Metaphorically, the spectrum may be likened to the letters of a "color language" in which we all know how to communicate, be it in ways that are imperfectly understood. In addition, it is the prosody, syntax, and pragmatics of this color language that is the subject of the original and imaginative study by Zhu Jingqing and Li Jiaquan—two former "sent-down youths" from southwest China—from which the content of this issue of Chinese Studies in Philosophy has been translated. Our use of colors, they argue, does not merely manifest our human aesthetic sensibility, but serves social needs of communication as well.

People in modern society are often unsure and perplexed by their identity: "Who am I?," "Where am I from?," "What do I want?," and "Where am I going?" are universal questions that have become quite fashionable in contemporary society. Yet such inquiries are by no means limited to the modern age; they have been posed by humankind since ancient times over the centuries. Perhaps the earliest people to ask such questions lived in primitive society.

The various social functions of color language are only realized through the conveyance of information and coded messages. In other words, only after information is conveyed that deals with the basic issues of social identity and social meaning—namely "Where do I come from?" and "Who am I?"—are the social functions of color language actually realized, to wit expressing individual social attributes, manifesting aesthetic sensibilities, and displaying individual character and personality.

At this time, as we approach the imminent end of a century, it is amusing to look back at the changes that have taken place in the manners in which people have addressed one another in society over the last hundred years. If we are to locate, among all the terms that relate to social address, those that are, as Raymond Williams calls them, the "keywords,"1 then, to be sure, the term tongzhi or comrade is bound to be at the head of the list.

The texts translated in this issue of Chinese Studies in Philosophy illustrate how far China's intellectuals have come in their critical engagement with "current" Western—in particular American—intellectual trends. A generation ago, even their most sophisticated readings of, say, the beatnik movement appeared to an outsider to be almost completely off the mark.1

In the West, the mission of cultural studies is often inextricably linked with practice, or intervention. Stuart Hall, the British scholar of cultural studies, believed that cultural studies is essentially "a sort of practice in which one constantly gives thought to intervening in the world, and the purpose of practice is always to reform, to effect change, and to have practical and actual effect on things."1

There is not a single country in the world that does not advocate or promote patriotism. Nonetheless, it may be said that there is perhaps no other country that exalts patriotism as the highest standard of moral virtue the way modern China does. In particular, for Chinese intellectuals, "the great cause of the nation" (minzu dayi) has been held up as the supreme value above all other standards.

An old peasant of Shanxi Province once said: "Our village used to have a landlord and two rich peasants; at that time, a small number of people had already, in a sense, became rich first—ahead of others. If we had known then what we know now, we wouldn't have bothered to go through all this rigmarole to get to where we are."

People often say with relish that the twentieth century is the American century, and what Americans themselves are particularly proud of are the terms "the American way" and "the American dream," which have specific, loaded meanings. Indeed, at least since the World War II, the American way has surely been in the limelight. The whole world seems to be vying to identify with this American way—everything from Coca Cola and jeans to American pop music has been scooped up by the rest of the world, uncritically and entirely.