June 6, 2020

Miki Kiyoshi: In Defense of Translation

What does a Japanese philosopher have to say about the role and purpose of
translation?

The Manga room of Yoshida dormitory, Kyoto.

The Japanese sometimes refer to their country as a ‘translation superpower.’ (lit.

‘translation great power’ - honyaku taikoku - 翻 訳 大 国 ). This expression points towards
Japan’s rich history of translation, as well as the sheer volume of texts that have been
translated. If you visit a bookstore or library in Tokyo today you will find that there is a huge
selection of foreign texts available in Japanese. Along with these works you might also
notice many publications on the topic of the Japanese language itself, including academic
works on the history of its development, as well as books for the general reader which seek
to introduce different interesting aspects of the language in an approachable manner.

It would be reasonable to conclude that the Japanese highly value their own language, which
is reflected in their enthusiasm for translation. Although there is so much pressure to learn to
read English in the current age, at the end of the day people appreciate reading in Japanese,
enjoying its expressive power and uniqueness.

This conclusion is more or less correct. However, things were not always thus. If we look a
little closer at Japan’s history as a ‘translation superpower’ a somewhat different picture
emerges. For a long time, the very forces which drove Japan to translate so many books
also worked against intellectuals taking translation and the Japanese language itself as
serious and worth-while. There is an old attitude (which has survived to some extent to this
day), of viewing foreign texts as the original wellspring of knowledge, with Japanese
relegated to the role of a handmaiden, performing the menial task of helping with notation
and commentary. It is not only that important ideas, important texts, were viewed as
overwhelmingly having a foreign origin. It was also thought by many scholars that one
ultimately needed to read those ideas and texts in the foreign language itself in order to
really understand them. Translation, in other words, though in certain respects considered
important as a tool of dissemination, was ultimately a second rate compromise for those who
could not read the original.

This prioritization of foreign languages over the Japanese language has been remarked upon
by the philosopher and literary critic Miki Kiyoshi (1897-1945), in a short essay titled ‘The
Contempt Held for Translation’ ( 軽蔑された翻訳). I would like to present a few paragraphs
from this essay here, with some commentary of my own. But first, a little historical
background is in order.

In order to understand Japan’s history as a ‘translation superpower’ it may help to begin by

2 its past relationship with Chinese civilization. The art of writing crossed over
considering
to Japan at a point when Chinese civilization was already quite old. Along with this art,
the Japanese also imported a wealth of classical writing. A whole world of text was available
to (male) Japanese monks and aristocrats, so long as they learnt to read in classical Chinese.
(These texts were read with the word order parsed so as to make sense from a Japanese
perspective, and new characters (the kana) were created to help bridge the gap between
spoken Japanese and classical Chinese.) I note that the traditional education system itself
was modeled around faithfully reading and understanding the Confucian classics. From
early in Japanese history, therefore, we have an orientation towards viewing certain outside
texts as the core repositories of human wisdom, which must be dutifully studied and
understood if one is to become truly educated (and moral).

In the 19th century, Japan abandoned classical Chinese civilization as its model, turning
to the European nations. This happened very suddenly. For two hundred years prior, up
until the beginning of the Meiji era (1868-1912) and the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate,
Japan had pursued a policy of national isolation ( sakoku, 鎖 国 ). A scholar of Japanese
history would be quick to tell you that Japan was not truly closed off at this time. Limited
trade with certain favored nations continued at designated ports. Alone among the Europeans,
the Dutch were permitted to use a trading post in Nagasaki that was situated on a little
artificial island called Dejima . During the Edo period it was through this connection that
European texts and ideas entered Japan. The study of Dutch texts and
 Kano Naizen - Kobe City Museum (Source: Wikipedia .)

the European scholarship and science found within them was known as “Dutch Learning”
(rangaku, 蘭 学 ). Yet once Japan set out on a course of rapid modernization and
industrialization the floodgates were opened. Texts in German, English, and French were
3
imported in large volumes, dictionaries were created, and scholars set to work in producing
Japanese language equivalents of all the major works .

