From Round to Square (and back)

For The Emperor's Teacher, scroll down (↓) to "Topics." It's the management book that will rock the world (and break the vase, as you will see). Click or paste the following link for a recent profile of the project: http://magazine.beloit.edu/?story_id=240813&issue_id=240610

A new post appears every day at 12:05* (CDT). There's more, though. Take a look at the right-hand side of the page for over four years of material (2,000 posts and growing) from Seinfeld and country music to every single day of the Chinese lunar calendar...translated. Look here ↓ and explore a little. It will take you all the way down the page...from round to square (and back again).
*Occasionally I will leave a long post up for thirty-six hours, and post a shorter entry at noon the next day.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

La Pensée Cyclique (7)—Embodied Wholes

[a] Whole RF
This series is dedicated to understanding one of the most fascinating intellects of the twentieth century, Marcel Granet (1884-1940). In an earlier era, he might have been considered (at least by bibliophiles studying tomes ranging from De l'esprit des lois to 呂氏春秋 between the world wars) the most interesting man in the world. For me, he is every bit of that (as we say back home). Granet's range of interests in social theory and Chinese literature were profound, catholic, and engrossing. I hope that (whether you are interested in French, social theory, or Chinese) you will give Monsieur Granet a little bit of your attention. The material is not simple, by any means, but it is an ideal way to grasp how knowledge really works.

[b] Embodied RF
Embodied Wholes
Marcel Granet’s reaction to the pages that Durkheim and Mauss devoted to Chinese classification is instructive, and provides a window to his thought. Although there is an air of advocacy in his statement—promoting the work of his friend and his mentor—there is much more to it than that. Marcel Granet was generous in his scholarship, but in a way that goes far beyond kindness to others. He saw whole arguments where others often saw fragments.

He was not alone in this, of course, because that very generosity lay at the heart of the Année sociologique approach to social phenomena. Rather than pointing out the quite obvious confusion of even basic issues in Primitive Classification, Granet saw its interpretive potential, conceptual rigor, and creativity. These were things that he brought to his own work, and the criticism of his Chinese scholarship often reflect an irritation with his attempt to find wholes, where (for many readers) parts would do.

[c] Round-square RF
A prominent professor of Chinese studies once remarked to me that he hoped that someone would translate Granet’s last book, La pensée chinoise, and said that it would be an easier job for a translator because Granet’s chapters on etiquette, government, and public service, being somewhat derivative, could be skipped. To my mind, that approach is exactly what is wrong with sinological readings of Granet, and is why he is not fully appreciated by many readers. Even when scholars of China find him brilliant, they focus only on a few chapters that, if read in the wider context of the book as a whole—or Granet’s whole body of writings—would show the sociological foundations of his thinking, and his reworking of his mentor’s ideas in a Chinese context. Indeed, isolated readings of even a great work such as La pensée chinoise will never bring a reader to an understanding of the method to which Granet adhered so closely, and that deeply influenced his own students.

Our focus must be reversed if we are to bring out the full impact of Granet’s work, and that requires a thorough understanding of his early work on Chinese religion and seasonal festivals, his careful studies of Chinese sociology, and his almost forgotten blend of sociological insight and sinological depth, Danses et légendes de la Chine ancienne.  For, as one prominent scholar has noted, Granet was “a historian by training and a sinologist by accident…spiritually and intellectually a sociologist in the sense given that term in the 1920s.[1]  

[d] Ritual RF
When reading even the table de matières of Danses et légendes, once can see the themes of Année sociologique, for it deals not only with the social background of China’s Spring and Autumn period (722-481 BCE), but the role of ritual, sacrifice, and communion in early Chinese society. In addition, Granet addresses early Chinese classification and categorization, as well as political themes (rendered always in the wider context of his sociological understanding) such as the transfer of power and the creation of new political orders. Indeed, in the widest possible sense, it represents a seven-hundred page expansion into the realm of Chinese texts of Durkheim’s Elementary Forms of Religious Life and Marcel Mauss’s studies of sacrifice, magic, and gift exchange.

The spirit of Danses et légendes can best be summarized by Granet’s student, Rolf Stein, who has done as much as anyone—even while producing a formidable scholarly reputation of his own—to preserve the memory of Granet’s work. Here it is in Stein's words.

