, 127–128, 129n7, 129n10; reflection, 116, 118, 119–120, 122, 124, 129n5; ritual theory, 44, 46, 49, 50, 53, 54, 129n14, 137–138; sprouts analogy, 114, 115, 118, 123, 124, 128n3, 128n4 Mengzi. See Mengzi Montessori method, 10, 22n4 moral affect, 12, 13–14, 17, 27, 44; conditioning of, 12–13, 68, 71, 80–81, 87, 94–95, 110; socialization of, 27, 33, 35–36, 86–87, 105 moral competence : accounts of, 8, 11, 27, 28–29, 30–31, 31, 33, 37, 39n10, 39n17, 77–78, 80, 85–88 moral education programs: Aristotelian, 3, 103; empirical analysis, 2, 6n2, 8, 131–132, 144n1; interventions, 142; peer mediation, 2; rationalism, 3–5, 133; United States, 1–2, 6n1, 6n2, 131, 132–133, 143; Western history of, 3–4, 6n3 moral emotion. See moral affect. moral faculty nativism. See moral nativism, weak. moral imagination, 29–30, 82–83, 88n5, 88n6; pretense, 83, 88n4

moral judgement, 3, 4, 9, 14, 15, 67–68, 123; training of, 12–13, 68, 72, 80–81, 87–88, 105, 125–126; versus practical reasoning, 12 moral modularity, 123–124, 129n17, 129n18 moral motivation, 26–27, 67–68, 76n9 moral nativism : applications, 9–10; critiques of, 10–11, 12, 13–14, 14–16, 22n5, 121, 129n16; motivations for, 8, 9, 23n7; strong, 10; thesis, 8; weak, 11, 15, 23n7 moral reasoning. See moral judgement. more knowledgeable other (MKO), 18–19, 31, 78, 80 Mozi, 118, 129n11, 129n12 Mozi. See Mozi. Odes, 119, 120, 129n13 paradigm scenarios, 80, 88n2, 94–95 parenting, 32–36, 39n12, 122–123; discourse, 33–34, 34–35, 39n12; preverbal, 34, 36 pedagogy: active, 78–79, 95; authoritarian, 115, 120–121, 125; authoritative, 79, 119, 126; competency-based curriculum, 135; concept-based curriculum, 126–127; differentiation, 108, 128; directive, 21, 36, 120, 124–125; empirical analysis, 121–124, 126–127, 128, 130n20; guided practice, 80, 126; learner-centric, 27; modeling, 36, 87, 141–142; opportunity education, 33–34, 142; passive, 95; self-discovery, 9–10, 115, 118, 120, 120–121, 122; structured, 119, 120, 122–123, 124–125, 126, 126–127 Piaget, Jean, 3, 19, 62; criticisms, 62 practice model, 104–106, 109, 112n22; method-content distinction, 107–108; obsolescence, 108 punishment. See legal measures. qi, 57n6 qing, 64, 65, 71–72, 115–116 reciprocal altruism, 8–9 rectifying names, 50

Index ren , 58n24, 81, 88n8 renxing. See human nature. respect, 53–56, 78, 100, 101, 102, 103, 132, 134–135, 136, 140, 142–143, 144n5, 144n12; Confucian notion, 53–55, 58n21, 58n23, 134–135 righteousness. See yi. ritual: Confucian, 42–45, 45–49, 50–52, 52, 57n1, 57n11, 112n17; contemporary, 132–134; definition, 41, 52–53, 56–57, 93, 101, 134, 136, 140; designing, 140–141; dispositional, 44; empirical studies, 132–134, 141, 144n4; expressive function, 42, 44, 46, 52–53, 55–56, 56, 78, 80–81, 83, 86, 93, 101, 105, 132–133, 133–134, 135, 136, 139, 140; flexibility, 48–49, 52, 57n12, 102–103, 112n21, 138–139; funerals and mourning, 55–56, 71, 81–82, 135, 137–138, 138–139; language analogy, 65–66, 68–69, 76n10, 80–81, 86, 88n7; norm of performance, 43, 45–46, 80; political function, 44–45, 47, 49; prescriptive, 43, 45–48, 134, 138–139; respect, 52–53, 54–56, 58n21, 58n23, 58n24, 100, 132, 134–135, 136, 140, 142–143, 144n5, 144n12; ritualization, 140–141, 141–142; roles and divisions, 43–44, 47–48, 54–55, 134, 136–137; in schools, 132–134, 140–143, 144n2, 144n3, 145n14; selecting, 141–142; symbolism. See ritual, expressive function.; versus discourse, 93–94; versus etiquette, 102–103, 111n7; versus games, 98–100, 111n5, 111n6; versus legal measures, 50–51, 51–52; versus stories, 95, 96, 110n1; Western conceptions of, 6n4, 41–42, 44, 57n2, 57n3, 57n8 ritual cultivation model: abstraction of, 76n13, 105–106, 108–109, 135–139, 142–143, 144n11; application of, 74–75, 139–143, 144n7, 144n9; attitude expression, 68, 68–69, 71–73, 77–78, 80–82, 83, 84, 86–88, 135, 136, 138, 139, 141; conditioning, 60, 68, 69–70, 71–72, 74, 76n12, 79, 80–81, 86–88, 105, 127, 135, 138; critical thinking, 86–88, 119, 125–126; empirical support

