Tag: Pīnyin Was Plan A

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pútao

pútao (grape 葡萄) 👈🏼 Tap/click to show/hide the “flashcard”

As part of a series of posts about some common myths about Chinese characters, this post discusses the Monosyllabic Myth. So, this week’s MEotW is pútao (grape 葡萄)”, since the very existence of this simple, well-known Mandarin word, with its two inseparable syllables that together express a single meaning, handily disproves this myth.

A bunch of grapes hanging on a vine

Creative Commons Public Domain logo Michael Pardo [source]

Monosyllabic?

In the book The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, linguist and sinologist John DeFrancis thus introduces the chapter entitled “The Monosyllabic Myth”:

“In this language there is neither an alphabet nor any definite number of letters, but there are as many characters as there are words or expressions.” So said the sixteenth-century Catholic missionary Michele Ruggieri, one of the first Westerners to undertake what he called the “semi-martyrdom” of studying Chinese (quoted in Bernard 1933:149). Ruggieri’s views were similar to those of his superior, Father Matteo Ricci, as paraphrased by Father Nicola Trigault, who also transmitted the opinion that in Chinese “word, syllable, and written symbol are the same” and that the words “are all monosyllabic; not even one disyllabic or polysyllabic word can be found” (Trigault 1615:25-26).

Even these early observations reveal one of the main reasons for the confusion leading to the Monosyllabic Myth—namely, the failure to distinguish between speech and writing. It is the despair of linguists, who insist on keeping the two apart, that they have so little success in achieving their aim and hence must do incessant battle against the practice of using an observation about writing to reach a conclusion about speech.

Just as with the Emulatability Myth, it seems that missionaries of Christendom were involved in spreading the Monosyllabic Myth, the erroneous idea that each Chinese character represents a one-syllable word. Yes, the list of erroneous ideas that Christendom has been involved in spreading is certainly a long one!

As for speech and writing, the article “Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音) Was Plan A” says the following about their relative importance:

Jehovah built right into us the specialized equipment we need to directly produce speech, but we can only produce writing indirectly through the general purpose tools that are our hands, which generally must do so using external, man-made tools and media such as pens and keyboards and paper and computer screens. If even us humans can design and build things with screens that can dynamically display writing, then Jehovah certainly could have designed our bodies to be able to do so as well, but he didn’t. Instead, Jehovah himself designed our bodies so that “speech is primary, writing secondary”.

Chinese Characters, Chinese Speech, and Monosyllabism

Having reminded us of the important distinction between speech and writing when it comes to any human language, including Mandarin, DeFrancis goes into some detail about how the views of many about Chinese writing and about Chinese speech have contributed to the pervasiveness of the Monosyllabic Myth:

MONOSYLLABISM DERIVED FROM WRITING

In alphabetic writing systems such as English the separation of graphic units by white space, a relatively late development in the history of writing (Gelb 1963:19), is a popular means of defining a word despite the somewhat haphazard way in which many of the demarcations came about. In Chinese the fact that the characters in a running text are normally set off from each other by the same amount of space between adjacent characters regardless of how closely they may be tied together in meaning is also an important factor in defining characters as words.

It is individual characters that form the basis for dictionary entries. Each character is provided with a dictionary listing which gives its pronunciation, consisting always of a single syllable, and its meaning, which may be single or multiple. The conventional dictionary pronunciation of a character does not always correspond with the sound in speech that the syllable is supposed to represent. …

A more serious objection to the handling of characters in ordinary dictionaries involves semantics. Each character is presented as an independent unit and is defined as having at least one meaning. The assumption that each character represents an independent meaningful syllable leads to the conclusion that each character represents a monosyllabic word.

