In his article, Roger Ames presents two senses that we can understand the term “globalization.” The first one is Western globalization related to phenomena such as modernism, postmodernism, colonialism, and missionary work in non-Western countries. The second one is the “global” reading of globalization, which points to the recognition of the potential contribution of other cultures such as Asian or African cultures.

In the second sense, Ames does not mean a meta-theory, which lays claims to being a global i.e. universal philosophy – a narration, which is equally valid for all cultures; rather, the second sense involves recognition and emphasis of local diversity.

Ames writes:

The term “global,” while suggesting comprehensiveness, may in fact accentuate the fundamentally local character of objects and events. (Ames 2004, 172)

This means that in the second sense of “globalization,” what will be given prominence is not the common ground on which we can establish fruitful communication – but rather the difference that does not let us go too far in trials of colonizing foreign thought and cultures.

Having these observations as a background, Ames analyzes how Chinese thought was transmitted to the Western world. The first translations of Chinese philosophy were made mostly by missionaries. That, according to Ames, caused Christianization of Chinese thought; to make it more apparent, Ames names few examples of common translations that point to Christian origin (天 Heavens, 仁 benevolence, 德 virtue). [Nota bene, this way we can even think that the Chinese were devout Christians, but they just used different wording (supposedly this kind of understanding was what Matteo Ricci tried to do establish in his “天主實義”).]
Subsequently, secular sinologists started to translate Chinese thought, however it resulted in obscure and even occult readings to such degree that

[t] he classics of Chinese philosophy in most American bookstores are usually found between the bibles and the New Age, and if given any specific category at all, are usually designated “Asian Religions.” (Ames 2004, 176)

This “occultization” is not an intentional result of sinologists trying to make Chinese philosophy unclear and hard to understand. It comes from the lack of philosophical and hermeneutical perspectives which could supply the translation process.  However, due to these insufficiencies, Chinese thought was not understood and captured in Western notions well enough.

Now, according to Ames, there is a new occasion to start thinking about new translations of Chinese classics. The emergence of excavated texts provides a new chance to grasp Chinese thought in a more holistic way. It is a good reason to take on the task of producing new, more philosophically fulfilling interpretations. However, “the third-wave translators” must have good preparation to attempt to achieve this goal. First of all, they should make the reader or student understand the premises and basic claims of Chinese philosophy:

[P]hilosophical interpreters must sensitize the student of Chinese philosophy to the ambient uncommon assumptions that have made the Chinese philosophical narrative so different from our own. It is these assumptions that inform the philosophical vocabulary and set parameters on their meanings. (Ames 2004, 178)

It does not mean that the translators have to establish a “once-and-for-all” set of universal Chinese assumptions. Ames warns here against forming shortcuts that would promote cultural reductionism or thought colonialism. Secondly, the philosopher-interpreter has to be aware of his own premises and hidden cultural assertions.

A failure of interpreters to be self-conscious and to take fair account of their own Gadamarian “prejudices” with the excuse that they are relying on some ‘objective’ lexicon that, were the truth be known, is itself heavily colored with cultural biases, is to betray their readers not once, but twice. (Ames 2004, 178)

It seems that what Ames is trying to express is that not only the translator should be well versed in the foreign culture in question, but also have a good understanding of his own cultural system and its entailments. This is linked to keeping awareness of every word and word usage, but this endeavor also requires the will to dynamically shift one’s own understanding with the cycles of hermeneutic readings between the source and the target cultures.

It is worth noting that Ames sees the future for process philosophy and pragmatism as the ontological tool and non-dualistic theoretical basic frameworks for grasping Chinese thought. Not only these would help to understand Chinese (or foreign thought), but they can also be used recursively (Ames 2004, 178). In other words, through Chinese thought interpreted via Western process language a person from Western culture can gain insights into Western thought as well.