          In his courses, Granet forced us to analyze texts on our own, to examine 
          them critically, and to draw from them the maximum amount of knowledge. 
          The questions he asked were designed to elicit not necessarily an immediate 
          solution to any single problem, but rather a slow, progressive journey toward 
          personal discovery. If he was not always pleased with our replies, this was 
          simply because even the most advanced student could not hope to reach the 
          high level of a master like Granet.

          In order to work as Granet did, a student would have to have complete 
          knowledge of ancient Chinese literature, for Granet set down this general 
          principle: no single detail of any civilization can be understood and explained 
          except in the context of the entire civilization, just as in a jigsaw puzzle the 
          meaning of a piece can be seen only when it is put into it place in the larger 
          picture. Any interpretation from the outside, based on a priori principles, was
          immediately rejected. Only those who have completely misunderstood Granet 
          could accuse him of holding preconceived ideas.  He always refused, for 
          example, to “explain” a legend or a myth on the basis of any “theory.”

          But he did actually have one preconceived idea: that of the importance of his 
          method of working. He would accept only explanations that resulted from 
          casting a new light on facts by putting them side by side, revealing their 
          relationship to each other, and finally grouping them into a whole.[2]

[e] Steps RF
It is this “grouping of wholes” that lies at the heart of Granet’s method and his publications, and his own oeuvre needs to be understood in the same spirit. They constitute their own jigsaw puzzle in many ways, and it is not possible to experience the full thrust of Granet’s scholarship without it. It is one of the reasons that the reactions of Granet’s students and many readers are often at such odds,[4] and why even many patient scholars of Chinese civilization have been puzzled by his work. They have failed to approach Granet’s scholarship (and sometimes even his individual works) as embodied wholes that require equal attention to all of their parts, even those that seem preliminary or already well studied.

Although it is the purpose of series of posts—as a whole—to make a detailed analysis of Granet’s sociological sinology (or sinological sociology), I turn briefly to one of the most cited sections of Danses et légendes for an introductory example. As part of the book’s final section on “Heroic Sacrifice and Dynastic Dance,” Granet analyzes the Yubu—the “step of Yu.” Beginning memorably with the phrase: “He knew how to dance,”[3] Yu, the great sage king and founder of the Xia, “dragged a leg as he walked,” the result of his toil on behalf of the fledgling empire as he worked without respite to quell the flood waters ravaging all under heaven. The “Yu Step” is a Daoist dance and ritual that celebrates, in precise motions—left foot trailing, right foot in front—the toils of Yu.

[f] Coordinates RF
The “Step of Yu” is precisely the kind of ritual that fascinated Granet, for it forms a mimetic representation and encapsulation of powerful political and historical processes. For many readers, however, it is read in isolation, and becomes nothing more than part of a catalogue of interesting rituals that give “flavor” to Chinese civilization and culture (imagine a French ritual portraying Louis XIV dragging his toiling, aching leg behind him; whole shelves of the library would be devoted to it).

For Granet, the example of toiling Yu follows hundred of pages dealing with the context of Chinese history and political life in the Zhou period, and grows directly out of a chapter that begins with an analysis of agnatic and uterine kinship as they connect to sacrificial ritual. Unlike even Edouard Chavannes, his “other” mentor, Marcel Granet showed little interest in the scholarly “trinkets” of Chinese texts. He was not inclined to polish and admire them in relative isolation, as have been many of his predecessors and successors.[4] For Granet, the “Step of Yu” was instead part of a great jigsaw puzzle of Chinese society that must be understood—indeed, could only be understood—as part of an embodied whole. 

Notes 
[1] Marcel Granet, Danses et légendes de la Chine ancienne [Introduction by Rémi Mathieu] (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1926), vi. Rémi Mathieu writes in the  préface à Danses et légendes...  « Quoique historien de formation et Sinologue par accident, M. Granet est spirituellement et intellectuellement sociologue au sens donné à ce terme dans les années vingt du XXe siècle.  Sa méthode est essentiellement « sociologique », c’est a dire, à ses yeux, durkheimienne et maussienne, mais cette adhésion est autant rationnelle qu’affective. »
[2] Rolf Stein, The World in Miniature (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), 3.
[3] Danses et légendes, 549.  « Il savait danser.»
[4] Marcel Granet, The Religion of the Chinese People (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), 10. Even Granet’s own students struggled with these matters.  “Granet seems to have divided his teaching into the mythique and juridique, and was disappointed when, as appears generally to have been the case, he could not hold their interest equally in both: the kinship often bored those who were entranced by the myth and ritual.” 

