Sunday, February 28, 2016

統治通貨制度のこと

つい最近、フロスティ・シガーヨンスソン氏の『通貨改革』というレポートの和訳作業を終えた。第一稿から編集、レイアウト、誤字脱字チェックまですべて一人で行ったので、かなり疲れたが、やりがいのある作業だった。

決して易しいレポートではないが、専門書ほど難解ではない。人文系学科を卒業されている読者ならば誰でも読める文体および内容であると思う。

フロスティ氏は、現行制度に代わる案として「統治通貨制度」を提唱する。このアイデアのねらいは以下の二点に凝縮できる。

  1. 通貨の発行権を配分権から切り離す。つまり、通貨の発行や消去について決定をする人たちは、通貨を発行・消去しても直接利益を得ることができない。配分者の方も、自分たちにとって都合の良い量の通貨を発行・消去することができない。これによって、私利私欲から銀行が通貨を発行する危険性がほぼなくなる。
  2. 取引口座と投資口座を明確にわける。これは、私たち一般国民の意識改革にもつながる。取引口座に預けたお金には、金利がつかないが、このお金がなくなる心配はない。対して、投資口座の預金には金利がつくが、銀行の融資行動いかんで預金がなくなるリスクもある。簡単に言えば、「金利がほしい人はリスクを見極めて慎重に投資をしてくださいね」と国民にアナウンスをする制度である。 
もし上の二点が特に画期的とも思えない方は、健全な感覚の持ち主ではあるが、しかし現代の通貨制度の劣悪さを知らないという意味では無知である。逆に、上二点があまりにも画期的で実現不可能であると感じてしまう方は、現代の銀行制度や通貨制度に精通しているからこそそう感じるのであろうけれど、あまりにも精通しているがゆえに健全な感覚を失ってしまった恐れもある。

どちらのタイプの読者にも、私はフロスティ氏のレポートを一読されることをお薦めしたい。これによって、現代の通貨制度の仕組みについて知ることができる上、現行制度の問題点を乗り越えるために必要なことを学ぶこともできる。

A Diary

Finally completed the Japanese translation of an Icelandic report on how to reform the monetary system. The report is about Iceland, but it is also very relevant to Japan and to other modern countries with elaborate credit creation systems.

I chose the text for the simple reason that monetary reform will sooner or later become a topic of conversation in Japanese politics. Japanese monetary policy is increasingly looking like a patchwork of ad hoc remedies, and it seems that a need for some discussions on the fundamentals of the system will have to take place soon.

Needless to say, if the status quo is fine and if the current system ensures stability, then there is no need for such a discussion and no need for such a reform. That is much easier and simpler and everybody will be happier with it. However, sadly, that just does not seem to be the case. Hence the need to say something about it.

The Japanese translation of the report is my contribution to the debate. It will hopefully circulate under a creative commons license so that readers can redistribute it as they please to their friends and acquaintances and coworkers and family.

Compared to other works I have translated in the past, this report was very easy for several reasons. First, the original English text is written so clearly and concisely that no guesswork was required. This is a huge relief for a translator, especially since all too often clients come with half-baked texts, hoping to hit two birds with one stone, that is, hoping to have me do both editing and translating at the same time, which I am more or less obliged to do in such situations. Second, the topic of discussion is interesting and has substance. Again, all too often, translators are put in a position where they must translate a pile of rhetoric with no content. This is stressful, at least for me, because it makes me feel as if I am partaking in the lying and deception. Finally, the report was a great introduction to macroeconomics and monetary policy. As a translator, I was in the privileged position of reading the text really closely and really digesting every argument in it so as to capture the spirit of the text in Japanese. As Yoko Tawada put it to me once, a translator engages in a "fiery reading experience." This was exactly my experience with the report, which was good.

So, all in all, a great experience. It really feels good to have completed this project.