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This article prompted many questions and shaken my initial understanding of how we can think about Chinese philosophy. Originally, I thought that trials of applying Western concepts to Chinese philosophy can be promising. Originally, I wanted to find the roots of subjectivity in the “Zhuangzi” – i.e. the categories that operate and inform the notion of subject in “Zhuangzi.” Perhaps this approach would be helpful or productive. There must be some results of this kind of work. Our intellectual capacities can link many things together and present it as a theory or at least a set of quite probable hypotheses. But leaving the result to such a risky “perhaps,” without rethinking the topic and its possibilities in depth, would not be very wise. At least, I thought, I should dwell on the cultural transcendental conditions of such a search.

The first problem is: what methodological approach should we assume in comparative philosophy (shortly called CP afterward)? Ames suggests that the only way is to recognize cultural differences. Otherwise, we start to practice Western reductionist thought and try to force cultural equivalents in other cultures. This claim seems legitimate as it keeps the interpretation process far from the practice of cultural homogenization. Even if we want to research the sources of religious behavior, we will not claim that Chinese Daoists and Roman Catholics go to their temples sharing the same intention and concept of God/gods. At least initially we will have awareness of the incommensurability of these two cultures. On the other hand, it is not clear whether there are some differences that are simply not possible to translate between languages and cultures – or – in the end, everything is translatable (however not always in a very aesthetic or well-turned way). It seems that radical emphasis put on difference might result in claims of cultural exclusivism. Since we deal with differences there must be a reason they are not reducible to some common denominator. But is this a cultural Beetle in the Box? Can culture X claim that it has a special ritual/notion/understanding that is just intelligible to members of culture X and not to culture Y?

Following Ames’s hint (Ames 2004, 177) let’s look at what Wittgenstein said about being in the form of life and the possibility of a private language. In “Philosophical Investigations” (§19) he says that

to imagine a language means to imagine a form of life. (Wittgenstein 2009, 11e)

Later (§23), while explaining the language-games he says:

[t]he word ‘language-game’ is used … to emphasize the fact that the speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of life. (Wittgenstein 2009, 15e)

The notion of the form of life comes back much later (in §241) when Wittgenstein speaks of “obeying the rule”:

’So you are saying that human agreement decides what is true and what is false?’ – What is true or false is what human beings say; and it is in their language that human beings agree. This is agreement not in opinions, but rather in form of life. (Wittgenstein 2009, 94e)

The last remark we can find is concerning the certainty of mathematics. It seems that for Wittgenstein the issue of certainty is another language game, however, disguised in the language of objectivity i.e. lying outside of or being immune to any language usage:

345. What has to be accepted, the given, is – one might say – forms of life.

346. Does it make sense to say that people generally agree in their judgements of colour? – What would it be like if it were different? – One man would say that a flower was red, which another called blue; and so on. – But with what right could one then call these people’s words “red” and “blue” our ‘colour-words’? –

How would they learn to use these words? And is the language-game which they learn still the one we call the use of ‘colour names’? There are evidently differences of degree here.

347. But this consideration must apply to mathematics too. If there weren’t complete agreement, then human beings wouldn’t be learning the technique which we learn either. It would be more or less different from ours, perhaps even up to the point of unrecognizability. (Wittgenstein 2009, 238e)

What then emerges from these remarks and how can we use them to talk about the translation of Chinese (and possibly any foreign) philosophy? We see that Western culture and its modes of thinking that inform Western philosophy are a kind of form of life. The Chinese philosophical counterpart is another form of life. To put it bluntly, China and the West have their own philosophies. Even if we accept that they can both belong to the activity of philosophy, both sides do it in a different way. They both agree on different premises, or should I say thinking practices. Those practices, as forms of life, are bundles of many intertwining language-games that make up the edifice of each philosophical world. All this leads to the question: if a person from a Western form of life starts to live in a Chinese (or in a  generally foreign to him) form of life, can he acquire the new form of life?

I think that Wittgenstein would oppose the idea of recording in detail and in a final way the rules of any language game. It would mean that we can really write down the rules, use signs to describe the practice.

Every sign by itself seems dead. What gives it life? – In use it lives. Is it there that it has living breath within it? – Or is the use its breath?” (Wittgenstein 2009, 135e [§432])

This means that if a Westerner goes to live a Chinese form of life, he could not render linguistically (as a set of prepositions, axioms, etc.) the new rules and then intellectually understand them. To acquire the target form of life he cannot just agree to the rules he rendered in his own language. To really acquire a form of life, he would have to live this form of life. This means that he starts acting like the Chinese do. For example, he starts to eat with chopsticks and respect the honorific system, as it is known in China, etc.

