Mòzi’s: “Partiality is to be replaced by universality (simultaneity)” – 兼 以 易 别
Abstract
The purpose of this article is to vindicate Mozǐ’s philosophy as a manifestation of cosmopolitanism, from which its widespread classification as utilitarianism or consequentialism derives. To this end, we review general aspects of its ancient and modern reception and compare the Mohist experience with that of Western cosmopolitans.
We will investigate the circumstances that prevented the success of Mozǐ’s proposal, aided by contextualizing some parts of the Mobiān, the so-called dialectical chapters, attributed to the late Mohist School or Neo-Mohism. This study, we believe, can contribute to a general understanding of Mohism since the meaning of the Mobian is still under discussion. Finally, we point out that the conditions for the practice of Universal Love—universality and simultaneity (兼)— have been met in our time with globalization.
Keywords: Mòzí, Mohism, inclusive care, universal love, human unity, Catholicism, cosmopolitanism, globalization, world governance, world unity.
Introduction
My purpose now is to share my understanding of the Mòzǐ—to which I attribute enormous interest and importance for the present—while also presenting what I consider a possible original contribution to the interpretation of some neo-Mohist texts, which have remained controversial to this day, always keeping in mind the underlying question of the failure of Mohism in its explicit aim to “replace partiality with universality” (兼 以 易 别), as clearly defined in the Triads, as follows:
“He who criticizes others must have an alternative. To criticize without offering an alternative is like trying to stop a flood with water or extinguish a fire with fire. It is surely not worthwhile. Mòzǐ said: Partiality must be replaced by universality. But how do we replace partiality with universality? When everyone considers the states of others as they consider their own, who would attack the states of others? Who would attempt to seize the capitals of others if they are regarded as their own? Who would disturb the homes of others if they are treated as one’s own? … Now, since universal love is the cause of the world’s benefits, Mòzǐ proclaims that universal love is right. And, as has been said, since the interest of the magnanimous lies in bringing benefit to the world and eliminating its calamities, upon discovering that the consequence of universal love is the benefit of the world, and that the consequence of partiality is the world’s calamity, we understand why Mòzǐ said: ‘partiality is wrong and universality is right.’” (Mòzǐ, Universal Love, III, 2)
And this same argument had already been presented in Mòzǐ’s first triad on Universal Love:
“The wise man who seeks order in the world must first know the cause of disorder before being able to bring order to it. … The reason for all this (disorder) is the lack of mutual (universal) love. This is true even among thieves and bandits. Since they love only their own families and not others, the thief steals from other families to benefit his own. Since he loves only himself and not others, the bandit commits violence against others to benefit himself. And the reason for all this is the lack of (mutual and universal) love. … Let us suppose that everyone in the world loved universally, loving others as themselves. When all treat others as themselves, who would steal? Therefore, there would be neither thieves nor bandits. … Thus, when there is universal love in the world, there is order; and when there is mutual hatred, there is disorder. This is why Mòzǐ insisted on persuading people to love one another.” (Mòzǐ, Universal Love, I, 3)
I. Context and Reception of Mòzǐ
Mohism and Confucianism
Confucius lived between 551 and 479 BCE, and Mòzǐ between 468 and 391 BCE. Confucius sought to restore the order of the Zhou dynasty and put an end to the chaos caused by its collapse in 721 BCE, which led to the fragmentation of China into many kingdoms, states, or even independent walled cities in constant warfare. This situation persisted during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods.
Confucius’s proposal to restore order was to reinstate the norms, customs, and rites of the Zhou dynasty. In fact, as he himself states, Confucius devoted himself to updating and interpreting the ancient imperial texts and claimed that he introduced no original ideas of his own. Mòzǐ’s doctrine, by contrast, is original and sophisticated, and extraordinarily critical of Confucianism, which he accuses of hypocrisy, of promoting or sustaining terrible inequality and discrimination, of fatalism, waste, and irrationality…
However, it can be said that both shared the idea that partiality (別), or exclusionary decision-making, is the root cause of conflict and of the “calamities” or ills of the world.
Mohism became extremely popular during the 4th and 3rd centuries BCE, likely displacing Confucianism to a significant extent. Mencius (372–289 BCE) remarked that “Mòzǐ’s words fill the world.” Nevertheless, despite its popularity, it had little effect on the political order. Its only concrete political action was the defense, through militias, of weak states oppressed by the strong, but it did not succeed in stopping wars—on the contrary, they only intensified.
Mencius revitalized Confucianism with greater philosophical depth than his master, especially since he had to oppose Mohism. Mencius’s opposition was not directed so much at Universal Love, which corresponded to the Confucian concept of ‘benevolence’, but rather at the notion of benefit (利)—a key term in the extended Mohist slogan: “universal love and mutual benefit.” This also appears in the second triad of Universal Love, which begins: “The purpose of the benevolent is to bring benefit (利) to the world and eliminate harm.” Or as Mòzǐ sometimes said, “If something benefits the world, do it; if something harms the world, stop.”
Thus, the Book of Mencius begins with the following passage:
“Mencius went to see King Hui of Liang. The king said: ‘Venerable sir, since you have not hesitated to travel a thousand li (500 km) to come here, may I presume you have advice that will benefit my kingdom?’
Mencius replied: ‘Why must Your Majesty speak of “benefit” (利)? What I have are counsels of benevolence and righteousness; these are my only themes. If Your Majesty says, “What can be done to benefit my kingdom?”, the great officials will say, “What can be done to benefit our families?”, and the lesser officials and common people will say, “What can be done to benefit ourselves?” The upper and lower classes will try to seize benefit from one another, and the kingdom will fall into danger.
In a kingdom of ten thousand chariots, the one who kills its sovereign will be the head of a family with a thousand chariots. In a kingdom of a thousand chariots, the killer of its prince will be the head of a family with a hundred chariots. It cannot be said that a thousand or a hundred is a small share, but if justice is put last and benefit first, they will not be satisfied until they seize it all.
