2.1. What is Fictionalism?

Let me continue by presenting the contemporary side of my proposed synthesis: the philosophical theory of fictionalism. Fictionalism can be provisionally characterized as a constellation of views according to which some regions of discourse are not best seen as aiming at (literal) truth either because (a) they should not be seen as truth-directed at all (force fictionalism) or (b) they should be seen as truth-directed, though expressions within them are not (typically) used literally (content fictionalism).^{Footnote 12} Fictionalists grant standard realist semantic interpretations of sentences within the disputed regions of discourse but maintain that the point of accepting them is not to commit ourselves to their truth, as they, unlike realists, do not hold that they are true.^{Footnote 13} To bring out the contrast a bit more clearly, a content (but not a merely force) fictionalist about moral discourse could hold, for example, that when a speaker utters the sentence ‘Stealing is wrong,’ what they^{Footnote 14} (typically) assert instead is something along the lines of the proposition that, according to the fiction of morality, stealing is wrong. Thus, for a content fictionalist, moral discourse can aim at truth at the level of what is pragmatically, rather than semantically, conveyed—or, if one prefers, what is non-literally, rather than literally, conveyed.^{Footnote 15} This, however, is not the approach of a (purely) force fictionalist, who holds that no alternative propositional content gets asserted or otherwise put forth, and hence that the relevant region of discourse cannot aim at truth.^{Footnote 16} Rather, in uttering such sentences, some other (perhaps perlocutionary) speech act is performed. Hence, sentences like ‘Stealing is wrong’ should be accepted, not because we use them to express truths, but because they facilitate prudential action.^{Footnote 17} As Matti Eklund describes it, the basic idea is often that, for practical reasons—such as the fear of punishment, the desire for ongoing beneficial relationships, the motivation to maintain a good reputation, the simple fact that one on the whole likes one’s fellows, and so on—one normally ought to act in accordance with alleged moral requirements even if they are not used to express truths.^{Footnote 18}

2.2 Zhuangzi as Fictionalist: Evidence Concerning Arguments

There is reason to think that Zhuangzi can be profitably interpreted as a force fictionalist about all regions of discourse (or, in other words, as a global force fictionalist).^{Footnote 19} Some of the evidence in support of this interpretation concerns a variety of arguments, scattered throughout the Zhuangzi (especially in the Qiwulun, the second chapter of the text), which suggest a global scepticism about linguistic meaning and literal truth, and appear to aim at discrediting the activity of disputation altogether. Consider, e.g., the famous passage concerning ‘this’ and ‘that’^{Footnote 20} or ‘it’ and ‘other,’^{Footnote 21} in which Zhuangzi considers the possibility that human utterances may be no different from the peeps of baby birds, and suggests that (linguistically encoded) distinctions only appear to be accurate or legitimate against a backdrop of contextual factors that have more to do with perception than they do with reality:

Such thoughts are very much in keeping with the spirit of global force fictionalism in particular. For if words either do not have accurate meanings, or lack meanings at all, then it would seem to follow that they cannot be used to convey truths, thereby making it impossible for some region of discourse to be genuinely truth-directed, though it may present itself (i.e., semantically) as such. Moreover, Zhuangzi’s arguments—as in the case of ‘it’ and ‘other’—can be used to call into question the distinction between, e.g., the notions ‘meaningful’ and ‘meaningless’ and ‘true’ and ‘false.’ But, despite his apparent scepticism about (accurate) meaning and truth, Zhuangzi still seems to think that language is useful. (The Zhuangzi itself, after all, is composed of words!) Thus, insofar as some standard or set of standards is thought to apply to successful linguistic practice, it cannot involve (literal) truth.