Bibliography 
Granet, Marcel. Danses et légendes de la Chine ancienne [Introduction by Rémi Mathieu]. Paris: 
     Presses Universitaires de France, 1926.
Granet, Marcel. The Religion of the Chinese People [Translated with an introduction by Maurice 
     Freedman]. New York: Harper & Row, 1973.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Fieldnotes From History (34)—Snake Alley

[a] Market RF
Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote. 

Comment
This note is a continuation of my thoughts about a vibrant and intellectually perplexing day that I spent with the Hsiung (Xiong; 熊) family in 1986. I am not giving away their identity here. Trust me. This note describes a snippet (so to speak) of a brief first experience in Taipei's Snake Alley—near the Longshan Temple and a very big market that draws people from all over northern Taiwan. My first impression, after a quarter century of writing and reading and writing fieldnotes is...it's all right. The positives lie in the detail, even if they are crass and seemingly uncaring. That is what strikes me the most—the coolness of it all. This raises the question that has troubled me for some time. To what extent should every fieldnote "tell" how I really feel? To what extent does the ethnographer need to express personal feelings about such things as killing living creatures? This is something with which I have struggled in the last few decades. On the one hand, I strongly feel that the ethnographer's feelings about what s/he is studying really matters. On the other hand, I can't help but assert that description matters...and in a way that trumps my own feelings.
[b] Market stuff RF
Suffice it to say that "back then" I was far more firmly in the latter camp. I sought to describe and tune out my own disgust. This is an open question, but I must say that "feelings" (while natural and inevitable) need to be controlled in the narrative. While this fieldnote errs on the side of description, and doesn't really engage my own feelings about dying snakes, the real problem (as always) is that there needs to be more analysis. 

Even little nuggets of analysis would help. On the other hand, that is what fieldnotes are all about. One writes and writes...and then puts it all together in another form. There is enough here, I think, to build a fairly sturdy analysis. 

Notes 
These images are much more stark than even the note expresses. One watches the manly drinking of snake blood against the backdrop of dying snakes. That is all there is to it. The "libidinal magic" is at the heart of a much bigger story about divination, global commodities, natural history, and culture. As usual, I fault this note for not being a finished piece, yet that (of course) is not the purpose of the lowly fieldnote (as the introduction explains).

2 February 1986
Taipei
After the cultural center, we went down to south Taipei and walked through the famous “Snake Alley” market. You might guess how this area got its name. Merchants in Snake Alley sell snakes and their organs, especially those organs that work mysterious libidinal magic, like the gall bladder. If you want, for example, to buy a snake’s gall bladder, this is what happens. First, the proprietor asks you which snake you want. In the cage they are a mass of writhing, corrugated skin; the bigger the snake, the more you have to pay (basic microeconomics works here, too). 

Then the proprietor takes his pocketknife, slits a four or five inch vertical stripe in the snake’s abdomen, pops the organ into a plastic bag, and pours the green bladder juice into an unsterilized glass. The buyer usually downs the glass there and takes his bladder-baggie home. You can also buy snake blood. All the while, the snake hangs from a metal clip, writhing to a slow, knife-inflicted death, its protruding intestines resembling cottage cheese on a stalk of celery. 
[c] Choice RF

Monday, April 9, 2012

La Pensée Cyclique (6)—Primitive Classification

Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series about Marcel Granet, "La Pensée Cyclique"
One year ago on Round and Square (9 April 2011)—Exilic Response: Introduction
[a] Classified RF
This series is dedicated to understanding one of the most fascinating intellects of the twentieth century, Marcel Granet (1884-1940). In an earlier era, he might have been considered (at least by bibliophiles studying tomes ranging from De l'esprit des lois to 呂氏春秋 between the world wars) the most interesting man in the world. For me, he is every bit of that (as we say back home). Granet's range of interests in social theory and Chinese literature were profound, catholic, and engrossing. I hope that (whether you are interested in French, social theory, or Chinese) you will give Monsieur Granet a little bit of your attention. The material is not simple, by any means, but it is an ideal way to grasp how knowledge really works.

