Dao DOI 10.1007/s11712-016-9510-1

The Future of Confucian Politics in East Asia David Elstein 1

# Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016

From Anglophone writings, one could understandably form the impression that Confucian political thought and modern democracy are uneasy bedfellows, if not outright antagonists. The majority of what one finds in English-language scholarship highlights the meritocratic elements of Confucian political thought ( BAI Tongdong, Daniel Bell, Joseph Chan) or castigates liberalism for being founded on an untenable notion of an atomistic self, which should be supplanted by the relational and familial self of Confucianism ( Roger Ames, FAN Ruiping, Henry Rosemont). In this narrative, this mistaken notion of self is the foundation of excessive appeals to rights and the litigious nature of Western ( mainly American) society. Rampant individualism should be replaced by Confucian harmony. The twin themes of communitarianism and meritocracy dominate the Anglophone literature on Confucian politics, the occasional exception notwithstanding (such as Stephen Angle). KIM Sungmoon’s new book is another exception, challenging both these positions while upholding the relevance of Confucianism to East Asian political practice. What he argues for, however, is a Confucian democracy that preserves Confucian social values along with liberal democratic institutions. The book is an attempt to defend this kind of Confucian democracy as not just possible, but necessary for successful democratic practice in East Asia. In the course of doing so, he makes telling criticisms of communitarian and meritocratic Confucian political theories, offering a welcome corrective to the impression one might easily get from Anglophone scholarship, that Confucianism steadfastly opposes not just liberal philosophy but liberal politics. Yet Kim has a distinctive vision; the “Confucianism” in his Confucian democracy is not merely lip service, but is crucial and substantive. Kim’s criticisms of Confucian communitarians and meritocrats are cogent and serious, despite a few instances of somewhat loose interpretation. His constructive program faces a number of difficulties. His attempt to work out a Confucian notion of public reason is one such area. It is not clear in what sense this is a kind of reason, or

* David Elstein [email protected]

1

Department of Philosophy, SUNY New Paltz, 1 Hawk Drive, New Paltz, NY 12561, USA

David Elstein

what in practice it actually would do to provide some guidelines for public political discourse. Like many attempts to develop a practical Confucian political theory in a contemporary society, the questions of what “Confucianism” and “Confucian culture” mean loom large. To his credit, Kim deals with them more than most other scholars do, but questions still remain. His work also manifests the asymmetry typical of Englishlanguage works on Chinese philosophy: he engages with Western scholarship much more than Chinese. I feel it is a little petty of me to bring this up considering his significant use of Korean sources, but I will point out areas where recent Confucian scholarship could help him avoid reinventing the wheel. Many of his ideas were anticipated by New Confucians and greater use of them could help bolster his case. Kim takes issue with three specific claims that characterize most Anglophone and some East Asian discussion of Confucian politics, sometimes implicitly more than explicitly. He refers to these as the particularism, communitarianism, and meritocracy theses. Briefly stated, the particularism thesis is the claim that Confucian democracy is a valid alternative to Western liberalism and is the only form of democracy that is suitable for the specific context of East Asia. The communitarian thesis states that Western democracy is founded on rights-based individualism, which is incompatible with the communitarian character of the self and role-based ethics in Confucian thought. Finally, the meritocracy thesis holds that due to inadequate moral and intellectual cultivation of the general public, representative democracy fails at making responsible, long-term decisions in the best interests of the electorate as well as others affected by them (5–6).1 The book aims to refute these theses. At the same time, Kim agrees that Confucian democracy is required by the different cultural contexts of East Asia. What he argues for, however, is a Confucian democracy that preserves Confucian social values along with mainly familiar liberal democratic institutions. Kim’s criticisms of the more radical versions of Confucian communitarianism and meritocracy are for the most part very strong. He points out, correctly I believe, that the contrast communitarians draw between the Confucian social self and the atomistic individual is a false dichotomy. When liberals talk of the autonomous self, they do not mean that a person can or does exist in isolation from a community: liberalism is not based on atomistic individualism. The contrast is rather, as Kim points out, between two kinds of social selves (33–37). He criticizes Confucian communitarians ( focusing on Rosemont ) for foreclosing the possibility of moral autonomy and reflection on one’s society. If, as Rosemont claims, the Confucian person just is her roles, it is indeed difficult to see how she can even ask the question whether those roles are the way they should be, or consider how to make decisions when her various roles make conflicting demands on her (39–42). There is no Archimedean standpoint outside the roles to pose such questions. Still, it is not entirely clear whether Kim is suggesting Rosemont’s interpretation of Confucian texts is mistaken or whether it is an accurate reading of the texts but is philosophically incoherent, or perhaps this kind of self is a possibility but a less attractive one than the reflective social self of liberalism. Rosemont at any rate believes this kind of social self can criticize injustice and argue for greater equality just as well as or better than the liberal self ( Rosemont 2004 ). Kim forcefully argues for the virtue of incivility in Confucianism, expressing concern that the desire for harmony does not 1

Page numbers without an author refer to Kim 2014.