There has never been a benevolent man who neglected his parents. There has never been a righteous man who placed his ruler second. Let Your Majesty also say, “Benevolence and righteousness—let these be your only themes.” Why must you speak of ‘benefit’?” (Mencius, Liang Hui Wang I)
Mencius’s critique of Mohism is similar to Aristotle’s critique of Plato at the beginning of the Nicomachean Ethics: the Platonic (common) Good—equivalent to the Mohist benefit—does not exist. Only private goods (or dispossessed goods) exist, that is, benefits always come at the expense of others, who are deprived of them or have them taken away. For this reason, Mencius returns to Confucianism, whose system promotes order, submission, and service to the state—since it is the state that imposes order on the disorder in which all seek to seize what they can from others.
The rejection of “benefit” is also a central theme in The Great Learning (Da Xue), which, along with the Analects, the Mencius, and the Doctrine of the Mean, comprises the so-called Four Books of Confucianism. The Great Learning ends with the following words:
“In a state, benefit (利) must not be regarded as prosperity. Prosperity is found in righteousness (distributive justice).” (LIJI, Da Xue, 16)
For Mencius, a society without a state—even considering the tremendous, one might even say ‘absolute or systematic,’ inequality inherent to its hierarchical structure—is inconceivable. In the chapter Gaozi II, there is an account of a meeting between Mencius and the Mohist master Song Keng. Song Keng tells Mencius that he is heading to Chu to try to convince its king to stop the war with Qin. He adds that his argument will be based on showing how harmful (not beneficial) the war will be for both sides. Mencius replies that while his intention is good, his argument is not, because, according to Mencius, if the kings of Chu and Qin accept that principle, their subjects will also seek their own benefit (利), which will undermine the unity of purpose within the state and its hierarchical relationships.
Mencius uses the same argument as before and concludes:
“There has never been a state of society in which the state did not prevail and its rule rise. Why must you use the word ‘benefit’?”
(Mencius, Gaozi II, 24)
After Mencius, the last and most important classical Confucian thinker before the Qin unification was Xunzi (310–238 BCE). Most of his disciples would eventually abandon Confucianism in favor of the Legalist school—a tightening of the process of intellectual submission to the service of the state.
The Legalists became the official school of the Qin state, which, after implementing ruthless political reforms under their guidance, conquered the rest of the states in just ten years and unified China. One of their first measures was to burn books and execute the same “humanist” scholars—those who based their doctrines on humanity rather than on the state, referring primarily to Confucians, but especially to the Mohists.
Taoist Sympathy
Taoism is the other major school of the era, to which we owe the preservation of the Mohist texts, as it acted as their custodian and saved them for posterity, hidden within its Patrology. Mòzǐ himself is even included in the Taoist pantheon of saints. Although Taoism is a doctrine that promotes a natural and spontaneous life, removed from society—since it views society as corrupting, exploitative, and brutalizing to the individual—Zhuangzi, the main Taoist master alongside the legendary Laozi, states in the final chapter of his book, titled All Under Heaven (天下):
“Mòzǐ is the most exalted being who has walked the Earth; you may search far and wide and never find his equal. No matter how withered or exhausted he may appear, you cannot dismiss him. A true genius!”
Contemporary Reception
The contemporary reception of Mohism has been led mainly by Anglo-Saxon scholars, generally affiliated with universities in Hong Kong and Taiwan. The theoretical foundation of these scholars is likely rooted in analytic philosophy, and their intellectual background includes prominent utilitarians such as Bentham and John Stuart Mill. Therefore, it is not surprising that they identify and label Mohism as the first utilitarian or consequentialist philosophy—that is, one that evaluates actions by their consequences, aiming for the greatest benefit for the greatest number of people.
It is also possible that these Western scholars were influenced by their usual prior study of Confucianism, and thereby also by the Confucian criticism of Mòzǐ’s concept of benefit or utility.
However, we understand that Mòzǐ is an obvious case of cosmopolitanism—its Eastern expression. And that consequentialism or utilitarianism is, in reality, characteristic of cosmopolitan or universal rationality. To explain this, we need a brief review and reflection on Western cosmopolitanism, since cosmopolitanism is scarcely studied or known in academia—mainly because it questions the state, and it is the state that determines what subjects should be studied by its citizens.
If earlier we stated that Mòzǐ’s philosophy can be summed up in the expression: “particularism must be replaced by universality,” we find the same idea in Zeno, founder of Stoicism and author of The Republic, who could be seen as the Western equivalent of Mòzǐ—though unfortunately, he did not have someone like the Taoists to preserve his work. Instead, we rely on references from other authors, such as Plutarch, who tells us that Zeno’s Republic can be reduced to a single idea, the same as Mòzǐ’s:
“The much-admired Republic of Zeno, founder of the Stoic school, can be summed up in a single principle: that (humans) should not live separated in communities and cities differentiated by particular laws of justice.” (On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander, I, 240)
The reason for this is repeatedly explained by Mòzǐ with various examples, including the following:
“Suppose a man enters another’s orchard and steals his peaches and plums. Upon hearing this, the public condemns him; and when arrested, the authorities punish him. Why? Because he harms others for his own benefit. As for seizing another person’s dogs, pigs, chickens, or piglets, it is even more unjust than stealing peaches and plums from someone’s orchard. Why? Because it causes greater suffering to others, and is more inhumane and criminal. When it comes to entering someone’s stable and taking their horses and oxen, it is even more inhumane than seizing someone’s dogs, pigs, chickens, or piglets. Why? Because it causes even more suffering. Finally, in the case of killing an innocent person, stripping them of their clothes, and taking their spear and sword, this is even more unjust than taking someone’s horses and oxen. Why? Because it causes even greater suffering; and when greater suffering is caused to others, the act becomes even more inhumane and criminal. All the gentlemen of the world know they must condemn such actions and call them unjust. But when it comes to great attacks between states, they do not know to condemn them. On the contrary, they praise them and call them just. Can this truly be called understanding the difference between justice and injustice?” (Mòzǐ, Book V, I, 1)
This understanding is what leads both Eastern and Western cosmopolitanism to the proposition that “universality must replace particularism.”
