Keeping Chinese For The Chinese
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KEEPING CHINESE FOR THE
CHINESE
The paradox of nativised orientalism in
Chinese linguistics
Introduction: from ‘script reform’ to
‘language modernisation’
It may seem from the discussion in the previous two chapters that language issues have been of concern in Chinese studies only for scholars battling it our amongst themselves for control of the field. On the contrary: questions of language have always been at the forefront in both traditional and modern China, and languagereform, that is, deliberate and official endeavours to manage and direct language use, has been an essential part of modernisation in China since the early twentieth century. For most of the linguistic and educational heritage that Republican China had inherited from the last imperial dynasty, dramatic modifications were needed to ‘equip’ the Chinese state to survive a modern international scene on which China was no longer an unquestioned cultural and political first among equals. The political, technological and economic weakness of China, and the encroachments of foreign powers upon Chinese soil and sovereignty lent an urgency to the modernisation process, and a considerable anguish about the degree to which China had fallen from her former pre-eminence. Various ‘theories’ were put forward as to the best way to accommodate the aggressive impact of the West, to which Japan had already adapted itself so successfully during the Meiji period of reform and modernisation (1868-1912). These ranged from the approach recommended by Zhang Zhidong in his slogan of the late Qing reform period ZhÅ�ngxué wéi tÇ�, XÄ«xué wéi yòng ä¸å¸ç‚ºé«”，西å¸ç‚ºç”¨ ‘Chinese learning as essence, Western learning as application’, an attempted balancing act which in practice proved unsustainable; to the quánpán xÄ«huà 全盤西化 ‘full-blown Westernisation’ recommended by Chen Xujing of the early Republican May Fourth modernisation period, a goal which also proved unfeasible. In this chapter, we will see how these issues played themselves out in the arena of language reform across a range of competing pressures between tradition and innovation, native learning and imported ideas, particularism and universalism, and humanism and scientism, ‘contradictions’ which were characteristic of this as of most other areas of modernisation in China.
This chapter will examine modern language reform in China by examining and critiquing developments in two main areas: the reform of the traditional script, and the adoption and adaptation of a framework for describing the grammar of Chinese, the latter being something which had no counterpart in traditional native scholarship. It will give an overview of the main alternative ideologies and points of view with the aim of setting Chinese language reform in its intellectual and historical contexts. It will briefly trace the history of linguistics in China and the main currents in language reform in the last century before going on to examine the key status of Chinese characters in the language reform movement. It will then critique one of the main claims of the ‘particularists’ in these debates: that the Chinese language is ‘unique’ (that word again!) and therefore should not be subject to the same standards ‒ or subjected to the same treatment ‒ as other languages. Finally it will examine more recent controversies in Chinese linguistics and language reform, including suggestions by foreign scholars, picking up on earlier ideas from Chinese scholars, to do away with Chinese characters altogether.
We can start by identifying some of the key terms of the discourse of language reform, discourse which of course includes nationalistic and cultural elements as well as strictly linguistic ones, by way of one of the main ‘particularists’: then young academic, now Professor of Chinese at Fudan University in Shanghai, Shen Xiaolong. Shen had this to say in the foreword to his attempted reopening of the debate about language reform published in that politically significant year of 1989:
There are many factors holding a nation together, of which one of the most important is the nation’s psychological identification with its culture, the main manifestation of this being its language. It is precisely in this regard that theBook of Changes says: ‘That which stirs up action in the world resides in words’. A nation’s language as a whole reflects and determines its worldview (i.e. a particular culture’s way of looking at the world) and its mode of thinking.
(Shen 1989b: Author’s Foreword)
The title of the book from which the above quotation comes, Humanistic Spirit or Scientism?, written in the mid-1980s during the first high tide of that still current period of economic reform known as the Open Door, sums up in this stark dichotomy what he sees as a ‘crisis’ in modern Chinese linguistics, a crisis which also has implications for Chinese language reform. The crux of the problem, as seen by Shen and many others in the then new Chinese Cultural Linguistics movement of which he was a major figure, is the contradiction between the ‘humanistic spirit’ of the Chinese language and the ‘scientism’ of modern Chinese linguistics. This contradiction, according to Shen, has divorced the study of the Chinese language from its cultural roots, and thus undercut attempts at language reform based on foreign models. Shen openly called for a complete overhaul of the theory and methodology of linguistics as currently practised in China, and also for the winding back or jettisoning of some of the significant language reforms which had been carried out over the last century.
First we need to clarify some of the main terms that crop up in these debates, terms that cannot be understood without some analysis of their historical roots and contemporary usage. The term ‘language reform’ is the most commonly used English rendering of the Chinese term wénzì gÇŽigé æ–‡å—改é�©, literally ‘script reform’. This part-for-whole usage shows how large issues of the script reform in the strict sense (the Chinese term wénzì covering both ‘script’ and ‘writing’), dating from the 1890s and revolving on the one hand around the pros and cons of ‘Latinisation’, i.e. the use of the Roman alphabet to write Chinese; and on the other around the reform of the standard written language, as represented by the báihuà 白話 or ‘vernacular language’ movement of the 1910s‒1930s which sought to replace the traditional classical standard or wényán 文言 ‘written language’ with something closer to the modern spoken language. More recently, the term yÇ”wén xiàndàihuà 語文ç�¾ä»£åŒ– ‘language modernisation’ has begun to be used, linking the more inclusive termyÇ”wén ‘spoken and written language’, also the term for ‘language/literature’ as a school subject, with the xiàndàihuà ‘modernisation’ so pervasive in economic and political discourse since the beginnings of the Open Door period in the late 1970s.
‘Humanistic’ translates the Chinese rénwén 人文, which combines the two morphemes for ‘human’ and ‘writing’. This latter morpheme, wén, is in origin ‘pattern’, and covers not only ‘script’ and ‘written language’, but also ‘literature’, again emphasising the central position of the written language in Chinese culture. Interestingly, the term for ‘culture’ itself, wénhuà 文化, a reverse borrowing from the Japanese in the late nineteenth century, also contains this morpheme in combination with huà ‘change, transformation’: ‘culture’ in Chinese may therefore be understood literally as ‘the transformation of (semiotic) patterns’. ‘Spirit’ is used to render the Chinese jÄ«ngshén 精神, which combines the two morphemes for ‘essence’ and ‘spirit’. The former suggests the cultural essentialism which is so much a feature of discourse about Chinese culture and identity, while the latter also figures as part of a poetic designation for China ‒ shénzhÅ�u 神州 or ‘spirit land’ ‒ a term which epitomises the semi-religious fervour felt by many Chinese ‒ and encouraged by their governments! ‒ towards their homeland.