2.3 Zhuangzi as Fictionalist: Evidence Concerning Style

Interestingly, however, in addition to evidence that supports an interpretation of Zhuangzi as a global force fictionalist that stems from the philosophical arguments that he offers, there is evidence that supports such an interpretation that concerns the style in which he writes. To begin with, it is possibly significant that the Zhuangzi opens with what is most reasonably read as a fictional story, involving a giant fish named ‘Kun’ that transforms into a bird named ‘Peng,’ only to be mocked by a talking cicada, dove, and quail (each of whom has far more limited abilities than Peng has):

Notably, this fictional story is attributed to an equally fictional ancient classic, variously translated as, e.g., the Tall stories of Ch’i ^{Footnote 24} or the Equalizing Jokebook.^{Footnote 25} Consequently, one might think that, from the very beginning, Zhuangzi sets us up to read what he says as fiction (and does so in a way that mocks the pretensions of, e.g., Confucians and Mohists to give literally true or accurate accounts of the world based on literally true or accurate classical works). But, despite being fictional (as well as highly fantastical and in many ways containing paradoxical elements), this story is clearly meant to serve some purpose or another, despite the fact that it is not meant to be taken literally.^{Footnote 26} And there are many other passages in the Zhuangzi that are similarly not likely intended to be interpreted at face value. (As Burton Watson notes, “deliberate fantasy … characterizes the book as a whole.”^{Footnote 27}) Just a few of the most memorable of these passages include:

• • The Mountain Man (a story involving a man who “does not eat the five grains but sucks in the wind and drinks the dew” and “rides the vapour of the clouds, yokes flying dragons to his chariot, and roams beyond the four seas”),^{Footnote 28}

• • Three Every Morning, Four Every Evening (a story involving monkeys that are furious about being given three nuts in the morning and four in the evening, but are satisfied when offered four in the morning and three in the evening),^{Footnote 29}

• • The Useless Tree (a story involving a talking tree that appears in a carpenter’s dream to lecture him about the usefulness of uselessness).^{Footnote 30}

Others involve (among other things) what appear to be:

• • fictional characters (often with unusual names, like ‘Gaptooth’ and ‘Uglyface T’o’),^{Footnote 31}

• • fictional situations (perhaps especially those involving Confucius),

• • people with abilities too mystifying or deformities too horrifying to be real (such as a character whom A.C. Graham calls ‘Cripple Shu,’^{Footnote 32} and describes as follows: “[H]is chin is buried down in his navel, his shoulders are higher than his crown, the knobbly bone at the base of his neck points at the sky, the five pipes to the spine are right up on top, his two thighbones make another pair of ribs.”),^{Footnote 33}

• • talking plants and animals (including, as mentioned above, insects, birds, and trees).

Moreover, in addition to the inclusion of many fictional stories, there seems to be no shortage of other devices that can be used to reduce a reader’s stock and credence (as Eric Schwitzgebel puts the point) in the literal content of a work to be found in the Zhuangzi, including (but not limited to):

• • literary devices and tropes (including dialogues, fables, allegories, and metaphors,^{Footnote 34}

• • extensive use of quotations (particularly those involving some who were likely perceived as rivals, such as Confucius),^{Footnote 35}

• • appeals to unlikely as well as intuitively untrustworthy or disreputable sources,^{Footnote 36}

• • frequent changes of subject and non-sequiturs,^{Footnote 37}

• • rhetorical questions,^{Footnote 38}

• • reversals of ordinary judgements,^{Footnote 39}

• • outwardly dubious, paradoxical, or nonsensical remarks,^{Footnote 40}

• • liberal application of humour, parody, and ridicule,^{Footnote 41}

• • evident contempt for (or at least suspicion of) the adequacy of language as far as attaining a variety of different ends is concerned,^{Footnote 42}

• • seeming disdain for (or perhaps merely scepticism about the value of) convention,^{Footnote 43}

• • lack of clarity as to what is sincerely proposed and what is merely entertained, cultivated in all manner of ways, especially in the form of statements made and then questioned without any clear resolution (this is related to the ‘rhetorical questions’ point above).^{Footnote 44}

Kjellberg has also observed that Zhuangzi frequently uses the rhetorical device of rhyming duplicatives, and claimed that some studies suggest it to be a trans-linguistic phenomenon that such phrases, like ‘ooga-booga,’ convey a mixture of confusion and mystery.^{Footnote 45} Moreover, as Kjellberg also points out, Zhuangzi is unique among early Chinese philosophers for his extensive use of onomatopoeia, which suggests that, for Zhuangzi, in the absence of agreed-upon definitions, human discourse might in the end be nothing more than empty sounds.^{Footnote 46}

