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• 作者：苏灵 发布时间：2019-03-30 14:02:36

  有机合成工艺经典，第二版中译本。强烈推荐

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  翻译拙计 这么好的书 唉

• 作者：Matrix 发布时间：2010-12-09 10:27:24

  视觉与声音的结合非常精彩，

• 作者：独家记忆009 发布时间：2021-12-29 22:17:18

  不论是作为普通读者，还是专业的设计师，阅读这本书，都会给我们带来不同的感受。

• 作者：张仙客 发布时间：2018-07-10 15:20:26

  防火防盗防闺蜜，还是单身大法好。交个男朋友，不如养条狗。

• 作者：晓游 发布时间：2022-06-28 23:10:17

  【藏书阁打卡】2022--024

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• 一般一般

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  。。故事拖太久了才看完。后半截追杀逃亡有点好莱坞味道（喂）

  总之感觉是不过不失的故事，中心思想真的没看懂（抱头）

• Dilutant No.2

  作者：Souljourner 发布时间：2018-06-03 16:53:00

  I’m not a historian nor anthropologist by training, so all of this might just be my babbling gabbling twaddle, please exercise caution whenever you feel the impulse to subscribe to any of the ideas presented.

  And by the way I haven’t finished the whole book—as a matter of fact I’ve only flipped through a few pages and watched several book launch talks.

  According to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, any isolated system tends to grow more disorderly over time— and if you think about it, the reordering of that “spilled water” really constitutes the subject matter of every single discipline ever existed on this planet (that is, of course, sparing art—this by no means indicates that it ought to escape “Die Sache”, but simply that it can, and great art always brings one in the guise of the other, think of Wagner). As it happens, we, in order to satiate an odd appetency for sublimation (an impulse harkens back to the singularity), are obsessed with the notion of reordering things— to bring things to the fore in unity, to restore harmony, to unveil the clandestine, to unravel the intricate, to tame the wild, to enlighten the obscure, and in this case, to divide the indivisible. What reemerged in the field of history and anthropology shortly after the cold war is a strange fascination to divide the world yet again, as if to compensate for the loss of a nicely cut “two-camps” geopolitical division of the cold war. You first get Samuel Huntington’s cry for clash of civilizations, and then a series of followers who, more often than not, are reluctant to acknowledge Huntington as the “inventor of the discourse”—from Mohammad Khatami all the way down to our subject of the day, the renowned Alan Macfarlane. This, as I would like to call it, “Sphearism”, is fundamentally problematic on many different levels; but I do believe Alan’s newest book touches upon something that might offer us a way out of this impasse, though he himself might be somewhat remiss when handling the issue.

  Before we dive into Alan’s work proper, let me just point out one thing about the works of Huntington et al. very briefly. It will be an inexhaustible and eventually futile effort to settle the debate between cultural boundaries vs culture continuum here, which I believe Alan, unbeknownst to himself, may have attempted to do so at one point in his book. However, there nevertheless are merits to be reaped when we discuss origins qua symptoms, that is, the principles by which we divide them. While Mr. Huntington uses his crayons to sketch profiles after the silhouettes of religions, Alan’s model is slightly different. He understands that religion is a western invention and can hardly be applied to every corner of the world, especially East Asia. The word “religion” comes from Latin “religio”, which Cicero asserted comes from “relego”, which again is formed by “re” and “lego”, meaning “re-select”, or “choose again”. This then is extended to mean careful, scrupulous, and pious. As Alan puts it, religion in the West is a “bundle of ideas”, values and belief that forms a close-knit system that dictates a great portion of both internal and external life. I don’t have to remind you how different this is from 宗教 “ancestral teaching”, which is a really loose and disparate discourse that is scattered all over the social spheres of the countries in East Asia. For example, Confucianism provides ethics but no gods, Buddhism provides some quasi-gods but less ethics, Shintoism provides ritual but is lack on many other respects, etc. Incidentally, from what I see, things like ancestral worshipping in China is forever elusively persistent and fundamentally latent, and is often less subject to the whims and caprices of the rulers than one would think.

  So then, Alan’s crayons are not just branded “religion”, they have a set of suffixes pertaining culture and ethnicity. But apart from several minute amends he made to the classic map of “clash of civilizations”, which is certainly debatable, he nevertheless by and large follows Huntington’s basic frame and produces a world map that is predominantly divided by national borders. But perhaps as an effort to escape Mr. Huntington’s shadow, he evokes something that he probably does not know how to fully control: this murderer’s weapon for over-determination of blood relationship here is called structuralism.

  Alan believes structuralism is about relations. And he thinks China is pretty much a “structural” society, compared to, say, the US, where tensions are focused on the entities per se, or the individuals. Two of the seminal schools that defines Chineseness, as he believes, are Confucianism and Taoism, where, it is the relations among things that is at the core of their teachings: Yin and Yang, emperor and subjects, father and son, husband and wife, etc. Therefore, he goes on to say, the fundamental building piece of Chinese society, is relations, which is precisely why it is extremely difficult to pin down a definite disparate delineation of the common core of the Sinic world. This is, mildly put, questionable: Alan probably failed to recognize that every single unit in his unfolding chain of examples are, as a matter of fact, dyadic; that they do not permit any infiltration of a third party; that they remain in a closed circuit that denies themselves external contact, and that in most cases one of the two elements are perpetually dominant. This no doubt goes against the classical structuralist mantra of negativity where every single utterance promises an infinitude of possible substitutes that could weave a seamless web of relations to supply an illusion of the real, and hence makes everything tick. This, as I happen to believe, is not how China works.