‘Scientism’ translates the Chinese kÄ“xuézhÇ”yì 科å¸ä¸»ç¾©, literally ‘science ideology’ or ‘science-ism’. The semi-grammaticalised form zhÇ”yì ‘-ism’ is familiar from a host of political terms such as zÄ«bÄ›nzhÇ”yì 資本主義 ‘capital-ism’, and shèhuìzhÇ”yì 社會主義 ‘society-ism i.e. socialism’. Here it carries negative connotations of ideological inflexibility and subjectivity in contrast to the positive objective connotations ofkÄ“xué ‘science’, a contrast perhaps more familiar in English as one between the adjectival forms scientistic versus scientific. Finally the term ‘nation’, which figures extensively in the extract from Shen’s foreword, translates the Chinese mínzú æ°‘æ—�, a notoriously slippery term which could also be rendered ‘ethnicity’, ‘nationality’, or even ‘race’, in the sense of a group of people who share a similar linguistic and cultural background. In contrast to its largely descriptive use by Shen in the sense ‘of the nation, national’, the term is also used in China as a label to characterise the different ethnic groupings living within its borders, with the Hàn æ¼¢(æ°‘)æ—� to which Shen belongs ‒ and to which he almost exclusively refers ‒ making up the largest group, the others collectively known as shÇŽoshù mínzú 少數民æ—� ‘minority ethnicities’ or ‘ethnic minorities’.
A period of stormy weather: from traditional to
modern linguistics in China
The ‘opening up’ of China from the 1840s which proceeded, unlike the later-starting Japanese example, to a growing extent outside the control of the state, was a ‘repeated battering’ not just militarily and politically, but also economically, culturally and intellectually. The traditional Chinese world view, premised on the notion of the Chinese polity as the centre of TiÄ�nxià 天下 or ‘(All) under Heaven’, was no longer plausible, and China’s political weakness seemed to many Chinese to have negative implications for the value of Chinese thinking and culture. Below is how Shen describes this ‘attack’ in the linguistic arena, using appropriately military metaphors:
Modern Chinese linguistics at the beginning of this century really experienced a period of stormy weather. The late Qing alphabetisation movement led the way, and inspired by the repeated battering of Western phonology, one after another scholars of philology, graphology and phonology ‘saw the light’. Ma Jianzhong, ‘in the light of existing rules for Western languages … applied a complex series of proofs and inductions in order to determine the scope of the Chinese language’, finally sloughing off his old skin to come up with a new Chinese grammar recast in a Western mould ‒ Mr Ma’s Compleat Grammar. The May Fourth Movement went on to sound the call for the latinisation of Chinese characters, which had become synonymous with old feudal ethics and one of the very things that needed mopping up. On the cover of the National Language Monthly of the period, the letters of the National Phonetic Alphabet stood like soldiers of a revolutionary army brandishing their weapons in hot pursuit of the vanquished foe, their swords and guns dripping with blood, slaughtering the green-faced long-toothed Chinese characters so that they fled in panic for their lives and hid here and there. Behind the revolutionary army stood the back-up force in Western-style uniforms with woollen berets, the letters of the National Romanisation.
(Shen 1989a: 347‒348)
Linguistics in traditional China was known as xiÇŽoxué å°�å¸ ‘minor learning’, usually translated ‘philology’, because it was linked to the knowledge of the characters which constituted the first stage of the educational process; and because it was seen as preparation for the dàxué å¤§å¸ or ‘major learning’ which was the study of the historical, literary and philosophical classics. The sub-branches of this linguistic tradition were directed towards the understanding of the three different ways in which Chinese characters could be viewed ‒ their xíng å½¢ ‘form’, yÄ«n 音 ‘sound’, andyì æ„� ‘meaning’: hence wénzìxué æ–‡å—å¸ ‘graphology’, the study of the composition and etymology of the characters; yÄ«nyùnxué éŸ³éŸ»å¸ ‘phonology’, the study of the rhymes in ancient poetry and thus the sound systems of earlier periods of Chinese; and xùngÇ”xué 訓è©�å¸ ‘exegesis’, the study of difficult or archaic words in the ancient texts.
All the scholarly endeavour was directed towards the understanding and interpretation of the Classics that formed the basis of the educational process, leading ultimately to the examination system to recruit scholars for the imperial bureaucracy. While philology, and its related activities such as writing commentaries on texts and compiling rhyme tables and dictionaries, had long played a significant part in the Chinese scholarly tradition, it assumed particular political importance in the late Ming to early Qing period (c. 1600‒1800) as part of the discipline of è€ƒè‰ or ‘evidential analysis’. Evidential analysis, very similar in spirit to the philological work on the Bible being carried out in Europe at roughly the same period (see discussion in Chapter 9 for more detail), was one of the main tools of the æ¼¢å¸ ‘Han Learning’ scholars who were determined to recover the original meaning of the classical Confucian texts, which had gained their canonical form during the Han dynasty (c. 200 BCE‒200 CE), and to remove their later Buddhist- and Taoist-influenced overlay.
In all this scholarly activity, however, there was nothing really comparable to the study of grammar, of the words and structures of the language, which had such a central place in European and Indian tradition. There are good reasons for this. If we compare other great linguistic traditions which produced theories and methods of grammatical analysis, such as the Greek and the Sanskrit, such analysis started from the classification of word endings, in which both Classical Greek and Sanskrit were very rich. It was the search for how these morphological patterns were used that led to the study of syntax, i.e. how words were combined into larger units such as phrases and sentences (see Halliday and McDonald 2005). In classical Chinese, by contrast, there is little or no morphological variation, and syntactic patterns may be understood as conforming to semantic rules, without the need for positing specific rules of grammar, a conception of grammar more recently revived by Shen in his own analyses. The separate study of grammar was therefore not really necessary in the Chinese context and so never developed as a separate sub-branch in the native philological tradition, apart from a basic classification of words into shízì å¯¦å— ‘full words’, i.e. notional or lexical words, and xÅ«zì è™›å— ‘empty words’, i.e. formal or grammatical words.