As Bryan Van Norden has noted, such textual features have made the Zhuangzi function much like a Rorschach test in that it elicits many different interpretations from different readers, depending on, e.g., their presuppositions and preferences.^{Footnote 47} Of course, it is likely impossible to say for sure whether Zhuangzi can be credited with intending to bring about such an effect. However, even if such an effect was unintended, it at least suggests an author who cares more about provoking reactions than conveying a concrete message. Moreover, perhaps even the fact that the work reads as both literary and philosophical itself suggests that Zhuangzi does not consider the boundary between fictional discourse and non-fictional discourse to be all that sharp—if indeed he considers it to exist at all. All this lends support to the claim that he can be interpreted as holding a view to the effect that discourse needn’t ever aim at truth (even if it purports to) in order to be worth engaging in, and that he often at least appears—and perhaps even pretends—to assert or argue for claims that he does not believe (a practice that a fictionalist stance could both explain and motivate).

2.4 Zhuangzi’s Fictionalism as Attitude or Perspective

The proposal, then, is that—in addition to fictionalist arguments—Zhuangzi uses fiction and fictional (i.e., literary) devices, conventions, and techniques to motivate a fictionalist view about all regions of discourse. What, however, is the nature of this view? Is it best construed as a thesis, or something else? Given sensible claims about Zhuangzi’s attitudes toward (linguistically encoded) distinctions (suggested by, e.g., sceptical arguments that appear in the Qiwulun), it is reasonable to interpret him as being unconcerned with using language to apprehend truths about the world (thus ruling out the thesis option). Rather, he is arguably better interpreted as being concerned with using language to demonstrate or illustrate attitudes or perspectives, which can then be manifested in a multitude of ways in action, depending on the circumstances.^{Footnote 48} For pointing and gesturing, e.g., can have practical rather than theoretical functions: they needn’t involve acts of predication, and thus needn’t be the kinds of singling-out that presuppose exclusive disjunctions between discrete alternatives. This is because they may only draw attention to a possible attitude or perspective (thus leaving every other possible alternative unspecified).^{Footnote 49} After all, while one can disagree with an (assertive) articulation, one cannot disagree with a (non-assertive) demonstration or performance, such as an illustration. Further, while the purpose of (assertive) articulation is principally to motivate one way of thinking, with an at least implicit aim of excluding others, (non-assertive) demonstrations or illustrations needn’t do this. Rather, (non-assertive) demonstrations or illustrations can have contents that are much more open-ended, and can indicate or create attitudes or perspectives whose contents are not propositional.

This is not only consistent with Zhuangzi’s apparent approval of characters who are able to adapt to situations, and of flexibility or versatility in general, but also accords nicely with the thought that, for him, using language is one way to live well, even if one’s utterances can never express truths. For, given much of what Zhuangzi suggests (such as in the passage from the Qiwulun quoted above), the kinds of pointing or gesturing with language that are likely to be the most broadly productive will be those kinds that, say, demonstrate or illustrate highly open-ended attitudes or perspectives (thereby allowing everything to be brought to light). Moreover, pointing or gesturing in ways that subserve interaction and coordination are just the kinds of relevant activities that admit of being more-or-less well performed.

We can thus conclude that Zhuangzi aims to convey a fictionalist attitude or perspective on all discourse, so as to preserve language’s open-ended potentialities. After all, that Zhuangzi aims to demonstrate or illustrate (rather than articulate) a fictionalist attitude or perspective, rather than a thesis, not only jibes with many of the sceptical arguments that we find suggested in the text, but also explains why he writes as he does: that is, in a way that’s largely literary rather than expository; playful rather than serious; and open-ended rather than committal. It also allows us to understand him as having a positive philosophical project that can avoid charges of self-referential absurdity. This is an important problem that affects both global sceptics^{Footnote 50} and force fictionalists alike, as the claim that nothing can be known, the claim that nothing can be (literally) true, and the claim that nothing can have a meaning all threaten to undermine themselves.^{Footnote 51} Interpreting Zhuangzi as a global force fictionalist can allow us to see him as aiming to demonstrate or illustrate attitudes or perspectives, and to inspire us to adopt at least some of them—such as those of a global force fictionalist—rather than to argue for any particular philosophical claim.^{Footnote 52}