Primitive Classification
All human thought is consummately social—social in its origins, social in its representations, and social in the very public-ness of it. I paraphrase the American anthropologist Clifford Geertz,[1] but the idea is Durkheimian to the core. And Maussian. How do we “think” through gift exchange? We act first and reason later, although that is not precisely it. We think and act in union—in communion—with a set of social connections and obligations that create thought, rather than the other way around. Total social phenomena are not the results of reason and reflection, and they can never be understood as mere reflections of individual minds. Groups “think and act” differently than individuals, and, the Année sociologique school was devoted to showing precisely the manner in which such social thought and action takes place.
[b] Circular RF
Emile Durkheim, arguing against philosophical and psychological traditions that gave little sense of humans acting in concert, more than occasionally used rhetoric instead of evidence to persuade, sometimes to the detriment of his own account. Durkheim has often been accused of attacking individualistic and “psychologistic” explanations and promoting sociological ones to such an extent that he needlessly overplays and simplifies what is already a quite powerful argument. It is as though the pressure of fighting against John Stuart Mill and Herbert Spencer (not to mention Sir James Frazer and other twentieth century writers) created a rhetorical attack mode that was as likely to weaken Durkheim’s overall argument as strengthen it.[2]

An excellent example of both the strengths and weaknesses of the Année sociologique school can be seen in the study that Durkheim co-authored with his nephew Marcel Mauss, “De quelques formes primitives de classification"—Primitive Classification.[3] To begin, it shows the deeply collaborative nature of a group of scholars committed to articulating the nature of social processes. It was not only uncle and nephew who contributed such work, but many other scholars working together on ideas that have provided a great deal of intellectual energy to later generations of anthropologists and sociologists. Indeed, Marcel Mauss himself was an indefatigable collaborator who wrote many works with other authors and finished the works of authors who died in World War I.
[c] Classification RF

The question that Durkheim and Mauss sought to answer in Primitive Classification is the first of its kind in sociology, for no previous work addressed itself to why people classify things as they classify themselves—“to isolate classification as an aspect of culture to which sociological enquiry should be directed."[4] Durkheim would later use the foundation of this study in his magnum opus on religious thought, and it provides a great insight into the manner in which thinkers in the Année sociologique tradition dealt with total social phenomena.[5] 

The work contains all of the weaknesses of Durkheim’s adamant rhetoric, however, and that can bee seen on both the first and last pages, where psychology is the enemy and sociology a savior. Note in particular the vagueness and simplicity surrounding words used to describe individual themes and the energy and strength with those surrounding the social.[6] 
          The discoveries of contemporary psychology have thrown into prominence 
          the frequent illusion that we regard certain mental operations as simple and 
          elementary when they are really very complex. We now know what a  
          multiplicity of elements make up the mechanism by virtue of which we 
          construct, project, and localize in space our representations of the tangible 
          world. But this operation of dissociation has been only very rarely applied as 
          yet to operations which are properly speaking logical.  
[d] Sorted RF
The faculties of definition, deduction, and induction are generally considered as immediately given in the constitution of individual understanding…It is thought that there have been no important changes except in the way of employing them; that in their essential features they have been fully formed as long as mankind has existed. It has not even been imagined that they might have been formed by a painful combination of elements borrowed from extremely different sources, quite foreign to logic, and laboriously organized. And this conception of the matter was not at all surprising so long as the development of logical faculties was thought to belong simply to individual psychology, so long as no one had the idea of seeing in these methods of scientific thought veritable social institutions whose origin sociology alone can retrace and explain.[7] 

The tone is set in the quotation above, and their point is made clear in the remainder of the introduction, even though they assert that they shall not prejudge the solution. For tens of pages Durkheim and Mauss painstakingly refer to ethnological reports from Australia, the Zuni and Sioux, and even China. At the heart of it all, they assert that ideas are the outgrowth of society—that the way we represent the world and divide it into categories is grounded in how we interact with something a great deal larger than ourselves. It is a powerful idea that led many thinkers to apply it to their own sources. Let's take a look at two key conclusions.