II. Cosmopolitanism in the West
Historical Context Shared Between China and Greece
China and Greece share a similarity in the 5th and 4th centuries BCE: individuals were able to converse freely and speculatively about politics or public affairs as amateurs. This is said of Confucius—he prepared for government but then had no official role and instead turned to teaching. In other words, these were people discussing politics without the need to assume a specific political position, which real political activity inevitably demands and which leaves no room except for the defense of one’s own interests—what Mòzǐ would call “particularism” or exclusion (bié, 别).
And in both cases, the necessary condition for this exchange of opinions to occur was present: they were people who shared the same language, and even the same culture. These intellectuals belonged to different polis or states that could be at war while they conversed. This context led them to justify their positions and arguments rationally, giving rise to philosophy (in place of myth), and appealing to common sense rather than relying on specific narratives, symbols, or beliefs tied to each state. Most notably, in both cases this led to the same outcome: cosmopolitanism—the politics of universal love, in Mohist terminology.
History of Cosmopolitanism in the West
In the 4th century BCE, the Greeks, proud of the legendary Trojan War and even more so of their astonishing victory over the Persian Empire in the Persian Wars, soon found themselves embroiled in a terrible, agonizing, and endless internal conflict: the Peloponnesian War. This war, fought between two coalitions of poleis led respectively by Athens and Sparta, lasted nearly 50 years, ending in Athens’ defeat. But instead of bringing stability, the end of the war merely led to a new conflict—this time between coalitions led by Sparta and Thebes.
Greece in the 4th century BCE—seen as a pinnacle of civilization in its time and even today—despite a strong shared cultural and linguistic identity, proved incapable of ending this fratricidal impulse, even as they recognized its horror and desperately sought to rid themselves of it. This perception is reflected, for example, in Lysistrata, which depicts the desperate efforts of women to end the endless war, and especially in a very revealing fact: all the proud Greek poleis agreed to submit to King Philip II of Macedon—whom many Greeks considered barbarian—in exchange for his leadership in a campaign against the Persian Empire. They understood that the only way to end their perpetual internal war was to unite in an external campaign—a task carried out by Philip’s son, Alexander the Great.
After Athens’ defeat, the brief tyranny of the Thirty, and the restoration of democracy, the city condemned Socrates to death. Socrates left no writings, but through Plato we know the literal accusation that led him to drink hemlock. Plato copies it in the Apology:
“Socrates is guilty of not believing in the gods in whom the city believes, but in other new spiritual entities (daimons), and (as a result) corrupting the youth.” (Apology, 24b)
We must first clarify what these “new spiritual entities” might be, which replaced in Socrates’ mind the traditional gods. It refers to an ‘entity’ that prevented him from engaging in politics. Socrates explains this during his defense speech:
“It may seem strange that while I go around advising and concerning myself with people’s private affairs, I do not dare to participate in the Assembly and also advise the city (polis). You’ve heard the reason many times already: I possess a divine or spiritual sign (daimonion), which Meletus has mocked in his accusation.” (Apology, 31c)
Regarding his specific crime—of not believing in the city’s gods and (therefore) corrupting the youth—Socrates insists in every possible way in the Apology:
“What has given me this reputation is nothing but a certain kind of wisdom. What kind of wisdom? Perhaps human wisdom. It may be that I possess this, whereas those I mentioned earlier (politicians, artists, writers…) are wise with a wisdom that goes beyond the human.” (Apology, 20d)
I quote this specific expression to contrast it with what is taught in schools and universities about Socrates—namely, the famous line: “I only know that I know nothing.” We see that this is false; Socrates did know what any human being knows. And this is made clear in Plato’s second dialogue, the Gorgias, where, for example, he argues that it is wrong to dedicate all resources to arms, fortifications, and to debates on how to inflict the greatest possible harm on others. In the Gorgias, Plato portrays Socrates as someone who chooses to suffer injustice rather than commit it—when no third option is available.
It is incorrect, as is often claimed, to regard Plato and Aristotle as followers of Socrates. On the contrary, Plato was funded by the polis to found his Academy precisely to counter the shock caused by Socrates’ condemnation and death. Later, Aristotle received state support for the Lyceum. Meanwhile, all the other schools of thought that were independent of the polis or state—such as the Cyrenaics and later the Epicureans, the Cynics and their Stoic successors—declared themselves followers of Socrates and cosmopolitans. Although earlier thinkers like Heraclitus and Pythagoras had already declared themselves kosmopolites (“citizens of the world”), these schools, which claimed direct lineage from Socrates, placed cosmopolitanism at the heart of their doctrine.
Antisthenes, founder of the Cynic school, was present when Socrates drank the hemlock, whereas Plato, according to records, was sick and absent. In Plato’s own dialogues, Socrates often swears “by the dog” (instead of by a god)—a symbol the Cynics adopted as the emblem of their school. Their name derives from kyon (κύων), meaning dog, indicating their desire to be “man’s best friend”—since humans themselves are not friends to one another.
From the Cynics to Stoicism and the Generalization of Cosmopolitanism
After Antisthenes, Diogenes became the leader of the Cynics and is their most famous representative due to his eccentricities in expressing his critique of society; mocking its ceremonies and beliefs. He was succeeded by Crates of Thebes as the head of the school, whose disciple, Zeno of Citium, founded the Stoic school or the Porch (Stoa). Stoicism, like Cynicism, placed cosmopolitanism at the center of its doctrine. Unfortunately, as mentioned before, Zeno’s work The Republic has been lost, but it is quoted by Plutarch when discussing the cosmopolitanism of Alexander the Great. Apologies to the reader if I repeat the paragraph, now complete, that Plutarch dedicates to Zeno:
“The much-admired Republic of Zeno, founder of the Stoic school, can be summarized in a single principle: that we should not live separated in communities and cities distinguished by particular laws of justice, but rather consider all men as fellow citizens of the same community, living under one single order and one single law, like a herd moving forward united.” (Fortune and Virtue of Alexander, I, 240).