161

for, 74, 85–88, 126–127, 128, 130n20, 135; nonnativism, 66, 66–67, 71; norm acquisition, 68, 71, 72–73, 77–78, 80–81, 84, 127, 135, 138, 142; perspective-taking, 84, 85; practice, 69–71, 76n8, 76n12, 79, 80, 81–82, 83, 93, 95, 105, 106–107, 109, 135; reflection, 70–71, 76n11, 80, 82–83, 105, 135, 144n10; social, 66, 79–80, 81, 86–87, 126–127, 134, 139, 144n8; sympathy, 68, 80–81, 84, 86, 87–88; theory-practice distinction, 136–137; tool use, 66, 68, 73, 79, 81, 82–83, 87, 91–92, 103, 105–106, 132, 137; transformative, 51, 66, 71–73, 74, 80–81, 105, 135 role modelling, 78–80, 87, 103, 106–107, 112n18; emulation problem, 104, 106, 111n13, 111n14 sacred-profane distinction, 41–42, 43 sage kings, 66, 72, 73 scaffolding, 18, 27, 28, 135 si. See ritual cultivation model, reflection. skill learning, 18–19, 20–21, 23n10, 27, 28, 36, 80, 126–127, 135 social intuitionism, 4, 123–124, 130n20 social learning, 12, 22n1, 61–62; critiques of, 12; empirical support for, 12, 13, 14 sociocultural tools: general account, 17, 18, 19, 30, 36–37; educative function, 62–63, 87 socialization theory, 32, 38, 39n12; attachment, 34 stories, 94–96; affect conditioning, 94–95; cultural artifacts, 94, 95; moral education, 94–95, 95–96; storytelling, 94 sympathy, 13–14, 31–32, 122, 138 teacher. See role modelling. transformative learning, 17–18, 62, 63–64, 66, 68, 71–73, 105 tui. See extension. virtue, 3, 5, 6n3, 39n9, 83, 103–108, 109, 114–115, 124, 130n20 Vygotsky, Lev: appeal to language, 17–18, 25–26, 81; concepts, 62; imitation,

162

Index

39n11; inner speech, 18, 26, 68, 81; internalization, 17–19, 31–32, 63–64; personality, 27, 38n2; support for, 20–22; theory of psychosocial development, 17–19, 38n2, 61–64, 66, 74–75, 75n3, 77, 78, 80 Vygotskyan moral development: Tappan’s account, 25–26, 27, 30–31, 78, 80–81; challenges, 27–31, 77; prospective amendments, 31–32, 36–37, 74–75 wei, 64, 65, 66, 72, 115–116 Williams, Bernard: critique of virtue ethics, 104 xi. See ritual cultivation model, practice. xiao , 54–55, 88n8, 102, 119–120 xin , 44, 64, 67 xing , 57n9, 64–65, 66, 75n5, 114, 115–116 Xunzi: architectural analogy, 73–74, 118, 119; moral psychology, 59–61, 64–68,

71–74, 75n1, 75n3, 75n6, 75n7, 115–116, 116, 123–124; pedagogy, 115–116, 117, 122–123, 124–128, 129n12, 135, 144n6, 144n10; reflection, 70–71, 116, 117, 118, 119, 122–123, 124, 125–126, 129n5, 129n9; ritual theory, 43, 46, 47, 47–48, 48, 50, 51, 53, 54–55, 57n13, 58n26, 59–61, 66, 72, 75n1, 75n3, 75n7, 135; theory of moral development. See Xunzi, moral psychology Xunzi. See Xunzi. yi , 57n14 yu. See desire. zhengming. See rectifying names. zone of proximal development (ZPD), 18–19, 23n10, 31, 36

About the Author

Colin J. Lewis, Ph.D., is Instructor of Philosophy and Director of the Asian Studies Minor at the University of Colorado, Colorado Springs. His areas of specialization include Chinese and comparative philosophy, ethics with a focus on moral psychology, and philosophy of education. Much of Dr. Lewis’s work applies classical Chinese thought to perennial and contemporary philosophical issues. In addition to his research on ritual and moral development, some of his other projects address theories of desire and motivation, political action and revolution, and the moral status of anger. He has notable publications in Asian Philosophy, Dao, and Educational Philosophy and Theory.

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