Copyright 1996/1998 Semiotica and Walter de Gruyter. All rights reserved.
Reprinted with permission of Semiotica and Walter de Gruyter.

Tuesday, March 02, 1999

ADVENTURES IN TRANSLATION

Questioning the text.

Which is to be the master?

The active and the passive.

Lies and truth in translation.

Ambiguity, polysemy, and richness.

A translation that will construe.

We are going to be blamed anyway.

Authorial autonomy and Pickwickian senses.

The competence of the writer and the reader.

Underinterpretation and overinterpretation.

The intentio operis and the limits of interpretation.

On the real and the actual: Pinocchio and Alice.

The central theme of this paper is the notion of ambiguity, and the possibilities of 'reproducing' various forms of ambiguity (and other textual problems) in translation, using examples from texts by Kant and Nietzsche. The paper was prompted by the issue originally posed by Richard E. Aquila: 'It is difficult to know, in translation, how accurately one ought to reproduce elements of vagueness or ambiguity apparently present in the original.' (Aquila 1982: 11).

The 'Adventures' in the title of this paper has several referents. The first, or most obvious, is the reference to The Adventures Of Pinocchio, and to Alice's Adventures In Wonderland and Through The Looking-Glass, which serve a minor rôle in our discussion. In addition, the complexities involved in translating and exploring texts could be spoken of as 'adventures'. Finally, the notion of ambiguity itself involves intrigue, and twists and turns.

Hitherto it has been assumed that a general competence in the field of scholarship and a solid knowledge of the language was all that was required to prepare translations of works such as philosophical writings. Recently, however, the notion that a worthy translation has to be especially sensitive to ambiguity, which it must 'reproduce' (without introducing distortions), has attained a certain degree of prominence.

A most extreme form of this position has been taken by Werner Pluhar in 'How to Render Zweckmäßigkeit in Kant's Third Critique'. (Gram 1982: 85-98.) Among the multitude of Pluhar's complaints is that translators who fail to maintain complete consistency in their renderings of certain terms (such as Zweckmäßigkeit and related words) thereby 'implant' various senses, and 'erase' others, bringing about ambiguities. Hans Seigfried argues similarly, but much less polemically, in 'Kant's "Spanish Bank Account": Realität and Wirklichkeit' (Gram 1982: 115-132), that previous translations of Kant's Kritik der reinen Vernunft have obscured the 'distinction' between Realität and Wirklichkeit by failing to render these terms consistently as 'reality' and 'actuality'. He claims, therefore, that 'reality' in these translations stands ambiguously for either Realität or Wirklichkeit.

The nature and tenor of the arguments presented by Pluhar and Seigfried are critically examined in the light of their conclusions.

Vagueness, Ambiguity, Polysemy, and Richness

In Kant and Nietzsche.

'Personal pronouns and adjectives are a frightful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, sie, means you, and it means she, and it means her, and it means it, and it means they, and it means them. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six-and a poor little weak thing of a word at that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.' (Twain 1876: 1146.)

Mark Twain's comments about ambiguity, though amusing, contain a kernel of truth. For it is exasperating never knowing which meaning the speaker is trying to covey.

On a more serious note, translation-theorist Peter Newmark's remarks concerning ambiguity (grammatical, lexical, pragmatic, cultural, ideolectical, referential, and metaphorical ambiguity) are of prime importance as a background for our discussion. The most relevant for this discussion are:

'Grammatical ambiguity

If a sentence is syntactically ambiguous within its context, it must be poorly written. All notorious ambiguous sentences and groups ('the shooting of the hunters', 'John's book', 'slow neutrons and protons', 'flying planes can be dangerous') as well as less obvious ones ('modern language teaching', 'considering my ignorance', 'What he performed at first was of no interest' (i.e. ambiguously placed adverbs), 'the larger or largest towns' (absolute or relative comparatives or superlatives), 'the house was shut', (state or event) 'summer students' group' (any multiple-noun compound)) - all these can be disambiguated if the context is reasonably informative. You have to become intensively and selectively sensitised to the common syntactical ambiguities of the languages you are translating from.' (Newmark 1988: 218.)

'Lexical ambiguity

Lexical ambiguity is both more common and more difficult to clear up than grammatical ambiguity. Words may have anything from one sense to say 30 (e.g., Anlage) and the senses may be close to or remote (as in puns) from each other. Sometimes a word has two senses which are both equally effective (pragmatically and referentially) in the relevant stretch of language, e.g., contrôler, to 'verify' or 'direct'; sometimes, as in the case of the metaphorical and the literal sense of a word, you may translate with both senses in mind.' (Newmark 1988: 219.)

'Ideolectical ambiguity

You have to bear in mind that most people use some words in a sense that is peculiar to themselves, often because they have heard them used in many situations but have never looked them up in a dictionary, or because they feel a lexical gap in their language or thought and fill it with an inappropriate word.' (Newmark 1988: 220.)

'Referential ambiguity

In a sense all ambiguity is referential, since it prompts two or more images of the reality the translator is trying to describe.' (Newmark 1988: 220.)

'Metaphorical ambiguity

You can find ambiguities in most sentences if you try hard enough-that is the nature of language, the inadequate and loose dress of thought. The only too obvious advice I can give you is to translate the most probable sense, and to put the less probable sense in a footnote if you judge this sense to be important. Otherwise sensitise yourself to the most common sets of ambiguities in your foreign languages-in translation, you rarely make the same mistake twice, particularly if it is a bad one. There is nothing so educative as making a howler.' (Newmark 1988: 220.)

Werner Pluhar's comments regarding the importance of the possibility of 'research' using translations require examination as to how they pertain to a discussion of ambiguity in translation:

'What this paper does seek to do is to make possible whatever fruitful future research, by scholars not sufficiently familiar with (Kant's) German, may yet be needed to produce such a fuller analysis. What that requires is a minimal initial analysis of Zweckmäßigkeit sufficient to allow for the selection of a rendering for the term which will fit that minimal analysis and which therefore will avoid blocking or impeding the research for such a fuller analysis. Any rendering that fails to avoid this is obviously a mistranslation.' (Pluhar 1982: 86.)

'Research (based on translation - this qualification will henceforth be regarded as understood) will be blocked or impeded by any rendering of Zweckmäßigkeit that gives rise to (1) erasure of a distinction present in the original work, since that would block any research into that distinction, (2) implantation of a distinction not present in the original work, since that would impede research by misdirecting it toward a distinction which, as regards the work proper, is merely illusory, (3) ambiguous implantation of a distinction, or (4) ambiguous erasure of one, since either of these would impede research by creating confusion.' (Pluhar 1982: 86.)

Pluhar's stance would require that the translator find semantically identical words to translate the key terms (at least) of the original, for the purpose of unhindered research into the distinctions that the author makes. Other considerations or problems (syntax, stylistics, diachronic lexical differences, etc.) are not mentioned, and the general possibility or frequency of such exact correspondences is not explored in his paper. The entire discussion is on the semantics of Zweckmäßigkeit and related terms:

'Clearly Zweck is rendered at least as well by "purpose" as it is by "end," in ordinary language as well as in philosophy. (I am disregarding its etymology, which happens to be unhelpful.) Moreover, the purposiveness terminology does not share the disastrous ambiguity of the finality terminology. The question which remains for this paper, therefore, in the absence of a fuller analysis of Zweckmäßigkeit which our rendering is supposed to make possible, is this: what minimal part of such an analysis must a rendering satisfy if it is to avoid impeding future research into the notion.?' (Pluhar 1982: 90-91.)

Seigfried argues that Meiklejohn, Müller, and Kemp Smith all failed to recognise the significance and nature of the distinction Kant was making between Realität and Wirklichkeit, and that this distinction is best captured by rigidly and systematically translating these terms as 'reality' and 'actuality'.

'It strikes me odd that such a competent translator as N. K. Smith, in his mostly reliable translation of the Critique of Pure Reason, is not always faithful to Kant's use of the words real/Realität and wirklich/Wirklichkeit.' (Gram 1982: 115.)

It appears that the concerns of Pluhar and Seigfried are a formalised restatement of the description given by Günther Kandler concerning properties of an ideal translation:

'An ideal translation would be one that allows of exactly the same breadth of interpretation (and even misinterpretation) as the original.' (Kandler, in Carey and Jumpelt 1963: 294.)

The discussion that follows will explore the difficulties involved in satisfying Pluhar's demands, by examining translations of rather difficult passages from philosophical texts by Kant and Nietzsche.

Since there is some disparity in the terminology used in various disciplines (logic, linguistics, translation theory, and literary criticism) to describe the phenomenon of ambiguity, it may be useful first to define stipulatively the terminology used in this paper, which may differ slightly from that used by others.

Ambiguity is used herein as a general term to describe the state of uncertainty regarding the meaning of a passage, an expression, a sentence, or a phrase, owing to defective grammatical or syntactical structure, and the lack of clarifying clues or hints. Ambiguity is used especially to refer to situations where the meanings are conflicting or incompatible. Single words themselves, even when they contribute to ambiguity because of uncertainty as to sense, are not generally referred to herein as ambiguous, but as ambphibolous; considered as isolated semantic structures, they can be polysemous or monosemous. Ambiguity is regarded as lying on a continuum between hopelessness and complete resolution.

Amphibology refers to ambiguity arising from defective grammatical or syntactical structure only, not that arising from the polysemy of terms. Its adjectival form is amphibological. Amphiboly refers to ambiguity arising from uncertain syntax or figures of speech. Its adjectival form is ambphibolous.

Equivocation is a fallacy in logic, in which the argument turns or rests upon the (illegitimate) use of a single word or term in diverse senses. It is also called the Fallacy of Four Terms. Its adjectival form is equivocal.

Polysemy is used herein to describe the possession, by many words in most languages, of diverse senses or meanings; these meanings can be close, extended, metaphorical, or unrelated. The number of senses is generally to be regarded as fixed, and limited to the senses documented in enclyclopœdic dictionaries. Its adjectival form is polysemous. Polysemy is not to be regarded as being identical with ambiguity. Overlapping polysemy is known as synonymy.

Monosemy refers to the possession, by a term, of merely one sense. Few words are monosemous.

Oligosemy (a Catfordian term) refers to a semantic restriction or lexical narrowness, especially that which cannot be matched in another language. (See Catford 1965: 96.)

Richness is generally used to refer to words that are highly or extensively polysemous, especially when the polysemy is useful.

Narrowness is generally used to refer to words that are lexically simple (univocal) or have few senses, all of which are closely related (analogous).