[e] Thought RF
Society was not simply a model which classificatory thought followed; it was its own divisions which served as divisions for the system of classifications. The first logical categories were social categories; the first classes of things were classes of men, into which these things were integrated.[8] 

Not only the external form of classes, but also the relations uniting them to each other, are of social origin.  It is because human groups fit one into another—the sub-clan into the clan, the clan into the moiety, the moiety into the tribe—that groups of things are ordered in the same way. Their regular diminution in span, from genus to species, species to variety, as so on, comes from the equally diminishing extent presented by social groups as one leaves the largest and oldest and approaches the more recent and more derivative. And if the totality of things is conceived as a single system, this is because society itself is seen in the same way.  It is a whole, or rather it is the unique whole to which everything is related. Thus logical hierarchy is only another aspect of social hierarchy, and the unity of knowledge is nothing else than the very unity of the collectivity, extended to the universe.[9]
***  ***
Flawed though the reasoning and evidence is in Primitive Classification,[10] Emile Durkheim and Marcel Mauss sought to show the very connection between thought and social ties. One can immediately see its potential (which goes far beyond the actual case that Durkheim and Mauss made for Chinese classification) for the study of Chinese society and thought, and the core ideas of yin-yang alternation. Marcel Granet’s only direct acknowledgment of Primitive Classification is somewhat surprising, however.  In a note contained in the introduction to his masterwork, La pensée chinoise, Granet cites the pages on China as a significant date in Chinese studies: 

          Le principe de leur découverte se trouve dans le mémoire sur les 
          classifications primitives qu’ont publie Durkheim et Mauss ; j’ai plaisir à la 
          dire—et peut-être n’est-il pas sans intérêt d’ajouter : bien que peu de 
          spécialistes les aient citées, les quelques pages de ce mémoire qui ont trait 
          à la Chine devaient marquer une date dans l’histoire des études sinologiques.[11]

[f] Crowntable RF
It is difficult to see any direct relevance of the account of Chinese classification found in Primitive Classification to Granet’s work, but the theoretical orientation—indeed, the “problem” of classification itself—was of enormous interest to Granet. One can see very clearly the impact of the essay on Granet’s studies of language, matrimonial customs, and left-right distinctions in his early essays.[12] Its influence on La pensée chinoise is enormous.

As with many of the works of the Année sociologique school, the arguments and the evidence were more than occasionally flawed. The wealth of ideas and fresh perspectives, however, opened new interpretive worlds for scholars who knew the languages, texts, and cultural traditions of their areas far better than Durkheim did his ethnographic materials. Indeed, if one reads Primitive Classification in the context of Granet’s complete body of work, especially La pensée chinoise, it is as if Granet were to say to his friend (Mauss) and mentor (Durkheim), “your twists and moves were all wrong, but you nailed the landing.”  

Notes
[1] Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), 360.
[2] On this point, Professor Edward Shils notes that there is a “hyper-collectivism” in Durkheim’s thought that induced him to take on rivals that were muddy, but already beaten.  By continually refuting the arguments of nineteenth century adversaries, Durkheim begins to be tainted by their arguments.  “You wrestle with a pig, you get dirty.” [Seminar notes, 1987].
[3] “De quelques formes primitives de classification: contribution à l’étude de représentations collectives,” Année sociologique, Vol. VI (1901-1902): 1-72.
[4] Marcel Mauss and Emile Durkheim, Primitive Classification [Translated with an introduction by Rodney Needham]. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), xl. 
[5] Rodney Needham writes in the introduction to Primitive Classification that “Social anthropology in Britain…has been inspired by certain general ideas, subtly derived from the early French sociologists, which have had a theoretical influence, and much of the progress is to be attributed to them. Primitive Classification, xliii.
[6] The last paragraph of text is even more grandiloquent, but for the rather weak final sentence.  Referring to individualistic treatments of the classificatory function, the text concludes: “As soon as they are posed in sociological terms, all these questions, so long debated by metaphysicians and psychologists, will at last be liberated from the tautologies in which they have languished.  At least, this is a new way which deserves to be tried."
[7] Primitive Classification, 3.
[8] Primitive Classification, 82.
[9] Primitive Classification, 83-84.
[10] Rodney Needham provides a full catalogue of logical errors and even sloppy scholarship in his introduction to the English translation of the work.  He remained a strong proponent of the work, however. 
[11] Marcel Granet, La pensée chinoise (Paris: Albin Michel, 1934), 485.
[12] This was published as: Marcel Granet, Etudes sociologiques sur la chine (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France), 1953.