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stifle criticism or degenerate into docility. Considering how harmony is misused in the PRC today, this is a legitimate concern. However, Rosemont at least is not suggesting that the Confucian social self cannot be critical of his society or government. If it is a misinterpretation of classical Confucianism (a view I am sympathetic to), it might for all that be philosophically compelling. The most significant question is: can it do the work Rosemont and others think it can, giving a basis for reasonable criticism? Here I believe Kim has more to do if he wants to show his understanding of Confucian liberalism does better in this regard. It is true, as Kim notes, that David Hall and Roger Ames specifically emphasize the importance of tacit consensus (59). I am not sure that they intended this to mean that all consensus has to be tacit. A weaker reading, which Rosemont and TAN Sor-hoon might endorse, is that a debate about disagreements requires some level of tacit consensus. If we do not even agree on what we are talking about or how language is used, how can debate take place? Demanding an articulated consensus on the rules for how to achieve consensus threatens an infinite regress. Political debate itself can be a ritual, as I think Kim would agree, and thus something shaped by tradition more than by explicit rules created by some kind of agreement. Kim’s criticisms of meritocratic elitism are cogent as well, but I am less certain that he represents his targets ( BAI Tongdong, Daniel Bell, and Joseph Chan ) charitably. All three propose some combination of a popularly elected house and a meritocratically selected house. One argument for meritocracy that Bell in particular appeals to is that it has been part of Confucian and thus East Asia tradition for quite a while. Kim disputes this, replying that political elitism was not part of original Confucianism and only became part of imperial Confucianism due to the influence of Legalist thought (74). This is not terribly convincing, as no early Confucian says anything in favor of popular sovereignty and in fact they evince a good deal of suspicion about the capacities of the masses to make effective decisions ( Elstein 2010 ). Kim also argues that the proposals for meritocracy do not take into account political realities in East Asian democracies such as Korea or Taiwan, but I am not sure they are trying to. Bai and Bell address primarily China, while Chan includes Hong Kong. As I will discuss later, to what degree political theory should adapt to existing realities is an open question. Kim further charges that these contemporary Confucians misunderstand that meritocracy in classical Confucianism was not a political system itself, but simply referred to the moral character that a political system should have: the wise and virtuous should govern. This moral character has no particular relation to any political system, and as Kim points out, early Confucians thought (hoped? wished?) it was realizable in a hereditary monarchy (80). Here I believe Kim could make productive use of MOU Zongsan’s 牟宗三 distinction between political authority (zheng dao 政道 ) and governing authority (zhidao 治道 ). While it is difficult to specify these precisely, the basic idea is that political authority is final decision-making power that is not formally dependent on another source and must be respected; governing authority is authority for day-to-day governing decisions and is dependent on the political power ( Elstein 2014: 44–45). Surely any government must have some minimal tacit consent from the people, but a democracy formally recognizes that political authority resides in the people, while a monarchy or meritocracy instead claims that political power derives from birth or merit. What Kim is suggesting, I believe, is that classical Confucianism was a meritocracy of governing authority, not political authority.

