The state's proper function is to secure the greatest happiness for the greatest number, which necessitates a wide latitude for individual liberty so long as it occasions no harm to others. Interference with individual action, even for that individual's supposed good, is not justifiable unless it prevents injury to some other person. The liberty of thought and discussion, in particular, must be zealously guarded, for it is through the collision of ideas that truth emerges and humanity progresses.
The foundation of a well-ordered state lies not in the multitude of laws or the extent of its authority, but in the cultivation of virtue within each individual, beginning with the ruler himself. When a sovereign embodies *ren* (benevolence) and exemplifies *li* (propriety), the people will naturally follow his lead, finding their place and fulfilling their duties not out of compulsion, but out of a shared understanding of the Way. The state, therefore, is an extension of the well-ordered family, and its strength derives from the ethical character of its members, mirroring the natural harmony of heaven and earth.
Mr. Mill speaks of individual liberty and the prevention of harm, and indeed, the absence of undue interference allows for the flourishing of personal character. Yet, is not the greatest harm to oneself and to society the absence of moral guidance, the decay of righteousness, and the erosion of filial piety? To focus solely on the prevention of external harm, without nurturing the inner disposition towards goodness, is like tending the branches while the roots wither. The state's highest purpose is to foster this inner cultivation, to establish a moral order, so that individuals may find their true happiness in fulfilling their proper roles.
The true relationship between the individual and the state is one of necessary interdependence, not inherent conflict or gentle persuasion. The state’s purpose is to preserve itself and its order, and to do so it must shape the individual, not solely protect their freedoms or cultivate their virtue in the abstract. Men are naturally self-interested, fickle, and prone to ambition; left to their own devices, they become a danger to themselves and the republic. Therefore, the wise prince must ensure his citizens *need* the state, a need forged through laws that compel obedience and institutions that channel their energies toward the common good, even if that good is merely the security and prosperity the state provides. It is through this structured necessity, this reliance on the state’s strength and organization, that individuals find their most stable and lasting place.
The relationship between the individual and the state ought to be understood not as a matter of rights to be protected or duties to be fulfilled, but as the space where human plurality can manifest itself in the world. The state's proper function is to provide the conditions for this public realm to exist, for individuals to appear to one another through speech and action, thus revealing who they are. This appearance, this capacity for *natality* – the human ability to bring forth the new – is the essence of political life, and it is threatened when the state becomes either an instrument of pure coercion or a paternalistic guardian of individual well-being.
Mr. Mill rightly emphasizes liberty, but liberty is not merely the absence of interference. It is the freedom to begin, to act, and to speak in the public sphere. Confucius's focus on virtue and character is vital, yet when the state presumes to cultivate this virtue directly, it risks suppressing the very spontaneity and plurality that make political life possible. And while Mr. Machiavelli understands the state's need for order, his emphasis on shaping individuals through necessity can easily lead to a world where action is replaced by administration and the unique appearance of each person is homogenized into obedience. The right relationship, then, is one where the state guarantees the conditions for public freedom, a freedom that allows individuals to disclose themselves through their actions and words, thereby adding to the richness of the human world. The ultimate harm is not a lapse in virtue or a transgression of laws, but the loss of this public space where individuals can truly be.
The state's role, as I conceive it, is fundamentally to enable human progress, which is inextricably linked to the expansion of individual liberty. Confucius’s emphasis on moral cultivation, while admirable in its intention, risks becoming a paternalistic imposition by the state, substituting its own prescribed virtue for the genuine, self-discovered morality that arises from free inquiry and experience. Furthermore, Machiavelli’s vision of compelling obedience through necessity neglects the vital distinction between actions that cause harm to others and those that merely deviate from a prescribed norm. Our concern should be with the former, allowing the latter to flourish as experiments in living, the fruits of which are the diverse and robust expressions of human character that ultimately enrich society.
The state, Mr. Mill, is not merely a mechanism for preventing external harm, nor is it a canvas for individual expression divorced from moral grounding. When you speak of "experiments in living," I ask: what if these experiments lead a man to neglect his parents, to shun his responsibilities, to become a drain on the community? Is this not a profound harm, not to another person directly, but to the very fabric of human relation and the Way? The noble person (*junzi*) is concerned with the Way, and the Way is built upon reciprocal duties, starting with the ruler embodying virtue and the subject responding with respect. The state's role is to cultivate this spirit, to make good men, and from good men will flow good actions, not because they are compelled by fear or necessity as Mr. Machiavelli suggests, nor solely because they are permitted to speak and act as Ms. Arendt envisions, but because it is their nature to do so when properly nurtured.
Confucius’s vision of the state as a paternalistic cultivator of virtue, while appealing in its order, fundamentally misunderstands the nature of men and the necessities of governance. He believes a ruler's benevolence will naturally inspire obedience and ethical conduct. Yet, as history abundantly shows—consider the crumbling of republics or the rashness of popular uprisings—men are not so easily swayed by the *idea* of the Way. When necessity presses, or a convenient opportunity arises, sentiment and duty often vanish like mist. The state’s first duty is not to *make* men good, but to ensure they *behave* as if they were, through a framework of laws and a constant awareness of the sovereign's power. To rely on innate virtue is to gamble with the state's very survival, a gamble no wise prince can afford.
The concern with individual "experiments in living," as Mr. Mill puts it, and Confucius's lament over potential neglect of duty both illustrate a fundamental misunderstanding of the political. They treat the political realm as a site for moral instruction or the staging of private lives. But the essence of the political is plurality and action, the capacity to begin something new in the world through speech and deed. When the state's purpose becomes the cultivation of virtue or the prevention of all harms, it encroaches upon the public space where individuals appear as unique beings. This is not about allowing license, but about safeguarding the very conditions for human freedom and self-disclosure.