3.1 The Zhuangzi and Literary Interpretation

Interpreting Zhuangzi in this manner, however, raises the question of how we might apprehend and engage such possibly non-propositional (but rather, attitudinal or perspectival) content. One plausible suggestion is that we accomplish this in much the same way as we apprehend and engage the cognitive content of literary works more generally. For not only is the Zhuangzi a literary as well as philosophical work, but it is natural to think that literary works, if they can be thought to have cognitive, or extra-fictional, epistemic (and not just aesthetic) content and value at all, do not generally have content and value that are propositional. This is because it is not clear whether literary fictions^{Footnote 53} make claims about the world, or, if they do, whether their cognitive content and value (solely) consists in the claims that they manage to make.^{Footnote 54} This has led many recent commentators to oppose the traditional view that, insofar as the cognitive value of literature can be explicated in terms of knowledge, it is propositional knowledge in particular—often characterized as knowing that something is so. Rather, it is alleged that, insofar as the cognitive value of literature consists in its imparting knowledge, it is more promising to think that it consists in its imparting some other kind of knowledge, such as experiential knowledge, phenomenal knowledge, or perhaps knowing how to do something.^{Footnote 55} Such knowledge is often thought to be non-propositional in nature, though nonetheless concerned with aspects of reality.^{Footnote 56}

This, however, wouldn’t mean that we couldn’t say anything about the cognitive content and value of literary works, or that we couldn’t say anything that might help us to grasp it. We can, after all, say a lot about experiences, attitudes, and perspectives in general, even if we cannot typically—if ever—communicate a complete understanding of, e.g., what they are like and how to adopt and employ them. Rather, it simply suggests that the ways in which we interpret and engage literature (and reap its cognitive rewards) seem to differ in some fashion from the ways in which we interpret and engage (and reap the cognitive rewards of) what we take to be straightforward, declarative sentences about the ‘real’ world.

Perhaps, then, comparing how we interpret and engage literature in general—especially literature that is thought to have philosophical import—with how we might interpret and engage the Zhuangzi in particular will be edifying, if we are interested in investigating how we access literary, non-expository works’ cognitive content and value. This involves taking up three questions:

1. 1. How do we interpret and engage literature taken on its own terms, i.e., qua literature?

2. 2. How do we interpret and engage literature philosophically, i.e., qua philosophy?

3. 3. What does all of this suggest about how we, as philosophers, should interpret and engage the Zhuangzi, and what does this suggest about philosophical methodology more broadly?

3.2 Literary Interpretation, Imaginative Perspective-Taking, and the Cognitive Value of Literature^{Footnote 57}

Regarding the first question, interpreting and engaging literature is commonly thought to involve, at least in many cases, imaginative perspective-taking. But just what are some of the specific kinds of imaginative perspective-taking that works of literature standardly demand of readers, speaking more precisely? Two candidates include what might be profitably characterized as pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as.’ ^{Footnote 58} We can begin to develop an appreciation for the difference between pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ by contrasting two ways of approaching, e.g., a single sentence. Consider a canonical example from Western literature, discussed at length by Elisabeth Camp:

According to Camp, the main difference between the two activities under consideration is that pretence involves transforming something imaginatively, whereas metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ involves imaginatively employing something as a lens to structure one’s understanding of something else, as in:

At this point, one might justifiably be sceptical of the claim that fully engaging a work of literature requires that we participate in both (a) pretence (i.e., taking on a new perspective) and (b) metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ (i.e., using that perspective to better reflect on others). Might it not be the case, after all, that (a) is required, but not (b)? Couldn’t one fully appreciate Anna Karenina, e.g., without ever using the character of Anna to understand oneself, or anyone else, in the sort of way that Camp discusses? Couldn’t one simply attend to the novel considered on its own terms, as it were?^{Footnote 61}

In order to respond to this concern, another example—also from Anna Karenina—will be instructive. Although it may initially seem to take us farther afield from our discussion of the Zhuangzi and its relevance to philosophical methodology, its bearing on our central case study will soon become apparent.