Bibliography
Durkheim, Emile and Marcel Mauss. Primitive Classification. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963.
Geertz, Clifford. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books, 1973.
Granet, Marcel. Etudes sociologiques sur la Chinese. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1953.
Granet, Marcel. La pensée chinoise. Paris: Albin Michel, 1934.
[g] Organized RF

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Fieldnotes From History (33)—Shrine Culture

[a] Historical memory RF
Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.

I am presenting this note as an example of how flawed some notes can be. Not all of them move the analysis forward—and some are even challenged in terms of description. This is an example of both. From my perspective today, it is too glib and a little "breezy." I don't like it. For all my emphasis on the "letter writing" phase of fieldwork (covered in my classes and the introduction to the series), this is an early example of it getting in the way—of my not understanding its temptations. I can sense "anticipatory epistolary" rhetoric here...and I don't like it. It is an example, I think, of getting a little "punchy" while writing fieldnotes. This happens, and it is part of the process. Getting notes written is the first priority, and there is going to be gristle in the ethnographic beef. Still, there is really no useful analytical place for phrases such as "slopped on" and the generally derogatory attitude toward the Nationalists here.


And here is a key point. It is NOT because such attitudes are not "nice" or (politically) "incorrect" that makes them problematic. Absolutely not. The sort of fieldnote quoted below is problematic because breeziness takes the place of analysis and precise description. If I were to write this today, I would give much (much) more description of the place itself, and then (in a series of fieldnotes, not one long one) look for analytical centers that are worth plumbing. Not the least of these is the one useful little gem amidst the dross of this note—"waxing nostalgic about a dream gone sour" attempts to be glib, but it really gets at something worth pursuing. It needs analysis, but it speaks to something palpable in my experience in Taiwan in the mid-1980s. 

On the other hand, almost all of the second paragraph is an embarrassment to me today. Take your subject seriously, and don't use rhetoric to dismiss it. That is what I teach today. I am ashamed, but I think that there is a lesson here. I have certainly learned it over the years.

Notes
Among the great events of the twentieth century in Chinese history were the overthrow of the Qing dynasty in 1911 and the advent of the People's Republic of China in 1949. The celebrations on Taiwan in the Republic of China focus on the October 1911 events, and there is a good deal of historical hand-wringing over the way events played out in the years after World War II.

2 February 1986
Taipei
A few weeks ago I went on a Sunday outing with the Bear Family— the neurosurgeon I teach, his wife, and daughters. (Their surname, Hsiung 熊, means “bear” in Chinese). We toured Taipei temples, markets, and historical centers. As usual, the food was the best part of the day. With a lunch of dim sum and fresh fruit and a dinner of Peking Duck, we were nearing Nirvana. The Hsiungs began the trip with the Chinese Movie and Culture Center, which features a wax museum (not to be confused with the really excellent National Palace Museum). 

This place was a little weak on "culture," but they slopped on the revolutionary nostalgia. You see, the Guomindang did not have much fun during the “People’s Revolution” of 1945-1949, so they look back to the overthrow of the Qing dynasty in 1911 as the Great Uprising. Row after row of revolutionary martyrs, cast in wax and clad in the uniforms of the Republic of China, stand proudly, causing patriotic hearts to thump with pride and patriotic minds to forget the reason why they are standing in Taipei, not Beijing or Shanghai, waxing nostalgic about a dream gone sour. 
[c] Rebuttal RF

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Fieldnotes From History (32)—Headlines

[a] Header RF
Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.

[b] Tips RF
Comment
This is a good example of a chock-full-of-ideas fieldnote that really should be broken down into numerous analyses. I would argue (and I do when I teach ANTH 200: Theory and Technique in Cultural Anthropology) that there is no problem. When in the field, JUST WRITE. Don't worry about whether each note is broken down into component sections or can fit on a note card (virtual or physical). Just write. This is why I explain in my classes and the introduction to this series that I envision writing in and beyond "the field" as a five-part process that originates in "jottings," moves toward fieldnotes, has its most important iteration in "letters from the field," and eventually becomes oral presentations and a (written) ethnographic account. In other words, I think that there are three or four different things going on in this note. 