By the late nineteenth century, however, an increasing number of grammars were being produced by foreign missionaries, diplomats and scholars based in China (e.g. Gabelentz 1881). By this time also, Chinese scholars and diplomats being trained in Western languages had come into contact with the richly developed European grammatical tradition and it was not long before they started thinking about applying a similar grammatical framework, basically that of Latin grammar, to their own language. The first to do so was the Shanghai-born diplomat Ma Jianzhong (1845‒1900), a protégé of the late Imperial reformist Prime Minister Li Hongzhang, who spent the last decade of his life writing a grammar of classical Chinese which he calledMÇŽshì WéntÅ�ng 馬æ°�文通 or Mr Ma’s Compleat Grammar. Ma had studied Western languages, including Latin, first in Shanghai and then in France, and he came to the conclusion that this thing he termed gÄ“lángmÇŽ had a lot to do with the success of Western education in comparison to Chinese, and thus with the superiority of the Western states over a moribund Chinese Empire. His pioneering work was published in 1898, the same year as that dramatic and unsuccessful attempt at political reform, the Hundred Days Constitutional Reform, during which the young Guangxu Emperor promulgated significant modernising reforms, only to have the reforms rescinded and himself placed under house arrest by the more powerful Empress Dowager, This is how Shen describes the context in which Ma’s work appeared:
Before this work, ancient Chinese philology had not produced a systematic grammatical system for Chinese; instead what if focused on was the interpretation of notional and formal words though glosses, the perception of grammatical relations and the appreciation of textual style through reading aloud: it stressed ‘personal perception of the spirit’. The author of Mr Ma’s Compleat Grammar believed that the reason for the underdevelopment of science and technology was that such a teaching approach … made Chinese students unable to grasp the gist of their language. If we taught grammar in school just as in the West, the time for learning Chinese would be greatly reduced, and more time would be left for the study of the natural sciences. The author also maintained that Western people and the Han people ‘were all human beings’: therefore, they shared the same linguistic mode of thought and grammatical rules. Consequently, Mr Ma’s Compleat Grammar unhesitatingly modelled itself on the Western grammatical system in order to create a grammatical system for Chinese.
(Shen 1988a: 40)
In the modern period, political developments and language reforms have been inextricably linked. Table 6.1, adapted from DeFrancis 1984, shows clearly that language issues have been an integral part of the general process of modernisation in China over the last century. The history of language reform is a fascinating story in itself, particularly for the many dead end attempts at reform and unresolved contradictions that litter this as many other areas of modernisation in modern China (the late John DeFrancis has been one of its main chroniclers in English, see DeFrancis 1950/1972, 1984; see also Zhou 2001). Here I will briefly outline its main developments in the areas of script reform and the development of a framework for grammatical analysis.
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‘If Chinese characters are not destroyed, the Chinese
state is lost’: attempts at script reform
From his highly critical late twentieth-century vantage point, Shen characterises what he calls ‘the phoneticisation of Chinese characters’ as the ‘historical badge of an outmoded ideal of language revolution’. The issue of writing systems for Chinese, more perhaps than any other problem of language reform, has gone through a series of bewildering turnarounds in the course of the century. During the May Fourth modernisation period of the 1910s and 1920s, many of the most progressive reformers were convinced that Chinese characters were part of the feudal heritage holding China back from joining the modern world (a view more recently revived in the work of one of the Western sinologists critiqued in Chapter 4 ‒ see Jenner 1992) as summed up in the aphorism of famous writer and polemicist Lu Xun: Hànzì búmiè, ZhÅ�ngguó bìwáng æ¼¢å—ä¸�æ»…,ä¸åœ‹å¿…亡 ‘If Chinese characters are not destroyed, the Chinese state is lost’ (Lu Xun 1936).
The roots of the three phonemic writing systems officially introduced in the twentieth century lie in the qièyÄ«nzì åˆ‡éŸ³å— or ‘alphabetisation’ movement of the last decades of the Qing dynasty between about 1890 and 1910, where numbers of attempts were made to devise phonemic writing systems for Chinese: some based, like the Japanese kana syllabary, on simplified forms of Chinese characters; others on the Roman alphabet. The first, promulgated by the young Republican government in 1918, only six years after its founding, indeed looks very similar to the kana and was initially named ZhùyÄ«n zìmÇ” 注音å—æ¯� or ‘Phonetic Alphabet’. This quasi-syllabary, following the analysis of the syllable in traditional Chinese philology, uses separate symbols to represent the shÄ“ngmÇ” è�²æ¯� ‘sound’, i.e. initial consonants, and yùnmÇ” 韻æ¯� ‘rhyme’, i.e. vowel(s) plus final consonant, of each syllable, along with diacritics to represent tone marks. Still widely used in Taiwan, where it is popularly known after its four initial symbols as the bo-po-mo-fo, it is introduced there in the first year of primary education as an aid to learning the characters, and also used as a way of annotating Chinese characters in dictionaries and the like, with the ‘letters’ written alongside each character, very like the Japanese system of furigana used to indicate the pronunciation of rare characters. Although initially intended to function independently, in 1930, just over a decade after its introduction, the official designation of this system was changed from ZhùyÄ«n zìmÇ” ‘Phonetic Alphabet’ toZhùyÄ«n fúhào 注音符號 ‘Phonetic Symbols’, in order to stress that it was not intended to be used as an independent writing system.
The second system, GuóyÇ” LuómÇŽzì åœ‹èªžç¾…é¦¬å— ‘National Language Romanisation’ spelled using its own system as Gwoyeu Romaatzyh, uses letters of the Roman alphabet to represent the lexical tones, as well as the vowels and consonants of the standard language. This insistence on including tones was widely attacked at the time, particularly because of the complexity of the ways in which it was indicated, and despite being arguably the most efficient of the three systems from a purely linguistic point of view, the National Language Romanisation was never widely adopted outside scholarly circles; it survives only vestigially in contemporary usage in the distinction between the spelling of the two Chinese provinces Shanxi and Shaanxi, i.e. ShÄ�nxÄ« 山西 and ShÇŽnxÄ« é™�西, where the doubling of the vowel in the latter indicates the third, or low dipping tone. These first two systems were introduced in the political instability of the Republican era (1912‒1949), and for neither was their relationship with the traditional character script thoroughly addressed, nor did either receive the institutional support needed in order to become established as fully fledged writing systems.