  However, I do not profess to know the answer to the questions “how does China work”, or anything that might approximate an answer—in fact, I believe very few can. The very amiable sinologist Kevin Rudd, on the other hand, might be one of them. In his latest remarks on this presidency of China, he spoke of the ruling ideologies of the Chinese. He believes to understand China one has to go back to Hegelian dialectics, Marxian principles, and Mao’s theory of conflicts. I believe you can easily tease out a number in all three of those theories: yep, “2”. I won’t go into any details to unpack them, but I believe the takeaway message is self-evident here: it is the pair of the dyadic relations, not the parties (excuse the pun) involved in any given relations, that persists ad infinitum, and that is what made possible the socialist ideas to take roots in the ancient soil of oriental wisdom, and that is at the core of the so-called Chineseness.

  So Alan’s misjudgment is not his misrecognition of the dichotomy of these relations, or the permeability of them in Chineseness—he is absolutely brilliant to point that out—but rather, it is that he fails to recognize these dyadic relations are all deterministic. “2” has always been the magic number for China, but the elements that have been separated apart are not necessarily equal; in fact, they are almost always unequal, to the point where one aspect rise to a preeminent position, and eventually dominates the other to form a relatively stable equilibrium. This is when “one” becomes “two”, as eloquently pointed out by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari: “one becomes two: whenever we encounter this formula, even stated strategically by Mao or understood in the most ‘dialectical’ way possible, what we have before us is the most classical and well reflected, oldest, and weariest kind of thought”. Indeed, we can probably trace this genealogy all the way to Don Miguel, and then to Darwin, Nietzsche and Freud, before arriving finally at Marx and Lenin. These figures, and perhaps every single one of the million Chinese who have gone through proper high school education, are only willing to say “one thing leads to another” instead of “one thing happens after another”, and therefore subliminally entrap themselves in an abyss where they delude themselves to believe this is a secure space to be alone with their reflecting gaze.

  This is not the only place where Alan haphazardly stumbles upon a magnificent possibility: another notable surreptitious find of him is Japan. Like Huntington, he has a penchant for separating Japan from the Sinosphere, thus creating a Japonosphere where Japan the country alone represents the entirety of its civilizational aggregation. Though this is blatantly biased given the fact that he has spent a good deal of time there and zero time in places like European Russia, the entirety of which he conveniently assigns to Eurosphere; it is nevertheless largely excusable considering the innate uniqueness of Japan, when compared with other Sinosphere countries like Vietnam and Korea. But one thing that I find difficult to be categorized as laudable is the fact that he employs a methodology which uses urheimat to account for the spinal cord of a culture. The fatal flaw of this Tocquevillian recipe lies, preliminarily, in that it relies heavily on paleoanthropology and evolutionary linguistic findings, and should a new subversive discovery emerge, it could render a whole book moot. In this case, when Alan goes to town explaining away everything that is going on in the Japanese society using the primal traditions of the shamans in the Altai mountains, he is probably unaware of the fact that the so-called Altaic language family, which propose to unite Tungusic, Turkic, Mongolic, Koreanic and Japnonic languages under a single super language family, is now considered a myth. The earliest of the Japnaese people, is now believed to be a mixture of peoples coming from Manchuria and Southeast Asian islands (or if you subscribe to the Tomb Raider game, then Yamatai)—their urheimat could be as different as a tropical island, instead of a cave in the ever-wintry ridges, and hence a different set of deities and shamanistic rituals might be in place.

  Again, this method of origin tracing might still be somewhat excusable and yield generative findings—indeed I do believe the connection Alan drew between modern Japanese psyche and prehistoric mountainous shamans are far from being a superficial one—but a more profound fallibility, compared with the one mentioned above, is that it struggles to tackle dynamicity and is prone to linear lithification. In other words, this type of tracing might be reluctant to assent to the substantive influence of an adventitious intervention. It is only willing to acknowledge the peripheral influence of a latecomer, but never it as a pivotal shaping force. Now whether Japan should be included in the Sinosphere, or to use a more decentering and now widely accepted term, East Asian Cultural Sphere, is not something that I intend to discuss here: for the simple reason that I do not care. Suffice to say, the incipience of Japanese culture is fundamentally different from that of the Chinese, but the former decisively dueted and decoupled with, dilated and diluted in, the latter.

  I should note here however, that to talk about in betweens is not how one should talk in between—though, again, we might discover some hidden gems. Here I merely want to suggest a possibility: a cheesy appropriation of Foster’s Rule, carefully dancing away from pseudoscience and metaphysics, might shed some light on the deviation of insular culture from their continental relatives. I’m thinking about the mechanization of British humor and its obsession with institutionalizations, the inescapable insulation of individuals in Haruki Murakami and the psychotic insecurities in Nihon oyobi Nihonjin no michi.

  Then again, we might achieve nothing following this trail. On the other side of origin tracing is a horrid void known as (post) structuralism, the center of which lies a Scylla named nihilism and a Charybdis named ahistoricism. If, as I happen to believe, we want to sail forth bearing the flags of anti-Othering and decentering, then our final destination would lie behind this ordeal.