Even with the passage of time, this theme has lingered in my mind. Did I overstate the case? Did I, inadvertently, accept my westrn superior's hidden assumption that many "primitive" cultures are not worth preserving in the modern world? Would I write the same piece if I were to write it in my own name today?

The first difficulty in answering the above questions is the sponginess of the concept of culture. Someone has reported that there are more than five hundred definitions of culture. In the broadest sense, culture includes all the beliefs, values, mores, and institutions of a society. In a narrow sense, it refers to arts, letters, the theater and the finer things in life. I am comforted by the thought that I did not greatly exaggerate the theme because I had mainly in mind a broad conception of culture. Certainly, within a historical perspective, human and societal development has brought about significant changes in values and institutions. In the contemporary sense, most adults have experienced some changes in their lifetime. 

In my own case, the relative weight attached to some of my traditional values, such as filial piety, has changed with time. At the same time, I continue to believe that certain Eastern values, such as harmony, may be more relevant to an increasingly crowded and small world, than Western values of maximization.

In the realm of arts, lettrers, and theater, a reexamination of the theme is especially called for. Certainly, some art forms are no longer in vogue today, yet they are part of the human heritage. Attempts to preserve them are, indeed, both necessary and useful. Ironically, what is lost in the East can often be found preserved in the West. In practice, however, there are numerous problems with such preservation. One such is exemplified by the theft and pilferage of archaeological treasures. In the olden days even reputable archaeologists would stake a claim to their "discovery" and ship home whatever they could carry. Museums would not ask questions about the source of collectors' items. Although a few of these items have, in recent years, been returned to their rightful owners, the ongoing hunt for collectibles from historical sites in the East and elsewhere is an open secret and a growth industry.

A related problem is that the preserved items are either only in partial form or are rapidly deteriorating. Here the preservationists in the West are making an important contribution through their ampler resources and more careful control of the crowds, humidity, and related factors in both exhibitions and storage facilities than are available in China in Dunghuan or in Russia in the Hermitage. Indeed, certain relics might have been totally destroyed had they not been in the hands of Western collectors. In China, for example, numerous Shang oracles have been consumed as medicine!

Yet, preservation has its limitations. Like Audubon, the birds had to be killed first. What has been preserved are not alive. Moreover, in any reproduction, some important ingredients are frequently missing. Thus, the Astor Court at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York is a credible reproduction of a Suzhow garden, but misses the changing scenes in the background through the windows and beyond the walls that can be glimpsed from the original. In Innisfree also, the original Chinese garden is not entirely duplicated because some fauna do not grow well in a foreign environment and the cost of maintenance would have been prohibitive if all features were duplicated exactly.

Deviation from the original is virtually inevitable for most structures as time passes. Colors fade, trees grow, and materials disintegrate. In many scenic spots, insufficient attention has been devoted to the artistic aspects of maintenance. In a recent trip to China, for instance, I found that many gems of traditional architecture have not been properly maintained. Some are dilapidated, others are replaced by ersatz replications. Moreover, numerous additional features, ostensibly for the purposes of convenience or the entertainment of tourists, are highly offensive to the senses. Souvenir stands clash with the traditional structures. Disneyland-like mechanical devices disturb the serenity. Indeed, in one temple the advice to visitors to be quiet is in itself blasted by a loudspeaker! 

In some cases, the authorities appear to have been serious in preserving the original beauty. All the buildings, including those of the administration and the judiciary, along the West Lake in Hangzhou have been removed. The lake's water has been connected with the river so that the stench is gone. Yet, my wife, Mabel, has noted that the trees are over-grown and disturb the sense of proportion. I am happy to report that in a more recent visit a trimming job has been performed. 

Not all attempts at modernization or Westernization at scenic spots are counter-productive. The addition of cable cars does not seem to spoil the natural gardens of the Yellow Mountains in Anhui, although a few hardy tourists would continue to prefer to scale the majestic peaks on foot and enjoy a greater variety of views.

In a few cases, the blending of Western materials and designs has created new wonders which bring about the essence of the East. I.M.Pei has single-handedly demonstrated this possibility in many of his masterpieces all over the world. One must conclude that such creations are not preserves, like pickles, but alive. Whether it is the pyramids in the Louvre, the Bank of China structure in Hong Kong, or the temple in Japan, they are all in active use for a purpose.

With regard to letters or literature, the evolution over the years has been far reaching. The pace has been especially remarkable in the English language such that, for example, most literary people today can no longer read Chaucer. In contrast, many Chinese still enjoy Tang poems in spite of the Cultural Revolution, on top of the May Fourth movement, which regarded anything old as suspect. The resilience of the Chinese language may, however, be over-stated because many contemporary expressions are actually imports, especially from Japan. In my days at Harvard, fellow graduate students and I used to play a game in which we carried on ordinary conversations without using post-Ming dynasty expressions. Most of us were quickly challenged by others for violating the stricture.