Japan’s principle motivation for becoming a so-called ‘modern’ nation along European lines
was for the sake of defending itself from the very real threat of colonization by western
powers. Yet the texts translated in the early Meiji era were not restricted to merely scientific
or military works. Translators tackled books on subjects such as history, or aesthetics, which
could by no means be directly tied to the task of protecting the country. The political
scientist and scholar Maruyama Masao has drawn attention to this point while in
conversation with the critic and author Katō Shūichi. (See Translation and Japanese
Modernity -『翻訳と日本の近代』). In Katō’s view, the breadth of translation undertaken at
that time speaks to the highly refined culture of the Edo period. Other commentators have
argued that the speed with which these various books were translated was aided by the
expressive power of Chinese characters; translators were able to quickly coin the new words
needed in order to represent foreign ideas thanks to their education in the Chinese classics.
Chinese characters could be fused together to convey new meanings.

For example, the word for philosophy, tetsugaku ( 哲学 ) was coined by Nishi Amane
in this period. It is comprised of the characters for wisdom ( 哲) and study (学), hence,
the “study of wisdom.” (I note that this is also the origin of the Chinese word for
philosophy, zhéxué, which is written using the same characters. Indeed, many of the
words coined by Japanese translators and scholars would later be transferred over into
Chinese.)
This history of translation has had a decisive impact on the formation of the ‘Japanese
language’ as we know it today, and, alongside it, the establishment of ‘Japanese literature’ in
the modern sense. This is a point that Mizumura Minae has emphasized in The Fall of
Language in the Age of English.

Mizumura also notes that part of what drove intellectuals at that time in their efforts in
translation was the awareness that they were on the cusp of gaining access to a truly
stupendous store of knowledge. With the texts now increasingly physically accessible, all
that was required was to remove the barrier of language. As Mizumura writes: 

当時、西洋語の翻訳家となった人の多くが、何よりもこの世をもっと知りたいと
望む、優れて〈叡智を求める人〉であったのは当然であった。かれらは、漢文を
読み、漢文の〈図書館〉へ出入りしていた人たちである。その人たちは、西洋語
の〈図書館〉というものが、いかに人類にとって普遍的な叡智を膨大に蓄積して
いるのかを、あるときは漠然と、あるときは明確に、理解していったのである。
黒船の大砲の音に脅かされて、西洋語を学ばざるをえなかった日本であり日本人
だが、それとは別に、優れて〈叡智を求める人〉が、西洋語を学ぶ機会を与えら
れるや否や、そこに蓄積された叡智の量と質とに圧倒され、ひたすら西洋語へと
のめりこんでいく必然性があった。

Naturally, at the time, many of the people who became translators were
accomplished ‘seekers of wisdom’ who wanted to better understand this world more
than anything else. These individuals were those who read the Chinese classics, and
could freely enter the ‘library’ of classical Chinese. They understood, sometimes
obscurely, sometimes clearly, that the ‘library’ of the western languages contained
within4 it a truly colossal accumulation of the universal wisdom of humanity.
Threatened by the sound of the canons of the Black Ships , Japan, and these
individuals, were placed in the position of having to study the western languages.
Yet separate to this [pressing need], these accomplished ‘seekers of wisdom’ were
[also] overwhelmed by the volume and quality of the accumulated wisdom contained
therein. Regardless of whether they were given the opportunity to learn a western
language or not, for them, it was simply essential to put their hearts and souls into
the fervent study of these languages.

And indeed, the stories from this time border on the heroic. Mizumura shares the anecdote of
Fukuzawa Yukichi’s (1835-1901) experience learning Dutch as a young samurai. The special
school he attended for this purpose, known as a juku (塾), had only ten texts in Dutch, and a
single dictionary. Students had to take turns creating their own copies by hand, using
traditional Japanese paper, and brushes they often fashioned themselves out of feathers.
Being poor students from the lower rungs of the samurai class, they struggled under grim
living conditions, pushing themselves to great lengths just so that they could draw slightly
closer to this foreign library that they knew lay waiting for them. Despite these efforts, when
Fukuzawa eventually reached Yokohama – which was then the major port of call for foreign
ships – he discovered that his Dutch was next to useless. All the foreigners were speaking
English, which was at that stage already well on its way towards becoming a global lingua
franca. He was left with no choice but to start all over again, a decision that few of his old
school friends could even stomach. Despite this momentous setback he persevered, beginning
his studies once more at a time when an English to Japanese dictionary did not even exist,
and when even a Dutch dictionary was hard to come by. In the end he would succeed,
becoming one of the most famous educators and scholars in Japanese history .
 A younger Fukuzawa, taken when visiting Paris in 1862. (Source: Wikipedia. )