MONOSYLLABISM SURMISED FROM SPEECH

The notion of monosyllabism derived from the writing system is further reinforced by the generally held view of Chinese speech. The syllable in Chinese is often considered phonologically distinct in that it is more rigidly determined than is the case in many other languages, such as English. Chinese syllables, with some exceptions that can be disregarded here, are invariant in the sense that they do not undergo the kind of internal change exhibited by English man-men, his-him, love-loved. In itself this is not a particularly distinctive or particularly significant feature. It has, however, helped to create a situation in which “the syllable is accorded a special status in Chinese…as a psychological unit” (Arlotto 1968:521). The syllable is held to be the type of unit between phoneme and sentence that in English is called a “word” (Chao 1968a:136). Since the syllable is represented by a character, the latter too is held to represent a word. The equating of syllable with character, the notion that both represent a word, and the fact that each individual character, and hence each individual syllable attached to it, has individual meaning, all combine to characterize both speech and writing as “monosyllabic.”

Commenting on the extent to which the Monosyllabic Myth has spread because of factors such as those mentioned above, DeFrancis speaks of

the popular view that the syllable always has meaning and is not a mere morpheme [e.g., the “er” in “teacher”] but a full-fledged word.

He goes on to say:

The popular misconception of the Chinese speaking entirely in words of one syllable is reinforced by some specialists who exaggerate…either because they lack…understanding or because in the interest of popularization they oversimplify to the point of error.

Sweet Grapes

Providing a well-known example of a Mandarin word which definitely has more than one syllable, DeFrancis discusses “pútao (grape 葡萄)”, this week’s MEotW:

Assiduous scholarly research may sometimes succeed in tracing the provenance of a specific term, such as pútao (“grape”). The usual dictionary handling of this term, similar to that for “butterfly,” presents a two-character expression meaning “grape” under both the character 葡 (pú) defined as “grape” and the character 萄 (tao) also defined as “grape.” In fact, however, the two syllables are inseparable and meaningless in themselves. They actually constitute a phonetic loan derived from an Iranian word *badag(a) that entered into Chinese when the grapevine was brought back from Ferghana in Central Asia by the Chinese general Zhang Qian in 126 B.C. (Chmielewski 1958). This precise dating of the origin of a disyllabic expression in Chinese further illustrates how misleading is the dictionary procedure that gives independent meanings for each of the characters used to write the two syllables in such terms.

Not Created Equal

It’s true that in the Chinese characters writing system, each character represents a Mandarin syllable. However, all Mandarin syllables are not created equal. DeFrancis gives us a breakdown about the different types of Mandarin syllables:

There are thus three types of Chinese syllables:

1. F: free, meaningful
2. SB: semibound, meaningful
3. CB: completely bound, meaningless

These three categories are roughly comparable in English to the free form teach, the semibound form er in “teacher” and “preacher,” and the completely bound forms cor and al in “coral.” The first two categories are morphemes, the third is not, as is the case also with their counterparts in Chinese.

…

A random sample of two hundred characters reveals the following distribution:

44% free (includes 7% literary)
45% semibound
11% completely bound
100%

So, while the Monosyllabic Myth holds that “each character represents a monosyllabic word”, the reality is that, as shown above, fewer than half of characters stand on their own as free, monosyllabic words—the rest are bound as components of multisyllable words. DeFrancis goes on to share what Zhōu Yǒuguāng ((Zhōu {Circumference; Circle (surname)} 周 周/週) (Yǒu·guāng Has · Light 有光) (Chinese linguist, etc., known as “the father of Pīnyīn”)), who led the team that developed Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音), had to say on the matter:

Zhou Youguang, using a different corpus of characters than the approximately 4,800 of the Chao and Yang dictionary, and also perhaps having a different opinion as to whether a specific character is free or bound, says that “44 percent free is too much!” In his opinion, only 2,000 or so, or about 30 percent, of the 6,800 “modern standard characters” needed to write contemporary Chinese are free words (Zhou 1982:personal communication).

Where’s the Harm?

Is the Monosyllabic Myth merely of academic concern? Has it resulted in any real, practical harmful effects? Note how DeFrancis concludes his chapter on the Monosyllabic Myth:

HARMFUL ASPECTS OF “MONOSYLLABIC”

As in the case of the Ideographic Myth, the Monosyllabic Myth has fostered a kind of cliché thinking about Chinese. Because of its application to both speech and writing it has helped to obscure the difference between the two. Moreover, it has distracted scholarly attention from pursuing certain meaningful lines of research, such as a closer examination of the possible relationship between speech and writing as revealed in China’s voluminous literature.