One of my favourite parts of the novel involves Tolstoy’s characterization of Anna’s reaction upon meeting Vronsky (who later becomes her lover) for the second time, when he shows up unexpectedly at her brother Oblonsky’s home. Louise and Aylmer Maude’s translation renders the relevant passage as: “Anna looked down from the landing where she stood and at once recognized Vronsky, and a strange feeling of pleasure mixed with fear suddenly stirred in her heart.”^{Footnote 62} Now, in order to fully understand what is going on here, one not only must be following along with the book, so to speak—i.e., engaging in a certain kind of pretence—but also comparing what one takes to be Anna’s experiences with certain of one’s own experiences. Otherwise, what hope would one have of understanding what one takes to be Anna’s experience, even in the slightest? What might ‘pleasure mixed with fear’ be like, in this situation? Surely, answering this question will involve consulting one’s own experiences with the feelings that one takes to be picked out by the relevant terms, as well as with similar experiences, to the extent that one has them. However, if this is right, one is not only likely to be using oneself to understand Anna’s feelings (via pretence), but in so doing, one is also (and at the same time) likely to be using Anna’s feelings to understand one’s own (via metaphorical ‘seeing-as’), automatically and simultaneously, in virtue of engaging in the comparison in the first place or at all. For my part, when I initially read the passage that I cite above, I thought, more or less immediately, something along the lines of: ‘I know that feeling! Pleasure mixed with fear!’—though I had never (explicitly) cognized the relevant feeling as anything like ‘pleasure mixed with fear’ prior to having read it. And I will venture that this at least in part accounts for why it resonated with me in the way that it did, as it instantly provided me with a different way of characterizing a feeling that I had experienced before, but not understood all that well. Moreover, I suspect that anyone who has ever felt strongly attracted to someone with whom they were less than completely at ease (for whatever reason) will be disposed to respond similarly. But, this could only be possible if one were engaging in both the imaginative exercises of pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ while reading the novel; pretence alone could never yield this result. (After all, had I merely been immersed in the story, without comparing the circumstances that were unfolding in it with anything else—say, my own experiences—by engaging in metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ (e.g., using Anna to understand myself), I would not have been in any position to recognize the feeling picked out by the phrase ‘pleasure mixed with fear’ as being one with which I was previously acquainted.) What’s more, once one has this result, it is natural to use it in turn to better inform one’s understanding of Anna’s perspective, again by engaging in pretence, using myself to understand Anna! (For, once I recognized the feeling picked out by ‘pleasure mixed with fear’ as being one with which I was previously acquainted, I was able to draw on that knowledge of, e.g., what this feeling is like to cultivate a more enriched understanding of what Anna’s perspective is like.) Thus, perhaps pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ are more intimately related than they might appear at first glance, and as such, are both arguably crucial for full—or at least, fuller—literary appreciation, as there is a complex interplay between the two.^{Footnote 63} Furthermore, both pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ depend on attending to elements of style and form: specifically, in the literary case, to narratological features, such as style, voice, focalization, mood, and character development.

What, then, are some of the cognitive rewards that we might reap from interpreting and engaging literature in the manner sketched above? While a highly detailed response to this question is beyond the scope of this paper, one promising way of answering it involves making a case for the claim that, insofar as interpreting and engaging a work of literature requires us to participate in at least these two varieties of imaginative perspective-taking, its cognitive value resides at least in part in its ability to engender skill and know-how as regards adopting and employing particular attitudes or perspectives that it conveys (attitudes or perspectives that in turn at least partially constitute its cognitive content).^{Footnote 64} And this provides us with a way of answering the second question posed directly above: viz., how do we engage literature philosophically, i.e., qua philosophy? For, if those attitudes or perspectives are philosophically significant, they can be brought to bear on, and incorporated into, our philosophizing—even if we are not typically engaging in imaginative perspective-taking in any robust sense while doing so, and are writing in a non-literary, expository fashion, etc.^{Footnote 65}