From such anecdotes we can gain some appreciation for just how serious Japanese
intellectuals were about gaining access to knowledge from outside. Their early endeavors
were instrumental in setting Japan on the path towards becoming a ‘translation superpower.’
Yet their 5efforts were also arguably in line with older attitudes towards the Chinese classics.
Fukuzawa, for example, would go on to proclaim that Japan needed to turn from studying
Confucianism to studying western science . Here, the target of fervent study was different,
but the orientation remained one of diligently studying foreign texts in the language in
which they were written. One could hardly expect to be taken seriously as a scholar or as a
scientist if you could only read Japanese.

To this day, if you visit the research rooms ( 研究室 ) of some of the graduate schools in the
older Japanese universities, you can find students meeting to read German thinkers in
German, French thinkers in French, Greek thinkers in Greek, and Chinese thinkers in
Chinese. Along with a copy of the text in the original language, students take turns preparing
printouts covering the pages to be discussed for the day, with translations of important terms,
supplemented by notes on their general meaning or significance within the context of the
book. To the extent that it ever existed, this approach has broadly died out within the
Anglosphere with the end of Latin and Greek education. Even amongst those who study the
humanities at a post-graduate level it is common to do all research within English. In Europe,
at least, there is still some assumption by many scholars in the humanities that you ought to
have a basic capacity in several modern languages. They might share a text with you that is
written in French or German with the assumption that of course you can read it, only to be
surprised when you tell them you cannot. Such is the fate of us native English speakers, who
have the luxury of treating our own language simply as the ‘default’ language of science and
scholarship.
I think there is much to be admired about the above attitude , of seeking to faithfully
understand the nuances of a text written in a language that is not one’s own. However there
is also a negative side. Historically, this attitude has arguably stood in the way of the
development of Japanese itself as a forum for scholarly dialogue. Perhaps paradoxically,
although Japanese intellectuals in the early modern period were helping their nation to
become a ‘translation superpower’, this did not mean that they truly valued the act of
translation. If your focus is above all on faithfully understanding a foreign language
text, then in this context the Japanese language becomes merely a tool for that exercise.
It helps for notation, for writing commentary, for circling around the original source. It
is cast in a secondary role; the mirror image which imperfectly reflects the original. A
copy that is relied upon out of necessity. Seen from this perspective translations are for the
common people who do not have the elite education needed to read in the original. They are
useful for disseminating ideas more broadly, but are ultimately second-hand, imperfect
knowledge. It is an irony that the modern Japanese national language itself, which was in
part created through efforts at translation, was therefore also often viewed as, in a sense,
derivative.

The clock tower at Kyoto University, where Miki studied philosophy under Nishida.

In the above mentioned essay ‘The Contempt Held for Translation’, Miki Kiyoshi provides
his analysis of the situation. He begins by observing that the level of scholarship in Japan
remains (in his day) far below the level of that found in the European nations. He suggests
that this problem is in part because scholars do not care to engage with each other. “Isn’t it
the case”, he asks, “that scholars of our nation simply do not read much material by their
compatriots?” Behind this lack of concern for what their colleagues are writing, Miki
identifies a lack of love for the Japanese language itself:
これには色々な理由があろう。しかしその一つが日本の学者の多くは自分の国の言
葉を愛しないというところにあるのは確かなように見える。言葉を愛することを知
らない者に好い文章の書ける筈がない。悪文、拙文は我々の間では学者にとって当
然なことであると思われている。あの人は学者にしては文章がうまい。などと平気
で語られているのである。然るに若し言葉と思想とが離すことのできぬ内面的関係
をもっているとすれば、このような事実は、少なくとも一面に於いては我が国の学
者に自分自身の思想を求め、形作ろうとする衝動と熱意とが欠けているということ
 の証左でなければならぬ。ひとは自分自身の思想を求め、形作るとき、自分自身の
言葉を求め、形作る。