But the worst aspect of the myth is when it is taken up in a distorted version by the public at large, as for example by the illustrious and authoritative Oxford English Dictionary, in which “monosyllabic” is glossed as a philological term “used as the distinctive epithet of those languages (e.g., Chinese) which have a vocabulary wholly of monosyllables.”…

For the impact of the term “monosyllabic” on the general public has been generally bad. The notion of speaking wholly in words of one syllable, or of reading and writing in the same fashion, in many minds carries with it a connotation of inadequacy and backwardness or at best of childish simplicity. …

…

…This is unfortunate because, apart from denigrating a language and a script of enormous complexity and sophistication, it reveals our failure to get across to the public at large the idea that the real world of Chinese speech and writing is much more fascinating than the mythological world of Chinese monosyllabism.

Reverberations Beyond Characters

The Monosyllabic Myth about characters has even reverberated in the world of Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音), which some have insisted on writing as if each syl la ble was a sep a rate word, in slav ish de vo tion to the sup pos ed ly mon o syl lab ic na ture of the char ac ters.

At the other extreme, in their efforts to properly move past the erroneously perceived monosyllabism of the Chinese characters when they write Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音), some seem to have overcompensated for the Great Wall of spaceless, faceless, seemingly monosyllabic text written in characters by often smooshing multiple syllables together into long, unbroken, hard-to-read expressions. For example, some would write “dānyīnjié” as one continuous string.

However, breaking up long, multisyllable expressions with spaces or hyphens can often significantly improve readability, as in the case of “dān‐yīnjié” ((dān single 单 單)‐(yīn·jié sound · node; knot → [syllable] 音节 音節) → [monosyllabic | monosyllable]) compared to “dānyīnjié”, “wùlǐ‐xué‐jiā” ((wù·lǐ things’ · {logic → [laws]} [→ [physics]] 物理)‐(xué studying 学 學)‐(jiā -ist 家) → [physicist]) compared to “wùlǐxuéjiā”, or “wù‐rù‐qítú” ((wù {by mistake}; mistakenly; {by accident} 误 誤/悞)‐(rù enter; {go into}; join 入)‐(qí·tú {fork; branch → [different; divergent | wrong]} · road; route; journey; way 歧途) → [go astray; be misled; take a wrong step in life]) compared to “wùrùqítú” or even “wùrù‐qítú”. So, Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音) Plus material now often uses spaces and hyphens as appropriate to enhance readability when rendering multisyllable Mandarin expressions, especially those with three or more syllables.

Anyway, to conclude, the Monosyllabic Myth about Chinese characters is…BUSTED!

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Culture History Language Learning Names Technology

fántǐ‐zì

fántǐ (fán·tǐ complicated; complex; difficult · {body → [style] → [typeface; font]} → [traditional Chinese] 繁体 繁體)‐zì (characters 字) 👈🏼 Tap/click to show/hide the “flashcard”

[This is a reposting of a post that was originally posted on November 30, 2020. I took the opportunity to flesh out the original post and this repost with additional material.]

For a long, long, long time, Chinese characters were just Chinese characters. Then, in 1956, the Communist government of mainland China issued what came to be known as the First Chinese Character Simplification Scheme (a second round of Chinese character simplification was later attempted and ultimately rescinded), and official simplified Chinese characters came into the world. (Some characters had been unofficially simplified and used for various purposes, both everyday and artistic, before that.)

Name?

To distinguish these newfangled official simplified Chinese characters from the Chinese characters that had existed before, and that continue to be used by many people in many parts of the world, retronyms were coined to refer to these pre-existing Chinese characters, just as the term “acoustic guitar” was coined to refer to a regular non-electric guitar after electric guitars came along.