On a different note, today, I went to a screening of Margarethe von Trotta's Die abhandene Welt. The script is based on von Trotta's own experience, and it touches upon something universal, namely, kinship. In Japan, Kenji Nakagami is famous for exploring the topic of kinship and all its implication, almost obsessively. I felt the same intensity of expression in von Trotta's film today. Discovering or losing a kin is, for von Trotta, like discovering or losing a world. Like Lars von Trier's Nymphomaniac, Die abhandene Welt traces a certain intense spiritual trajectory faithfully. I did not catch all the musical references in the film, and it might be that some of the references are quite crucial to understanding what is really going on. However, before anything else, what I took away from the film was that intense experience which von Trotta so precisely traces. It resonates with Susan Sontag's call for "an erotics instead of a hermeneutics." The difference is, though, that von Trotta's film does offer itself as a work to be interpreted as well. Although, at the moment, I am not sure what to make of it beyond the said experience...

On philosophy, the prevailing wisdom is that "we" cannot step outside "our culture" and so any attempt to think will be made within the context of cultural particularity. Be that as it may, the question is how free thinking is nonetheless possible. Are there not universal questions and thoughts which humans, qua free thinkers, all share despite their cultural differences? I think it quite plausible that that is the case. The question with which thinking begins bears a lot of the weight of what will follow, and so it is important, at least in my mind, to find a way through the thickets of historical contingencies to locate that point from which thought can freely develop on its own.

Monday, February 22, 2016

How to Translate 春琴抄

春琴抄 is a short story written by Junichiro Tanizaki. The Japanese of the story has a very special rhythmical quality to it. Tanizaki achieves this quality by removing punctuation marks from the text. As a result, the text becomes one long chain of words, reminiscent of Molly Bloom's soliloquy in Ulysses (although Tanizaki would not have been aware of the last chapter of that work.)

There is already one published English translation of 春琴抄, Portrait of Shunkin. The translation is good in many ways, in that the translator does a great job at capturing the Tanizaki-ness of the original Japanese into English - no easy feat. Yet, after reading the English translation, I was left with the feeling that there must be a different way of doing this!! The English prose is still too tame, too normal.
How to capture Tanizaki's prose, lacking punctuation and weaving together several style - this "weaving together" done always with an intention to achieve a specific comical effect - is a big question. For one thing, although both Molly Bloom and the narrator of 春琴抄 rarely use punctuation signs, the form of the two works are so different that the comparison quickly breaks down. 春琴抄 is a narrated story, while Molly Bloom is just talking to herself.

Leaving aside the big question of what the overall style of the English translation of 春琴抄 ought to look like, I am worried more specifically with the problem of how to translate the title of this story.

The problem is a general one which pertains to all English translations of Japanese literature. What is this problem? To begin with, take the name 春琴. It is read "shun" in 春琴抄. Therefore, English translators would translate this name as "Shunkin." However, this would only be equivalent to the Japanese text しゅんきん or シュンキン, but not 春琴. Why? Because 春 and 琴 both are meaningful idiograms which trigger specific associations. More specifically, 春 means "spring" as well as (especially in the context of Tanizaki's story) "eros" and "youth." 琴 means "koto," a Japanese string instrument. Yet, the association is not really meant to cohere into one big lump of meaning such as "erotic koto" or "young koto." Rather, the characters create an atmosphere. Hence, the Japanese reader, upon reading the name "Shunkin," immediately associates the character with eroticism, with the koto, with youth (but a very erotic kind of youth - again, difficult to name it in a few English words), and, of course, spring with everything which comes with spring - flowers, birds, the Japanese gardens, the warm wind, the sweet scent in the air, the clear riverwater, etc.

The task of the English translator, then, is ideally to trigger all these associations in the English translation of the name 春琴. This is why merely representing the sound is far from ideal. That is, "Shunkin" is not wrong but not the best either. There must be a better way to capture the atmosphere created by this name.

One radical attempt at such an ideal translation was recently made by two translators on Asymptote.

http://www.asymptotejournal.com/special-feature/tsubouchi-nenten-river-horse-haiku/

As an experimental translation of these particular haiku pieces, this method is very interesting and, simply, beautiful.

However, Tanizaki's work is not a haiku - it is a story. The word "Shunkin" will be repeated dozens of times throughout the text. Hence, the English translation of that name must also fit into a few characters. I cannot copy and paste a jpeg image every time Shunkin appears.