Cosmopolitanism was the dominant ideology of ancient empires, such as Alexander of Macedon’s, whose cosmopolitanism is well documented—not only by references from Plutarch and other authors, and which Alexander made explicitly clear, but also inferred from his actions linking himself through marriages with the princesses of the lands he conquered. There is even a legend that Aristotle, who was a slave owner, misogynist, and Greek supremacist, ordered him killed/poisoned. (Popper summarizes Plato’s state totalitarianism in The Open Society and Its Enemies for those interested).
Likewise, the entire intellectual class of the Roman Empire was cosmopolitan (Seneca, Cicero, Marcus Aurelius, and many others). All the Roman authors I know were cosmopolitans, although this key aspect is often hidden today, and they are mainly referenced for their moral or virtue doctrines. For the Stoics, this is particularly absurd since virtue depends on their cosmopolitan vision and foundation set by Zeno. The Stoics understood that through logos—common sense, which Socrates had already outlined and which we tried to explain above—humans know what is bad (the intention to harm others) and what is good (to cooperate for the common good). Humans and the world are wonderfully disposed towards peace and harmony, just as Mòzǐ says that Universal Love is the Will of Heaven. The problem for ancient cosmopolitans was that in an unknown and disconnected world, the means of peace, inclusive decision-making (universality, according to Mòzǐ), was unfeasible. Thus, the Stoics resigned themselves patiently to their (tragic) fate of living amid absolute war and its terrible cruelty, but from this understanding of logos, they drew their strength, resignation, patience, and reconciliation with the universe, with the cosmos.
In any case, it was this widespread cosmopolitanism that led Rome to grant Roman citizenship to all inhabitants of the empire.
It is interesting to note that when ancient cosmopolitans considered dissolving the state—that is, the weapon or armed unit (or evil, the purpose of harm)—since it could not be done universally and simultaneously, they understood that such a goal would only result in losing their rights and properties, which, as Mencius tells us above, means dispossessing others by violence. Otherwise, they would have to invite another weapon or state to protect them. This debate is documented and was a common topic among cosmopolitan intellectuals and politicians in Roman times.
“Utilitarianism” as the ‘political-economic’ form of Western cosmopolitanism
We have already mentioned that Mòzǐ’s consequentialism or utilitarianism is a consequence of his cosmopolitan thought, and therefore based on reason, logos, or common human sense—while it has no ideology and does not need to justify difference or human inequality, which is the use of figurations such as beliefs, ideologies, rituals, etc., since cosmopolitanism only seeks cooperation for mutual and universal benefit, and this justifies itself.
In contrast to Confucius’ proposal of three years of mourning for the death of the emperor or father, Mòzǐ replies that the corpse should simply be buried—not too deep so it does not reach underground water, nor too shallow so animals do not eat it. And that is all.
This is also the case with Western cosmopolitanism; what Mòzǐ calls benefit, Westerners call utility. We now see how Cicero presents it in On Duties (De Officiis). It is known that Cicero considers De Officiis his masterpiece and dedicates it to his son. Its purpose is to assert that “honesty is the same as utility,” which recalls the Mohist expression that loving and benefiting are the same (“To love and to benefit [others] is a proper act; and what is loved and benefited is the external object.” 愛利，此也；所愛所利，彼也, Canon II, 177 source). Let’s give the floor to Cicero:
“Nothing is useful that is not honest; and not because it is useful is it honest, but because it is honest is it useful” (De Officiis, Book III, XXX).
“What the earth produces is all given for the benefit of men, and men in turn are born for the utility of their fellow men so that they can do good to one another.”
“We know that Socrates used to curse those who first separated with thought things united by nature; the Stoics certainly agreed with this view, thinking that all that is honest would be useful, and nothing would be useful that was not honest.”
“Therefore, all must have a single purpose: that the utility of each and all be the same; because if each one takes it for themselves, the entire human consortium will fall apart. And if nature prescribes this: that man should want the good of man, whoever he is, just because he is a man, then according to nature itself utility must be common to all. If so, we are all encompassed within a single and identical natural law; and if this is so, it is certainly forbidden by the same law to offend another. The first is true, then so is the last.” (De Officiis, Book III, VI)
This concept is not only Cicero’s. Cicero’s book precisely responds to another of the same name and subject by his teacher, Panaetius, also a cosmopolitan Stoic, a book that is lost or that I have not been able to find.
We find the same conception in Antipater, another famous cosmopolitan Stoic, who says:
“The natural principles that inform our entire being and which we must follow and obey, do they not tell us that our utility is the utility of the whole world and that the utility of the whole world is our own utility?” (III 12).
I allow myself to share with the reader that all this research is self-taught, found without reference or guidance. I supposed it would be so and found it that way. I think the coincidence of thought and experience between East and West, without contact between them, is strong proof that speculative or philosophical knowledge accurately addresses the human reality common to all. For the same reason, I also refer the reader to my edition of the Doctrine of the Mean of Confucianism (Kailas, 2024), in which, in my commentary, I note the total similarity between Aristotle’s and Confucius’ Doctrine of the Mean, as well as their identical definition of justice split into equitable or natural justice and distributive justice, that of the state.