In the English-speaking world, the pre-official simplification characters have come to be called “traditional Chinese characters”, as opposed to the “simplified Chinese characters”. In the Chinese-speaking world, as is true of many things regarding Chinese characters, the situation is…complicated. Wikipedia summarizes the situation thusly:

Traditional Chinese characters (the standard characters) are called several different names within the Chinese-speaking world. The government of Taiwan officially calls traditional Chinese characters standard characters or orthodox characters (traditional Chinese: 正體字; simplified Chinese: 正体字; pinyin: zhèngtǐzì; Zhuyin Fuhao: ㄓㄥˋ ㄊㄧˇ ㄗˋ).[source] However, the same term is used outside Taiwan to distinguish standard, simplified and traditional characters from variant and idiomatic characters.[source]

In contrast, users of traditional characters outside Taiwan, such as those in Hong Kong, Macau and overseas Chinese communities, and also users of simplified Chinese characters, call them complex characters (traditional Chinese: 繁體字; simplified Chinese: 繁体字; pinyin: fántǐzì; Zhuyin Fuhao: ㄈㄢˊ ㄊㄧˇ ㄗˋ). Users of simplified characters sometimes informally refer to them as “old characters” (Chinese: 老字; pinyin: lǎozì; Zhuyin Fuhao: ㄌㄠˇ ㄗˋ).

Users of traditional characters also sometimes call them “full Chinese characters” (traditional Chinese: 全體字; simplified Chinese: 全体字; pinyin: quántǐ zì; Zhuyin Fuhao: ㄑㄩㄢˊ ㄊㄧˇ ㄗˋ) to distinguish them from simplified Chinese characters.

In my experience in the Chinese fields in Canada, I have always heard traditional Chinese characters referred to using this week’s MEotW, “fántǐ (fán·tǐ complicated; complex; difficult · {body → [style] → [typeface; font]} → [traditional Chinese] 繁体 繁體)‐zì (characters 字)”. For reference, this is also the term used on jw.org when referring to Mandarin written using traditional Chinese characters:

jw.org referring to Mandarin written using traditional Chinese characters

jw.org refers to traditional Chinese characters as “fántǐ (fán·tǐ complicated; complex; difficult · {body → [style] → [typeface; font]} → [traditional Chinese] 繁体 繁體)” characters.

Beloved by Traditionalists and Purists, But Complicated

Many feel that traditional characters are the best characters of all, since, in their estimation, the official simplified characters have lost some of the heart and soul of characters. As a symbolic example, some point to how the simplified character for “love”, “爱”, omits the “heart” radical (“心”), which is appropriately in the traditional character for “love”, “愛”.

Yes, as the above post mentions, the obvious, glaring issue with traditional characters is—aggravated by the fact that there are tens of thousands of them—their extreme, extraordinary complexity, the result of their problematically complex basic nature, along with thousands of years of accumulated occasionally arbitrary design decisions and developmental cruft. For example, note the below excerpt from p. 82 of the book The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, by John DeFrancis:

In the case of the rendition for the huáng meaning “sturgeon” we have two variants, one written with the “yellow” phonetic and the other with the “emperor” phonetic, both combined with the semantic element for “fish”:

魚 “fish”
鱑 “fish” + huáng “yellow” = huáng “sturgeon”
鰉 “fish” + huáng “emperor” = huáng “sturgeon”

While etymological research might succeed in clarifying the basis for some of the variation, in many cases, as one specialist in Chinese paleography concludes, “it is simply a matter of the whim of the writer” (Barnard 1978:203).

Scribal whim goes far to explain a diversity bordering on chaos in the forms of the Chinese characters as they evolved in the Shang dynasty and during the long years of political and administrative disunity in the Zhou dynasty (ca. 1028–221 B.C.). The situation was aggravated by the fact that characters were created by writers living in different historical periods, which inevitably meant changes in sounds over the years, and speaking different dialects, which inevitably affected their choice of phonetic elements in the creation of new characters.

