Yesterday’s dispute over globalization again flared up with ZW. In fact, the point at issue is the same as in last week’s and even earlier disputes: in the end, it all comes down to the use of words and concepts.
Let me begin with the concrete issue: possibility and actuality. ZW pointed out that the “possibility” of a global government used by the student giving the report at the time was inappropriate, and that it might as well be changed to “actuality.” This is because the word “possibility,” in the context of analytic philosophy, refers to logical possibility—for example, that the sun will rise in the west tomorrow is logically “possible,” but obviously not “actual.” ZW therefore thought that what the student was talking about was “whether it is possible in reality,” and so “actuality” was more suitable as a replacement for “possibility.”
However, I object to this view. I think that since the title already explicitly said “possibility in reality,” there is no need to replace the word “possibility.” The example I gave in class was not a good one; in fact, I have never been eloquent, and in live debate I am always at a loss for words and fail to express myself properly, so let me restate it here.
First, the expression “possibility in reality,” on the one hand, differs from “logical possibility,” and on the other hand, also differs from “actuality.” If one says simply “possibility” without qualification and this leads to confusion with “logical possibility” (in fact, given the context and situation, no such confusion would absolutely arise here), then saying simply “actuality” without qualification is even more likely to cause confusion.
The difference between “possible in reality” and “logically possible” is obvious. For instance, “there is only one language on earth” is logically possible, but clearly not realistic. But “actual” and “possible in reality” are also clearly different. To say that a plan is “actual” certainly includes the meanings of conforming to reality, being possible in reality, and being feasible in reality. But “actual” sometimes also contains the meaning of “having already become a fact,” in opposition to “theoretically…” and “ideally…”; sometimes it contains the sense of an urgent, real trend that is developing or about to arrive, for example: “global warming is a very real issue” — we would not say that global warming is “possible in reality,” because it is not only “possible” but has already become “actual.” “Possible in reality,” by contrast, means taking the circumstances of the real world as a basis to ask whether something is theoretically possible. That is to say, what is “possible in reality” is not necessarily “actual”; it may also be “theoretical” or “ideal,” but these “theories” and “ideals” are based on considerations of reality, not on purely logical considerations. In short, to say “possible in reality” does not necessarily carry the implications of “practical,” “existent,” “ongoing,” or “inevitable trend,” whereas those implications are included in the word “actual.” In light of the context at the time, the word “possibility” was more appropriate.
To take the word “possibility” by default as “logical possibility” is something that applies only in certain special contexts. In concrete discussion and context, if analytic philosophers were being rigorous, they should also specify that they are speaking of logical possibility. If they do not make this explicit, readers can also judge their usage from the context. I have never known the understanding of “possible” as “logically possible” to have become some kind of “academic norm.” What I see is that different philosophers use these terms differently in different contexts. For instance, in Kant’s proposition “how is practical reason possible,” I think the “possible” there is not purely logical; Hegel’s “the actual is the rational” goes even further in equating actuality with rationality. I have not seen among philosophers any unified usage of words like “actuality” and “possibility.”
I do not deny the importance of “academic norms,” but according to my own consistently pluralist stance: academic norms are neither unique nor nonexistent; rather, there can be many. In the context of Kantian philosophy there will be certain default ways of using words, while in the context of analytic philosophy there will be other default understandings, and so on. But in a peripheral or cross-disciplinary field such as the “problem of globalization,” which is far removed from “pure philosophy,” no dictionary of philosophical technical terms is qualified to become the sole norm. In such cross-disciplinary fields, if language still needs norms, the norms to be followed should not be rules laid down by any school of philosophy, but rather the norms of ordinary language, taking the most general understanding as the standard. If one must use certain “technical terms” whose meanings differ from ordinary usage, and if their meaning cannot easily be seen from the context, then one should make that clear. That is what a rigorous academic attitude is. But if one brings over a dictionary not only to prescribe one’s own usage, but also to regulate the usage of others, then that is no longer rigor; it is “bossiness.”
Anyone doing philosophy should “chew over words,” and should take concept use seriously. But what I emphasize more is reflection on and criticism of concepts—for example, “What is science?” “What is nature?” “What is matter?” and so on. The more familiar a concept is, the more it needs reflection. What I focus on is not submitting to some set of norms; on the contrary, it is criticizing and breaking norms. But this does not mean establishing another set of norms and forcing others to comply. In the preface to The Origins of Western Science, Lindberg listed six ways in which the word “science” is used, and then remarked: “The lexicographical enterprise must be devoted to description without abandoning prescription. We must acknowledge that the word science has different meanings, and that each is reasonable.” I identify with this attitude toward words. There are always “words” before there are “dictionaries”; dictionaries merely devote themselves to recording the rules of language so as to provide reference or educational functions, but dictionaries themselves have no coercive force. “Norms” do not come from dictionaries; they come from language itself. Academic terminology, on the one hand, should be more exacting than everyday language in terms of normativity; but on the other hand, it is also freer. The normativity of academic terms is especially evident in translation, where there must be no careless improvisation. For some specially coined or specially activated words, such as Kant’s “thing in itself” and Heidegger’s “Dasein,” the “final right of interpretation” of such words of course belongs to the inventors of their usage—when one speaks of the “thing in itself,” it should by default mean “the thing in itself as Kant meant it.” But some other words that were originally words of life, the common people, everyday language (and which may have been specially coined by some scholar at some point, but have long since become part of everyday language), such as “actuality,” “possibility,” “state,” “politics,” “domain,” and so on, have no identifiable “owner”; they belong to language itself. When using these words, the “final right of interpretation” should in principle belong to the users themselves. Of course, users cannot use words arbitrarily—for example, one can never interpret “possible” as “egg pancake” — but whether one understands it as logical possibility, actuality in reality, technical feasibility, probabilistic existence, and so on, all of these are reasonable. No one usage is the only “academic norm.”
I do not expect to persuade ZW or anything of the sort. In fact, although I have hardly read any of ZW’s papers, and although I have rarely discussed the same topic with ZW, from our slight contacts I have increasingly felt our enormous differences—differences not in any specific views, but in basic method, attitude, and character. For instance, I think the stance of “pluralism” is very special, and very few people are truly willing to carry it through. It is certainly not the case that non-dogmatists or non-monists naturally become pluralists. In fact, although I personally distinguish myself from relativism, from a general point of view there is nothing seriously wrong with understanding pluralism or perspectivism as a form of relativism. My perspectivism, or what might also be called weak relativism, is consistent throughout; this is in fact the fundamental disagreement behind many disputes. Disagreement is a good thing—that, too, is one of pluralism’s claims.
November 2, 2006
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
Leave a Reply