David Elstein

I think he is right as far as the historical sources go; I am less convinced that contemporary Confucian meritocrats overlook this by mistake. I believe they know this, but since no one (even JIANG Qing 蔣慶, whom Kim mentions) proposes to return to the days of absolute monarchy, they want to transform meritocracy into a political authority as well. This, of course, is why their proposals are controversial. It is hardly revolutionary to suggest people should be qualified to fill the offices they have, and no doubt every democracy has more bureaucrats who are at least theoretically selected based on merit than it does elected officials. Meritocratic elitism arouses opposition precisely because it proposes to distribute some political authority based on merit, and I believe its proponents know this is a shift from historical Confucian politics. Since all modern Confucian political theories differ in various ways from the classical philosophy, this does not distinguish meritocratic elitism from Kim’s Confucian democracy or New Confucian liberalism. Kim does have other arguments. As he rightly observes, meritocracy is often justified based on its allegedly superior efficacy. Meritocratic elitists presume most voters are preoccupied by their immediate interests and will not vote for candidates that take a longer-term or broader view (84). Kim wonders why the moral optimism characteristic of traditional Confucianism is downplayed; after all, Mengzi 孟子 asserted that sages and ordinary people are the same in kind (85). What the meritocrats might respond is that classical Confucians were optimistic in theory, but often pessimistic in practice. People could become sages, but that does not mean they would (this is especially evident in Xunzi 荀子). Kongzi 孔子 of course said that people diverge due to practice ( Analects 17.2 ). In his recent work, BAI Tongdong advocates universal education, giving everyone equality of opportunity ( Bai 2012: 22–23 ). If some or most people do not take advantage of these opportunities, can they be effective citizens? Since being a sage is so much more demanding than simply being a good citizen, Kim wonders why the elitists are so pessimistic about the possibility of good citizenship while optimistic about identifying sages. Whether the various proposals for identifying the elite will work is an excellent question and much more could be said. Yet I believe the elitists have an answer to Kim’s question: it is much harder to find sages, but you do not need as many. They may argue that it is easier to find a hundred or two hundred worthy people for a meritocratic house than to cultivate millions of good citizens for effective democratic participation. The analogies Mengzi in particular uses are instructive. He compares government to a craft that requires special training (Mengzi 1B9). Modern comparisons might be fields like medicine or architecture. It does not seem unreasonable to believe that it is more effective to focus resources on educating a minority of physicians than it would be to equip everyone with the knowledge necessary to make good decisions about their own health. Kim misses something significant by eliding what I believe to be an important distinction among Confucian meritocrats. There are some—particularly JIANG Qing and to a lesser extent Daniel Bell—who are more traditional in focusing on distributing political power based on moral qualities. I believe this faces massive and probably insurmountable hurdles in execution (Elstein 2014: 156–157). In contrast, BAI Tongdong and Joseph Chan emphasize relevant knowledge and experience more than trying to test for moral qualities, which are much easier to game. Virtually every profession has established ways of weeding out the unqualified. They propose to do much the same for politics.

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So it is not that they are so optimistic about the possibility of finding sages, at least not in the traditional sense of sagehood as denoting a kind of moral perfection. The claim is more modest: people with relevant expertise are more likely to make good decisions than those without it. Experts may certainly have their flaws (excessive faith in their own abilities seems common), but Bai and Chan could pose this kind of question: of course doctors are not perfect, but would you rather trust the medical opinion of ten doctors or a thousand lay people? This is analogous to what they propose by arguing for the importance of specialized knowledge and experience as qualifications for political office. Of course Kim is right that meritocratic selection is in principle possible in a democracy. The Confucian meritocrats believe the problem is that people do not try to choose the best candidate and that this is not going to change. Furthermore, they believe most people could not choose the best qualified candidate even if they wanted to, simply because they are not capable of reliably making that judgment. Here the meritocrats are on pretty solid ground. The ignorance of voters has been well established by many studies. The only debate is over how much it matters ( Bartels 1996; Caplan 2007; Delli Carpini and Keeter 1996 ). The difference between Kim and the meritocrats is probably this: Kim is optimistic that voters can be educated to a level where they can reliably choose candidates based on merit, while the meritocrats ( Bai is quite clear on this ) think voter ignorance and bias cannot be rectified and systemic changes are required ( Bai 2013 ). I hope Kim is right, and he might be on stronger ground in the different political cultures in East Asia, since most studies on voter ignorance and apathy focus on the United States. Yet this is no simple matter and success is not guaranteed. It is also worth considering how much the public political culture Kim advocates (he believes citizens should be free to “admonish, criticize, even mock” those who hold public office) (182) might increase the distaste people have for politics and discourage greater involvement and interest in becoming informed. One point the meritocrats and communitarians mainly agree on is the assumption of a Confucian foundation for political values. Kim, along with BAI Tongdong, instead recognizes what John Rawls called “the fact of pluralism”: people in modern societies have very different value systems and there is no noncoercive way of attaining agreement on basic values. It is not clear even coercion would necessarily work ( Xu 1985: 37–38, 169–170). A further weakness of communitarian accounts is not confronting this reality of pluralism, since their goal is community of shared values. Yet Kim is after all advocating a Confucian democracy, so there is some assumption of shared Confucian values. Again, he takes his cue from Rawls, distinguishing constitutional unity from moral unity, and civic virtues from comprehensive moral virtues. A Confucian government should only develop virtues necessary for political and civic culture (116), not attempt to promote Confucianism as a comprehensive moral doctrine (119). I have serious reservations about whether separating values this way is possible. Kim proposes to distinguish the Confucian virtues concerned with a person’s moral well-being from the civic virtues relevant to the public character of the society (117). This strikes me as both difficult to achieve practically and a considerable departure from the Confucian tradition. Confucians have usually assumed that general and public virtues originate and develop from private morality (e.g., Analects 1.2; Mengzi 4A27,