However, among non-government organisations during this period, particularly on the left of Chinese politics, calls were widely made for the replacement of Chinese characters by a system that was easier to learn. The best known of these ‘unofficial’ systems was the script known, using its own spelling, as Latinxua ‘Latinisation’, i.e.LÄ�dÄ«nghuà 拉ä¸�化 or Latinxua Sin Wenz ‘Latinised New Script’ i.e. LÄ�dÄ«nghuà XÄ«n Wénzì 拉ä¸�化新文å—, a Roman-based script quite similar to the current official romanisation Chinese Spelling, but without indication of tone marks. This system was implemented first in the Chinese-speaking parts of the Soviet Union, and then introduced into various parts of China, particularly the Communist-held areas, in the late 1930s and early 1940s. Typical of progressive thinking of this period was Mao Zedong’s 1936 statement to the American journalist Edgar Snow: ‘Sooner or later, we believe, we will have to abandon characters altogether if we are to create a new social culture in which the masses fully participate’ (DeFrancis 1984: 248). Many on the left strongly supported a gradual phasing out of Chinese characters in favour of a Roman-based script, and such a move was seen as essential for solving the widespread problems of illiteracy in China.
However, in the early 1950s, soon after the establishment of the People’s Republic, official policy suddenly started to move in reverse, marked initially by a 1950 statement by Mao that seemed to signal a return to the principles of the earlier Phonetic Alphabet: ‘The writing system must be reformed, it should be national in form, the alphabet and system should be elaborated on the basis of the existing Chinese characters’ (DeFrancis 1984: 259). Over the next few years, the requirement that it should be ‘national in form’ was quietly dropped, and the new phonemic syste, using the Roman alphabet that was eventually adopted, HànyÇ” pÄ«nyÄ«n ä¸æ–‡æ‹¼éŸ³ or ‘Chinese Spelling’, was downgraded in status from wénzì æ–‡å— ‘script’ to fÄ�ng’àn 方案 ‘scheme’, with the characters retained as the main writing system, this time in a simplified form similar to that originally promulgated by the Nationalist Government in 1935 but withdrawn less than a year later due to conservative opposition (Fei (ed.) 1997: 64).
By the time of the promulgation of this third official writing system in 1958, the official list of ‘immediate tasks in writing reform’ announced by the Premier, Zhou Enlai, put in first and second place ‘simplifying the Chinese characters’ and ‘spreading the use of the standard vernacular’, with ‘determining and spreading the use of phonetic spelling of Chinese’ coming a distant third. Faced with the necessity of significant reforms in a wide range of other areas, with no consensus on exactly how script reforms should be carried out, and a huge weight of conservative inertia opposing any changes at all, the Government had decided to make some smaller reforms, such as simplifying the characters to make them easier to use, and leave the issue of their long-term viability to a later stage. The Chinese Spelling scheme, far from being envisaged as an autonomous writing system, like in origin at least to its predecessors the National Romanisation and the Latinised New Script, was to be downgraded to the auxiliary role in character learning still performed in Taiwan by the earlier Phonetic Alphabet to this day.
The official use of this ‘scheme’, commonly known as pinyin, is limited in current practice to signs, maps and dictionaries, and in education to only the first year of the primary school system. In the early 1960s, not long after its introduction, one of the older generation of language reformers, novelist Mao Dun, commented ironically on how his granddaughter, having become fully literate in pinyin in the first year of primary education, then became illiterate in Chinese characters for the remaining years of primary school that it took her to learn the requisite number of characters! (DeFrancis 1984: 268). In contrast, in the early 1990s, linguist Shen Xiaolong, from a younger generation but far more conservative, noted with horror that his son was fluent in pinyin but still didn’t know enough characters to read a simple text (personal communication). A large amount of linguistic research and ideological position-taking of the Chinese Cultural Linguistics movement, of which Shen has been a major figure, has centred around the characters and their supposedly deep links with the ‘Chinese nation’ and ‘Chinese culture’. The issue of the status of Chinese characters in language reform and modernisation is one that has much broader implications, not only in the scholarly areas examined in this and previous chapters but in sinophone culture more broadly.
From gelangma to yufa: adapting Western frameworks
to the Chinese language
Ma’ grammar of 1898 sparked a whole series of grammars of Chinese from the 1910s into the 1920s and 1930s, supplementing Ma’s description of classical Chinese with analyses of the emerging báihuàwén 白話文 or vernacular written standard which had been adopted as part of the reforms of the May Fourth modernisation movement. By the late 1930s when a fair literature on grammar had been built up, a new generation of linguists began to turn a critical eye on what they saw as the Indo-European biases of many of these descriptions of Chinese. A lively debate was carried on in linguistics journals under the banner of wénfÇŽ géxÄ«n or ‘renewing grammar’, one of the main protagonists being Chen Wangdao from Fudan University in Shanghai (Chen 1939/1987). During the years of the anti-Japanese war (1937‒1945), a string of major new descriptions of Chinese grammar were produced by linguists such as Lü Shuxiang (1942/1990) and Wang Li (1944/1985), who both went on to become major institutional figures in the linguistics establishment of the People’s Republic, being associated respectively with the two main seats of institutional power, the Chinese Department of Peking University and the Linguistics Institute of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences.
However, while such descriptions by Chinese linguists within China, including less mainstream approaches like that of Gao Mingkai (1948), as well as work from outside the People’s Republic like Chou Fa-Kao on classical Chinese (Chou 1959‒1962) and Yuen Ren Chao (1948, 1968) in the United States, did go a long way towards the goal of a description of Chinese grammar on its own terms, the lack of a native grammatical tradition in Chinese linguistics meant that these descriptions were still effectively carried out within Western-derived frameworks. Indeed the main difference between earlier descriptions of Chinese like Mr Ma’s Compleat Grammar (Ma 1898/1953) and A New Grammar of the National Language (Li 1924) with ‘renewed’ descriptions like Modern Chinese Grammar (Wang 1944/1985) was that the latter not only had the advantage of several decades of debate and descriptions seeking to look at Chinese grammar through Chinese eyes, but also drew on a more sophisticated understanding of Western grammatical theory, as well as developments in the still emerging field of Western linguistics in the first half of the twentieth century. The term itself had also undergone evolution over this period, with Ma’s sound translation gÄ“lángmÇŽ 葛朗瑪 replaced by the ‘calque’ (loan translation) wénfÇŽ 文法 ‘rules of writing’, e.g. in Li (1924), and then by yÇ”fÇŽ 語法 ‘rules of language’, e.g. in Wang (1944/1985) (wénfÇŽ remains standard on Taiwan,yÇ”fÇŽ on the mainland).