Cosmopolitanism and Catholicism (Universalism)
Like Mencius and his defense of Confucianism, Western cosmopolitanism, powerless to gain political form or progress in any way, was led to accept Christianity. Thus, we see the cosmopolitan origin of the early Church Fathers such as Saint Augustine or Lactantius, and above all, its great architect: Saint Paul. Christianity is the figurative form of cosmopolitanism, which allows it to operate alongside the state because with Christianity, Logos—which, as common sense, lives in every human being without mediation—is now manifested by revelation, enabling the maintenance of the state, that is, inequality or the people’s dependence on their leaders, political and religious (those who have access to that private knowledge), and also difference with respect to non-Christians, who must be subjected and converted. Hence, we find Logos in the first words of the Gospel of Saint John: “In the beginning was the Word (Logos), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
The Modern Age
That Catholicism/universalism was a resource of the Spanish empire, facilitating mestizaje and integration policies in America, unlike other Protestant European nation-states that lacked it. However, the nation-state model has reached and deepened its hegemony up to today, adopted worldwide, including by China in the 20th century. The modern state distributes wealth among its citizens in exchange for their full commitment and bond to the state; hence, cosmopolitanism has less academic space today than ever.
The Contemporary Age. A Note on Publicity and Cosmopolitanism
Despite the above, I think it is appropriate to briefly mention another common concept of cosmopolitans that Kant fully developed in Perpetual Peace. This is doubly necessary because Kant is the only contemporary cosmopolitan reference; the only one contemporary students will mention if asked about any cosmopolitan thinker, once the cosmopolitanism of ancient sages has been hidden.
Kant precisely knew the work of these sages, but his proposal could only be published without challenging the state. Thus, the key to his work Perpetual Peace is based on (universal) publicity of decision-making and its purposes, with which he tries to attract states. Kant warns that if we remove all content from law and leave only its form, what remains is publicity. He adds that what must be hidden is proof of being against law. He proposes a confederation of states for peace, whose sole condition is that they be republics, in the sense of res publica—that is, where public matters are dealt with publicly. It is important to note—and I invite the reader to see how Kant emphasizes and explains this—that one should not confuse a republic with a democracy, since a republic is the opposite of despotism and democracy is one form of despotism (even if real democracies deny it).
Kant’s flaw lies in his ‘idealism,’ which prevents him from understanding what is properly human: the virtual. That is why Kant states that before the Agreement or Contract of the Confederation, all states must eliminate their standing armies, something absurd that overlooks that the weapon acts, is acting, from its potential, and such elimination would be peace itself. Kant proposes universality but gives initiative to the state, which is precisely its opposite: the form or expression of partiality—the armed unit, legitimate violence.
Cicero mentions publicity in the most doubtful cases in De Officiis. For example, discussing a Platonic myth about a person who finds a ring that makes him invisible, leading him to become king after committing a series of crimes. When asked how others would act, some say they would act like the criminal. Cicero argues:
“When we ask what they would do if they could hide it (the evil), we do not ask if they can hide it, but rather we practically harass them so that if they answer they would do whatever suits them, guaranteed impunity, they confess they are criminals; and if they deny it, they concede that all evil must be avoided.” (De Officiis, Book III, IX)
Mòzǐ does not develop the concept of publicity or transparency—not as a driving force but as a guarantee of freedom against harm, deception, or even misunderstanding in the cosmopolitan community. But curiously, he assumes it, since he notes that the knights of his time do not know what is just; they are truly ignorant, not ill-intentioned, as they record—write, publish—their crimes, the attack on other states. That is, the publicity of purposes exposes justice or honesty (or injustice and dishonesty) to human judgment, as Cicero says. I allow myself to copy here a somewhat long but especially significant text from Mòzǐ:
“The murder of a person is deemed unjust and this may imply the death penalty for the murderer. Following this argument, the murderer of ten people will be ten times unjust and must be condemned to ten death penalties; the murderer of one hundred people will be one hundred times unjust and should be condemned to one hundred death penalties. All the lords of the world and their officers know they must condemn these things as unjust, but when it comes to the great injustice of attacking states, they do not know they must condemn it. On the contrary, they applaud it and call it just. They are truly ignorant of what it is to be unjust, since they record these judgments to pass on to posterity. If they had known they were unjust, why would they record their false judgments for posterity? Now, if a person who sees a little black says it is black, but if they see a great darkness says it is white, we must think they do not know the difference between black and white. If tasting something slightly bitter one says it is bitter, but after tasting something very bitter says it is sweet, we must think they do not know the difference between sweet and bitter. Now, when a little injustice is committed, people know they must condemn it, but when a great injustice like attacking another state is committed, people do not know they must condemn it, and instead, they applaud it and call it just. Can it be said they know the difference between justice and injustice? Therefore, we know that the lords of the world are confused about the difference between justice and injustice.” (Mòzǐ, Book V, I, 2)
These knights are not ignorant of justice; what happens is that they do not link publicity with universality. Their publicity is private, for their own. While the publicity to which Mòzǐ refers is equivalent to universal. We will elaborate on this later as we understand the Mohist perspective.
Today, when the fragile nuclear balance seems increasingly threatened, we cannot help but reconsider cosmopolitanism, the only peace alternative that is not armed peace (that of states) and, therefore, does not lead us to constant and new destruction or even extinction. For this reason, we return to the question posed by Mòzǐ: How can universality, inclusive decision-making, the cause of good, replace partiality (别), exclusive decision-making, the cause of evil? We must clarify that universality, the equality and common sense of all humanity, cannot be imposed on any group but only accepted by individuals and groups as a rational and pragmatic consequence of life experience. Once accepted, it must be guaranteed by public institutions. The question remains: How?
We emphasize that a major purpose of this essay is to identify the limitations or shortcomings of Mohism — that is, those aspects or issues that reveal its inability to fully shape its political and social proposal. It is the failure of a school of thought that nonetheless claims that arguing against Mòzǐ’s doctrine is like trying to break a rock by throwing eggs at it, or that Mòzǐ’s doctrine would remain true even if there were not a single human being on Earth.
With this premise, let us now turn to an analysis of some passages from the Mòbiān, which can shed light on Mohism’s self-awareness, its development, and its message.
