And above all, above everything else—do not lie. Above all, do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasures, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself.
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
When I first read this passage two years ago, I didn’t find it particularly profound, dismissing it as trite. Now, revisiting it, every word strikes me as insightful.
Perhaps two years ago, I hadn’t encountered Kant’s metaphysics of morals. Dostoevsky, through the character of Elder Zosima, simply provides the answer, while Kant systematically proves it in “Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals.” Ultimately, I am convinced by rationality rather than moved by emotion.
Not lying is our complete duty to others in Kant’s moral system. A complete duty is an unconditional obligation that must be fulfilled without compromise, regardless of circumstances.
My disappointment in China stems from their pervasive lies in all matters. This is particularly true in Henan, where I was born and raised. A classic Henanese survival tip concerns weight conversion: how many ounces are in a pound? It varies—sometimes eight, sometimes twelve. People always make up stories for the smallest advantage, never telling the truth, even to family. This deception disgusts me. I sometimes wonder: after decades of knowing each other, who doesn’t see through whom? Yan Fu perfectly encapsulated the flaw in Chinese culture: starting with deceit, ending in shamelessness.
Meanwhile, I also dislike the attitudes of some “city folks.” During a recent incident at the Nanyang Music Festival, some advocated for strict measures in chaotic times. I’m not suggesting we tolerate such disorder, but the elitist mindset it reveals repels me. This represents another value I increasingly detest in Chinese society—elitism. Those deemed less elite aren’t worthy of humane treatment.
Morality is the law of freedom. Trying to elevate morality by restricting freedom is fundamentally misguided. By moral law of freedom, I ask: do you believe these people possess the same rationality as you? If, in a parallel universe, they were granted complete freedom and full political rights, do you believe the situation would spontaneously improve? (1) You don’t believe so; (2) you can’t wait; (3) you think it doesn’t affect you. Because you don’t live there, then you’re just an onlooker to the chaos, unconcerned as long as it doesn’t impact you.
I see Henan’s chaos as a result of limited political rights. The government prioritizes stability over solving problems or governing effectively. Consider the recent incident where a couple was attacked by a real estate company; the government silenced them instead of seeking justice. As a commoner, you’re powerless. Born in Henan, I avoid Henanese, but I can’t blame them. You live in big cities with more knowledge, resources, and legal protections. Have you ever treated them as equals or contributed to granting them the same freedoms you enjoy? If not, what right do you have to judge? You might be worse off if born there.
And why do I have the right to lecture you? It’s because of another moral principle: greater ability entails greater responsibility. Everyone is born with different talents and environments. How can morals be universal? The answer is straightforward: your obligations correspond to the extent of your freedom.
You might ask what I’ve done. As a dissident writing here, hoping for a constitutional China, this is the most meaningful action I can think of.
A line from the film “Frost/Nixon” lingers with me:
“That still leaves ten percent where he[Nixon] was doing the wrong thing, and knew it.”
Just that is enough to negate his ninety percent achievements and ruin his political career. Nixon might regret not being born in China, where his mistakes could be overlooked as his counterpart. But there’s no such thing as balancing good and bad deeds. Knowing when you’re doing wrong matters. When we can progress to this point, the false assessment that Mao Zedong’s legacy into 70% good and 30% bad can be corrected, shedding the moral mentality like Americans scrutinizing Nixon, then our national spirit will have modernized.
Today’s lengthy writing is hard to conclude. Another time, I’ll write from a personal perspective: when did I become a jack of all trades? (From the day I lost my moral foundation)
As a master of none, what should I do now?
Be true, both to others and to yourself.
Be a person of integrity and hold your ground.