Their inherent extraordinary complexity, exacerbated by an accumulated millennia-long history of design decisions made on a whim, out-of-date phonetic elements, etc., causes especially the traditional characters, and even the (moderately) simplified characters, to be extremely difficult for us imperfect humans to learn and to remember. This has lead to character amnesia and the Great Wall of unfamiliar characters being real things, even among those who have been studying characters for decades. How complex can traditional characters get? Theoretically, there is no upper limit!

The extreme, extraordinary complexity of traditional characters undoubtedly contributed greatly to illiteracy having been widespread in China for much of its history. Even for those who are privileged to be able to devote the extraordinary amount of time and effort needed to learn traditional characters, it’s a long, hard slog, compared to learning a comparatively simple and compact alphabetical writing system. It’s little wonder, then, that there have been serious, concerted efforts to simplify and even replace traditional Chinese characters.

Categories
Culture History Language Learning Names Technology

Hànzì

Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) ← Tap/click to show/hide the “flashcard”

[This is a reposting of a post that was originally posted on November 23, 2020. It discusses how, in the big picture, we Mandarin field language learners should view Chinese characters, those seemingly essential but maddeningly difficult-to-learn-and-remember icons of worldly Chinese culture.]

“Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字)” is what Chinese characters are called in Mandarin. Actually, “Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字)” literally means “Han characters”, but as discussed in the MEotW post on “Hànyǔ (Hàn·yǔ {Han (Chinese)} · Language [→ [(Modern Standard) Mandarin]] 汉语 漢語)”, the Han are by far the largest ethnic group in China, and they are the dominant cultural force in China. Thus, Han characters are, in effect, Chinese characters.

漢字 汉字

Han culture has affected not only China, but also many of the surrounding nations. The words used by some of these nations to refer to “Chinese characters” are obvious echoes of “Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字)”:

  • Japanese: kanji
  • Korean: Hanja
  • Vietnamese: hán tự

Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) are still used a lot in modern Japanese writing. However, although Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) used to be the dominant writing system in Korea and in Vietnam, those nations have moved on to mainly use alphabetic writing systems.

The Korean Connection

Regarding the situation in Korea, the Awake! article “Let’s Try Writing in Hankul!” says:

BEFORE Hankul [or Hangul] was created, the Korean language did not have its own script. For more than a thousand years, educated Koreans wrote their language using Chinese characters. Over the years, however, various attempts were made to devise a better writing system. But since all of them were based on Chinese characters, only the well-educated could use them.

…

King Sejong spearheaded the creation of an alphabet that would both suit spoken Korean and be easy to learn and use.

…

Sadly, some scholars opposed Hankul, precisely because it was so easy to learn! They derisively called it Amkul, meaning “women’s letters.” They disdained a system that could be learned even by women, who back then were not taught to read in the schools. This prejudice against Hankul persisted among upper-class Koreans for some time. In fact, more than 400 years elapsed before the Korean government declared that Hankul could be used in official documents.

The Chinese Conundrum

How about the writing system situation in China itself? Do the Chinese languages need to be written using Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字)? Chinese traditionalists have influenced many people to assume so, but there is actually no technical linguistic requirement that any Chinese language be written using Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字)—writing Chinese languages using Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) is purely and merely a deeply embedded tradition.

Proof that the use of Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) is merely a tradition and not a technical requirement comes from the fact that Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音), a phonetic alphabetic system designed by a Chinese government team, is a good, workable full writing system for Modern Standard Mandarin.

Why has China held on to its traditional use of Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) when other nations have moved on to alphabetic writing systems? As mentioned in the MEotW post on “Zhōngguó (Zhōng·guó Central · Nation → [China | Chinese] 中国 中國)”,

Some wonder why China has held on to its archaic characters writing system instead of moving on to using a modern alphabetic writing system like almost every other nation does, even though outstanding native sons like Lǔ Xùn ((Lǔ Stupid; Rash (surname) 鲁 魯) (Xùn Fast; Quick; Swift 迅) (pen name of Zhōu Shùrén, the greatest Chinese writer of the 20th cent. and a strong advocate of alphabetic writing)) have advocated strongly for that. Perhaps the proud self-centredness of the only nation to name itself the centre of the world provides a clue….