III. Commentary on the Dialectical Chapters of the Mòzǐ, the Mòbiān
Comparison between the Triads and the Mòbiān
The so-called dialectical chapters of Mohism comprise six books, from chapters 40 to 45. They are usually placed after the Triads and before the Dialogues and are attributed to the later Mohists or Neo-Mohists. These chapters contain statements that affirm or deny something, without being framed in any vital or historical context.
These books include the Canons (Jīng) and the Explanations or Interpretations of the Canons (Jīng shuō), which are divided into two parts. They usually consist of one or two statements followed by a text that explains the main phrase or judgment, sometimes with an intermediate objection that denies the initial premise. Another text, Major Illustrations (Dà Qǔ), is a collection of fragments believed to belong to a larger essay, and finally, Minor Illustrations (Xiǎo Qǔ), a complete essay. They provide information on mathematical, ethical, epistemological, and philosophical issues in a disordered and almost chaotic manner. Their content likely results from a scholastic environment and comes from ongoing investigation within the Mohist School and its dialogue or disputes with other schools of thought.
These texts have suffered corruption, as they were originally written on bamboo slips, which are easily deteriorated, and later transcribed with difficulty onto paper by compilers throughout history. Generally, the diversity of topics makes them hard to understand, as it is impossible to link them into a coherent discourse, leaving them as a series of disconnected issues.
The Neo-Mohists uphold and affirm the doctrine of Universal Love in the Mòbiān. They take it as a given rather than attempting to justify it as in the Triads. They simply establish internal links or connections to other terms of interest concerning human beings and their phenomenology.
Compared with the Triads, one element that significantly loses weight in the Mòbiān is the “Will of Heaven,” and there is no reference to spirits, both of which are extensively discussed in the Triads.
The absence of the Will of Heaven in the Mòbiān underpins A.C. Graham’s general interpretation of these chapters. Graham, the most devoted and recognized Western scholar of the later Mohist texts, published Later Mohist Logic, Ethics and Science in 1978, a study reissued multiple times. He argues that invoking Heaven as justification for Universal Love was discredited by the so-called “egoist school” of Yang Zhu. Yang Zhu contended that if we consistently followed the principle of a Will of Heaven, this Will would ultimately justify the criminal tendencies of some individuals.
However, this debate appears in the Major Illustrations (Dà Qǔ), where it is questioned whether it is correct to speak of the intention of Heaven in the case of a tyrant:
“The tyrant says: ‘I am the intention of Heaven,’ which implies taking what the people condemn and deeming it right, and correcting a nature that cannot be corrected. In choosing what is most beneficial, there is an alternative. In choosing what is least harmful, there is no alternative. To choose what one does not yet have is to choose what is most beneficial. To give up what one already has is to choose what is least harmful.” (Mòzǐ, Major Illustrations – Dà Qǔ, 5)
Tyranny, the despotism we are all subjected to, should not be considered right—it is simply unavoidable, which is different. The tyrant justifies himself by saying: “Since Heaven ordains everything and I hold power, my power comes from Heaven.” Mòzǐ responds that this would be a distortion—confusing what is with what ought to be, since it cannot be that the people condemn the tyrant while Heaven supports him.
The point is that we cannot always choose. If we could choose, we would choose what is most beneficial (Universal Love), but evil is precisely what cannot be avoided. If it could be avoided, we would do so. Therefore, choosing the lesser evil—though still harmful—does not make it good: “To give up what one already has is to choose what is least harmful,” yet it remains harmful. Hence, if we can, we must rid ourselves of tyranny and not accept it as Heaven-ordained.
This can be illustrated. When we vote in elections, we may not want to give our will (vote) to anyone (rejecting despotism), but not voting may seem worse, as it gives more weight to an option we dislike even more. Similarly, we may arm ourselves—not because we like weapons or don’t suffer from their destruction—but to confront the weapons of others, which are a greater evil. As Rousseau said, a hierarchical or despotic society forces everyone to organize similarly, or risk being absorbed by the first one—at the bottom, which would be worse. So we endure our own despot in order to resist a greater one. And so on.
The Mohist argument is also a rejection of Confucian fatalism and is necessarily tied to the passage of time, as only through time can we distinguish what can and cannot change, as opposed to fatalism which denies change. As mentioned earlier, Mòzǐ’s doctrine states: “partiality must be replaced by universality”—a notion that only makes sense as a temporal transformation, which they sought to implement in practice.
Regarding their conception of time, we find further reflection in another mention of the Will of Heaven at the beginning of the Major Illustrations (Dà Qǔ):
“Heaven’s love for humans is more inclusive than the sage’s love for humans; its benefit to humans is deeper than the sage’s benefit to humans.” (Great Selection – Dà Qǔ, 1)
This proposition connects with the dialogue Gēng Zhù, where Mòzǐ is asked who is wiser—the spirits or the sages:
Wū Mǎzǐ questioned Mòzǐ: “Who are wiser, the spirits or the sages?” Mòzǐ replied: “Spirits are wiser than sages in the same way that those who see and hear clearly surpass the blind and deaf. In ancient times, Emperor Qǐ of Xià commissioned Fělián to extract minerals from mountains and rivers and cast tings in Kūnwú. He instructed Yǐ to sacrifice a pheasant to invoke the tortoise of Bóruò, saying: ‘When the tings are complete, let them have four legs. Let them cook without fire, hide without being moved, and travel without transport. Let them be used for sacrifice at Kūnwú. May our offering be accepted!’ Then the oracle responded: ‘I accept this offering.’ Clouds formed in all directions. When the nine tripods are complete, they shall pass to the Three Realms. When Xià loses them, Yīn shall possess them, and then Zhōu.” Now, the transfer from Xià to Yīn and then to Zhōu occurred over centuries. Even the wisest advisor cannot foresee centuries ahead, but spirits can. Therefore, spirits are wiser than sages just as the sighted are to the blind. (Gēng Zhù, 2)
The three dynasties span millennia, which the sage, unlike the spirits, cannot foresee. We can extrapolate this reasoning to Heaven, understanding that it proceeds from a timeless, immortal perspective—unintelligible to humans. This, we believe, sheds some light on the Will of Heaven in the Triads and casts doubt on Graham’s assertion that its absence is the major distinction.