A Resolution is the proposed clarification of an ambiguity. Resolutions can be said to possess a degree of probability, or likelihood.

Ambiguity in Kant: Who Is to Blame?

'I am just now [July 1896] revising my translation of Kant's [first] Critique for a new edition.'...'Kant's text is more corrupt than that of any Greek classic. He lived at Königsberg, and his book was printed at Leipzig, and for half of it he saw no proof-sheets at all. His style is so fearful that one never knows what he may, and what he may not, allow himself to write. If, as translator, one makes his writing to construe, one is blamed; if one gives a faithful reading, one is blamed also.' (Müller 1902, II: 366-7.)

We shall return to these observations by Müller further on in this paper. Because of both the style of the author and apparent carelessness in the setting of the type of Kant's Kritik der reinen Vernunft, ambiguities can be found on almost any page of this text. Nearly all of the forms of ambiguity listed above by Newmark occur. For examination we have selected a passage (B xii-xiii) from the Preface to the second edition (1787) in which certain difficulties (including apparent lacunæ in the text) occur:

'Dem ersten, der den gleichschenkligen Triangel demonstrierte, (er mag nun Thales oder wie man will geheißen haben,) dem ging ein Licht auf; denn er fand, daß|er nicht dem, was er in der Figur sah, oder auch dem bloßen Begriffe derselben nachspüren und gleichsam davon ihre Eigenschaften ablernen, sondern durch das, was er nach Begriffen selbst a priori hineindachte und darstellete, (durch Konstruktion) hervorbringen müsse, und daß er, um sicher etwas a priori zu wissen, er der Sache nichts beilegen müsse, als was aus dem notwendig folgte, was er seinem Begriffe gemäß selbst in sie gelegt hat.' (Text: Heidemann 1966: 24-25.)

The text seems defective. There are several ambiguities, and there is some need for emendation:

  1. Either the durch of line 5 has to go, or something (a direct object) must follow the contrasting expression sondern, which means 'rather'; 'on the contrary'. The confusion here is whether sondern is used to express a contrast between the two verbs ablernen and hervorbringen, the reference back the object Eigenschaften being omitted by Kant; or, (following Adickes), the contrast is between Eigenschaften ablernern and das, was...hervorbringen; in this approach, dropping the durch of line 5 makes das the object, instead of the subject, of the clause.
  2. There seems to be confusion regarding the object for the couplet hineindachte und darstellete as well as exactly what they mean.
  3. Er ('he') occurs, redundantly, once in line 6 and again in line 7.
  4. The reference of davon in line 4 is not clear.

Various emendations (both additions [ ] and deletions - ) were proposed by later German editors, (Adickes, Erdmann, Hartenstein, Kehrbach, Rosenkranz, and Vorländer) the most sensible appearing of which (or at least the simplest) come from Hartenstein, Erdmann, and Vorländer:

'Dem ersten, der den gleichschenkligen Triangel demonstrierte, (er mag nun Thales oder wie man will geheißen haben,) dem ging ein Licht auf; denn er fand, daß|er nicht dem, was er in der Figur sah, oder auch dem bloßen Begriffe derselben nachspüren und gleichsam davon ihre Eigenschaften ablernen, sondern [sie]H [diese]E durchA das, was er nach Begriffen selbst a priori hineindachte und darstellete[,]E (durch Konstruktion) [seinen Gegenstand allererst]E [sie]H hervorbringen müsse, und daß er,R um sicher etwas a priori zu wissen, erK der Sache nichts beilegen müsse, als was aus dem notwendig folgte, was er seinem Begriffe gemäß selbst in sie gelegt hat.'

If we accept the deletion of durch in line 5, proposed by Adickes, it is because we read das as the direct object of hervorbringen. Retaining it means that the second durch, in durch Konstruktion, is an echo of the first, and an amplification of it. One almost expects a d.i. (das ist, the German equivalent of i.e., the abbreviation for the Latin id est). The emendations made by Hartenstein, Erdmann, and Vorländer introduce a direct object, the simple pronoun sie or diese, which completes the sense of the sentence in a way different from Adickes, viz., referring hervorbringen to Eigenschaften. In their view, Kant is saying that the geometer produces the properties of the triangle through construction, and does not 'learn' them, merely by observing them or taking them in. The contrast is one of an active operation (production) as opposed to a passive one (collecting). The appeal of this reading is that we are taking Konstruktion to amplify hervorbringen. Kant's claim that mathematics (which for Kant often means geometry) is synthetic supports this reading of the text. Thus construed, it also gives us an early glimpse into Kant's distinction between the synthetic and the analytic.

But is this the correct reading of this passage? Perhaps Kant's choice of hineindenken and darstellen will provide us a clue. The verb hineindenken has a meaning difficult to get at, or at least to express with as much brevity in English. According to Köhler, hineindenken, used as an active verb, translates as "to figure to one's self one thing in another; to find in a thing"; used reflexively (i.e., with sich), it means "to think, fancy one's self to be in; to impress one's mind with, possess one's self of, identify one's self with". (Köhler 1884: 254.) In Schmidt/Tanger, though, hineindenken (listed here as reflexive only) means "to dive, to go deep (into a subject); to understand, or to realise something". (Schmidt/Tanger 1895: 464.) To this Baumann adds "sich in j[emand]s Lage hineindenken=to (try to) realise (or understand) a p[erson]'s position, to put one's self in a p[erson]'s place." (Baumann 1908: 519.) The verb darstellen is listed in all of these dictionaries as meaning 'to represent'; 'to mimic'; 'to produce'; 'to exhibit'; 'to display'; 'to depict'; 'to describe'; etc. Since sich is not present in Kant's sentence, the active senses of these two verbs are the ones that apply here. This is of particular importance with regard to hineindenken, because it means Kant is saying that what the geometer does is 'to find [properties?] in a thing [the figure?]'; 'to figure to one's self one thing [properties?] in another [the figure?]. Of course, the word 'find' here, if we are to understand what Kant means, must be understood actively, as 'to introduce' in contradistinction to the passive ablernen.

The concluding part of the passage (lines 6 through 8) helps to resolve the points in question:

'...und daß er, um sicher etwas a priori zu wissen, er der Sache nichts beilegen müsse, als was aus dem notwendig folgte, was er seinem Begriffe gemäß selbst in sie gelegt hat.'

It appears to be a generalisation or restatement of some elements of the previous clause. Begriffe gemäß is synonymous with nach Begriffe, because both gemäß and nach mean 'according to'. The phrase in...gelegt 'placed into' is another way of saying hineindachte, the past tense of hineindenken, which we understand now as an active (and not reflexive) process. This concluding passage therefore reinforces our surmise about this section of text.

Though there still may be some question as to their certainty, there seems to be a great deal of merit to the solutions of Hartenstein, Vorländer, and Erdmann. The ambiguity here is one of amphibology because of the incompleteness of the sense. Since we have to complete the sense, we may assign only a moderate probability to this resolution.

It is interesting to see how the previous translators have dealt with this corrupt piece of text, and whose emendations they have followed. Müller altered his translation in 1896, but the result is not much of an improvement. The 1896 Müller and Kemp Smith are influenced by Adickes' reading.

Meiklejohn 1855:

'A new light must have flashed on the mind of the first man (Thales, or whatever may have been his name) who demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle. For he found that was not sufficient to meditate on the figure, as it lay before his eyes, or the conception of it, as it existed in his mind, and thus endeavour to get at the knowledge of its properties, but that it was necessary to produce these properties, as it were, by a positive a priori construction; and that, in order to arrive with certainty at a priori cognition, he must not attribute to the object any other properties than those which necessarily followed from that which he had himself, in accordance with his conception, placed in the object.' (Meiklejohn 1855: xxvi.)

Müller 1881:

'A new light flashed on the first man who demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle (whether his name was Thales or any other name), for he found that he had not to investigate what he saw in the figure, or the mere concept of the figure, and thus to learn its properties; but that he had to produce his knowledge by means of what he had himself, according to concepts a priori, placed into that figure, and represented (by construction), so that, in order to know anything with certainty a priori, he must not attribute to that figure anything beyond what necessarily follows from what he himself placed into it, in accordance with the concept.' (Müller 1881: I, 367.)

Müller 1896:

'A new light flashed on the first man who demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle (whether his name was Thales or any other name), for he found that he had not to investigate what he saw in the figure, or the mere concept of the figure, and thus to learn its properties; but that he had to produce (by construction) what he had himself, according to concepts a priori, placed into that figure, and represented in it, so that, in order to know anything with certainty a priori, he must not attribute to that figure anything beyond what necessarily follows from what he himself placed into it, in accordance with the concept.' (Müller 1896: 690-691.)

Kemp Smith 1933:

'A new light flashed upon the mind of the first man (be he Thales or some other) who demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle. The true method, so he found, was not to inspect what he discerned either in the figure, or in the bare concept of it, and from this, as it were, to read off its properties; but to bring out what was necessarily implied in the concepts that he had himself formed a priori, and had put into the figure in the construction by means of which he presented it to himself. If he is to know anything with a priori certainty he must not ascribe to the figure anything save what necessarily follows from what he has himself set into it in accordance with his concept.' (Kemp Smith 1933: 19.)

Meiklejohn's translation, as well as Müller's 1881 version, have something significant to offer us. Meiklejohn clearly follows the Hartenstein-Erdmann-Vorländer line of thought here: thus the geometer produces the properties "by a positive a priori construction". Müller's original (1881) version seems preferable to his 1896 revision, because, in the former, Müller understood that Kant was talking about the geometer producing his knowledge of the properties; Müller is perhaps abstracting out of the whole passage something that Kant does not make explicit; suitably restrained, such a translation methodology is acceptable. In Müller's 1896 version, however, he has Kant say that the geometer has to produce, by construction, what he places into the figure, which is not exactly what one would call a dazzling insight. But things got even worse: Norman Kemp Smith's translation does not seem to make any sense at all. Given Kant's peculiarities, translators such as Kemp Smith are seriously at a disadvantage when not working in their native language. It is clearly apparent that F. Max Müller, who spoke German as a native, and had studied Kant's text under German scholars such as Weisse, Lotze, and Drobisch, had a better grasp of the machinations of Kant's text, as his very ability to resolve ambiguities in the text has proven.