The important thing for me (back then and today) was to get the ideas from the "jotting" stage (a scribbled note about my advanced neurosurgeon pupil struggling with a phrase that I find "easy" as a native speaker) to the fieldnote. The key stage for me, however, took place when I wrote letters to a number of trusted readers. It didn't matter whether there were five (or one) coded "themes" in the fieldnotes (this is something I have read about—anal retentive anthropologists color coding index cards). It would all start to come together in a real narrative form when I started writing ethnographic letters. In fact, I truly feel that my work would have suffered if I had tried to subdivide a fieldnote such as the one below into themes that could be put into file folders. Just get the ideas out...and start those letters within a week. That's my "system."
[c] Roll Taiwan RF

Note
Pete Rose tied Ty Cobb's all-time baseball "hits" record with his 4,291st hit on September 11, 1985.

GOP=Grand Old Party (Republican). Nod=endorsement/nomination. "Reagan wins Republican nomination."   

Dow Jones Industrial indicators have little to do with "the Way" (道).

Tide=Alabama Crimson Tide. (Roll Tide). Longhorns=University of Texas Longhorns. (Hook'em Horns).

The last paragraph is really a completely new idea, and probably should have required a note (or three) of its own. I have taught many hours on the idea, and it is a good example of how even a few sentences can trigger a good deal of analysis. In other words, the whole purpose is (to write) ethnography. Fieldnotes are just a step on that path (道). 

8 January 1986
Taipei 
Newspapers are also difficult. We all think of reading newspapers as the most common form of reading; most people think that they should be the first thing a language student learns to read. It simply isn’t true. My neurosurgeon/English pupil (who has no difficulties with English medical texts) has been reading from the fifth-rate China News every week. He is no academic slouch, but he often finds it difficult. Chinese papers aren’t any easier for me.

The usage in newspapers is different from the spoken language and other forms of writing. If you don’t believe it, just pick up the New York Times and read it, paying attention to every word, phrase, or construction that you might not understand if you didn’t live in the United States. (“Rose Tops Cobb Mark”; “Reagan Gets GOP Nod”; “Dow Up”; “Tide Rolls Over Longhorns”). A Chinese reader, after perusing these headlines, couldn’t be blamed for thinking that a red flower ate a bunch of corn, a "GOP" nodded at the President, the 道 (the Way) had risen (after years of playing second fiddle to Confucianism), and that a herd of cattle died in a gulf coast storm.

The Chinese papers are the same, but they have an added problem. They don’t use names, like “Reagan” or “Carter” or “Minnesota.”  They have characters for all these. Even if I know how to pronounce the characters in these words, they have no intrinsic meaning. You just have to know that [雷根; leigen] is “Reagan”, and not “thunder root”; that [卡特; kate] is “Carter” and not “special truck”; and that [明尼蘇達; mingnisuda] is “Minnesota”, and not “bright nun revive reach.”  The literal meaning of the characters is irrelevant in these cases. They are simply transliterations. The only way to learn them is to memorize them. 
[d] Relative comprehension RF

Friday, April 6, 2012

Fieldnotes From History (31)—Gordian Knots

[a] Cuttin' RF
Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.

Comment
This note gives a hint at what I love most about language-and-culture studies to this day. It is a good example of acculturation, and using an even wider range of associations and meanings than would be possible for an audience without at least some sense of world history (this was—and remains—a subject taken very seriously in junior high school and high school texts in the Republic of China). It is not so much that the average bus passenger in Taipei would recognize Gordius, King of Phrygia. Still, there is a use of English language and Western culture here that invokes it—even presents it as an interpretive and pedagogical problem—in the interest of gaining tuition-paying students. In other words, there is a whole lot more going on in that little advertisement than I was able to convey in this fieldnote. Over the years I have gotten a little better at teasing out implications, but even this note has enough detail that each sentence calls to mind several others. As many people have pointed out over the years, that (calling to mind detail that would otherwise be forgotten) is one of the best reasons for working on fieldnotes in the first place.
[b] Knot wine RF

Note
Most of the detail is in the note itself. I would simply point out a rough parallel to this theme of "invoking (other) cultural power" with a big advertisement I saw in the Newark airport ten years after this. A formidable, unsheathed sword glittered above a brief message. It said: "Does your consultant quote the Art of War, yet shy away from battle? [Work with us instead]." Once you start noticing these (often "exotic") cultural invocations, a whole world of possible interpretations opens up.

