I remembered one of my first encounters with Chinese philosophy. I sat in the second front row of the lecture theatre, staring blankly at the screen. There it was, a huge chunk of obscured text.

In the Northern Darkness, there is a fish. Its name is Kun. Kun is so huge, no one knows how many thousand li it measures. It changes and becomes a bird whose name is Peng. The back of the Peng is so huge, no one knows how many thousand li across. When Peng rises up and flies off, its wings are like the clouds in the sky. When the sea begins to move, this bird sets off for the Southern Darkness, where the Lake of Heaven lies.

北冥有鱼，其名为鲲。鲲之大，不知其几千里也。化而为鸟，其名为鹏。鹏之背，不知其几千里也；怒而飞，其翼若垂天之云。是鸟也，海运则将徙于南冥。南冥者，天池也

This is the opening passage of the Daoist text Zhuangzi. If you were like me, you have utterly no clue what’s happening here. Who’s this “Kun?” And what’s this becoming a big bird “Peng?”

Importantly, what do all these have to do with philosophy?

Taking Back Philosophy

In Bryan van Norden’s bookTaking Back Philosophy, he boldly claims that philosophy departments in universities across the globe “are failing their students in a crucial way: they are not teaching the profound, fascinating, and increasingly relevant philosophy that is outside the traditional Anglo-European canon.” (See an excerpt of the book here.)

Indeed, when we talk about philosophy, our heads are usually filled with the images of Aristotle, Socrates, and Plato, and the words of Kant, Hobbes, Mill, and the like. Whether we like it or not, our default images of “philosophy” are those of white European males.

And like it or not, philosophy, as Van Norden claims, “faces a serious diversity problem.”

While I had the opportunity to study at a university with a strong Chinese cultural history, I empathize with Van Norden’s laments. Many undergraduates in our department prefer the more “prestigious” Western philosophies to the “minority” philosophies. Most of us lament about the compulsory “Introduction to Chinese Philosophy” course we have to take in our first year.

Van Norden provides several reasons to study philosophies beyond the Anglo-European tradition: Indian, African, and East Asian philosophies, etc. Most of his arguments are political. For example, in arguing for the importance of studying Chinese philosophy, he writes:

“China is an increasingly important world power, both economically and geopolitically — and traditional philosophy is of continuing relevance. Chinese businessmen pay for lessons from Buddhist monks, Daoism appeals both to peasants (for whom it is part of tradition) and to many intellectuals (who look to it for a less authoritarian approach to government), and China’s current President, Xi Jinping, has repeatedly praised Confucius. What should we make of the Chinese government’s support of Confucius?”

Van Norden also offers non-political arguments. He argues that philosophies beyond the Anglo-European tradition have, in fact, much knowledge to offer. They add value and new insights to our prevailing philosophical discourse.

Van Norden’s diagnosis of the current landscape of academic philosophy illuminates much of how we perceive “philosophy.” Of course, there’s nothing wrong with Socrates being the go-to face of philosophy. But if van Norden’s right, and we are unwilling to embrace non-Anglo-European intellectual traditions as “philosophy,” we’re seriously imprisoning ourselves.

Borrowing Philosophy

Van Norden thinks that we’re deliberately dismissing “minority” intellectual traditions. Honestly, it’s not that simple. As a bilingualist, Zhuangzi’s writings don’t really present themselves as immediately “philosophical” to me. Compare Zhuangzi’s opening passage with Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics:

“Every art and every kind of inquiry, and likewise every act and purpose, seems to aim at some good: and it has so been well said that the good is that at which everything aims.”

It’s a huge difference. And it’s not a difference that can be mitigated.

The word “philosophy” originates from Greek: “philo” and “sophia.” It means love for wisdom. Following the etymology, philosophy is Greek. Any intellectual tradition that isn’t Greek, isn’t philosophy; modus tollens.

In fact, the idea of “philosophy” isn’t available to the rest of the world for a very long time. For instance, “philosophy” didn’t exist in East Asia (particularly China and India) until recently. China acquired “philosophy” as a returned loanword in the late 19th century, when the last Qing dynasty was at the brink of collapse.

The word for philosophy in China and Japan today is 哲学 (zhe xue). Its historical roots are rather interesting. It starts with Japan’s acquiring of China’s writing system in the 5th century. We call them Kanji.

In the 19th century, Japan underwent a socio-political reform called the Meiji restoration. It furiously adopted many Western ideas. “Philosophy” was one of them. With the Kanji they borrowed from China, they “invented” a word for “philosophy”: 哲学 (tetsugaku).