When the Communists took over China a few years after World War II, their Plan A for China’s writing system situation actually did involve eventually moving on from the characters to an alphabetic writing system that would be developed, which turned out to be Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音). However, the government needed the help of the people already educated in Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字), and many of these people opposed this plan that they feared would involve leaving behind, or at least de-emphasizing, a cultural tradition that they were very proud of, that they had invested very much time and effort into mastering, and that gave them much prestige in the existing environment.1 In other words, the pride and prejudice of those who had already been educated in the Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) caused them to disparage and oppose the idea of a simpler alternative writing system, just as had been the case in Korea, as noted above. So, the simplification of the Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) is the farthest China has gotten so far with regard to official writing system reform, and even that has only been achieved in the face of much criticism and opposition.

Chairman Máo Zédōng ((Máo Hair (surname) 毛) (Zé·dōng Marsh · East 泽东 澤東) (the founder of the People’s Republic of China)) (Wikipedia article) himself supported continuing to move on, from simplification of the characters to actually adopting Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音) as a writing system. In a letter to an old schoolmate, he wrote:

…Pinyin writing is a form of writing that is relatively convenient. Chinese characters are too complicated and difficult. At present we are only engaged in reform along the lines of simplification, but some day in the future we must inevitably carry out a basic reform.2

Letter from Mao endorsing a transition from Chinese characters to alphabetic writing

(The above picture is from near the beginning of the book The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, by John DeFrancis.)

While obviously what Máo ((Máo Hair (surname) 毛) (abbr. for Máo Zédōng, the founder of the People’s Republic of China)) foresaw regarding a writing system “basic reform” in China has not yet come true, American sinologist and University of Pennsylvania Professor of East Asian Languages and Civilizations Victor H. Mair wrote in a blog post:

So, those who are in favor of HP [Hànyǔ (Hàn·yǔ {Han (Chinese)} · Language → [(Modern Standard) Mandarin] 汉语 漢語) Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音)] don’t need to be concerned, and those who are opposed to HP don’t need to be frightened. HP is ineluctably playing a greater and greater role in the educational, cultural, social, political, and every other aspect of the lives of Chinese citizens, and this is occurring without regard to anyone pushing it as a governmental program. It is happening because of the wishes of those who actually use it for a wide variety of helpful purposes.

Digraphia [the use of more than one writing system for the same language, in this case the use of both Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) and Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音) for writing Modern Standard Mandarin] is emerging before our very eyes, enabling people to use the alphabet and the characters for whatever purposes they deem suitable. Nobody needs to take a vote or carry out a survey for this to happen.

Tourists or Missionaries?

Regardless of how worldly Chinese people view the Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字), how should we dedicated Mandarin field language-learners view them? It would be easy to fall back on the commonly accepted view, the tourist’s view, that the Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) are an integral and fascinating part of China’s precious cultural heritage that we should duly respect and even heap adulation upon.

However, as Mandarin field language-learners, we are not in the Mandarin field to be tourists just enjoying the exotic foreign culture. On the contrary, we must be more like missionaries or spiritual rescue workers involved in an urgent life-saving work, because lives are indeed involved. As ones involved in an urgent, life-saving work, we need tools, technologies, and systems that efficiently and effectively help us to get this work done without wasting time and effort when people’s everlasting lives are at stake. From this sober and pragmatic angle, the extraordinarily difficult-to-learn-and-remember Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) are far from ideal. Thus, while there is obviously value in learning as many Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字) as one is reasonably able to, it is fortunate that Pīnyīn (Pīn·yīn {Piecing Together of} · Sounds → [Pinyin] 拼音) exists and is available as a simple, effective alternative writing system for Mandarin, for the many times when it is not necessary to use Hànzì (Hàn·zì {Han (Chinese)} · Characters 汉字 漢字).

 

1. John DeFrancis, The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1984), p. 258. ^

2. Ibid., p. 295. ^