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Ancient Greek and Roman philosophy is often characterised in terms of competitive individuals debating orally with one another in public arenas. But it also developed over its long history a sense in which philosophers might acknowledge some other particular philosopher or group of philosophers as an authority and offer to that authority explicit intellectual allegiance. This is most obvious in the development after the classical period of the philosophical 'schools' with agreed founders and, most importantly, canonical founding texts. There also developed a tradition of commentary, interpretation, and discussion of texts which itself became a mode of philosophical debate. As time went on, the weight of a growing tradition of reading and appealing to a certain corpus of foundational texts began to shape how later antiquity viewed its philosophical past and also how philosophical debate and inquiry was conducted. In this book leading scholars explore aspects of these important developments.
In this book, Robert Wardy, a philosopher and classicist, turns his attention to the relation between language and thought. He explores this huge topic in an analysis of linguistic relativism, with specific reference to a reading of the ming li t'an ('The Investigation of the Theory of Names'), a seventeenth-century Chinese translation of Aristotle's Categories. Throughout his investigation, Wardy addresses important questions. Do the basis structures of language shape the major thought-patterns of its native speakers? Could philosophy be guided and constrained by the language in which it is done? What factors, from grammar and logic to cultural and religious expectations, influence translation? And does Aristotle survive rendition into Chinese intact? His answers will fascinate philosphers, Sinologists, classicists, linguists and anthropologists, and will make a major contribution to the existing literature.
We are the speaking animals. To take a leaf from Aristotle’s book, the permanently mute or unremittingly taciturn are inferior beasts or superior gods; to be a person is to be gregarious, and to associate in the human fashion is to speak among ourselves. Indeed, creation and discovery of the individual self are conditional on locating this self among other selves; but since these others are nodes in a linguistic network, a society of speakers, acquisition of a language and entry into a community necessarily proceed intandem.
This skeletal delineation of linguistic essentialism will strike some as at best tendentious, at worst grotesquely unscientific, bereft of empirical foundations. No matter: for overwhelmingly many others, the absolute centrality of language is a truism so conspicuous as barely to deserve acknowledgment, before one passes on to the burgeoning questions to which it immediately gives rise: is all thought linguistic? Do the expressive resources of all languages come to the same sum, or do different languages manifest characteristic (dis)advantages? With such linguistic relativism, we are moving from what appears to be strictly theoretical to issues with ethical import; consideration of the possibility that language might encode, enshrine, confirm, or even partially comprise various sociopolitical asymmetries takes us further along the spectrum. Participants in such debates may hotly disagree, while fundamentally agreeing that language is always, inevitably at the core of their dispute. Profound insight, or profound delusion: if the latter, this chapter is a modest foray into the pathology of our exaggerated logocentric proclivities.
How well does Aristotle's abstract definition of nature in the Physics cope with some significant agricultural facts? Are its implications in tension with the workings of artificial teleology? How Aristotle might categorize domesticated plants is problematic: they are neither obviously natural nor obviously artificial. That artificial things generally retain an intrinsic source of change does not help us to settle the status of “living quasi-artefacts.” A survey of Theophrastus reveals that many agricultural techniques go against nature, rather than collaborating with it; and, moving from the practical to the theoretical, the Mechanica might suggest a scientific program at odds with the Aristotelian tradition of passive observation. Reflection on the Historia Animalium exposes difficulties in specifying natural and artificial environments which exacerbate the puzzle, and reinforce the rationale for Aristotelians to adopt an active stance when investigating nature. The Aristotelian olive remains mysterious.
And thus it was from the Greeks that philosophy took its rise, whose very name refuses to be translated into foreign speech.
Diogenes Laertius I. 4
Introduction
Readers of ‘The China Syndrome’ might well feel inclined to complain of a glaring omission in its consideration of ‘guidance and constraint’. A moderate sceptic about the hypothesis could readily concede that the case-studies of the first chapter are effective against Sinological relativism, yet suggest that I have ignored the most massive presence in the history of philosophy: Aristotle. The contention is that his thought is permeated throughout by a variety of linguistic influences rarely recognised as such by Aristotle himself. Nowhere is this clearer than in the Categories. Although the Categories stands in the first rank of the Western philosophical tradition, its students ancient and modern are in doubt over its status. Is it (primarily) a work of dialectic; of semantics; or of ontology? The sceptic contends that this chronic perplexity is no accident. The Categories puzzles us because it, and much later philosophy in its wake, has indeed been guided and constrained by language. The moral of ‘The China Syndrome’ is that we should fight shy of formulating too specific a hypothesis concerning just how Greek (or Indo-European) leaves its mark on Aristotelian doctrines. We should nevertheless remain confident that a deep imprint is there, even without a detailed explanation of how it was made.