There are probably various reasons for this state of affairs. Yet one of them certainly
appears to be that many Japanese scholars do not love the language of their own
country. Someone who does not love [their own] language can hardly be expected to
write good prose. Among us there is an understanding that it is natural for scholars to
write poorly. People will casually remark, for example, that a ‘person is good at
writing for a scholar.’ And yet, if it is the case that language and thought have an
inseparable, internal relationship, then a state of affairs such as this must be evidence
that, in some aspects at least, the scholars of our nation are lacking the drive and
enthusiasm for pursuing, and giving shape to, their own thought. When somebody seeks
to [develop] their own thinking, and give it shape, they also seek to [develop] their own
words, and give them shape.

In other words, Miki’s diagnosis was that (in his day) many Japanese scholars were
insufficiently concerned with finding their own voice, with expressing their own ideas in
their own language. That is, they were so focused upon foreign texts that they did not truly
see the need for speaking with each other, for reading each other, in Japanese.

Miki, I note, was of a generation of scholars who had received his education in Japan’s pre-
war elite schooling system, which dedicated a significant amount of time to the study of
foreign languages. He was himself extremely skilled in German, having even studied under
Heidegger in Germany. His background is every inch that of the elite scholar with his eyes
aimed outwards towards the world. Yet, conversely, his familiarity with German language
and thought also helped to inform his view that this nation’s respect for its own language was
7 part of its philosophical and scholarly achievements. As Miki writes:
an essential

近代のドイツ哲学はギリシア哲学に比肩し得べき偉大な世界史的事実である。この
ようなドイツ哲学の発展の発端をなしたのはライプニッツであったが、彼はその当
時すさまじい勢いでこの国へ侵入してきたフランス語に対し、また伝統的なラテン
語に対して、母国語の価値に関するいくつかの文章を書いてドイツ人に警告し、ド
イツ語をラテン語に代えて学術語として使用することを主張した。彼はドイツ語で
哲学上の論文を書いた最初の人に属している。そのほか、彼はローマ法をドイツ語
に翻訳してしまうことの必要を力説した。またヘーゲルが自分の思想を出来るだけ
純粋なドイツ語で表現することに努め、ラテン語から来た言葉をさえ避け、寧ろ俗
語を活用しようとしたのは有名な事実である。このようにして、全くドイツ固有な
言葉の意味を有するかの「ガイスト」（精神）の哲学が完成されるようになったの
である。

Modern Germany philosophy is a magisterial, world-historical fact, on par with the

philosophy of Greece. It was Leibniz who started Germany philosophy on this course
of development. In reaction to the French language, which in his day was infiltrating
his country with tremendous momentum, as well as in opposition to traditional Latin,
Leibniz wrote several essays on the value of the German mother tongue. He sought to
both warn the German people, and to promote the use of German as an academic
language in place of Latin. He belongs among the first individuals to use German in
order to write philosophical treatises. Moreover, he forcefully argued for the necessity
of translating Roman law into German. Hegel, meanwhile, tried to express his own
thinking in the purest German possible, even avoiding words with Latin origin. To the
contrary, it is famously the case that he sought to make use of colloquialisms. In this
manner a philosophy was completed which appeared to be in possession of the ‘Geist’
(spirit) particular to the meaning[fullness] of Germany’s own language.
Hence, while Miki was an elite scholar who could read and write in German, and admired
German philosophy, he also felt that Japanese scholars had to rethink their priorities. That
is, it was not enough for them to read German thinkers. T hey also ought to follow the
example of the Germans: they needed to learn to love and value their own language, and
believe that worthwhile ideas could be uniquely expressed within it. In other words, the
Japanese language should not simply be treated as a tool, used to imperfectly reflect
foreign ideas, but ought to be a viewed as a potential source of insight in its own right.