Yet, the Asymptote piece reminds translators just how difficult it is to translate Japanese literature into English, and I found it very helpful just to meditate on the above linked work for a while to take in the enormity of the task.

Now, one strategy would be to put together English words which trigger similar associations, and craft a name. The crudest of this would be something like "Spring-Harp." The challenge here is twofold. First, the associations must correspond pretty well with the original 春琴. Second, the sound also needs to express that feeling which the sound "Shun-Kin" evokes in the Japanese reader. In particular, the sound "Kin" is associated with the coldness of a steel. In fact, "Kin" almost reminds the Japanese reader of the sound made by a koto in a silent, calm room. The English translation needs to keep this feeling too.

What, then, would be a good candidate name for 春琴 in English? No idea.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

The Category of Beginning and Its Negation

Hegel opens the Science of Logic with the question: "with what must the beginning of science be made?" This question implicitly presupposes that the beginning is to be made with a thought which can be captured by the question in the form of "with what..." The word "what" indicates that there are many thoughts, out of which one stands out as the best option with which to make the beginning.

However, what if the "what" and the way of thinking implied in that question already limits the options from which the beginning is to be made? Or, even before the question of "making" a beginning, what if the very thought of the beginning as such already implies certain other thoughts? If a beginning is to be made, then the thought of the beginning must first be described thoroughly. Otherwise, philosophy fails to live up to its ambition to begin from presuppositionlessness categorically.

The first question is this: "does the beginning already imply a determination?" In other words: "is there a thought, or thoughts, which are excluded in the very resolve to begin?" In asking about the beginning in this way, the beginning itself becomes known as a category unto itself, that is, as a unique thought-determination.

If the beginning were not a unique thought determination -- in other words, if the beginning was not determinate, not distinguished from anything else, then there would be no beginning, because it would make no different to anything whether it is a beginning or a non-beginning. The beginning, therefore, is necessarily determinate, and it is distinguished from a non-beginning.

Two options are open here. On the one hand, the distinction between the beginning and the non-beginning presupposes a distinction between the being and non-being of the beginning, and therefore the category of being and its negation, i.e. non-being, or conversely the category of nothing and its negation, i.e. being. On the other hand, the contents or determinations of these categories depend upon how one begins to think about them and through them. Therefore, the beginning determines what is meant by being and nothing. Moreover, if this is the case, then being and nothing do not have any contents in themselves independently of the way in which the beginning is made, or of the determination of the beginning.

Here, the question is refined. Now, the question is this: "how is the beginning, such that the beginning determines being and nothing?" A related question is: "is there a distinction between being and nothing on the side of a non-beginning?" On the side of the beginning, being and nothing have no contents on their own. On the side of a non-beginning, i.e. where thought is not determined to begin, we do not yet know whether being and nothing have or don't have a specific, necessary determination.

What does it mean for thought to not begin? Is it possible to think without beginning to think? Can the non-beginning reflect back into the beginning, such that the second beginning is none other than the determination to think without beginning?

What does it mean to be determined to begin thinking by not beginning to think? It cannot mean to just "take up" whatever is "already there" -- this already is a determinate beginning. What, then, does it mean for thought to not begin?

DiEM25-ヨーロッパ民主主義運動の立ち上げイベントに参加して

2月9日、ベルリンにて、Democracy in Europe Movement '25 (DiEM25)の立ち上げイベントが行われた。当日は、午前11時から午後6時まで記者会見兼初回ミーティングが行われ、午後8時半から午後11時まで一般参加者向けの立ち上げイベントが行われた。私は両方とも参加した。以下はその記録である。

まず、記者会見会場には常時100名以上の記者や活動家が入っていた。出入りも激しかったので、少なくとも200名、もしかしたら300名近くの人たちが会見に参加したのかもしれない。

会場では、部屋の中央を中心として、円形に椅子が並べられていた。椅子を確保できなかった参加者は窓際に立っていた。2時間のミーティングが三回行われた。各ミーティングでは15名がそれぞれスピーチを行い、その後他の参加者も交えた議論へと進む。