This raises another question: even if a foreigner does all of this, even if he behaviorally becomes accustomed to the reality of another form of life, does he grasp the rules? If a Westerner and Chinese would act the same way in various life situations – can we say that they share a form of life? Is it only a behavioral, outer, manifestation – or are there much deeper cultural games that inform those more superficial? If so, is it possible to shift from the latter ones to the former ones? If not, why is there still so much misunderstanding between cultures, why do we lack easily accessible common ground to communicate, and why there are so many misrepresentations of other cultures?

What I understand about Ames’ objective prescribed for the third generation of philosophers-interpreters is that he wants the interpreter to somehow be able to switch between the source and target form of life, being aware of multiple heterogeneous language games, their interconnectedness, and differences of their inner structures. If we assume that we generally don’t have problems with obeying rules from our own form of life, how can we know if we correctly obey the rules of another culture? With such game rules, who is the authority deciding whether we play the game (or whether we correctly play the game) we intended to play? Is there an explicit formulation of how the rule has to be interpreted or every move in the game is “examined” and “verified” by the community to which the intended game belongs? How (and upon what) do members of culture decide if my move as a foreigner is a proper one or a mistake? “We don’t think (or do) like that” – they can answer my proposal of solving some problems. But how do they know how they think? Can one write it down? They do like this because they do like this. For generations, people in China live in their form of life which informs their way of doing things. Did it change? Deep inside, is it the same form of life in which Confucius, Zhuangzi, and Mozi lived? Or do modern Chinese have similar problems with guessing the form of life of their ancestors?

Language is an activity. Otherwise, there is no language. The life of a sign is in its use. Otherwise, it is dead. And every time we open our mouths to speak we are engaging in the language activity. Thus, we bring the language alive and we confirm that we are placed within some form of life. But this “sign” is it spoken or written? Wittgenstein seems to put stress on the activity of speaking. For us, language usually is speaking and writing, but the mere text is always prone to multiple conflicting or contradictory interpretations. We can spend a while trying to guess if a “minute dog” is a kind of “quick dog” (reaching the gate under one minute), a “disposable-after-one-minute dog” or just a “small dog”. But we would spend a lot more time understanding Chinese character substitution e.g. as with the equivalent use of “說” and “悅” in the first line of Analects (“學而時習之，不亦說乎？”). That is why, I think, oral transmission is very important. It is faster than written language, the user can quite immediately know if he is playing the game or not. When we read ancient Chinese texts with less ancient (but still old) commentaries, we are left to the root text and explanation from an already another form of life. We (and I suppose it is also valid for modern Chinese) are based only on our knowledge how the past forms of life were like, not really having experienced them, not being able to have a share in them and to create them. So, the question is: is there a kind of uninterrupted oral transmission, a lineage of which we could say is a form of life?

It seems that there is at least one different transmission and understanding than the scholarly one. Consider introduction to Michael Saso’s chapter in “Experimental Essays on Chuang-tzu”:

I would like to reproduce here notes made while doing field work in Taiwan on the meditative use of the Chuang-tzu [莊子]. The notes were mainly taken during the summer of 1975, and again in the summer of 1977, with groundwork begun during the fall and winter of 1972, when I first discovered the manual in use by the Cheng-i tz’u-t’an [正一嗣壇] Taoists of north Taiwan. Three young Taoists took part in the conversation of 1975, along with Taoist Master Chuang [莊陳登雲] who was then still living. In 1977, after the death of the leader of the Taoist fraternity, the same three Taoists commented on the differences between the meditative and the popular spirit control theories of Taoist perfection, which appears as an appendix to the original conversations. In all cases I shall follow the field notes scrupulously, not interposing my own interpretations, and introducing footnotes and citations only where necessary. Since scholarly study and the interpretation of the religious devotee do not necessarily or fruitfully coincide, it is not necessary to point out that many of the ideas developed by the speakers do not agree with traditional textual criticism. Nevertheless, one of the speakers is a college graduate with a degree in language, and two of the participants are upper middle school level in education, with training in classical Chinese and calligraphy as Taoists. All three are aware of the meditations outlined here and consider the book as a means to attain Taoist perfection. It is assumed by the speakers that the book is meant as a manual for training the Taoist aspirant in meditation. (Saso 1983, 141; translations in square brackets – mine)