As we pointed out in our earlier paper, the broader context can indicate the author's intentions through redundancies. A few lines later, (at B xiii-xix) Kant again drops us a further hint, when, after describing what early scientists did, he asserts what they comprehended:

'Sie begriffen, daß die Vernunft nur das einsieht, was sie selbst nach ihrem Entwurfe hervorbringt, daß sie mit Prinzipien ihrer Urteile nach beständigen Gesetzen vorangehen und die Natur nötigen müsse auf ihre Fragen zu antworten, nicht aber sich von ihr allein gleichsam am Leitbande gängeln lassen müsse;....'

'Die Vernunft muß mit ihren Prinzipien, nach denen allein übereinkommende Erscheinungen für Gesetze gelten können, in einer Hand, und mit dem Experiment, das sie nach jenen ausdachte, in der anderen, an die Natur gehen, zwar von ihr belehrt zu werden, aber nicht in der Qualität eines Schülers, der sich alles vorsagen läßt, was der Lehrer will, sondern eines bestallten Richters, der die Zeugen nötig auf die Fragen zu antworten, die er ihnen vorlegt.' (Text: Heidemann 1966: 25-26.)

Müller's translation:

'They comprehended that reason has insight into that only, which she herself produces on her own plan, and that she must move forward with the principles of her judgements, according to fixed law, and compel nature to answer her questions, but not let herself be led by nature, as it were, in leading strings...'

'Reason, holding in one hand its principles, according to which concordant phenomena alone can be admitted as laws of nature, must approach nature, in order to be taught by it: but not in the character of a pupil, who agrees to everything the master likes, but as an appointed judge, who compels the witnesses to answer the questions which he himself proposes.' (Müller 1896: 691.)

What is of significance here is another occurrence of the verb hervorbringen, which offers support for the adoption of the emendations of Hartenstein, Vorländer, and Erdmann, in that the text seems to repeat, in a different way, what Kant has to say about geometers' constructions, viz. that reason cannot learn: she has 'insight' into that only, which she herself produces according to her own plan or design. She produces knowledge by applying fixed principles which she does not need to learn. The metaphor of the judge is apt as well. It is not insignificant that Müller's translation of der sich alles vorsagen läßt, was der Lehrer will ('who agrees to everything the master likes') is rather free. It emphasises the notion of passive vs. active, and echoes and amplifies the contrast between the verbs ablernen and hevorbringen as they are used a few lines earlier in the text. Müller's translation thus articulates Kant's thrust: that nature is to be learned from, not by being recited to by her, but by being questioned-and compelled to answer-about herself.

These statements, though in part metaphorical, are quite unambiguous.

Now, as regards how best to represent such a text's ambiguities in translation, we can only choose one or the other emendation, siding with Hartenstein, Erdmann, and Vorländer, (Meiklejohn) or Adickes (Müller in 1896, and Kemp Smith). There is no way to represent all the possibilities, except in alternative versions presented, perhaps, as notes. The following is the reading of the text adopted herein:

'Dem ersten, der den gleichschenkligen Triangel demonstrierte, (er mag nun Thales oder wie man will geheißen haben,) dem ging ein Licht auf; denn er fand, daß|er nicht dem, was er in der Figur sah, oder auch dem bloßen Begriffe derselben nachspüren und gleichsam davon ihre Eigenschaften ablernen, sondern [diese] durch das, was er nach Begriffen selbst [in sie] a priori hineindachte und darstellete[,] (durch Konstruktion) hervorbringen müsse, und daß er, um sicher etwas a priori zu wissen, er der Sache nichts beilegen müsse, als was aus dem notwendig folgte, was er seinem Begriffe gemäß selbst in sie gelegt hat.'

The proposed translation is as follows:

'A great light dawned upon the first man (whether he was called Thales or known by some other name) who demonstrated [the properties of] the isosceles triangle, for he found that he had not to investigate what he saw in the figure, or even [investigate] the bare concept of the figure, and, as it were, learn its properties therefrom; he found, on the contrary, that he must bring forth [these properties] from what he himself, according to concepts a priori, introduced [into the figure], and described, (through construction); and that, in order to know anything with certainty a priori, he must ascribe to the thing nothing but what follows necessarily from what he himself placed into it, in accordance with his concept.'

With the apparatus criticus removed:

'A great light dawned upon the first man (whether he was called Thales or known by some other name) who demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle, for he found that had not to investigate what he saw in the figure, or even investigate the bare concept of the figure, and, as it were, learn its properties therefrom; he found, on the contrary, that he must bring forth these properties from what he himself, according to concepts a priori, introduced into the figure, and described, (through construction); and that, in order to know anything with certainty a priori, he must ascribe to the thing nothing but what follows necessarily from what he himself placed into it, in accordance with his concept.'

Polysemy and Ambiguity in Nietzsche

' "That's a great deal to make one word mean," Alice said in a thoughtful tone.

"When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra." ' (Carroll 1871: 269-270.)

Certain words are notorious for having such richness and diverseness of meaning that they are particularly difficult to translate. Among the words deserving "extra pay", in the Carrollian sense, the German word Sinn would have to be included. Let us examine the possibilities for translating Sinn in a passage from Nietzsche's Unzeitgemäße Betrachtungen; in the essay entitled Richard Wagner in Bayreuth:

'Damit ein Ereignis Grösse habe, muss zweierlei zusammenkommen: der grosse Sinn Derer, die es vollbringen, und der grosse Sinn Derer, die es erleben. An sich hat kein Ereigniss Grösse, und wenn schon ganze Sternbilder verschwinden, Völker zu Grunde gehen, ausgedehnte Staaten gegründet und Kriege mit ungeheuren Kräften und Verlusten geführt werden: über Vieles der Art bläst der Hauch der Geschichte hinweg, als handele es sich um Flocken. Es kommt aber auch vor, dass ein gewaltiger Mensch einen Streich führt, der an einem harten Gestein wirkungslos niedersinkt; ein kurzer scharfer Widerhall, und Alles ist vorbei. Die Geschichte weiss auch von solchen gleichsam abgestumpften Ereignissen beinahe Nichts zu melden. So überschleicht einen Jeden, welcher ein Ereigniss herankommen sieht, die Sorge, ob Die, welche es erleben, seiner würdig werden.' (Nietzsche 1876: 431.)

The question here is: what exactly does Nietzsche mean by the expression der grosse Sinn ?

The proposed translation:

'For an event to possess greatness, two things must come together: the exaltation of those who accomplish it, and the exaltation of those who live it. In themselves, events have no greatness, though within their breadth whole galaxies vanish, entire races perish, vast empires arise, and wars rage with tremendous forces and tremendous losses: the breath of history blows away many such things as though it were dealing with mere flocks of wool. But even the mightiest of men can strike a blow which descends, without effect, upon the hard stone: a short, sharp, sound: then silence. History knows virtually nothing of such, as it were, 'blunted' events. And so the fear steals upon anyone who sees the coming of such an event: the fear that those who experience it may not be worthy of it.'

Hollingdale's translation:

'For an event to possess greatness two things must come together: greatness of spirit in those who accomplish it and greatness of spirit in those who experience it. No event possesses greatness in itself, though it involve the disappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of entire peoples, the founding of vast states or the prosecution of wars involving tremendous forces and tremendous losses: the breath of history has blown away many things of that kind as though they were flakes of snow. It can also happen that a man of force accomplishes a deed which strikes a reef and sinks from sight having produced no impression; a brief, sharp echo, and all is over. History has virtually nothing to report about such as it were truncated and neutralised events. And so whenever we see an event approaching we are overcome with the fear that those who will experience it will be unworthy of it.' (Hollingdale 1983: 197.)

Ludovici's translation:

'For an event to be great, two things must be united-the lofty sentiment of those who accomplish it, and the lofty sentiment of those who witness it. No event is great in itself, even though it be the disappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of several nations, the establishment of vast empires, or the prosecution of wars at the cost of enormous forces: over things of this sort the breath of history blows as if they were flocks of wool. But it often happens, too, that a man of might strikes a blow which falls without effect upon a stubborn stone; a short, sharp report is heard, and all is over. History is able to record little or nothing of such abortive efforts. Hence the anxiety which one must feel who, observing the approach of an event, wonders whether those about to witness it will be worthy of it. (Ludovici 1964: IV, 101.)

Since Hollingdale's translation 'greatness of spirit' is simply too nebulous, the alternative solution is to follow Ludovici's lead, and translate der grosse Sinn in both lines as 'exaltation', which, perhaps, is less out of touch with what Nietzsche is trying to say than Ludovici's rather flat 'lofty sentiment'.

The gewaltiger Mensch, we know, has to be Wagner. In Hollingdale's translation he is a 'man of force'; in Ludovici's, a 'man of might'. The image or notion that Nietzsche is trying to present here is, we believe, that of a mighty man striking a stone, as with a hammer, in the act of destroying or fracturing it. The 'greatness' of the event is simply 'blunted' by the inadequate reception accorded to it: there is only a 'thud', and no lasting impression. Hollingdale, though, does something quite curious with the metaphor: he substitutes another one (something (a ship?) sinking after hitting a reef), one which seems wholly unrelated. Perhaps he was misled by the polysemous verb niedersinken, which can mean 'descend' or 'fall' as well as simply 'sink'. Ludovici has no difficulty with the metaphor. One perhaps can also criticise Hollingdale's 'truncated and neutralised' as too elaborate an expression for abgestumpften.

We come to understand then, that in this context Nietzsche is able to indicate to the reader how to understand Sinn in the first sentence. Sinn is used again, but in a different sense, in the sentence immediately following.

'Auf dieses Sich-Entsprechen von That und Empfänglichkeit rechnet und zielt man immer, wenn man handelt, in Kleinsten wie in Grössten; und Der, welcher geben will, muss zusehen, dass er die Nehmer findet, die dem Sinne seiner Gabe genugthun.' (Nietzsche 1876: 431.)

The problem here, though, is not how to translate Sinn, but rather how to translate genugthun in the context of the immediately preceding statement about "the fear that those who experience it may not be worthy of it". Since there is an obvious relationship between these two statements, we must translate genugthun in a way that takes this into account. The choice is 'souls befitting'.

The proposed translation:

'This reciprocity between deed and reception is always to be expected and aimed for when one acts, in the smallest of things as in the greatest; and he who wishes to give first must seek out souls befitting the significance of his gift.'

There are, to be sure, some who would prefer a more straightforward translation, which Hollingdale's represents. But what is most important in a text (especially an expressive one) sometimes is what it implies rather than merely what it states. The 'inner logic' must be taken into account.

Hollingdale's translation:

'Whenever one acts, in small things as in great, one always has in view this correspondence between deed and receptivity; and he who gives must see to it that he finds recipients adequate to the meaning of his gift.' (Hollingdale 1983: 197.)