3.3 Interpreting and Engaging the Zhuangzi: How and Why

To see more clearly how this might be so, let us turn to the first half of the third question, concerning what all of this suggests about how we, as philosophers, should interpret and engage the Zhuangzi in particular. As discussed in Section 1, the Zhuangzi is written in a style that is literary and non-expository, and its philosophical point is plausibly attitudinal or perspectival rather than propositional. And this accords well with the thought that, because of this, we should interpret and engage it in much the same way that we would interpret and engage many works of literature: that is, via (at least to some extent) participating in imaginative perspective-taking, such as pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as.’ Indeed, something like this may even strike some readers—especially in light of the comments from Kjellberg and Ivanhoe quoted near the outset of this paper—as independently plausible. For it harmonizes with the suggestion that one of the things that Zhuangzi is trying to illustrate is the complex interplay between, e.g., assumptions and interpretations, and attitudes and perspectives, as well as the predicament in which this leaves us. After all, when engaging the Zhuangzi, what must we, as his audience, do? Initially, we must try to interpret the text as best we can, though this will necessarily involve us in consulting things with which we are already familiar (such as words, concepts, and experiences), in addition to whatever unfamiliar material, such as the text itself. But—as in the example involving ‘pleasure mixed with fear,’ taken from Anna Karenina—this will naturally prompt us to see things with which we are already familiar in a new light. And, this will in turn prompt us to see the text itself in a new light, as well. Consider, e.g., the passage concerning the Peng bird cited earlier. Interpreting this passage involves first engaging in pretence—i.e., using ourselves, our own perspective on words, concepts, experiences, etc.—to understand the Peng’s perspective, which, given the height at which it is able to fly, is at the very least meant to be exceptionally expansive in some way. However, that is not enough. Rather, a full appreciation of the perspective conveyed by this element of the text will also involve metaphorical ‘seeing-as’: i.e., using what we take to be the Peng’s perspective to understand our own, which is obviously much more limited, at least in some sense, though at the same time full of presently untapped potential. However, this will naturally encourage us to see the Peng’s perspective in a new light, as well: for instance, as one that is tapping into certain kinds of potential that others have not tapped into, for a variety of reasons (reasons that we can apprehend by engaging in pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ when considering the perspectives of the cicada, dove, and quail). And, of course, this—as in the case of Anna Karenina—is just getting things started as far as interpreting and engaging the text is concerned, as many other passages within it seem similarly designed to free us from our overly rigid and stifling discriminations. Consider, for example, the story involving Zhuangzi’s ‘butterfly dream’ that concludes the Qiwulun:

This story also appears to be crafted to encourage greater perspectival flexibility. As Michael Puett points out:

Indeed, as Puett astutely observes, even abstracting away from particular stories, the Zhuangzi taken as a whole is reasonably interpreted as aiming to break us from the various limited perspectives that we have adopted and that we don’t even realize dominate and constrain us.^{Footnote 68} For, as he notes, reading the Zhuangzi:

Let us take stock. The central claim motivated above is that the Zhuangzi conveys a fictionalist attitude or perspective on discourse, and that apprehending and engaging this content plausibly requires us to read the Zhuangzi much as we would read other literary works at least to the extent that we engage in both pretence and metaphorical ‘seeing-as’ to adopt and employ their similarly (possibly non-propositional) attitudinal or perspectival contents. Thus, if we follow Puett here, and apply the fictionalist interpretation of the Zhuangzi sketched, as well as the suggestions as to how to interpret and engage literary works in general proposed, we can begin to flesh out a fuller story of how exactly we interpret and engage the text. As argued above, the Zhuangzi aims to convey a fictionalist perspective on all discourse. And we access that perspective both by engaging in pretence—that is, by imagining being Peng, the cicada, the dove, the quail, the butterfly, etc.—but also by engaging in metaphorical ‘seeing-as,’ so as to understand that the shifts in perspective that occur in the various sections of the text are meant to apply to our lived experience as well, so as to open us up to fuller, more expansive ways of living. For by perceiving the limitations, or lack thereof, of various of the perspectives embodied by characters in the text (or otherwise expressed by it), we can also come to see the limitations of our own, as well as how to begin to transcend those limitations, viz., by shedding commitments to (accurate) meaning and (literal) truth: or, in other words, by adopting a globally force fictionalist perspective.