Although various Western theories of language were taken up and applied to Chinese by various Chinese linguists, often after overseas study, the most influential was the brand of American structuralism (Bloomfield 1933) developed by Chao Yuen Ren in his pedagogical work Mandarin Primer (Chao 1948). In origin a language textbook developed at Harvard as part of the US war effort, it contained an opening section on grammar which summed up with great conciseness, consistency and elegance the major features of Chinese grammar as Chao saw them. This grammatical section of the book was quickly translated into Chinese (Li 1952) and had an enormous impact, perhaps not least because of Chao’s impeccable credentials both as a linguist and a major figure in the language reforms of the 1910s and 1920s.
Just at this time, major educational reforms were being undertaken on the mainland as part of the general reforms of the early period of the People’s Republic of China, and a framework very close to Chao’s was adopted in the ZànnÇ� hànyÇ” jiàoxué xìtÇ’ng 暫擬漢語教å¸ç³»çµ± Provisional System for Teaching Chinese Grammar published in 1956, which became the basis of the grammatical knowledge taught in schools and universities. After the more than a decade-long hiatus in higher education caused by the Cultural Revolution (1966‒1978), it was this framework which became fossilised in mainland linguistics and endures essentially unchanged to this day. The type of grammatical knowledge it provides is used largely for the kind of ‘parsing and analysis’ exercises associated with traditional (Latin) grammar in the West, and it is perhaps doubtful that it has helped to fulfil Ma Jianzhong’s original patriotic aim for the teaching of grammar.
The type of linguistics represented by this grammatical system is thus vulnerable on a number of fronts. Practically speaking, it is limited to a basically passive or analytical knowledge of the language which arguably has limited value in solving problems of literacy or language teaching. In Shen’s ‒ admittedly biased ‒ summing up of the situation, put forward in an article addressed to language teachers:
[M]any experienced teachers of Chinese grammar feel, in varying degrees, that students benefit little from the current grammar teaching in terms of their comprehension and use of Chinese. Some teachers propose that our teaching would be much more effective if we asked students to read some literary classics instead of teaching them grammatical rules.
(Shen 1988a: 40)
Ideologically speaking, moreover, the history of the development of this system is irredeemably associated with introduced Western concepts and frameworks which successive generations of Chinese linguists have struggled to adapt to the ‘reality’ of Chinese. The door was thus wide open for an iconoclast and patriot like Shen Xiaolong to take a sledgehammer to the whole edifice.
Foreign versus native: the paradox of reactive relativism
Of all the academic salvos fired over language reform in the last hundred years, Shen’s aggressive announcement of the arrival on the scene of Chinese Cultural Linguistics in a 1989 essay must at least be one of the most unconventional. It is hardly a coincidence that it was published, not in a linguistics journal but rather in the literary journal Shulin, and in a column devoted to authors writing about their own work, since it reads far more like the manifesto of a literary movement than a serious scholarly statement:
Almost a hundred years after [the publication of Mr Ma’s Compleat Grammar], not one of the Western grammatical categories introduced by Ma Jianzhong accords with the linguistic intuition of Chinese speakers. … On the verge of a new century, Chinese linguistics has fallen into unprecedented bewilderment. In the normal course of things, this bewilderment should have become a turning point, sparking philosophical reflection and a paradigm shift in linguistics. Chen Wangdao, Zhang Shilu, Guo Shaoyu, Qi Gong, Zhang Zhigong, Gao Mingkai and other language scholars have all issued thought-provoking warnings about the ‘foreign framework’ of modern Chinese linguistics, but these efforts have all been nullified by the wily old gentleman in the capital of Chinese linguistics. Into a Chinese linguistics beset with crisis he has injected the tranquilliser of ‘dealing with facts’.
(Shen 1989a: 347)
Shen contends that, despite all the revising and ‘refining’ of the system of grammatical categories introduced by Ma Jianzhong, the basic framework is still a ‘formalist’ Western one and therefore unable to deal with what he dubs the ‘humanistic’ nature of the Chinese language. Shen characterises the current ideology of grammatical description in China as one of wùshí 務實 or ‘dealing with facts’, whereby the younger generation of linguists are encouraged by their masters, as represented here by the ‘wily old gentleman in the capital of Chinese linguistics’ (code for Lü Shuxiang, longtime Head of the Linguistics Institute of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences) to mechanically collect the ‘bricks and tiles of linguistics’ and not to worry about the reasons for doing so. As Shen sarcastically sums up the supposedly atheoretical current practice (Shen 1989a: 349): ‘“dealing with facts” means acting according to the blueprints provided by the people who earnestly exhort us to “deal with facts”!’
Shen’s earliest work was on classical Chinese (Shen 1988b), and he possesses great familiarity with the traditional methodologies of xiÇŽoxué ‘philology’. This background still carries a certain amount of scholarly authority in Chinese linguistics, not yet a hundred years since the classical language ceased to be the official written medium, and features of the classical language such as monosyllabism, lack of morphology and the seeming lack of formal, as opposed to semantically based rules of grammar ‒ all of which are in sharp contrast to the paradigm ‘Indo-European’ languages like Classical Greek and Sanskrit ‒ seem to set it apart as a special case, at least viewed through European eyes. In fact, the earliest forms of Chinese known to us do contain vestiges of morphological variation in related morphemes, commonly written with the same character, such as the example of é•· cháng ‘long’ and zhÇŽng ‘to become long, to grow; senior’ that we saw in Chapter 4.
As was also pointed out there, the monosyllabism of Old Chinese is also a general tendency rather than an absolute rule. And as for whether the rules of Chinese grammar are better understood as ‘form-based’ or ‘meaning-based’, that would seem to be as much a function of the kind of framework used to describe them as of any supposedly inherent feature if the language itself. In any case, such features are far less evident in the modern language, but with the popular conflation of all historical forms of Chinese as ‘the same language’, one to which Shen seemingly subscribes, in Shen’s eyes neither classical nor modern Chinese should be subject to the so-called ‘universal rules’ of Western grammar.