Ludovici's translation:

'The reciprocity between an act and its reception is always taken into account when anything great or small is to be accomplished; and he who would give anything away must see to it that he finds recipients who will do justice to the meaning of his gift.' (Ludovici 1964: IV, 101.)

In Hollingdale's version, the choice he makes for translating genugthun does not seem as apt as Ludovici's. The expression "do justice to" captures the potentialities of 'worthy' better than "to be adequate to" does. Though Ludovici's could be called slightly the more 'poetic' of the two versions, 'recipients', used by both translators, still comes across awkwardly.

Let us return, now, to the polysemy of Sinn. There can be no doubt that both previous translations of Sinn are correct here. In this passage, Sinn is used in the sense of 'meaning'; 'significance'; 'intent'; 'spirit'. What is somewhat surprising, though, is that Hollingdale here did not stay with 'spirit', his choice for the first two occurrences of Sinn. Perhaps he was trying to bring out the various shades of meaning that Sinn has in this piece, and which have been left out by using 'spirit' for the first two occurrences. Nonetheless, let's substitute 'spirit' for 'meaning' in Hollingdale's translation and see how it works:

'Whenever one acts, in small things as in great, one always has in view this correspondence between deed and receptivity; and he who gives must see to it that he finds recipients adequate to the spirit of his gift.'

This appears to be quite satisfactory. It is clear, however, that 'spirit' works for neither the first nor the second occurrence of Sinn in Nietzsche's text. The difficulty, as we are beginning to see, is that Sinn is polysemous in a way that makes an adequate translation using the same English word (such as 'spirit' or 'sense') for all the various uses or senses virtually impossible.

Redundancies come into play here as well. If one reads further into the essay, Nietzsche repeats the expressions and elaborates the points made in his opening remarks. The expression 'strike a blow' is repeated on pp. 227, 237 (Hollingdale). He refers to Wagner's 'insight' on p. 212-213. His expression der große Sinn may involve his notion of 'the higher self' referred to on p. 229. He refers to the 'overwhelming grandeur' of Wagner's work on p. 232. All of these lend support for the choice 'exaltation'.

The English word 'sense', like its German counterpart, Sinn, has many shades of meaning. This does not, however, mean that one can simply substitute 'sense' for Sinn, and leave it to the reader to understand. The two words, though they overlap quite a bit, do not cover exactly the same semantic domain. In other words, it is important to try to dig out the particular sense of such a word in its context, and then find the target language word that 'fits' best in the same kind of context.

Epilogue to Nietzsche.

The utilisation of a text by another author, Mary Arabella Arthur Galloway, "Wagner at Bayreuth" (Galloway 1894) may help to illuminate Nietzsche's text. Galloway, a countess, well-travelled, well-educated, and adept, certainly, in at least the German and French languages, provides a summary account of the Festivals, based upon her personal experiences at Bayreuth, dating from their inauguration in 1876. Of interest here are her English-language descriptions of the æsthetic experience of the audience to the same phenomena described by Nietzsche. It is not without importance that besides the obvious differences of sex and language, cultural and social circumstances distinguish these two authors. Nonetheless, considerable light can be shed upon Nietzsche's text by a reading of Galloway's account.

Galloway's high regard for Wagner is bespoken by the use of the term 'Master' when she refers to him. Quoting from Benjamin Jowett's introduction to Plato's Gorgias, Galloway implies that Wagner's music, like the Greek poet, 'raises us through earth to heaven'. (Galloway 1894: 507.) Later, Galloway remarks:

'It is the new musical drama which Wagner has created which is to be the highest expression of "thoughts which lie too deep for human words", and which shall show the "light that never was on sea or land." ' (Galloway 1894: 508.)

This shows also that Galloway struggled to find terms sufficiently rich to express the æsthetic experience of seeing Wagner's works performed at Bayreuth. She seems to have succeeded:

'In spite of countless misapprehensions and adverse criticism, the power of this new dramatic art is great enough to draw together men and women of widely different tastes and sympathies-statesmen, poets, historians, artists, musicians, philanthropists, Churchmen, scholars, students, scientists, philosophers, and even idlers from all parts of the world, many of whom find themselves, in the first instance, almost bewildered by the full blaze of light poured into their souls by this unexpected appeal at one and the same moment to their senses of hearing, seeing, feeling, and to their understanding.' [Emphasis added] (Galloway 1894: 509.)

Nietzsche's comments about the capability of the audience to meet the work are echoed in Galloway's:

'It is not essential to the true disciple of the Wagnerian drama that he should know the science, texture, or structure of the music. No call is made upon him for this special knowledge, and it will not enable him better to understand the tragedy or passion presented to him, though it may add to his admiration for the genius of the author.' (Galloway 1894: 508.)

Galloway quotes from Goethe, whose thoughts harmonise with Nietzsche's:

'Enough has been said to prove that his leading characters are not mere heroes of romance or legend; for the poet's art has carved them anew in living, yet imperishable marble, and, like all great works of art, they are more loved and appreciated the better they are known and understood. Goethe says somewhere in a letter: "It has happened, and still happens to me, that a work of art does not at first glance please me, because I have not grown up to it. But if it seems worth it, I endeavour to get hold of it, and then the most delightful discoveries follow. I become aware of new qualities in the object and new capacities in myself." And this is just what happens to us at Bayreuth.' (Galloway 1894: 511.)

The use of texts by other authors is another hermeneutic weapon in the arsenal of the interpreter. One must exercise caution, however, and not rely too heavily upon them. In the present case study, Galloway's text, because it represents the sentiments of someone from the highest stratum of society, with long experience at the Festivals and a thorough knowledge of the German language, is uniquely useful: she is capable of responding to Wagner's art as would a German, yet her account is in English. She quotes from Goethe to express her own feelings, thus calling upon a tradition with which Nietzsche was quite comfortable.

Summary

There is some ambiguity or vagueness in the translations, but not in Nietzsche's text, because Nietzsche was able to convey to the reader the difference between the senses of Sinn as it is used in the first sentence and in the latter passage. It is clear that Sinn is used to mean a special kind of heightened emotional or æsthetic state (exaltation) in the first sentence, shared in an active way by both artist and spectator, and the 'spirit', 'meaning', 'significance', or 'intent' of the artist's gift itself in the later passage. This kind of clarity in writing, notwithstanding the presence of polysemous terms in the text, must be called 'the competence of the writer'.

We have significant differences in the translations by Ludovici and Hollingdale which can be attributed, therefore, only to the 'competence of the reader'. Ludovici and Hollingdale disagree in their understanding of der grosse Sinn sufficiently to cause one to pause and ask oneself what it is, exactly, that Nietzsche meant.

This is not to imply that quite valid differences cannot be found in the work of even the best translators working from the same text. This sometimes can be due to preferences for more or less elevated language, or other stylistic idiosyncrasies. The choice by the translator of one particular word over another reflects not only the translator's 'reading', but also his purpose, and his æsthetic sense of language. As well, texts taken to be authoritative must be treated somewhat differently than expressive ones. But even here, those who advocate a simple (simplistic?) one-to-one correspondence between the words in the source-text and those of the translation must recognise the distortions that such a procedure creates, distortions which frustrate the very intent of such a translation.

On the Real and the Actual:

Alice and Nominalism

Pinocchio and Ontology.

' "When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean-neither more nor less."

"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."

"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be the master-that's all." ' (Carroll 1871: 269.)

Hans Seigfried (Seigfried 1982) argues that an essential point in understanding Kant's criticism of the ontological argument is the distinction between wirklich and real, and that the failure of Meiklejohn, Müller, and Kemp Smith to translate them always as 'actual' and 'real' introduces confusion, and ambiguity which is not present in the original. Seigfried makes the jump from distinguishing between wirklich and real and (the former of which alone, according to Seigfried, makes Kant's criticism of the ontological argument a telling one) to concluding that these same distinctions apply to the English words 'actual' and 'real'. Apart from any question as to correctness of Seigfried's assertions regarding Kant's German terms, it certainly must be apparent that whether the same restrictions apply to the English terms is an empirical or lexical question. A satisfactory answer to such a question must rely upon definition for both pairs.

But first we must of course ask what kind of definition we need, and what kind of definition Seigfried provides. If Seigfried first analyses the Kantian usages and common meanings of wirklich and real, and then discovers that, as a matter of fact, 'actual' and 'real' already correspond exactly to wirklich and real, he has found a coincidence or congruence of meaning that can be described through lexical definition.

If, on the other hand, he wishes to formulate the definitions for the terms 'actual' and 'real', so that they do correspond exactly to the German terms, this involves stipulative definition. According to Robinson, stipulative definition consists either in choosing one established rule (of meaning) and rejecting others, or creating a new one. (Robinson 1950: 67.)

It is not clear which approach Seigfried has followed in his article, because he does not provide any statement as to which species of definition he has in mind.

This resolves itself to the following issues:

  1. Do wirklich and real have distinct, non-overlapping senses (either for Kant or in general)?
  2. Do 'actual' and 'real' have distinct, non-overlapping senses?
  3. Do wirklich and real correspond exactly to 'actual' and 'real'?

Unfortunately, Seigfried's argument is incomplete: he omits any discussion of the relationship between the German terms and the English ones: Unless he can show an exact and non-overlapping relationship between the German words and their English 'equivalents' it does not follow that one must always use these English terms to translate them.

If, as shall be argued here, there are several overlapping senses contained in both pairs, what scheme of translation among theses terms makes sense? Involved in this will be a choice of what period of usage, and what norm of usage ('popular' or 'philosophical') will be appropriate for the readership.

Perhaps by analysing the occurrences of Wirklichkeit and Realität in their context, we may be able to shed some light on these puzzling words. Let us begin with an examination of KrV A592-602, wherein Kant discusses the impossibility of the ontological proof of the existence of God. He uses the term Realität in the very first sentence:

'Man siehet aus dem bisherigen leicht: daß der Begriff eines absolutnotwendigen Wesens ein reiner Vernunftbegriff, d.i. eine bloße Idee sei, deren objective Realität dadurch, daß die Vernunft ihrer bedarf, noch lange nicht bewiesen ist, welche auch nur auf eine gewisse obzwar unerreichbare Vollständigkeit Anweisung gibt, und eigentlich mehr dazu dient, den Verstand zu grenzen, als ihn auf neue Gegenstände zu erweitern.'

(A 592; Text: Heidemann 1964: 628.)