話の内容は、主にDiEM25の大きなテーマやねらいであった。DiEM25には、短期・中期・長期のねらいがそれぞれある。短期的なねらいは、ユーログループのすべての会議をネットで生中継すること、そしてすべての会議の議事録をとること。中期的には、ヨーロッパ投資銀行を通じて、黒字国から赤字国へ利益の循環を行うこと。長期的には、ユーローグループの代表をヨーロッパ全体で民主的に選出し、新しいユーログループのための憲法を制定すること。最後のねらいは、2025年までに達成する予定である。

ミーティングを通して、一つとても大切な点が共有された。それは、「この運動は、市民一人一人の運動である」という点である。ヴァルファキスやホルヴァットなどのビッグネームが一方的に先導するような運動になってしまってはいけない。「この運動には、中央委員会が存在してはいけない」とホルヴァットは述べていた。対して、ヴァルファキスやホルヴァットに一方的に要求を投げかけたり、答えを求めたりする参加者も少なくなかった。「代表者たちが引っ張ってくれるのだから、私たちはそのお尻についていけばいいんだ」と考えている人たちがまだまだ多かったというわけだ。しかし、これではいけない。

これは、あらゆる民主主義運動の根本的なジレンマだろう。一方では、数人のコアメンバーが色々な企画を立ち上げて、他の人たちを引っ張る必要がある。他方では、数人のコアメンバーに他の人たちが深く頼ってしまうのではいけない。むしろ、コアメンバーという役割はない方がよく、それぞれが勝手にそれぞれの納得のいくように動きつつ、できる範囲で協力しあうような形が理想的である。個人の主体性と団体としての調和をどう両立させていくのか―この問題は、運動の規模が大きくなればなるほど切実で深刻なものとなる。

私個人としては、DiEM25にこだわらずに、私としてできることをしつつ、他の人たちと柔軟な関係を築いてゆけばいいのかな、という結論を出した。

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Hegel on Formal and True Conscience, and Thoreau After

Sections 132 and 137 of Hegel's Outlines of the Philosophy of Right are, like most other sections, very rich. The main aim in these sections is to arrive at a clear definition of conscience, as well as the distinction between formal and true conscience.

These sections fall under the "morality" section. Morality is Hegel's name for a purely subjective subject. In other words, a moral subject is a subject which has as its contents subjective contents only. I will come back to what this means later. Meanwhile, I would first like to highlight two key terms in these sections.

Insight and Principles

The first is insight. This figures prominently in section 132. On Hegel's usage of that term in this context, insight is a collection of reflections on a subject-matter. For example, when I gain insight into whether stealing is morally permissible or not, I only come to have an insight into something which is externally related to stealing. In other words, by coming to see more the morality of stealing, I do not gain any insight into what stealing is objectively. Hegel says this unambiguously: "This right of insight is distinct from the right of insight in respect of action as such" (§132). Insight is a special kind of knowledge, a knowledge whose subject-matter is something subjective.

The second is principles This is the key term of section 137. Hegel thinks that principles are essentially objective, as opposed to subjective. For Hegel, objectivity is always defined as a negation of subjectivity. In the context of these sections, something is subjective if it exists as a relation only to itself, i.e. to something subjective. For example, insight is subjective in so far as it only relates to subjective reflections concerning an action. In comparison, insight becomes objective, and thus knowledge, when its subject-matter comes to include something which goes beyond the self-relation of the subject. A comparison of the following two propositions would clarify this distinction.

(1) Stealing is morally wrong because it is morally wrong to harm someone else.
(2) Stealing harms someone else.

(1) is subjective, because it does not tell us anything about the real effects of stealing. It only tells us how a subject judges stealing, and why the subject judges so. In comparison, (2) is objective, because it tells us something true about stealing regardless of what the subject happens to think about stealing.

For Hegel, principles are objective in the sense that (2) is objective. That is, if I know something about a principle, I also know something objectively true about an action. For example, assuming that we already have some knowledge of what private property is, a proposition such as the following counts as knowledge of the objective.

(3) Stealing is a violation of the principle of private property.