At least in the Daoist tradition, we can find another source of knowledge about the texts commonly interpreted in the “scholarly” or academic way. There is a difference in the two approaches and Saso wants to escape imposing his own interpretations on what he received. As I understand, he sees it as a valuable account of a Daoist tradition that should be kept pure, hence sticking to field notes only. What is interesting in this introduction is the fact that the text (here “Zhuangzi”) is treated as a meditation manual. It means that the text itself is referring to something outside the text, possibly an experience, a state of body or mind, a mystical state, a kind of relation towards reality, etc. It is not just belletristic literature written to enjoy, but it has a practical or guiding facet too. With this kind of religious transmission, if it refers to some aforementioned state, something that lied outside of language is it quite clear to see how can there be continuity within the form of life. Even if we live now, more than two thousand years after the texts were originally compiled and used, due to unbroken lineage and clear point of reference (at least clear for Daoist practitioners) we can have a criterion for saying whether the intended game still belongs to the Daoism game or not.

I would be cautious when using the word “game” as usually what is meant by this word is “language game”. If “Zhuangzi” can be treated as a meditation manual, then it’s possible that the referred states are states that transcend our normal use of language, or language in general. Throughout “Zhuangzi” we can taste this transcending non-dual flavor, we can feel the need to go beyond common concepts of good and bad, of ugly and beautiful, etc., and we are often lead outside the boundaries of ordinary life – towards the afterlife, fantasy and dream reality. And so, I feel that it is possible that the criterion lies outside the common language. However, “Zhuangzi” is rendered in the language of its time, so what we have contact with could be a representation of how meditational states are felt, how they present themselves, or how they impose themselves on the ordinary language. Hence, a metaphor is often used. But still, we do not necessarily know what are these metaphors pointing to. (There is an already developed scholarship on the use of metaphor in the “Zhuangzi.”

I will dedicate a separate mini-article to this issue.) What is important here is how can we shape the possibility of dialogue between East and West and how can we ensure a good translation of foreign philosophical literature immersed in a universe of foreign language games:

• Can we rely on metaphors and poetic language, even if without proper training we might not know what they refer to?
• Should we build a new language that can incorporate metaphors or use them as basic structure of language?
  • Wouldn’t this be too universalistic? Would both sides accept this compromise?
• Or should we find a form of life in Western philosophy that has similar grounds as Daoism?
  • Would e.g. Christian mysticism in any way be proportionate to Daoism? How could we know?
• What should be the biggest common denominator between two forms of life?
  • Similarity of terms?
    • Can we really find two philosophical concepts from Chinese and Western philosophical systems that are in most cases interchangeable?
  • Similarity of relations between terms?
    • Would that really solve any problems?
  • Focal problems of both?
    • Is it really enough to try to understand the other form of life?
  • The common practices and/or common experiences?
    • How could we judge that the practice is common?
    • Who would determine that reference experiences are comparable – a person should be a master in both traditions to know that, and that is a lifetime process?

There are many questions and many difficulties.

References:

Ames, Roger T. 2004. “Indigenizing Globalization and the Hydraulics of Culture: Taking Chinese Philosophy on its Own Terms,“ Globalizations 1, No. 2: 171–180

Saso, Michael. 1983. “The Chuang-tzu nei-p’ian: A Taoist Meditation.” In Experimental Essays on Chuang-tzu, edited by Victor H. Mair, 140-157. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 2009. Philosophische Untersuchungen / Philosophical investigations. Translated by G. E. M. Anscombe, P. M. S. Hacker, and Joachim Schulte. Chichester (West Sussex): Wiley-Blackwell.

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