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.
'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 enclyclopdic 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.
'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:
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.'
' "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.
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.
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.
' "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:
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:
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.)
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.
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.
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?.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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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