David Elstein

7A15). How will they be sustained otherwise? If citizens are “morally required to vigorously and voluntarily embody the Confucian mores and habits that sustain and reproduce their public way of life” (120), can this avoid promoting similar moral values? I do not think moral and political values can be separated so strictly as a matter of practice. Even if it is possible, I am not fully convinced that Confucians can endorse this kind of separation. It is not just the Confucian communitarians like TAN Sor-hoon and Joseph Chan who argue for greater connection between morality and politics. Liberal New Confucians, including MOU Zongsan and LEE Ming-huei ( LI Minghui ) 李明輝, did, too. Mou said that although the government cannot try to make people into sages ( I am sure Kim would agree ), education must be based on “the most fundamental and universal humanism,” which consists of “filiality, brotherly respect, conscientiousness, trustworthiness, propriety, rightness, integrity, and a sense of shame” ( Mou 1991: 126 ). Lee as well recognizes the need to preserve a liberal and democratic culture. Education is a process of transmitting a culture to the next generation, a culture that necessarily embodies certain values ( Lee 2005: 216–217 ). I doubt that it is possible to remove values from education entirely while maintaining the cultural and social tradition so important in Confucianism. They need not be part of a comprehensive moral doctrine, but it is difficult to envision education that does not encourage particular values. The Rawlsian influence is also apparent in the attempt to construct a Confucian idea of public reason. As Kim understands, how to engage in political debate in a pluralistic society is a thorny problem, even if pluralism is not as intense in East Asia. His approach is to understand public reason not in strictly rationalist terms but as “constituted by moral sentiments and social affects” (132). Drawing on work on Humean political thought, he understands public reasons as areas of common concern, further linking to Mengzi’s affective responses to moral situations (139–141). The crucial point is that he sees Confucian public reason as rooted in familial deference, respect, and affection. The ideal is what he calls critical affection: affection which includes recognition of flaws of the object one cares about and a wish for its improvement. He compares critical affection for one’s country to Shun’s 舜 critical affection for his family: he loved them, and because he loved them their moral failings were so painful for him (150). It is an intriguing concept, but some questions remain. Given the affective nature of this response, I wonder why Kim calls it public reason at all, since it is not connected to giving reasons in any obvious way. It seems rather to be a kind of public sentiment. The motivational questions are of course very complex, yet the reason/sentiment divide which animates much of the discussion in Western philosophy is probably foreign to most Chinese thought. Here is another opportunity for Kim to build from the insights of modern Chinese philosophy. Although Kant’s influence on New Confucianism was significant, LEE Ming-huei argues that Confucianism does not distinguish reason and inclination as strictly as Kant did, which is one of its strengths. Acting autonomously does not mean overcoming all inclinations, since there are moral sentiments which belong to human nature and are known a priori, the very moral responses Mengzi talked about ( Lee 1994: 81–82, 87–88 ). This seems to be very similar to the point Kim wants to make. Putting aside whether to call this public reason or not, the question remains of exactly what it does to provide some kind of guidelines for public deliberation and debate. Kim writes, “Citizens in a Confucian civil society, their differences notwithstanding, are