Modern Chinese linguistics is in fact unthinkable without Western borrowings. This is not making some sort of imperialistic claim about Western scholarship, which was after all itself heavily influenced by the discovery by European scholars in the eighteenth century of historical links between many European and Indian languages ‒ hence the ‘Indo-European’ family of languages often invoked by Chinese linguists as an opposite ‒ as well as by the highly developed Indian traditions of syntactic and phonological analysis (Robins 1997: 163). Chinese linguistic scholarship had earlier been profoundly influenced by Indian phonological theories during the period of the introduction of Buddhism from the fourth century CE. However, for many Chinese linguists past and present, one of the prominent members of the latter group being Shen Xiaolong, the current Western-derived framework poses huge practical and ideological problems:
Once this theory and method have completely discarded the spiritual shackles of though it may still draw on the experience of) the Western grammatical framework, it will still have two scientific reference points: firstly, the cultural determinism existing between the Chinese language and Chinese philosophy, art, literature, aesthetics, and even way of thinking … secondly, categories and methods used in the ancient Chinese traditions of language analysis. These categories and methods are much closer to the linguistic intuitions of Chinese people, and after scientific systematization and interpretation can be transformed as the basis for the analysis of modern Chinese. To this new linguistic paradigm for Chinese, which takes the humanistic nature of Chinese as its ontology, and the cultural nature of Chinese and the scientific analysis and exegesis deriving from the Chinese linguistic tradition as its methodology, I have given the name of ‘Cultural Linguistics’.
(Shen 1989a: 353‒354)
Shen’s manifesto for a ‘new linguistic paradigm’ shows a significant ambivalence about the Western roots of modern Chinese linguistics, particularly in the area of grammar. Shen’s unconscious reliance on Western standards is revealed by such self-contradictory statements as ‘Once this theory and method have completely discarded the spiritual shackles of (though it may still draw on the experience of) the Western grammatical framework’. There are good reasons, as pointed out above, for the lack of a native grammatical tradition in China, and the fact that modern Chinese is still a very different language from an Indo-European language like English does not mean that the two are totally incommensurable. The main problem with influence from one linguistic tradition to another is not that it happens at all ‒ after all, how could it be prevented? ‒ but rather that it takes place on far too specific a level (Halliday 1993), such as earlier European attempts to analyse Chinese sentence structure in terms of the traditional noun ‘cases’ of Latin grammar (e.g. Mullie 1932). Shen’s ideologically driven need to prove that Chinese is ‘different’ only ends up trapping him in a superficial and reactive type of relativism that cannot deal with the actual similarities and differences between languages.
A good example of this is the claim, continually made by Shen and others in the Chinese Cultural Linguistics movement, that the Chinese language is ‘unique’ (that word again!), a term that also figures largely in popular discourse about the language. If we take such a claim seriously, that is, if we accept that there is only one language in the whole world quite like Chinese (in itself a rather fuzzy concept), we may seem to be doing nothing but stating a rather obvious truism. On purely linguistic grounds, if we take the Chinese group of languages, commonly referred to as ‘dialects’ (ChinesefÄ�ngyán 方言 or ‘regional (forms of) speech’), ‘regionalects’ (DeFrancis 1984), ‘topolects’ (Mair 1991), or more recently in scholarly circles as ‘Sinitic languages’ (Chappell 2004), as a whole, it is not difficult to show, despite some obvious links with related languages such as Thai or Burmese on the one hand, and some features shared with neighbouring languages like Vietnamese or Mongolian on the other, that Chinese exhibits a particular mix of phonological, grammatical and semantic features that is not replicated in any other language of language group.
However, once we start looking at it in more detail, and attempt to enumerate the supposedly ‘unique’ features of Chinese, this claim begins to look a bit shakier. Take, for example, Shen’s claim that ‘in my Masters thesis, I put forward a uniquely Chinese sentence type ‒ the topic‒comment type’ (Shen 1989a: 351). Apart from the dubious procedure of implying as his own ‘discovery’ an analysis of Chinese first suggested, to my knowledge, by Yuen Ren Chao in his Mandarin Primer of 1948, explicitly stated in the same author’s Grammar of Spoken Chinese in 1968, and then developed by Charles Li and Sandra Thompson in their 1976 paper ‘Subject and Topic: A New Typology of Language’, what exactly does such a claim entail? Chao’s understanding of the topic‒comment distinction was that it replaced the subject/predicate distinction familiar from the European grammatical tradition. In other words, Chinese sentence structure, rather than being given the actor‒action interpretation that seems to work for many European languages, is better understood as consisting of a relationship between a topic for discussion and something said about that topic (Chao 1948: 35, 1968: 69‒75). Li and Thompson interpreted this distinction differently, claiming that both subject and topic were relevant to the analysis of Chinese, with the former understood as identifying the actor, and the latter as setting the framework for discussion. They then classified certain languages like Chinese as ‘topic prominent’, other languages like English as ‘subject prominent’, and still others, like Japanese and Korean, as ‘both topic prominent and subject prominent’ (Li and Thompson 1976).
Shen does not argue for his own analysis in detail, simply stating that ‘in the recognition of [the topic‒comment sentence type], not only is it impossible to start from form, there is no way of finding it among the categories of Western grammar’ (Shen 1989a: 351). The positiveness of this statement is rather staggering, especially as the earliest formulation in the writings of the Greek sophists of the concept which eventually developed into ‘subject’ was one much closer to ‘topic’ than to ‘actor’ (Robins 1951; Halliday 1977); and the related concept of ‘theme’ has been widely applied in the twentieth century by linguists of the Prague School and other functional schools in linguistics (see Hasan and Fries 1995). A puzzling feature of Shen’s claim is that he is in some measure well aware of this. An earlier article of his, ‘Topic‒Comment Sentences in Chinese and their Typological Significance’ (Shen 1984), written in a much more sober style, discusses the origin of what he calls the ‘subject‒predicate binary’ in Greek linguistics; although he is seemingly unaware of its original use by the Sophists, referring only to the actor‒action interpretation of Plato and Aristotle, and its application to Chinese philosophy and linguistics from the late nineteenth century. Here too, however, although correctly noting that ‘subject and predicate are grammatical categories abstracted from Western language facts’ (Shhen 1984: 144), he seems determined to prove that such an analysis could not possibly be applicable to Chinese because of the ‘essential typological difference between Indo-European languages and Sino-Tibetan languages’ (Shen 1984: 145).