What is especially interesting is that this way of coming to ‘see things in a new light’ strikingly resembles one of the goals of cross-cultural philosophy: that is, to use diverse perspectives to better understand each other, as well as shared philosophical interests (rather than dimensions of, e.g., Chinese or Euro-American thought in particular).^{Footnote 70} For here, non-specialists and specialists (in, e.g., Daoist philosophy, or analytic epistemology, or philosophy of language) are often well positioned to make their own unique contributions, as they can utilize resources and draw on insights taken from their respective areas of specialization to suggest alternative ways of interpreting and engaging others, and to propose new approaches for bringing discussions from various traditions together. In other words, just as the work of specialists in, say, Chinese philosophy might inform the work of non-specialists who engage it, so too might the work of non-specialists in Chinese philosophy inform the work of specialists. And (as noted in the first remark that closes Section 1), the above case study provides an example of this that exhibits not only how our understanding of the Zhuangzi can benefit from our explorations of fictionalism, but also how our explorations of fictionalism can be uniquely enriched and strengthened by reflecting on the way in which it is presented by literary, non-expository means in the Zhuangzi.^{Footnote 71} Moreover, if it is appropriate to interpret and engage the Zhuangzi much as we interpret and engage other works of literature, and if its cognitive content consists at least in part in some attitude or perspective that it conveys, then it is appropriate to expect the cognitive rewards that we might reap to be quite similar as well: viz., skill and know-how in adopting and employing some attitude or perspective. And one such attitude or perspective is plausibly, as discussed above, a fictionalist one—an attitude or perspective that, as we have seen, is highly philosophically significant, in that it allows us to see how at least one interesting philosophical stance (namely, global force fictionalism) can be expressed in a way that does not risk self-refutation, and may be best characterized as involving the adopting of, say, an attitude or perspective rather than the endorsing of a claim. It also permits us to understand why Zhuangzi is appropriately difficult to interpret.^{Footnote 72} For if what he is aiming to do is help his audience to take on the perspective of a global force fictionalist, then what better way to do this than to write in a manner that effectively dislodges confidence regarding the accuracy and even usefulness of (literal) speech?^{Footnote 73} Thus (as noted in the second and third remarks that close Section 1), the Zhuangzi not only demonstrates principles that explain how there can be a meaningful relationship between stylistic form and philosophical content, but also illustrates the complex interplay between assumptions and interpretations that explains why we have epistemic reason to seek to effect increased dialogue between diverse texts and traditions.