Here, the proposition expresses my knowledge about something objective in the act of stealing, because the proposition asserts the relation between a universal principle and an action whose nature is defined in terms of that principle.

It might be difficult to grasp the metaphysical status of principles according to our common sense distinction between nature and mind. After all, unlike physical or psychological harm, a violation of a principle does not seem to appear in space and time. Nonetheless, common sense also tells us that principles do have more than just spatio-temporal reality. The best way to understand what a principle is for Hegel is, I suggest, the following.

A principle is that part of a universally shared and known thought which has no spatio-temporal extension.

The key here, I think, is to not confuse the subjective-objective distinction with the mind-nature distinction. Principles are mental kinds, but they are not "subjective" in the sense that morality is subjective. The existence of principles presupposes the existence of at least one subject, but a principle is not merely a relation of one subject to itself. This is the metaphysical difference between insight and principles.

Formal and True Conscience

Formal conscience is related to principles but does not have principles as its content. Hegel is unambiguous about this too when he writes that "conscience lacks this objective content and so its character for itself is that of infinite formal self-certainty" (§137). Compared to this, true conscience is "the disposition to will what is good in and for itself. It therefore has fixed principles and these are for it determinations and duties that are objective for themselves" (§137). This distinction can be understood as two interpretations of a particular kind of proposition. This kind of proposition combines insight (i.e. reflections on an action) with knowledge of principles (i.e. what an action is according to a principle.) For example, the following proposition.

(4) Paying taxes upholds the principle of public good. Therefore, paying taxes is good.

The first sentence is a piece of knowledge. Without upholding the principle of public good, paying taxes would not be the payment of taxes. Rather, it would instead become a payment of money, or perhaps a making of an investment. The tax-ness of the tax is introduced when the act of paying money is combined with a particular principle. Therefore, the proposition genuinely gives an objective determination to the action.

The second sentence does not tell us what paying taxes is. Rather, it tells us what the subject thinks about paying taxes. It is therefore an insight in the sense defined above.

In true conscience, I take it that the "therefore" is expressed objectively in my disposition. This plays out like this. I pay taxes. Then, one day, a Socratic friend comes along and asks me what it means for me to pay taxes, and why I pay them. I feel puzzled, because I do not have much to say about what it means to pay taxes. If anything, I merely think that someone out there, perhaps the government, knows it, but I also feel that there is no need for me, specifically, to know that meaning. So I reply to my friend, "Look, I don't know, but they say that paying taxes helps the public." Here, I essentially tell my friend that I have objective knowledge of what paying taxes means. Now if I have true conscience, then I let that follow by: "that's why they say it's good, and I guess I agree because I pay taxes." Here, I am telling my friend that he should look at my disposition rather than listen to my subjective reflections.

In comparison, formal conscience only allows the subject to let the "therefore" hold subjectively. That is, while I have knowledge of the principle which determines the payment of taxes as such, the principle has not yet "seeped into" my disposition and therefore my actions. Therefore, I might or might not pay taxes while believing nonetheless that (4) is true.

In section 137, Hegel is chiefly interested in describing what formal conscience is. However, in order to do so, Hegel feels the need to compare it to true conscience. This comparison allows Hegel to comment on the "ambiguity" of the concept of conscience.
The ambiguity in connection with conscience lies therefore in this: it is presupposed to mean the identity of subjective knowing and willing with the true good, and so is claimed and recognized to be something sacrosanct; and yet at the same time, as the mere subjective reflection of self-consciousness into itself, it still claims for itself the title due, solely on the strength of its rational content which is valid in and for itself, to that identity alone. (§137)
This passage seems to suggest that formal conscience is a misunderstood true conscience. However, since knowledge makes a real difference in the case of mental kinds (i.e. knowing that x makes something x just in case that something belongs not to nature but to mind,) formal conscience is real too. The subject already has that disposition which corresponds to the true version of his conscience. Yet, due to his relating only to himself as an individual, the subject misses his disposition and instead thinks that his insight alone is what counts as essential to his conscience. In this way, the subject has formal conscience.