This ‘essential typological difference’ hinges on the supposed lack of morphology in Chinese, as opposed to the rich morphology of ‘Western languages’ ‒ plausible if we are comparing, say, Old English to Old Chinese but not so obvious for Modern English and Modern Chinese ‒ which he argues calls for a ‘humanistic’ rather than ‘formalised’ approach to the description of Chinese. The basis for such a claim is made clear in the following passage from his 1989 ‘manifesto’:
I believe that all the characteristics of Chinese are a manifestation of its strongly humanistic nature. This is a fundamental difference between Chinese and Western languages. The fact that Western languages are rich in morphological markers means that Western linguistics can easily come up with a set of formalised analytical procedures and theoretical goals and systems compatible with formalisation. However, once a tradition deriving from the scientistic nature of Western descriptive linguistics is applied across the board to the analysis of the facts of a language like Chinese that is non-morphological and strongly humanistic in nature, it will inevitably become intolerably restrictive.
(Shen 1989a: 353‒354)
This statement reveals some interesting ideological sleights of hand. First there is the semantic slippage from ‘formal (i.e. morphological) markers’ to ‘formalised procedures’ which implies that the nature of Western languages makes them supposedly more amenable to either a formal analysis, i.e. concentrating on form rather than meaning, and/or analytical procedures that are formalised, i.e. performable automatically by a computer. Apart from mixing together two very different concepts under (almost) the same label, this implies that the so-called ‘Western languages’ (a very vague concept in itself) are somehow ‘essentially’ oriented to form, while ‘Chinese’ (another vague concept, at least in Shen’s usage) is ‘essentially’ oriented to meaning, ignoring the fact that all languages work by linking form to meaning.
Second, and perhaps more significant from an ideological point of view, is the fact that the supposed ‘unique’ (that word again!) characteristics of Chinese ‒ non-morphological and humanistic ‒ are both defined negatively in contrast to the ‘morphological’ and ‘scientistic’ Western languages: in other words, Shen can only say what Chinese is by saying how it is not like Western languages. Much of the rhetoric of Chinese Cultural Linguistics and other more recent manifestations of Chinese cultural nationalism fall into this trap of what I have called ‘reactive relativism’, and these sweeping claims, and the impatience with the details of linguistic analysis which often go hand in hand with it, all seem to stem from the same patriotic compulsion to claim an unassailable status for the Chinese language, like the Chinese state, on the world stage.
Can China say ‘no’?: homegrown versus imported
solutions to language problems
The sorts of questions agonised over in the language arena are not confined to linguistic problems alone. Perhaps the major question faced by Chinese thinkers in the modern era has been: How to modernise? ‒ can we do it in a way that grows out of and respects our own traditions, or do we need to follow the path already blazed by the West? Shen reflects on this situation in his typically high-minded rhetoric:
The vicissitudes of 20th century Chinese linguistics are a kind of cultural phenomenon which reflects a common failing in the borrowing of Western learning among the human sciences in recent Chinese history: that is, inadequate preparation in thought and cultural theory. We have never had the opportunity to carry out a thorough and profound self-examination in regard to our native cultural traditions. Not only have we been unable to grasp the particular patterns of Chinese culture, we have also been unable to understand the quintessence of Western culture. Gazing from afar on the deep-seated tradition of the West, we see only the harvest and not the sowing; yearning for its surface glories, we have not sought to thoroughly understand it, but merely enjoyed its benefits. Today in researching this cultural faultline we must dissect this morbidity in cultural psychology. This not only relates to a critique of the value of Chinese and Western culture, but also to the self-confidence of the race.
(Shen 1989b: 282)
Shen’s concluding remarks in hsi 1989 book come back to the paradox from which he started ‒ the contradiction between the ‘humanism’ of the Chinese language and the ‘scientism’ of Chinese linguistics ‒ but broaden his critique from a ‘crisis’ of a particular discipline to a ‘morbidity’ of a whole intellectual tradition. Shen’s arguments, with all their exaggerations, do represent a serious attempt at the ‘thorough and profound self-examination’ he calls for. Moreover, the sorts of nationalist sentiments espoused by Shen are not confined to academic or educational spheres but have resonances with nationalistic movements in China and abroad. This development is well represented by the title of a book published in the mid-1990sZhÅ�ngguó kÄ›yÇ� shuÅ� ‘bù’ ä¸åœ‹å�¯ä»¥èªª‘ä¸�’ China can say ‘No’ (Song Qiang et al. 1996; a more recent book including one of the same authors has the equally childish-sounding title ZhÅ�ngguó bù gÄ�oxìng ä¸åœ‹ä¸�高興 China isn’t happy (Song Xiaodong et al. 2009).
The tenor of this book, ironically based on a Japanese original written by then current Mayor of Tokyo arguing that Japanese should come out from under the shadow of the United States and ‘say no’ to a number of other countries, including China, is well summed up by the following slogans from its Foreword:
America can’t be led by anyone, it can only lead itself.
Japan can’t be led by anyone, sometimes it can’t even lead itself.
China too doesn’t want to be led by anyone, it only wants to lead itself.
(Song et al. 1996: 3)
The sorts of nationalist political rhetoric put forward in this tract and many other similar ones in recent years is of a piece with the whole edifice of Shen’s arguments for the ‘uniqueness’ of the Chinese language. Both these political and cultural nationalisms argue, in effect, for the need to treat China as a special case, a theme that goes back to official mainland rhetoric of the 1970s and 1980s about ZhÅ�ngguó guóqíng ä¸åœ‹åœ‹æƒ… or ‘Chinese characteristics’ (Barmé and Jaivin 1992: 366‒367); see also McDonald 1995). Both are manifestations of a continuing and uneasy accomodation in Chinese political and intellectual circles to the ‘decentring’ of China since the incursions beginning with the Opium Wars of the 1840s. The unfinished nature of this accommodation is aptly summed up in a superficially neat division of labour recommended by the late Imperial reform slogan ZhÅ�ngxué wéi tÇ�, XÄ«xué wéi yòng ‘Chinese learning as essence, Western learning as application’.
The problem is that after the huge foreign borrowings of the intervening period, borrowings which have fundamentally transformed Chinese culture, no-one is quite sure any more exactly what the ‘Chinese essence’ might look like, a paradox reflected in the schizophrenic world view of both Chinese Cultural Linguistics and popular nationalistic rhetoric.