3.4 Conclusion: Broader Methodological Lessons

We are now well positioned to take up the second half of our third question, concerning what all of this suggests about philosophical methodology more broadly. Let us begin by discussing what this case study suggests about doing cross-cultural philosophy. The first thing worth remarking on is that, as we have seen, it provides a concrete example of how this kind of philosophy can proceed in a fruitful manner, bringing insights from disparate traditions (such as contemporary analytic philosophy and classical Chinese philosophy) to bear on topics in the other, resulting in—with any luck—stimulating and useful new avenues for each to explore: e.g., with respect to Chinese philosophy, the possibility that Zhuangzi can be profitably interpreted as a fictionalist, and with respect to analytic philosophy, the possibility that fictionalism can be an appropriate and philosophically sophisticated response to globally sceptical arguments.^{Footnote 74} Moreover, in so doing, it suggests ways in which they might be brought together, as Zhuangzi can thus be interpreted as speaking to concerns of analytic philosophers while nonetheless doing so in a novel way, in terms of both style and content. For this interpretation would have it that Zhuangzi motivates what is, in analytic philosophy, an underexplored but relevant and tenable philosophical stance (i.e., global force fictionalism) in a stylistically and substantively atypical but, as we have seen, contextually sensitive way.^{Footnote 75} What’s more, this case study also shows that one of the goals of cross-cultural philosophy can be realized, and that Western and non-Western philosophies can be mutually informative, in that—even better—it provides a detailed example that illustrates how, and a template for executing similar endeavours. And all of this suggests an especially exciting methodological upshot: namely, that, even if we take some of our methods with us when we cross certain philosophical lines (at least at first), it is reasonable to expect that we will also be able to weave them together with new methods—which will, at minimum, allow us to broaden our conception of how we might do philosophy, if not inspire us to substantively revise our old methods or replace them with something new and improved. For, it may be that the very best way of motivating global force fictionalism involves writing in a style similar to that of Zhuangzi. After all, if one wants to convey a fictionalist attitude or perspective, rather than substantiate an apparently self-undermining fictionalist claim (along the lines of, say, ‘No discourse is truth-directed’), then what better way to write than in a manner that appears—among other things—at once enlightening yet mystifying, earnest yet tongue-in-cheek, and insightful yet enigmatic? And if one wants to convey an attitude or perspective that calls into question the possibility of literal truth, or even the possibility of (accurately) distinguishing, e.g., truth from falsity, meaningfulness from meaninglessness, and fiction from non-fiction, then what better way to write than by extensively employing fiction, and fictional devices, alongside a plethora of straightforwardly philosophical remarks and arguments? Unconventional attitudes or perspectives are sometimes most effectively conveyed in unconventional fashions, and if one wants to call into question conventions regarding certain ways of distinguishing, then what better way to do this than to flout those very conventions in one’s writing?

The basic idea is thus that interpreting Zhuangzi as a global force fictionalist can help to explain how the text’s protean form and literary style is intimately bound up with its difficult-to-articulate (fictionalist, non-propositional) content. And, as we have seen, what is especially interesting—at least in the context of contemporary analytic philosophy—is that this content is highly philosophically significant, allowing us to see how interesting philosophical stances (namely, global scepticism and global force fictionalism) can be expressed in ways that do not risk self-refutation, and may be best characterized as involving the adopting of attitudes or perspectives rather than the endorsing of claims.^{Footnote 76}

Furthermore, because we can see more precisely how this weaving together of methods can work by reflecting on how we might engage a particular, unfamiliar philosophical text, written in a literary, non-expository style—a work that we endeavoured to engage differently at least in part because it seemed necessary to understand how its form, or style, related to its content in order to better grasp its philosophical point—this case study can provide support for two even more general procedural claims. First, we can expect similarly applicable case studies (of which there are many) to be beneficial when it comes to answering tough questions concerning philosophy and its borders—in addition to being interesting and illuminating in their own right—which suggests that we should endeavour to include them in general audience journals to a much greater extent than is presently the norm.^{Footnote 77} Moreover, this is especially crucial for winning greater inclusion for non-Western philosophies, given that, as Olberding points out:

Second, we should focus more attention on developing accounts of literary cognitivism that can explain how literary, non-expository works can have philosophical (and hence, cognitive) content and value, especially since many non-Western philosophical texts (like the Zhuangzi) are composed in such a style—a particularly important result given that it remains controversial in analytic aesthetics as to whether literary works can have cognitive content and value at all.^{Footnote 79} For this reason, it also suggests that those who are interested in crossing stylistic, methodological, and cultural borders should do more aesthetics, especially in light of the fact that, as Meilin Chinn has remarked, the arts are often treated as philosophical practices in a number of Asian traditions, and aesthetics occupies a principal place in such philosophies (arguably on par with the preeminent role that metaphysics has played in the history of Western philosophy).^{Footnote 80} Indeed, as this case study suggests, the Zhuangzi plausibly exemplifies this, as it can be interpreted both as an aesthetic as well as a philosophical response to scepticism due to its manner of expression, and, as I hope to have shown, can be seen as exceptionally philosophically sophisticated, rather than philosophically impoverished, for it.