Whether in philosophy or in science, “popularization” is needed—that is to say, the public outside the field needs to be brought to some degree of understanding in some way. Most people would agree with this; the question is only—who should popularize, to whom should it be popularized, in what way, how should the effects of popularization be defined, and so on.
In modern times, learning has become increasingly specialized, increasingly profound, and thus increasingly distant from the grasp of ordinary people. In such circumstances, “popularization” instead appears ever more important.
But the current state of popularization is worrying.
Looking at science popularization: in fact, modern times can be said to be the era in which technology is most “popularized.” The influence of science and technology has permeated every corner of society; even when eating roast duck or skewers or whatever, one sees advertisements touting a “scientific formula,” and no matter how uneducated a person may be, they also know that “science” is a “good thing.”
And this is precisely one of the predicaments of modern science popularization: what people come to understand is not science, but only “fragmentary facts.” Science as inquiry and pursuit of knowledge is dissected into a collection of “facts”; and further, at times one does not even reach the level of popularizing facts. What is being popularized is not only not “science,” but not even “knowledge,” rather it is “power”—science can withstand disasters, can cure diseases, can increase productivity… As for what science in fact does, why it can do these things, and so on, all of that is ignored. It is merely powerful; so powerful—what need is there to explain profound principles?
“Popularization” first degenerated into preaching and didacticism, and in the end was left with only performance and show.
The subject of the popularizer shifted from great scientists to marginal scientific workers, then to writers, and finally became journalists!
As for the popularization of philosophy, the problem is equally serious. The “popularization of philosophy” in the 1960s and 1970s could be described as extraordinarily bustling, but it was in truth disastrously harmful, so much so that the first task of philosophy popularization today is to lessen the many misunderstandings caused by the “popularization” of that era.
Why popularize?
Why carry out “popularization” at all? I do scientific research; anyway, as long as I produce results and make a contribution to society, what does it matter whether others understand it or not? Indeed, for each individual expert, popularization is not his obligation. But taken as a whole in the domain of learning, popularization is indispensable.
Let us look first from a utilitarian angle: first, scientific research also needs funding, scholars also need salaries, and especially modern science requires enormous amounts of money. In any case, this money generally will not come out of the scholars’ own pockets, but will be obtained from the state or from the people, from taxpayers. If you are merely content in your own pleasure and savoring your own flower, that is indeed your freedom; but an activity that depends on resources provided by society is not something that can be justified by self-admiration alone. You must, by some method, convince others that the undertaking you are engaged in is meaningful or valuable. Second, scientific research does not belong to one person alone, but is an undertaking as a whole, one that requires generation after generation of scholars to devote themselves in succession. No matter how great a genius may be, he still needs successors; and all scholars were not born scholars. They all need a process of transformation—from knowing nothing at all to becoming interested and finally throwing themselves into it—and the transition from layman to insider always requires some kind of guidance. This kind of introductory initiation and stimulation of interest is precisely the work of “popularization.”
From the standpoint of learning itself, popularization is actually also a part of learning—therefore the main body of popularizers should be scholars from inside the field rather than journalists from outside it. Why do I say that popularization is a part of learning? First, popularization is an academic ability. Popularization is not at all easy; excellent popularization work is impossible without comprehensive and profound mastery and understanding of the relevant knowledge. In fact, many scholars are content merely to make statements in professional language—for example, scientists using the language of mathematics, philosophers preferring obscure prose. Indeed, many profound contents are difficult to express fully and clearly in plain language; however, any mature theory ought to be introduced at least in summary form in plain language. What do these symbols, these terms, actually mean? These symbols and terms are not some mysterious incantations; they are also language created by us. Perhaps to a layperson these professional languages are even harder to understand than foreign languages, but that does not mean they have no chance of learning the meanings of those languages through “translation.” Translation will of course inevitably involve distortion, but the existence of distortion does not mean that the two sides cannot communicate well. And whether scholar or public, everyday language is always our mother tongue; explaining professional terms in everyday language inevitably involves distortion, of course, but only when one can explain them in everyday language can one truly be said to have understood their meaning.
On the other hand, what is often overlooked is that the object of popularization is not only the public outside the field, but also colleagues inside the field! From a certain perspective, “popularization” within the field—or “communication,” in the terminology of science communication studies—is even more primary and urgent than popularization toward the outside public.