Meiklejohn 1855:

'It is evident from what has been said, that the conception of an absolutely necessary being is a mere idea, the objective reality of which is far from being established by the mere fact that it is a need of reason. On the contrary, this idea serves merely to indicate a certain but unattainable perfection, and rather limits the operations than, by the presentation of new objects, extends the sphere of the understanding.' (Meiklejohn 1855: 365.)

Müller 1881; 1896:

'It is easily perceived, from what has been said before, that the concept of an absolutely necessary being is a concept of pure reason, that is, a mere idea, the objective reality of which is by no means proved by the fact that reason requires it. That idea does no more than point to a certain but unattainable completeness, and serves rather to limit the understanding than to extend its sphere.' (Müller 1881: II, 509; 1896: 477.)

Kemp Smith 1933:

'It is evident, from what has been said, that the concept of an absolutely necessary being is a concept of pure reason, that is, a mere idea the objective reality of which is very far from being proved by the fact that reason requires it. For the idea instructs us only in regard to a certain but unattainable completeness, and so serves rather to limit the understanding than to extend it to new objects.' (Kemp Smith 1933: 500.)

The differences between these translations are slight and insignificant. A few minor stylistic improvements and additions could be made, though:

'One can easily see, from the foregoing, that the concept of an absolutely necessary being is a concept of pure reason, that is, a mere idea, whose objective reality is not by a long way proved by the fact that reason demands it; that idea likewise instructs us only with regard to a certain though unattainable completeness, and thus, properly speaking, serves rather to limit the understanding than to extend it to new objects.'

It is clear, from the very outset, that Kant is using objective Realität to refer to something which sounds suspiciously like existence. But what, we may ask, is the ontological argument intended to prove: the existence of God, or the objective reality of God? It is difficult to understand Kant's statement here unless he intends objective Realität to mean the same thing as existence. If we read one sentence further, this suspicion is confirmed by the appearance, twice in one sentence, of Dasein ('existence').

'Es findet sich hier nun das Befremdliche und Widersinninge, daß der Schluß von einem gegebenen Dasein überhaupt, auf irgend ein schlechthinnotwendiges Dasein, dringend und richtig zu sein scheint, und wir gleichwohl alle Bedingungen des Verstandes, sich einen Begriff von einer solchen Notwendigkeit zu machen, gänzlich wider uns haben.'

(A 592; Text: Heidemann 1964: 628.)

But here the translations differ more:

Meiklejohn 1855:

'But a strange anomaly meets us at the very threshold; for the inference from a given existence in general to an absolutely necessary existence, seems to be correct and unavoidable, while the conditions of the understanding refuse to aid us in forming any conception of such a being.' (Meiklejohn 1855: 364.)

Müller 1881; 1896:

'It seems strange and absurd, however, that a conclusion of an absolutely necessary existence from a given existence in general should seem urgent and correct, and that yet all the conditions under which the understanding can form a concept of such a necessity should be entirely against us.' (Müller 1881: II, 509; 1896: 477-478.)

Kemp Smith 1933:

'But here we are faced with what is indeed strange and perplexing, namely, that while the inference from a given existence in general to some absolutely necessary being seems to be imperative and legitimate, all those conditions under which alone the understanding can form a concept of such a necessity are so many obstacles in the way of our doing so.' (Kemp Smith 1933: 500-501.)

It scarcely seems possible to improve upon Müller's rendering of this passage, but for a few stylistic touches:

'It seems strange and absurd, however, that a conclusion of an absolutely necessary existence from a given existence in general should seem urgent and correct, and that, all the same, we should find all the conditions under which the understanding can form a concept of such a necessity to be utterly against us.'

There seems little purpose in continuing past this point, as it has been established that here Kant is referring to existence. In the interest of thoroughness, though, a survey of the rest of this section is not unwarranted.

Throughout this section, Kant uses Realität as equivalent to Wirklichkeit. We can, therefore, conclude that these terms are synonymous for Kant, despite their belonging to different 'categories'.

At A596 = B624, Kant presents a premise of the ontological argument as he interprets it:

'Nun ist unter aller Realität auch das Dasein mit begriffen: Auch liegt das Dasein in dem Begriffe von einem Möglichen.'

(Text: Heidemann 1966: 631-632.)

Meiklejohn 1855:

'Now the notion of all reality embraces in it that of existence; the notion of existence lies, therefore, in the conception of this possible thing.' (Meiklejohn 1855: 367.)

Müller 1881/1896:

'Now reality comprehends existence, and therefore existence is contained in the concept of a thing possible.' (Müller 1881: II, 513.; 1896: 481.)

Kemp Smith 1933:

'Now [the argument proceeds] 'all reality' includes existence; existence is therefore contained in the concept of a thing that is possible.' (Kemp Smith 1933: 503.)

Kant, in a footnote, makes clear what his position is. He makes explicit the distinction between logical and real possibility:

'Der Begriff ist allemal möglich, wenn er sich nicht widerspricht. Das ist das logische Merkmal der Möglichkeit, und dadurch wird sein Gegenstand vom nihil negativum unterschieden. Allein er kann nichts destoweniger ein leerer Begriff sein, wenn die objective Realität der Synthesis, dadurch der Begriff erzeugt wird, nicht besonders dargetan wird; welches aber jederzeit, wie oben gezeigt worden, auf Prinzipien möglicher Erfahrung und nicht auf dem Grundsatze der Analysis (dem Satze des Widerspruchs) beruht. Das ist eine Warnung, von der Möglichkeit der Begriffe (logische) nicht sofort auf die Möglichkeit der Dinge (reale) zu schließen.'

(Text: Heidemann 1966: 631-632.)

Meiklejohn 1855:

'A conception is always possible, if it is not self-contradictory. This is the logical criterion of possibility, distinguishing the object of such a conception from the nihil negativum. But it may be, notwithstanding, an empty conception, unless the objective reality of this synthesis, by which it is generated, is demonstrated; and a proof of this kind must be based upon principles of possible experience, and not upon the principle of analysis or contradiction. This remark may be serviceable as a warning against concluding, from the possibility of a conception-which is logical-the possibility of a thing-which is real.' (Meiklejohn 1855: 367.)

Müller 1881/1896:

'A concept is always possible, if it is not contradictory. This is the logical characteristic of possibility, and by it the object of the concept is distinguished from nihil negativum. But it may nevertheless be an empty concept, unless the objective reality of the synthesis, by which the concept is generated, has been distinctly shown. This, however, as shown above, must always rest on principles of possible experience, and not on the principle of analysis (the principle of contradiction). This is a warning against inferring at once from the possibility of concepts (logical) the possibility of things (real).' (Müller 1881: II, 513; 1896: 481.)

Kemp Smith 1933:

'A concept is always possible if it is not self-contradictory. This is the logical criterion of possibility, and by it the object of the concept is distinguishable from the nihil negativum. But it may none the less be an empty concept, unless the objective reality of this synthesis, through which the concept is generated has been specifically proved; and such a proof, as we have shown above, rests on principles of possible experience, and not on the principle of analysis (the principle of contradiction). This is a warning against arguing directly from the logical possibility of concepts to the real possibility of things.' (Kemp Smith 1933: 503.)

This again seems to imply strongly that Kant connects real with (possible?) existence. Perhaps by determining what real is not we may be able to isolate what it is, and compare this with what we determine wirklich to be. What we should like to find therefor is some passage which confirms that what they mean is either the same or different. At A597/598 = B625|626 we may have our wish granted:

'Ich frage euch, ist der Satz: dieses oder jenes Ding (welches ich euch als möglich einräume, es mag sein, welches es wolle,) existiert, ist, sage ich, dieser Satz ein analytischer oder synthetischer Satz? Wenn er das erstere ist, so tut ihr durch das Dasein des Dinges zu eurem Gedanken von dem Dinge nichts hinzu, aber alsdenn müßte entweder der Gedanke, der in euch ist, das Ding selber sein, oder ihr habt ein Dasein, als zur Möglichkeit gehörig, vorausgesetzt, und alsdenn das Dasein dem Vorgeben nach aus der innern Möglichkeit geschlossen, welches nichts als eine elende Tautologie ist. Das Wort: Realität, welches im Begriffe des Dinges anders klingt, als Existenz im Begriffe des Prädikats, macht es nicht aus. Denn, wenn ihr auch alles Setzen (unbestimmt was ihr setzt) Realität nennt, so habt ihr das Ding schon mit allen seinen Prädikaten im Begriffe des Subjekts gesetzt und als wirklich angenommen, und im Prädikate wie|/derholt ihr es nur.'

(Text: Heidemann 1966: 632-633.)

The question is now quite clear: How do we translate wirklich in this passage? One can argue that Kant is equating wirklich with real here:

Meiklejohn 1855:

'I ask, is the proposition, this or that thing (which I am admitting to be possible) exists, an analytical or synthetical proposition? If the former, there is no addition made to the subject of your thought by the affirmation of its existence; but either the conception in your minds is identical with the thing itself, or you have supposed the existence of a thing to be possible, and then inferred its existence from its internal possibility-which is but a miserable tautology. The word reality in the conception of the predicate, will not help you out of the difficulty. For, supposing you were to term all positing of a thing, reality, you have thereby posited the thing with all its predicates in the conception of the subject and assumed its actual existence, and this you merely repeat in the predicate.' (Meiklejohn 1855: 367.)

Müller 1881/1896:

'I simply ask you, whether the proposition, that this or that thing (which, whatever it may be, I grant you as possible) exists, is an analytical or a synthetical proposition? If the former, then by its existence you add nothing to your thought of the thing; but in that case, either the thought within you would be the thing itself, or you have presupposed existence as belonging to possibility, and have according to your own showing deduced existence from its internal possibility, which is nothing but a miserable tautology. The mere word reality, which in the concept of a thing sounds different from existence in the concept of the predicate, can make no difference. For if you call all accepting or positing of a thing (without determining what it is) reality, you have placed a thing, with all its predicates, within the concept of the subject, and accepted it as real, and you do nothing but repeat it in the predicate.' (Müller 1881: II, 513; 1896: 481-482.)

Kemp Smith 1933:

'We must ask: Is the proposition, that this or that thing (which, whatever it may be, is allowed as possible) exists, an analytic or a synthetic proposition? If it is analytic, the assertion of the existence of the thing adds nothing to the thought of the thing; but in that case either the thought, which is in us, is the thing itself, or we have presupposed an existence as belonging to the realm of the possible, and have then, on that pretext, inferred its existence from its internal possibility-which is nothing but a miserable tautology. The word 'reality', which in the concept of a thing sounds other than the word 'existence' in the predicate, is of no avail in meeting this objection. For if all positing of a thing (no matter what it may be that is posited) is entitled reality, the thing with all its predicates is already posited in the concept of the subject, and is accepted as actual; and in the predicate this is merely repeated.' (Kemp Smith 1933: 503.)