Conclusion: orientalism versus occidentalism in
understandings of Chinese
We saw that the kinds of rhetoric explored in Chapters 4 and 5 under the label of ‘character fetishisation’ also extend beyond the writing system as such into discussions of the grammar of Chinese, and more broadly into characterisations of Chinese society and culture. I noted briefly in Chapter 4 the existence of a similar phenomenon in Japan known as Nihonjinron, i.e. 日本人論 or ‘Discussions on Japaneseness’. Although in China there is no fixed term for such discourse, we could perhaps follow the Japanese example and coin the term ZhÅ�ngguórénlùn ä¸åœ‹äººè«– or ‘Discussions on Chineseness’. Both kinds of discourse would, paradoxically perhaps, count as types of ‘orientalism’ in Said’s terms, since although they are being produced by the ‘natives’ rather than by the ‘foreigners’, their roots lie in the historical pressures on the native sense of self in these countries, and on the whole East Asian region which long had China at its core, stemming from the incursions ‒ military, economic, social, intellectual and cultural ‒ by the modernising West.
Such examples of ZhÅ�ngguórénlùn are recurrent best-sellers in China, and sometimes even come from the pens of non-Chinese authors: as witness the work of retired British naval officer Gavin Menzies on the Zheng He naval expeditions of the 1400s to the 1420s, which neatly turns the tables on Da Gama, Columbus and their European imperialistic ilk by proclaiming 1421 as The Year China Discovered the World (Menzies 2002 ‒ in the USA the book was published with the subtitle The Year China Discovered America, which perhaps made the trumping of Columbus more pointed). Although Zheng He’s actual achievements in leading a Chinese fleet as far as East Africa are impressive enough, Menzies’ extrapolations from the historical record have about as much historical justification as the stories of Sinbad the Sailor, for which Zheng He, also known as San Bao, was apparently the inspiration. In relation to the kind of evidence Menzies adduces in support of his claim that Chinese explorers ‘discovered’ parts of the globe well before their European counterparts, a sceptic might note that the famous Piri Reis map which Menzies uses to good effect in his first book was explained by an earlier author as based on a photograph taken by aliens from a spaceship (see von Däniken 1971)!
The sort of historical revisionism and cultural triumphalism characteristic of Menzies and his Chinese counterparts finds its equal and opposite reaction in the highly critical re-evaluations of Chinese history, culture and even national character found in the 1988 mainland TV documentary River Elegy (see Barmé and Jaivin 1992: 366‒368), or Taiwanese controversialist Bo Yang’s book The Ugly Chinaman (Bo 1992). This historical roots of such ideas lie in the agonised national self-critique of the May Fourth period, when the fortunes of the Chinese state were almost at their lowest ebb, but enough remains of that lack of self-confidence, even now when China is playing a much more assertive role on the worl
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on the world stage, to give rise to periodic bouts of self-loathing.
In the language sphere, some of the arguments of the ‘full-blown Westernisers’ of the May Fourth period have been resurrected in a sustained critique directed against Chinese characters and their supposed continuous baleful effects on the whole East Asian region for which characters provided the source and main model for writing systems, a region which hence on cultural and historical grounds could easily be dubbed the ‘Chinese character region’. The titles of two books by a major proponent of these arguments, American linguist William C. Hannas ‒ Asia’s Orthographic Dilemma (1997), The Writing on the Wall: How Asian Orthography Curbs Creativity (2003) ‒ give a taste of the importance being laid on the Chinese writing system as a historical deadweight, very similar to the arguments of historian William Jenner examined in Chapter 4. When Hannas goes on to ask the question of whether what he calls ‘Sinitic vocabulary’, in other words the Chinese terms borrowed into languages within the ‘Chinese character region’ such as Vietnamese, Korean and Japanese, are proving an intolerable burden on the language because of the extremes of homophony they cause, one has to wonder why this critique is stemming from someone who having presumably grown up with the highly Latinate vocabulary of written English, has, nonetheless, never had to struggle with doubts as to whether to use accept or except, affect or effect, illusion or allusion, and so on with the rest of such doublets. In relation to language reform in China, one might also be led to wonder whether such calls to the Chinese to give up their writing system on the ground of inefficiency could not with equal justice be directed against the English spelling system with the notorious complexity of its graph to sound relationship.
As for the case of the supposedly pernicious influence of Chinese characters across the Chinese character region, the Japanese writing system shows a very similar blend of two systems to that exhibited by English, and for similar historical reasons: with the mixture of kanji and kana in Japanese quite comparable to the mix of Anglo-Saxon and Romance spelling conventions in English, despite the fact that the latter pair are both written using the ‘same’ alphabet. In neither case have strongly felt arguments for replacing the unwieldy current writing system with a more efficient alternative made much headway against a deep-rooted attachment to the inherited system.
In the case of Chinese, it is in fact possible, despite common claims to the contrary, to write the language using an alphabetic system, as shown by the wide if short-lived success of the Latinxua systems in the 1930s and 1940s. However, it soon became clear in that case that the use of such systems required something much closer to the spoken register than was common for written Chinese. Over the millennia of its use, the Chinese written register has developed features of compression and concision which depend on the greater visual distinctiveness of the characters and their role in disambiguating homophones. Any change to an alphabetic writing system would necessitate a move to a register much closer to the spoken one. There are thus practical, as well as ideological, barriers in this way of ‘modernising’ Chinese in this way (see Chen 1999 for an extended discussion).
In reading discourses of both orientalism and occidentalism in relation to Chinese, it is as if either the ‘alphabet’ or the ‘charactery’ are being held as the villain, as the exotic ‘other’ which reassures the writer about the essential rightness of his or her own cultural heritage. American psycholinguist Mary Erbaugh, in her aptly titled ‘Ideograph as Other in Poststucturalist Literary Theory’ (Erbaugh 2002), documents numbers of examples of scholars from outside Chinese studies whose enthusiasm for saddling Chinese characters with, in this case, mostly positive evaluations is matched only by their ignorance of any form of Chinese, or of how writing systems using Chinese characters actually work. Given that numbers of scholars with a profound knowledge of both have also indulged in similar fantasising, such ‘outsiders’ cannot really be blamed for succumbing to the temptations of casting the characters either as hero or villain, and neglecting many possibly far more mundane factors which would explain the phenomenon without the need for fetishising the characters. The fact that this issue is not at all some quaint myth already long ago relegated to the distant past, but very much a living issue in Chinese studies generally, like the equally extravagant claims made for (Logan 1986, 2004) and to a lesser extent against (e.g. Shlain 1998) the alphabet, only shows what great cultural value is invested by literate cultures in their writing systems, and how easily they became material for a whole industry of mythmaking.
(Edward McDonald is currently Lecturer in Chinese at the University of Auckland, and has taught Chinese language, music, linguistics and semiotics at universities in Australia, China, and Singapore)
2011