During the same period, when China’s Qing dynasty was at the brink of collapse, many intellectuals fled to Japan to study and seek political refuge from the Qing emperor. When the dynasty collapse, these intellectuals returned, and they returned with zhexue 哲学.

So what was “philosophy” before Japan and China borrowed it? It was a blend of history, divinity, history, literature, and art. In short, any means of transmitting knowledge and wisdom.

Indeed, the works of Chinese philosophers today are often read and analyzed extensively in classical Chinese literature courses. So, if you want to have a conversation about Confucius’s thoughts and ideas, your best bet is to walk into a literature class; not a philosophy class.

Likewise, if you want to find the works of Mengzi, Xunzi, or Zhuangzi in a Chinese library or bookstore, you’ll likely find them in the classical literature section 文学, rather than the philosophy section.

A Different Paradigm

If there’s one thing we could learn about the borrowing of “philosophy,” is that the word itself forces us to see other intellectual traditions through a limited hermeneutical lens. If what we know constitutes “philosophy” is inherently Greek (and everything that develops from it), then it’s very difficult for us to understand how non-Greek ideas can be “philosophy.”

There are two ways to proceed. Either we denounce ideas that aren’t Greek-descent, or we have to radically change what we conceive as “philosophy.”

I hope you’re with me. It has to be the latter.

One of the major things about non-Western philosophies that put people (students and academics) off is its lack of intelligibility.

One reason is the language. Indeed, no one can understand the classical texts of Chinese philosophy without some form of commentary. Yes, not even native Chinese who’s trained in interpreting classical Chinese. Of course, translations help, but they have obvious limitations.

Furthermore, there are many terms and concepts that are incommensurable. That means it cannot be literary translated. Or even if they could, it wouldn’t make sense to us. Two notorious terms in Chinese philosophy are “heart 心” and “energy 气.”

Finally, and most importantly, philosophies often respond to a socio-political climate of a specific time. So, if those circumstances change, the corresponding ideas will sound unintelligible. This even applies to Western philosophies but more so to philosophies outside the West.

If a culture is wholly different from ours, it would be almost impossible to understand the philosophies aiming to address problems specific to that culture. Ideas taken out of their socio-political and cultural contexts will be vacuous ideas.

Put all these together, and we get Zhuangzi’s opening passage. No one knows what’s going on.

So, how can we overcome these obstacles?

The Art Of Philosophy

Following the huge success of the Matrix, many people talked about how we’re already living in a simulation. Scientists, academics, and even the layperson all end up talking about the simulation hypothesis.

Christopher Nolan’s hit film Inception made us further question if our reality is artificially created by the mind. Are we living in a dream (within a dream)? Or, as Zhuangzi puts it: are we dreaming that we’re butterflies? Or are we butterflies dreaming that we’re ourselves?

Zhuangzi’s work, especially the opening passage about Kun and Peng, has inspired a contemporary animation film called Big Fish and Begonia. This film has inspired me to pick up Zhuangzi again.

Works of art like film and music have the (mysterious) capacity to bypass the obstacles above. They could communicate a different reality. And perhaps that’s one medium academic philosophers should leverage.

I remember one of my professors lamenting to us, “Why is it that we’ve decided essay-writing is the best way to communicate in philosophy?” — He likes drawing charts and mind-maps and using notes for his lessons. Other professors use slides and passages.

I think the film and animation industry is one important avenue for philosophy to diversify. Sure, van Norden thinks we need to invest human resources at the state and institutional levels. But I sat in a class titled “Introduction to Chinese philosophy” and had a bilingual academic trained in classical Chinese philosophy teaching the subject. I wasn’t interested.

It took a 90-minute film to reignite that interest.

Diversifying and expanding our conception of “philosophy” doesn’t just do academic justice to the currently narrow discipline. It also doesn’t just add intellectual value to the subject. It also carries important social values.

As we continue to globalize and are constantly bombarded with new people, cultures, and ideas, it’s important for us to practice epistemic empathy. As philosopher Julian Baggini says:

My philosophical journey has also convinced me that we cannot understand ourselves if we do not understand others. In art and literature, this is little more than a truism. Novels, plays and films give us imaginative insight into the lives, thoughts and feelings of others, all of which enlarges and enriches our own hearts and minds. Philosophical traditions do the same. As the world shrinks, this kind of self-understanding is essential. If cultures are to meet rather than clash, we need to understand not just how others differ from ourselves, but how we differ from them.

All translations of the primary texts are provided by the author.