Here, at last, we find something about which there is some disagreement amongst the translators. We now can seek to determine who among them is right, or whether, indeed, the translators' choice of 'real' or 'actual' makes any difference whatsoever to Kant's argument. A few touch-ups and minor additions to Müller's translation are in order, though:

'I simply ask you: Is the proposition-this or that thing (which, whatever it may be, I grant you as possible) exists-is, I say, this proposition an analytical or a synthetical proposition? If it is analytical, then by its existence you add nothing to your thought of the thing; but in that case, either the thought within you would be the thing itself, or you have presupposed existence as belonging to possibility, and you have, according to your pleading, deduced existence from its internal possibility, which is nothing but a miserable tautology. The mere word reality, which in the concept of a thing sounds different from existence in the concept of the predicate, can make no difference. For, if you likewise call all accepting or positing of a thing reality (though what it is that you posit is left undetermined), you have already placed the thing, with all its predicates, within the concept of the subject, and accepted it as real, and you do nothing but repeat it in the predicate.'

Kant, in the lines above, has asserted that this argument rests upon a tautology. Kant says that even though Realität "sounds different" from Existenz, it makes no difference: The words mean the same thing. One can hardly find a less ambiguous statement in Kant's writings. Kant frequently alternates between two vocabularies (a Latin-based one and German-based one), often without apparent distinction, so if he is indeed using real (Latin) and wirklich (German) as synonymous, it would not be a unique instance for him. Some examples (among the many) of these parallel usages are:

schlechthinnotwending/absolutnotwendig;

Gegenstand/Objekt;

Setzung/Position;

Dasein/Existenz;

Schein/Illusion;

Materie/Stoff;

Weltweisheit/Philosophie;

Gleichgültigkeit/Indifferentismus.

The question then becomes, naturally enough, whether we may add wirklich and real to the above list. Exploring the text for evidence, let us consider then Kant's usage of Realität and Wirklichkeit in his discussion of time at A36/37 = B53:

'Wider diese Theorie, welche der Zeit empirische Realität zugestehet, aber die absolute und transzendentale bestreitet....Er lautet also: Veränderungen sind wirklich....Nun sind Veränderungen nur in die Zeit möglich, folglich ist die Zeit etwas Wirkliches. Die Beantwortung hat keine Schwierigkeit. Ich gebe das ganze Argument zu. Die Zeit ist allerdings etwas Wirkliches, nämlich die wirkliche Form der innern Anschauung. Sie hat also subjektive Realität in Ansehung der innern Erfahrung, d.i. habe ich wirklich die Vorstellung von der Zeit...'

(Text: Heidemann 1966: 100-101.)

All of the translators (including Kemp Smith) have used 'real' for both wirklich and real in the above passage. There is no reason for them not to do so: to all appearances, Kant is using them freely interchangeably. Although for us it may be difficult to determine what, if any, differences exist between these parallel terminologies, Kant's contention, in this passage at least, is quite clear, and his criticism of the ontological argument indeed rests upon this very equivalence of wirklich and real. On what other ground could he claim that it is a "miserable tautology"? Though he does not explicitly identify it as such, Kant is, therefore, claiming that the ontological argument commits the fallacy of petitio principii (begging the question). (See Joseph 1925: 591-594; Copi 1986: 101; Churchill 1990 443-449; or Hintikka and Bachman 1991: 179-182, 419.) Kant is thus arguing that the word Realität includes das Wirkliches, and thereby imports Existenz or Dasein; that therefore those who attempt the ontological argument are bound by the 'real' meanings of words; and that arbitrary uses ('Pickwickian' senses) are subject to censure. He and Humpty Dumpty would have had words, it appears. For Kant, the question of "which is to be master" is solved by appealing to 'common' or 'best' (philosophical) usage: authorial autonomy extends only so far.

Granted this, what then of Müller's translation? It is necessary that we look at the implications. Is there anything to be gained by substituting 'actual' (Kemp Smith) or 'its actual existence' (Meiklejohn) for Müller's 'real'? Let's look at Müller's translation again:

'For if you call all accepting or positing of a thing (without determining what it is) reality, you have placed a thing, with all its predicates, within the concept of the subject, and accepted it as real, and you do nothing but repeat it in the predicate.'

It is extremely difficult to criticise Müller's choice of 'real' instead of 'actual' here. Were he to use 'actual' instead of 'real', the force of Kant's statement that "you repeat it in the predicate" becomes somewhat blunted. Philosophers' use of these terms is not itself consistent, but it is clear enough that Professor Müller understands 'real' to include 'actual'. 'Real' is extensively polysemous. Kemp Smith here is not consistent with the sentiment expressed in his earlier footnote.

Turning now to an analysis of these English terms, perhaps we can work through some of the confusion attending 'actual' and 'real' by consulting the entry for 'real' in Webster's Dictionary of Synonyms:

'Real, actual, true, and their derivative nouns reality, actuality, truth, are often used interchangeably without marked loss when they mean correspondent (or that which is correspondent) to all the facts known and knowable; as the real, or the actual, or the true state of affairs; his real, or actual, or true motive; the real, or actual, or true George Washington. They are also used interchangeably, even by good writers, but with a distinct loss in clearness and precision, when their common implication is merely that of substantial objective existence. Real, in this more inclusive sense, implies genuineness, or correspondence between what the thing appears or pretends to be, and what it is; as, this is a real diamond; the British sovereign has little real power; he has a real interest in art. "To know the difference between real and sham enjoyment" (Shaw). Actual emphasises occurrence or manifest existence; it is applied only to that which has emerged into the sphere of action or fact and is, therefore, inapplicable to abstractions; as actual events; give me an actual instance of the workings of this law; the actual tests of the new airplane are yet to be made. "Sculpture and painting are not...capable of actual movement, but they suggest movement" (Binyon). "I'm no judge of the feelings of actual or prospective parents" (R. Macaulay). "The possible way-I am far from asserting it was the actual way-in which our legendary Socrates arose" (H. Ellis). True implies conformity either to that which is real or that which is actual. If the former is intended, the term presupposes a standard, a pattern, a model, a technical definition, or a type by which that which is true is determined; as a true Christian; the ladybird is not a true bug (an insect of the order Hemiptera) but a beetle (an insect of the order Coleoptra); the whale is not a true fish, but a mammal; "As part of that resurrection...was born a true poet, Carducci" (Quiller-Couch); "The true refinement...in that art...comes only from strength" (Wilde). When true stresses conformity to that which is actual, it presupposes the test of correspondence to that which exists in nature or to all the facts known and knowable; as true time; to run true to type; a true story; a true version of a story. "The same event can [not] be said to be true for faith but untrue for science" (Inge). "The language [of poetry]...must often, in liveliness and truth, fall short of that which is uttered by men in real life, under the actual pressure of those passions" (Wordsworth).

These words, especially real and true, are also used by philosophers and philosophical poets, critics, scientists and others in senses which are often at variance with those in ordinary use and which are, consequently, a source of confusion. All still imply substantial objective existence, but only actual necessarily implies existence in experience. Real is variously defined in philosophy; only two of those senses have come into use by others than philosophers. The older of these senses (often spoken of as the Platonic sense) distinguishes that which is real from that which is phenomenal, or existent in the world which is known to the senses. Real thus often becomes the equivalent of ideal when that word suggests, not a hazy conception, but a profound intuition of a thing in its perfection. Thus when the poet speaks of real beauty or of real justice, he seldom means the beauty that is seen or the justice that is experienced, but rather a beauty or justice so far beyond that which occurs in the world of experience that it is apprehended only by the intellect or the imagination. "But from these create he [the poet] can Forms more real than living man" (Shelly). In non-imaginative writing, real still retains its implied contrast to phenomenal but further implies the fullness of existence knowable only through the intellect. "A hypothesis...does not attempt to portray the reality of nature, but only what we see of nature-the phenomena of nature....But...science might legitimately progress along the road from phenomena to reality" (Jeans). In another but not so common use, real denotes having existence independently of the mind. This sense derives from the division of modern philosophy into two branches, realism and idealism. The idealists hold that one knows only the images or ideas of things that are in one's mind and not the things in themselves; the realists assert that the things one sees, hears, feels, understands, or the like, are real because they exist in their own right independently of human limitations in knowing them. "If the physical world is an inference, stars and electrons are inferential; if the physical world exists, stars and electrons are real." (Eddington).'

It is perhaps the mixing and confusing of the two philosophical senses of 'real' discussed above that Kant is trying to redress.

Next, let us consider Pinocchio. Our interest here is what application we can make of these terms in describing what Pinocchio is.

'Ora immagiginatevi voi quale fu la sua meraviglia quando, svegliandosi, si accòrse che non era più un burratino di legno: ma che era diventato, invece, un ragazzo come tutti gli altri.' (Collodi 1883. Text: Perella 1986: 456/458.)

'Now just imagine his amazement when, upon awakening, he found that he was no longer a wooden puppet, but that he had turned into a boy like all other boys.' (Translation: Perella 1986: 457.)

What does the phrase "turned into a boy like all other boys" mean? Is it possible to characterise Pinocchio as 'actual', prior to this moment? In one sense of the word, yes. Pinocchio certainly exists, and he has a name. But is he 'real'? Not if we mean a 'real' boy, for then how could we describe his transformation, into a boy "like all other boys", unless we mean by this into a 'real' boy? For unless he is not already a 'real' boy, how can he be said to be transformed? In other words, what is Pinocchio's ontological status? Perhaps the question is truly this: do 'actual' and 'real' describe a difference in ontological status, or do they describe a difference in the properties of what exists?

From the very moment the wood is touched, it is 'alive'. It speaks. It complains. It feels pain. In short, all the properties of a sentient human being are displayed by the wood, prior to its being carved into the human-like shape called a puppet. Simply put, the essence of human existence is being attributed to something that clearly is to be thought of as non-human.

After the transformation, Pinocchio proclaims:

'-Come'ero buffo, quand'ero un burattino! e come ora son contendo di esser diventato un ragazzino perbene!' (Collodi 1883. Text: Perella 1986: 460.)

'How funny I was when I was a puppet! And how glad I am now that I've become a proper boy!' (Translation: Perella 1986: 461.)