In the written Chinese form, the survival of period styles has been more successful. I, myself, have myself experimented with writing essays in the style of the Six Dynasties, or even poems of the classic Book of Poems, and few people would suspect they were contemporary constructs. In essays for practical purposes, even when foreigh concepts must be introduces, such as new concepts and inventions, I have preferred the Chinese translations which blend well with the indigenous expressions, rather than the phonetic renderings which frequently stick out like a sore thumb. 

I am aware that certain concepts are too new to have generally accepted Chinese translations and, in such cases, there is no choice but to refer to the original language. Yet, this is a rare exception. Many people mix Chinese words with foreign expressions, either because they are lazy or because they think it is chic to display their knowledge of a foreign language.

I admit that some ideas and expressions are not translatable. Thus, for example, a star interpreter for a Russian delegate at an international conference had to quote Pushkin in order to capture the sense of a Shakespearean quote. When I translate my own English writings into Chinese, I prefer to be faithful to the drift of the argument rather than the literal meaning. 

Another consideration is the seat of power. The reason why no Chinese has been awarded the Nobel Prize in literature is mainly because the judges do not understand Chinese. Many Chinese contributions are yet to be translated, and even if they are, much of the subtleties and nuances are lost. That is the reason I prefer the original. That is also why accomplished Chinese professors of Chinese literature in U.S. universities are often scholars in English, rather than Chinese, literature, at least in their early career.

For my taste, as in arts or literature, I enjoy music and theater regardless of their origin, East or West. I do not, of course, enjoy or appreciate everything. I guess the main reason is unfamiliarity. I recall my mother's reaction to her children's records of Western operas: that the sounds resembled frightened chickens, even though she was most tolerant of all other disturbances. Evidently she did not think that Western operas were very artful or were very pleasing. In the United States, when I went to Chinese opera performances, I frequently heard the murmurs of Westerners who left during the performance because they could not stand, any longer, the unfamiliar shrill throat noises. 

Mindful of the chasm between the tastes of the East and the West, some artists try to modify the original form for an unfamiliar audience. For instance, vignettes of Chinese operas designed for Western audiences would de-emphasize singing and highlight acrobatics and colorful costumes. In some cases, Western techniques of lighting, scenery, and staging, as well as instruments played, are employed with good effect. More drastic changes in stories and themes may also be introduced. However, what is considered as an improvement by some may be denounced as vulgar by others.

My own view is that there should be no intrinsic objection to introducing foreign elements. Indeed, in Chinese operas one can find numerous sources which were imported. As dozens of minority groups have become part of the Chinese heritage, what was considered foreign in some historical past has become internalized, though not necessarily integrated or homogenized in a melting pot. Stories may be changed to suit the zeitgeist. For example, a woman committing suicide after the death of the husband may no longer deserve praise, but may be regarded as a victim of social oppression. The question is, therefore, not whether there is a foreign element or influence but whether the outcome is artful. Here the controversy arises from three issues. The first refers to the preservation of the original style. For some, any deviation is regarded as unacceptable. Even for the purists, however, certain modernizations, such as in lighting, props and sound amplifiers, are not only permissible but also considered desirable. The second is the survival of an art form in the marketplace. In China, for example, cretain forms are faced with near extinction mainly because they are no longer in fashion. The Chinese Kun-qu troupes have little chance of performing more than once or twice a year in China. This is the main reason why, when numerous new elements were introduced to the Peony Pavilion intended for the Lincoln Center, most of the actors and actresses voiced little objection because such outreach will breathe a new life to their calling. 

There is, therefore, merit in making certain adjustments which would permit the survival of a major art form. At the same time, if resources are unavailable, certain art forms for the chosen few can be preserved because just like Tang-style or traditional music or theater, they cannot be replaced by contemporary styles. Thus, new and traditional forms should co-exist. Moreover, fashions change. What is unpopular today may be rediscovered and catch the imagination of another day. 

The third issue relates to the synergy between the East and the West. In real life, there are many examples of the reverse. I have seen many Chinese attempting to dress well after liberation from the Mao suits with the unfortunate consequence of a complete mess. Even more recently, coloring their hair blond by the lonely hearts among the urban Chinese has been successful in turning a few heads but rarely in beautifying themselves.

The final task of synergy or discord lies in one's aesthetic taste and skill. Thus, Yo-Yo Ma, in his performance of "Symphony 1997", especially commissioned to celebrate the return of Hong Kong, employed bronze bells from Chinese antiquity as well as standard Western instruments. He has also succeeded in cooperating with other performers of different schools. The blending of the East and West, not attempted earlier, represents a break from the past and is a welcome innovation. Yet, innovation is deeply ingrained in Chinese art. In poetry, Du-fu's motto is "unless the verse shocks, till death I will not stop trying." The trouble is that those ill-equipped to innovate attempt to produce something different for the sake of being different, an act that often violates the basic principles of aesthetics. Unfortunately, for the same reason, it may well serve as shock value and be labeled as an innovation. The issue is, therefore, not whether culture and art are from the East or the West or a blend of both but whether they deserve to be preserved or transformed because of their intrinsic value to human civilization.