Returning now to the differences between the Triads and the Mòbiān, we find that C. Fraser, another respected scholar of classical Chinese philosophy and the most prominent advocate of classifying Mòzǐ as a consequentialist, highlights that benefit (利) is no longer presented in the Mòbiān as it was in the Triads. There, benefit was assessed by the state/government’s goals—“attaining wealth, increasing the population, and maintaining order.” In the Mòbiān, benefit is defined as “what we are pleased to obtain” and contrasted with harm (害 – hai), “what we are displeased to obtain” (Mòzǐ, Book X.I, 26 and 27). Fraser classifies these expressions as “psychological terms” under his categorization of sciences in the Mòbiān.
This shift in the definition of such a key term as benefit (利) for Mohists cannot be understated. What we see is that the Neo-Mohists no longer attempt to implement policy through the state. After more than a century with no political success in their mission to “replace partiality with universality,” they likely abandoned the idea of political implementation—i.e., through state means, which are inherently partial.
One cannot help but think they may have been persuaded by the first line of The Art of War, which identifies war with the very life of the state (thus implicitly distinguishing it from biological human life). That is, one cannot expect universality from the state. State leaders and officials are bound to deal with war—they have no other option.
The Neo-Mohists turn instead to study, research, compile, and present knowledge, principles, or understandings that can be described as either common sense or scientific—objective, stripped of national or even continental discrimination, but also of social, sexual, cultural, or any other kind. They present concepts, rules, or definitions across epistemology, mathematics, ethics, etc., all as knowledge of the same category—valid for all human conditions, and thus universal: true at all times and in all places.
Killing Thieves is Not Killing People
The most repeated issue in the Mòbiān is the Mohist insistence that “killing thieves is not killing people.” We previously referenced thieves at the beginning of this article in a Triad quote illustrating the contrast between the “partial love” of thieves and Universal Love.
Now we encounter what might be the first and most general objection (to Mohism), which we formulate fictionally here: “Killing people contradicts Universal Love; thieves are people; therefore, killing thieves contradicts Universal Love.”
Consequently, Mohists are forced to defend their position by rejecting the equivalence between killing thieves and killing people. They classify this in the Minor Illustrations (Xiǎo Qǔ) as a type of fallacy: “It is this, but not in that way.”
“Huo’s parents are people, but Huo’s service to his parents is not service to people. Your younger brother is a beautiful person, but loving your younger brother is not loving a beautiful person. A cart is made of wood, but driving a cart is not driving wood. A boat is made of wood, but boarding a boat is not boarding wood. A thief is a person, but many thieves are not many people. The absence of thieves does not mean the absence of people. How can this be clarified? Rejecting the existence of many thieves is not rejecting the existence of many people. Wishing for no thieves is not wishing for no people. The whole world agrees this is so. If this is so, then even if we say: ‘A thief is a person, loving a thief is not loving a person; not loving a thief is not not loving a person; killing a thief is not killing a person,’ there is no problem. This and that belong to the same category. Yet, the people of the world believe that and think they are right, while Mohists believe this and are judged wrong by all others. This has no valid reason and may be described as being fixated inwardly and not receptive outwardly (i.e., having a closed mind that is not open to change). These are cases of ‘it is this, yet not in that way.'” (Mòzǐ, Minor Illustrations – Xiǎo Qǔ, 5)
It is interesting how the Mohists candidly admit that “the people of the world believe the other view and consider themselves free of error, while we Mohists believe this and are judged wrong.” This issue is crucial for the Mohist system and its development, because in fact, “the world” refuted and clearly rejected the Mohist proposal of Universal Love.
Common sense is only possible within a community, as we saw earlier in the quote from “Condemnation of Offensive War I, 2” (or also in the cosmopolitan followers of Socrates). Harming others is universally condemned within a community, but harming those beyond borders is often praised as heroic. This is seen as erroneous by Mohists, for attacking other states is not only unjust but extremely unjust, given the great harm it causes. However, the Mohists place thieves in a different category from people in other states. The difference is that we cannot communicate with thieves, since they operate in secrecy, or are beyond known limits, nomadic, and therefore cannot be held accountable or integrated into the common sense of the community, even if we are sure they would be interested—because, in the end, we are all human beings.
How Long Will Thieves Exist?
The Mohists were aware of the problem posed by their ignorance of the limits of the world, as is stated precisely at the end of the second part of Canons and Explanations (Jīng and Jīng shuō xia – 经下 – Canon II), which we could say amounts to the end of the entire body of Mohist texts:
174
C: “Without limits” does not exclude “universal.” The explanation lies in whether something is complete or not.
E: Objection: In the case of the south, if it has limits, then it can be “exhausted”; if it has no limits, then it cannot be “exhausted.” If it is never possible to know whether it has a limit or not, then it is also impossible to know whether it can be “exhausted” or not, and therefore also whether people can be “exhausted” or not. Therefore, necessarily, the claim that people can love exhaustively (i.e., universally) is perverse.
Response: Regarding people, if they do not “fill” what is “without limits,” then people have “limits.” “Exhausting” what has “limits” poses no difficulty. If (people) “fill” what is “without limits,” then what is “without limits” is “exhausted.” “Exhausting” what is “without limits” poses no difficulty.
175
C: Not knowing their number, but knowing their “exhaustion (completeness).” The explanation lies in the issue.
E: Objection: If you do not know their number, how do you know that loving people is something that “exhausts” them?
Response: Some lie beyond the scope of inquiry. If one exhaustively questions people, then one loves exhaustively those who have been questioned. Therefore, not knowing the number and yet knowing that loving them “exhausts” them poses no difficulty.