What is most revealing here, though, is that in becoming a 'proper' boy ('real'?), Pinocchio sheds his puppet body, which leans, lifelessly, against a chair. It is also interesting to see how Perella's apt choice 'proper' (for the Italian perbene) serves several functions. It brings together the notion of 'good behaviour' with that of the 'true' nature of a boy. Perhaps 'real' inevitably involves the notion of 'proper' as well as 'actual'.

Returning now to Kant's criticism of the ontological argument, if we translate möglich as 'possible' or 'potential' (as is customary), and wirklich as 'actual', how does this affect Kant's example of a hundred Thalers?

First, however, let us ask whether Kant's analogy between money in the account and the existence of God holds. For there is no doubt whether something we call 'money' exists; the question is, rather: Where is it? Is it in my account, or in someone else's? When I say that I imagine the money there, in my account, what I am truly doing is hypothesising about the presence of money in my account, not about its existence. This does not, at least at first, seem to parallel the question of the existence of God, when by this we mean existence at all.

Disputes over the meanings of philosophical terms, and complaints of the need for definitions of them, are hardly new, as witness Max Müller:

'The whole of philosophy may be called a struggle between the old and new meanings of words, and much philosophical controversy would vanish, if the disputants would only condescend to define their words. But to be asked to define the meanings of words has come to be considered as an insult.' (Müller 1887: 610.)

'The advance of true philosophy depends here, as everywhere, on a true definition of our words. They want constant defining, refining, correcting, and even removal, till in the end the most perfect language will become the most perfect philosophy. The best, perhaps the only sufficient definition of a word is its history, but to give a complete history of the words which form the staple of our philosophy is beyond our powers. There have been so many revolutions, so many breaks and pauses, in the history of every word, that only under exceptionally favourable circumstances is it possible to unite once more the broken and scattered links of what was once a continuous chain. We must be satisfied therefore with discovering the meaning which the principal leaders of thought assigned to the classical terms of our philosophy, and if we do that, it is wonderful to see how many clouds vanish at once from our mental horizon.' (Müller 1887: 581.)

Given the situation which Müller describes, the "many revolutions", the "many breaks and pauses", the "broken and scattered links of what was once a continuous chain", we can see how and why such terms have become muddled. If Seigfried has in mind something along the lines of Müller's project, it will be an enormous undertaking.

CONCLUSIONS

On the Active and the Passive.

We have seen here the important rôle that activity plays for both Nietzsche and Kant. In the first passage from Kant, the geometer does not learn passively, but brings forth actively, the properties of the geometric figure through construction. This is, for Kant, the new paradigm of knowledge. As Robert Paul Wolff puts it:

'All the mental entities which had been described in static terms on the analogy of pictures before the mind, or shapes abstracted from their material, are seen by Kant to be actually mental functions or activities. Knowledge is an activity, not a state, of the mind. Judgement can be understood only if we first analyse judging. The cognitive activities are performed according to innate rules of the mind, and it is in these rules that Kant discovers the new kind of necessity which he seeks.' [Emphasis added.] (Wolff 1963: 323.)

Nietzsche, in his own way, makes a somewhat similar point. Having looked at only a small section of the text, we can nonetheless clearly see the outlines upon which his argument is drawn: the greatness of the event depends upon the coöperative activity of both the artist (the one who 'accomplishes') and the recipients (the 'takers', who must be equal to the task and responsibility of reception, for 'taking' is an activity) without which the event is a 'blunted' one.

On Ambiguity, Polysemy, and Richness.

Why should we regard the 'reproducing' of ambiguity as of primary or particular concern? Are there not many aspects of the original (syntactical complexity, style (elevated or popular), tone, register, flavour) that need to be weighed and, if possible, 'reproduced'? And why should we be concerned with 'reproducing' the ambiguity if it is at all possible to resolve it?

Ambiguity comes in not one, but many forms. The peculiarities of structure in a given language which make it susceptible to a particular form of ambiguity may not have analogues in the target language. In other words, certain phenomena are language-bound, or intra-linguistic. In English translations from German originals, for instance, pronoun references which in the original are marked by gender usually must be replaced in the translation by more explicit forms, such as repeated nouns. In cases of amphibology, the alternatives must be spelled out to the reader, who should be provided with alternative translations, if necessary. The same holds true for lacunæ, disagreements (in number, tense, case, gender, etc.), or other textual flaws.

Nietzsche's texts clearly are expressive ones, which present the translator with more freedom (or at least a different set of variables) than does the technical text. It is tempting to classify texts like Kant's as scientific or technical, and perhaps this is the root of Pluhar's complaint. They are authoritative, to be sure, but they are not generally as semantically 'narrow' as scientific texts are. Scientific texts, which use terms that are usually semantically restricted (words like 'pressure'; 'coil'; 'force'; 'neutron'; 'radiation'; 'reaction'; 'temperature'; 'aperture'; 'density'; 'velocity'; 'gravity'; etc.), can usually be translated entirely on the semantic level, because such terms are relatively context-free. (See Newmark 1991: 25-6, 59, 87-100, 125.) Sanctioned translations of many of these terms have been established.

Some texts, and Kant's, perhaps, are among the more widely read of them, are worse in regard to ambiguity or vagueness than others, though even these are not always hopelessly so. Since apparent ambiguity arises when the context seems to provide insufficient information for us to determine to the precise meanings within the semantic fields occupied by the words in the text, it is often rather a matter of perseverance: how long and hard are we willing to work to resolve the problems in a piece of text?.

On Questioning the Text: Eco

Though we may not be able to reproduce the ambiguity of a text, this in itself may force us into a deeper and more successful penetration of it than has been so far achieved. Being content with merely reproducing the ambiguity may thus tempt us to stop us short of the effort needed to resolve it. Nor must we assume that ambiguity in the expression necessarily involves corresponding ambiguity in the content. (See Eco 1976: 263.)

Taking a page from Kant, we must approach the text with our hypothesis as though it were a natural phenomenon, and compel it to answer our questions, in the manner of a witness who must answer before the judge. Thus the interpretation of texts can be understood in the same terms as any scientific endeavour. Consider the examples of the Ptolemaic and Copernican systems of astronomy. The phenomena to be accounted for (the motions of the planets and stars) can be adequately explained in either system. In this respect, the phenomena are 'ambiguous'. It is only by asking questions and applying certain principles (such as the principle of economy) that it becomes possible to assert that one 'reading' of the heavenly motions is likely to be correct, and the other to be false.

Although we cannot always ascertain the 'right' reading, we can identify (and rule out) other, 'wrong' ones. Through creative abduction one can form surmises, conjectures, or hypotheses about the text, and test them, through various means. Thus, some interpretations are resisted or excluded by the text, while others are reinforced or encouraged. Hence the text itself (through its intenio operis) forms limits to its own ambiguity. Underinterpretation is the unwillingness to seek out, or the inability to see, these limiting elements. Overinterpretation is the seeking out or considering of irrelevant, inappropriate, or meaningless elements. (See Eco 1992: 23-88, 139-151; Eco 1983: 207; Eco 1990: 58-60, 77.)

Translation provides gains as well as losses: even if we cannot always attain to Kandler's "ideal translation", one which "allows of exactly the same breadth of interpretation (and even misinterpretation) as the original", what we may gain is greater clarity, which helps to compensate for the inevitable losses. We must also distinguish between semantic and critical interpretation. (See Eco 1990: 54-63, 77.)

A Translation that will Construe

Müller announces in the Translator's Preface to his own translation of the first Kritik:

'What I have attempted to do is to give an honest, and, as far as possible, a literal translation, and, before all, a translation that will construe; and I venture to say that even to a German student of Kant this English translation may prove more intelligible than the German original.' [Emphasis in original.] (Müller 1881: I, xii.)

It is hard to find fault with Müller in his assertion of the primacy of creating "a translation that will construe". What must we make, then, of the late interest in 'reproducing' ambiguity? We are, after all, concerned with 'truth' in translation: a truth, however, which is not always obvious. With the expenditure of effort, mistakes can be corrected, what is obscure can become clear, and what seems at first sight to be open to alternative readings becomes no longer so.

Those who are particularly fond of making distinctions sometimes fail to realise that not all distinctions are perfectly disjunctive (exclusively either/or). Many phenomena in language (such as vagueness or ambiguity) admit of degrees or gradations, as does the certainty regarding resolutions of textual questions. Poor translations are due to carelessness or inadequate approaches, not to defective theories. The notion of an approach whose criteria reduce to an evaluation of skills rather than principles is what needs to be articulated.

There is here no room for postulates and axioms, or for abstract, a priori principles, the satisfaction of which guarantees quality in translation. It may sound well to dogmatic about 'ambiguous implantation' or 'ambiguous erasure', but the realities of translation and exegesis are quite otherwise. In translation, as in language itself, there are no final solutions, no absolutes. As natural phenomena, languages follow no foreordained process of development; nor are they fashioned specifically to be mutually compatible with the thought-matrices of other languages: thus all translations are necessarily ad hoc.

It is part of the economy of language, and of its richness, that words have more than one meaning. For every word that matches nicely with one in another language (e.g., gewiß and 'certain') one can find many which do not. It does little good to insist on such a correspondence if the correspondence is not forthcoming because the languages have lexical gaps or misalignments (non-congruence). This usually can be overcome though, because not all the essential information is conveyed semantically: some is carried syntactically. As such, some parts of translation involve conversion rather than substitution. The resulting 'equivalence' (in which the reader must coöperate) is at best of only a tenuous sort, and the necessary creative thought-processes involved in decoding and encoding cannot be prescribed. To be successful, the translator must find a way to bridge the gap between the languages, each of which is unique, arbitrary, and historically conditioned, from whatever is available that does violence neither to the author nor to the language.

It is of importance then, that we distinguish ambiguity from equivocation, polysemy, and richness, and apparent from real ambiguity. The mere existence of multiple terms in the source language does not, in itself, imply a 'distinction' which is 'erased' by the use of fewer terms in the translation: the source-language words may be nearly perfect synonyms, or differ in some way unimportant for the speaker of the other language, or impossible to reproduce adequately without elaborate and profitless paraphrase. It is simply semantic non-congruence. An example of grammatical non-congruence would be that found between the German and English tense system, the former of which has but one form for which the English has several: Thus ich gehe can mean 'I go'; 'I am going'; 'I shall go'. An example of semantic non-congruence would be the German als for which English has 'as', 'when', and 'than'. As Jumpelt points out, there are three possibilities for correspondences between words in different languages: one-to-one, one-to-many, and many-to-one. (Jumpelt 1961: 44.)