Similarly, Miki argues that translation must be valued as more than a tool for the
transmission of ideas:

哲学者ライプニッツもその必要を大いに認めた翻訳というものの意味は、外国
語を知らない者にその思想を伝達することに尽きるのではない。思想と言葉と
が密接に結合しているものである限り、外国の思想は我が国語をもって表現さ
れるとき、既にもはや単に外国の思想ではなくなっているのである。意味の転
化が既にそこに行われている。このときおのずから外国の思想は単に外国の思
想であることをやめて、我々のものとして発展することの出来る一般的な基礎
が与えられるのである。翻訳の重要な意味はここにある。このことを考えるな
らば、翻訳でものを読むということは学問する者にとって恥辱でないばかり
か、必要でさえあることが分かる。

Leibniz also well understood that translation itself was necessary. Its meaning is
not exhausted as a means for transmitting knowledge to those who do not know
foreign languages. Rather, to the extent that thought and language are intimately
tied together, then when foreign ideas are expressed within our own national
language they are no longer simply foreign ideas. A transformation in meaning is
already taking place. At that point, foreign ideas naturally stop being simply
8
foreign ideas, and a general foundation is established upon which [they] can
develop as something of our own. The significance of translation is here. If we
consider this point, then we can come to understand that reading works in
translation is not something to be embarrassed about as somebody who does
scholarship. To the contrary, it is necessary.

Miki points to the example of Buddhism in China and Japan. The unique developments which
took place in each case were built upon a foundation of translation. There are likewise
similar examples in European intellectual history. Miki further notes that to view the
original text as the only truly legitimate source of knowledge is to fail to appreciate the
creative role of translation. Unfortunately, as he observes, there are many scholars who
take this view. For them, it is even a matter of pride to look down upon translation.

Miki concludes his essay by calling for Japanese scholars to pay more attention to the texts
written by their colleagues, and for a greater reliance upon translations into Japanese.
Although (in the early 20th century) he believed that Japan was still in a period of transition,
where foreign thought needed to be “transplanted”, it was also time to move beyond the idea
that real scholars tried to read everything in the original text. To the contrary, he suggests,
this tendency can deprive people of the energy needed to develop their own thinking . At
the end of the day, translations are quick to read. The convenience of being able to quickly
grasp the overall gist of a text should not be underrated.
Miki’s essay was written quite some time ago. (My copy is from a posthumous collection of
essays that does not give an exact date, but I would assume the essay itself was published in
a paper or magazine in or around the 1920s or 1930s.) Japan is now a very different place.
For one, the number of universities increased vastly in the post-war era, replacing the older
system of elite schooling. The far larger cohort of professors have helped to establish the
modern Japanese language on firmer footing as a vehicle for expressing and sharing ideas.
Compared with the past there is also arguably a good deal more respect for the Japanese
language within Japan.

However, we get a different picture if we look at the school curriculum. As Mizumura has
pointed out, in Japanese schools there is far more attention given to learning the English
language than there is to learning about the Japanese language or Japanese literature ( 国語).
Behind this neglect of Japanese is the growing dominance of English, which has risen to the
status of the globe’s ‘universal language.’ This trend is set to only become more pronounced
in the future, with English serving as the default language of the internet.

Yet, the Japanese also persist in being quite stubborn about not learning English. This is
viewed as a matter of quite serious concern by policy makers (especially when rankings are
compared with Korea or Japan), as English is viewed as important for national economic
competitiveness. On the other hand, while specialists in the sciences need to be able to read
English in order to stay abreast of the latest publications, the general public appear to mostly
get along just fine without it, despite the consternation of the elites. In part, I suggest, this is
thanks to the hard work of Japanese translators, who make it possible for the people to enjoy
the knowledge, literature and entertainment of the outside world within Japanese. This, I
think, is one
9 positive development when compared with Miki’s time.

Texts quoted:

水村美苗『日本語が滅びる時：英語の世紀の中で』、ちくま文庫、２０１５年, ２３４－
２４６頁。

(Mizumura Minae, Nihongo ga Horobiru Toki: Seigo no Seiki no Naka de , Chikuma Bunko,
2015, pp. 234-246.)

三木清『読書と人生』新潮文庫、１９７４年、１１７－１２０頁。

(Miki Kiyoshi, Reading and Life, Shinchō Bunko, 1974, pp. 117-120.)
An old book fair held on the grounds of the Shimogamo shrine in Kyoto .

Quelle:
https://japaneseincontext.com/blog/miki-kiyoshi-in-defense-of-translation
10 am 13.01.2021)
(abgerufen