Thoreau's Refusal to Pay His Poll Tax

Hegel's discussion in sections 132 and 137 of conscience sheds much light on how to understand the philosophical content of Thoreau's 1849 lecture on civil disobedience. The lecture is passionately and eloquently delivered, yet its main thesis or its arguments are not very clear. It first needs to be put in the context of Thoreau's being jailed for one year due to his refusing to pay the poll tax. By refusing, Thoreau was protesting against the U.S. invasion of Mexico. The lecture is a defense of why Thoreau thinks he did the right thing.

Thoreau's lecture appeals to conscience. Specifically, Thoreau challenges the view that the majority is always right. He thinks that the majority rules not because it is always right but rather because it is "the strongest" (6). This is not necessarily true, as the "real" majority, the slaves and the poor, had no right to vote. Rather, Thoreau would have been more accurate if he simply said that the strongest rules because they are the strongest. In any case, Thoreau's main point is that conscience provides a higher justification than majority vote. Moreover, Thoreau correctly points out that something being legal does not make that something good (7).

These distinctions fit well into Hegel's distinction between principles and insight. The right of conscience which Thoreau is asserting is essentially the right of insight, that is, the right of determining the rightness or wrongness of an action according to one's subjective reflection on that action.

Moreover, Thoreau makes the connection between supporting a government and supporting the principles which that government upholds. Thus, Thoreau writes that he would not like to be associated with the U.S. government because the U.S. government upholds slavery (in 1849, of course) (8). And how does Thoreau know that slavery, qua principle, is wrong? Because his conscience tells him that it is so.

Thoreau furthermore evokes the distinction between formal and true conscience when he criticizes his fellow countrymen who say they are against slavery but who do nothing. "There are thousands who are in opinion opposed to slavery and to the war, who yet in effect do nothing to put an end to them; who, esteeming themselves children of Washington and Franklin, sit down with their hands in their pockets, and say that they know not what to do, and do nothing" (10). It is clear why the opinion of these men hardly make them conscientious. Thoreau focuses on what they are disposed to do, rather than what they say, in evaluating whether they really have a conscience.

It is easy to read Thoreau's lectures as a string of truisms. It is easy to see Thoreau as merely expressing what Gandhi would later say, namely, "be the change you wish to see." In a sense, that is what it means to have true conscience, even according to Hegel's definition. However, that is philosophically not satisfactory. The more difficult questions must be asked against these truisms.

Let's say that the following proposition expressed Thoreau's judgement.

(5) Paying the poll tax upholds the U.S. government's principle that invasion is good. However, I think that invasion is wrong. Therefore, I refuse to pay my poll tax.

The first sentence expresses knowledge of something objective - namely, what it means to pay the poll tax - while the second sentence expressed Thoreau's subjective insight into the moral status of that action. The third sentence indicates that Thoreau has advanced to true conscience, that is, is trying to make his subjective will one with the objective principle.

The subject has an absolute right to have whatever insight it wants. Therefore, it is senseless to ask whether it is true that Thoreau thinks that the invasion is wrong. If Thoreau, as a subject, thinks so, then it is so.

Now Thoreau may be wrong with regards to what it means to pay the poll tax. Hegel's analysis shows that this is one of the places where conscience can go wrong. That is, if conscience is not based on the knowledge of something objectively true about the action in relation to a principle, then the conscience is misplaced. Let us assume for the time being that Thoreau is not mistaken here, and that paying the poll tax really does help the U.S. invade Mexico.

The most interesting part is the third sentence. Implicitly, Thoreau is still assumed as the one who takes credit for doing the right thing. That is, it is Thoreau's individual conscience which disposes him toward acting in that manner. In a subtle way, this is what Thoreau presupposes when he says, for example, "break the law. Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine" (14).

However, in true conscience, one's disposition is already constituted by objective principles. Therefore, there is something else going on in Thoreau's refusal to pay the poll tax which Thoreau fails to articulate explicitly. That is to say, Thoreau's action already contains a principle which can be universally known and be acted upon by all others in the U.S. When the machine stops, the source of the counter friction will fuel a different machine.

Unlike present struggles, Thoreau's own struggle has played out in history, and so we do have the material necessary for understanding what that counter friction was about.