The German word Erscheinung, for example, depending upon the context, has at least three basic English translations: 'apparition', 'appearance', or 'phenomenon'. They can be illustrated as follows:

Erscheinung(1) apparition
Erscheinung(2) appearance
Erscheinung(3) phenomenon

The first and second of these are independently derived from the same Latin root, apparere, while the last one is of Greek origin. Erscheinung thus can be seen as polysemous in relation to English, but in other languages (e.g., French or Italian), there may be an exactly matching single term.

If by ambiguity, then, we mean merely polysemy, for this there is no final remedy. As Savory contends:

'Here at once we run up against the mathematical consequence that more ideas are generated by human minds than there are words with which to give them utterance. This situation is met, and can only be met, in two ways: one is by inventing new words, the normal method of the child in the nursery and the scientist in the laboratory; the other is to force some words to carry a double or multiple burden, and so to be responsible for more ideas or things than one.' (Savory 1968: 19).

'...at every pause the translator makes a choice; and from what has been said in the first chapter about the correspondence of words, his choice is clearly not between alternative but exact equivalents, but between a number of equivalents, all more or less inexact.' (Savory 1968: 26.)

Waldron makes similar points:

'In a two-language dictionary one aim is certainly to present translation equivalents in one language of all the words in the other. In the larger dictionaries more discursive means, definition by phrases and sentences, are of course used, for it is recognised that differences of structure and idiom will make word-for-word translation rare. Nevertheless it may be granted that a two-language dictionary tries to match words semantically.' (Waldron 1967: 53.)

Preoccupation with trying to 'match-up' specific words semantically, without reference to context, leads to an unnecessary devaluation of syntactical structure, which in itself may be of equal, if not greater, importance in the linguistic analysis of the text. It also leads to distortions by prompting the translator to substitute words which, though ostensibly satisfactory on the semantic level, are otherwise unacceptable because of stylistically poor fit or anachronistic flavour, inter alia.

Part of the translator's task is to identify where such happy one-to-one correspondences occur and to build around them, using other methods to transfer the semantic content where the relationships are less exact. We must also recognise some words are highly context-bound: the particular sense has to be brought out clearly in translation, usually by words which, themselves, have different senses in other contexts.

To complain, as for instance Pluhar does, that 'finality' and 'design', are ambiguous (or, to put it in Pluhar's terms, ambiguously ambiguous) and that, therefore, 'purposiveness' (which, according to Pluhar, is unambiguously ambiguous) should be used to translate Zweckmäßigkeit, entirely misses the point: 'purposiveness' has altogether different associations stemming from its origin and the context in which it was used; this word was introduced much later, in the nineteenth century, by a certain school of biologists, to describe adaptation. The simple fact is that the words 'finality' and 'design' have a long tradition of use by British philosophers (and by Englishmen generally) that is quite compatible with the way Kant uses Zweckmäßigkeit. This can easily be ascertained by consulting one's Oxford or Century dictionary. In the hands of a competent translator, their polysemy in itself is not at all troublesome. Words such as Sinn and Zweckmäßigkeit are both polysemous and context-bound; (these are characteristics which, though related, are not identical). This means that their translations will differ from one context to another.

On the Competence of the Writer and the Reader.

We must, then, grasp the importance of the competence of the translator in his choice of techniques. Among other approaches, periodisation (e.g., using an eighteenth-century English style to translate an eighteenth-century German text) may actually make the translation-text less ambiguous, because it helps the reader, by the very presence of the older style, to 'forget' inappropriate associations belonging only to later periods. If the translator follows such a methodology scrupulously, the reader can count on being able to 'read' the text with the confidence that what the words in the text mean is comparable to what they mean in other texts, dating from the same period, which were written originally in the language of the translation. This argument runs counter to the opinion that translations need to be 'updated' to reflect modern tastes and semantic shifts. A moment's reflection will show, however, that this must be restricted to certain literary texts. In philosophy, at least, it can be crucially important not to 'update' the language; what Hume meant by 'impression', for instance, is something quite different from what it means today in non-technical usage. We do not usually 'rewrite' texts, especially authoritative ones, from only two hundred years ago, with good reason; such texts can also serve as 'repositories' from the past for lexical information which can be drawn upon when creating translations from texts written in the same period but in other languages. Part of the reader's responsibilities in the study of such texts (both originals and translations) is to become acquainted with the usages of earlier writers. This, then, is what we mean by 'the competence of the reader'; for the reader certainly bears some responsibility in the matter.

The use of terminology which originated only long after the original text was written can easily lead to confusion. It might be beneficial if the restrictions outlined above were universally adopted by translators of certain kinds of older texts; a statement in the Translator's Preface (which every translation should have) should alert the reader to the diachronic nature of the translation, and that, generally, newer senses of the words should be disregarded; perhaps a glossary of termini techni should be appended also, drawing from definitions found in encyclopaedic or historical dictionaries such as the Century and Oxford. At first glance, it might appear that the use of older words, which, by virtue of their very age, have accumulated many more senses, would lead to imprecision and confusion in translating. While this could be true in certain cases, it is not true in texts such as Kant's, which, though authoritative, contain many 'complex' words, or in Nietzsche's texts, which are mostly expressive, containing many words that are 'context-bound'. It is entirely possible to make clear what are the intended senses of polysemous words (even though the isolated words themselves have many potential meanings) through the skill of the translator.

On Lies and Truth in Translation

What, then, of our quest for 'truth' in translation? Harald Weinrich, in Linguistik der Lüge, [Linguistics of the Lie] has the following observations on this topic:

'For we normally speak not in isolated words, but in sentences and texts, and our speech is embedded in a situation.'

'There remains an old point of controversy, whether the word or the text (sentence) claims priority. First and always there is: the word in the text. If there is a primary interpretation of the world by means of the words of individual languages, it is always already overcome in the text. We are not slaves of words, for we are masters of texts.'

'There remains further the complaint that languages are fundamentally untranslatable. Gemüt, as a German word, thus defies translation, just as does esprit as a French word, and business as an American English word. Amateur arguments of this sort are tiresome and without merit. For words such as Feuer (German), rue (French), car (English) are not translatable. No word is translatable. But we need not bother about translating individual words at all. We should rather concern ourselves with translating sentences and texts. It does not matter at all that all the meanings of the words in one language do not usually correspond to the ones in others. Within a text, in any case, only the sentiments matter; and one can suitably adjust them by suitably adjusting the context. Texts, therefore, are in principle translatable. Now then, are translations to be considered lies? We can follow this rule: translated words always lie, translated texts, only when they are badly translated.' [Translation] (Weinrich 1966: 24-25.)

Weinrich, however, does not distinguish between authoritative and expressive texts. The 'unit of translation' tends to be shorter in the former, longer in the latter.

Wotjak, discussing 'semantic invariance', offers further insights:

'Semantic invariance can be attained in translation notwithstanding the different language-specific sememes and their differing association with formatives, because these groups of features consist of universal conceptual-noetic elements which make possible reference as well as the appraisal of the organiser of the text, of his stance toward what is communicated as well as of the intended and realised effect. Since, in general, the issue is one of rendering semantic universals which partake in the same manner in the formation of the target language's sememes and allosemes, even though with a completely different selection, ordering and number, decisive, minimal semantic invariants are, at the same time, in evidence.' [Translation] (Wotjak 1973: 71-79.)

Are we then to understand that Wotjak's "sememes and allosemes", "with a different selection, ordering, and number" correspond to Weinrich's "suitably adjusted context"? It appears both men are saying similar things here: that the medium (the single word) is not the sentiment. Adequate translation must consist of more than establishing correspondences between sets of vocabularies in two distinct languages, though it certainly must begin there. Jumpelt explains:

'Though two languages may possess many sense-units which have the same content, yet it would be incorrect to substitute the one directly for the other. In one case the treating alike of the two contents would be regarded as overdetermination or as command of only a specific phenomenon; in the other case, as inadmissible generalisation To correspond fully to the source-language sense-unit, the target-language unit must also fulfil a series of additional conditions.' [Translation] (Jumpelt 1961: 46.)

What are these additional conditions? The notions of functional and stylistic equivalence (as well as semantic equivalence) in the language have to be considered. Due to parallel intra-cultural developments and influences, and to cultural intercourse, one may find more stylistic similarities between texts written in different languages, but in the same period, than between those in the same language, but in different periods.

Final Thoughts

The assessment of quality in philosophical translation is a complex and demanding undertaking, one which cannot be condensed into meagre formulæ. It cannot be emphasised enough that translating-and reading a translation-are active and creative actions. Translating is not mere semantic substitution. Nor is translating lexical alchemy: one does not transmute German into English.

Taking our cue from Nietzsche, we come to understand that for a translation to be successful, two things must come together: the competence of the translator, and the competence of the reader. The notion that a translator is simply a passive conduit between the author and the reader is an inadequate one. One must neither passively nor merely 'reproduce' ambiguity: one must struggle actively to resolve it, and be willing to accept-as inevitable-the vulnerability to error which this entails. All 'readings' of the text are unique and valuable, even incorrect ones. Pluhar's demands, in their querulousness, ignore more important concerns and threaten traditional translation criteria. For him to suggest that the task of interpretation be disassociated from the translation proper, and postponed to some unknown future time (i.e., that the translator should, for the moment, simply pass along the problems which the text has, without struggling to resolve them), is indeed a dereliction of the responsibility involved in translating. It also leads one to wonder whether-and how-anyone could find a translation made along these lines useful.

Seigfried's argument, that an awareness of the background and origin of Kant's usage of real/Realität and wirklich/Wirklichkeit is important, even crucial, for a correct understanding the passages he discusses, appears to be erroneous. It is also incomplete: he omits any discussion of the relationship between the German terms and the English ones. The overlapping polysemy of 'actual' and 'real', and Kant's apparent indifference to any systematic distinction between wirklich and real, vitiate his argument. Kant is certainly entitled to use these words synonymously, as he does so many others. The translators have every right to do the same.

Following Weinrich, we must understand that we are the masters of the texts. Words such as Sinn, Zweckmäßigkeit and Wirklichkeit, like any word in a text, are not translatable, except in relation to their context. Ultimately, attempting to match the richness of the original, but not necessarily its ambiguity, seems to be the proper object of philosophical translation. As Müller suggests, we might as well provide "a translation that will construe", since we are going to be blamed anyway.

Michael A. Scarpitti

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