“Specialization” is deepening day by day, especially as the gulfs between different scientific fields grow ever larger. A physicist’s understanding of biology may not be much greater than that of an ordinary college student; and even within physics itself, a fluid dynamicist and an astrophysicist may perhaps have nothing to do with each other until old age and death. But the development of science is also revealing to us: science has always been a whole, and dialogue and integration across disciplines and fields are tremendously significant; exchange between fields often opens up new and vast horizons. So how can we promote interaction among disciplines? First of all, one still has to “popularize”—you need to introduce your own work to those friends who share your aspirations but differ in their paths, or differ in their aspirations but share your path. For philosophy, this point is especially important—Chinese philosophy, Western philosophy, Marxist philosophy, aesthetics, religion, philosophy of science, and so on, are all differences in perspective and method, but these philosophies are all common in one respect—the love of wisdom and the pursuit of wisdom are the same. The dilemmas and problems they face—those eternal ones of humanity, or those specially characteristic of an era—are also the same. They need exchange, they must exchange. Yet the present situation is that perhaps after only one office between research groups, people cease to have anything to do with each other until death; even within the philosophical circle, which is not very large to begin with, one little circle after another has been carved out. Such a situation is obviously bad.
For example, I specialize in Confucius and Mencius, you specialize in philosophy of science, he specializes in Kant; our directions are indeed quite different, but we are all doing philosophy. What we truly face is not Confucius and Mencius, nor Kant, but “problems,” and these “problems” are shared. We can bring out our own professional resources and our own distinctive perspectives to offer our views, while other resources and other perspectives will bring me immense help and inspiration.
“Internal” popularization within the academic circle has become increasingly important in an age of specialization. A scholar specializing in philosophy of science may, when it comes to Chinese philosophy, perhaps be only at the level of an amateur enthusiast, or even it may be difficult to speak of him as an enthusiast at all; all too often there is more misunderstanding, and even mutual contempt. Thus, “popularization” within the field is in fact entirely analogous to popularization toward the public—arousing the other’s interest, helping him understand a more complete picture, exchanging with him and mutually inspiring one another…
What has been mentioned above are the two broad categories of reasons for popularization—utilitarian and academic. In fact, these reasons are all considerations for learning itself. One need not be all that selfless, nor all that eager to “serve the people”: what I want to point out is that popularization is not only for the public, not only for helping others; in fact, first and foremost it is for oneself—for the development of learning itself, one needs to attach importance to “popularization.”
How to popularize
What kind of popularization counts as successful?
The earlier discussion has already mentioned several requirements: “arousing the other’s interest, helping him understand a more complete picture, exchanging with him and mutually inspiring one another…” I feel that an excellent popularization work—for example, a popular science book—should have the following three characteristics: lively and vivid, solid and rigorous, guiding and inspiring. Correspondingly, the qualities an excellent popularizer should possess are: positive and enthusiastic, down-to-earth and responsible, open and tolerant.
First of all, when popularizing for laypeople, one must at minimum make it possible and interesting for the other person to read. This requires a lively form, vivid and accessible language; if the reader is frightened off on the first page, then no matter how rich and solid the content is, it will be useless. This requires that the popularizer have a positive and enthusiastic attitude; writing or speaking as if merely coping with a task is not acceptable. Of course, enthusiasm alone is not enough; one also needs a certain level of literary and linguistic skill, and so on. In addition, besides the author, there are other factors affecting the reader’s interest in a popular work—before trying to arouse the reader’s interest in the object introduced by the work, one must first ensure that the reader has sufficient interest in the work itself.
After that, it is not enough merely to guarantee interest; the solidity of the content is important. This is especially true for popular science: the scientific knowledge introduced should be as accurate as possible. The popularization of philosophy is similar; although philosophy does not have the issue of scientific precision, philosophical popularization works must still ensure sufficient scholarly rigor, and cannot seek accessibility by vulgarity, nor exchange liveliness for superficial restlessness. This requires the popularizer to be down-to-earth and responsible, and to write popular works with the attitude used in writing scholarly monographs.
Finally, popularization is not preaching. The failure of Chinese philosophy popularization in earlier times lay precisely in replacing popularization with preaching and indoctrination, and Chinese science popularization today still bears deeply rooted habits of preaching and indoctrination. People think that popularizing science means popularizing those “facts” that brook no doubt; this is the fundamental reason why original Chinese popular science works fall far short of translated works introduced from abroad. This is even more so in philosophy, where philosophy itself is a matter of a hundred schools contending, with no final conclusion ever reached—that is precisely the charm of philosophy. If one is writing an academic monograph, one may firmly stand on one’s own position and display a strong personality and tendency; but a popular work requires a more gentle and inclusive approach—of course, one should still include one’s own personality, but when introducing the interpretation one favors, one must leave room. One should leave questions for the reader, leave space for the reader to think for himself, and allow and encourage the reader to raise objections. Do not try to give the final answer in a popular work, but you may provide “maps” and “clues” that make it convenient for readers to seek the answer themselves. This requires the popularizer to have an open and tolerant mindset.
August 25, 2006
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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