This sort of advertisement was common enough in 1986—especially in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Suffice it to say that I saw very few such ads in my short trip to the People's Republic later the same year. Within half a decade, though, they would be everywhere, and the years leading up to the Beijing Olympics in 2008 accelerated the process many times over. There is interpretive grist for the mill, in short, that is hardly even hinted at here.

8 January 1986
Taipei 
I have also been reading newspapers and translating sentences in class. Not surprisingly, translating from English to Chinese is far harder for me than going from Chinese to English, but even that can be problematic. Many phrases carry so much added cultural baggage within them that no Western reader could possibly take it all in. Their deeper meanings are, simply, untranslatable. 

To give an example, an English language school here put up large posters on many city buses advertising their programs. On each poster is a muscular, armor-clad Alexander the Great hoisting a massive sword over his head, his eyes fixed on a tangled mass of rope. Below the drawing are English and Chinese sentences which basically mean: “Break away from the difficulties of not knowing English well enough; enroll at [our school].”  The English reads: “Cut the Gordian Knot.” 

The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary says that Gordius, King of Gordium in ancient Phrygia tied an intricate knot; an oracle declared that whoever loosened the knot should rule over all Asia. No one could untie it, but Alexander the Great cut it with his sword. All of that—the story and the idea of “Cutting the Gordian Knot” as solving a complex problem forcefully or by unexpected means—are wound up in that phrase. The Chinese caption reads “Untangle the Difficult Knot.”  It means the "same" thing on one, very small, level. Everything else (including the poetry) is gone. This is why Chinese students who have read translations of Chaucer and Shakespeare in school often say, “The story is interesting, but...”. It is the reason why a culture’s highest forms of literature lack something in translation. 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Fieldnotes From History (30)—Language

[a] Linguicicles RF
Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.

[b] Climb RF
Comment
This is another example of a note that I include because it is not particularly good. It's important to remember that I had already started to develop the:

 fieldnote →→→ letter-from-the-field 

approach I use to this day. That has advantages (hints of a "sense of audience" even in the fieldnotes) and disadvantages (hints of a "sense of audience" even in the fieldnotes). I describe it in detail in the introduction to this series. For my part, it is just another example of talking through some of those things that people with experience know well (and at which they may even roll their eyes). On the other hand, more general readers have little idea. While I don't think that this note is very good, it is a good example of what we all need to do if we seek to write for people with experiences beyond our own. I roll my eyes at it now, but realize that most people who have not studied Chinese are unfamiliar with these things. I'll have more to say about this dynamic in the future.

Notes
Twenty Lectures in Chinese Culture is a text from Yale University Press that builds the student's knowledge to about 2,000 characters. Back in the old days, it lay somewhere between the worlds of "intermediate" and "advanced" reading. I was about to take a number of big steps just weeks after I wrote this note (more on that later).

It is not difficult to notice a kind of "reading insider" contempt for people who don't bother to learn to read Chinese. This post drips with it. I am probably a bit more polite these days, but I still can't help but think (this happened just about at the time this note was written) of an American peer who, while walking down the street and congratulating himself on knowing a few characters after living in Taiwan for two years, exclaimed "I SEE MEAT!" As a matter of fact, he saw the character for "meat" (肉) on a sign. His misplace linguistic pride probably played its way into the subtext of this little note.

8 January 1986
Taipei 
I am spending most of my class time working on reading modern Chinese. I have built my recognition level up to about 2,000 characters. This is bare literacy, but much better than all but the most industrious foreigners living here, most of whom feel reading and writing are much too hard. 

I have been reading Chinese history, economics, social thought, geography, and literature in a book titled Twenty Lectures in Chinese Culture. It’s not bad, but I’m itching to get at the real thing. To do that, however, I’ll have to recognize well over 3,000 characters (probably closer to 5,000) and have a better feel for the deeper meanings and word combinations they contain. By the end of this year my reading ability should be very respectable. As far as speaking goes, I should be quite competent. 

This language, however, is a lifetime challenge. It’s not something I’ll just “finish” when I leave Taipei. With a solid reading knowledge I’ll have something I can continue with in the future: a key to five thousand years of Chinese thought and culture. Most Westerners who spend time here just don’t seem to see it that way. They only know how to speak Chinese (if that). When they leave Taiwan or China, they leave the culture behind. Short of writing a book or finding a Chinese mate, their experiences are gone.