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motivated to see themselves as belonging to ‘one family’” (148). Surely this cannot mean having familial affection for tens of millions of people one has never met. Indeed, he goes on to say, “It is naïve to posit the state literally as the family, replete with love and affection” (171). I take it he rather intends this as some kind of guide for approaching public discussion of political matters. Yet what does this rule out, if anything? Rawls’s notion of public reason puts some restrictions on what kind of reasons can be offered in the public space (though there is some uncertainty about what counts as public), and Robert Audi’s is even more restrictive (Rawls 2005: 227–230; Audi 2000: 86–96). What does treating someone as a family member tell me about what kinds of arguments I may or may not make? With my own family members I am most likely to appeal to my own comprehensive moral reasons for my political positions; is that what Kim is suggesting Confucian public reason allows? If one treats fellow citizens as family members, this is treating public reason as if it were a private discussion. If this is the case, then the only thing distinctive about Confucian public reason is the content ( political and social matters ); the form of reasoning is not any different from individual private moral reasoning. I assume this cannot be what Kim intends, since public reason is supposed to address the fact of pluralism. Clearly in any pluralistic society what are good moral reasons for some will have no purchase on others, or be blatantly offensive. Yet I am not sure how Confucian familialism as a political guide can produce the separation between moral and civic virtues that earlier Kim argued was crucial. Other than perhaps grounding a general sentiment of respecting others, I fail to see how it would guide public deliberation. Can Korean Christians argue for legislation based on their faith, on the grounds of hoping for the moral and spiritual improvement of their extended “family”? If not, why not? There is much that is intriguing in Kim’s positive account of Confucian democracy, in which he distances himself from the more radical claims of Confucian communitarians and meritocratic elitists while still not assimilating Confucian democracy to liberalism. Space precludes examining his rich account in the detail it deserves. Instead I want to consider a more global question: why Confucian democracy is necessary. Kim does agree with a version of the particularist thesis above: Confucian democracy is necessary for Confucian societies, though by implication has little to say for nonConfucian societies. This is because democracy has to be rooted in the particular context of East Asia, which is still Confucian to a strong degree. To his credit, Kim considers what this claim means and the empirical evidence for it (4–5), while most who assert some version of the particularist thesis do not. Granting that it is true that East Asian political cultures are still substantially Confucian (although I am skeptical about it as applied to Taiwan and Japan), this does not answer the normative question of whether they should be, nor does it say what (if anything) non-Confucian cultures stand to learn from Confucian democracy. Here Kim may run afoul of the danger with particularist kinds of views. Once one undermines the universality of liberalism, or any political philosophy for that matter, it does generate space for building political thought on unique cultural foundations. The price, however, is that it also makes these diverse political theories seemingly irrelevant for those with different cultural backgrounds. I am not sure whether Kim considers this a downside at all; maybe it is just the price of doing business. Nevertheless, it threatens the idea of comparative political theory. They may be interesting curiosities, and it may be useful to understand other cultures’ political thought, but the possibility of real interaction

David Elstein

and influence is reduced. It seems that what we are left with are diverse political theories which do not have a lot to say to each other. As Western liberalism is inappropriate for Confucian societies, Confucian liberalism is inappropriate for Western ones. That is not the only danger. The continued relevance of Confucianism in East Asia is by no means assured. To his credit, Kim recognizes the difficulties in the simplistic identification of modern East Asian cultures with Confucianism, and unlike most other authors on the topic, he considers what such claims mean and what kind of evidence there is. He notes that connection between modern Korean practices, for instance, and Confucianism “is often assumed rather than scientifically demonstrated,” but he also says, “I do not know whether such demonstration is possible in ‘scientific’ language and methodology” (263, n50). The methodological problems here are considerable, yet while causality cannot be established surveys do show that East Asians think about democracy differently than Europeans or Americans (Shin 2012). However, even if this is due to Confucian identity in East Asia, will this persist? And should it? Given how much change there has been in East Asia over the last hundred years, whatever Confucianism means in East Asia now, its continued role is no guarantee. I sometimes wonder whether the continued relevance of Confucianism in modern political culture in East Asia is a scholar’s fantasy more than anything else. I know very little about Korea, but it does not seem to have much to do with how people think about politics in other parts of the region. To take two recent examples, the Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong and the Sunflower Revolution in Taiwan were entirely free from appeals to Confucian thought as far as I know. These were student movements agitating for more democracy and transparency, but they did not find inspiration in Confucianism. Maybe they could have. I agree that there are resources in Confucian thought to motivate pursuit of reform. That is not my point. It is rather that most people—younger people especially—in these regions do not seem to look to Confucianism as a source of political values. Liberal values are a greater inspiration. As these societies continue to evolve and democracy becomes more of a tradition, what happens to Confucianism? There are some suggestions that the collective way of thinking that Kim attributes to Confucianism will give way to more individualized identities along with increasing affluence and urbanization ( Triandis, McCusker, and Hui 1990: 1008 ). Once one concedes that values change and that a democratic society has legitimate reasons for encouraging certain kinds of preferences—namely those conducive to maintaining democratic society—where does it end? Is Confucian democracy the best option, or merely the only option now? Kim notes that democracy is still quite young in places like Korea and Taiwan, and of course nonexistent in China. There is some reason to think these cultures may evolve more toward liberalism. The impression one has from Kim is that the basis for Confucian democracy is simply the fact that democratic theory must fit the cultural context. If that context changes, will Confucian democracy still be relevant? Are there reasons to in fact resist such change? Does Confucianism offer something that liberalism does not, so that East Asian societies would lose something of value by becoming more liberal? I hope to see Kim address such questions in the future.

The Future of Confucian Politics in East Asia

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