176
C: Not knowing their whereabouts does not prevent loving them. The explanation lies in lost children.
(We have neither objection nor response to Canon 176, although it could easily be inferred: parents love their children even without knowing their whereabouts.)
The first objection we just saw, concerning the limits of the world, may well come from the Legalist school, since the term used by the objector is “perverse”—that is, contrary to what is natural: war. While the Mohists sought to travel the world preaching Universal Love, the Legalists pursued an opposite policy: to increase state power by all means necessary, enhancing its lethality. This involved deliberately avoiding anything that might encourage humanity—such as exchanges between nationals and foreigners—to the point that, in the state of Qin, they prohibited inns, commerce, and travel, and prevented subjects from learning to read and educate themselves, among other implacable, terrible, and cruel policies, such as paying for (severed) enemy heads, etc. They proved effective, as the state of Qin defeated the other six Warring States in just ten years and thus reunified China.
The Mohists could still respond to the accusation of perversity with arguments such as “if you ask, everyone says they agree with Universal Love” or “the example of parents loving their distant children…”, but they clearly understood the concerns of their objectors regarding the world’s limits. Their response does not solve the practical problem of Universal Love, even if their goal was to convince a particular individual and perhaps gain a new adherent to their school. But it is clear that its implementation—political or moral—could only succeed if applied universally and simultaneously. They knew it could not be promoted partially or unilaterally because the result would not be Universal Love but loss, defeat, irrelevance, and disappearance—just as the Legalists rightly saw.
In the case of the argument about thieves, no one could accept that thieves were not people—except the Mohists. The distinction between thieves and people was the result of their need to justify eliminating thieves while still upholding Universal Love. Now, even if we think the Mohists were mistaken, they were paradoxically committed to truth—truth consisting above all in exposing arguments rather than hiding them when they are inconvenient. And that is what happens in this case with the doctrine of Universal Love. Only in this way can one be free and free others. If someone plans to harm or seeks advantage at the expense of another, they will not reveal themselves openly. The Mohists boldly—rather than naively—expose the flaws of their doctrine and show how they attempt to save it, just as science does when a phenomenon eventually contradicts one of its paradigms.
The Mohists defended Universal Love even against common sense (it was the Will of Heaven) because common sense stems from partiality, while science begins from universal (generally unrealistic) terms, in contrast to plain common sense, which begins from what is known.
But what is astonishing is that the world today has been delimited, and thus “thieves”—those who harm others for their own benefit—are people, for there is no longer any clandestinity or unknown place outside the reach of the state, where the world is filled with stated. We no longer need to kill the thieves—we can talk to them. We can assign the police to deal with them while we present our case and win them over to coexistence for mutual and shared benefit, integrating with them “into a common system of justice,” which is obviously in everyone’s interest. For the (Universal) Love that Mozi proposes, as also for Western cosmopolitans, is not a product of will but of universality itself (of universal coexistence), which drives us toward that love through its own logic of mutual influence, where Love is the Golden Rule: treat others as you would like to be treated.
Conclusion
The ideology of the modern age assumes that the cause of war is economic interest, and the consequence is that we are induced to support and commit to the side that offers us the greatest benefit, possession, or personal “right”—which, logically, is our state. This not only manifests war’s inevitability in a fatalistic way but also fuels the fire, since we are all presumed to be involved and participating in it.
That may be the reality—but it need not be the end.
Humans are divided into states—armed units—and the cause of war is the weapon, which deprives all of us of freedom (mutually) by its mere existence/potential.
What’s happening is that the current nation-state ideology shapes our worldview. That’s why both the left and the right—both confined within the framework of the state—do not allow the state itself to be questioned. That’s what forces us to interpret war in economic terms.
However (from a human perspective), what economic interest could possibly justify the massive waste on weapons, mutual destruction, or worse, human extinction through nuclear arms?
Private goods/the dispossession of others is not a human drive and could not occur without prior organization—without the violence enabled by the weapon, the armed unit, which alone is capable of dispossessing.
It is the weapon that “privatizes”/dispossesses because, being intended to harm (the other), it cannot be shared. It is essential and absolutely private—and for that reason, the goods subject to it necessarily become private, subordinated to its service.
I insist: what happens is that we feel compelled to say that economic interest drives us. But that is not what drives us—we are forced into it. And the proof lies in the fact that the weapon distributes goods hierarchically—that is, with absolute inequality, as required by the exercise of war, both in the army and in the state, which needs us at its mercy.
So, war is not waged by will, but by force—against our will—through coercion or dispossession and through the deprivation of our humanity, which is our capacity to put ourselves in another’s place (the state only allows us to empathize with others if they are nationals or for international political purposes, but naturally, we empathize with any person, national or not).
Then, do we know of any state not hierarchically organized—one that proves there is no coercion and only economic interest?
Obviously, our true (economic) benefit is to live united, to make inclusive (and public) decisions—something that could neither be done nor even conceived in the past, but today can be realized through reform of the UN that enables and ensures inclusive (and public) decision-making such that all decisions are unanimous. In this way, we would only pursue the common good while also preventing, dismantling, and eliminating harm—the intent to harm, the weapon.
Property, if anyone is afraid, can be protected (as needed) by the police. But there is no doubt that weapons of mass destruction, armies, are a danger to all. No one is expropriated of their property (that would be violence), but as a means of producing the common good, we would seek utility, which is in everyone’s interest—including the owner’s. Therefore, such property becomes irrelevant, whereas consumption goods can be enjoyed without needing to dedicate oneself or others to their protection.
Perhaps someone wonders, how do we do it? First, by understanding our interest. And second, by truly understanding that we all need each other—we will communicate and care for each other.
The state—or rather, politicians—can now open their eyes and see that nothing prevents us from considering universality and inclusive decision-making. In our global world, the effect of any proposal is the same for all states, and what states perceive is only the relative difference, since the weapon is only by/against itself.